#angst with hopeful ending
Note
Ok so this post is from a while ago but i just saw it and am wondering if you would want to write something based on it? Or just about trauma response in general?
Fic O'Ween Day 8: Shiver. Credit to @lumosinlove for the SW-verse and @noots-fic-fests for the header + prompts!
TW for trauma response to canon injury (Remus')--flashback, panic attack symptoms; and broken bone.
Call for stretcher on standby before moving out. Careful on the patch by the bench—always extra slippery. Check pulse and breath, then pupil constriction. Pen light in the shirt pocket. Players take a knee to make space. Use your body to block the camera in the right corner.
Remus knew what he was supposed to do. Of course he did. He just…couldn’t move.
“EMTs on standby!”
This was a strange feeling, not moving. It wasn’t even that—a choice. It was a complete and total absence. What was the opposite? Stillness? He didn’t feel still. He didn’t feel as if something had taken the place of motion. A gap had been scooped out of his belly, and nothing had come to fill it. It was simple emptiness where there had been adrenaline five seconds before.
“Lupin, catch up on Vance’s left!”
Had his ears always rung at that pitch? Funny. He hadn’t noticed.
“Lupin!”
Perhaps they had. Perhaps someone in the crowd had brought a whistle. There were an awful lot of people crowding the rink.
“Hey—” Weight and pressure collided with the back of his neck. Remus felt something in him go dim, powered off. “Kid, let’s fucking go! Are you asleep out here?”
James’ feet were flexing in his skates. Restriction of the tibialis anterior from the pain. Vastus medialis, following. His knee bent and bowed inward. If he kept the writhing up, there would be strain on the gastrocnemius and soleus. Remus blinked hard. James’ legs tended to ache after practice. The man got calf cramps like nobody he’d ever seen.
“Jesus Christ,” the hand on his neck muttered. It moved away. Pressure released.
“Rapid breathing, strain in the calf,” Remus blurted. His eye twitched. Blinking took incredible effort. “He’s going to try and stand up. Stop, James, stop it—”
Careful on the patch by the bench. He sidestepped without a second thought. In two strides, he was looking at James’ flushed and sweaty face. “Holy fuck, my fuckin’ arm, on fucking fire—”
“Pots.” His neck was burning up under Remus’ two fingers. Ten seconds, 25 thumps. “150 bpm,” Remus informed the nearest trainer. The pen light was ice-cold in his fingers. “James, give me a big deep breath.”
“Loops—”
“I’ll count to four while you breathe in, and then we’re gonna let it out for four.” His own voice reverberated back to him from a thousand miles away. Ice dampened the knees of his khakis. James gritted his teeth; his nostrils flared. “One, two, three, four. Good job. And four, three, two, one. Nice, buddy. Pupil activity normal, breathing unimpaired. You said it was your arm, right? Up or down?”
“All of it,” James panted. “All—fuck me, Loops, don’t talk to me right now—”
“Almost done, J. Wiggle your fingers.” A faint roaring had started up in the back of his mind. It crept into his eardrums and down his back. Something trickled down his spine and tiptoed through the marrow of each rib. James’ fingers twitched. “Great work. Alright, they’re going to slide you onto the stretcher now. Keep taking those big breaths for me.”
Black, Dumais, and Walker were all hovering in the corner of his eye like crimson-and-black bloodstains. They blurred together as the roaring grew louder. Remus staggered to his feet. His pen light wobbled in his fingers, and he shoved it clumsily into his back pocket. Black stepped forward, quiet as a ghost on his skates. “Is he okay?”
“Um—I don’t—” The left edge of his vision blurred into grey. “I don’t diagnose. Possible elbow dislocation. Or radial or ulnar break. Likely not the humerus.”
“But is he okay?” Black pressed. The stretcher was so yellow against the ice it hurt to look at.
Remus’ throat squeezed. “Yeah, he’ll be okay. Probably out for a couple games. ‘Scuse me.”
Christ on a crutch, he was going to throw up if he didn’t get out of here right fucking now.
Black wasn’t looking at him anymore. Walker was talking to James as they loaded him up and began rolling him off the ice. Dumais…
Dumais was staring at him dead-on. Remus swallowed hard, and saw him lean over to whisper at Moody.
Would he—could they fire him for this? He thought he did okay. Pulse, pupils, penlight, ice patch. Four for four. He had been slow getting off the bench, but that was an abnormality. Nothing they needed to be concerned about for the future. There wouldn’t be a repeat performance. There wouldn’t, there wouldn’t.
He couldn’t feel his knees.
Moody was walking toward him.
Remus just barely managed to stumble back onto solid ground in the wake of the stretcher before Moody caught up. Barely. The flex of his hands was starting to hurt. Sweat and chemicals and terror washed his nose with acid.
“Lupin?”
He could feel plasticky foam on his cheek. It itched. Stung.
“Hey, kid, you with me?”
In the distance, his mouth coughed out a mumble. Fingers snapped under his nose. He couldn’t bring himself to flinch. If he flinched, the hands on his body were going to wrench his life out through his shoulder.
“Walk with me.”
Pressure on his upper back. A lurch.
Pale wood door. Heavy lock. Cold handle. Man door hand hook car door. Jules thought that was the funniest ghost story in the whole world.
“Sit.”
It was less of a sit, more of a controlled fall, and the easiest thing Remus had done in the past half hour. Something heavy fell over his shoulders.
“Hand.”
Man door hand hook car door.
Rough hands took one of his own between them. His wrist was full of gel instead of bones. Cooling gel? Ice pack. James was going to need—“Ice packs. Pots needs ice packs.”
His palm was clammy when it pressed to the base of his own throat. “We’ll have some ready when the docs are done.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. “160 bpm.”
“Take some breaths.”
An inhale sounded gaspy in the underwater buzz of the rink. An exhale rushed out all at once. He felt a little push to the back of his hand, and his fingers curled over his collarbone. The heel of his palm was solid against his sternum. The hollow of his throat gave slightly under his thumb. “130 bpm.”
“Keep going.”
“My neck.”
Extensive damage. Rhomboid. Deltoid. Trapezius. All the way into the splenius, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the hit or the dislocation or being pinned. A seat of salt poured into his mouth. He could taste it, the inside of a glove and the chemicals they used to clean the locker room mats. His head throbbed, pounded, he couldn’t see.
“145 bpm.”
“What’s wrong with your neck?”
“Strain potential whiplash impact.” Words tripped over each other to explain with complexity the situation did not need.
The hand over his own vanished, leaving cool air. Fingertips pushed gently against the sides of his neck. “Keep breathing, Lupin.”
A thumb ran along the outside of his spine and the floor came into focus. Prodding, palpating. Gentle despite the rasp of calluses at his nape. Steady, not gripping. He could pull away if he wanted to.
“I don’t feel damage.” A push beneath his ear. “Just some tension. Rate?”
Remus exhaled. “110.”
“Good work.”
“Thank you.”
“You interns and your manners,” Moody muttered. A few blinks brought his face back, all scrutiny and scowls. Remus had learned not to take it personally. “Relax, Lupin. Hand stays there until you’re under a hundred, you hear me?”
“Mhm.”
He was so lucky. He was so lucky. They were so kind to him here. He would try to deserve it.
“I’m sorry.”
Moody stood and pumped some sanitizer into his palm. The sharp tang chased out the bitter chemicals lingering in Remus’ memory. He sat back in his rolling chair, half-watching the game on the corner TV while his glass eye remained focused just over Remus’ shoulder. “Why?”
“Froze up.”
Moody set his bad leg up on a footstool with a grunt. “Rate?”
“90.”
“Where’d you go out there?”
A locker room, two years and a thousand miles away. “College.”
“Bad hit?”
Remus took a shaky breath. “Yeah.”
Moody nodded. “Gonna be a problem?”
“Shouldn’t.”
“Tell me if it is.” On the screen, Kasey made a beautiful save. “You’re not in trouble.”
“I’m sorry.” Sweat was beginning to freeze on his skin; he shivered. He took his palm off his neck and tucked it under his thighs, but missed the pressure above his heart almost instantly. The light blanket over his back wasn’t much more than a thin comfort. “I just—I don’t know. I didn’t know that would happen.”
“You’re young. You learn.”
“James was down.”
“It was five seconds, Lupin.” Moody’s voice wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel, either. “You did your job. Now you know.”
The back of his throat prickled. He managed a nod.
“You know, Heather is a resource for all Lions staff.”
It’s not that simple, he wanted to say. But—it could be. Maybe. Not right now, when he was teetering on the tightrope between two worlds, but soon. He could do that for Moody and James and Arthur and maybe, just a little, for himself.
#remus lupin#alastor moody#james potter#sirius black#pascal dumais#sweater weather#lumosinlove#my fic#fanfic#angst with hopeful ending#hurt/ comfort#thomas walker#injury
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Summary: During his first few years on the Path, Lambert struggles to come to terms with taking his father's fate into his own hands and the fact that he may never find his mother. In the process, he finds a new calling: doing what he can to care for the hard working Working Ladies of the Continent.
Warnings: domestic violence, domestic abuse, violence, alcohol, swearing, child abuse, bruises, sex work, violence against sex workers, risk to child (is fine), risk to dog (is fine), Lambert's home life, canon-typical violence, Lambert-typical swearing, angst, hopeful ending
Rating: Mature (for violence, language, and mature subject matter; reader discretion is advised).
Huge thanks to @lookoutrogue @on-a-lucky-tide @tumbleweedtech @major-trouble @pressedinthepages and everyone else in the @continentcakeshop who held my hand and helped me through this story. It's been a long slow process, but then again, isn't everything?
Huge thanks also to my beta @frenchkey
#witcher lambert#the witcher 3#Lambert and his mum#lambert's Mum#angst#angst with hopeful ending#angst with happy ending#lambert angst#gen fic#the witcher
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Canary in a Coal Mine- Takemichi Centric
Return to Station - TR File
Recovery date: October 21st, 2023
Description: N/a
Notes: Now playing Canary in a Coal Mine by The Crane Wives.
Word count: 305
Back to directory
Takemichi thinks it’s weird to grieve for those that are only one call away. It occurs to him, while sitting at the Sano family grave, when he’s grieving for Mikey. He’s just sitting quietly at the grave, head hung as he tries to keep himself from crying, and the man in question that he’s grieving calls.
It takes him a moment to collect himself, to remember that he isn’t technically 26 and that Mikey isn’t evil and everyone is alive, before he picks up. There’s shouting on the other end of the line, and then the call ends.
The short distraction was all he needed though to return to the present, and realize how weird he probably looked. He hadn’t known Mikey’s older brother, and as far as he knew that was the only person he might come here to mourn. So he gets up, dusts himself off, and goes to find the Baji family grave.
He’s counting the rows, trying to remember where he’s going, when he spots Chifuyu. His feet scuff the ground as he stops suddenly.
If it was weird to mourn people he could call, would it be weirder to mourn someone standing beside him? Chifuyu doesn’t give him a chance to run though, wordlessly waving the captain over.
“What are you doing here, partner?” Chifuyu asks softly.
His eyes look a little red.
“I was just… paying my respects.”
Chifuyu hums, and Takemichi takes a seat beside him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Takemichi watches the co-captain.
The graves he mourns are empty, and he had to hold out hope that they would stay that way. That his love would be enough, and that the darkness would recede.
They would break the surface, together, and he wouldn’t be returned to the dark memories of the future to come.
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Friendship never dies in FNAF..
#myart#chloesimagination#comic#fnaf cassidy#evan afton#fnaf crying child#fredbear#fnaf gregory#fnaf cassie#fnaf#fnaf 4#security breach#fnaf ruin#fnaf fanart#five nights at freddy's#here’s your weekly angst guys 🩵 (more bittersweet)#I genuinely believe Cassie and Gregory are symbolic to Cassidy and cc#but anytime I think about that connection it makes me sob#not only destined to be friends in every new life#but they have a doomed friendship at that#I JUST want these guys to be happy and live normal lives 😭#begging and hoping Gregory and Cassie can have that happy ending..
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hey guys did you know that um. did you know. first of all did you know i'm losing my mind, secondly, do y'all remember in tma how when someone reads a written statement, they don't really Stop unless they're interrupted? and they read the whole thing easy cheesy, no issues with reading whatever words are there? like. jon literally could read french for a whole statement and was Fine. granted, that's Jon, but like nobody else struggled with pronunciations and whatnot (that i can recall)
presumably, this is an eye thing. either as employees of the institute, or because everyone there is just also eye-aligned in some degree (melanie had the ghost hunting show, the eye is fond of martin, etc)
and then there's tim in season 3 ep 86
[Sigh] Statement of… uh, Benjamin Hatendi… Hateendi? Regarding a… [papers rustling] a blanket. Dead friend. Monster. Regarding his unavoidable and gruesome end. How he tried to hide. He couldn’t. Statement is from… 1983, March 2nd. And I guess… [long sigh] I guess I’m doing this one. Tim Stoker. Archival assistant… Archival prisoner at the Magnus Institute.
correct me if im wrong but i don't recall anyone struggling with pronunciations before this bit. but that's not even the biggest thing here, that's just a lil Taste, a lil Flavor.
note the phrasing there. "Regarding his unavoidable and gruesome end." why would he say this when the written text on the statement says this:
Uh, right. Benjamin Hatendi’s account of… [rustling pages] oh for… a, a strange encounter. Er, statement date, March 2nd, 1983. Melanie King recording. Apparently.
"a strange encounter". that's it. nothing about an unavoidable death, just a "strange encounter". Tim Why Did You Say That.
why would our dear timothy bimothy, who is being pushed to the brink, who is becoming rapidly more depressed and losing hope, say this?
this isn't the only time he's said some weirdly grim shit tho (ep 104)
There was never really any hope for me, though, was there? This was how it was always going to go.
and then there's this bit from elias apparently having Looked into tim (also 104)
TIM
All right, hit me with your X-ray eyes then, boss. What do you see?
ELIAS
Disruption. An unpredictable, angry man with nothing left but the desire to feel in some way revenged.
TIM
[Sarcastic] Ooh, terrifying! Surely only magic could have let you see so deep inside my very soul.
"nothing left" but the desire to feel revenged. and tim doesn't dispute this, because it's true.
when he first joined the institute he did so in order to look for answers about danny, but then he stopped seriously looking. and now that the circus is back, this is all the drive he has left. not looking for answers, just wanting revenge. closure. an end, if you will.
this is Literally It For Him. a couple lines later he suggests elias kill him, he's At The Breaking Point.
he is so tired, he's lost all hope, and he's saying all this grim shit about "unavoidable death" and "this is how it was always going to go" like hmmmm sounds familiar doesn't it. DOESN'T IT (<- is going insane)
(ep 11) [....] despite the rapid response of the paramedics and how much of his medical history I had immediately to hand, there was nothing I could do to save him.
(ep 11) I have no responsibility to try and prevent whatever fate is coming for you. Based on my previous experience, such a thing is likely impossible anyway,[....]
(ep 121) There. That was it. That was our fate; where we would always be.
hmmmm sounds a bit like oliver huh? everyone's favorite ex-accountant avatar of the end?? right??
but then there's this last bit i have from ep 86.
why did he stop reading the statement
Statement.
“My parents never let me have a nightlight. I was always afraid, but they were ju–”
Ugh, this is stupid.
why did he do that. again, correct me if im wrong but when else has someone just Stopped Reading like that without someone or something else interrupting them? why could tim just stop himself?
my theory is this: at this point, tim is completely gone from being aligned with the eye. he no longer seeks to know what happened to danny, he just wants closure. he doesn't wanna do any statement work, and he keeps mentioning these tidbits about hopelessness and the inevitability of terrible events, specifically death.
the eye isn't compelling him to read the statements like it does the others, because it doesn't have as strong a hold anymore. the grip is slipping from him. and by the time the unknowing rolls around, maybe it's lost him for good. maybe he finally fell into a different power he never meant to serve, and yet, he does.
and maybe. just maybe. because i'm so not in denial. but MAYBE. he did die in the unknowing. but maybe he got better.
basically end!tim truthers rise up, this is how end!tim kayaking with his bf oliver banks can still win, etc etc I'm Going Feral <3
#ramblings with major#the magnus archives#tma#tim stoker#oliver banks#timoliver#lil bit uwu#tim stoker tuesday#end!tim#cursing#tma angst#ig#i hope this is coherent and makes sense im losing my MIIIIND im losing my Mind
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some of us, and I’m not naming names, need to start being properly tagged on fics.
Angst: Is it me?
No.
Unhappy Ending: Is it me?
……it’s not Angst.
#please for the love of all tag when your fic has an unhappy ending#I also hope somebody gets this joke#if I have to read one more fic with an unhappy ending and I’m not prepared I will cry….AGAIN.#I’m a happy ending girl once again#like give me angst but give me a sliver of hope#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#ao3#robin buckley#angst#do i love angst? yes. but also need to be happy in my delulu world for five seconds#ficlet#happy endings#unhappy ending#my writing#wattpad#writing#fan fiction#fan fic writing
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@naffeclipse
orcas beach themselves to hunt seals
orca!eclipse beaches themself to hunt y/n
:)
#falls over#sometimes art inspo grabs you like this eclipse and you start something and do not stop until it is done#that was me with this LOL#i have joined the orca eclipse hype train#yeah uh if someone looks at you like this dont stick around#anyway#i saw some people mentioning on the fic comments they think yn is gonna be turned mer#i hope this does not happen because I CRAVE THE ANGST#cancel the happy endings >:)#also i know the orca thing could just be a design choice#but i like to think its because either#a: mimicking to scare off other predators like sharks#b: mimicking to hunt orcas#imagine being an orca and this thing that kinda looks like an orca at a distance and then when you get closer its all WRONG#apparently this is called aggressive mimicry#mer!eclipse#fnaf au#orca!eclipse#apex polarity#fnaf daycare attendant#my art
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Part 1 / Part 2
Emmet remembers when he and Ingo first brought Elesa to explore Celestial Tower, back when they were fourteen and thought they were immortal.
“Allegedly, the bell chime will bring ghosts home”, ingo had told emmet with the pompous knowing energy of a child who read way too much brochures. “It’s culturally significant! We must ring it.”
“Hmmm,” emmet had responded suspiciously. “Brother. The bell is at the top of the tower.” The implication stands: Ingo, there are thirty flights of stairs between here and the top, and no elevator to speak of.
Don’t be a coward, Litwick had told Emmet with the blaise tone of somebody who’s going to be piggy backing off of somebody else. Go ring the bell. Tynamo, sensing a litten fight, floated towards a loitering blitzle.
Ingo turns his lilipup eyes on Elesa, who’s squinting at the carved stone faces of the front door.
“Elesa? What do you think?”
Elesa thinks. She shrugs. “We already made our way here,” she said in accented galarian. “Might as well make it the rest of the way. Ganbatte!”
Emmet sighs. “This is a mistake,” he tells the two in exhaustive patience, but lets himself be dragged into the building.
Last time the twins were here, Ingo caught litwick— but not before she managed to nab a good chunk of Emmet’s soul. It’s not terrible; he felt fatigued for a week and bounced back pretty quickly, but it was the principle of the whole situation— celestial tower’s a pain in the ass and Emmet will stand by that until the day he dies.
Like right now.
The map isn’t working. Emmet checked it once. He’s checked it twice. He’s taken out his pen and written on it, which he would usually never do but desperate times call for desperate measures. The compass he brought spins useless circles. It’s like chargestone cave up here, but worse because instead if electric pokemon it’s all ghosts.
“We’re lost, yyup yup!” He announced to the crew. “I vote we eat Ingo first.”
“I love you too,” Ingo told Emmet placidly. “But we all know between the two of us, you’re the tastier one.” Litwick gives Emmet a thumbs up. Emmet gasps in mock affront.
“Elesa, help!”
Elesa gives the two of them a wary look. It took two floors for her to realize this is not just a weird temple with strange rocks, but a full out graveyard. She’s not very happy about that development.
“Don’t drag me into this,” she tells them. “Teme wa urusaii.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” Ingo reports back.
Emmet, who’s cheerfully struggles with Galarian on a good day, simply gives her a thumbs up.
The three painstakingly crawl their way up. And up. If all else fails, Emmet told himself, at least they can orient themselves towards high ground.
“We’re like pidoves,” Ingo gasps. He has fallen behind them on the stairs, with Emmet taking the lead through sheer spite despite his legs going numb on floor twenty two. “We, hah, we are attracted by the magnet of the bell, like, like probopass-“
“I am emmet! You are not making, sense!” Emmet called back. Elesa, who’s stuck between them and looking two steps from perpetual collapse, giggles.
“No, no hear me out, Ingo wheezes. “What if the bell’s a magnetic pole? And that’s why your compass doesn’t wo, woo, hahh, work.”
Emmet stops to rest, just because Ingo is using precious breathing air to infodump. Elesa gratefully slumps against the railing. Tynamo and litwick, lazy in their still small size, have settled on a weary blitzle and look very smug doing so. (Emmet is not jealous, he tells himself. Emmet is also lying.)
“The bell’s important,” Ingo had repeated.
“Okay,” Elesa responds. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to us.”
And Emmet finds that he agrees with Elesa. Partially because they crawled up twenty fucking three flights of stairs, but also because Ingo thinks this is important, so it is.
And here’s the thing—
— emmet doesn’t remember much after that.
The rest of that trip was a blur of exhausted groaning and burning legs, and by the time the trio managed to breach floor thirty, people’s brains have all but dribbled out their ears. Emmet remembers being disgustingly sweaty. He remembers blitzle almost tripping to death and litwick’s swearing. He remembers tynamo sticking to his neck like a damp towel. He remembers Ingo’s excited sneasel smile, and the way the sunset bounced off of Elesa’s hair.
He remembers the brassy ring of the Celestial bell. It sounded like victory.
But it was Elesa’s cackle turned scream as Ingo swiped cold hands down her neck that sounded like home.
—-
So when the conductor at thirty one, lost and disoriented in the Impossible Place, heard the sound of a familiar bell, ringing over and over and over-
-the sound of laughter-
-EMMET! Elesa cried-
-like a homing pidove, the conductor, thinks nonsensically as something in him perks up.
(Emmet had always liked winning, more than anything else, and the sound of victory calls him home.)
—
Elesa catches lightning in a bottle. Elesa, arms outstretched, finds purchase in her brother, and does not let go.
Emmet is so, so cold, Elesa thinks as the wind steals air from her lungs. (That’s okay. She’s already breathless from a terrible business called hope.)
Emmet stares back. His hands flap against Elesa’s jacket. Elesa desperately drinks in his wan face and too wide eyes and his frost bitten lips. In a tiny, meek voice, almost lost to the wind, he asks:
“Are you real?”
Elesa lets out an ugly sob. Her tears whip away in the wind as they fall. Emmet’s frightened countenance turns immediately to alarm. His shaky grasp becomes a solid grip as they spin through the air, cushioned by chandelure’s psychic.
“I think so??” Elesa warbles. She sees Emmet’s eyes dart to her mouth. He’s reading mirroring her, she realizes with giddy delight— it’s such an Emmet thing to do, to read lips, and-
“I am Emmet,” Emmet breathes. His eyes have started to water. “Yyou are Elesa- Oh dragons, Elesa!?“
Elesa reaches. Hesitates.
Emmet grabs elesa by the lapels and crushes her tight against him. Elesa holds on, and the grief and relief in her accumulates into a wet sopping mess. She’s ruining his jacket, she mourns, but its okay because he’s dripping all over hers.
She can’t hear what he’s saying into her shoulder, can’t read what he says, but everything’s okay because every part of her is chiming
You came back
You’re here
I’m not alone anymore.
Around them, the air distorts as Chandelure’s psychic wavers, flutters, and solidifies. Gravity reverses its call as they settle gently on the ground, dust billowing in all directions.
The ghost pokemon drops next to them, shaking so hard the musical clang of glass makes Elesa flinch.
You fucks, Chandelure gasps. DON’T GO LEAPING OFF BUILDINGS, I AM NOT YOUR EMERGENCY PARACHUTE.
“I’m sorry,” Elesa gasps, still giddy from the adrenaline.
AND YOU! Chandelure howls, whirling on Emmet, who’s still staring at the ghost with huge eyes. He’s gripping on to solid ground with the energy of a man who realized he could have been a splat on the ground.
YOU LEFT!
Emmet winces.
You- You left us, you left me-
Ah, ah no, Elesa thinks as golden globules of light shed from Chandelure. This is what a ghost looks like crying.
Emmet holds out his arms. Chandelure drifts into his embrace, and shakes, and shakes, and shakes.
You left me, the ghost pokemon whispers. How dare you. How could you.
“I didn’t mean to,” Emmet whispers. “I’m sorry.”
Stop doing this to me, Chandelure demands. Golden brine joins human tears, like drops of sun trapped in wet glass. Stop going where I can not follow.
And Emmet holds his tongue, because he knows he can not promise staying. Not while Ingo and Eelektross are still in Hisui.
(In the back of Emmet’s hurt and shattered mind is a spark. Synapses connect. The cold breach of the Distortion does nothing to drown out the sudden flare of hope in Emmet’s chest, so great he can not breathe, so strong he can not feel, because there’s a path. A difficult, painful path through the Space that Can Not Be, but a path all the same.)
“Elesa, Chandelure-“ Emmet’s voice breaks. He wants to tell them about Eelektross. He wants to tell them about the terrible past that is Hisui. He wants to explain how the last five months were filled with horror and wonder and fear and hope.
Hope, he thinks. So he says this:
“I know how to get Ingo home.”
NOTES:
AAAAAND THAT’S ALL FOR THIS DRABBLE. ITS OUT NOW. I CAN FINALLY GO BACK TO POSTING HAPPY SHENANIGANS! (Now you know the shape of their story.)
Thanks for reading this monster of a post!
#salvaging the ship of theseus#submas au#submas#ONCE AGAIN. MAKING THIS EVERYBODYS PROBLEM#hey look i did a funny little callback#remember the celestial tower as a Fun Time?#im about to make it BITTERSWEET.#emmet#elesa#chandelure#ingo#critterbitter screams into the void#critdraws#anyways uHh pls just know stsot is made from my worldbuilding notes#i dont know the shape of its ending yet and things are bound to change (which is why its on this acc instead of critterbitter!#feel free to postulate in the comments tho! i have other drabbles but drawing and writing hard)#((mostly? ingo taking care of the sneaslets. getting harassed by lady sneasler. confusing the local wildlife.))#submas angst#with hopeful end?#submas fanfiction#fanfic#Spotify
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The Camster Couple
𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰.
wc: 5k
spanking, choking, degradation and rough sex.
It all started on the blue app with the lowercase ‘t’ in the middle. Posting seductive selfies to revealing videos, you built quite the following from these appearances.
Admirers began requesting specific posts to ache their thirst. First it was particular lingerie sets, then prolonged videos touching yourself, soon it escalated into you role playing for the naughty viewers. Reciting everything the strangers would describe on how they’d like to use and abuse you.
But even after fulfilling all those demands, still came the bombarding questions of wanting more.
The requests to become a cam girl started to pour in. The constant debate down your feed about which website you should join. Maybe Chaturbate or Cherry.tv? No… Those weren’t good enough, but you still had time to ponder the idea.
Doing live shows had its advantages and drawbacks. For one, you’re getting paid to touch yourself, your revealing photos and videos will finally have a price on them. But, that doesn’t overshadow the dispute that your face could possibly be shown for everyone to see. You were fearful that maybe co-workers, friends, or even family might find out. However, the conflicting contrast that made you excited was the option to receive gifts. Followers had the ability of viewing your wishlist on certain cam-sites. It gave them the option to go beyond just tipping the model, but appreciating her even more… honestly that feature alone made you like the idea of doing it. But, the one major obstacle that really hinders your decision is your boyfriend; the one who doesn’t know about your second life.
That’s why you find yourself here right now, lounging together in your bedroom with your teeth grinding in your ear. Your eyes flick towards him when running your finger on the notepad; clicking on the search bar, you immediately type in the link to your blog. The familiar desktop background appears making you scroll through a few post till you turn your laptop towards Harry.
“Look at this.” His attention turns towards you placing it on his thighs.
You gaze at him while his fingers press down on the arrow key to move the screen further. “What do you think?” You ask. Warmth spreading throughout your cheeks as you let your hand rest along your stomach fiddling nervously with your tank top.
“I think you want me in trouble,” Harry smirks. He goes to pass the laptop back however you halt his movements.
With nervous smile adorning your lips, his expression transitions into one of confusing eyes, questioning your behaviour.
“I think you need to look closer.” You insist, finger dragging down the notepad. He scoffs, sight trailing back to the pictures on the fuzzy screen.
Harry doesn’t even listen at first, letting himself look over your unopened tabs that range from PrettyLittleThing to Xvideos. The glimpse of porn sites didn’t faze him, what does are the tabs that read “Most profitable webcams sites?” and “Best webcam site survey.” Bushy brows lock together, his attention going back to the revealing pictures of… hold on, that looks like your lingerie set… and that beauty mark right there belongs too.
His head snaps, mouth opening slightly with chest beginning to rise with nerves. He wants to be upset, wants to shut the laptop and demand answers but the growing bulge in his pants directs him otherwise, because as much as he should be angry right now that his girlfriend of eight months was taking provocative pictures of herself to upload on the internet, he was aroused.
“Since when?” Harry mutters, swallowing hesitantly. His gaze going between you and the picture of your chest displayed on the screen.
The look on his face is giving you anxiety. Heart pounding in its cage. You’re back to biting down on your bottom lip, diverting your attention to the highlighted keys.
“It’s been two years…” You mumble, finding the bottom of your laptop more interesting in this moment.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
You shrug your shoulders. You didn’t have a reason, you never thought your pictures would blow up and gain so much traction And you never thought you would get bombarding comments about wanting to see more of yourself. You groan, taking your finger away from the machine and running them through your hair, dramatically slouching your body into the bed frame.
“If you want to break up with me I totally understand.” You say, words muffled from your face burying into your crewneck. That makes a hearty laugh leave the brunette, the feeling of his hands gliding up your thigh stirs your head to peek up.
“Baby relax,” He reassures. Blinking at him you nestle deeper into his touch, shifting your body into him as the redness in your face begins to subside.
“You’re not mad?” You question, fiddling with your bottom lip. The thundering in your ear quiets down as you don’t see the angry face of your boyfriend appear. He lets out another light laugh, shaking his head and looking at you in a way that makes you sigh with utter relief.
“I —I’m definitely surprised… and a little upset… I mean you’re my girlfriend and you’ve been posting these but…” He looks between you and the laptop, his lips squeezing into his cheeks before breaking out into a sneaky grin. “You’re so sexy baby, I really can’t be mad.” He reveals, finger pinching your thigh.
The answer causes you to lean forward, arms linking around his shoulders as you press heartfelt kisses across his cheeks.
“I’m so sorry! I know, I know, I should’ve told you but… I was too scared and I’ve been doing this before I met you and… I just didn’t know what you would say,” You rant between kisses, his lips curling into amusement. The warmth of his hands run over your spine comforting you.
“Baby. Relax.” Harry replies, the tone of his voice settling your excited nerves. You quiet down, placing one last kiss on his cheek before looking up at him with shy eyes. “I’m not mad, just wish you told me earlier.” You nod at him pleasantly with smile set on your features.
Your breath draws in slowly with the quiet hum of the laptop sounding in the space. And just like before when you were nervous telling him about your promiscuous account online, you’re back to the bubbling feeling having to tell him the new escapade on your schedule. Clearing your throat, you raise up, licking over your bottom lip and locking your gaze with his.
“I do have one more thing though…”
Harry shakes his head playfully, smirk tugging along his features as he rubs your covered flesh in his palms.
“You want to be a cam girl?” He interjects. Stomach quivers with eyes fluttering in shock, you question were exactly he even got that idea or was it obvious. “It’s in your tabs babe.” Harry continues. Your cheeks go back to burning in embarrassment as you nod your head.
“Yes I want to do that but also…” His brows rise, surprised there is more to the story. “I want to do it with you.”
His features soon resemble yours with burning skin and body shifting under your weight. To your amazement he leans in, lips pressing against yours in a teasing kiss. The racing in your heart relaxes. You really had the best boyfriend in the world.
With the fondness of his lips against yours you pull away, cheerful smile shining as you hum with happiness.
“So… yes?”
Plaid pink skirt with embroidered bralette reflects across the screen as comments fill the message board.
You giggle at the viewers appreciating your half naked appearance. Thanking the many who are tuning in for your first show.
The sound of the sink cutting off in your adjoined bathroom rings through the space, it only makes you smirk at the events about to happen.
“I did say I have a surprise for my opening night.” Black letters roll in questioning the news. “I thought I would do it with a special someone.”
Harry’s footsteps sound through the room when he moves his way towards the bed. His hands going to your calves hanging off the frame and playfully tugging you down. It causes a smile to spread on your lips as you kick him away.
“Let’s start shall we.”
You adjust the frame of your laptop so it can hide Harry’s face as he slips in behind you. His fingers gracefully falling on your hip as you adjust to make space for him on the bed.
“I think they’re jealous.” Harry says, head leaning in to look at the comments reacting to him.
You watch his expression change as his eyes rake over the messages; jaw clenching with lips pressed tight together. You can tell he wasn’t pleased with whatever people were saying.
“I have to agree I’m mad too,” He responds to someone. Your face twists in confusion. “She’s been a bad little girl, hasn’t she?” His hand on your hip massages your skin roughly as you register his words.
“Not only deceiving you all, but me as well. So naughty not telling her boyfriend about what she does online.”
Biting down on your bottom lip you turn towards the screen with glint of happiness in your eyes. You know what mood Harry is in.
“She deserves a punishment, doesn’t she?” The hand on your hip leisurely glides into your scalp and grips it in his palm. Your head jerks back while his gaze is still caught on the computer; not even paying attention to what he’s doing.
“I think they’re starting to like me now.” Harry smirks, his other hand going to your breast and gripping it roughly.
The devious tone in his voice makes you whimper, eyes peering up at the ceiling as you let him grope your skin. Fingers transition from kneading it in his palms to twisting your nipples through the thin material.
“Yes, she’s been a very bad girl.” His digits pull away to slap your breast making you cry out. The sound you elect causing him to pull your head back once again, his body shifting from behind to gaze over your expression.
“Such a liar.” He says, eyes peering down as you look at him with pleasure written all over your face.
“You like being a liar, don’t you.” His hand meeting your skin again to pierce another smack against your tits. “Speak!” He orders, adding another blow.
“Yes sir.” You mutter, looking into his forest eyes and biting down on your bottom lip as he places one final slap to your skin.
“Tell me what you are.” Harry says, jerking your head, it makes you flutter your lashes up at him.
You’re too caught up between his freshly washed hair falling over his forehead and chest displaying his tattoos, that you don’t recall him demanding you to answer him again. His biceps flex when he lands another blow against your skin to knock you out of your daze.
“I’m a bad girl.” You tremble. His lips turn into a devilish grin. Hands roaming over your reddening skin.
“Mhm…” Harry hums with eyes searching your overwhelming appearance. “Across my legs.”
He relaxes his hold on your hair, letting you rise up on the bed to comfortably lay across his thighs. Your backside perched itself in the air. The ends of your skirt revealing your bare heat as his hand that once laid marks across your skin rubs against the material of your clothing.
“They’re calling you a dumb slut,” His hands go under your skirt to feel over your ass roughly. “I think I agree.” He smacks the flesh making you chew down on your bottom lip.
“Do you think you’re a dumb slut?” Harry taunts with another mark against your ass.
The atmosphere is influenced with pure lust from each swift, assertive motion of his palm lying roughly into your skin. Harry’s not even waiting for you to answer, he’s just placing blow after blow amongst your cheeks in pure arousal. The sheets underneath his hold ruffles against your body with each thrust.
You bite down harder into your bottom lip, fingers curling into the duvet as your eyes roll in hunger at the furious slaps causing hues of red blossoming under your skin.
“Dumb slut doesn’t know how to answer,” Harry cracks another heavy smack against your ass. High pitch whimper breaks through your lips when you jump at the action.
“Baby,” You cry but that only beckons another sharp slap.
“What’s my name?”
“S —Sir. I’m sorry sir.” You apologize for the mistake as his thundering smacks blaze across your skin.
“Dumb little fuck toy,” One hand leaves your cheeks and trails back into your hair. He’s tugging the strands so you can turn towards the laptop completely.
Catching sight of yourself in the camera your face is blazed red, lips bitten with tears brimming your eyes from the pain and pleasure coursing through your veins. The viewers are seeing you at your most vulnerable. Being taunted with bruises and degrading words, just for you to apologize to the one haunting your skin with waves of pain.
“Say it, say “I’m a dumb little fuck toy”,” Harry gloats. You can see in the view of the laptop his smirk as it’s the only feature that reveals his face. The palm of his hand makes another moan slip out of your mouth as it welcomes itself against your flesh.
He loves watching you wither and moan. He loves seeing your skin flourish with hues of pink from his finger prints leaving their marks, knowing that they will be there for days. He loves that with each smack of his hand you were getting off to it. He loves that if he were to move his position even lower he’ll feel your wet pussy ready for anything he has in store.
“I’m a dumb little fuck toy sir.” You whine, voice muffled from your face press into the sheets.
“Mhm…” Harry hums again, another painful slap burning your skin. “My dumb little fuck toy.” Smoothing his hand over your scorching flesh.
His grip on your hair jerks your head back, painful cry leaving your mouth as the straining sensation in your scalp makes your arms bend to pick your body off his thighs. He draws your head back even further, your legs flexing to move your position to now face him. The hand leaving heavy slaps against your ass sends one roughly across your face.
His jaw is still tense with eyes dilated in dominance. Your legs are now completely aching for his touch to spread over your pussy, just craving attention.
“Don’t you love being my fuck toy?”
You moan at the words, blinking up at him and nodding your head. “Yes sir.” You whimper, sucking on your bottom lip as he looks over your disheveled appearance.
Harry taps your face gently, lips flattening together as the hold he has on your hair pressures your face to meet his. Your tongues immediately exchange fluid as they dance against each other in passionate harmony, the feeling of his muscle running against yours has you moaning into the kiss.
The rough exchange of spit oozes between lips as you push yourself deeper into his embrace. His fingers curling into your hair welcoming your adventurous tongue as it glides against the wet expanse of his.
“I love being your fuck toy,” You mumble, pulling away and leaving string of saliva linked between you. His eyes glisten at your confession. It makes Harry smirk at you, his tongue escaping his mouth to sever the translucent connection.
The hand in your hair is breaking the sight between you both. His grip shoves your head directly into his lap, your nose digging into his crotch as his other hand goes back to rubbing your bruised skin.
“I think it’s time to put you to work.” Harry declares, his hold making you roam your face along his erection. Your breath rushing over his clothed shaft as he buries you into his lap.
The notifications of tips rings through the space. Audience entertained that you’re being degraded for their enjoyment. The thought alone arouses you, it made you moan against his cock. Followers and onlookers getting off to Harry completely doing anything that he wants to your body. Accepting the demeaning words that fuels your greed for pleasure, and letting him place as many smacks against your skin.
“Take my cock out.” He instructs, his grip relaxing as he lets you rise up to reach into his boxers.
Your hands glide over his member gracefully, fingers roaming over the thick expanse as your eyes look at him with pure adoration. Angry veins ranging in size roam under the stretched skin of him that has your mind completely hypnotized.
“Look at you,” Harry exaggerates with amusement. He gently slaps your cheeks in light taps, those motions making you smile with moan slipping out.
“Enjoying yourself like the slut you are,” He comments. His grip forcing the space between you and his dick to bring attention to pleasing him.
With fingers still lace in your hair, they effortlessly follow your movements when your head leans forward to pepper wet kisses along his shaft. Plump bitten lips smearing saliva messily over his erection, as they roam all along his length, tongue stretching around the girth.
Your hand goes to cup his balls, letting your mouth pick up motion with each descend down him. Tongue feeling over every inch, swallowing him down coating the expense of him in thick fluid from every stroke.
Your eyes flutter from the familiar feeling of him dragging down your throat. The way he fits so nicely like he was made to be there, it only makes you moan around him in pleasure. You love the way he stretches your throat blissfully, moving gracefully with the added slick. The sensation of him expending the flesh around him has your pussy throbbing for any form of treatment.
The quiver between your legs only increases when the grip Harry has in your hair is roughly forcing you back down his cock. Hips drawing slowly out of your mouth to push back in as he begins to fuck your throat. His nails curl into your scalp when he shoves your head all the way down to the point your nose is brushing against his groin, just letting you take his swift thrusts. His deep voice dripping in honey when satisfying groans pass through his lips.
“Take my dick like the good slut you are.”
Wet, obscure noise sounding throughout the atmosphere as he assaults your throat. His rough hands collecting your hair swiftly as he continues to drag your head up and down his cock. The aggressive lunges he makes with his own hips to meet your mouth causes your chest to burn for air.
Your palms tear away from his balls and run across his upper thighs, eyes barely open from the lack of oxygen running through your system. Your mind goes completely numb to the control he has over your movements.
And just as your nose brushes against his skin once more, he relaxes his grip in your locks, letting his fingers gently bring your head up. Heavy ragged breaths draw from your lips as your lungs ache in pain.
It’s only when you feel one of Harry’s hand leave from your hair to run across your face, that you feel wetness roam amongst your cheeks.
His other hand glides down your backside. Feeling over the bruised skin and slipping it between your legs to run his fingers down your folds. A hesitant breath escapes you with eyes blinking slowly at his dick glistening in your fluid.
“Always so wet for me, huh?” Index finger craving your clit around in circles.
You hum while nodding your head; your mind is in another dimension right now, you’re not even sure if you’re able to form coherent words. Your brain is in a cloudy daze, dancing between the raging sensations flowing through you.
It’s a mix between thrill and greed. You want more of Harry shoving himself down your throat till the point you pass out, you want him to push your face deeper down his cock and have your nails curling into his skin from the lack of oxygen. You want him to ruin you.
“So wet and ready to be used.” Harry states. Another finger occupying his movements, only causing your head to lean forward, broken whimper trailing out of your lips at the added pleasure you’ve been craving. “Be a good little slut for me. Won’t you baby.”
You nod your head, lashes fluttering against the hollows of your eyes while you lean forward and press lazy kisses along his dick. Harry motions continue to rub your clit around his two fingers, spreading your nectar along your folds with swiftness that you can’t help the moan that breaks through your lips.
“Say you’re gonna be a good slut for me.” His fingers continuing their fierce movements.
“I —I’m,” Voice coming out broken and damaged. Harry smirks at that. “I’m gonna be a good slut for you sir.” You manage to say, lips still roaming amongst his length.
“That’s my girl.”
His fingers leave your clit to dip between your folds and spread you open. Lengthy digits thrusting into your pussy slow. He feels the way your velvet walls sink around him, the sweet fluid that you’ve been producing since he’s been lying his hands on you, gliding down every inch of his skin as lets his fingers explore you.
You moan at the feeling of Harry slipping into your pussy provoking more filthy whimpers of pleasure, while your mouth drags down the expense of him.
You’re so turned on from the sensations coursing through you, you don’t even hear the constant pings of tips and comments coming through the chatroom. Viewers appreciate your tousled appearance and beg for more entertainment. They want more exposure of your skin being shown. They want more deafening slaps and disgraceful words, they want to see you wrecked.
Your lips wrap around Harry in a frenzy state, sucking him down your throat just the way you know he likes; tongue lying on the underside and feeling over every prominent blood vessel that blooms along his shaft, throat welcoming the thickness that buries itself deep in your throat till your nose is brushing up against his groin just like before.
As you continue to let pleasure course through you and roam down the span of him, Harry continues playing with your pussy. Lunging his fingers hungrily with your slick cascading down his fingers all the way to his knuckles, fucking his digits into your soiled box that you choke around him, only straining the burn in your throat.
“That’s my good slut.” Harry groans, his fingers curling into your heat as your eyes flutter. “Taking good care of my dick.” He continues to boast.
You hum from the gratitude, relishing in the compliment that’s given, you nod around him in acknowledgment with fingers curving gently into his skin while he continues his tantalizing motions.
“Wanna be an even better slut for me?” He questions. Your mouth drapes up the expense of him, saliva dripping from your lips as you turn to look up at him with swollen eyes and burning cheeks.
“Yes sir.” Nodding while blinking up at him. You’re sure the mascara that coated your lashes is all over your cheeks and streaked along the hollow of your eyes. You’re sure that Harry loves the damage he’s done to you.
“Gonna take my dick like the good girl you are? Huh? Don’t you want to be a good girl?” You moan at the words while nodding your head again at him. Whatever he wanted to do, you allowed. In the mind space your in, he could do no wrong.
“Yes sir.”
You let him push you off his lap and find his place behind you, handling you roughly as his hands leave your hair to position you better in the frame of your laptop. His fingers undo your bralette before pushing your back deeper into the duvet. His hands gliding down the smooth expense before tugging your skirt higher on your hips.
“Such a pretty pussy.” You hear behind you. Cock dragging down your aching heat.
“Please sir, I wanna feel you.” You moan, voice strained and raspy. Harry laughs behind you. Deep chuckle as if he’s amused by your comment. “Please sir, haven’t I’ve been good?” You beg, ass pressing deeper into his cock, that it only allows a smack to go across your cheeks.
“I don’t know, have you?” Pressing his cock between your folds to slide in effortlessly. Your walls expand around him, damaged voice moaning out swears from him filling you up completely as his hips meet your backside.
“Why did you lie to me?” Harry taunts, drawing back till his head is breached between your hole until he thrusts back in aggressively.
“Why did you lie to them?” He continues, his hand leaving your covered hips and bringing your wrist to hold behind your back.
You can only moan at the drastic strikes of his cock in you. He’s barreling down your walls aggressively that you’ve grown completely numb to the pleasure, just letting him manhandle you to the point you’re not even control of your emotions, he’s the one controlling them.
“Answer me!” He demands, his chest leaning in to grab your hair in his hands and twist your head to look directly into the camera.
“Tell them, tell me, why’d you lie.” Your eyes float over the colourful screen with black words darting up and down. There’s tears brimming your eyes at his thickness abusing your hole so roughly.
“I don’t know sir.” You whine, your free hand not in Harry’s grasp is curling into the duvet as he pounds away at your cervix.
“You don’t know?” He questions, continuing to bruise your pussy restlessly. You shake your head in his hold while whimpering at the pleasure. “You want me to give you the answer, will that make it easy for you? Hm?” He’s diving down your walls with such violation your mind is in a different place.
“Yes sir, tell me.” You moan into the sheets, the soft light from the laptop is blurry under your gaze.
“Because you’re a dirty slut. Say it, say “I lied because I’m a dirty slut.”” Nodding your head into the sheets you feel lonesome tears begin to run down your face as you let him degrade you for everyone and him to enjoy.
“I lied because I’m a dirty slut.” Crying into the sheets as he continues to stroke your walls dangerously.
“That’s right.” Harry husks, the grip he has in your hair releasing as it runs across your face wiping your tears. “But you’re my dirty slut. My dirty fuck toy.”
Shallow breaths draw in from your clit throbbing in arousal, your pussy continues to accept his thrusts that glide with ease from your nectar, walls enveloping him comfortably as he strides in with rough urgency.
He looks over your features; mascara smeared all over your cheeks, eyes trained dazzlingly at the screen beside you, chest heaving with ease as your backside sounds in the room with the fluid between your legs joining. He loves that he can push you to your limits and you still find pleasure in his devious ways. He loves that you accept his intensity with your own greed for wanting more.
“My pretty fuck toy. Only I can make you feel like this.” His hand coming between your thighs to toy with your clit. Heavy breath releasing from your chest as you dip your head in acknowledgment.
“Making you this needy over my cock. I know you love it.” You whine at the comment, knuckles going white against the bedsheets.
“Yes, fuck, sir, I love it.” Whimpering with gaze completely blurring with tears accepting his intense thrusts.
“My pretty slut.” Harry’s fingers rub your bundle of nerves in rough circles as he continues to drive your nerves up the wall.
The ringing from the laptop doesn’t overshadow the ones in your ears. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with it digging into the sheets. Your thighs quiver against his barreling ones, warm waves of euphoria coat your body in pure ecstasy from your climax overthrowing you.
Harry is grunting behind you, his movements never slowing just continuing their hungry paste. His hand that was wiping away your tears goes to land smacks against your backside to add to your electrifying orgasm coursing through you.
“Want me to make you even prettier? Want me to make you beautiful?” He insinuates, palm leaving another mark against your skin as he fucks you into the mattress.
The addicting sensation clouds over you from being completely disoriented at the assault between your legs. Brain in fuzzy whirlwinds of pleasure at the aftermath of your climax.
“Yes sir.” Whining with every jolt of your body.
“Gonna make you the prettiest toy.”
His hips lunge into you once more, thickness dragging down your walls enticingly before they pull out, his creamy seed runs down your folds in long spurts as he tugs himself off in front of your pussy.
Disappointing cry trails out of your mouth at the disappearance of his cock leaving your heat, but you can feel his cum running down your lips, and you can feel his hands roaming amongst your ass cheeks again.
“Look at you,” Harry smiles breathlessly, his grip over you making your backside face the laptop and display your ruined hole to the viewers.
“Look at how pretty you are.” His hands spreading your cheeks to showcase your pussy dripping in his cum.
There wasn’t much you could even do in the moment, continuing to let him present you as his fuck toy to your followers. The action had you actually smiling smugly into the sheets.
“My pretty girl.” Harry is leaving his place to lean over and press kisses along the side of your face.
And that is how your night ends, with the notifications blaring in the background with tips of your viewers thanking you for your first show.
#harry styles#harry styles fic#harry styles smut#harry styles one shot#smuttyaf#harry styles angst#harry styles blurb#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles imagine#hs#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fluff#harry styles fandom#harry styles fic rec#rough harry styles#kinky harry styles#the ending is pretty rushed but i hope you all like it#teehee
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I don’t know if This is the place where people make requests but I was thinking Katsuki and y/n have been friends since childhood but as they grow up Katsuki takes the hero path and y/n chooses the villain path it’s like the 2nd year of UA Katsuki knows y/n is a villain and keeps it a secret she’s also in the class. I don’t know how much I’m aloud to ask but hiiii and if this gets picked thank you
ouuuu this is such an interesting request ! i luv me some angst once in a while ! this is also probably the angstiest fic ive written rn lmfaoo ! i tried to honour your request as best i could and i hope you like it ! (also yall keep enabling my katsuki friends to lovers addiction its not me its yall sooo🤥..) also here, reader’s family is part of a crime syndicate sorta like the chie hassaikai !
fem reader, blood n injuries, kinda angsty but i cant bring myself to fully write angst so take the bittersweetness <33 katsuki claims he hates reader but he doesn’t, reader has a sorta traumatic backstory but if u squint HARD, reader feels guilty, slight miscommunication trope, lemme know if i missed something !
"how long are you gonna keep doing this ?"
you're rolling up your bloody sleeves when you hear the question you'd been expecting fall from your best friends lips.
"what do you mean ?" you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.
he narrows his eyes at you, you ignore him "don't give me that shit." he all but growls at you "how many more times are you gonna come to me all fucked up like this ?" you'd expected him to be louder, but you blame that on the fact it’s so late. angrier isn't the term you're looking for, you've known him long enough to know he's trying to hold back his anger. for you. you feel your stomach twisting at the thought.
"as long as you'll have me" you jest, smiling at him. you never took anything seriously. from the time you were kids until now, katsuki hates that about you. "you'll keep taking care of me, won't you suki ?"
you're spoiled, you think everything is a fuckin' joke. katsuki hates that about you.
he huffs, grabbing your outstrechted bruised and bloodied arm "i won't if you keep wakin' me up so late. we've got school tomorrow, you dumbass." his actions are softer than his words, like they always are. he cleans at your injuries with the med kit he has stashed away in his room for emergencies, emergencies being you. you snort and katsuki can barely cover the smirk growing on his face at the sound.
"you're such a goody two shoes." you sigh playfully, but your tone is more loving than playful like you'd hoped.
you'd been hiding your lifestyle from kastuki until you no longer could. coming to him one night heavily injured because you thought he was the only one you could come to, a decision you regret to this day, even as you sit here in his bedroom again.
you'd never meant to get him involved in your mess. katsuki, who's future was so promising. katsuki, who since the ripe age of 5 with starry eyes and bandaged cheeks proclaimed he would be the best. katsuki, who had wanted you to be together when that moment came.
but you had to ruin it. and you're sure that even as he sits there with you and cleans up your wounds, a part of him hates you for it. you don't blame him, how could you ?
you ruined everything. you always do—
you feel a finger flick against your forehead and when you focus again katsuki's eyes bore into yours.
"don't go zoning out on me, idiot. don't go falling asleep on me either. 'f i can't sleep, neither can you." you huff out a laugh at his petulant demand. you hum as he bandages your arm up carefully. " i think i can do that." you sigh.
"i wasn't asking." he retorts, looking up at you seriously "don't go knocking out on me."
you're left speechless at his words. because despite what he says, you know what he means. you've known katsuki for too long not to.
it’s stupid that such a simple sentence has you blinking rapidly, sniffling away the tears forming in your lash line. katsuki sighs. even when you tried acting tough, you’ve always been such a crybaby.
neither of you say a word as he finishes bandaging up your wounds. he insists on rewrapping up your hand and your heart squeezes because you know he’s stalling and it would be time for you to go soon.
it’s for the better, you think. despite your heart tying itself in knots, you won’t allow katsuki to get caught up in them.
he finishes and no words are exchanged. he stares at you, pleading for something you’re not quite sure about, or at least that’s what you tell yourself (you’ve known him way too long not to know what he wants). you avoid his gaze, your eyes growing misty again when you hear him sigh in defeat before he gets up from his bed and leaves the room.
while you’re throwing your jacket on and tugging your dirty boots back on (katsuki was a stickler about keeping his room clean) you can’t help but look around his room. it makes you giggle how he hadn’t really changed that much at all.
he’s thrown out most of his action figures but it seems he just couldn’t separate himself from the all might one’s. he’s still got the all might poster, his pride and joy that he never stopped showing off when you were kids. and then you see something on the shelf where he keeps all his manga.
katsuki walks back into the room and his shoulders visibly sag when he sees you ready to go. you don’t see it though, you’re focused on something on his shelf, he raises a brow.
before he can ask you anything though, you turn to him with a sly little grin, the grin he knows you have when you’re about to say some dumb shit. he hates that about you.
you’ve got a small rubber band looking thing pinched around your finger and katsuki feels his stomach drop.
"you still have this ? " you twirl the braided friendship bracelet you’d made for him when you were kids around your thumb and index finger, giggling when you see katsuki’s expression morph from curiosity to embarrassment. faster than you could blink, he’s already stomping over to you. he wobbles around a little on his bed to reach over your shoulder to snatch the bracelet back.
“don’t go snooping through my stuff !” his fingers are inches away from the bracelet when you switch it over to your other hand. a struggle breaks out where you push and shove at each other. you end up underneath him with him trying to open up your hand tightly clutching onto your bracelet.
“s’not snooping—if it’s just sitting out in the open !” you giggle. he finally manages to snatch his bracelet out of your death grip with a huff and a pinch at your thigh. you don’t miss the way he inspects it carefully before deciding it was unharmed and placing it right back where you’d found it. your heart squeezes despite yourself.
“either way, don’t go puttin’ yer dirty paws on my stuff. you’ll get your germs on them.” he snickers childishly. you’re just as if not more childish because you blow a raspberry at him. katsuki squishes your cheeks out with his hand in response.
you realize you feel a little too comfy, then realize you’re laying in katsuki’s bed and suddenly spring up to try and leave but a hand pushes at your chest, stopping you from doing so. “where the hell do you think you’re goin’, huh ?”
“home ?”
“don’t think so.” he utters simply, pushing you down onto his bed harshly “you’re not going anywhere.”
“katsu—“
“shut up. none of that bullshit you spout all the time” he leans down until your noses almost brush against each other, you inhaling sharply and katsuki grips the sheets next to your head “ if you get yourself in trouble again, i’m the one you’re gonna come bother and i’m trynna sleep. you’re staying.”
the asshole knows exactly what to say to make you feel bad, even if he doesn’t mean to. so you swallow the lump in your throat and concede “okay, fine” you nod “but i gotta leave super early, so don’t be surprised to see me gone when you wake up.”
“s’less trouble for me if you are.” he quips. he’s mean, he’s always been mean. yet his eyes tell a different story. there he goes again with those pleading eyes. the ones that make you want to spill your entire heart and more, to give your life and soul to him. you turn your face away from him.
“stop that.” he whispers, nosing at your neck, your heartbeat picks up and his does too.
“stop what ?” you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.
“stop trying to act all hard. you know i won’t fall for that shit. those other extra’s might, but i won’t.” he’s awfully quiet. it almost gives you whiplash how he’d went from wrestling you to doing..whatever this was. you don’t mind, despite yourself. “known you too fuckin’ long, unfortunately.”
“yeah” you choke out “yeah, unfortunately.” you feel tears burning in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, that’d be unfair. you’re not allowed to be upset over something you’d caused.
“for fucks sake’s, yn” katsuki goes from gripping his sheets to gripping your wrists, you close your eyes. “ just—fuckin’—“
“i’m sorry.” you whimper, he pauses.
“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have come tonight, or any other night” you sniffle “i should’ve—you should’ve forgotten about me.”
you’re babbling, you always do when you get in your own head. when you refuse to tell him what’s bothering you, determined to do everything yourself, katsuki hates that about you. though it’s something he can’t really get too angry at you for, cus he does it too.
you’re babbling and you’re crying like you always do because you’re a crybaby despite acting like you’re not, and katsuki hates that about you. that’s why he sighs and flips you both over so you’re laying on top of him. immediately despite your better judgment, despite claiming he should’ve forgotten you, you cling to him like he’ll disappear if you don’t.
you’re clingy. you’ve always clung to him. you’re annoying, spoiled and bratty. you make dumb jokes and you never take anything seriously and you cry easily and katsuki tells himself he hates all of that about you.
because it’s easier to say than admit he’s hopelessly in love with you.
he doesn’t care about waking up late to treat your wounds, he’d stay up all night even if it meant fucking up his sleep schedule just to take care of you. he’d give everything he has just to hear you giggle at your own stupid jokes and he’d offer up every limited edition all might figure he has just to stay here and bicker with you over nothing. he’d always comfort you cus you cry easily and he wants to breathe the same air you do constantly, he’d swallow you whole and keep you safe right next to his heart if he could.
you’re clingy, annoying, spoiled and bratty and all of the above but katsuki would do absolutely anything for you.
so he comforts you as you lay crying into his chest. apologizing about something he has no idea about. he’ll ask and he knows you won’t answer him, but he doesn’t care. as long as you’re here.
you fall asleep soon after and you’re still clutching onto him. he reciprocates by holding onto you just as tightly, hoping it keeps you safe as you dream. it’s a stupid thought, he thinks. but it seems you’ve gone and wiped your germs onto his heart.
“you drive me fuckin’ crazy.” he whispers into the air. you’re still wrapped up snuggly in his embrace and his black sheets. in his room where you’d spent the majority of your childhood together. until you came to him with a snotty nose and big wet eyes and told him you weren’t allowed to come play at his house anymore.
fate must think it’s so fucking funny, because despite you not coming over anymore you’d ended up going to the same school every year afterwards, even now ending up in the same class. and with you sneaking into his room almost every night to have him clean up your injuries.
he knows you’ll be gone in the morning, somehow untangling yourself from his snake like grip. with tired eyes and some treat from that coffee shop you know he likes, your stupid way of apologizing to him. katsuki wants to tell you you don’t have to do that because he’d forgive any crime you commit. he’ll turn a blind eye to whatever you do even though he’s studying to do the exact opposite because it’s you and he loves you. but you’ll get in your own head and start assuming stuff. so he accepts your chocolate covered croissants and splits both with you.
you must’ve hit your head extra hard during your late night excursion to think katsuki would ever forget about you. you’re stupid that’s for sure, and katsuki wants to say he hates that about you. but that’d make him stupid too.
#eeeee i hope you liked this !#i did but again i didnt rlly know how to finish this LEEELL#but i kinda like the abrupt ending#take the angst and leave me alone#no all jokes this was super fun to write despite my geart caving into itself <4#i hope you like this op !!#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugo fluff#bakugou imagine#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugou fluff#bakugou x you#bakugo x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou drabble#katsuki bakugo fluff#katsuki x y/n#katsuki x you
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Hello! I creep out of the depths to show a doodle I did not too long ago. School has been kicking my butt, but I'm still trying to be as active as I can, so have and inspirational quote along with an angst-y drawing.
Text: "So it's true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love." -E.A. Bucchianeri
#submas#cardinals art#submas angst#ingo#Emmet#It's very hard to be active#but I hope when the semester ends#I'll be back to your regularly scheduled Cardinal Crossing!
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someday soon
for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is having hope for the future'
rated t | 1,237 words | cw: ptsd, injury recovery, negative view of self (Steve) | tags: angst with a happy ending, getting together, hurt/comfort, falling in love
💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖
Steve ignored his bat bites for too long.
That's what all the doctors and nurses said when he'd been rushed into the ER by Robin, panicked when he passed out and woke up with very little memory of what they'd done that day.
She assumed it was the concussions catching up to him, but it turned out to be a hell of an infection. The infection had spread from the worst bite on his side to his hip and down his leg. They caught it in time to save the leg, but it would be weak for months, if not years, and he'd need to do physical therapy to keep the muscle dense enough to walk.
Everyone was pissed at him, but mostly just happy he was finally getting taken care of. That was a difficult thing for him.
Eddie joked that it was his turn to keep him company in the hospital now, but Steve wasn't up for jokes. Not when he'd become such a burden. Not when he was pulling attention from things and people that actually needed it. He was using up resources that were already barely available for people much worse off than him.
When he was finally fever-free, showing signs of improvement, and promising to keep taking the antibiotics for two more weeks, he was set free. Eddie and Robin brought him to Eddie's trailer to ensure he would actually take care of himself, and he didn't have the heart to argue with either of them.
He felt ridiculous, every single time he got stuck on the couch because his leg was too numb to stand, every time Wayne would grab whatever thing he couldn't quite reach from the top shelf of the cabinet because he couldn't stand on both of his tip toes, whenever Eddie would half-carry him to the shower and wait by the door in case he fell on his bad days. It was all so stupid. He was stupid.
He spent his days doing what he was supposed to, but only the bare minimum. He did the exercises, but only alone in Eddie's room while he was busy at work or picking up Steve's slack. He took the meds when he was in pain instead of "suffering in silence" like Robin told him to. He packed Wayne's lunches for work as a thank you for letting him stay even though Wayne always insisted he didn't need to do anything to deserve a roof over his head and people to care.
He ignored the stupid churning in his stomach that started when he thought about what would happen when Eddie brought him back to his empty house. He ignored the butterflies every time Eddie got home while he was faking sleep on the couch and covered him with the blanket that was by his feet. He ignored the way his heart fluttered every time Eddie would make him the tea he secretly liked instead of the coffee he normally forced himself to drink.
He pretended that the love that grew in his chest was made up, that Eddie was only doing what any friend would do.
Steve only let his imagination run away with him on the nights when Eddie was at Hellfire late, when he was curled up in Eddie's bed at Eddie's insistence that he sleep there. He let himself picture a future like this: waiting up for Eddie to get home from work or a show, curled up with a pillow that smelled like him against his chest, wearing a t-shirt that had holes from being worn too much, and the mixtape Eddie made for Steve playing low in the background.
It was a perfect future.
He fell asleep to the thought of Eddie's arms around him, holding him because he wanted to, not because he had to.
He woke up to Eddie's arms around him, the dark and silent room around him making him panic until Eddie's grip tightened and he pulled him closer.
"You awake?" Eddie whispered against the top of his head.
"Yeah." Steve didn't pull away, couldn't make himself even though the alarms were going off in his brain telling him to put space between them before Eddie realized what this meant to him. "When'd you get back?"
"Hour ago maybe. Didn't mean to run so late, sorry," Eddie's fingers were tracing patterns up and down his spine.
"It's okay. You can do whatever you want," Steve let himself have this moment. He nudged his face further into Eddie's shirt, smiling at the warmth of his chest. "You sleep at all yet?"
"No, I was busy."
Steve's brows furrowed in confusion. "Doing what?"
"Watching you."
Steve turned his head so he was looking up at him. "Watching me sleep? Why the hell were you doing that?"
He should probably sound more upset, maybe more concerned about being watched while he was unconscious. But a pretty big part of him was fine with it, wanted it, hoped it meant more to Eddie too.
"The corner of your mouth twitches a lot in your sleep, did you know that? And when you're in pain or having a nightmare, it stops. Sometimes I just watch to make sure you're sleeping okay," he answered simply. "Been at least a few nights since you've had any nightmares right?"
Steve nodded, speechless at the fact that Eddie had noticed something like that.
"You curl the blanket in your hand when you sleep, too. Or my shirt. Sometimes your own shirt if you can't find anything else," Eddie continued.
Steve felt his fingers loosen in Eddie's shirt, not having noticed the way they'd been holding on for dear life this entire time.
Eddie's hand covered his, squeezing something that felt like reassurance and love right into his skin.
"You're not the same Steve you used to be, but you still worry about what people think. You can just be you. Just be Steve. I promise the Steve you are is the Steve we love," Eddie smiled down at him.
"I-" Steve took a breath. "I just don't wanna ruin it all."
"Stevie, sweetheart." Eddie shook his head. "You couldn't ruin it. When are you gonna get it through that thick head of yours that we're all stickin' this out with you?"
"But you don't have to."
"No, we don't." Eddie squeezed his hand again. "But we do. And we will."
"Even if I'm always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Recovering. Having nightmares. Scared. Robin says I might be depressed? I'm probably gonna limp forever."
"Stevie, look at me," Eddie said, tilting his face back towards him. Steve hadn't even realized he'd turned away so much. "I love you. Okay?"
"You do?"
"Do you think I notice what other people's lips do when they're sleeping?"
Steve snorted. "No, I guess not."
"I love you and sometimes that might mean I have to deal with your shit, but I want to, okay? It won't always be this much shit. I can hold your hand through it," Eddie smiled. "Now, you should go back to sleep."
"You didn't kiss me yet," Steve said around a yawn.
"We've got plenty of time for it, sweetheart. Go to sleep."
Steve believed him.
He knew it would still be shit. He knew he wouldn't always believe what Eddie said. He knew he'd still feel like a burden.
But they had time to wade through it together.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#steddielovemonth#love is having hope for the future#angst with a happy ending#established relationship#hurt/comfort#injury recovery#ptsd
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“We don’t have a friendship, Supergirl.”
It took a moment for it to sink in. Lena stood before her, chin proud, staring her down with enough force to that Kara knew she wasn’t the most powerful woman in the world, no matter what they said. She wasn’t even the most powerful woman in this room.
Kara could push press an attack submarine. She could move between the ticks of a clock, perceive things so small and so fast they could barely be said to have happened at all. She’d bested foes that had humbled the Man of Steel. She’s outclassed even him.
Yet in this moment, she was all but powerless. There was nothing she could do with all her strength. All of this had been about weapons. Kryptonite. Lena needed neither to destroy Kara. She needed only cutting words.
“U-understood,” Kara mumbled.
She felt her shoulders draw in and sag, felt herself shrinking back into her own skin. Supergirl was banished instantly, and suddenly a defeated, frail Kara Danvers stood in her place, feeling silly in her cape and skirt. Her boots pinched her feet and everything was too tight. She could barely breathe.
“Ishouldgo,” she gasped out, fleeing, running, getting the hell away from here. She took the fastest available route until she was airborne, slipping the burly bonds of Earth.
The rush of pressure and the concussive wave built up around her skin and cut loose, releasing a rolling boom over National City. By the time Kara slowed and came to a hover, she was over the Pacific Ocean, calm blue seas stretching out in an endless expanse.
She relaxed, hanging impossibly above the clouds, absorbing pure sunlight.
Bitterly, she remembered when she’d tried to abandon Kara Danvers, not long ago. It had seemed that a life outside of Supergirl, outside of endless battles and self-sacrificing service, was pointless, and hurtful. Fitting in brought pain, forced her into a world that was all angles and wrong turns, lying to everyone around her and forbidden the simple concepts they all had. She was a stranger in a strange land, always seeking acceptance and understanding of peculiar customs, dogged by an incessant need.
It was one she barely admitted, but it was there, always there, just over her shoulder and ready to lead the assault when the walks came closing in.
Why her?
Out of all her people, her entire race, why was she the lone survivor? And she was, because while Kal was Kryptonian by birth, he had escaped Krypton. Kara had survived it.
Survival offered no escape.
For him, his birthright was a joy. Incredible powers, a sacred calling, a love of adventure and excitement. Kara could only imagine how wonderful it must have been for him when he discovered it all.
Oh, he mourned, or tried to. Kara bitterly indulged his laments for his lost world; a world he’d never walked, customs he’d never shared. His parents were a blessing to him, but to her they were her aunt an uncle, real people that Kara had lost.
Being Kara Danvers was difficult and painful. Being Supergirl was difficult and painful- now with the world killers, it seemed to Kara that Earth might have been better off had Krypton never noticed this yellow star or the beautiful blue world that orbited it.
Maybe Krypton was meant to end, and maybe Kara…
Maybe Kara…
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. She’d ruined everything. Lena Luthor was kind, and good, and had spent weeks risking her life trying to help a friend, and what had Kara done? Made it about her. She’d wrapped everything around herself. She’s torn Lena’s relationship apart because she just could not believe that her best and most trusted friend wouldn’t hurt her.
It made sense when she was doing it. Was she not doomed? Had she not watched her world die? Kara had been a little girl one day and the next she was trapped in hell, her mother’s touch still felt on a tear-scored cheek.
Kara screamed. Red-sun fury exploded from her eyes, burning the sky itself. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair!
When the scream faded from her throat, leaving it ragged and dry, her eyes aching from the wild energy blast, she was still hanging in the air.
A terrible inevitability settled within her chest. She knew what she had to do, but she didn’t know if she had the strength. She could overcome any foe, break any barrier, reach any height. She was Supergirl. She could do anything.
“I have to take responsibility for what I’ve done,” Kara told the sky.
The sky didn’t answer her. She closes her eyes and absorbed Sol’s warmth. Sometimes, Kara really wished these stars were gods, that the golden light that gave her limitless power could give her answers, that Sol could be a nurturing mother, taking in a wanderer so far from Rao’s grace.
It wasn’t. It was a superheated ball of hydrogen undergoing nuclear fusion. There were no answers in the sky. There were none anywhere. She’s have to find them on her own.
Kara first went back to her apartment, resolving to do this right. She changed into one of her favorite outfits (Lena had once made a curious compliment about Kara’s biceps, the last time she’d worn it) and texted her best friend, asking to meet soon.
Lena, predictably, replied that she was busy.
Kara thought of Lena, not as Supergirl, but as herself. Lena toiling in that lab in desperation, not feeding herself
She was tempted to say that Supergirl told her about the lab and the situation and beg to be allowed to help, but there had to be a better way. An honest way.
I know you’re busy. I just want to make sure you get something to eat and you’re okay. Just a few minutes.
The reply came a moment later.
Oh, alright. You know I can’t say no to you.
Kara’s heart leapt and crumped at the same time. She let out a slow breath and decided to grab something on the way, something she could leave if Lena threw her out.
When she arrived, Lena had moved to her office. She was sitting behind her desk, and as much as she’d look remarkable out together earlier, she was showing her fatigue now. There were bags under her eyes and she’d changed into a loose sweatshirt, and Kara thought she might fall asleep on her desk.
When she looked at Kara, her face lit up with such admiration and affection that Kara’s heart could have burst in her chest. In the fading afternoon light, most like that of her lost star, Lena seemed impossibly beautiful and perfect, the sharp-tongued being of cold fury replaced by someone small and soft that Kara simply had to cup in her hands and protect and…
Oh.
Oh Rao.
FUCK.
Kara almost dropped the bag of donuts. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Not today. She couldn’t do this she couldn’t, she couldn’t lose… couldn’t lose…
Lena.
It was like seeing her for the first time. Kara sucked in a drawing breath and had to let it out very slowly, as a new and perilous understanding took root and changed everything.
“Do I look that bad?” Lena said, but there was no heat in it.
“You look beautiful,” Kara answered in a breathy voice, before she could stop herself.
Lena smirked. “You’re too nice. Are those donuts?”
Kara gently placed them on the desk, and she looked. Stared.
One of the gifts, and curses, of Kryptonian physiology was an eidetic memory. This moment would live in her mind and heart until the day she died, so she dragged it out for as long as she could, to keep it. To keep the sight of this woman who truly treasured Kara. Just Kara.
“Kara?” Lena said, confused and maybe a little scared.
“I have to tell you something,” said Kara.
“What is it?” said Lena, always so eager to help.
Kara’s hands balled into fists, arms trembling. The tears broke before she worked up the will to say it.
“Earlier today, you asked me why it’s so important to me that we be friends.”
Lena stared blankly for a too-short moment, and then her eyes went wide. She rocked back in her chair as if struck, then bolted out of it, rounding the desk. Kara stood still, unable to face her, and watched it all reflected in the desk.
“Look at me.”
Kara didn’t move.
“Look at me!”
Kara looked. With shaking hands, Lena grasped the frames of her glasses and pulled them free, setting them aside. Kara then flinched as Lena reached behind her, the gesture so much like an embrace, so curiously intimate that Kara’s own body betrayed her, her heart hammering in her chest.
Lena released Kara’s hair and it spilled in curls around her shoulders.
“Oh my God,” Lena whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Kara whimpered, the tears hot on her cheeks. “Lena, please, I’m sorry.”
“It was all a lie. You were lying to me the whole time.”
No, she wanted to scream, I never lied, I didn’t, you had no right to know, I was protecting you. A hundred futile excuses crashes through her mind and when they were gone only the truth remained.
“I was scared,” Kara choked out. “I was so scared and then I messed it up and I was even more scared and I just kept trying to fix it. I’m sorry.”
Lena was crying, too. The tears fell freely, though her expression remained still, calculating.
“I would do anything for you. I would die for you. I don’t know why I did what I did…”
“You pretended to be another fucking person and talked my boyfriend into spying on me while pretending to be my friend.”
“I wasn’t pretending,” Kara pleased. “I am your friend. You mean so much to me, more than I’ve ever told you and I was scared.”
“Of what?” said Lena. “That I’d make Kryptonite and kill you with it? Make weapons to kill you? I thought you really believed in me, Kara. I listened to your bullshit and I believed it and you were just fucking… you were… you bitch!”
Kara stood, transfixed, as Lena came apart in front of her.
“Why did you have to do this? Why did you have to tell me now? Why did you take my Kara away from me when I needed her most?”
Kara sucked in a shuddering breath and hugged herself.
“Because I deserve this. You deserve the truth and I deserve the consequences for what I’ve done. I did hurt you just like you said, and I thought I could just smooth it over and charm my way into fixing it, but I can’t. I’m a fuckup. I make things worse just by existing.”
Lena shuddered and formed her hands into fists. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you say that to me ever again.”
“This is my fault. I made this happen. I should have told you after you saved the world. The first time, with Medusa. If I trusted you, you could have come to me and we could have saved Sam together. You trusted me and I hurt you.”
“Are you going to ask for forgiveness? Is that where this is going?”
“No. I don’t deserve it.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Let me help you with Sam, and then I’ll leave you alone. I know I can’t come back from this. I can’t fix it. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Leave me alone?” Lena snapped, jabbing a finger into Kara’s chest. “What the fuck? You think you can just crash into my life like this and then just leave?”
“I… I…”
“How about this,” said Lena, stepping closer, her green eyes full of fury. “How about you ask me what I want instead of telling me?”
Kara swallowed.
“What do you want?”
Lena stepped back.
“I want to save my friend. I want Ruby to have her mom back. I want to fix the world. I need your help to do that, whether I want it or not.”
“And then?”
“And then…” said Lena. “Then I want to know why. I want to know why you did this to me and what the hell you really want, and then I’ll decide if there’s anything worth saving with you, or if I’m going to go back to Metropolis and rebuild my life.”
“That… that’s… I’ll help.”
“What do you want?”
Kara swallowed.
“I… I ummm…” Kara reached for glasses that were no longer there. “I want to try again. I want to be your friend again, as my whole self. There’s so much I could share with you.”
Lena swiped the tears away from her eyes, and stilled herself, regaining her control.
“I’ll be in the lab. I’ll call for you when I need you.”
Lena heard for the door, stopping at the threshold.
“Kara,” said Lena, without turning.
“Yeah?” Kara said, thickly.
“The night Edge was trying to set me up… the plane. Would you really have dropped the chemicals if I couldn’t make the jump?”
Kara took her glasses from the desks, turning them in her hands, and drew in a breath.
“Yes,” said Kara. “I’d have found a way to fix somehow, but if it was the only way, yes. I’d have let them fall, but I’d never let you fall. I said I’d always protect you, and that was the truth. I always will. No matter what.”
Lena hesitated at the door, then left without a word.
#supercorp#supergirl fanfiction#supergirl#supercorp fanfic#lena luthor#kara danvers#kara x lena#karlena#supergirl fanfic#ficlet#it can’t always be easy#Kara has a gay awakening no. 6473#pining#requited pining#how does lena not know she’s fat for her seriously#angst#angst with a hopeful ending#Supercorp forever#Supercorp soulmates#Supercorp endgame#they’ll get together eventually give it time#they have a friendship to revoke before the railing starts#but when it starts wewww laddy#Kara really messed up and realistically she’d have to do a lot of work to rebuild with Lena#Lena is a good person and wouldn’t become everything she hates because her himbo girlfriend messed up#canon is weak#canon was a mistake
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“Is this what it felt like? After I got poisoned?” Zuko asks quietly.
“Depends. What are you feeling?”
“Worried. Helpless. Terrified. Relieved.”
Sokka nods. “Then yeah, pretty much.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on making a habit out of it,” Sokka winks.
(id in alt) a scene from @bisexuallsokka 's fic "i'll tell you the truth (but never goodbye)" which is AMAZING pls go read it
#for anyone who didn't read it: he's finnneeeeee dw dw#blood tw#blood cw#divorced zukka#yall i went crazy over this story. i dont have time to draw more from it but i hope to in the future#angst with a happy ending
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don’t tell me you’re my heartbreaker
Summary: You weren’t expecting Mat to come back to you.
Pairing: mat barzal x f!reader
Word Count: 10,251
Warnings: post breakup, verbal disagreement, angst, make up sex, angst with a happy ending, second chance romance
A/N: happy freaky friday, i have returned lol. thank you to @m00nlightdelights for beta reading this and being my hype person, ily<3
Why you had agreed to this, you had no idea.
Even now, sitting here, across from an unsurprisingly empty chair, every instinct, every nerve ending in your body is telling you to run, to flee, to get the fuck out of here and run down the few blocks it would take to get to the train station to get away from all of this.
From this, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea.
You anxiously checked the time on your watch once more, the glaring 6:28 PM letting you know there were exactly two minutes till the agreed time of 6:30 pm, and once that time arrived, you would start the timer for what you were considering a generous fifteen minutes.
If he wasn’t in this chair across from you at 6:45 pm, sharp, you would give into your body’s response and bolt.
And then that would be it, right? You’d be able to put everything that had happened into a box sealed with a neat little bow, store it away to be forgotten and move the fuck on.
You could deal with that.
…Right?
You checked your watch again.
6:29 PM.
The waiter comes back to your table, dropping off the two glasses of water, a basket of bread rolls and a little dish of butter, along with the diet coke and glass of wine you’d ordered for yourself, and the whiskey on the rocks you’d ordered for him.
You really shouldn’t have done it.
Would it send him the wrong message?
No. you chided yourself. There's nothing wrong with being polite. Be the bigger person.
Besides, if his tastes somehow changed in a month and a half, and if he wanted something else to drink, he could get it himself once he showed up.
If he showed up.
Immediately after the waiter turned his back on you, you reached for your wineglass and took a large gulp, trying to psych yourself up. Trying to remind yourself that despite what you were feeling, you did have the upper hand here. He asked you to be here, and you could leave at any time you wanted.
You checked your watch again as you put your wineglass back down to the table.
6:30 PM.
He gets a generous fifteen minutes and that’s it. You reminded yourself sternly.
The second the thought formed in your head, the door to the restaurant flew open and your eyes betrayed your attempt to appear nonchalant about all of this, immediately flying to the door and observing as Mat entered in a rush of limbs, pulling the toque off of his head and smoothing a gloved hand over his hair.
You continued to watch, keeping your expression blank as he weaved through the tables and straight for you, plopping down into his seat with a hushed but rushed, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think traffic would be so crazy, had I known I swear I would’ve taken the subway or an Uber instead of taking my car, and-”
“Breathe,” you say gently, taking in the deepening flush of his cheeks. “It’s fine.”
Mat exhales, taking off his gloves and stuffing them in his jacket pocket, before shrugging it off and letting it hang on his seatback. He ruffles his hair anxiously one more time, then finally, finally looks at you.
Your stomach twists.
Shit.
You were worried about this. You’d managed to get over him - well, about eighty five percent of the way over him, at least - but you were worried that the minute he gave you his full attention, the minute you looked into his eyes, you’d be catapulted back into his orbit and it would be like the last month and a half you’d spent trying to exorcize him, your relationship, and all the memories tied up in between, would have been for nothing.
It’s not all of that quite yet, but your heart starts incessantly hammering against your ribcage anyway, and you fight to keep your expression blank, trying to resist the urge to be launched back into his gravitational pull.
His expression, however, falters, and the instant smile that spreads across his face when you manage to make and maintain eye contact for longer than a second is brilliantly bright.
“Hi,” Mat breathes. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re technically right on time.” You counter, then lower your gaze to the drinks and bread in front of you, trying to look anywhere but at him.
Gorgeous fucker.
Stupidly beautiful.
Annoyingly perfect.
His eyeline follows yours, and he frowns for a second, before a look that you can only describe as fond takes over his face. “You ordered for me?”
“Just the drinks,” you clarify. “The waiter said he’d be back to take our orders once you got here.”
“Well,” he says, looking into your eyes, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
You shrug, not really considering it a big deal and he leans forward, clasping his hands on the table when he says “It really means a lot that you agreed to meet me here.”
You assess him a little, and when you find he’s being sincere, all you can do is nod. There's still a ball of anxiety in the pit of your stomach, and your walls climb all the way up, barricading what’s left of your heart behind its stone barriers, and keeping it close.
Mat can clearly sense this, can sense you keeping yourself at a distance if the small frown that starts to form on his lips is anything to go by, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and he plows forward. “I know…I know that things didn’t exactly end well, and I wanted to apologize for that. I wanted…I wanted to talk this out. Talk about us.”
You nod again, because he’d said as much when he called you out of the blue this morning, but it’s what he says next that nearly gives you whiplash.
“I want to give this another shot.”
You blink, partially stunned.
That is…not what you expected him to say at all.
When he called, said he’d wanted to talk about everything, you assumed it was for closure, assumed it was so they could maybe finish the half-finished angry conversation you’d been having the day you broke up, when he called it quits out of nowhere and then walked out.
You hadn’t been expecting…this.
“You…what?” You stutter out.
He nods, vehement, grabbing a roll and his butter knife, stabbing a little ball of butter on the end of it and going about buttering a roll for you and then himself - a habit of his now, you’re sure - like this is all completely normal.
“Yeah,” Mat says, gaining confidence with each word he speaks. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said that day. About what you’d been trying to tell me this whole time, and you’re right. I wasn’t exactly the best boyfriend to you. I didn’t put you first, I took advantage of you, got scared, and when it mattered most to you, I couldn’t give you what you needed, but that’s not true anymore.”
He puts the roll on the little plate in front of you, then goes about making his own, continuing on like you’re not sitting there gaping at him. “I know I said a lot of things. A lot of awful things, no, horrible things, things that I didn’t mean. And I know I can never take it back, but I hope I can at least…try to make things better?”
Watching you, Mat takes a moment, gauges your reaction. You realize he’s waiting for you to say something, but the only thing you can manage is a small “huh.”
He swallows. “I uh, I know there's a lot to unpack, and I know I have a lot to explain to you, but I wanted to at least put all my cards on the table as to where I’m coming from.”
It’s all too much, and you feel like your body malfunctions a bit, your hands coming up to stop him from speaking any further. “I’m sorry…I just, I need a second to process.”
He closes his mouth, nodding, watching you closely, eyes getting a little wide as you grab your wine glass again to take another large gulp, nearly draining it before reaching for your buttered roll and taking a bite to try to calm your nerves. You both sit there, Mat watching you, and when you finish the roll after a couple of minutes and you manage to gather some semblance of sanity, you hesitantly meet his gaze.
“I don’t understand.” You say. “You…want to get back together?”
“Yeah,” he says, a little sheepish now. “I would like that.” When you don’t answer, or return his smile, it drops a little, only reaching the corners of his mouth. “Unless…unless you don’t want that?”
You grab your wineglass again, downing the last of it and trying to gather all of your thoughts.
There was…definitely a lot to unpack there.
You certainly hadn’t been prepared to discuss…getting back together with him. Even though there was a space in your still recovering heart that desperately ached for the prospect to be with him again, to go back to that little slice of paradise the two of you had managed to carve out for yourselves in the dreary winter of last year.
To go back to spending snowy days cuddled up together in his bed, to return to your spring outings in the many parks New York had to offer, to go back to Summer with him in Vancouver and spending days at the lake, spend fall with him cozied up with warm cups of coffee or hot chocolate or spiked cider.
But that was…gone now.
You’d worked hard in the last month and a half to convince yourself that this, him and you, your relationship and any chance of it coming back was gone.
Because it was. You’d fought, explained that you loved him but needed a little more from him, wanted more from him. He fought back, he’d said things, called it quits and then walked out because that was what he said he wanted. And if he was willing to go that far, you need to believe it was what you should want, too.
You were right to worry about agreeing to meet with him for dinner.
I should have left at 6:25, you curse yourself.
“I don’t know, Mat.” You say finally, honestly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
The smile that had been lingering at the corner of his mouth slightly disappears. “What’s not a good idea?”
“Any of it,” you say honestly, pushing the words out of your mouth with a tired breath. “I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Mat’s quiet for a moment. You can’t read the expression on his face, can’t parse out what he’s thinking or what he’s feeling. It’s a little daunting, seeing as how you used to be able to read him like a book.
But trying to exorcize him from your mind when you were broken up meant forgetting, and you’d clearly managed to forget more than you originally thought.
His whiskey on the rocks be damned.
Said whiskey was still in his glass, untouched, and Mat stared at it for a second before looking at you, nodding. “Okay.”
You raised a brow in suspicion. “Okay?”
He nods, pulling out his wallet and flipping through a few bills. “Yeah, okay. I can respect that.”
You can’t help but stare at him, only a little confused.
When he’d called you out of the blue this morning, he seemed eager. He said he wanted to see you, have dinner, and talk to you about something important. You could practically sense the adrenaline running through his veins, could hear the hard thuds of his heartbeat through the phone. And while you knew Mat was always the kind of guy who was mature enough to take no for an answer, his response made you a little surprised that he wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Come on,” he says gently, placing a couple of bills on the table - more than enough to cover the drinks you’d ordered and a generous tip - before standing up, and extending his hand towards you. “I’ll bring you home.”
“Mat you don’t have to-”
“I’m going to,” he insists. “I asked you out, almost got here late. It’s the least I can do.”
With a moment’s hesitation you could tell Mat didn’t like by the flex of his jaw, you placed your hand in his, accepting his help as you stood up. Together, you both put on your own coats, gathered your things, and exited the restaurant.
You follow Mat to his car, thanking him as he opens your door, making sure you were secure before getting in on the driver’s side and peeling away from the curb.
“Do you want me to stop to get you something to eat?” He offers. “I just realized I all but dragged you out of there, but you probably didn’t even eat yet.”
“No, I’m okay.” You assure him, albeit lying a little. You had been starving, but his choice of conversation curbed your appetite quickly.
“Are you sure?” He offers. “I can stop somewhere, or order a pizza.”
You shake your head, “No, thank you. Just take me home.”
The rest of the drive is silent, save for Mat’s radio playing lowly in the background. You keep your eyes trained out the window, refusing to acknowledge Mat or his constant fidgeting. You know it’s a sign that he’s got something to say, probably wants to bring up your decision at the restaurant, or maybe insist on dinner, but thankfully, he keeps his mouth closed.
Once he gets to your apartment, he parks outside, making a point of saying “Stay right there,” as you reach for your door handle.
With a small roll of your eyes, you indulge him, waiting patiently for him to round the car and open your door for you. You take his outstretched hand, allowing him to help you onto the curb and dropping it the second you can stand upright.
He locks his car, escorting you into your building and following along with you in the elevator like he always used to.
“Always gotta make sure you get in safely,” he used to say when you chastised him about this before. “I need to see it with my own two eyes.”
When you finally reach your front door, you find that you just want him to leave, and can’t seem to get him out of your hair quick enough.
You reach for your keys in your purse, fumbling a couple of times trying to get the stupid thing into the lock.
“Let me get it,” he offers, reaching for your shaking hands, but you snatch them away before he can touch you, taking a step back.
“I don’t need your help, Mat!” You nearly shout, almost regretting it when you take in his expression.
Almost.
“Hey,” he says, hurt lacing his voice as he frowns. “I was just trying to-”
“I know!” You sigh out, frustrated and exhausted. “I know what you were trying to do, Mat. I appreciate it.”
“Then what’s the issue?” He asks, hands gesturing between the two of you.
“I thought tonight was about getting closure Mathew, not getting back together!” You exclaim, exasperated. You fall back against the wall closest to your door, head thumping gently back against it. “It took me by surprise and now I feel like everything is upside down.”
“It doesn’t have to be!” He counters, just as exasperated as you. “It can be simple, it can be easy, if you just let me-”
“Why would I let you say anything to me?” You snap, your angry gaze cutting him straight down the middle.
“Because I still love you!” His confession takes you by surprise, and he crowds into your space, the heat coming off of his body in waves. “I love you, and I want this. I want us back, and I just want to work this out.”
You can’t find the words for a small moment, taken aback by the sincerity in his eyes, and how he’s behaving like nothing happened. “After the way you spoke to me when we broke up? After the things you said?” That seems to shut him up. “You really think you deserve another chance?”
At your words, Mat could see the wall you were slowly building up to keep him away, to shut him out and push him away for good. If he wasn’t upset before, he definitely was now. He feels so close to seething, his chest rising up and down with every angry breath. He is angry, yes, but not at you, never at you. At himself. He presses his hands on either side of your head, resting on the very wall he had your body pressed up against so many times before.
Before, when he’d bring you home, press you against this wall by your door and make out with you for what felt like hours, before eventually dragging you inside when you could hear people coming up the stairs or when the elevator dinged.
But now, he was so livid, so fucking angry with himself that he felt like if he tried hard enough, he could push his hands through the brick, felt like if he closed his fists, he’d pound into the masonry until it was rubble.
“Don’t shut me out.” He pleads. “I know what I said was awful, but-”
“No buts.” You respond. Your tone was dry, your eyes empty. You were looking right at him, but all Mat felt was hollow, like you were looking right through him instead.
“Baby, I want to make you understand but-”
“No buts.” You repeat, a little firmer, a little louder. It took the breath right out of him. “Every time you say ‘but,’ it negates everything you said in front of it.”
You’d said that once before, he remembered. You were saying it to Tito, giving him advice on how to make up with a girl after they’d fought, explaining how to communicate better instead of making things worse. Mat remembers how tuned in he was to you talking to Tito about it, how he couldn’t help but feel like you were sharing a piece of yourself in turn, that he didn’t realize he was staring at you until someone cleared their throat.
Here and now, with your beautiful eyes looking through him like glass, he wishes he could’ve stayed in that moment. Wishes he listened to his gut all those months and didn’t take this risk.
That he didn’t risk losing you.
He was so sure all of this would have ended with him breaking your heart.
Now you were breaking his.
“Baby,” he chokes out. “I just didn’t think that I could be what you needed back then. I didn’t think I was good enough to be what you needed, okay?”
“But if you loved me, you would’ve at least tried.” You reason.
Mat shakes his head. “I do love you. Love you. I just didn’t want you to get hurt, can’t you see that? There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re beautiful, you’re perfect, so perfect it makes my chest ache.”
“Is that why you called me clingy?” You deadpan, recalling his exact words the last time you saw one another. “Is that why you said my emotions were too much? Why you said I was asking you for too much? Is that why you said it felt like I was suffocating you by asking you for more? I’m so perfect that it makes you feel sick just being so close to me all the time? Is that the ‘ache’ you were talking about? There’s nothing wrong with me now, but you weren’t willing to try to do anything more to be with me back then? Is that why you did all of this? Because the whole ‘it’s not you it’s me’ bullshit you’re spewing right now contradicts that a lot, you know.”
“I didn’t mean that.” He pleads. “I didn’t, I swear. I just said all of that-”
“To make me believe it.” There’s no emotion in your voice or your eyes, no light, no wonder, no window into what you’re thinking. All the fire and molten heat that’s usually there is gone.
It's all my fault. He thinks miserably.
Mat swallows thickly, hoping he didn’t snuff out your flame and make you shutter yourself away, but it’s no use. He knows it’s his fault. “Well,” you begin, placing one palm flat on his chest and pushing. “Congratulations. I do.”
He goes easily, taking a step back even though it feels like he’s putting miles between you both. It dawns on him when his hands fall to his sides lamely that he could have touched you, kissed you one last time just then, and since he didn’t, he probably never will again.
“You were right.” You say simply. “That day, when you said that when people show their true colors we should believe them. And I believe you, Mat. I believe all of you. Especially the version of you that you really are. And that version of you? Doesn’t want to be with me.”
After every word, all the fight dies out of him a little as you push yourself off the wall, not sparing a single glance at him as you walk away, dragging his battered heart with you as you enter your apartment, and lock him out.
~
Your heart pounds as you finally throw your apartment door shut behind you and lock it and struggle with everything in your power not to collapse to the floor.
Idiot.
Fucking beautiful idiot.
You can’t do this now, can’t cry and weep and mourn for something that was already over. But deep down, you still believed that what you both had was real. You hoped and prayed with the last shreds of positivity that you owned that for once, for one small moment, this thing with Mat would allow you to exist outside of yourself and have something real, something tangible. That he would fight for it.
And even that was taken away from you.
And yet, you should have known it was all too good to be true. Hell, you did know. And you hoped anyway.
A mild trill sounds from your purse - your phone - and you groan, trying so desperately to push the pain of your heartbreak away.
You wipe furiously at your face, willing away tears that threaten to surface while trying to shove your emotions down. You tear off your purse, coat, scarf, and make quick work of throwing your hair into a bun before wrenching open the closet and stripping down, tossing your clothes into your hamper before stomping into your bathroom.
Your phone rings again, and you let out a pathetic cry of frustration, stomping back to where you left it and fishing it out.
It’s Mat, and his name fills your screen with his text messages.
Please baby, please talk to me
Let me fix this baby
I need you to know how sorry I am
If anything baby, please believe I never meant to hurt you
I need you
You fling your phone toward your bed with an angry scream that turns into a sob, and you sink to your knees on the plush carpet of your bedroom.
Isn’t this what you wanted, once upon a time? Someone to fight for you, fight to keep you, fight to win you back, to be lusted after, desired.
You weren’t sure you wanted this anymore.
You’d dated others, but you never felt heartbreak with them.
You did with Mat, though. You felt every crack in your heart. Felt the sadness, the sorrow, the misery.
With Mat, he seemed to make you feel everything and more.
And that was why this hurt so bad.
Because you felt it all anyway.
You fell together anyway.
You loved him anyway.
Love him anyway.
Fuck.
~
It’s hours later, getting close to eleven at night and you’re sipping on your late night glass of wine when your apartment’s intercom buzzes.
Despite your better judgment, you get up from your spot on the couch to answer it, figuring it’s probably your neighbor two doors down who forgot her keys - again - after a night out.
You press the intercom to talk, saying “You owe me wine for this, Isabella.”
The voice that comes back is not Isabella’s at all.
“It’s me.”
You nearly drop your wine glass, what little alcohol you’ve had tonight rushing through your veins and to your brain quickly, too quickly, and you’re pressing the intercom again before you can register what you’re doing.
“Mathew?”
“Yeah. Can I come up? I was hoping we could talk…talk again, I mean. I didn’t like how I acted earlier, and I-”
You’re pressing the buzzer to let him in before he can finish his sentence, not necessarily needing or wanting to hear the rest of his plea. The last thing you need is for anyone to spot him on your doorstep this late at night.
There was a small part of you that was grateful you’d managed to shower after the little semi-breakdown you had after getting back from dinner. Although now you regretted putting on the silky tank top and shorts pajama set.
Definitely can’t open the door wearing that.
You quickly place your wineglass on your nightstand, running to your dresser fully intending to grab clothes to change, but then your doorbell rings, and, well.
You could stall, could change anyway, but you don’t need him in the hallway any longer than necessary in case your neighbors spot him.
So instead, you trod over to the door, opening it to find Mat standing there in black sweatpants and a black shirt, his hands in his pockets and his hair a little damp, though thoroughly disheveled, as if he’s been running his hands through it over and over again since getting out of the shower.
You step to the side, allowing him in, and he crosses the threshold, taking off his shoes and putting them next to yours like he’s done hundreds of times before. You shut the door behind him, taking your time locking it to try to catch your breath.
He goes to sit on your couch, then pauses halfway there, unsure.
This was where it happened, after all. In your living room.
Where you’d fought, he’d spewed his venom, broke your heart, then walked out.
Deciding you also don’t want to sit on the couch, you walk past him, leading him into your bedroom. It’s probably not the best idea, but it’s the safest alternative.
You sit at the edge of your bed, and Mat leans himself against your dresser, feeling too antsy to sit down.
“I’m sorry,” He starts. “For how I acted earlier, I didn’t mean to make it seem like I had a right to your time.”
You shrug. “It’s okay.”
Mat shakes his head. “It wasn’t. And it also wasn’t fair of me to ask you out to dinner and not explain my intentions behind it. Dropping that on you at dinner wasn’t fair either, and I didn’t mean to blindside you with it.”
You nod, reply on the tip of your tongue when Mat forges on. “I realize I have no right to ask anything of you, and no right to ask for the space to explain myself, but I’d like to, if you’d let me.”
It takes you a second, but you already know your answer before you’re speaking the words. “I’ll let you.” You say softly.
This conversation has the beginnings of closure to it, and no matter what direction it goes in, you need to hear what he has to say if there’s any hope for you to either move past this, or move on from him.
So you let him talk.
Mat takes a deep breath. “I was feeling a lot of things that day. Frustration over the season, how it ended, and then family stuff, more stuff with the surgery. And you were there every step of the way, and I appreciated it, I really did. I guess I just felt…overwhelmed? Overstimulated? There was so much to do and say and I felt like I just needed to be alone for a second, just to breathe.”
He takes another breath, his eyes furrowing as he tries to recall how it was for him back then, trying to say the right things the right way. “You weren’t clingy. You weren’t suffocating me. You weren’t too much, and your emotions weren’t too much. You were always enough, you were perfectly fine. I know you just wanted to be there for me, to support me and help me through what I was feeling, but I’ve never had anyone do that for me before. Every one I’d been with before just sort of…left me to deal with it on my own.”
Mat sighs, chancing a look at you. You’re sitting there, listening to him intently, giving him your full attention like you always used to do, allowing him the time and space to gather his thoughts and feelings.
When his gaze becomes too much, you find yourself tearing it away, staring at the floor of your bedroom instead. It stings, Mat realizes, not having you look at him like that, but he accepts it, knows he deserves it.
“I didn’t know what it felt like to have support like that.” He explains. “I wasn’t used to it, and I was wrong to think even for a second that you wanting to be there for me, or you wanting more from me once things got better, was you just wanting my attention, or you wanting anything other than to remind me that you loved me and that you were there to help me, but that you also had your own needs, and that they weren’t being met.”
He sighs, disappointed in himself. “You poured all of yourself into my cup, and I couldn’t return the favor when it mattered most to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t see that sooner, and it shouldn’t have taken me a month and a half to come to you and apologize. I thought I was doing the right thing, walking away, but I can see now that I wasn’t. And I’m selfish enough to admit that I don’t want to let you go.”
There’s a quiet sniffle from you, and Mat feels his gut twist uncomfortably. “I understand if you don’t want this,” he says. “If you don’t want us. I know I was an asshole, I know I took too long to get my shit together and tell you what a piece of shit I was, and probably still am. I still meant what I said, though. I do want you. I want us. And I know I’ll have to work hard to get you back, and I will put in the work, I swear it to you, if you’ll still have me.”
Another sniffle, but no words. He can see you swipe at your eyes, but no words come out.
His heart cracks in his chest.
“Please, baby.” Mat says softly. He gazes down at you, from where you sit on the edge of your bed, and wishes in his head that you’d just look at him. Even if it was just for a second, even if it would be the last time.
You shake your head softly, still cast to the side, those full lips beginning to pout, your bottom lip starting to tremble, and Mat feels like a knife just plunged into his heart and twisted.
Even when you two went through rough times, even when you broke up, he never made you cry.
And he wasn’t going to start now.
He takes a step forward, and then another, until he’s as close to you as he can be without touching you. He drops down to his knees then, and noticing there are tears beginning to well in your eyes, he decides he has to touch you.
Carefully, Mat reaches up with both hands, cupping your cheeks, and wiping gently at your tears with his thumbs. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He murmurs.
You let out a shaky breath. “It’s-”
“It’s not fine.” He insists. He applies gentle pressure behind his hands as he turns your head to face him. You blink when you meet his gaze, more tears falling onto Mat’s thumbs, and he wipes them away. When they keep coming, he lowers his hands a little and leans forward, gently kissing the tip of your nose, then the spots under your eyes, kissing your tears away.
“Tell me what I have to do, baby.” He pleads, moving closer, rising up a little on his knees to rest his forehead against yours. “I’ll do anything, I swear. Tell me what to do. Tell me what you need.”
There’s a small shake of your head, and he can feel you beginning to relax into him. “I don’t know.”
Before he can reason with himself if he should do it, if he’s lost the privilege to, he presses a soft kiss to your lips. He’s surprised when instead of shoving him away, or refusing his kiss, you kiss him back.
He can feel your hands move to his arms, gently pulling him forward, and he kisses you again, moving between your legs when you open them to press the two of you together. As the kiss deepens, he wraps one arm around your waist, banding the other across your back so he can gently grip the back of your neck, and your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer, your ankles locking at the base of his spine.
A small gasp escapes Mat when he feels you grind yourself against his shirt-covered abdomen, and the hand on the back of your neck creeps upward, grabbing a fistful of hair at the base of your skull, using it to anchor you both. At the tug of your hair, you moan, and Mat feels his whole body light up with electricity.
He murmurs your name against your lips, presses kisses there, to your chin, your cheek, working his way down to your neck, sucking little bruises into the skin. He releases your hair, trailing his hand down your arms, moves to your collarbone, sucking bruises, leaving little nips and bite marks as he goes, all the while you keep trying to tug at his hair to get him back to your lips.
Mat acquiesces once, brain going blank when your soft tongue grazes over his lips, and he accepts it, cupping the back of your head and sucking on your tongue lightly. Then, he’s pulling back just a little to kiss your lips, sucking your bottom one into his mouth, and then pulling it between his lips as he pulls away. You loosen your grip, but keep your hands in his hair, running the curls through your fingers.
“I’ll do anything.” Mat repeats the words against your skin, his hands running down your front, settling on your hips. Picking up from where he left off on your collarbone, he presses a sweet kiss to the skin before sinking his teeth in gently, enjoying your little moans of surprise before using his tongue to satiate the little pain from the wound. “Anything to make you forgive me.”
He starts to work his way down, leaving a trail of kisses on your chest, pulling the strap of your tank top off of your shoulder before pulling the neckline down, exposing the top of your breast and immediately sucking the skin into his mouth, hard.
You let out a small whine, arching your back and pressing further against his mouth, your hands tightening their grip in his hair and Mat groans from where he’s latched to your breasts.
He tugs at the hem of your tank top, and you both part for a small, torturous second, for you to all but tear it off, flinging it somewhere to your bedroom floor before his lips are immediately back on your skin, his hands cupping your breasts in both palms, kneading them in his hands before sucking on one nipple, then the other.
“I’ll do anything to have you again,” Mat begins, your nipple caught between his teeth. “To make you mine again.”
He rises up on his knees, his tongue purposely swiping over your nipple, your chest, your neck, and as he goes, your core throbs as you watch his tongue glide over your skin before he tucks it back into his mouth.
“I’m so fucking sorry baby,” he says when his mouth releases your skin. “I’m so sorry.”
His eyes lock onto yours and you meet his gaze straight on, watching, waiting, until he tilts his chin just so and you meet his lips, kissing him once, twice, three times before he presses his whole body against yours, hands disappearing from your breasts to cage your body against his once more.
His tongue slips into your mouth, hands roaming over your bare back before sneaking into your hair, grabbing a fistful at the nape of your neck and pulling your head backwards. He chases your mouth, biting your lip as he pulls away slowly, trailing his lips down your chin and then latching onto the particularly sensitive part of your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth hard.
You moan in response, can feel his tongue massaging over the spot as he continues to suck, and a sharp but delighted hiss leaves you when you feel his teeth scrape gently against the spot. His lips release you a moment later, and he eyes the blooming hickey with pride.
“Never should have let you go,” he murmurs, and then Mat’s arms move, releasing you from his caged embrace so his hands can coast down your sides, settling on your hips as he continues to leave bruising kisses on your neck, fingers dipping into the waistband of your silk sleep shorts.
“Can I take these off of you?” He murmurs against your collarbone, and you nod, lifting your hips just so, and Mat wastes no time in tearing the material down your legs and off of your body, flinging the things to some spot in your room.
Mat eyes your exposed pussy and can feel his heart thump against his chest. “God I missed you, missed seeing your pretty cunt every day.”
He moves to place his arms under your thighs, to pin them up next to you so he can devour you, right where you’re glistening and wet for him, but then you’re grabbing at his shirt. He thinks you want it off, so he complies, tearing it off and throwing it to wherever the rest of your clothes are, but then you’re beckoning him to you, reaching for him with your hands, and he smirks a little.
Mat presses a kiss to your pretty glistening heat, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. “I want to taste you baby, it’s been so long.”
You shake your head, a crease forming between your brows as you reach for him. He goes easily, reaching up to smooth that crease away beneath his thumb, and you cup his face, laying back on your bed and pulling him with you.
He climbs onto the bed, moving you both up the mattress until your head is resting on your pillows. He places his hands next to your face, propping himself up so he doesn’t crush you. Your legs wrap around his waist, pressing the two of you together as you kiss him, writhing beneath him like the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.
“It has been too long,” you say in agreement, lips ghosting over his as you speak. He can feel you trying to use the heels of your feet to push the band of his sweatpants down. “I need you now, Mat.”
“Okay baby, okay,” He acquiesces, repeating the word as he pushes his sweatpants and boxer briefs down just enough to free his cock, feels it throb once it’s pressed between the two of you, resting against the soft skin of your belly.
An excited noise trills from your mouth as you reach between you both, lining him up with your slick folds and grinding against him. The feeling is overwhelming, blinding Mat as he shuts his eyes and groans, rocking up against you, delirious with the friction. “Condom?” He asks belatedly, trying not to choke on his breath when the head of his cock nearly catches on the entrance to your pussy.
You shake your head emphatically, watching completely dazed as Mat reaches a hand between the two of you.
“No, it's just been you. Only you.” His head swims at your admission, and he dips a finger inside of you, then two, collecting the wetness before bringing his coated fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. He groans, cock pulsing again as he grinds against you.
You reach for his face, chasing his mouth for a filthy open mouthed kiss that he’s happy to give to you.
“Had to taste you,” he explains. “Couldn’t wait another second.”
“Need you now, Mat.” You breathe against his lips, and he nods, pulling his hips back ever so slightly until the head of his cock rests against your entrance, and then he’s pushing forward, sliding inside of you slowly. Your breath catches in your throat, and Mat can’t look away, can’t stop watching the way your eyes glaze over before they roll back into your head.
“That’s it baby, take my cock.” He praises, eyes casting down to where he’s pushing inside of you.
You take every inch of him perfectly, as you always have, and once he’s fully inside, Mat gets in close. He’s on his knees, positioning his thighs under your own to both keep you propped up and open to him, and to keep himself close to you.
Your eyes are squeezed shut, your body consumed by the white out pleasure of Mat’s thick cock sliding into you. Your fingers are tangled in the sheets beneath you, back broken on an arch, mouth open in a silent cry. It’s been so long since you’ve taken him, and your body’s reacting like it’s the first time you’ve been with him all over again.
You’re so focused on his cock, on how full you feel, that you can barely register that he’s speaking to you, calling for you. His voice comes back to you as pleasure ripples through your body.
“-please honey. C’mon baby, breathe,” he encourages, cupping your face in his hands. “Breathe for me baby, you can do it.”
You inhale sharply, chest heaving, gathering air in your lungs as you can feel your body begin to adjust, the blinding pleasure of him being buried inside of you starting to replace the stretch and pressure of his welcomed intrusion.
“That’s it honey, that’s my girl.” He praises, thumbs caressing your cheeks as he slowly pulls his hips back, then pushes in again. His abdomen drags against your clit, and your eyes squeeze shut again, overwhelmed by everything Mat.
His hips move like that once, twice, three times before your orgasm shoots through you like a rocket. It’s so sudden, so unexpected that Mat nearly loses his pace. He has to bring his hands to the back of your knees and pin your legs down so he can continue to drive into you, flexing his hips and fighting past the tight squeeze of your cunt on his cock, fucking you through your orgasm just the way you love as you cry out.
Your name falls from his lips, completely dazed as he watches you. Your cry evens out into a whine, your grip on him loosening a little, and Mat bends his head to kiss you, laughing softly as when your eyes slowly blink open as he pulls away.
“Good baby?” He asks, and you can only manage a small nod in response.
Your blood feels like syrup in your veins now that he’s made you come once, and Mat loves you like this. Loves when you go soft and pliant under him, loves that you trust him to make sure he takes care of you like this.
“More,” you beg, and Mat nods, bending once for another open mouthed kiss, his tongue dragging over yours before you part.
“Love it when you come for me,” he says against your lips, moving his hips so he can fuck you with slow strokes. “Have to fight my way in every time, just to keep fucking you, just to make sure you keep coming all over me.”
“Mat!” You cry out, his hips driving into that spot inside of you that makes you see stars.
“You’re gonna deny me this?” He asks, a slight taunt to his voice, but you can hear past it, can hear the plea in his voice, the desperation. “You’re gonna take this away from me baby?”
You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the question. It’s no use.
While you were alone after dinner, you’d had way too much time to yourself, to think, to overthink, to mull over every single second from the fight, to the break up, to tonight, to slamming the door in Mat’s face.
You knew, somewhere in your heart, that you’d already forgiven Mat before he came back. That whatever his excuse, whatever his reasoning, you’d forgiven him for what had happened.
And it wasn’t until he came back asking for a second chance that you realized you’d give him that, too. You’d give him anything he asked for.
Because you loved him.
He drove you batshit crazy, but you loved him.
And you hadn’t exorcized him out of your life, not really. No matter how much you tried to pretend like you had.
Maybe it was your greatest flaw, but you were too forgiving of a person.
You couldn’t deny Mat a damn thing if you tried.
And you didn’t want to deny him, not anymore.
“Answer me,” Mat demands through clenched teeth, pressing down on the backs of your thighs as he begins to drive into you, merciless and desperate. “Am I going to have to fuck you like this is the last time?”
He punctuates his question with a particularly hard thrust, pushing a choked sound out of you as your pleasure starts to build and twist.
“I want to hear you say it,” he orders, pistoning in and out of you. You can only watch him, stunned.
It was no secret he was beautiful, no secret he was stunning. But only you got to see this, this moment where he looked like a god among men.
The sweat at his hairline, the pinched look of concentration, the veins along the muscles in his arms straining as he holds you down, holds you open so he can fuck you the way he knows you like, the way he pleases you best. The way his eyes flame as he watches your every move, tracks your face so he can be sure he’s bringing you nothing but pleasure.
“Tell me,” he insists, bending his head a little to press a kiss to the inside of your knee, and you don’t miss the way it still sounds like a plea. “Tell me you’re mine.”
You nod, brows pinching together as the delicious drag of his cock brings you higher and higher, closer to your next orgasm. Mat can tell, knows exactly what you need, but he won’t give it to you.
Not yet.
“You don’t get to come again unless you say what I want to hear.” Mat says, slowing his pace to emphasize his point.
A whine sounds in your throat, and he laughs a little, resting his forehead against yours. “I know baby, I know. I know exactly what you need, everything you need. In this bedroom, in this bed, and outside of it. I know everything that you need and I promise I’ll give it to you. But I need to hear you say it. Need to hear you tell me what I want to hear.”
You can only manage a whine, too focused on the slow drag of his cock, the way it feels like you can feel every hard vein and ridge of it slowly fucking into you. Mat shakes his head at your broken noises. “I know it feels good, baby, but you can do it. Use your words, pretty girl.”
“I’m yours.” It comes out as a whisper at first, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock, the friction of his solid abdominal muscles against your clit as he writhes against you slowly.
“You’re mine?” He repeats, not even trying to hide the bit of disbelief in his voice, the uncertainty. “Yeah? You’re mine? Look at me baby.” Your eyes lock onto his, and he holds your gaze as his hips grind into you. “Are you mine?” He punctuates his question with a particularly hard thrust. “Am I yours?”
You nod again, crying out “Yes!” when he starts to fuck you again. His pace is unrelenting, his hips unforgiving as he moves, driving his cock in and out of you, consistently hitting that spot deep inside you that makes you see the sun, the stars, the moon, the whole galaxy with each thrust.
“Tell me what I need to do.” He says to you. You blink lazily at him, lost in the way he fucks you, and he crowds his body in closer, dropping your thighs and cupping your face in his hands, using the muscles in his hips to fuck you deep, grinding his cock into you some more.
“What do I need to do baby?” Mat asks again, voice a little softer. His words are loaded, multiple meanings behind the question, and you know what to say to answer them all. He waits as patiently as he can, his mouth locking yours in a deep kiss as you start to squeeze down on him. He can tell you’re getting closer, can tell you’re right on the edge, but he still needs to hear you say it.
“Need you to make me come.” You answer finally, lips brushing against his as you speak. He nods, forehead brushing against yours from where it rests. His hand snakes between you both as he circles your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to the sensitive bud. Your back arches up in response, moving further into his touch.
“Come for me, pretty girl,” Mat pleads, keeping his hips in time with the circle he’s drawing against your clit, swallowing your cries with a kiss. “I wanna feel you come for me again.”
The dam breaks, your mouth opening on another silent cry as you breath gets caught in your throat, white light bursting as your eyes fall shut, cunt squeezing his cock impossibly tight.
Mat’s orgasm hits him like a freight train and he groans out loud, doing his best to keep his eyes open so he can watch every second of you coming all over him. His cock pulses, his come spilling inside of you in thick ropes, and he can barely breathe as your pussy squeezes around him, like you’re trying to pull him deeper inside of you.
When your orgasms subside, Mat goes to pull out of you so he can lay beside you, but your legs lock around his waist, and you pull him down to you, taking him by surprise with a sweet and gentle kiss. That gentle kiss morphs into the both of you making out lazily, you winding your hips, grinding against him while his cock rests inside of you.
You both remain like that for what feels like hours, but is probably more like fifteen minutes straight, Mat’s cock getting hard all over again, and you can feel your arousal slowly returning, ready for a round two, if needed. Eventually, Mat’s lips trail lazily from your mouth to your cheek, chin, neck, shoulders, collarbone, moving across your chest to reach your other shoulder, other side of your neck, and so on then back again, leaving kisses in each place as he goes.
After a little while longer, your post orgasm high subsides a little and your head starts to clear bit by bit. When you manage to come back to yourself, you realize Mat’s been murmuring his apologies into your skin, over and over, only pausing when he gets back to your lips, then resuming his apologies as his lips follow the little trail he’s made.
On what you think is his eighth loop around, you tangle your hands in the curls near the nape of his neck and tug a little, removing his lips from their place against your shoulder, dragging him to your mouth and kissing him again.
You roll the two of you so he’s on his back, his now half hard cock still nestled inside of you and your thighs bracketing his torso. Mat’s hands rest on your hips as he looks up at you, his lips a bright pink from all of the kissing. He looks dazed still, like he isn’t sure if this is all real, then his brow furrows, and regret slashes across his features.
He moves his mouth to form another apology, but you rest a single finger against his mouth, shaking your head softly.
“I know,” you tell him. “I know you’re sorry, baby.” Slowly, you start to wind your waist, watching Mat’s eyes roll into the back of his head, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips and trying his damndest not to thrust up into you. There’s a hiss that leaves his mouth when you squeeze, and a harsh breath is punched out of his lungs.
“I’m sensitive pretty girl,” he says, definitely not half hard anymore. Mat can’t tear his eyes away from where the two of you are joined together, where he can see his own come starting to drip down his cock, watching as you fuck it back into yourself as your drop your hips down.
“Just need one more.” You promise, can already feel your body chasing after the next orgasm as you move.
Mat nods, pupils blown wide as he watches. “Take what you need baby.”
And you do, planting your hands on his chest as you begin to bounce. Your nails dig into his skin a little, dragging them down his pecs and to his lower abdomen, watching in delight as red marks bloom in their wake, Mat groaning out loud, low and deep, his hips bucking up into you.
He always did love it when you scratched him up like this.
“More,” he pleads, and you slowly glide your palms back up to his collarbone, digging your nails in once more and dragging them back down in the same path. His body jerks a little when he moans, and then he’s grabbing your hips and sitting up, laying you down and getting onto his knees to fuck you all over again.
Your hands move to his ass, pulling him in deeper, your nails sinking into the hard muscled flesh and dragging up to his waist, and Mat’s thrusts become harder, sharper, and your orgasm rips through you like a lightning strike.
He follows close behind, fucking past the tight grip of your pussy and coming with a hoarse shout, pinning his hips against you as his cock throbs.
You move your hands then, cupping his face and pulling him down to you, allowing him to bury his face into your neck as he tries to recover. You both breathe deeply for a while, heated skin cooling as the time passes. Eventually, Mat presses soft kisses to your neck, then shoulder, before propping himself up above you by his hands.
“We should probably shower, shouldn’t we?” He suggests, and you nod. He carefully pulls out of you, but when you move to sit up, he gently pushes you back down, eyes glued to your pussy, where his two loads start to slowly leak out. Mat takes two fingers, gathering what’s coming out and pushes it back into you. Your back arches in response, a small hiss pushing through your clenched teeth.
He removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean before leaning over you again, capturing your mouth with his, sharing your combined release.
“Want some more?” He murmurs against your lips, and you nod, your eyes locked on one another as he reaches down, his fingers pushing back in, stroking you a couple of times before pulling them out. This time, when he brings his fingers back up, you grab his wrist before he can put them in his mouth, bringing them to your lips instead, sucking them clean. Mat’s eyes flutter, glazing over and you can feel his cock start to come back to life where it rests against your thigh.
Once his fingers drop from your mouth, he surges forward, kissing you again and you both fall back onto the bed, all thoughts of doing anything but making out leaving your minds for the next ten minutes.
Eventually, you manage to pull away, resting a hand on his chest as you part. “It’s getting late,” quickly adding, “we should probably shower now, so we can head to bed.” when you see Mat panic a little, thinking you were going to try to kick him out.
He smiles a little, nodding. He gets up first, reaching out a hand for you to take. Once you’re both upright, Mat looks down at you and smiles a little, brushing some hair away from your face then pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You go first, I’ll gather up the clothes and get the bed ready.”
You nod with a small smile, heading into your bathroom to pee and start the shower as Mat busies himself with gathering up your clothes, tossing them into the hamper in the corner of your room. He feels his heart thump in his chest at the familiarity of taking your decorative pillows off of your bed, putting them on their designated shelf in your closet, then fluffing the pillows you actually use before bringing your comforter down.
When he finally makes his way into your bathroom, he finds you standing under the spray of the shower, watching through the glass as the water cascades down your body.
A body he almost let go, a body he knows he’s honored to be able to worship again.
He wastes no further time in stepping into the shower with you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in close, resting his cheek on the top of your head.
“I’ll do better, I’ll be better.” He swears to you.
Your hands rub up and down his back in a soothing pattern. “I know, Mat.” Your name falls off his lips in a soft murmur, and you pull away a little, tipping your head back just so to look up at him. “We’ll be okay,” you promise, nodding to reassure him.
He nods back, cupping the back of your head in his hand, resting it against his chest. “I know we will, baby. I’ll make sure of it.”
~
A week later, you wake up to soft and gentle fingers dancing up your bare back, winding into your hair and twirling a strand around it before working its way back down, gently stroking into the dip of your back.
The sheets are tangled around you, the curtains in your bedroom drawn to let the mid morning sunlight pour in, and Mat is sitting on your side of the bed, his hand moving to gently caress your face when he sees he’s managed to cajole you into opening your eyes.
“Good morning beautiful,” his voice is soft in the quiet of your room.
You smile in turn, rasping out your own “good morning” before turning onto your side to face him fully. “What got you up so early?
He shrugs, pulling your sheets down to your waist, running his hands over your skin. “Made you breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” You ask, playfully skeptic.
“I think I can manage a few eggs, bacon, and premade waffle mix pretty well, but that’s just my opinion.” He says with a small smirk, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.
The daylight surrounds him from behind, creating a beautiful glow around him and that’s a sign if you’ve ever seen one. You’ve always liked Mat best like this - soft and boyish in his features, but relaxed, a kind of comfort you’ve always felt from material things but never from a person.
It makes your heart skip a beat, and distantly you think, maybe this is what you’ll remember in the future - this moment, Mat surrounded by sunlight, soft skin, bed head, and waking you up for breakfast.
Maybe you’ll remember this exact moment and know, that’s when you realized you’d always be in love with him, and neither of you ever stood a chance at anything different.
#mathew barzal#mat barzal#mathew barzal x reader#mat barzal x reader#new york islanders#mat barzal smut#mat barzal angst#angst with a happy ending#angst with a hopeful ending#angst with smut#post break up#make up sex#hockey writing#hockey fanfiction#hockey blurb
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Lute sees Vaggie's wings have grown back and tries take them again. She grabs them to pull them off, but her hands burn right through her gloves. Sp, Lute tries to cut them off with her sword, but the blade shatters the second it hits the feathers. That's the power of love, bitch!
this could be either so dramatic or so fucking funny so i'd love to imagine it being Both
(fuck this turned out looooooong XD)
Emily: "Good news!”
Charlie: "YAY!"
Vaggie: "How good can it be, if we had to come all the way to stupid heaven to hear it?
Charlie: "Vaggie, c'mon- We could REALLY use some good news!"
Emily: "Then you'll love this. I looked into it and, Vaggie, you being abandoned in hell was wrong, not to mention Adam never cleared it with anyone else anyway- so you can come back here to heaven! Isn't that great!"
Charlie: "Oh... thanks Emily, that's..."
Vaggie: "Not happening."
Charlie: "Maybe she could have some time to think about-"
Lute: "No.”
Vaggie: "No."
Lute: “An angel's place is in heaven. Hell is a prison for sinners, demons, and the fallen who reject the very order of creation. If you choose to stay down there, then what does that make you?"
Vaggie: "It's making me fucking happy, for one thing."
Charlie: (whispers) "... a happy day in hell?"
Vaggie: (whispering back) "Every single one."
Charlie: (BEAMS)
Lute: "Then you've made your choice. You're not an angel. You’re not one of us. You're a traitor."
Vaggie: "And it's been better company than I had up here."
Lute: "Think so?” (grins) “Sera, respectfully, hell is rebelling-"
Charlie: "We were PROTECTING ourselves!"
Lute: "-they killed Adam and one of their people is up here acting like he doesn’t still sympathize with murderers and filthy sinners. We can’t risk anyone else getting past heaven’s gates.”
Vaggie: “Like I’d ever want to!”
Lute: “So you wouldn’t lead the charge if your demon bitch said the word and pointed at us?”
Emily: “Lute!”
Charlie: “Vaggie wouldn’t-”
Vaggie: “Charlie never would! That’s what makes her different from assholes like YOU.”
Lute: “You think everyone’s as weak as you are, don’t you? She’s a hellborn princess. She just called violently resisting a sanctioned extermination ‘self defense.’”
Charlie: “YOU WERE KILLING PEOPLE!”
Lute: “Sinners are not people. They had their chance and burned it. And they’re not the only ones.”
Emily: “But they can be redeemed! We’ve seen it happen!”
Lute: “Once.”
Emily: “It doesn’t matter that it was only ‘once’- it matters that it happened and we still don’t understand why. We have a duty to the people of heaven, but if sinners can find their way here then that duty includes them too! And the exterminations were just wrong from the start!”
Lute: “Careful Emily, you’re starting to sound like a traitor too.”
Emily: “If the other choice is sounding like YOU, then-”
Sera: “Enough! Both of you! Emily is not the one on trial here, Lute.”
Lute: “Then listen to the ones that ARE! Sera, listen to them, listen to HER- she’s made her choice. She’s fallen even more than Lucifer Morningstar did-”
Charlie: “Don’t you DARE bring my dad into this!”
Lute: “-and there should be a PRICE for that. We need to take precautions.”
Emily: “Precautions? What does that even mean? She’s locked in hell with everyone else, like Lucifer is, what more can you even do to her?”
Lute: “Same thing I did before. Only this time.” (draws sword) “I know how to make it stick.”
Charlie: “What?”
Vaggie: “….you… bitch.”
Lute: "Traitor's don't need an angel's wings, do they? Traitors don't deserve them."
Charlie: "Well she has them again now anyway so CLEARLY having angel wings doesn’t mean what you think it does!”
Lute: “It means I didn’t use heavenly steel the first time.”
Emily: “You-”
Charlie: “Don’t. Come any closer.”
Emily: “Lute stop! Sera stop her! This isn’t helping anyone!”
Sera: “I have only one question.”
Lute: “Ask and get it over with, we all know what the answer is already.”
Sera: “Hush.”
Sera: “Vaggie. Do you reject our offer of a pardon, and the orders of and service to heaven, in favor of remaining hell?”
Vaggie: “…I do.”
Sera: "Understanding that no other angel has ever done so before?”
Vaggie: “They would’ve, if they’d met Charlie.”
Sera: “Then you are guilty of treason.”
Vaggie: “…”
Sera: “Lute. Make it quick.”
Lute: (grinning) “As the seraphim commands.”
Emily: “Wait-”
Charlie: “BACK. OFF.”
Sera: “You are not in hell, miss Morningstar, this is not your domain and you have no power to draw on here. I will honor our former treaty not to spill hell’s royal blood but do NOT test my patience with it. Emily, restrain her.”
Charlie: “NO-”
Emily: “Sera you can’t! This is-!”
Sera: “Fine. Exorcists, hold the hell princess. And Emily, if you cannot obey a command or bear witness to my rulings then leave before I remove you myself.”
Emily: “I… you…”
Lute: “Kneel. Traitor.”
Charlie: “TOUCH HER AND I’LL MOTHERFUCKING KILL YOU”
Vaggie: “Charlie don’t struggle don’t fight them- get those fucking spears out of her face- Emily!”
Emily: “…what…?”
Lute: “I said. KNEEL.”
Charlie: “VAGGIE!”
Vaggie: “Please! Don’t let- AGH- don’t let them hurt her!”
Emily: “I won’t… I.” (grabs Charlie and holds on tight) “I- I have her. Spears down. I, have her restrained.”
Charlie: "FUCK YOU LET GO! LET GO-"
Sera: (relieved) “Thank you.”
Lute: "Let's make you look the part first shall we? Trim this hair out of the way?"
Vaggie: "You're pathetic."
Lute: "I'm not the one chained up and crying on my knees."
Charlie: "PLEASE I can make a deal I can make a new agreement with heaven- Whatever you want! What do you WANT from us!?"
Lute: "I want her to hold still. If she flinches, I might nick that left over eye of hers."
Vaggie: "Fuck. You- Ah!"
Lute: "Whoops. Hope that won't scar."
Sera: "Lute I said to make it quick-"
Lute: "We want to it be clean too don't we. I'm just cut cutting off some loose ends- wouldn't want to miss her wings and MANGLE this, would I."
Emily: “Charlie-”
Charlie: “YOU!”
Lute: "There. Now you look just as pathetic as you did three years ago."
Emily: “Charlie just close your eyes, she’ll be okay-”
Lute: “No she won’t.”
Charlie: “VAGGIE-”
(Slash)
(THUNDR CRACK)
(shatter)
Lute: “AARGH!”
Sera: “…….” (horrified)
Lute: “My hand! My sword-” (rounds on Charlie) “Demon BITCH! WHAT DID YOU DO!?”
Charlie: “Vaggie? Are you..?”
Vaggie: “….fine. I’m. I don’t think it’ll even bruise?”
Emily: (awed) “Your wings broke her sword. They shattered heavenly steel-”
Lute: “DEMON MAGIC!”
Emily: “A miracle.” (releases Charlie)
Charlie: "Vaggie-" (snaps the chains off vaggie and pulls her close)
Sera: “Traitor. How did you regain those wings.”
Vaggie: (huddled in Charlie’s fierce hug) “C- someone told me I had to fight with love, and I thought about Charlie, and they just…”
Lute: “SEE!? They were made in HELL they’re as profane as the love that spawned them-”
Emily: “Then they’re not under heaven’s jurisdiction to take away, are they? They belong to Vaggie. Not to us.”
Lute: “Belong to- she doesn’t DESERVE-”
Emily: “And you don’t deserve to cut them off her apparently.”
Lute: “I-”
Sera: “Lute. QUIET.”
Lute: (seething and bleeding from sword shrapnel) “…”
Sera: “You, fallen. If I bent my power on you, I could very likely burn those wings from existence.”
Charlie: “If you want to start a war with hell that’s a VERY good way of doing it. Sera.”
Sera: "...."
Sera: “…you will no longer be allowed past the gates of heaven. You are here on and forever more bound to the regions of hell, regardless of your wings-”
Vaggie: “Fine by f-fucking me.”
Sera: “-and in time you will lose all your divinity. You will bleed a demon’s blood one day.”
Vaggie: “Good.”
Lute: “If you live that long.”
Charlie: (Unholy SNARL)
Emily: (getting between them) “Can I send them home now? Or are we going to do something else to shame all of heaven in front of our guests?”
Vaggie: (sighing) “I’d love to be home right now…”
Charlie: “We’ll be there in a second.” (hugs her tighter) “I promise.” (kiss her hair) “Want to stretch your wings?”
Vaggie: “…yeah.”
Sera: “No, Emily. I will banish them.”
Charlie: “Okay.” (suddenly glaring) “Ha ha thank you Sera but don’t bother. It’s straight down from here and the prison wards don’t stop anyone from coming IN do they?”
Emily: “Are you sure your wings are okay for flying with, Vaggie?”
Vaggie: “That’s what I wanna find out.”
Charlie: “We’ll be fine. And we won’t be coming back.”
Emily: “I’m sorry.”
Lute: “Like you’d have the chance.”
Sera: “Go. Heaven is no place for either of you.”
Charlie: “Wow really I hadn’t noticed! I mean no one in HELL ever tried mutilating my girlfriend in front of me, but whatever I guess!” (muttering) “Sadistic homophobic pricks.”
Vaggie: “Told you.”
Charlie: “You did. You did tell me. I’m sorry I didn’t-”
Vaggie: “I love that you didn’t listen.”
Charlie: “…okay.” (deep breath) “Okay.”
Vaggie: “Besides, there’s Sir Pentious up here now.”
Charlie: “True. They don’t deserve him.”
Vaggie: “And Emily.”
Charlie: “Hm.” (burns a hole in the clouds beneath them) “Ready to fuck off together for all eternity?”
Vaggie: (weak chuckle) “Yeah, sweetie. Let’s go home.”
- they go home-
Sera: “Emily.”
Emily: "..."
Sera: “I hope you will think hard on what you’ve done and very nearly did today. Please.” (touches Emily’s shoulder) “For your own sake. Please.” (leaves)
Emily: “…she’s never going to forgive me, is she.”
Lute: “Oh shut UP. Sera will forgive you for ANYTHING.”
Emily: “I meant Charlie.”
Lute: (disgusted noise) (throws her broken sword down after them) (stalks off)
Emily: (sits down on the edge of the clouds) (finds one of Vaggie’s loose feathers floating by) (picks it up and twirls it sadly as she stares down at the distant warm glow of hell)
-down in hell-
Angel Dust: "Unholy fuck, Vaggie Tales, what the hell happened to your hair?"
Charlie: "Lute."
Vaggie: "Heaven."
Angel Dust: "Huh. Shit that's a bad enough cut to make a guy rethink the whole redeemin' himself stuff to get up there, y'know?"
Charlie: "I know. Trust me Angel Dust- NOW, I know."
#hazbin hotel#chaggie#charlie morningstar#vaggie#emily hazbin hotel#lute hazbin hotel#sera hazbin hotel#angst#threats of violence#incorrect quotes#an au idea i guess???#ends perfectly happy enough kinda#only casualties: vaggie's hair. emily's hope of staying friends with charlie. charlie's dreams and mental health....#....#well#i guess it /could/ have gone better
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