#why have I never seen this until now?????

[doomdoomofdoom]

okay so regardless of whether it was him or not, there's misinformation in this post and it's gonna bug me if I don't point it out.

Angles of camera footage and press coverage are different and yes eyebrows can grow back fast as fuck depending on your grooming method and genetics. something something italians.

I haven't seen any claim of him being arrested with the found clothing. They found the "distinctive" backpack in the park, the one he was arrested with wasn't described in any coverage I read. The jacket found inside the distinctive backpack was only described by brand. If both released photographs from the Hotel lobby (taken on different days btw) are to be believed, he owns at least two jackets.

The found fingerprints are not from the crime scene. They were recovered from things assumed to belong to the shooter, like a phone, wrappers of a protein bar and a bottle or other drink container. That being said, I strongly do not believe these can verifiably match. The recovered print was both partial and smudged, and fingerprint analysis is in large parts subjective. Similar skepticism should be applied to any DNA samples and matches. (As far as I'm informed, they haven't done any yet)

Also I've said this before but being on the run from the cops makes "keeping your belongings with you" the smartest move. If he discarded the gun somewhere, he'd risk having it found and pointing towards him. I presume he kept the manifesto on him in case he was killed by police.

Also how exactly does picking a centrist scapegoat reignite a right vs left culture war? Picking a rich guy, sure, but why a centrist white guy? (Also this assumes the cops are competent enough to think that far or think at all, which is the most unrealistic part so far)

Ongoing news stories also do change as they develop. That's normal. The current understanding is that a patron alerted an employee who called the police.

You can believe Mangione was framed or you can believe he did it, but use the correct facts or your argument falls apart.

Much more importantly: Luigi Mangione has no shot at getting a fair trial. News everywhere have been plastering his face as the ("alleged") killer. He's supposed to be innocent until proven guilty, but we all know the system works the other way around. Even if he is fully cleared by the courts and they find the actual guy. This is now the legacy of Luigi Mangione. And he will never be able to be free of it.

That, if nothing else, should piss you the fuck off. Fall Guy or not - the way his case is being treated and displayed for the public, it's disgusting.

I don't want to be a conspiracy theorist on main but all the memes about Luigi Mangione kind of piss me off bc I am 90% sure he is not the assassin.

I know I've joked in the past that all white men look alike but Luigi Mangione litterally does not look like any of the shooter pics.

The shooter has a long face and a sharp chin, Mangione has a more square face and rounder chin, and THE EYEBROWS!! You're gonna tell me he groomed his eyebrows before commiting a murder and they just grew back completely in less than a week? Nah

Not to mention, police claimed he was wearing the same jacket and backpack from the day of the shooting. You know, the same jacket and backpack the NYPD found discarded in Central Park?

And they're saying his fingerprints match the crimescene even though security footage clearly shows the shooter wearing GLOVES!!

Not to mention, after every meticulous step taken to get away with the shooting, why would the perpatrator still be carrying the murder weapon and a manifesto??

I genuinely believe the cops are using Luigi Mangione as a fall guy. They found a centrist Ivy League kid who kind of matched the description in order to shift the narrative from class war back to a less threatening "left vs right" culture war.

His politics are messy enough that people will spend more time debating over what side of the spectrum he is on than the actual issue at hand. THIS IS A DISTRACTION!

Also the story is all over the place. Was it a McDonalds employee or patron that reported him? The story keeps changing but either way it sends the message that the working class will turn on itself during an unprecedented moment of class unity and solidarity in the United States.

Also I think pinning this on an Ivy League kid was done in an attempt to shift the narrative from the assassin being a working class hero to just another trust fund kid. That being said, even if it WAS him, an Ivy League trust fund kid has more in common with you than you have with the 1%.

So people in the US, please think critically about the distraction tactics being pushed onto you and don't forget who the real enemy is.

Keep solidarity.

Deny

Defend

Depose

[devosin]

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! episode three : bittersweet wine . . .

♡. Spotify playlist | Updates, every Friday !! — Vil Schoenheit x reader | Dual pov . .

You stare at your phone, the article of Vil’s break in loaded on screen, you focus on the title almost obsessively, your hands tightening around your phone in a death grip. Maybe scheduling a meeting so soon after something that traumatic was a bad idea, but you weren’t one to check the news often, you stopped around two years back when your ex-therapist noted how it affects your mental health negatively, so you hadn’t known the news until now, when you were scrolling aimlessly through your magicam account.  

A sigh escapes you as you lean back into your chair, Amanda had reserved a table at one of these exclusive private bars, just for privacy reasons, it would've been a nice break from your usual typical dinner outings or take-out days, if it weren't for the anxiety building up in the pit of your stomach, alongside a fresh cold platter of guilt for making Vil come out during this sort of situation, despite it not being your fault in the first place. .  or maybe it’s a good thing he’s getting out of his home . .  that is under the assumption that he did spend the night at his apartment after that. 

The bar was rather empty, everything felt like a blur, but you suppose it's normal, no one really visits the bar at 9 in the morning, sounds counter-productive, who starts the day off with alcohol anyways . .  alcoholics . . right.  

Time: 9:18 am Location: Angel’s share

Vil approaches your table, "Apologies for being late, I had to take a cab this time around", he says, as he takes a seat in front of you, setting his bag aside. 

The knots in your stomach finally come undone and you find your shoulders relaxing as you hear Vil’s voice, you didn't even know you were this worried he would stand you up, it was gravely unlikely either way, this wasn't a date but more so of a work meeting. You let out a deep breath, finally looking up at Vil’s face . .  and . . 

“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”, you ask, staring at him. 

“Fashion statement.”, Vil says as calmly as possible, his head moved up to meet your gaze, but you couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or not. 

You stare at him and silence falls over the table “. . . “, a few moments pass before you finally ask, “You’re hungover, aren’t you . .?” 

“. . .”, Vil gulps, turning to the side, before he mumbles out a response, , “ . . . Yes, I’m.” 

You pause for a brief moment, before letting out a laugh, everyone who you know to have previously worked with Vil has always commented on his professional and cut-to-the-point behaviour, never once did you think he'd come hungover or unkept to a first meeting.  

Vil opens his mouth, about to say something only to get interrupted by the waitress, "Excuse me, are you both ready to order?", she smiled and she looked a little familiar. Vil squinted his eyes, trying to make out her face fully, he would take off the sunglasses but the bright lights would probably make him want to kill himself, and unfortunately he couldn’t tell exactly where he'd seen her before. 

“hav—”, Vil was cut off mid-sentence, this time by Y/n, “Ah—Yes, we're ready to order.”, Vil stares at Y/n, clearly taken aback by the rude interruption and Y/n doesn’t seem to notice, probably due to his tinted sunglasses. 

“I’ll have an appletini”, Y/n says and then meets Vil’s gaze . .  he chooses to remain silent, which was a bad idea since Y/n just ended up ordering for him anyways, “You can’t stay hungover if you’re still drunk”, the logic was clearly unmatched. 

Time: 9:43 am Location: Angel’s share 

Vil pours you another drink and the two of you clearly should stop drinking—he leans down over the counter, and for a split second he takes in your features—like really takes it all in—and . . you look . . tolerable, he gulps. 

Things were quiet as you tried figuring out what new conversation starter to use, the last half an hour or so the two of you had just been talking about random things, you learnt a lot, like how Vil keeps his first award under his pillow before an awards show for good luck—which seemed so unlike the man in front of you, to the point where it was even a little adorable. 

"You know—", Vil starts speaking, capturing your attention, he swings the class slightly as he makes eye contact with you, "I don't like you very much". and silence falls over the two of you . . but weirdly enough you didn't find it uncomfortable, and for a second you thought all that therapy on confrontation had finally paid off—but it didn't, a weird feeling sat in the pit of your stomach, and you asked softly, "Why?"   

Vil paused, gulping down the rest of his drink, and he could see the waiter from the corner of his eye sighing internally—he paid him no mind—"I just don't believe you can act" . . you froze.

Yes Rook is married, because it just feels in character for Rook to be married by his mid-20's to me, like he gives that golden gilded fences perfect family daydream lifestyle vibe to me.

Cater being a good friend . . I guess?

Vil momentarily being attracted to Y/n's looks because why not.

Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter . .

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! ♡. Synopsis : VIL SCHOENHEIT recently signed a contract under Descendant. Inc for his very own late night show, only to find out his co-star and fellow co-host is none other than Y/n L/n, someone he hates despite knowing very little about them and never having met them, previously. Y/N L/N, an actor who made their debut 3 years ago and hasn’t been able to catch a break since, recently decided to sign a deal with Descendants. Inc to host their new late night show “late nights & flashing lights”, as a break from acting . . Only to find out their favorite long-time actor will be co-hosting with them. Tune in every Friday, for a new episode of “late nights & flashing lights” to see if these two hosts can find a peaceful work-bond amidst their judgements . . and quite possibly even love? . .

♡. Want spoilers ?! . . Join my server . . !! (or to be namedropped <3)

— taglist ♡ ; @well-look-at-this , @honkai-freak , @kingnem10 , @merviolet-asks, @katzline , @pebble-bb , @meigalaxy , @lordbugs , @crowbird , @yuus3n , @azriel-sama , @reivelmin , @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 , @eliza-be-t-h , @feverish-dove , @yejiswifex , @l0v3r666 , @cece-cherries , @frootloopscos , @abell2029cluster , @ephemii , @alienlatteinspace , @frangiipanii , @vamprel , @kittycat246 , @jar-03 , @leifsclubroom , @everettelz ,

♡ . Ask to be tagged... (If you don't see yourself up here, I cant tag you)

© devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[beloveds-embrace]

When Konig returns, How do you think he will react when he realizes that reader is limping and has a prosthetic??

Would he blame himself? would blame and fight with others??

-🍒anon

It’d be a mix of both, but he largely (and understandably) blames them the most. There is disliking your spouse, and then there is the cruelty that has been inflicted on you.

König didn’t even notice it at first- not until you stood at last.

The faint click against the marble floors froze him. His eyes dropped, breath hitching at the gleam of metal where your foot should have been. Cold and foreign, it should have never been on you. He’s only seen it on soldiers.

Your grip on the cane now in your hand- how did he not notice it?- tightened. “Don’t.”

It wasn’t a plea. It was a warning.

But König couldn’t stop staring. His eyes traced the straps digging into your thigh, the unevenness of your gait. He imagined the pain you must have endured, the surgeries, the adjustments, the raw skin and bruising. He imagined you lying in some cold room, scared and alone, with no one there to hold your hand.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was low and guttural, barely human.

“They all did,” you said quietly. “You. Them. All of you.”

The words hit harder than any blade could.

König staggered back a step, the breath knocked from him. Shame clawed up his throat, but it couldn’t overpower the guilt. You’re right, he wanted to say. You’re right, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness.

Instead, he knelt again.

Slowly, deliberately, he sank to one knee before you, lowering himself as if in supplication. “Mylady,” he rasped, voice raw. “I have failed you.”

You flinched, your fingers tightening on the cane again, but you didn’t pull away.

“I failed you when I left,” he continued, head bowed. “And I failed you by leaving you in their care. I will never forgive myself for it.”

“You think kneeling will fix this?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I won’t leave you again. Not unless you send me away.”

You faltered. For not the first time, König saw something- grief, fire, exhaustion—flicker in your eyes. But then you turned.

And when you stumbled, he was there.

He steadied you without a word, and though you flinched, you didn’t pull away.

The days after König’s return were heavy with tension.

He didn’t leave your side- not when you struggled with the prosthetic, not when your cane trembled, not when your breaths came shallow and pained.

And you let him.

You let him carry the books you’d occasionally read, adjust the chairs, and brace you when the steps proved too much. It wasn’t spoken. There were no apologies. Just König- silent, patient, and steady.

And the others saw it.

“She lets you help her.” Kyle said once, disbelieving. But König ignored him and continued on his path to your room, carrying a tray of tea he made himself.

I do not force it, König thought, focused on adjusting the padding of your prosthetic. The straps had rubbed you raw again. He fixed them without asking.

Price bristled at him another day, and König focused especially hard to ignore him. “You weren’t here. You left her.”

I did not let her rot, if anyone were to listen to König’s thoughts, they would immediately sense his utter disdain and disgust. You did.

Johnny tried to step in once while König waited for the tea to boil. “We tried—”

“When it was too late.” König spoke at last, lip curling under his mask. “You watched her shatter and did nothing. And now you ask why she won’t let you put her back together?”

Johnny had no answer.

None of them had an answer.

And König didn’t wait for one.

He returned to you, and looped a tiny little flower he picked on the way into your hair. “Better, mylady?”

You nodded, hesitant. “… better.”

It was not as if you forgave him- you didn’t.

But König didn’t ask. He didn’t demand or beg, or force himself into your space. He didn’t push you for it, didn’t demand it like a starving man clawing for scraps.

He stayed.

He noticed every wince, every tremor, and fixed what he could- polished the cane, adjusted the straps, moved the chairs- without asking for permission or praise.

And when you wept in the conservatory late at night, when the pain in your leg and the ache in your heart became too much, he didn’t try to hush you. He didn’t tell you to be strong or remind you of how far you’d come.

He simply sat there, guarding the door, letting you cry until the exhaustion dragged you under.

And then, when you woke the next morning, the cane would already be waiting by your bedside, polished and steady.

Just like him.

[sparrow-and-seed-scrawls]

The father had turned on the night light. The flickering orange glow lit the hallway like a torch, so the darkness wasn’t what troubled the child.

He’d tucked each beloved stuffed animal into the child’s bed, careful not to lose any of them beneath the comforter lest they become fearful of the dark. The boy had seen it himself, so that wasn’t the cause of his woe.

Had the father checked the closet and beneath the bed for monsters and thieves?

He combed through the night’s events, then nodded. Yes, he had. He’d even checked the toy box for signs of the great green eyes or dagger-like claws the boy was afraid of.

“What is it?” the father asked finally, cradling the sobbing child close. “Did I forget something?”

The boy choked on words. His pajamas were wet with tears, and his pale blue eyes didn’t meet the father’s gaze.

“Whatever it is, I won’t be mad,” the father said. Had the child been hurt? Had he done something he was ashamed of?

The father flipped through every possible scenario he could think of and came up empty-handed. What was troubling the child so?

The man had never had a child before. He’d read every book he could get his hands on, attended first aid and childcare classes, gone so far as to watch Internet videos about raising a child—which, of course, he’d never admit to anyone. But, with all his knowledge, why couldn’t he find an answer to the distress?

Was it due to the child’s parentage? His thin curls and pale, pale eyes had been the sign of something different even before the round of his ears had gone.

He’d found exactly one confidante who knew what the child was. Who knew what to teach the child about, what things the father needed to know, what he could do to protect the child until his true parents returned for him.

But, after nine years, the child’s parents had not yet returned. The father could see on the elven teacher’s face that even she didn’t know if the parents would ever come back for him.

“It’s not common,” she said once, “for my people to abandon their young in the mortal world. I can only presume something happened to them. Until the boy is of age to return to our lands—until he is able to make that journey—”

The father knew what she was going to say. “—I am responsible for his safety,” he finished.

And so that was that. He was the father of a fantastical child until that child came of age.

Yet, even after nine years, the father rarely knew the right thing to say and do. He wiped the child’s tears and pushed his hair from his forehead now, and the child still cried.

After a long, endless moment, the child looked up, and his face crumpled. “I don’t want you to die.”

Ah.

The breath caught in the father’s throat.

The teacher must have gone over that with him.

The fact that the human race was nowhere near as long-lived as the elves was not new information to the father. He’d turned it over in his head again and again.

Even if he did live as long as the child would, it wouldn’t make a difference. The child had his own life and people to return to once the time came, and the father would return to prior things.

It was no one’s fault. Both things—lifespan and other lands—were mere truths of the small family’s existence.

Mere truths that, even so, felt insurmountable at the moment.

“I will die long after you return to your land,” the father said gently. “You will hardly think of me.”

The boy cried harder at that. “I will think of you! Every day!”

“But it will not be thoughts of my death. You will think of the stories before bedtime, burnt pots of macaroni, and staying up to watch the stars. You will think of drives to the park and learning to read.”

The boy sniffled, though his tears had slowed. “But when you die, I won’t know.”

“And there is no reason to know. I would much rather you think about the things like…” the father thought for a moment. “Like when you got scared of the teddy bear’s shadow in the nightlight!”

The boy laughed.

“Or when we didn’t bake the cake long enough and it fell apart on our forks. Chocolate slime!”

Another laugh, this one louder. “Or when you pretended to be Santa but your beard fell off?”

“Yes!” The father let boy from his arms. “Exactly.”

The boy offered a grin, albeit a tired and watery one. He slid off the bed and stood still for a moment.

“So it will be alright?”

“Of course it will be. I won’t let you forget those things,” the father answered. “Now, go to bed. You have lessons tomorrow.”

The boy obeyed, stopping at the door for only a moment to do the special wave he and the father had made up.

The father returned it in kind, and then the door shut. He listened for the soft patter of footsteps back to the boy’s room, and, once they disappeared, he gave a sigh of his own.

Without the orange glow of the nightlight, darkness seemed to engulf him entirely.

Things would be alright. The child was only a temporary part of his life, and soon enough the father would be back to things as they had been nine years ago.

Things would be alright.

He would have to convince himself of that. He’d allowed himself to care too much for the child, hadn’t he? And now he was breaking at the thought that none of it was truly real.

Things would be alright.

He’d always known that it was temporary, so how had he gotten here, so far into the role of father? How could he simply forget this, let it fade into the mundane day-to-day?

It was what it was. That’s how it was always going to play out.

For now, he could continue as things were. Nothing was changing.

Things were going to be alright.

They would have to be.

You're a single human parent of a Elf child, today has you ready yourself for bed you hear them burst open the door with tears in their eye as they jump into bed with you and hold onto you tight, has you comfort them you hear them say through their whimpering and sobs "i don't want you to die".

[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content, incest, satoru/reader, satoru/suguru, shoko/reader, codependency, very twisted relationship dynamics, implied abusive/neglectful childhood

suguru had never known what to make of the two of you.

satoru the six eyes and his twin sister. satoru who was his best friend, and you, the girl who looks just like him.

satoru who let suguru bend him over and fuck him until he cried, only to roll off the bed, pulling out his phone.

god. he knew satoru was a dick, but this?

it hurts more than it should. they'd never talked about it, never even called each other friends. he should have figured this wasn't anything special.

but what the fuck is satoru doing on his phone?

"satoru?" he says, trying to sound casual.

everything has to be casual with satoru. low-key. being with him feels like he's coaxing a wild animal. get too close, and he might just bolt.

bolt, only to hit him out of the blue days later with a picture of a candy and a smarmy comment about suguru's taste in food. or his hair. or his power as a sorcerer, or whatever was going through that malfunctioning brain of his.

god, why the fuck does he even like him again?

satoru turns back so suguru can see his smirking face.

god. that was why. the face of a fucking angel, a smile that made his heart skip. why did it have to be on this asshole?

"what, suguru? you feelin' lonely?" satoru drawls.

it's a question he knows the answer to. keep it chill. don't show your hand. don't get too close or he'll get scared.

it aches. "shut up," he says, "i'm just curious who you're texting right after i pulled my dick out of you."

he smirks back when satoru pauses, hesitates.

"who's this person you're thinking about right after you cum?" suguru drawls. he's proud of how distant he manages to sound.

satoru's eyes dart towards him, all ice blue and piercing.

"nobody," he says, setting his phone face down while he pulls on his pants.

he blinks. "what are you..."

satoru ignores his question, strolling out towards the door while waving goodbye. "later, su-gu-ru~"

"but this is -"

before his eyes can furrow, satoru closes the door behind him.

"...your room."

he'd thought that it meant something different this time. satoru always left right after they fucked, he never stayed.

but this is satoru's room. so he'd either kick suguru out, or let him stay.

he hadn't been prepared for him to just... leave. his own room.

what's wrong with him? seriously.

suguru glances at the downturned phone. flips it over.

nee-chan~ (2)

his sister? it beeps.

nee-chan~ (3)

no, don't. i'll ask shoko

you'll ask shoko to do what? satoru has a lock, so he can't see.

seriously, i mean it

after a moment, there's another message.

are you ignoring me, or just busy with him?

don't come over. slut

...what?

the message notification disappears along with the message.

suguru gets a strange feeling.

he looks around satoru's room. he finds some girl's clothes.

does satoru even like girls? they could be yours. he's seen you in his room before.

the strange feeling starts to get. stranger.

there's condoms in here, too, which is weird because satoru has never asked him to use them. or used them himself. he whined when suguru suggested it, actually. asked if he was scared of getting knocked up.

ugh. stupid, insufferable, endearing little shit. he wants to have him in his arms right now.

but it doesn't mater what suguru wants. satoru just left. like he always does, sooner or later.

picking up the phone, he makes his way out. down the hall, towards the girls' dorm.

shoko is already there when he gets there. holding out an arm to stop him.

he raises a brow.

"she's sleeping."

"how do you know i'm here for her?"

shoko shrugs. "why else would you be? saw gojo go in there. anyways, they're asleep now."

"can't be. i was with him just a few minutes ago."

the look she gives him is... strange. everything about this situation feels... off.

he pushes past her, and she sighs.

there's no noise inside, at least. he looses a curse to twist the lock on the door, turn it form the inside.

and it's surprising because - god, what was he expecting?

you're there, curled up beneath the blanket with satoru laying behind you, arms wrapped around you and holding you close.

it's romantic, sure. intimate.

but nothing weird. well, nothing too weird. satoru's always been weird, and you're just like him, so of course you're both weird together. you've always been close. you're his twin sister. what is he thinking?

with a toss, he lets satoru's phone fall onto the floor.

he avoids shoko's gaze as he closes the door and stalks off.

(he doesn't see her anxious glance at the door.)

"he's gone," satoru whispers to you, brushing his thumb over your nipple as you bite your lip.

"shut up," you hiss, putting a hand over his. "i can't believe you did that. why did he follow you? what did you say to him?"

his other hand, threaded beneath your panties, wriggles playfully.

"whaaat? you said you wanted to go to bed. i didn't want to make you wait." he sighs dramatically, "i'm the strongest sorcerer, you know. i need my rest~"

and without you, there is no rest.

as soon as your body is against his, it's like all the tension leaves him. you're there, with him, and everything is all right.

all his worries fade away when he can wrap his arms around you and feel you embrace him in return. mind blank at the soothing sound of your voice. never mind the words you're saying.

"yeah, but do you need to do... this." you say fruitlessly. "you could have come later."

"didn't wanna come later," he kisses your shoulder, "wanted to see you now."

you wriggle in his arms, too wide and too strong to escape, even if you wanted to.

it's enraging. it's gratifying. you don't know what it is, and never have.

he must have been fucking suguru. and after he got his, he came to you.

should you laugh, or cry?

"i could have asked shoko." you mumble almost miserably.

but a sigh escapes you as he fondles your breast. satoru always knows how to make you feel good.

maybe not as good as shoko does, but you're still nice enough not to say that to his face.

"what? to sleep with you?" satoru scoffs, "you can't sleep without me, either."

neither of you have ever slept alone, not a single night in your life.

not even when you were deathly ill and the clan begged the precious six eyes to stay away and not catch your sickness.

satoru had stayed by your side the entire while. held your hand while your head pounded and your body ached. wiped your tears when you cried.

because you were very young, and very sick, in more pain than you'd ever felt before. you had honestly thought you were going to die.

there had been no servants, no mother or father or caretaker. only satoru holding you close, lifting you to drink some water and medicine. telling you that you couldn't die. he wouldn't allow it.

and to your child's mind, that had been reassuring. your brother never left you. your fever broke and you were okay, just like he said you would be.

now, you know better. now you know satoru would lay in bed with people who weren't you, even if he always came back (for now).

now you knew what it was like to have someone else by your side.

(but was it enough? could it ever be enough? could it ever be what you have with him?)

"i'll never know until i try." you turn in his arms to face him, and he allows it.

blue eyes. beautiful, beautiful blue. a pretty face. almost as pretty as shoko's.

you've been learning, lately. you used to think of the mole on her cheek as an imperfection, the cigarette smoke a bad habit.

now? you still think it's a bad habit, but the mole is charming. and you don't hate the smell as much because shoko took you out shopping for perfume.

she asked you which one you liked the most, and bought it for herself. she wears it every friday when you have your girls night out with utahime.

where you get drunk enough to make out with her until she brings you back to the dorm, kissing and fondling and touching.

she asks you if it's okay. asks you how you like it best. asks you to touch her this way, that way.

it's not like how it is with satoru. but she makes you feel good, makes you happy. she wants you to feel good. when you cry she kisses your tears away, like she knows better than to ask but wants to comfort you anyways.

when was the last time satoru tried to comfort you?

"hey," satoru breathes into your ear, pulling your panties down, "c'mon."

when you think of her, your heart flutters. when you think of satoru, your stomach flips, and your whole body aches.

you don't know what love is. you don't think satoru does, either.

otherwise, why would he ever leave geto's arms? when he's so obviously head over heels for him?

you clasp one arm against his chest as you reach down, stroking his cock to hardness. geto must have made him cum (satoru has never made you cum). must have fucked him.

satoru rolls you so you're on top of him.

his shirt is off, baring his lean, muscled chest. your brother, your strong, handsome, beautiful brother, looking up at you with wandering eyes and greedy hands.

your hands are equally greedy. running over his chest, ghosting over his nipples until he shivers. oversensitive. he always is after he's been with geto.

satoru's got a condom out already. he slips it on, leaning forward and pinning you down beneath him.

he doesn't have to use condoms with geto. he doesn't have to be the one on top all the time, either. geto can fuck him. he must like that.

geto's a special grade sorcerer. geto's a man. he's not his sister.

his cock is sliding up and down against your entrance, wetting the condom as he nips at your breast.

he always leaves marks like this, but never where anyone can see.

does he leave marks on geto?

"do you like him more?" you mumble, anxiety swirling in your gut. your lower half is a hot swirling pool of need, leaking for him.

and he inches in, making you whine, making you claw marks into his shoulder. you hope geto sees them.

satoru groans, low and throaty. it always feels like coming home when he's inside you. a perfectly matched lock and key.

his hand threads through your hair. you're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. he'll admit he's a vain bitch, but who wouldn't be? looking like the two of you do.

maybe one day he should get you to dress up like him. wear a strap and fuck him, that'd be fun.

for now, you're warm and soft and perfect for him. so comfortable. and you're rambling about stuff that isn't important.

"what," he murmurs, breathy from the warmth of you around him, "who?"

if the frustration shows on your face, he can just fuck it away.

"geto." the name is swallowed by a swift thrust, hands planted on your hips.

you wish he'd touch your clit more (you never ask). you wish he'd answer your question (you're afraid to push). but your brother just doesn't think about other people.

"c'mon," he whines, "don't talk about some other dude. you're with me."

"you were with him."

"so?" he thrusts in harder, stealing your breath, like that'll win him the argument, "you're fucking shoko."

satoru fucks you breathless, then. pumping in and out so quickly that the friction has you shuddering, shivering, close enough that you finally start to squeeze around him.

it's always like this with him. you feel like you're drowning, helpless. all you can do is cling to him.

"satoru," you hate how pitiful your voice sounds, "satoruuuu...."

he's hitting you, so deep and so hard it hurts, pierces through the breathless haze and leaves you clenching around him.

"please," your breath escapes you with his next thrust.

please don't leave me. don't abandon me for him. don't discard me now that you have someone better. don't leave me all by myself...

tears dot at your eyes, squeezing around him. satoru's own eyes are wide and wild, his hips shoving into you staggeringly fast.

"i got you," he says, close, so close, "i've got you."

another deep thrust, painful as it is pleasurable, bruising and fast like his fingertips on your hips. he swallows your moans with a kiss.

he thinks he can eat up all your complaints, all your anxiety. hide away from his own by nestling himself in your body.

you don't want anyone but him, right? he's the only one who touches you like this.

the way you squeeze around him, the way your body feels against his, no one else gets that from you. shoko couldn't do this for you. no one could.

you say his name again and he's ready to burst. you love him always. you're so good for him. you make him feel good just by being there.

a part of his life. a missing limb. his precious sister, his beating heart, right there against his chest.

"there," satoru pants, "fuck, there, cum for me, baby..."

it's tears you blink away when he gasps and cums, burying himself inside you with a wounded sort of whimper.

you never do, when it's him. to be fair, you've never done it to yourself, either.

you only ever came when shoko fucked you. but fucked is such an ugly word for how gently she touched you, how soft she smiled.

"satoru," you whine again, "do you like him more than me? i like you more than shoko..."

satoru doesn't answer you. his hands move from your bruised hips to wrap around you, pull you close, plant kisses on your head.

"you know," he mumbles out your name. "you know."

there's a flash of rage. irrational.

he won't say it. he won't even say it. satoru will fuck you, his own sister. cling to you like he needs you to survive, sleep with you every night of his life.

but he won't say he loves you more than geto. he won't even say he likes you.

and you know - because you know him like the back of your hand, you were born with him, you spent every waking moment of your life with him until you came to the school - you know satoru loves you.

but he loves you like he loves air. it's always there. always accessible. it's not like the air will suddenly leave.

you curl into satoru's muscled chest, let him embrace you closer, sink into the silence that's only comfortable for him.

maybe there's something you can do about this.

[kurooh]

❆ SLEIGH RIDE !

KINKMAS 2024 — christmas choking + suguru geto

❆ desc. your first time on a sleigh being pulled by curses is supposed to remain on the ground, but you quickly find yourself above ground and atop something else. ready to become a member of the mile high club?

❆ warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, cunnilingus, choking, sex in the air, some asphyxiation, gojo cameo, creampie, fluff. | 3.9k words

geto suguru has never been on a sleigh. 

he has never seen one in action or outside of a television screen. hell, he didn’t even know the difference between sleighs and sleds! until you convinced him to hunt down a few reindeer-like curses and fix up an old sleigh from a yard sale.

the thing was a shell of itself, with red paint flaking off all sides and creaking loudly each time it was pushed so much as an inch. when you worked together tirelessly to restore the sleigh so it could be a neat lawn decoration, you’d pitched a brilliant idea to him — why not absorb some suitable curses to pull the sleigh around?

fractions of the waning sunlight shine on the fluffy snow and highlight the new quality of the sleigh’s red paint. wispy curses gallop ahead, pulling the sleigh steadily, and snow crunches beneath their hooves. their bodies are tangled with green loops of rope, a cursed tool that attaches them to the sleigh and acts as a harness.

this is sweet, like the candy canes that suguru loves in the winter and the smell of the candles you’re planning to give him for christmas. you look ahead, silently savoring his company and the idyllic scene. it’s like you’ve just jumped into a photo on pinterest—you’ve got the clothes, sleigh, surroundings, and man to boot.

“my girl looks so pretty when she’s smiling,” suguru says softly, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “let me guess, is it the sleigh ride? or me?”

the gentle jingling of the sleigh bells grows distant as you turn toward him with a laugh, catching his eyes. “both. the scenery is beautiful, and so are you.”

he sticks out his tongue, rolling his eyes dramatically. “bleh, beautiful? really?”

“fine. handsome, sexy, attractive, delicious,” with each word, you lean an inch closer until your lips are so close and yet so far apart. your breath warms the small space between you and gets his heart picking up its pace. “is that better, sugu?”

“definitely, sweetheart,” suguru replies, cheeks heating up despite the cold air. “are you gonna kiss me or do i have to make the first move, like always?”

“oh, i was just teasing you,” you titter, pulling back the moment his fingertips ghost along your cheek. he throws you an offended glance, tipping his head up and jutting his chin out. “don’t look at me like that, you do this to me all the time.”

suguru shrugs nonchalantly, keeping his eyes ahead and focused on the reindeer-ish curses. a plethora of colors paints the sky as the sun disappears beyond the horizon, the temporary dawn illuminating the backs of the curses and emphasizing the shadows on the snow. a small bump in the otherwise smooth ride is just the beginning—a moment later, there seems to be a sudden choppiness that bucks you nearly a foot up off the bench. 

it seems like the runners have gotten caught on something, making the curses stumble off kilter. the sleigh swerves to the side and so do you with a startled gasp, right into suguru’s awaiting arms (and lap). he steals a kiss to your cheek, and the chaste action sends a ripple of heat through your body.

“seems like there’s been some turbulence,” suguru comments, his voice low near your ear.

“oh,” you flounder for something to say instead of moving off his lap, at a loss for words now that the little tease has been flipped on its head. “i wasn’t holding on, and the curses, they—they probably tripped.”

“they look fine to me,” he whispers, nodding towards the recovered curses in question. it’s as if they’d never stumbled in the first place. “it’s not like you tried to stop yourself.”

instead of coming up with some annoying, sly answer, you’re busy being consumed by suguru’s heated gaze. the desire is painfully obvious in those pretty eyes of his, and in those explorative touches along your back that make you shiver. he’s got his hands beneath your fluffy winter coat and on your skin, his fingers heating you up much faster than the downy material. 

“give me that kiss,” he almost demands, a pleading edge to his voice. “i caught you, didn’t i?”

at first, your lips meet gently—a soft touch that makes the world around you disappear. to encourage you closer, suguru’s hand lightly cradles your face, the pad of his thumb gingerly brushing over your jaw. for a moment, the kiss is full of something tender and sweet, but then something shifts into place and it deepens.

your breath catches in your throat as his lips move against yours urgently, right before he slips his tongue between your parted lips. your hands can’t help but seek purchase in his neatly bound hair, fingers pulling the dark tresses from their hold and tugging. he groans into your mouth, his cock hardening in his pants; the close proximity instills a sweltering heat inside you that radiates through your clothing and pools into your panties. 

the once frigid air now crackles with a certain electricity; he’s hot and hard beneath you, which is something that melts your inhibitions away like snow near a fireplace. are you actually about to cast away the cuteness of a sleigh ride in favor of something utterly filthy? yes, you are — and you don’t regret it one bit. clearly, suguru doesn’t either, not with the way he’s impatiently shifting you around on his lap.

“move your hips f’me, baby,” he grunts, nose bumping into yours when he comes up for air, his hands settling on each side of your waist. “show me how much you want this cock, hm?”

“o-okay,” you pant, chasing after his lips while you roll your hips onto him. god, you’re already soaking wet, just from weakly humping his clothed cock. whiny moans pour from your lips and he hushes you with endless kisses, along with a splayed hand at the small of your back, which guides you whenever you start to slow down.

the curses race onwards, and there’s a little more turbulence before there’s nothing at all. literally, nothing at all—confused, you crack open an eye, movements pausing as you take in your surroundings. just like magic, the sleigh is rising off the ground and being pulled into the dark sky. 

you’re trembling on suguru’s lap, half startled and half turned on. only he could have this effect on you, making you drip wetter with excitement at the prospect of flying into the clouds. the hand that was once resting on the small of your back now pushes into your skin insistently, and suguru’s acting as though you’re still on the ground, completely unfazed.

“why’d you stop, sweetheart? is something the matter?” the corners of his lips curl into a mischievous smile as he protectively hugs you closer. 

“we’re in the sky,” you swallow slowly, fingers absentmindedly toying with the metal button of his pants. silky, sable tresses blow in the air like thick ribbons behind him, and the comforting scent of his shampoo wafts into your face. “did you tell them to—what the hell even happened?”

suguru clasps your hands together with his own, helping you undo the button. he’s unbothered as he works the zipper down before moving onto what you’re wearing. “i suppose they brought us up here on their own,” he lifts you off of his lap, ignoring the small scream that tears from your throat. instead of letting you slip and fall out of the sleigh, suguru sits you down on the bench and sinks to his knees. 

dark pupils dilate against amethyst irises, his heavy gaze fixed on what’s between your thighs. yes, his favorite christmas gift; suguru could probably pass as santa claus, with how often he eats a certain cookie...

you’re trembling as suguru slowly peels the thin panties away from your wet cunt, his eyes hungrily following the glossy strings of slick that move with the material. brisk wind rushes into your face, and your eyes flutter shut in an attempt to resist the discomfort. 

“hey, it’s cold up here,” you complain, letting him pull your hips up to his face. you’re like putty in his hands and effortlessly giving in to him—suguru notices, and he’s ready to reward you. “my nose is—shit,” you gasp, breath catching in your throat when his tongue flicks through your sticky folds. 

“your nose is cold, honey?” he supplies, finishing your sentence for you while buried between your splayed legs. “tuck your face into your coat.”

all too soon, you’re reduced to a dumb, babbling mess—but this is what always happens when suguru’s between your thighs, eating your pussy like he’s been starving for days. that silky tongue of his roughly pushes into you, and his eyes dart up to yours in a silent command. 

use me, that look reads, and who are you to defy him?

with a breathless moan, you brace yourself with a hand in his hair and the other planted on the bench. “mmm, fuuck—was this what you’d been planning since we got into this thing?”

“maybe,” suguru murmurs coyly, smacking his lips before taking your clit between them. his cold, slick fingers nudge against your hot pussy when he slides them inside. the dichotomy between the temperatures makes your eyes roll back into your skull as you weakly thrust against his face. 

above the thin clouds, you’re only able to see the bright moon and the dimmed lights of the city beneath. you shakily inhale, surprised by the lack of oxygen this high up; each breath is more elusive the harder you pant, and it makes your head spin in a way that compliments suguru’s ministrations.

the tip of his nose brushes against your pelvic bone and he finds that he has trouble breathing too. he quickly forgets about the whole thing once he spits onto your clit, watching the shimmery glob trail down your slit and onto his fingers. your chest heaves in effort and you close your eyes, pushing suguru’s head deeper.

“mmmph, baby,” he moans wetly, grasping with his free hand to pull your body closer. “y-you’re always so fuckin’ hot, shit.”

oh, that’s right. it’s freezing up in the sky, but suguru’s like a match, keeping your fire stoked and fueling his own. 

your head weakly rests against the backing of the bench, lips parting around countless moans of ah’s and ooh’s. suguru’s shoulders shake as he devours you, the wind blowing his hair onto your thighs or against your tummy. it tickles, and because of the sensitivity, it’s also extremely stimulating—your hips jerk forward, clit throbbing between his lips.

as your cunt sporadically clenches around his relentless fingers, you feel your back arching up and off the bench, thighs squeezing tightly around his head. 

“h-hey, sugu,” you whimper breathlessly, “god, fuckkk—gonna cum, ‘m so close,” that unadulterated desperation in your voice sparks something inside him, something that compels him to yank you forward so he can really dive in. 

suguru’s smacking and licking sloppily at your overstimulated cunt, pushing you right off the edge and carrying you through the fall. a euphoric cry tears from your throat as you shudder uncontrollably, panting out clouds into the air. when you finally release him, his face is a complete mess—rosy cheeks glossy with wetness, nose and mouth smeared with sticky cream. 

and his eyes—they’re sparkling like he’s just opened the best christmas gift ever, some kind of horny joy shining in his violet irises. 

“s-shit,” you exhale, drunk on him as much as he is you, “we need to go down a ‘lil, can’t breathe.”

suguru lets out a small laugh at your slurred words, wiping a hand across his face while the curses start to gallop downwards at a slow pace. he sidles up beside you on the bench, making no move to pull your pants up for you. 

“that’s not fair,” you shiver, blindly rifling around for your panties if they haven’t fallen out of the sleigh. “y-you’ve still got all your clothes on.”

he tugs you toward him, effectively halting your search for the panties. “sweetheart, i’m nowhere near finished with you.”

“yeah?” you snark, teeth chattering, “gonna even the playing field and strip down too?”

“already taken care of,” he hums, pulling you into his lap. suguru’s boxers and pants are bunched at his knees and you’re mere inches away from his cock. damn, he must’ve done all that while you were talking to him.. again and again, he proves he’s great with his fingers.

“be a good girl ‘n sit down on it,” he huffs, an arm wrapped around you while he holds his cock upright by the base. with the moon behind you as your only source of light, though dim, you can see the thick outline of his length and even the veins that run along it. it’s always a stretch with him, and you sniffle out a whine as you slowly sink down.

“what a greedy fucking pussy,” suguru bites out, watching as it swallows inch after inch of his cock. once he finally bottoms out inside you, tip flush against your cervix, you’re both groaning, although he’s much louder than you.

“god, you’re just the gift that keeps on giving.”

you clumsily paw at his shoulders, mewling when he gifts your bare ass with a smack. it already stings, and the cool air immediately rushes over the skin, providing a few extra licks of pain. suguru lightly nips at your neck, tongue flicking behind your earlobe.

“ride it, sweetheart. don’t make me have to help you out, ‘kay?”

you nod, teeth sinking into your lower lip. he’s so damn deep, filling you up and stretching you out all at once. slowly, you raise your hips and steady yourself; then you’re starting to bounce on his cock, feeling each punchy thrust right into your cervix. 

“sugu—oooh! f-fuck, ngh,” you’re breathing hard and sucking up the thin air, sweat beading on your forehead as you exert yourself. no longer are the sleigh bells jingling softly; instead, they’re rattling against the wood because of the high speed. but with his cock inside you, making your tummy bulge just a little, you’re unable to fully comprehend the fact that you’re racing through the sky. 

sable tresses drape over the edge of the bench, tangling in the blowing wind and flying into your faces. suguru’s gasping, and his flushed lips are kissing away the drool that seeps from the corner of your lips. 

he feels amazing, but it’s nearly impossible to fight off the exhaustion that settles in your limbs and prepares to stay. the once loud smacks of skin against skin and wet squelches begin to diminish quickly as you wilt against him, head hanging over his shoulder tiredly.

“‘m sorry, sugu,” you cry, feeling the tingling sparks of euphoria dissipating inside you, “i really—oh, i can’t keep going . . need you to make us cum, sugu.”

gingerly, he plants a kiss to your neck and chuckles, grabbing at your ass like freshly made dough. “thought i said i wouldn’t,” he grouses, although he’s not entirely upset. “who’s gonna control the curses, hmm?”

“we’ll be fine,” you mumble, sliding your cold hands up beneath his coat and shirt. “just for a minute or two. you started it, so finish it.”

“oooh, aren’t you sassy,” suguru clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes before wrapping a light hand around your throat. his fingers don’t dig too hard into the sides of your neck and you’re a little thankful since the air’s so thin up here. “if we start plummeting, it’s your turn.”

“stop it,” you huff, eyelids fluttering shut when he finally sets his hand onto your hip and starts to move you. god, he’s balls deep and groaning your name, along with various curses and praises. wet squelches and sticky smacks of skin on skin fill the air—the utterly nasty sounds have you squeezing hard around him.

his grip tightens on your neck and he grits his teeth, feeling the beginning sparks of pure bliss. it’s no use when he’s inside you, but he tries to fight it off any way, cheeks splotching a darker pink. “ngh, shit. i need to—hah—feel you cum with me, all over my cock.”

all too quickly, your hand wanders between your legs, and you gasp out clouds of breath when your fingers find your swollen clit. through the haze, you’re able to notice the new course of the sleigh—you’re racing downwards, much like a car on a rollercoaster.

your stomach flips and you start to sob out his name, enamored by the exhilarating rush of it all. “s-sugu, fuckkk—‘m gonna cum.”

“yeah?” he pants, gripping your waist hard enough to leave bruises. you feel him adjust you to the side, giving his cock deeper access at another angle. “you better cum hard for me, sweetheart. we’re not getting off this damn sleigh ‘til you’re crying.”

as if on cue, a few horny tears gather in your eyes, but they don’t splash down your cheeks just yet. you hiccup out his favorite words, eyes rolling back into your skull. “yes, r-right there! fuck, ‘m cumming,” suguru interprets this as permission to finally cum too, and his mouth falls open, cock spurting white into you.

in your boots, your toes curl as your cunt squeezes him impossibly deeper, the both of you temporarily oblivious to the bumpy sleigh. the city lights are suddenly becoming clear, and suguru regains control of the curses, his energy flaring as he commands them to fly back up.

“heh, that was close,” he lets out a shaky exhale and releases his grip on your neck, pulling you into his chest. the winter coats swish quietly as they come into contact with one another, and suguru feels a persistent buzzing at his side. “you were supposed to take control if that happened. lazy girl.”

“if you were asphyxiating like i was, i think you’d also be tired,” you sigh, shivering as suguru notices a persistent buzzing at his side. in a pathetic attempt to prevent him from picking up and answering, you mischievously start to shift on his lap again. but really, who the hell is calling him right now and why is there still reception this high up?

that inevitable sensitivity creeps up on him and makes him shudder as he pulls out his phone, clumsily swiping to answer on a very familiar caller id. his shaky thumb misses the green button and he bites his lip, stiffening when you press your lips to the shell of  his ear.

“aw, don’t answer it,” you murmur, voice smooth and easily convincing. oh, he’s quick to notice the dazed, blissed out look in your half lidded eyes and the sultry implication in your next words. “c’mon, sugu. you’ll ruin all the fun.”

but it’s too late. letting out a resigned sigh, suguru shakes his head and finally answers the phone. with a precarious glance tossed your way, he hoarsely speaks up. “hello? satoru?”

“took you long enough, suguru,” gojo’s cheerful voice rings through the phone, confident and unbothered. “what’s going on up there? i can feel your cursed energy going haywire. it’s all over the damn sky.”

he freezes immediately, fingers cautiously digging into the plush skin of your hips. you offer him an innocent shrug, adjusting on his cock once more; heat flares in his gut and he flounders for words. “satoru, it’s . . nothing important. it’s just the rainbow dragon flying around, heh.” shameless delight has your heart kicking in your ribcage when your ears catch the unusual tightness in his voice.

“nothing important?” gojo laughs, the smirk obvious in his voice. “you’re causing a storm over the city. and come on! you haven’t summoned that one in years.”

suguru’s face twists into a grimace and he desperately tries to stay quiet against the quickening pace of your rocking hips. he hopes that the awkwardness will be enough of a hint and dissolve into the goodbye he’s been dying for since picking up the phone.

“it’s coming down in waves.” gojo laughs at the silence, pausing briefly to look up into the sky. it takes him a moment, but he’s able to push past the choking plumes of suguru’s cursed energy to pinpoint yours. “oh, wait. holddd up, suguru.”

“huh? look, i’ve gotta go, satoru,” he nearly stumbles over his words, “i’m busy with some new curses.”

“don’t tell me you’re busy with her up there, suguru,” gojo remarks suggestively, “no wonder you’re flying all around like a cursed santa claus.”

suguru’s face flushes and he glances helplessly at you, searching your face in hopes of coming up with an acceptable answer. “cut it out. we’re just fine, satoru.”

“bleh, you could’ve just rented a plane, you freak.”

suguru doesn’t even entertain his best friend with a response, swiftly hanging up and tossing the phone to the bench. “i hope you’re happy,” he grumbles dryly, cock twitching inside you. “that was fun, huh?”

he’s half irritated, half in seventh heaven. “i know, i know. he’ll forget about it in a month.”

“in a few months,” suguru corrects you with narrowed eyes that still glint with playfulness despite his embarrassment. he pulls you close as the sleigh starts to drift toward the ground, the curses bracing to land. “besides the call, that was a great ride.”

you can’t stop grinning, leaning in to kiss away the pout on his lips. “next time, leave your phone at home so you don’t get us into this mess again, hehe.”

[quarterlifekitty]

thinkin bout lightly angsty sex post-kidnapping. some nefarious organization heard that there was some sweet number one of the boys had gotten attached too (you), and they wasted no time going scorched earth to get you back.

So. I’m gonna make this crazy ass. Fair warning. By the way, what do you guys think of as the sweetest number? I think it might be 3 or 4. Idk why.

cw: violence, trauma, Ghost not being a qualified therapist, dubcon

Anyways, imagine Ghost getting you back in his arms. While you’d always known he was in the armed forces, you never really knew any of the details. Now you’ve seen a little too much of that world. He burned the world to get you back, but it didn’t burn fast enough for you to escape unharmed.

You’re told it’s been six months. Six months you were kept in darkness most hours of the day, six months spent ducking in and out of cement rooms with ceilings barely tall enough to let you stand up straight.

Six months of being made to kill other prisoners if you wanted to live. Being attacked by others who’d been kept in darkness longer than you. Weaker, but angrier.

Ghost used to feel guilt over it— always needing you for comfort from the things he’d seen, while it seemed you never needed him for the same.

But now you need him more than you’ve ever needed anyone. He knows you, and he knows what it’s like to have blood on your hands that never washes away. He knows how the stench of rot can fill your nose all the way up to your brain, and how it can feel like the sun has the power to melt your eyes from your skull.

Half the time you cling to him so hard you break skin, the other half you claw and kick because you can’t bear to be touched.

He doesn’t have time to feel guilty over getting you into this. You need him.

Maybe it’s not the right thing to do, but it’s the only way he knows how to get you to settle. To relax. To go limp like a kitten caught by the scruff.

He holds you down and makes you cum until you can barely lift your head. He just wants you to feel good, to let him worry about all this shit going on, just unclench your teeth and give up. You don’t need to keep fighting, not when he’s here to do it for you.

You’ve spent years taking his mind away from all he’s seen and done. He’s intent on returning the favor.

[systems-overloaded]

ill make a seperate post with the non-professional advice i give anyone with mental illness (active or history of) that is seeing a physical medical doctor. because this post ended up pretty long.

~

this is about some of our experiences of mental health issue affecting physical health care. as well as our physical health conditions affecting/interacting with our mental health conditions.

--

forewarning, it is a very long read. i tried to condense it, but i struggle to do that.

--

ooph, this shit is so true. although i do think there's a good amount of truth in neurosciences, i just think there are alot of /neurologists/ specifically that are shams, or at least extremely biased and prejudiced about alot of things. neurologists also seem to have the biggest ego of all specialists drs ive seen.

~

i have a couple genetic disorders, which like i have the clinical profiles for and also have genetic tests that match. but only after alot of years of progressively getting worse and going to so many doctors to try to find out why. i actually had to do a bunch of research when i could, even analysed my raw dna data from an ancestry test, found a specialist in the suspected disorders, and got a very clear clincal diagnosis, then got official WGS testing to further confirm that.

so my self-diagnosis was right for a good couple of my disorders actually, but most were diagnosed by others after the other diagnoses were confirmed.

(like evidence of one phsyical disorder made other drs start to take my other symptoms seriously thankfully, bc now it was less likely to be mental illness/conversion symptoms in their eyes.)

but one of the /very first diagnosis/ that a neurologist tried to give me was Functional Neurological Disorder (which i do think is understood to be a bit different now than conversion syndrome, but to most drs it meant the same thing back then. even now, alot of doctors use FND and conversion disorder interchangeably, they think FND is just conversion disorder but "rebranded" so there's less pushback about a diagnosis, which isnt true.)

but FND is a diagnosis of exclusion. thank fuck my moms knowledgeable about stuff and said "no, you cannot diagnose my child that from one conversation and zero tests except routine labs, thats only by exclusion. you have done no tests to investigate their symptoms." so it never was an offical dx, but it was in the doctors notes still, which follow me to other doctors unfortunately.

it should never be the first thing a neurologist diagnoses or suggests to someone. he probably tried to for me because i was on medicine for anxiety depression and OCD, and was having alot of neurological symptoms.

(he also tried to say all my decline, daily headaches and constant migraines id developed after a TBI was just "post concussion syndrome" and "stress", but it was still going on 4+ years at that point. we had no idea PCS is not supposed to last that long, and trusted him about that at least. but when i had to switch drs, my new neurologist was actually /appalled/ the previous one didnt do further tests, or even get an updated MRI. he honestly seemed in disbelief that the old dr was trying to tell us it was "totally normal" to still be so affected after so long, let alone be having a decline as well.)

id literally had to stop my OCD meds very abruptly and have awful withdraws because he (the old negligent neurolgist) refused to do any further testing until i stopped that medicine (without consulting a psychiatrist even, he just said i had to stop it. such such dangerous and reckless doctor advice/order).

i was progressively declining and having alot of seizures and different dangerous medical events. so i stopped it and suffered bad withdraws ontop of everything else that was happening, went back to him, just for him to say it mustve been stress still, i was "stressed".

-

"its stress" is a dr code phrase for "i dont have any idea whats happening with this patient but my ego will never let me admit that, so im going to blame the patient and say its all anxiety".

alot of drs wont admit if they dont know something. but all of my good drs, who have actually been investigating things and gotten to the bottom of a couple of my disorders, have admitted that because im a complex case, they dont know which issues are being caused by what.

they do tests to rule out or confirm major issues and then we try meds/treatments for various things to see if they help to try and find origins. and sometimes we just wont know what a symptom is from, but the goal is to find ways to improve my quality of life and capabilities, while doing frequent testing to keep an eye on the issue. like, all my best drs put their egos aside and say "lets investigate together".

i have been failed in alot of ways by the medical systems and doctors, but i have also had good drs and recieved alot of help as well.

--

but alot of that good help, only came after advocating and fighting like hell for my symptoms to be investigated properly. after doing a fuck-ton of research myself because the system was failing me and i was dying (literally), then finding a specialist in what i suspected was my main issue. they investigated and tested for it properly, then gave me a clincial diagnosis, then "proof" of the disorder via genetic testing later on.

--

im actually lucky in the sense that i actually have some known variants. because a couple of my genetic disorders dont always have known variants found yet, and despite myself having a very clear clincal profile, some doctors didnt even want to "accept" the diagnosis i was given, until they saw a clear genetic marker. even though i was diagnosed already, it was always "patient suspects ____ disorder, still awaiting WGS test to confirm.", "patient has concerns of ___ disorder, no genetic testing done yet.", "patients claims was diagnosed with ____, but no genetic testing done."

if my doctors hadnt been refusing to treat me for my other disorders, "until genetic tests come back", then i wouldnt have tried to get testing, because alot of drs who specialize in this disorder advocate for patients to NOT get testing, because even if someone has a clear clinical diagnosis and treatments are helping, if genetic results come back negative some doctors will take away the clinical diagnosis, stop treatments, and slap a conversion/FND label on them. then the patient doesnt improve because they dont have that, they have a genetic disorder with an un-found variant.

like, im talking about a disorder that the vast majority of people who have it, DO NOT have an identified variant, and it has clear clinical diagnostic requirements, which i fit. its not a diagnosis of exclusion, i fit the clinical tests and profiles, but so many doctors wouldnt accept my diagnosis unless i had a genetic test showing positive.

--

from the time of clinical diagnosis to actually getting testing was a little over 4 years, and my other doctors were all still treating my very real, very clear clincal diagnosis as if i was just suspecting it. so everything, all treatments except for PT (which always made me worse, which is a known thing with my disorder) and some of the meds i was already on, was being delayed and put into limbo, of "lets wait for the genetic test first", even things unrelated to that diagnosis.

everyone said i needed WGS before anything else, but insurance wouldnt cover it, even with appeals, and fighting for so many years for it. so i had to try and save for it myself which is crazy hard when you're disabled with no income. while saving up, we were still trying to get insurance to cover it.

--

so in this circumstance, thank fuck i actually had some known variants! because if i hadnt? i honestly would be dead. and i firmly believe that would be due to medical negligence and malpractice. which i also firmly believe was rooted in mental illness stigma, and stigma/bias due to the fact that an abuser was intefering with my health care (still is actually) by calling doctors offices and telling them that i have munchausens and/or by proxy.

(which i consider this to still be a mental health stigma/bias issue, not a genuine concern, bc alot of the tests and diagnoses i had are not something that someone can fake??? so seeing those shouldve made drs not take my abuser's words seriously, had they not been so biased about it, had it not clouded their judgment so much.)

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

also, on the topic of phsyical abilities affecting mental health:

ooph i also have alot to say about that, in particular how my disabilities affect my OCD, and sometimes needing other people to engage in my compulsions for me, which sounds really weird when i word it like that.

and often i cant engage in some compulsions, or others cant get things "just right" for me, thats a major theme/pattern for my OCD. so ive basically been getting exposure therapy more and more as my physical abilities declined. and its awful awful for both me and my caregivers/helpers when im trying to convey while very stressed the exact way they need to place something or do something, etc. and when im overhwlemed or dysregulated (like how OCD can cause) then im very prone to meltdowns and to speech loss episodes as well, which then interferes with being able to communicate what i need in that moment too.

~

and needing help requires so much vulnerability, often i have people willing to help. safe people, who i love and the logical part of me knows would never actually hurt me. but with traumas and triggers, sometimes i just dont shower, or dont change my clothes, or i hold my urine in, or dont do some other things if i require help.

(and having experiences that match a PDA autism profile, whether from trauma or autism or a mix of both idk. can make all that worse too. i deny my own needs, even when i can do them, because my body is trying to demand it from me, which feels like a threat to my autonomy and choices.)

on the phsyical capabilities level though, i try to wait it out as long as i can until i can muster the energy and abilities to do something myself, or until i cant wait longer and need help. ill try to orient myself to remind i am safe, and sometimes just have to face those emotions, face those triggers.

i know that sounds bad, and i mean it is bad. i dont want to downplay it too much, but i also think its a fairly normal response to the things have have happened to me, and the loss of control my illnesses cause/create/exacerbate.

i have all the supports in place to be able to recieve that help, im often needing that help, but i need to try to hold onto control and autonomy as much as possible that id rather be lacking in my hygeine (especially bc im not even leaving the house or being very active to get sweaty or gross), or have abdominal pain from holding urine/bowel movements in, than traumatize myself if i might just be able to wait a longer until i have the ability to transfer myself and clean myself.

-

my mental illnesses and PTSD affect my willingness to recieve the help from safe and well meaning people even when i do need it. and that then further can affect my mental and/or phsyical health.

like, its just a really shitty situation, that im still trying to learn the best way to cope with. trying to find the best way to let myself recieve help. to let myself to vulnerable, to truly /feel/ that its safe to ask for help even. not logically know, but actually feel it.

thankfully, my main caregiver is respectful of my "no's", and even if shell emphasize if i need to shower, check ive ate or drank water, and offer me help if i need it, she respects when i say "i need help but i dont want it, ill let you know when it gets to the point you need to be hands-on."

shes well meaning, but we still have some communication issues, especially when i have alot more speech issues, and can struggle to communicate to her.

i often think others can read my mind, not in the delusion way, but in the sense that i assume others can read my body lanaguge (even when im not being physically expressive, flat face, etc), and that the way i feel and the things i need are just already understood by others.

and i dont always realize how different some of my thinking patterns/needs are from others as well, and assume they experience some of the same things, so they are just automatically understand.

-

and ive had multiple instances now, when i was having anaphalaxis, but have traumas around needles i cant control (and auto injectors count as a needle i cant control). ive had to wait until i was too incapacitated from an allergic reaction, to have my mom inject me with an epipen.

i am mentally incapable of injecting an auto injector, and will physically resist when capable too even if i want the epinephrine. i can get really severe flashbacks just /thinking/ about needles being inside me. i cannot get the body to do it.

so, i have given prior consents for her to be able to inject me with an epipen if im having really bad reactions even if i say no. but she has had to wait until im too weak or sick, or just dissociated and disconnected and in fawn/flop/freeze rather than fight/flight, to inject me.

so its at least not too bad of a trauma, but it is still extremely traumatic. to need that, and to need someone i love and feel safe with, need to be the person that injects that needle i cant control.

---

well, this was a very long responses. seems when i do post, i write alot. i can struggle to condense and summarize things well, so i apologize if there was too many details or words.

just writing to the void of the internet, a world of strangers and bots. so if feels like i can be more open i think.

i cant speak for everyone but i feel like it's underrated just how much impact being physically disabled has on mental health. because physically disabled people often have to remind others that we struggle with mental health issues that it sometimes sounds like an afterthought to others. but it's a real impact of being physically disabled. being unable to go outside or leave the bed worsens depression. having actively declining health worsens depression because part of depression is being unable to imagine a future for yourself. it also creates anxiety. you have to rely on people. on carers, family, the government. it's hard to assure anxiety when you are in a precarious position and the "worst case scenario" is not something you can circumvent or deal with, because lack of care will kill you. has killed people like you. being told you are worthless, that people like you should die or never live in the first place has a big impact on mental health. being physically disabled and unable to defend yourself, being forced to rely on people, opens up a lot of opportunities for abuse and trauma. being in pain is traumatic, medical procedures may be traumatic - and being a disabled child leads you to be doubly vulnerable. people often have to focus on their physical needs to keep them alive - to keep them clean and fed and such. and with such little energy to spare it is difficult to manage mental health. all the stigma surrounding mental health doesn't disappear because you're already disabled. sometimes when you do reach out people will just focus on trying to make you less disabled in order to cure the mental illness issue, instead of giving you the tools to help manage it in your current and real life.

[scribblesofagoonerr]

new girlfriend drama | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

summary: leah finally introduces her new girlfriend, elle, to buddy and monkey

double the trouble masterlist

The buzz of the stadium surrounded you as you waited inside the tunnel,  lined up with the rest of the team - Leah was standing at the front, the Captain's armband proudly displayed around her arm in the absence of Kim.

It was matchday, and you were hyped.

You were focused, determined and ready to win.

And what's better? You were playing against Aston Villa, meaning you were going head to head with Jordan.

"Boo!" You crept up behind the smaller woman, wrapping your arm around her shoulder, "Happy birthday, Mama!"

"Thanks, little one," Jordan smiled, reaching up to stand on her tiptoes since you had that slight advantage of tallness over her as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, "Good luck out there, yeah? Don't go scoring on me now!"

"Pfft, as if," You waved her off, reluctant to wipe the smirk on your face, "Have you seen Buddy yet? I know she wanted to give you her present!"

"Not yet, but I'm sure I'll catch up with her after the game," Jordan replied, still smiling.

You felt a nudge on your shoulder as your eyes darted round to meet Leah's, "Are you ready, my girl? You've got this, stay sharp, yeah?"

"I always do!" You grinned back, a bit too confident for your own good.

"Don't get too cocky now. We could win," Jordan warned, her tone amused.

"We will see," Leah chuckled, shaking her head in amusement, "Good luck, and happy birthday, Jord!" She wished her ex-girlfriend belated birthday wishes.

"Yeah, don't cry when I nutmeg you!" You couldn't help but chip in cheekily, just as the familiar beat kicked in to the sound of 'London's calling' and you began to walk out, proud to the loud roar of the fans around the stadium.

This was your game, no question.

After the game, you were drenched, your body aching from the torrential rain that hadn't let up the entire 90 minutes. The only thing you wanted right now was to get changed, find warmth and collapse in bed.

But Leah had other plans, apparently.

"When you're done getting changed, I want you to come with me. I've got someone for you to meet," The blonde said, catching you in the midst of getting ready in the dressing room after the victory celebration.

You couldn't resist the groan that slipped out your mouth, "Seriously?"

"Yes," Leah replied, stifling a smile as she shook her head, "I really think you'll like her. Just hurry up and get dressed, okay?"

"Urgh," You grumbled, not in the mood for introductions at all.

You were soaked to the bone from playing in the miserable British weather for the whole match, and the last thing you wanted to do right now was to meet somebody.

That did not sit well with you.

"Why? I'm coooold!" You didn't hesitate to complain at all, you were making it very well known that you weren't in the mood to meet anybody.

Regardless of whoever they might be.

"Well you won't be that cold if you hurry up and get changed," Leah retorted, collecting all of her own things together to get ready to leave, "Come on, hurry up."

"Urgh, what's with all the fuss?" You huffed in disagreement.

You were soon to find out what all the fuss was about - Leah wanted you to meet her new girlfriend, which you had mixed feelings about.

You definitely found it weird when Leah started seeing someone new. You were briefly aware of this new girlfriend, Elle, you knew she was someone special to Leah - but you never actually met her, even during pre-season in America or that unforgettable trip to Nashville. 

You knew it was bound to happen one day, and apparently today was the infamous day to meet Elle Smith, otherwise known as Miss USA.

For as long as you can always remember since you moved in with Leah and Jordan, it had always been the two of them, and they were a team within a team, both on and off the pitch - well until Jordan ended up moving to Aston Villa, but that's a different story.

Of course you knew both Leah and Jordan would find different partners, but that didn't mean you had to like it.

You definitely did not.

"Quit looking so grumpy," Leah nudged your shoulder.

"I don't want to meet her," You complained for what felt like the hundredth time, as you waited for the lift to take you upstairs where you were about to finally meet the woman that Leah had been seeing for quite some time now, "I'm cold, I'm tired. I just want to go home and go to bed. That's it, I don't want to meet Elle."

You were really in a bad mood after the game, although you had won with a 4 nil victory, it had poured down with rain throughout the whole game and as a result, you now felt completely miserable.

You also felt pretty bad about the loss for Jordan and her team, especially since the fixture was on her birthday as well.

It was a tough loss for her, and she didn’t waste any time hanging around either.

It was definitely not a good idea for Leah to decide to introduce you to her new girlfriend now of all times while you felt so grumpy.

"Why not? I really think you might like her," Leah replied, her tone light but firm.

"Yeah, well, I don't... " You shot back, pouting, "Why do I' gotta meet her?"

Leah exhaled a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Would you stop? Look, I really like Elle, and I'm happy. So, now I just want you girls to finally meet her, okay?"

"Whatever," You muttered, but the tension was still there.

"Monkey, stop," Leah chastised, knowing there was people around, "There's people around here still." She reminded you with a knowing look, but it still didn't stop you from sulking.

"I wouldn't be complaining so much if you weren't forcing me to meet her," Your retorted, voice full of bratty annoyance.

"You make it sound like it's such a terrible thing," Leah spoke aloud, exhaling a deep sigh as her patience was wearing thin, "I really want you girls to meet Elle, I think you'll like her." She added.

"She can't replace Jordan," You muttered, still not convinced.

"I wouldn't ever dream of that happening, my girl," Leah said, her voice soft but serious, as if to reassure you.

"This lift is taking forever!" You complained as you felt like the lift was taking forever to reach the top.

Leah chuckled, shaking her head as she responded to a text on her phone, "Anything else you want to complain about today?" She teased.

"Well... Now that you mention it--" You begin to speak, caught off guard by the lift door opening and you're met with your favourite little buddy, "Buddy!" You shout, your grumpiness quickly overturned seeing the three year old.

"Monks'!" The said three year old plows into your legs, her eyes wide with excitement as she wraps both her arms around you, "Miss 'ou soooo much!" She told you, dramatically.

"I missed you soooo much too!" You retorted, playfully as you ruffled her hair.

Buddy's attention didn't last long on you though as she spotted Leah, "Mummy!" Not hesitating to run over to her and launch herself on her.

"Oft, there's my little bubba!" Leah crouches down to meet her, just in time for a bear hug that leaves her grinning, "Hiya! Did you watch all of the game?"

"Uh huh! I' got 'cited when Monks' scored!" Buddy rambled, her voice full of excitement.

"You saw that? I made sure to score just for you!" You joked, grinning from ear to ear.

Buddy continued to beam a wide smile, her excitement tangible, "Ou' score good goal, Monks'!" 

"Well done today sweetheart. Very impressive!" Amanda chimed in, proud.

"I try my best," You waved off the praise with a smile, still not entirely used to it.

Leah straightened up and motioned to Elle, who stood a little further back to come a bit closer, "Right girls, come here. I'd like for you to both meet someone very important too me, okay?"

"Who are 'ou?" Buddy questions, her voice full of innocent curiosity.

"Girls, this is Elle, and she's mummy's special friend," Leah carefully introduced her to you both, making sure that Buddy was able to understand her words, "Do you think you can say hi?" She asked, guiding you both forward.

"Hi. I' Buddy!" Buddy of course was eager to meet her, waving enthusiastically.

"Hi there, Buddy! It's very nice to meet you," Elle crouches down to Buddy's level with a kind smile on her face, "And you must be Monkey?"

You nod faintly, shoving your heads in your trouser pockets, "Alright."

"Don't mind Monkey," Leah quickly added, "She's not very keen on meeting new people. Don't take it personally."

"I don't like you, so listen 'ere, yeah?" You started, channeling all your gangster-watching vibes  going through a current phase of watching the Kray Twins, the two famous London gangsters, "You hurt me' mum, and I know exactly where to hide bodies. So, don't even think about it, or you should learn to sleep with one eye open. Got it?"

Elle's face flickered with confusion, her eyes darting between you and Leah, unsure what to make of the threat, "Uh, right. Gotcha," She muttered, clearly thrown off by the whole interaction.

Leah rolled her eyes, quickly covering your mouth with her hand, "Ignore her, she's going through a phase right now," She told Elle, shooting you  a stern look, "You be quiet, you are still scared to sleep without the light on fifty percent of the time. You're not hard at all, so zip it."

You go wide-eyed, your cheeks burn as the tough act completely falls apart.

You go to open your mouth in protest, however it doesn't turn out the way you planned, "Don't even think about it," Leah warned you with a pointed finger.

"Rooooar!"  Buddy's eccentric voice was loud throughout the whole restaurant, where you'd been forced to come after the game, "Elle! Do 'ou like dino'daurs?" She was eager to know, forcefully trying to shove the plastic dinosaur into Elle's own hand.

"Are you kidding? You bet I do!" Elle agreed, accepting the sticky covered dinosaur out of Buddy's grasp since the three year old attempted to dunk it directly in the chocolate sauce of her ice cream sundae, "Do you have a favourite one that you like?"

"Uh huh! I 'ove my dino'daurs!" Buddy nodded, smiling from ear to ear as she animatedly chatted to Elle all about the different dinosaurs she had, which was the best out of them, "Steg'saurus da' bestest!"

Unlike Buddy, you still hadn't easily been convinced as you sat there, your arms crossed over your chest as you didn't hold back the eye roll as you watched Buddy and Elle interact with each other. Leah sat across from them, smiling fondly at the two, but you couldn't help but feel a little left out of the joy.

You weren't keen to be here at all.

You slumped in your seat, barely glancing up from your phone as you fiddled with it, pretending to not care about anything happening around you. The restaurant was bustling with energy, people talking, laughing, but you just couldn't seem to get into it.

Leah immediately clocked your reluctance to join in on the conversation, "Cheer up my girl."

"Why? I don't want to be here!" You grumbled, making it very well known about your feelings for being in the restaurant at that current moment.

Leah exhaled a sigh, sending you a knowing look, "I know you might not, but can you at least pretend like you're having fun?"

"But I'm not though..." You don't sugar-coat your words, you definitely don't want to be here, and you're not about to act like you do.

"We'll be going home in a bit," Leah told you, resisting the urge to roll her own eyes as she caught sight of you scrunching your face up in further protest,"You know, if you continue to screw your face up like that then it might stick like it,  eh?"

"Ha ha, very funny," You deadpan, rolling your eyes at the blondes' wittiness.

"I know it seems like a lot, but come on, Buddy's warmed up to her. Do you think you might be able to do the same for me?" Leah tries her luck, hoping that you might change your mind, or at least be somewhat nice to Elle.

You continue to scowl across the table at the American woman, "I don't like her."

"You don't know her well enough to decide that though right now," Leah explains, her tone of voice gentle as she understands this might be hard for you to grasp.

"My minds already made up," You shake your head in protest, slumping back down into your seat,"When can we go home? I'm bored."

Leah exhales a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, "In a bit. Just try and cheer up a bit, please?"

"But I'm bored, like super bored here, and I can do so much more at home!" You exclaim.

"So, Monkey," Elle begins, catching your attention now Buddy's sole focus is on the sticker book in front of her, or more so, the stickers she's putting everywhere around the table and chairs, coats, bags, phone cases, you name it - if it's there in eye-sight, its' been stickered.

You couldn't resist the smirk that appeared on your face, "So, she-devil..."

"Monkey," Leah scolded, fixing you with a sharp pointed look.

"What? I think it's a cute nickname," You feigned innocence, holding your hands up in the air in mock-surrender, "I can try another, if you'd like?"

Leah narrowed her eyebrow, "Watch it."

"Alright, alright," You rolled your eyes at the blonde sat opposite you, "What's up, El-Dog?" You tried again.

"Monkey," Leah repeated, continuing to look at you with a sharp look.

You huffed in response, not holding back on another eye roll and slumping back to lean against your chair, "Oh come on, you know I like nicknames... Elle... I don't know what rhymes with it," You retorted, shrugging your shoulders.

"You're very funny," Elle chimed in.

"Thank you, I'm training to be a part time comedian," You told her in a sarcastic tone of voice, a shit-eating grin on your face, having more enjoyment in winding this woman up, "Want to hear a knock-knock joke?"

"No she's not, she's winding you up," Leah interjected before you had the chance to spout anything more, "Knock it off, Menace. I mean it."

Elle chuckled, waving her hand off as she didn't seem so phased by your reluctance to speak to her, "So, Monkey, is that like a nickname you have?"

"I don't know, Elle, is yours a nickname for something else?" You shot back, innocently.

"Monkey is one of her many nicknames," Leah chimed in, "My other favourite ones' for her are Menace and my girl, both of them very self-explanatory."

"I see," Elle nodded in agreement, taking a moment to take a sip of her drink, "Leah tells me that you really like Lego. That's cool."

You didn't dare bat an eye, "Yeah, so, what's it to you?"

"Monkey, enough of that," Leah chided, nudging your shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess..." You begrudgingly agreed, leaning forward and attempting to blow bubbles in your drink with the straw, "I find it cool, and it helps me calm down sometimes, and whatnot."

Leah gave you a faint smile and nodded, "My whole house is overrun with Lego since both the girls love it so much."

"Duh? Lego is amazing, Malfoy!" You perked up, not resisting the urge to call Leah out by a nickname, since they're one of your favourite things to give people.

Elle shared a confused look between yourself and Leah, "Malfoy? Like, uh, Harry Potter?" She questioned.

"Yep!" Your excitement suddenly reached a new level, nodding your head in agreement, ditching blowing bubbles in your drink, "Have you ever watched it? Le definitely has a haircut like him!"

"Brilliant," Leah muttered in disbelief, shaking her head, "I think I preferred it when you were quiet instead now after all."

"I'm bored again," You complained dramatically, setting your drink down.

Leah rolled her eyes and reached into her own bag and pulled out some colouring pages and crayons, "Here. Happy now?"

Your eyes lit up despite yourself, “Colouring? Yes!” Grabbing the crayons, you started to scribble, regardless of the fact of your age, you were at least somewhat occupied for the time being.

“See?” Leah said, laughing softly, “I told you she’s harmless. She’s just a big kid, it’s unreal.”

“I’m not a big kid…” You felt a heat rise in your cheeks, not liking being called out like that, but you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corners of your lips. 

“Keep telling yourself that,” Leah teased, ruffling your hair. 

“Accusations. False accusations!” You grumbled underneath your breath, however, you grabbed a crayon and continued to scribble on the page. You weren’t fully ready to warm up to Elle, but slowly started to let the walls come down.

Buddy's little face scrunched up in concentration as she started to tug at Leah's hand, "Mummy! I... I' need toilet!" She exclaimed,  the urgency in her voice leaving no room for hesitation.

Leah didn't even flinch at the sudden demand, "Come on then, bubba. We'd better go find it quickly," She said, getting to her feet, quick and straight to the point, "You play nice, alright?"

You rolled your eyes at the interaction, turning your attention to your phone, "Pfft, oh please... I always play nice!" You muttered to yourself, though your eyes were glued to the screen instead of the woman in the room.

Elle, sensing the lull in the conversation, turned to you with a curious smile, "So, Monkey, what is that you like to do?"

You didn't immediately respond, not feeling particularly inclined to talk to her. But then, an idea flashed in your mind that could be so much better than small talk.

This might just be your chance to get someone else on board for the ultimate adventure -- skydiving!

"Oh, I have hobbies!" You said with an enthusiastic grin, "Yeah, I'm so adventurous and that. Like skydiving and all the different things like that!"

Elle raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but cautious, "Skydiving, huh? That sounds kind of dangerous. Are you allowed to do things like that, with you being a professional footballer?"

"Oh, yeah, totally!" You waved your hand dismissively, like it was the least of your worries, "Do you want to go? We could go together, and it could be so fun!"

"Uh..." Elle hesitated for a second, but then to your surprise, shrugged, "Sure, that does sound like fun!"

You were now all but practically bouncing in your seat, a grin spreading across your face, "Awesome! So, uh, where is it that you live in America?" You decided it was probably best to try and ask some questions to at least seem interested, at least you hoped it was America where she lived.

Elle seemed to enjoy the change in pace as she answered, "Oh, I live in New York. Have you ever been?"

"Nope, never, but it sounds, like so sick!" You exclaimed, "They have that big tree there at Christmas as well, innit?"

"Yeah, it's really quite cool to look at," Elle replied, smiling at your enthusiasm.

"And do they have that ice as well?" You pressed, already seeing the path ahead.

"Oh yeah, they do..." Elle continued to nod in agreement, "Do you like to ice skate?"

"Sure, totally," You agree with a simple shrug of your shoulders, "So, do they have sky divng as well?"

Elle's eyes widened slightly, "Yeah, I think they have something like somewhere you can do it inside!"

Bingo, it was almost too convincing now!

"Really? Oh sick! We have to do it!" Your mind was completely made up now on the idea of going there for that one reason in particular, your eyes lighting up as you spotted Leah and Buddy return from their toilet trip, "Le! I wanna go to New York-- Le! Le! Can we... Can we go?"

"Whoa, slow down," Leah gave you an incredulous look, "Go where?" She asked, confused.

"New York!" You repeated, practically vibrating with excitement, "It sounds neat, don't it? We have to go!" You said with urgency.

Leah raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed in a casual but knowing stance, "Whoa, whoa, slow down a second. What am I missin'? You've changed your tune all of a sudden, haven't you?"

"We neeeeed to go. Pleaaaaase!" You almost whined, shifting from foot to foot, your excitement contagious.

"We will see, Menace, alright? I'm sure we can try and figure it out," Leah said, though her tone held an edge of amusement, clearly having no clue where this was truly heading.

"Yeeeees! Get in!" You cheered, punching your air in victory, "Cool! Oh yeah-- Elle, I got a question for you, and it's super important." You continued to quiz her without missing a single beat, "Depending on how you answer this, all but depends on if we can even be considered mutuals..."

Elle raised an eyebrow, "Sure, hit me with it!"

"Alright," You leaned in slightly, "Do you think pineapple belongs on pizza?" You questioned, deadpan.

"It's good," Elle answered simply.

You let out a loud whoop of excitement, causing Leah to give you a side-eye, "Right? Niiiiice! Okay, I think I changed my mind, I can begin to like you. Our sky diving trip is going to be amazing!"

And that's where you slipped up...

"Whoa, I'm sorry. Backup there... Skydiving?" Leah chimed in, holding her hand in protest, giving you a firm look, "Monkey! We've already talked about this!"

You winced in protest, "Damn it, so close..."

Leah folded her arms, trying her hardest to remain composed, "You know that skydiving is completely out of the question, and it's not happening!"

You groaned dramatically, clearly not willing to accept the defeat just yet, "You're such a buzzkill sometimes, Le!"

"I only agreed because I thought you were completely okay with it, I swear," Elle said, her tone almost apologetic.

Leah let out a soft sigh, her arms folding across her chest, "It's fine. Monkey knows she's not allowed to do it, and it's not your fault, babe," Her voice was calm but firm, offering a reassuring smile to Elle, “Nice try, Menace. No skydiving, and that’s final!”

© scribblesofagoonerr

[cosmicalily]

"till you tell me to leave" - a bangchan oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i found a half-written draft for this in my old google docs with my other email account and immediately knew i needed to do a rewrite.

warnings: angst (breakup, exes to lovers)

Three days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes.

Four days.

Four days and one minute.

Another sleepless night. You didn’t mean to count the minutes, but your eyes remained fixated on your phone, half watching the clock, half staring at the lock screen you’d neglected to change.

Everything around you brought back floods of memories that you didn’t want to deal with. Pictures from photo booths, his arm slung around your shoulder, his hand on your cheek, his lips pressed to your forehead. The one hoodie you’d managed to hold onto, even after he’d packed all his other belongings up when he left. The pre-workout he kept in the back of your pantry. His toothbrush in your bathroom drawer. 

He’d been yours in every way, and you’d been his.

Maybe this was why you’d been so scared to love your best friend; you knew that more came with risk, chances of slamming doors, crying each other's names, and duffle bags hastily filled.

Even when you’d ended things, why were you still writing pages, when he’d been the one to close the envelope? Why were you spending hours nestled on the couch in his hoodie, staring at a black tv screen, unaware of the world around you?

new message from 'channie'

i think i left my hoodie at yours. you home?

i’m driving over.

A part of you wanted to run into the bathroom, brush your hair, remove the two-day old mascara on your eyes and change into something nice. A part of you remembered he’d seen you in every single form, and he loved you regardless. 

He used to tell you how beautiful you were every minute of the day, even when you felt anything but. Did he miss saying those things now? Or did he have another girl to call his angel, his baby, his darling? 

Just the thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

new message from 'channie'

outside.

Taking a deep breath and slipping on your sneakers, you began walking down the hallway of your apartment building. Even though the elevator wasn’t broken for once, you wanted to take the stairs. You needed time to think, and time to turn back if you felt the need.

Why were you so easily coming to him? Well, technically you weren’t, were you? He wanted his hoodie back, presumably the one you were currently wearing.

He’d broken your heart. No, not broken. Slowly tugged at it, until nothing that remained was a dull ache and your pulse.

You thought about turning back, about yelling in his face, about simply bursting into tears and curling up into a ball at the bottom of the staircase, until your neighbour came and yelled at you for disturbing everyone’s sleep at 12:29am.

You thought about these things, but you never felt like acting on them.

What was the point, anyway?

You never would have meant it.

You spotted his familiar black car, the scratch on the bottom from when he’d practised parallel parking, the Sharpie stars you’d drawn with him whilst drunk on his windscreen. You felt your heart swell a little, and even more so when the figure inside the vehicle turned his head to look directly into your eyes.

In silence, you walked over and sat down in the passenger seat, doing your best to look at everything but him. He nodded, pressing his lips together in a thin line, and started the engine. He looked down at your torso, noticing his hoodie, but didn’t make a move to retrieve it. You didn’t attempt to take it off.

“I miss you,” you whispered, barely audibly.

“Hm?”

“Your seatbelt isn’t on,” you replied.

“I was in a rush.”

There was a sudden quiet. The click of his seatbelt, then yours, then the gentle hum of the car as he began to drive.

“You’re wearing the hoodie I left,” Chris finally said softly, eyes focused on the road ahead.

You ignored him. You didn’t really know where he was taking you, and you honestly couldn’t care less. He almost felt like a stranger. A stranger you’d poured your heart out to, and spent hours with, pressing kisses to each other's faces whilst watching movies, watching work out in the gym, cooking food for and dancing while doing the dishes with. A stranger who had been the vast majority of your firsts, who knew your body like the back of his hand, and spent long minutes in the latest and earliest hours loving you, worshipping you.

A stranger who’d been your everything.

As you drove in silence, apart from the soft rhythm of his playlist in the background, his hand found its way to yours, and gently caressed your fingers, as if asking for permission.

You allowed your palm to open.

His fingers tucked into yours, and his thumb brushed against your hand. 

His hand felt warm, familiar. His fingertips were calloused; a result of the way he gripped his pen when he frantically wrote his lyrics late at night.

The car slowed down, then stopped completely. He’d pulled over on the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere. It was ghostly silent, and the trees cast shadows through the headlights.

It was oddly comforting.

“I fucked up.”

“I know you did, Chris.”

He covered his face in his hands in frustration, letting go of yours in the process. Your hand felt a sudden coldness.

“I didn’t . . . I don’t know why I left you. I nearly called you, right after I left. I thought . . . I thought you’d want space, thought I shouldn’t have to put you through anymore. And you were getting fed up with me, I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”

“I was still in love with you.”

“Was? Past tense?”

“I still love you. I didn’t necessarily fall out of love, Chris, I just . . . I felt like I lost a part of me. Everything felt familiar and distant at the same time, and there were traces of you everywhere. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I can never sleep.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been sleeping even less since I left. The bed’s cold.”

“Same with mine.”

You paused, staring at each other. Chris faced you properly.

“I’m still in love with you. And I’ll try forever if it means I can make you fall again.”

You smiled a little, letting your hand trail up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, resting your face in his warm neck. His hands moved to your waist, moving under his hoodie and settling on your bare skin.  “We should probably get some sleep,” you mumbled into him.

“Your place?”

“Our place. I still have your toothbrush, I think. And more than one of your hoodies.”

“Even if you don't, it doesn't matter,” Chris replied, clasping your hand in his again and gesturing to the backseat. His duffle bag sat there, zipped up, seemingly untouched since he’d left. “I’m coming home. If you’ll let me, of course.”

“You won’t leave?”

“Not unless you say so.”

“So never?”

“Never.”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[namism]

lost | seishiro nagi

➳ categories: canonverse, breaking up, angst, communication problems, gender neutral reader

➳ word count: 1.7k

➳ summary: Nagi breaks up with you nonchalantly and you're wondering where it all went wrong.

➳ notes: this may or may not have been based on experience and i may or may not have gone through war flashbacks while writing this but it's a-okay!

➳ cross-posted on ao3

You got up from bed 28 hours ago. Nagi broke up with you 5 hours afterward.

Now that the clock strikes 1 in the afternoon, you can't tell whether or not the substance you're drinking out of your personalized coffee mug—which, by the way, was given to you by Nagi on your sixth monthsary—is water, coffee, or Red Bull. You have been officially up for 28 hours with nothing but this mystery substance to fuel your brain, but even not-water, not-coffee, or not-Red Bull can take your mind off the sinking anxiety that floods your system.

Thus comes the sudden urge to walk to the nearest convenience store and buy the first alcoholic drink your eyes land on. Although best boy Yoichi Isagi is already on speaker as he talks you out of doing so, in fear that your insomniac body will crash in the middle of the street with no guidance or a merciful civilian around to rush you to the hospital. He speaks in a hurried tone, almost panting, like he's on his way to your flat so that he can stop you before you ride the elevator four floors down to the building lobby, where the exit doors await your presence—but the sad truth is, he's in München, Germany, for work-related reasons, so all he can do to lend a hand is to stop whatever he's doing and focus on talking you out of doing silly things.

"I just need to sleep, Isagi," you tell him weakly, clutching your wool blanket closer to your chest as you lay on your couch in a fetal position. From the looks of your ongoing FaceTime call, Isagi is in his apartment, well-groomed and dressed in simple house clothes, and fresh out of the shower after a morning gym session. He has an AirPod in his left ear, while the other is probably somewhere in his apartment, wedged between tight spaces or buried under heaps of laundry. You wiggle your toes as the air conditioning restarts, feeling the cool air blow on your feet. "A Strong Zero will do it. They also have a new flavor, ha-ha."

"No, it won't. Sit tight and wait until Chigiri comes," he advises sternly. He called your mutual friend Hyoma Chigiri ten minutes ago upon FaceTiming you and learning about the terrible news that he never would have seen coming. Isagi was terrified by the sight of your bloodshot eyes, deepened eye bags, and unruly hair that spread on your couch pillow. When you began to cry, he knew that calling for backup was the best route. "I just… don't understand. Why did you break up?"

"He broke up with me," you correct. He mumbles a passive apology. "I don't understand it either. I mean, I kinda do, but my brain isn't making any sense of it, or maybe it just doesn't want to."

"Nagi is unreadable. I get it."

You groan.

"You see, it's not even that."

You turn on your side and lay flat on your back. You situate the phone on your chest, so that Isagi has a rather unpleasant view of your chin. He mimics your actions by flopping on his bed and lying on his back, inclining his phone perpendicular to his torso.

"Most people can't read him, but I can. I can tell if he's bothered or hungry, if he's annoyed or upset. We were doing okay until yesterday."

"Maybe there's a part of him that you can't read after all," Isagi suggests, then he realizes his indifferent tone. "Crud. Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"It's fine," you mumble with a frown. "I might as well get used to reality."

You fear that Isagi might be right. While you were always confident that Nagi was more loose around you (save for his childhood friend Reo), there could have been some part of himself that he kept hidden.

In that case, you wonder why. As far as you can remember, Nagi never had any trouble voicing out his feelings to you.

"What did he even say?" asks Isagi.

"He said some things," you answer.

"I'm going to assume that he didn't elaborate." He sighs, disappointed in the turn of events. "How did it sound to you?"

You think about it deeply. Nagi, a man of a few words, in fact, did not elaborate much on his breakup speech, but from the many years you knew him, you caught on to his reasoning. The way it happened and how it turned into a breakup just didn't make sense.

"Let's break up," he said out of nowhere as you were getting yourself a glass of lemon tea. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you put down the glass on the counter. "Sorry. It's random."

"Are you serious?" you asked quietly. When you turned around, Nagi was already looking at you.

He nodded.

"I think," you begin, "I think he fell out of love."

Isagi stares at the virtual image of you on his screen, jaw slightly ajar as he finds the right words to say. You beat him to it, though.

"He didn't say much, but he could have been embarrassed to admit it because all this time, I've-I've been..."

"You've been loving him for God knows how long," Isagi finishes.

Tears well up in your eyes, and you turn to your side again. Your whole body hurts as you're hit with a new wave of emotions. Falling out of love? It happens to couples all the time, for many reasons. Usually one gets fed up by the other, or one ends up not being good enough for the relationship to move forward in the long run. Your heart sinks.

Suddenly, you're finding certain moments in your relationship with Nagi that can support this thought, and they don't stop coming even when Chigiri is knocking repeatedly on your apartment door.

Isagi is the one who alerts you of your friend's presence, but you're bundled up under the blanket as the shitty feeling resides in you. You need alcohol. Badly.

Chigiri manages to break into your apartment using a key that you have hidden on the upper ledge of your door. When he finds you rotting on the couch, he embraces you in a warm hug and uses a couple of back pats to snap you out of your senses, but they don't work.

Isagi has to go to work, so he hangs up the call after bidding you goodbye and giving an empathetic look that you don't notice. Chigiri sits with you in silence until you're ready to speak.

"Chigiri," you croak.

"Hm?" he hums.

"Did Nagi ever think I was horrible?"

He sighs.

"Of course not."

You snuggle your head into your hands.

"Then why are we in this situation right now?"

"As much as I want to help, you're the only one who can truly answer that," he explains.

"Could it be because I don't play the games he plays?" you mutter. Chigiri is quiet. "Or maybe because I wasn't too big on football when we met?"

He shakes his head.

"That's stupid. Nagi didn't even get into football until high school."

"But when we started out, I learned that we were much more different than I thought we were, so I was always catching up with him and his friends," you admit. "I didn't know how to play his games, so I tried to get into them just so we could spend time together even though I sucked and he looked happier playing with Reo and his girl. I couldn't understand football language until a few months of dating, either. No offense, Chigiri, but I couldn't understand any of your lingo and I would just sit and stand in your celebrations while nodding my head just to fit in!"

"You can't doubt your relationship because you don't game the way he does," Chigiri reasons, "and Nagi never expected you to know football like that."

"But wouldn't those be reasons to get tired of someone?" you ask. "What if... just what if he thought that it would have been nicer if he had someone who had the same interests as him?"

Chigiri sighs.

"Look. You've been awake for more than a day, so your brain isn't braining correctly. How about you get some sleep and we can talk about this again when you wake up?"

"But—"

"No buts!"

Standing up from the couch, Chigiri tugs the wool blanket off your body to force you up on your feet. Once successful, he drags you to your bedroom, where your pillows and comforter are sprawled on the mattress, just the way you left them a day ago. He forces you under the comforter, which you obey pretty quickly.

He fetches your water bottle from the kitchen and cranks up the room temperature. He doesn't leave until he's sure that you're asleep, but your mind stays running long enough for Chigiri to doze off first in your mini sofa bed by the door.

With the background sound of Chigiri's faint snores, you're left with even more time to think about what went wrong with your relationship with Nagi and how you can possibly move on. Every aspect of your life for the past few years that you've been together has had Nagi involved in it in some way. With the presence of the man you're no longer with appearing in every recent memory you have, how is letting go anywhere achievable?

By the looks of it (and your personal gut feeling), perhaps Nagi did get tired. Although the extent of this certainty falls a little below 50% because he didn't explain his reasons as well as you wanted him to.

Using the strength you have left in your drained body, you grab your phone from the nightstand and open your messages. You type a message that comes to mind as soon as you see his contact.

You hey, can we talk? Read 1:43 PM

Nagi reads the message fairly quickly. You're nervous upon realization. A few minutes pass, and the read receipt stays as it is until a small bubble pops up.

Nagi okay can we talk later?

The same nonchalant Nagi that you love is the same person who just replied.

You sure. as long as we get to talk, please

Nagi mhm of course

Whatever is about to happen, will happen. If he can explain as well as you want him to, then you're happy to accept it and move on. If he's sure of losing you, then maybe you should, too.

[muli-wam]

404 File Error

background info: You have been working for Zenin Industries for 2 years now. You started off working as an errand girl, getting coffee for people around the office and whatnot. But one day you suddenly got promoted to being Toji's assistant. And he just happened to be the founder and CEO of the company. You never even met the guy but suddenly you started working right alongside him. Toji had seen you though, unbeknownst to you, and he wanted you by him for some unknown reason. You were oblivious to his motives and he didn't want to reavel his true intentions until now...

Pairings: CEO!Toji x Assistant!Fem!Reader

Cw: slight suggestive behavior (kissing), "we shouldn't be doing this" vibes, reader is a nervous wreck, almost getting caught, reader has a pet bunny, Im pretty sure thats all

Wc: 2.7k

A/n: okay reader is kind of a nervous wreck in this chapter so thats why shes acting the way she does, just forewarning. She WILL NOT be like this throughout the entirety of the series.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 chapter 3 (coming soon!)

・.°˙★༚｡・.°˙★༚｡・.°˙★༚｡・.°˙★༚｡・.°˙★

The sound of heels clicking across tiled floors echo throughout the narrow hallway.

Try and focus on your breathing, y/n, You say to yourself.

You grip the to-go bag harder, paper crinkling in your hand as you inch closer to Toji's office. Your breath hitches slightly as you take a deep breath in, before slowly exhaling.

You feel sweaty, and for a moment you wonder why you're feeling this way. Toji always called you to his office so what made this time different?

You ponder on that thought and recall your previous conversation with him over text. He seemed so desperate to see you, which was unusual of him. Especially him.

The heel-clicking stops as you arrive in front of Toji's office door.

You knock once. twice.

Silence.

Until a booming voice sounds through the door.

"Come in," Toji says.

You take a deep breath in before opening it

"Mr. Zenin, I have your lunch," you say, voice cracking in the process.

You make your way to his desk that was situated in front of monsterous tinted floor to ceiling windows.

Plastic plants and abstract nude portraits fill in empty space in his office along with papers and old coffee cups from earlier this morning. The rest of it is taken up by guns still in their casing and knives displayed on empty shelves.

You make a mental note to throw away the cups before you leave.

You set his bag of food onto the glass desk and step back slightly, wiping your clammy palms on your pencil skirt.

"Sit," Toji gestures to the black couch chair that sat in front of his desk. You hesitate for a moment before finally sitting down.

"Did'ya bring lunch or were ya just lying ta me?" Toji questions while taking the contents of food out of the bag.

"I uh... I already ate," you mumble. You slightly wince in pain from rawness on your thumbs due to the amount of skin you picked off the sides of them.

Toji looks at you knowingly before rolling his eyes and pushes over his last onigiri.

"Eat." He demands, and you can't help but comply.

A tense silence fills the room as you chew on your food slower than normal. Your eyes roam anywhere but his as you feel his intense gaze on you.

Toji clears his throat, "So how've you been recently?"

"Seemed pretty backed up with that project you were working on," he says.

"Uh... yeah it was pretty time consuming..." you mumble.

Jesus why did you agree to this. And why were you being so awkward? You're pretty lively around the office any other day but Toji's behavior recently has kind of thrown you off.

"So do you have any pets?" He says after a brief moment.

Your lift your gaze to him and your eyebrows raise slightly, confused by the random question. "Yeah, actually I do. I have a bunny."

Toji seemed to notice your change in behavior and decided to keep going on the topic.

"Hm...whats their name?" He asks while fiddling with a pen. You were about to answer, your rabbits name sitting right on your tounge but your mouth stops in its tracks when your eyes fix your gaze on Tojis attire.

Yeah, you saw his face and yeah its stupidly pretty but you didn't look at him look at him. You didn't take the time to admire him in those suits that were definitely two sizes too small like you usually do- what who said that?

your eyes fix on the sleeves of his button up. They're rolled up to his forearm and damn was that look sexy on him. His muscles looked like they would tear the fabric with even a slight movement.

Your eyes trace the vein that makes its journey down his arm all the way to his hands. You think your drooling at this point.

"Like what you see ma?" Oh shit. He caught you staring. Your eyes widen as you look up at his face to be met with a glowing light that framed his face, making him look ethereal, and his hair was... wait, where did the wind come from?

"Come get a closer look, dollface," Toji says slowly in an over exaggerated, dreamy tone.

"Come on," he prods.

"Come on,"

"Come on,"

"Come-" the light and sparkles dissapear.

"L/n?"

"Y/n." Toji says while waving a hand in your face.

"Hey, ya there?" He questions, smirking slightly.

"What?" You snap out of your daydream of...whatever that was. Did you really just hallucinate that?

"Lost ya there for a sec. What were you thinkin' about, huh?" he asks while manspreading on his chair.

"Uh.. just uh- you know.." you stutter, eyes frantically searching the room but all you see is Toji, Toji, Toji.

He raises an eyebrow. "Me?"

Your eyes widen.

"Wh-what? No what are you talking about...?" You look down, fiddling with the corners of your skirt, until you notice that Toji is standing up and making his way over to you.

He leans against the front of the desk, his leg brushing yours as you peer up at him.

His looming figure leans down, cupping your chin in his hands and tilting your head up.

"Don't be shy, doll." He whispers. Your face heats up and your head feels dizzy and your thumbs are probably bleeding now and you're sweating profusely and You hate sweating.

Your eyes quickly dart from toji's lips, to his eyes, and back to his lips. I should not be doing this, you think to yourself, your mind already thinking of what would happen if you two were caught like this.

Those thoughts get interrupted by Toji's voice.

"Y'gonna answer my question?" he whispers, his face mere inches from yours.

Your body seems frozen in its place as you look at Toji like a deer caught in headlights. But your mind was racing at a mile a minute.

"I-I uh... I wasn't-" you don't even hear sound coming out of your mouth when you speak.

"Were you thinkin' about me, doll?" He rasps.

"Thinkin' about me kissing you?" No, you were not thinking about him kissing you, you were thinking about the fate of your job and future if you give into his seduction, but same thing right?

his thumb moves to your bottom lip, dragging it down and letting go as he watches the way it flicks back into place.

He moves his face closer, his other hand coming to cradle your cheek. Your heart rate picks up and your eyes close, expecting a kiss, and then it happens.

He kisses you.

His soft lips move against yours at a tantalizingly slow pace. Passion, want, and lust fueling Toji's mindless actions.

His large hands come down to grip your blazer, pushing it off your shoulders and onto the floor.

Your head feels dizzy as you hum into the kiss and your lips move in sync with his. Your eyelashes flutter against his cheeks from your close proximity.

Two trembling hands come to wrap around his neck, about to pull him deeper into the kiss as your tongue chases that addicting taste of his lips but-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

You quickly get sucked out of your trance when you hear the knock. Swiftly, you pull away from Toji and stand up, smoothing out your skirt and trying to fix your slightly disheveled appearance.

Before Toji even gets the chance to react you are quickly walking towards his door to leave. When you open the door you're met with-

"Hey sweets."

-

Taglist: @lavenderdaydream97 @itsmisspoopie @cottonlemonade @tojiswife007 @the-fignewts-ate-aria @ourfinalisation @esmedelacroix @phantomremi

[revelboo]

Merry Christmas!Can we get something for Blaster?

Why not. I do like his Batman antenna. Just a note- I imagine the holomatter avatars look perfectly human. So perfect that they unconsciously freak real humans out. You look at them and your brain says, yep, that’s a human, while your subconscious is all animal instinct screaming that it’s not

Shoot Me In The Smile

Blaster x Reader

• Servos drumming on his console in the uncomfortable aftermath of Megstron’s broadcast, Blaster leans back and glances at Optimus. Listening to Ironhide’s belligerent disbelief that any Cybertronian would frag a human, his optics keep catching on the look their leader’s face. Knows that there’s more than a a few humans in the Ark. He’s seen them being carried about by their caretakers like exotic pets. But now he’s wondering about it. About Jazz sneaking out constantly and returning scenting like human. Of Optimus and Prowl both scenting much more strongly of the little organics than the other caretakers. And the almost pained look on Optimus’s face as Ironhide rants. They all have their secrets, he guesses. And he’s going to be late if he doesn’t go now.

• Putting your car in park, you press your forehead against the steering wheel. Count to ten to get yourself together, shut off the engine, and get out with a smile firmly in place. Pulling the awkward case out of the passenger side, you sling the strap over your shoulder and head inside. Spotting the rest of the band setting up, you throw up a hand in greeting and hear your drummer whoop at you. Making your way backstage, you start changing your clothes. Shedding yourself in favor of leather and glitter. Lining your eyes and painting your face until a stranger stares back at you. Someone who’s not timid, not terrified of crowds and overwhelmed by the noise and heat of the spotlights. The version of you that people actually like and you despise. “You should wear the wig tonight. They love it.” Turning, you smile weakly at your lead bassist, but oblige him. And it really is a stranger staring back now. All of you erased and gone.

• “Again?” Pausing at the door of his habsuite, he glances at Eject as the cassette frowns up at him in obvious disapproval. Because he has no idea how to explain the obsession. He’d found you on a local station, surfing the airwaves out of boredom. And realizing you were a local, that the bar you played out of was so close? He hadn’t been able to resist. Using his holomatter avatar to slip inside just to hear you play. Something about the dissonance in your music had called to him, wedging in his spark and his processor. Music almost frantic, pure rock and roll, but your vocals, ranging from sweet to haunting, are what had snagged him. “I won’t be out late,” he says as Eject vents and exchanges a look with Rewind, worrying about him.

• Lingering just off stage as your heart races, you study the see of faces milling about. And realize you’re looking for your guy. The one whose expression never changes, who just stares at you the whole time you sing making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. You almost swear he doesn’t blink. That intense focus of his is unnerving. Fascinating and a little frightening. You can’t tell if he has a crush on you or if he’s deciding where to hide your body. As the lights dim, you blow out a shaky breath and move onto the stage with your band mates. Hand lifting to wave as you smile even though you’re shaking and can’t hardly breathe. This should get easier, right? Except it never does.

• Hiding in the woods outside the bar, he transforms into his alt mode so if he’s discovered while his attention is divided, all a human will see is a boombox, feeling the pull as he mass shifts down past what would be possible for a normal Cybertronian. Draining his reserves every time. Shivering slightly, he focuses on the avatar and it glitches into existence. There’s an errant thought as he walks to the bar. What do you think of his avatar? Do you like it? Generating an ID to show the human at the door, he makes his way inside, focusing to stay solid as he works his way to the front of the crowd. It wouldn’t do for someone to accidentally pass an arm through him and start screaming. And then there you are, guitar in hand, eyes closed as the lights dim and the spotlights bathe the stage in ruddy light. Hands shifting on the strings, your eyes open and unerringly find him as the music swells and you sing just for him. The crowd gone until it’s only you two.

They’re not patient at all

[owldalek]

Creature Commandos Ep. 3 SPOILERS

A lot of the discourse I’ve seen about Cheers For the Tin Man has been akin to “he really couldn’t move on from the war,” “the world moved on but he didn’t” and I think that kind of misses the point of the episode. James Gunn, from the very first episode, has been critiquing American politics, morality, and military. I mean he laid out explicitly that America does not care about Pokolestan they just want the oil the country hasn’t used. So I think it’s wrong to say that GI Robot is a sad character because he couldn’t move on. I think this exists to show how bizarre and hypocritical it is that we’ve normalized Nazis and Nazi ideology in America.

Throughout the series GI Robot says explicitly that he is programmed to kill Nazis and their allies. However, we rarely see others refer to it that way. In the 60’s it’s said GI killed over 1,000 “enemies.” In his trial it says he willfully killed a group of “human beings.” It de-contextualizes the people he has killed because ultimately it never mattered to the United States Government that the people he was killing were Nazis.

GI Robot was programmed to kill an ideology regardless of who participates in it. This episode is meant to show that America is okay with Nazis when we are the Nazis. But, it also shows how easily it slips past the average person. GI Robot is programmed to kill Nazis and he does this by recognizing the swastika because ultimately he can’t understand Nazi ideology outside of that symbol. This is why many of us first assumed Sam would have Nazi memorabilia in his collection and get killed by mistake before we assumed he’d be a Neo-Nazi. This reflects the modern American public. We don’t recognize Nazis outside of the swastika. That’s why James Gunn made the decision to show the Neo-Nazis with modern symbols or no symbols at all. Because Nazis aren’t just going to advertise themselves to us. We have to know the clues. GI Robot doesn’t pick up on the 88/SS symbol on the guys neck. He doesn’t notice the White Power tattoo. Heck, Sam probably was talking about Nazi ideology with him, but he never would have guessed. It’s a warning that we’ve mythologized the Nazis to the point where we can’t or won’t comprehend that that kind of thinking still exists now and more so that our government would defend it.

It’s not that GI Robot couldn’t move on from the war it’s that Nazism is something the US protects until it’s inconvenient to us.

[honey-on-your-tongue]

FWB

Part 4 Logan Howlett x fem!reader Series masterlist

Logan isn't sure when or how it happened. It just…did.

He wakes up next to you every morning now. He falls asleep next to you every night. It's become routine, part of his day, as natural as if he's always been doing it.

Somehow, falling asleep next to you turns into cuddling, which then turns into late night conversations until you're both too exhausted to keep talking.

And Logan is…happy. He feels lighter, he's got more energy. Suddenly the world isn't the sullen place he always thought it was.

He convinces himself it's the sex. Convinces himself that's what has him in such a good mood. It couldn't possibly be anything else other than the sex.

It's his favorite part of the day now. He looks forward to lying next to you, to listen to you talk about your day. He just focuses on your words, on the sound of your voice, as he gently caresses your skin.

And he shares with you, too. Little, but he shares. He likes the way you pay attention, the way you actually listen to what he has to say. It makes him feel…seen. And it sounds silly, but that's how he feels. That's one of the many things he likes about you.

You're smart, you're sweet, you're funny. He enjoys talking to you so much, that the idea of going somewhere with you and just talking about anything and everything slowly starts to grow in his mind. It takes shape; he thinks of places, of times, of days. And he decides that an afternoon coffee with you would be the most suitable. Now there's only the matter of asking you.

And despite everything you two have done, this has him nervous.

He's antsy and jumpy as he walks up to you one day, hands balled into fists.

“Hey, bub,” he greets casually.

You turn to face him, eyes bright. And you smile and he's lost.

A little voice in the back of his head is insisting that a girl like you would never want him, that you're way out of his league. But he gathers his courage and pushes himself to ask anyway.

“So, I was wondering,” he says, “if you're busy today? In the afternoon?”

“Today? No, I'm not busy,” you reply. He sighs in relief. “Why?” you add curiously.

“I wanted to see if you wanted to go out with me? Like to go get coffee?”

You blink and his heart drops. She's gonna say no.

Is…is he asking me on a date?

You're pretty sure he did. At least that's what it sounded like. But he said it so casually, maybe he just meant it as friends or something?

“Um. Coffee?” you echo, grimacing internally. You sound like an idiot, but you hope Logan doesn't notice.

“Yeah, coffee. Or an ice cream, or…just, anything, really,” he replies, nodding. “I just meant if you wanted to hang out.”

You nod softly. “Well, yeah, it sounds fun,” you reply, smiling.

Logan offers a half grin in return. “Great. We could go into the city and just see where we feel like going,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah, great. So, it's a date.”

His grin widens into a smile. “It's a date.” He nods.

That afternoon, he takes you on his bike to the mall, enjoying the way you hold onto him for life. When you get to the mall and take the helmet off, he grins. Your hair is all messy and you've never looked more beautiful.

“I've got helmet hair, don't I?” you ask, pouting.

He hums gently. “A little,” he responds as he tenderly combs your hair some.

You grumble a bit. “I was all fixed-up and pretty,” you complain.

“You still look as beautiful as ever,” he tells you, studying your face carefully, just taking you in.

A soft blush coats your cheeks and he smiles, tracing your cheekbone with his knuckles softly.

It's almost odd to see Logan be this calm, caring, affectionate. But you're not complaining at all. If anything, you like it. It makes you feel wanted. He makes you feel wanted and safe.

You two walk into the mall together, talking and laughing, and he lets you pick the place. You end up in a cute café, cozy and quiet, sitting close together in a booth in the far corner.

Logan is more open than usual, still somewhat reserved, but he offers you more insight to his thoughts and feelings. He talks and laughs, and you can sense he’s different. Almost as if the weight he always carries on his shoulders is gone. He’s just a man, a happy man on a date with a girl he likes. He’s no longer that tough, hardened, hurt man that’s been hurt by the world to the point of no return.

The conversation flows. It’s natural, easy, and before you know it, it’s been hours of you two sitting in the café and talking. When night falls and it starts getting late, Logan takes you back to the mansion. With most of the mansion asleep, you two walk in quietly and it feels like you’re sneaking back in from somewhere you shouldn’t have been.

It’s not like dating between the X-men is forbidden, just…Logan isn’t the type for that and you understand that.

Logan leads you to his room and locks the door after himself.

She’s beautiful. Just standing there, staring at him with those gorgeous eyes…you’ve got him hooked.

He reaches for you, studying your expression, taking in your scent and the sound of your heart. It’s as if he’s seeing you for the first time. Really seeing you.

You, that puts up with all his bullshit, that stands him and his dumbass, that demands respect, that amazes him, that makes him feel like he’s not a complete monster…

What did he ever do right in his long, fucked-up life that ended with the amazing karmic event of you giving him a chance? What did he ever do to deserve you? He’s not sure, but he’s grateful for whatever good luck has befallen him.

He grabs your hand and gently leads you to his bed, his heart racing.

His heart racing? Is he nervous. Since when is he nervous about sex?

He tries to ignore the thought as he lays you down on the bed. Without a second of hesitance, he kneels in front of you, spreading your legs so he can nuzzle against your thighs. He kisses them softly, one after the other, as he pushes your skirt around your waist. He mouths his way up to your pussy, inhaling her scent through the thin material of your panties. He kisses your mound, his eyes fluttering shut. He just lets himself feel, lets himself do whatever he wants however he wants, focusing on you and wanting to give you everything.

Your breathing grows heavy, your hands move to tangle in his hair. He goes slow, every lick and kiss calculated and measured. There’s no trace of the animal here, no trace of that hunger that seems to take over him more often than not. There’s just…him. It’s just him and you in this moment, together.

He gently tugs your panties off and smiles, glancing up at you. He can see the look in his eyes and he recognizes the affection there. And, for once, it doesn’t scare him, doesn’t send him running off. It makes his heart skip a beat and his stomach flutter.

He eats you out gently, taking his time, just enjoying your taste and the way your body writhes under his mouth.

By the time you’re tugging him away, telling him you can’t take anymore, he’s made you come about three times. Smiling, he undresses and crawls onto the bed on top of you.

This time, there’s no screaming. There’s no headboard slamming into the wall or bed springs squeaking. No crazy positions or choking or spanking.

Logan fucks you slow, deep. His cock reaches every spot in you with a tenderness that takes your breath away.

Every deep thrust is punctuated by a groan from him, his breath hitching as you clench around him. He kisses your neck, mouths at your jaw. His hand caresses your cheek, his eyes on yours as he fucks you.

The gentleness of it, the soft care, the warmth in his gaze…it’s too much.

His fingers touch your clit and rub in soft circles, and it takes nothing to push you over the edge. You tumble, back arching, eyes rolling back. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, your voice breathy as you whimper into his ear.

“Logan,” you whisper. “Logan.”

And he loses it. You’re not begging for sex. You’re not begging for him to go hard and deep, or for him to relieve you of your stress. You’re begging for more, for the one thing he shouldn’t give you and the one thing he wants to give you.

Your pussy clenches his cock tight as you come and he loses his train of thought. With a shudder and a low moan, he comes in you, spurting his release into your soft cunt. He’d forgotten the condom, but that’s an issue for another day.

He stays where he is, on top of you, and leans his forehead against yours. “Are you okay, bub?” he asks softly, nuzzling his nose with yours.

You nod. “I’m good,” you reply.

He meets your gaze and smiles softly. And, God, the way he’s looking at you…it almost looks as if not only cares about you, but like he could almost, almost…

Love you.

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a/n: I'm sorry babes!!! I can't believe this took me so long but omg, finals actually kicked my ass and I'm surprised I didn't have a breakdown lol. Buuut, it's finally here. Enjoooooy!!!

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Taglist

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Blog masterlist

[vampiricgf]

— Aime la Mémoire

Dectorating the home, meet cute, proposal || Leon Secret Santa || Gift for @lysa1201

leon kennedy x gn reader

synopsis: while decorating your tree this year, Leons got something besides the ornaments on his mind with memories of your relationship bubbling to the surface

word count: 4.1k

warnings: sfw, no reader description but they have hair long enough to stick out of a hat, mentions of past alcoholism, one off mention of sex but no descriptive content, nightmares, injury (no specifics), blood mention, flashback, meet cute, marriage proposal, Christmas themed

a/n: merry Christmas to everyone celebrating! I had so much fun participating in the secret santa event and thank you so much to @leonsecretsanta for putting this together for everyone <3 ^⁠_⁠^

“Oh look, this is the one you picked up for me in France!”

You beamed at him, cupping a little ornament of a glass ballerina in your hands the way they make those stylized cutesy animals hold things in movies. It was so objectively adorable it made his teeth ache from the sweetness. You routinely had that effect on him, so much so that if he were a more clueless man he probably would’ve made several panicked dental appointments in the beginning of your relationship. But of all things Leon isn’t clueless, he’s been acutely aware for a very long time regarding how you make him feel. 

The ring box in his pocket feels like a lead ball. Or one of those tungsten cubes he’s seen pictures of online. Since you decided, hands on hips as you gazed at the empty space in front of the bay window of the house, today was the day to drag all the old boxes of Christmas decorations and the faux tree from the attic, he’d been sweating. Before, up in the dusty attic air with motes dancing through the slices of dim, yellowish light he could blame it on the exertion from lifting and pushing those brick heavy boxes. Now, however, he had no convenient explanation for why sweat was slicking his palms, making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his back and arms. 

“You with me?” 

He blinked at you a few times. “Oh- yeah, yeah, right here sweetheart. Do you want the hooks?” 

He held out the box of ornament hooks, the hard clamshell packaging squeaking against his moist skin. It made him grimace, just barely, but it was enough of a reaction to make you frown, setting down the ornaments and rising from your multicolored tissue paper faux skirt on the hardwood floor. 

“Lugging all this downstairs was a lot, are you sure you don’t need to rest for a little bit?” You came towards the couch but before you could start the nursemaid routine he grabbed your wrist, pulling you lightly until you crashed down on his lap. Getting situated was a little awkward, your giggles between huffed breaths making his heart run like a jackhammer against his ribs as you settled into straddling his lap. His hands easily, reflexively, found their home on your hips, kneading tiny circles into the fuzzy material of your pajama pants.

“Next thing I know you’re gonna tell me you’re putting me in a nursing home.” 

You rolled your eyes scoffing, placing your hands against his jaw to cradle his face as you rested your forehead against his. He hoped the stubble he neglected to shave this morning didn’t scratch against your hands too much, prayed he didn’t have too much coffee on his breath. Since you came into the picture he hadn’t worried nearly as often about the scent of liquor on his breath. 

It was a few days before Christmas, almost a decade ago now. He’d been drug out by colleagues yet again for some forced socialization and while he was grateful, of course, that they wanted him to enjoy himself if he was being entirely honest he would’ve much rather been nursing a drink a solitude than sitting in a bar with people he’d prefer to keep firmly separated into the “professional” category. 

Christmas lighting always felt so… garish. Something that didn’t belong to him, didn’t belong in his life. There was never going to be some Hallmark, made for a TV moment where his heart swells five times in size with some shit like “the joy and magic of the season”. The best anyone like him could hope for is that there’d be a discount on booze for the holidays. 

Once a few of those wet behind the ears agents had to call cabs to get home he decided it was time for some air. Again, it was a kind gesture and they’d have no way to know about his history with alcohol but goddamn was it a terrible idea to drag an off and on recovering alcoholic to a bar during the biggest drinking season of the year. Like some twisted joke. As the sticky, pockmarked door swung open to the night, a wall of arctic air hit him full force in the face, the kind that makes your lungs seize up for a second before they remember how to breathe in subzero oxygen. His boots, scuffed from snow and the residue of road salt, crunched against fresh powder and ice as he made his way to the sidewalk haloed in dim, rotten orange streetlights. 

Bethesda is hardly a podunk town but thankfully it was fairly quiet in the streets despite the holiday season. He hadn’t driven, and honestly didn't want to bother with it since the hole in the wall they’d chosen actually wasn’t that far from his own place. They didn’t need to know just how frequently over the years his ass had been glued to one of those patchwork upholstery stools. A familiar itch was going haywire in the back of his throat, his hands trembling in his pockets but not the sort of shaking that can be blamed on the temperatures. Truthfully he hadn’t had a drop of liquor in his system for over a year now, but didn’t have the heart nor the masochism to tell his coworkers just how awkward being in that kind of setting would be for him. 

It just wasn’t the sort of thing you spoke about to people you spent every waking minute keeping at arm's length. 

While the building he lived in was hardly run down, it was definitely not… well kept. Which was fine, he didn’t need to live somewhere pretty or fancy. He’d survived with less, it was nice to just be comfortable and not in the piss freezing cold. As he trudged up the stairs, the flight that always cracked a little too much for comfort, he nearly collided full force with someone struggling to push a box at an upward angle. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” The voice, your voice, had been panicked and apologetic. It was a mild annoyance, but he’d live. Keeping one arm braced against the box you half turned, flashing him a guilty smile. Your hair was sticking out a little wildly from the knitted hat you had on, your eyes watery from the cold. Cute.

“Do you need a hand?” He asked, eyeing the box that was definitely larger than you distrustfully. With how slick the outside steps were you were lucky you hadn’t taken a nasty tumble down them yet. 

“Oh my god, thank you, yes.” You spoke in a rush, like you were out of breath and he quickly gestured for you to step aside. 

Honestly he forgot sometimes that for an ordinary person lifting anything over fifty pounds was a struggle. Now was not one of those times, not with the incredulous look you were giving him as he used his knees to give him the momentum to lift the cumbersome box, arms wrapped securely around it. 

“How in the hell can you even lift that?” Your voice was cute too, giving him a little surge of bravado as he shrugged, hefting the box to get a better grip as you led the way to your unit. 

“Forget that, what do you have in here, bricks?” He knew the joke was lame as soon as it came out but still, you gave him a little courtesy giggle and his grip nearly faltered, causing the box to slip and make a little tinkling noise from within. Clearly something glass or ceramic was inside. 

“Worse, ornaments.” You said, shaking your head with a smile. “I don’t know why I insist to myself that I have to decorate, I mean, I live alone. But you know, holiday spirit and whatnot.” You shrugged, coming to a stop in front of one of the old, heavy wood doors. 304. Just a flight above him. 

“Have you, uh, have you been here long? I mean, I live downstairs and I haven’t seen you around before.” Like he pays much attention to his neighbors anyway, but still, he definitely would’ve noticed you coming and going. 

“Oh no, I moved in like a month ago. New job, you know how it is.” You smiled again as you pushed open the door, gesturing for him to follow. 

God you had a nice smile, one of those warm ones that people always mention in books but that rarely exist in the real world. Following you in he tried his best to not gawk or seem like a creep looking around a little too hard, but naturally his eyes were drawn around the unit. You decorated nice for having moved in not long ago. From the little foyer he could see a cozy looking living room with throw blankets and books. The kitchen, although dim, was clearly done in the same vein; you liked comfort, obviously. It smelled nice too, something a little sugary and a little warm. 

“Thank you so much for doing that.” You say as he sets the box down on your countertop. “Can I make you tea or anything? To say thank you.” 

“Oh no, don’t worry about it. But I’m Leon, by the way.” 

You tell him your name, neither of you yet aware that name would remain at the top of his list in the coming years. 

“Well, thank you, again. I probably would’ve ended up sliding down the stairs and falling right on my ass without your help.” You laugh as you walk back to the door with him, smiling again before saying goodnight. 

His eyes linger on the worn, rust flecked numbered plaque affixed to the door after you close it. 

He came back to your door in less than a week. Record timing, not that he really kept count of all the times he’s embarrassed himself for a woman. Even so, you didn’t say anything other than welcoming him inside again. He learned quickly, after frequent visits, that you liked providing. There was never a time when you weren’t handing him a mug of some hot liquid, offering a snack, or making a meal and telling him to stay since he was already there. You also had a behemoth of a cat skulking around your place, nearly giving him a heart attack one night when it lept on the counter mid sentence as you two chatted about nothing in particular. Thank god he didn’t do something stupid like pull his firearm in the middle of your apartment, the one time his reflex didn’t kick in all these years.

Turns out the beast's name was Blueberry, or just Blue for short. He and Blue maintained a tenuous agreement for your sake in the beginning. Not that he was an unfriendly cat, just a bit of an odd one. Quiet, prone to scuttling around like a criminal. As long as he didn’t do anything like piss in his shoes, Leon was fine with a stalemate agreement. 

It was a little over half a year of knowing you when Leon eventually spilled his guts. Honestly it’s still shocking he managed to hold out on you that long. Not that you ever needled him for details, you seemed to understand there were certain things about him and his life that were strange but you never pressed the issue. That night, some mid June evening when the weather was sweltering and cicadas droned endlessly in the background, he’d pounded on your door unceremoniously and some godforsaken hour of the night. Was it selfish? Yes. Was it idiotic? Also yes. 

But god there was nothing in that moment he craved more than that specific brand of tenderness he’d come to associate with you. 

After dragging his sorry ass inside, blubbering like a baby, he’d metaphorically up chucked his whole sad, sorry story to you in the middle of your living room as you rubbed his back. It was reckless, beyond stupid but what else was he supposed to do when he had relapsed yet again? Just another year of failure and disappointment. Of horror and all encompassing pain. And he couldn’t put it on Chris or Claire, not again. Not after everything. One thing you learn when struggling with any kind of addiction is that there is a limit to people's patience. And that you, as the addict, will exhaust it very, very quickly. 

His eyes had burned, a combination of being absolutely loaded on liquor and from managing to cry his body weight in tears and snot (no easy feat for a man like him). But you hadn’t done anything he feared: not looked at him in disgust or judgement, hadn’t told him to leave. You silently went about making coffee to sober him up, getting blankets from the hall closet, and then told him to stay put as you rummaged around a still packed box shoved in the bottom of the closet before returning with clothing in your arms. 

“Sorry, they’re an ex’s clothes actually but hopefully they fit. You should shower once you're a little less… unsteady, get changed. You can stay here tonight, I promise Blue won’t terrorize you on the couch.” You spoke softly, setting the bundle down on the couch beside him and taking the empty mug from his hands.

“You’re not- you aren’t even gonna ask any questions?” 

“I don’t think you’re really in any shape to be answering if I did. And besides, it’ll all still be there in the morning, so we can talk about it then. If you want.” You added the addendum quickly, and his heart nearly broke apart in his chest like a cinder block hit with a chisel. 

He wouldn’t blame you if you did demand more answers from him, fuck he just told you the worst nightmares of the world exist and have existed for a long, long time. Told you about his own gory encounters, though in not so many words. But still, any other person would either interrogate him or throw him out on his ass to sober up on his own, write him off as a crazed drunk. 

But not you. You gave him coffee, clothes, you’re standing there telling him to stay and sleep it off. 

“I don’t blame you if you don’t want anything to do with this. With me.” His voice had cracked but he didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed, not after the emotional whiplash he’d just gone through. This could’ve been something good for once, but of course he has to bungle it like everything else. His life is one big never ending cosmic joke and simultaneous tragedy.

“Stop it. Everyone’s got some shit they’re dragging around Leon, not just you. I’m telling you to stay not because I feel sorry for you or whatever, I want you to stay because we’re friends. We’re friends and I care about you.” Your voice was firm, the firmest he’d heard all this time and immediately he straightened up, a reflex from always being attuned to authority. 

He doesn’t remember if he even thanked you for that, not that it matters. You’re not the type to hold tiny slights or impoliteness against anyone. But he does remember the conversation afterwards. Every painful detail. 

Sure, you hadn’t pressured him and he was thankful for that but he knew it wasn’t right to leave as if everything were normal. That would’ve been worse than just telling you the truth, and he didn’t want to shoot himself in both feet when one was already bad enough. So, over breakfast that he felt guilty you made for him he told you the entire sob story, from beginning to end. You were owed that much, at least. 

“So the real reason I don’t see you for gaps at a time is because you’re off somewhere getting shot at, attacked, and torn up because the government knows about literal flesh eating monsters but those monsters got out and now just anyone can make them if they’re insane enough? And it’s your problem to deal with it when they do? Christ alive.” Your voice had been equal parts awed, disgusted, and afraid. That was worse than anything so far, you feeling afraid made him feel sick to his stomach. 

“Yeah, that's basically it.” He spoke into the glass of juice in his hand, hyperfocused on the film gathered along the sides of the glass, too ashamed to even look at you. 

“Jesus Leon, did you really think I’d be mad at you? Even after hearing all that?” You grabbed for his hand, startling him enough to look at you sharply. “Listen, it’s okay. I mean it’s not, but this,” you gestured back and forth with the hand not holding his, “ between us is fine so please stop acting like you’re waiting for me to scream in your face.” 

He's pretty sure he ended up accidentally doing his best impression of a fish after you spoke, mouth moving but no sound coming out. Were you altruistic or just idiotic? How could you sit there like any of what he told you was normal? 

From then on you remained a mystery he couldn’t even begin to unravel. You never asked him point blank about any of it again, not even when he would be over and you’d catch sight of bruising, fresh scarring. Not even on one particularly brutal night when he’d popped stitches after Blue had decided to take a flying leap onto his chest from the highest point on the stairs which coincidentally, were directly above the couch he’d been laying on. 

You kept that faintly bloodstained couch for years afterwards, stubbornly insisting it was nothing a little peroxide and borax couldn’t handle (it in fact couldn’t, but you said it was just an excuse to keep the blankets on the couch now rather than in the ottoman). 

He loved that you were everything he wasn’t. Kind, patient, somehow always able to see something good even in the middle of some of the most god awful shit imaginable, and you were stubborn as hell which was oddly endearing. More and more he came to you, craved that patience and compassion almost as badly as he craved drinks sometimes but another positive effect of your presence was that slowly, inch by inch, those cravings lessened and the hand that had squeezed him so tightly since his life went to shit relaxed its grip. 

He could almost fool himself, on nights when he felt so relaxed the edges of his vision would blur until the lights around your place resembled some fuzzy, abstract source, that he had managed to carve out an idyllic life for himself. Could pretend for a while that he was somebody that deserved the loving, beautiful partner, the comfort of a cat on his lap, warmth and happiness in a home. 

As years passed he slowly had the realization that he wasn’t fooling himself, actually. The two of you had become interlocked pieces, you were such an important part of who he was that it was unimaginable that you weren’t always in his life. He would even end up placing you in memories sometimes, swearing up and down that you were present even though there was no way you could have been. It’s just a testament to how perfectly you melded into his life and he into yours. 

Your first kiss had been in the middle of that kitchen, in your old apartment. The kiss itself hadn’t been shocking honestly, it was the ease with which he’d done it that surprised the hell out of him. You were talking about work after he’d once more helped you set up the seasonal decorations you insisted on every single year, he was helping you cook dinner while fending off the cat to keep him from chowing down on human food, when he’d just dipped down and kissed you. As if it were something you two did a million times; casual, easy. 

It didn’t even register until he realized you had stopped talking, weren’t moving in front of the stove despite the bubbling pot on the burner, framed in the soft white lights he’d hung around the ceiling of the back hallway off from the kitchen. Your hand lingered on your mouth, index balanced delicately against the bottom lip as you gazed at him with wide eyes. Of course he rushed to fumble out an apology but you shook your head, getting on your tiptoes to place a chaste peck to his cheek. He’d flushed hot all over in response, suddenly extremely fidgety at having the affection returned. 

“Good thing we’re already making dinner, normally I’d tell someone if they wanted to kiss me they should at least take me out first.” 

Some might point to that and say it was the official start of your relationship, but Leon knew it wasn’t so easy to articulate a “beginning”, so to speak. The same might be said about the first time you technically slept together: you and him in the bedroom but it had hardly been anything romantic or sexual, no you kept watch over him as he thrashed and cried out in his sleep. He’d already fallen off the couch and you dragged him to the bedroom, insisting there was no way he’d be able to fall out of a bed and could at least get some better sleep in a more comfortable place. He didn’t know until much later that you’d been beside yourself all night, watching him like a hawk but unable to rouse him from his manufactured hell. 

You could even say the real beginning was him managing to walk home at just the right time to bump into you on the stairs, lugging around a box of decorations. 

The same box that he just brought down from the attic of the home he signed on two years ago, the house he’d specifically selected because it could accommodate another person. Because it could accommodate you. That was always the first thing in his mind when he’d looked at a few places, and took a few of the house tours. He knew it had to be spacious enough that there’d be no way you could hem and haw about moving in. 

Your relationship wasn’t so much a straight line as it was a chaotic, messy zigzag but it was the only one he could ever imagine for himself. He wasn’t a man of much faith or particularly taken to belief, but sometimes, on nights when he gets in late and sees you passed out on the couch waiting for him or like this morning when you were all smiles and laughter setting up that gaudy fake tree he can almost believe that maybe it was some divine intervention, some act of god that night. 

Crystal blue eyes open into yours, crows feet and smile lines patterning the skin, and his calloused hand slides around to the back of your neck, holding you firm in your position on his lap. 

“I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t know how I even lived without you.” 

You smile softly, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. 

“Where's all this coming from?”

He offers his own smile in return, the stubble he had worried over now forgotten as your hands move from his jaw down his chest, tucking your head against the side of his neck as he stroked your hair. 

“Call it the holiday spirit, or whatever.” You snort, press another kiss to his jugular before rising back up to look at him. 

“Mhm, if you say so.” You reach over to run a hand through Blue’s fur, a little more silver flecked now as the years have passed, as the cat sleeps soundly next to you two on the couch. “I think we should take a break, the tree isn’t going anywhere. But I do think we should have hot chocolate, didn’t you grab some at the store?” 

He watches as you get up, moving into the kitchen and tidying as you put mugs on the granite countertop, humming some nonsense holiday song while you look for the milk in the fridge.

The ring box feels less heavy, his skin less clammy. Why was he nervous to begin with? 

It’ll always be you two and one curmudgeonly cat, framed in the hazy glow of Christmas lights. Only next year, that ring will glitter on your finger as you laugh at some cheesy romance movie together, as you rummage around in these same boxes for the ornaments he brings back like they’re your most treasured possessions.

He’s always coming back to you. Home to you, ornament from some far off place in hand and a syrupy sweet kiss on the cheek. 

Because if his partner wants an ornament, they’re getting the ornament. Even if this one so happens to go on the finger, not a tree.