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rinhaler · 5 months

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The Root Of The Apple

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Why is Megumi at your parents house warming party? And why is he such a psycho? Daddy issues, of course!

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+, panic attack, mental health issues, alcohol consumption, drug taking, bullying, drugging mention, bladder failure mention, marking mention, family drama.

WORDS : 5.8k

notes : two years years with hindsight i should not have added toji bc i want to fuck him so desperately 😭

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Unlike your hellish few days, Megumi’s were uneventful. After he choked you in the club, he took a cab home. His sister Tsumiki was fussing over him, much to his chagrin. She asked how his night went, if he had a good time, if he kissed any girls. She thought she was hilarious, but Megumi found her to be nothing but a nuisance.

He hates that he was trapped with her until he finishes university, being unable to move out from under her over protective thumb is painful for him. Tsumiki is invasive, irritating, and too God damn happy. And what’s worse, she’s not his real sister. He’ll never think of her as such, to him, Tsumiki is a means to an end.

He hates her. He hates his whole God damn family. But right now, right in this exact moment…

There’s nobody he hates more than you.

While you were still in a drug infused sleep, Megumi’s Wednesday was different. He went on as if everything was normal, he got a ride to university from Tsumiki. It’s rare she has the time to take him since she is usually at work.

He found the entire day dull. It pained him to admit it to himself, but he supposes part of him missed you. He was blissfully unaware of your coma-like state, he smiled into the pencil he was chewing in his mouth as he imagined that you’re terrified to come back to school for fear of seeing him. It gave him a sick sort of power trip, knowing what he’d done to you, what he’s doing to you.

He’s sick.

But it’s okay that he’s sick, because he knows.

He knows he’s fucked up, and everything he’s doing to you is fucked up.

But Christ it’s fun.

Thursday is the same, although he’s grateful he gets to finish the school day earlier. But as he walks through the parking lot, he pauses when he doesn’t see Yuuji’s car in its usual spot. He didn’t think twice about it yesterday.

Of course perfect Yuuji would want to stay home and play the role of the doting boyfriend, protecting you from the big bad bully, wrapping you in cotton wool and shielding you from the world. But today is the second day Yuuji hasn’t been to school.

Megumi would never admit it out loud, but his blood ran cold at the thought that something terrible had happened.

He arrives home, his sister nowhere in sight. Megumi dumped his backpack and sprawled out on the couch. And against every voice in his head telling him not to, his resolve crumbles, and his thumbs involuntarily types your name into Facebook.

He couldn’t see much since you weren’t friends, but he thought he might be able to see if anyone had said something about what happened.

Alas, there was nothing.

He decides to try and put it to the back of his mind.

Within the hour, Tsumiki is home. She begins preparing dinner for the two of them. She waffles on about her boring, mundane workday. She hasn’t even realised that Megumi has his headphones on and is completely tuning her out. An eyebrow quirked on his face when a text came through to his phone.

Nina: Megumi omg baby we are in soooooo much trouble! 😳😟💘xxx

Megumi’s thumbs hover above the keyboard momentarily as he contemplates how he should reply. One thought ran through his mind.

Who the fuck is Nina?

It had to be one of those annoying sluts from his class. But was it the blonde or the redhead? They’re both practically the same save for the hair colour.

He can barely remember which one he fingered; he thinks it’s the blonde.

It had to be her, surely the other one wouldn’t be so bold as to call him baby. He shudders and gags as he thinks of the pet name. The more he debates formulating a reply, he opts to not bother.

Megumi technically didn’t do anything wrong.

Hours pass, it's close to 1am. Tsumiki never normally stays up this late, but she has the day off tomorrow and was enjoying watching movies with Megumi.

Well, she thought they were watching together.

Megumi is just in the room playing on his phone, pretending she didn’t exist, as usual. Just as he was about to go upstairs, the siblings both startle at the sound of an ominously loud knock. Tsumiki looks at him, as if to ask if he was expecting anyone. He shakes his head in response, so she gets up and looks through the peep hole.

She gasps, and opens the door quickly after she’d spotted who was outside.

Megumi isn’t ashamed to admit that his stomach drops when he realises the police are at his door. And the disappointed look in Tsumiki’s eyes as she hears them ask if Megumi Fushiguro is home make his insides churn. She welcomes them in, clearing space for them to sit on the sofa.

Megumi sits down next to her, she wraps an unwelcome arm around him, a sign of solidarity.

“There’s been a serious allegation made against you Megumi.” one of the officers speaks. Megumi hears his sister’s breath hitch, but he clears his throat and tries to remain calm.

“In regard to what? I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” he answers simply. The officers look at each other quickly before giving him their attention once again, as if they’ve already decided he's guilty.

“A classmate of yours has accused you and two others of drugging her in the early hours of Wednesday morning. Do you know anything about that?” the policeman asks. Megumi does his best to stay composed, shaking his head in response.

“Megumi would never—”

“Please don’t interrupted miss.” the other policeman speaks. Tsumiki bites her tongue as she sinks back in her seat. His attention focuses back on Megumi before he starts flipping through a notebook. “This young woman was in a terrible state. I won’t go into too many details, but she was publicly humiliated and has been unconscious for the last two days.” he explains. Megumi’s jaw bubbles as he tried to supress his emotions, Tsumiki’s hands cover her mouth in horror as her ears digest the information. She leans forwards timidly, as if to ask permission to speak.

“I- sorry, what do you mean by publicly humiliated?” she wonders.

The officer clears his throat, unsure whether he should say. The other nods, wanting to fill them in. Megumi knew their little game. They think if they tug at his heartstrings and make him feel guilty, his emotions will give him away. He didn’t know what happened after he left; he told the girls that the drug will be enough to make her embarrass herself.

“When she was discovered on the bathroom floor in the club, we were informed that she had urinated and vomited on herself on account of the drugging.” they explain.

Megumi has to do everything in his power to supress his laughter.

He knew you’d find a way to make a fool of yourself when it was in your system, but that really cut the cake.

“That’s awful.” Tsumiki says softly.

“As well as that,” the officer speaks again, commanding the sibling’s attention, “the t-shirt she’d worn that night appeared to be cut open with a pair of scissors. We could tell from the CCTV from the night of the incident that someone had written the word 'bitch' across her body. According to the woman’s partner it was written in lipstick.” he tells them.

Megumi managed to keep composed, although he was seething. Those idiot incompetent girls could be the undoing of him. He specifically told them that they had nothing else to do other than slip the pill in your drink. Their petty jealousy had clearly gotten the better of them, and it could fuck them all up well and truly.

Tsumiki gasps when she hears the final sentence from the officer. She assures them that Megumi could never do anything so horrible. They look at him, and he knew he had to speak.

“I don’t know anything about that. I left earlier than most, I got a cab. My sister was awake when I got back, and I’m sure the CCTV can prove that I wasn’t there.” he tells them calmly.

“How do you know you were gone before it happened?” the officer asks, feeling clever, feeling like he trapped Megumi in a lie.

“Because you said it was the early hours of Wednesday morning. I had left the club by 11:30pm, like I said, the CCTV will be able to prove I left early. This incident has nothing to do with me,” Megumi stands to his feet, knowing he’s won and has no interest in carrying on the discussion anymore. The policemen knew as well as he did that it was your word against his, he feels untouchable. “Whoever she is, I hope you can get some justice for her.” he tells them, smugly. His sister beams up at him with so much pride. Her little brother is so good, so respectable, he’s perfect in her eyes.

If only she knew.

She shows the men out of their home, requesting he get in touch if he remembers anything that might help their case. Megumi finally retreats to the safety of his bedroom, feeling cocky and proud of himself for slithering his way through your feeble attempt to get him arrested. He feels like a god. He feels invincible. An electric excitement jolts through him as he wonders when he might see you next.

What he can do to you next.

Friday brings another uneventful day, he really fucking misses you.

It sounds more romantic than it is.

Maybe it is, in some twisted way, treat them mean to keep them keen.

And he is downright vile to you. He doesn’t feel anything but pure unadulterated hatred for you. You’re too fucking nice, like his sister. No one is that nice. The way you felt compelled to compliment his art whenever you had the audacity to lean over and observe his sketchbook. And every time you did it, it was pictures of him. He thinks he hates you the most. And then when he remembers that man, that scumbag, he takes first place. If you could have just shut your fucking mouth, if you didn’t feel so compelled to start talking about those pictures of him, maybe you wouldn’t be paying the price now.

Megumi arrives home from his boring school day and kicks the door shut behind him with his foot. He's furious. The combination of his hatred for you and his father is too much. All he wants to do is go to his room, get changed and head outside for a few hours to clear his head. But when Tsumiki stops him from going to his room, he just about bites her head off.

“What?!” he barks. The volume makes her jump, but she simply smiles as she prepares to speak.

“Dad called.” she told him.

“My dad. Don’t say dad as if he’s your dad too. What did he want?” he moans at her. Her smile pulls downwards into a frown at his rude and hurtful words. She was about to answer him again, but before she can she's interrupted by the creaking of stairs. The siblings look to the source, and Megumi’s blood boils at the sight.

“That’s no way to talk to your sister.” Toji speaks. He’s just showered. He's wearing some grey joggers and his chest is bare, he's in the middle of the process of pulling a shirt over his head. His shirt clung to his water-soaked body in all of the right places, it's almost a little pornographic considering how innocent of an act it was.

His children almost didn’t want to look at him because it's so unintentionally erotic. Although Megumi doesn’t like to look at him anyway. “It’s been a while son. You don’t mind if I take him for a drive do you Tsumiki? Got some things I wanna talk to ‘im about.” Toji smiles at the young woman who nods enthusiastically.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Megumi spits.

“I wasn’t fuckin’ askin’ so get your scrawny ass in the car and stop bitchin’ at me.” Toji commands, walking ahead and leaving through the front door.

What Megumi hates most about Toji is no matter how much he hates him, how much he knows he’ll never change, he still – for some unknown reason – craves his approval. He knew his son would follow him through the door, that’s why he didn’t wait for him to start moving his feet. Because within seconds, Megumi is following him through that very same front door.

The silence in the car is deafening.

Toji is feeling the need to drag out whatever it is he wants to discuss, and Megumi has absolutely no desire to make idle chit-chat with his piece of shit father. The new car doesn’t go unnoticed. Megumi can feel his blood bubbling with rage through his veins.

When Megumi’s mother died, Toji went off the rails and he brought Megumi right along with him.

He was a downright mess. He drank, he did drugs, anything to forget. And Megumi didn’t understand. All he knew was that he lost his mother, and his daddy wasn’t his daddy anymore.

Toji could barely stomach looking at him, he reminded him too much of his dead wife. Although he found a new wife to go off the rails with, and that’s how Tsumiki entered the fray.

They were both terrible for each other and they fed off each other’s toxicity. Megumi couldn’t bear to look at his father without reliving his trauma, his unresolved resentment coursing through his fragile skin.

He understood that his father was hurting, but he was too. He lost his mother. And instead of taking care of his son, being there for him, helping him heal. He found a new wife, narcotics, and shady ways of making money. That was more important than being a dad, apparently, and this new car, his new set of wheels that reeked of money and sin, makes his body fail him.

Megumi isn’t sad. He's never sad. What he's feeling right now, some may call a broken heart. But not him. To Megumi, the way his heart feels being in such close proximity to his father is different.

It didn’t feel broken. It feels shredded.

It feels like it has been wrapped in barbed wire, and when he was near this pathetic excuse of a human being it did all it could to bulge out of its piercing prison. Chunks escaped, sure, but they were destroyed. The rest of his heart is stained, bruised and pouring blood. He couldn’t bear it.

Megumi couldn’t bear it.

“Let me out,” Megumi speaks, his breathing intensifying. His chest rising and falling rapidly.

“What? Kid, stop bein’ a bra—”

“Dad! Stop the car!” he screams. He stares at his father, begging him to listen to him.

When Toji looks over to where his son is seated, he doesn’t recognise who he's looking at. Snot and tears dribble down his face. His eyes are puffy and red, totally bloodshot. His white irises cracked with red uncomfortable veins that made Toji’s heart stop for a brief second.

This isn’t Megumi. Megumi doesn’t get like this, he’s never seen him like this. But what has Toji seen him like? He’s seen gloomy, stoic Megumi.

That’s all he sees on his fleeting visits.

Toji pulls the car over and Megumi scarpers out as quickly as he can. Toji takes his time turning off the car, finding a pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment before stepping out to tend to his child. He approaches him slowly. Wallet, phone and keys all rested skilfully in one hand.

Megumi doubles over, clear vomit evading the pit of his stomach. Toji grimaces at the sight, what the hell was wrong with him? His son is trembling, still. When he isn’t vomiting he's taking in sharp, heavy breaths, he almost sounds like he's screaming.

The desperation in his inhales are so eerie, like someone dragging a sharp knife down a windowpane.

Megumi is disgusted with himself.

It's all too much for him, reminiscing on his childhood and the closure he’d never get. The fact that his father thinks he’s allowed to pop into his life if and when he chooses.

He expects Megumi to drop everything and anything he’s doing to spend time with him and do as he’s told.

And the worst part? He does it.

He fights him every step of the way, but still, he does it.

Why does he do it? He hates him. Toji knows he hates him, too. Every conversation they have is surface level toleration or a heated argument. But Toji knows, no matter what, Megumi wants to please his father. Because he left him to fend for himself, he left him without a friend in the world. So, whenever Megumi gets the chance, he wants to prove himself to his father.

That’s why.

Megumi needs his father’s approval.

“The fuck’s wrong with you kid? Panic attack?” Toji questions as he towers above his son.

Megumi collapses onto his backside, mouth agape as he manages to calm himself down. He wants to rip his dad’s throat out for talking to him like that. But he doesn’t have the energy. He just can’t.

“Shut up, Toji.” he commands, making his father roll his eyes. An act of petty defiance, to call him by his name instead of dad. It doesn’t bother Toji, he couldn’t care less. He knows he’s a shit dad, he didn’t sign up for it anyway. He doesn’t care, he probably never will.

“Get up, there’s a coffee shop over there I’ll get you some water.” he tells him, hoping the offer will be enough to entice him off the ground.

Megumi blanks him though, still focusing on his breathing and trying to coax himself into feeling better so he can go home. Toji isn’t a man who likes to be ignored, Megumi is lucky he’s his kid right now. Anyone else would be in for a world of hurt.

But instead, Toji slowly raises his foot off the ground. He inches his dirty dust clad shoe closer to his boy’s face. Megumi side eyes the muddy soled loafer, piercing green eyes threatening him to back off.

However, Megumi forgets who he inherited those intimidating emerald orbs from.

Toji doesn’t take lightly to threats, and he hasn’t gotten where he is by being frightened by a simple look. His filthy shoe is millimetres from Megumi’s face, “I said get up kid.” and with Megumi ignoring him yet again, Toji has to make good on his threat. He gently kicks the bottom of his foot into his son’s face. Megumi grabs his ankle and pushes him away, springing to his feet soon after to ball his fists in his dad’s shirt.

“Why the fuck are you here now? What do you want? You only come when you want something so out with it.” Megumi hisses, his face mere inches from his dad’s. Toji raises his hand in surrender with that signature shit-eating grin on his face. But Megumi’s fists grasp harder, for the first time in his life he feels strong. Stronger than him. He shoves him backwards and pins him against the car. “What do you want Toji?!”

Toji, however, is over this little game. Megumi never has been, and never will be, stronger than him. He’d never hurt his son. He does love him, in his own fucked up way. He’s his after all. But he doesn’t love him enough to let him disrespect him in his quest for validation and superiority. He grabs his junior by the base of the neck, removing his sunglasses and peering intensely into his child’s eyes. Fear shudders through Megumi, and he lets go. But Toji doesn’t.

“Get in the fuckin’ car. Dumbass. I’ll go get you a drink,” and with that he releases Megumi from his grip, crossing the road seamlessly. Commanding the traffic around him to stop as he approaches the coffee shop.

Megumi gets into the car. It’s hot. Fuck, it’s hot. His breathing is intensifying again. He hastily removes his jacket with shaky hands.

His father has only been gone for a few minutes, but his gaze is flitting between the windscreen window and the coffee shop. He balls his jacket up and shoves his face into it, screaming all of the air in his lungs out into the material. He just screams. It feels like he can’t stop, the oxygen will never be out of him.

He needs it out, he needs to breathe out this day, this experience.

But he can’t.

It’s lingering in his lungs, itching away at him. Little spindly legs crawling around inside of him like spiders, biting and tapping inside of him searching for a way out.

There’s no way out. He can’t breathe. He wants to rip his fucking heart out and let his dad drive and reverse over it until it’s unrecognisable.

His head drops between his knees, his hands interlocking behind his head trapping tufts of his unruly onyx locks.

He startles a little when his father opens the car door and sits behind the wheel. Toji could swear he saw him jump a little again when he slams the door shut behind him.

“Here,” his dad speaks, holding two bottles out to him. Megumi peers up to see them. One is water, and the other is a chilled glass bottle of beer. Why did he get him this? “Might steady yer fuckin’ nerves. What happened to you? Never seen y’like this before,” Toji states, not expecting a direct answer from Megumi, but daring to ask anyway.

Megumi twists the plastic cap off his water bottle. He doesn’t sip, he gulps. And he gulped, and gulped, and gulped, until the plastic bottle was contorting and creasing as he sucked the air out and his heavy fist gripped tighter around the soft material. Toji offers a teasing ‘think ya got it’ hoping it would make Megumi give up trying to get the last lingering droplets out of the plastic container.

He was right, he did get it.

It just isn’t enough. It does nothing to drown that unbearable itch inside of him. So, he slouched back in his seat, at least a little calmer for having something else to focus on.

“I’m fucked up.”

And he laughs.

It's manic. If you could see him now, God if you could see what a pathetic miserable shell he is right now.

It’s symbolic really, how insanely he’s laughing. You’d actually see a similarity between the two of you. He was almost laughing as insanely as you had been as you destroyed his artwork, probably more so.

He's unhinged. And for the first time in his life, he thinks Toji is scared. His face hurts from the way his cheeks are pulling as he laughs. If he was normal, his stomach would be aching. Because that’s what is meant to happen when people laugh. Right? When people truly laugh at something, you feel it in your belly. But fuck, Megumi isn’t normal.

He’s breaking apart.

Toji grabs his shoulder, and in an instant the laughter stops. Megumi’s face turns, his eyes snap to find his father’s matching ones. His smile is gone, but his eyebrow quivers as he studies his father’s features.

“Oh, fuck, scared you huh?” Megumi asks. Toji scoffs and lets go of him, starting the car up to drive away instead. But before he does, he takes his sons beer bottle between his teeth and bites the lid off. He spits it down on the floor of his car beneath him and gives it to Megumi. And Megumi drinks it, seeming to enjoy the taste.

That’s doing it.

That’s drowning his demons.

His attention is back on Toji as he’s driving.

And looking at him now, that is the father he knows.

He’s just driving as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like his son hasn’t just totally snapped before his very eyes. He’s snapped already, so why not push him a little more. Megumi punches his arm, causing Toji’s steering to waver.

“Stupid little idiot, fucks wrong with you? Don’t fuckin’ touch me while I’m drivin’.” he barks at his son. But he doesn’t stop. He punches him again, again and again. He slams harshly on the breaks, engulfing his sons whole face in one fist. He smothers his face and forcefully pushes him back into the passenger side door. “Hey! Did I fuckin’ stutter?”

“Did I fuckin’ scare you dad? You looked a little concerned you piece of shit! Ya fuckin’ deadbeat…” Megumi yells, fighting back the tears that were building, slithering behind his eyes threatening to spill at any moment.

“Pfft. Grow up Megumi. You’re not fifteen anymore,”

“Yeah, I was fucked up then never mind now.” Megumi spits at him.

“God, shut up.” Toji seethes as he softly slaps Megumi on the side of his face, pointing to the tip of his nose, demanding his attention. “You’re not fucked up. You’re fine. Y’think everyone doesn’t get like this? Y’think I never get like this? I wanna rip my fuckin’ skin off when I think about how fucked everything is for too long.” he tells his son sternly, trying to be calm but firm with him.

“You—” Megumi manages to croak out before Toji interrupts.

“Yeah, me. I fuckin’ left you. Never said sorry did I? Would you believe me if I said I was sorry? I don’t know if I am kid, that’s the problem. Had to fuckin’ split, couldn’t handle it. But if it helps, sure. I’m sorry. It was fucked.” Toji tells him.

Megumi is in awe.

This is the most they’d ever talked in their lives. Everything they discuss is surface level pleasantries that are meaningless. And he apologised. He can’t apologise. He’s said the word sorry but the itch is still there. He doesn’t mean it, he said himself he doesn’t mean it. This can’t be it, this can’t be everything Megumi has been waiting to hear to fix him. Anger and resentment he’s clung onto for so long, dying as he awaited the moment he’d finally get an apology or an explanation.

And this was it.

This was all he’d waited for, and it wasn’t good enough. It’ll never be good enough. He’s going to be stuck with this itch for the rest of his life.

“Are you kidding me? You think that’s good enough?” Megumi questions, fists balled as he argues with himself whether to punch Toji again. “I’m sorry, but I’m not really sorry because I had too. Huh, asshole? You really think that’s good enough?!” Megumi bellows, lip quivering as he clenches his teeth together.

“Don’tcha get it? Idiot. Nothing I say’ll ever be good enough. I fuckin’ left you alone after your mother died. Whether I mean it or not, it won’t stop fuckin’ hurtin’ kid. You got more than I ever did. The Zen’in used to lock me up and beat the shit out of me.” he angles the right side of his face and points to the scar on his lip, “they gave me this for the pleasure, think I ever got a fuckin’ sorry? No. Fake or sincere, nothin’. Think holdin’ a grudge is gonna fix anything?”

Megumi has been vibrating with anger the entire conversation.

All he wants to do was smash the glass of beer he has and stab the jagged shards into Toji’s neck. He's furious.

There is some truth to his words, sure, but he's so fucking casual. Like Megumi is meant to take everything he's saying as gospel, accepting it as absolute truth and living his life by them from now on.

He’s been vibrating with anger through the entire conversation, until he thought of you. He can’t smile; but his clenching jaw relaxes when visions of you enter his mind.

It's just as well, Toji thinks if he clenched any harder his son’s teeth would smash to pieces. It was something Toji said that made him think of you.

Think holdin’ a grudge is gonna fix anything?

No. But it helps. He’s sure you’d have the same thought process as Toji, you’d be desperate to end the vendetta Megumi has against you. But if he didn’t hate his father, if he didn’t hate you, how else would he cope?

How else would he control the itch?

Megumi allows his body to go limp, looking over to Toji with a side-eye glance. He huffs, allowing his chest to rise and fall in one heavy dramatic breath.

“What do you want, dad?”

Toji kisses his teeth, contemplating how to speak. How to ask. But Megumi has honestly had enough of fucking around today, dancing around subjects and rowing with each other. He just wants to know, and that is something Toji could plainly see in his son’s defeated body. So, he comes right out and says it, not wanting to beat around the bush.

“Tomorrow,” he begins, looking around at everything in the car other than his son. But his gaze settles, their emerald eyes meeting once again. “There’s a big shindig, all of the Zen’in are goin’. You need to be there.”

And that’s how Megumi found himself in a town car on his way to your parent’s new manor home.

Toji didn’t offer him a ride, of course.

Megumi suspects his father will be feeling uncomfortable after their argument yesterday, but in reality Toji is having a good parenting moment. He felt it necessary to give his son some space to cool down after their heated conversation.

The closer the car got to the ridiculously enormous manor; butterflies joined the itching in the pit of Megumi’s stomach. He tries to clear his throat and take deep breaths, but it wasn’t helping.

He fishes around in his inside jacket pockets. He pulls out a mirror from the right pocket and a baggie of cocaine and a razor from the other.

The car slows as it pulls into the gates, manoeuvring around the intricate landscaping. He takes the opportunity to make a white powdery line atop the mirror resting on his lap. He doesn’t care what the driver thinks of him, he’s sure Toji does the same if not worse whenever he's in here.

He snorts it, slowly. It’s been a while since he’s let this be a vice of his.

Megumi isn’t stupid, no, he’s careful. He will be careful with his vices. But when the car stops below the staircase that lead to the daunting double doors, he sags back into the plush leather seats of the car.

“D’ya mind if I just wait here for a minute?” Megumi asks, the man shakes his head, much to Megumi’s delight.

It’s been a while since he’s been to a Zen’in get together. When he and Tsumiki moved away, he managed to avoid them and Toji like the plague.

It's harrowing, really, that he had to walk into a strangers home, alone. To see a family who did nothing but chastise and disapprove. A family he barely knew but still felt it necessary to try and control aspects of his life and look down on each and every little thing he did.

But he relaxes. He wipes his nose of the white dust and takes a deep breath. He gets out of the car, slamming it aggressively behind him. He ascended the stairs. Breathing shallow breaths as he prepares himself for the hell he's about to endure.

He rests his finger on the doorbell, he can’t seem to take his finger off it. Air is knocked from his lungs when the door opens, almost being ripped from its hinges.

What the fuck are you two doing here?

He can’t help but stare, completely in awe at the sight. You’re looking at him differently, like you know him. Like you’ve had a look into the window of his damaged soul.

What the fuck are you staring at?

Megumi clears his throat, and you're staring soon turns to dismay, irritation. Megumi thinks you’re just processing what is happening, the unlikely coincidence of it all.

Are you still scared of him?

Terrified of what he’ll do to you?

Or are you safe now, because dear old Yuji is here?

Megumi takes in the sight of both of you, but drinks up the vision of you. He can’t believe it. You’re really here. He opens his mouth, smiling sadistically, knowing whatever he does will get a reaction out of you.

“Well well, what do we have here?” Megumi questions, crossing his arms across his chest as he waits for a response.

Yuuji looks feral, like he wants to skin him alive. It’s sad, really, that his best friend has let a useless cunt come between them. Megumi won’t disown him, but he knows Yuuji won’t claim him as his friend anymore. He’ll always be Megumi’s. Yuuji pulls your hand to bring you closer to his body. He’s sure Yuuji can feel you shaking like a frightened lamb against him, because even from this distance, Megumi can see it.

“Get out of the way Fushiguro,” Yuuji demands, holding your body as tightly as he can to give you the feeling of safety you’re so desperate for.

But of course, Megumi doesn’t move.

He doesn’t sidestep to allow you past.

He just stares. And Yuuji’s temper flares when he stops staring at you both, but through you. Because a dastardly grin stretches across Megumi’s pretty face.

While Yuuji is staring, shaking and furious, while you’re trembling, terrified and on the brink of tears, he sees who he can only assume are the owners of the house, who he can only assume are your parents, are walking through the foyer and approaching you. It’s like he’s watching a movie in slow motion. And it just gets better when his own dad lollygags behind them, leaning on a doorframe further down the hall as he watches your mother and father chase after you.

Megumi knows you’re not going anywhere.

Megumi knows your parents will beg, plead for you to stay. What will people say if you leave the party earlier? They’ll be the talk of high society. A simple, elegant party couldn’t go off without a hitch because their selfish daughter ruined it all.

No.

That’s not you.

The few brief days he’s known you, something he can see about you is clear. You, perfect, sweet girl, are a people pleaser.

Megumi’s smiling. And he’s smiling hard.

Because you aren’t going anywhere.

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thegreymoon · 2 months

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The Story of Minglan

I have so much work to do, it isn't even funny, and here I am, doing none of it. So, instead of just sitting in front of my computer and letting anxiety eat me up, I'm going to see how married life is treating Minglan.

I have three shows that I am actively watching right now. It's a battle to choose which one to watch at any given time. The struggle is real 😫

***

Well, he's feeling energetic the morning after 😅

***

LMAO, OK, so I know that the implication here is that he has great stamina and wore her out, but, honestly, my first thought was that she must have been doing all the physical work of their first night together, so she's now tired and he's up and about doing acrobatics 🤣🤣

***

LMAO, I'm on her side here!

Sleep above all!

To hell with the shitty in-laws.

***

What a thing to tell your newly-wedded wife!

Yikes 😬

***

LMAOOOO 🤣🤣

Hopefully he, ahem, learned other skills at the brothel instead 🤣🤣

He's so fully of nonsense, I cannot 🤣🤣

***

Ugh, these vipers.

The sooner they move out, the better.

***

Who?

***

AGAIN, WHO??

Honestly, my stance for this drama is that anyone who wants to commit suicide should be allowed to 🙄

***

Wait, is she implying that Gu Tingye is sleeping with this woman?

Because, seriously? SERIOUSLY??

Now they are straight-up lying to stir up trouble in their marriage! AND THIS IS, LIKE, THE FIRST DAY!! 🤬🤬

Minglan, don't be an idiot. Don't believe them!

***

Oh, and the lot of you are soooooo worried about how some random servant who is sleeping with the master of the house is going to live 🙄🙄

I cannot with the what-the-fuckery on display here 🤬🤬

GU TINGYE, WHERE ARE YOU?

THIS IS SLANDER!!

***

Even if any of this was true, WHO GIVES A FUCK??

OK, so, personal story time. Skip for TMI, or something. IDC.

When I was nineteen, I was living away from home for the first time in a dormitory and I had these roommates. I was a very stupid, naive, sexually inexperienced, frontal-cortex-still-entirely-udeveloped nineteen. I was studying architecture, the hours were ridiculous, the living conditions were atrocious (and I mean no hot water, communal toilets for the entire floor, no privacy whatsoever, perpetually drunk, eternally partying next-door neighbours bringing creepy men over, it was absolute hell with no recourse) and I was really, really struggling to keep afloat.

My self-esteem also wasn't the greatest and I'd spent my entire teens feeling unlovable and unattractive because, idk, I didn't look like Naomi Campbel, and was told from numerous sides that being some random average girl was just not enough. My mental health went down the drain that year and it never really recovered. I hadn't been doing particularly great even before that, but it was like that whole hellish mess snapped some final thread in me and it was just a downward spiral after downward spiral for years after that. It took an additional ten years to get diagnosed and put on meds because everyone is just so stupid and when you are young, you don't know how to advocate for yourself, or even that you should be doing so.

And then there were these roommates.

There were three of them, all older than me, and we lived in this tiny twelve-square-metre room with three single beds (two of them had to share because one of them was a friend who was there "illegally" because she had lost her right to accommodation for repeating the year and didn't want to go back to her parent's home for the time being and I was too stupid to put my foot down, report her and tell her to fuck off). The two legal ones were sisters.

And let me tell you, I was so in AWE of them! All three were tall, beautiful, put together and confident! They were incredibly popular and had men crawling all over them. I felt pathetic in comparison. I wasn't jealous, not exactly, I just felt inadequate and held the two sisters on this incredibly high pedestal because they seemed so smart and gorgeous (not so much the friend, because even though she was beautiful too, she had this self-absorbed, self-centred, flighty, shallow character that I just couldn't respect). The sisters, however, were everything I wished I could be, especially the younger one.

That particular sister, let's call her M, was also studying architecture. She was in year four (compared to my miserable first year) and she was doing so well, her work was amazing. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was the epitome of elegance, intelligence and beauty in my eyes. She could do no wrong. Hero worship was in full swing, I couldn't imagine she could be any more perfect even if I tried.

And then a few months into our hellish living arrangement, I found out that she was fooling around with this worthless guy who was cheating on his long-term girlfriend with her. They had an on-again-off-again relationship. They had broken up before because he refused to leave the official girlfriend, but for whatever reason, she was in love with his mediocre ass and kept going back to him. I was shocked when the whole story came out. There she was, the most perfect girl I had ever known, letting this cheating loser string her along like that. It was gross.

Let me tell you, that pedestal I put her on came crumbling down so fast because even my infatuated, naive, sleep-deprived and chemically imbalanced brain knew this was very wrong (it took me several more years and another incident with a woman I was super close to and had adored for years to teach me not to mess with cheaters and the people they cheat with because they are always fundamentally deficient in some hidden (or not so hidden) ways and that whatever damage they have that lets them act in this way will eventually drag you down too, but I digress).

In my shock, I asked her, why? Of all people, why him? This girl was so gorgeous, she could have had any man on the planet. She said they were in love. And I asked her, if he loved her so much, why didn't he break up with his girlfriend (mind you, the girlfriend fully thought they were getting married sometime in the near future). It seemed so obvious to me, if he truly loved her, he should have ended his previous relationship and dated her openly.

AND SHE TOLD ME THIS EXACT SAME LINE. THIS COMPLETE BULLSHIT OF A MANIPULATIVE EXCUSE.

Apparently, the shitty cheater couldn't break up with the girlfriend because the girlfriend had sworn that if he broke up with her, she would never marry anyone else and stay single her whole entire life. And he, the poor baby, couldn't live with that, so he couldn't leave her 🤯🤯

I had never heard something more ridiculous in my life. It was so absurd, and it was so world-altering for me that this perfect girl, the girl I had thought was so put together and so incredibly smart, was TAKING THIS UTTER STUPIDITY SERIOUSLY. I still remember it so clearly, even after all these years. It didn't make sense then and it still doesn't make sense now. It's the XXI century!! Break up with the woman you don't love!! What the hell is this nonsense?? WHO THE FUCK CARES IF SHE DECIDES TO NEVER MARRY ANYONE ELSE? IT IS NO LONGER YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM!!

Also, all these people were in their early fucking twenties, the absolute delusion that any of her threats (if they were even real and not made up by the loser cheater because all cheaters ever do is lie) were in any way a real and enforceable thing that would come to pass. BUT EVEN IF SHE NEVER DID GET MARRIED? SO FUCKING WHAT? NOT YOUR CIRCUS, NOT YOUR MONKEYS.

And there she was, sneaking around with this garbage man because he gave her this nonsensical excuse. The stupidity is unending. I cannot. I could not and will never be able to can 🙄🙄

And back to the actual show now.

WHO THE FUCK CARES IF SHE NEVER MARRIES? WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT BLACKMAIL IS THAT? FUCK ALL THE WAY OFF AND THEN KEEP FUCKING OFF SOME MORE UNTIL YOU DROP INTO A DEEP BLACK HOLE AND KEEP DROPPING UNTIL YOU REACH THE EARTH'S CORE AND DISINTEGRATE IN THE LAVA.

Ugh.

***

WHO THE FUCK CAAAAAARES 🤬🤬

Also, let's not forget that these are the very people who wanted to murder Manniang and Gu Tingye's actual children with her. They are so concerned with the status of a lower-class servant sleeping with the Young Master and how she will raise her head in public and go on living. So, so, so concerned 🙄🙄

***

Minglan, please tell them to fuck all the way off.

I am beyond pissed.

***

OMFG.

I am beyond sick of these wretched bottom feeders and their "path of survival" 🤮

BITCH, DIE.

***

True! Let's all ask him!!

I am sure he will just love all this slander.

This whole thing is just beyond WTF.

***

What exactly were her parents supposed to teach her?

Just take in some random prostitute for her husband the day after she was married? What the actual fuck is wrong with this woman? Worms for brains, I swear. The audacity is astounding.

***

OH MY GOD, THEN GO DIE ALREADY

I am so tired 🙄

***

This dumb fucking bully.

The best thing that ever happened to women was emancipation and no longer having to live in their in-laws' homes.

***

LMAO, how many statuses do these mistresses that the wife is forced to support even have?

Fuck off with this bullshit.

***

MINGLAN, ARE YOU SERIOUS

***

LMAO, wait, what?

They accused him of raping this woman?

Speechless.

Gu Tingye, please take your wife and fuck off from this place.

***

LMAO, Gu Tingye keeps making good life choices!

Gu Tingye is not among my favourite characters by a long stretch, but I do appreciate him so very much!

Go, king! Protect your wife and stay winning!!

***

Don't you just love it when utterly disgraceful people start blathering about not getting the respect they feel entitled to 🙄

Gross family.

#the story of minglan #tsoml spoilers #tsoml ep41

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thelostpassenger · 4 months

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I am currently playing Batman: The Telltale Series, and there is a point at which after Harvey (who seems to be suffering from a severe mental/emotional breakdown) is apprehended, you, playing as Batman, have the choice between sending Harvey to Blackgate Prison or to Arkham Asylum. This was, by far, one of the hardest choices that I had to make in the game because it is canonically almost always the case (with this game being no exception) that both options would be pretty much equally as bad because Arkham IS a prison that doesn’t actually provide legit mental health care for its “patients.”

This also, however, goes to show why, even though I enjoy the Batman universe overall, I do not like Batman. Does he save lives and help put a stop to evil? Yes, but he is also a symptom of a much larger problem that he, in addition to slowing down, perpetuates. He KNOWS that Arkham is a garbage place, not only because he says so himself earlier in the game when he, as Bruce Wayne, is trying to campaign for a new mental health facility to be constructed because Arkham is more harmful than it is helpful (by his own admission) but also because he experienced it firsthand when he was wrongfully imprisoned there by Harvey and Lady Arkham. He KNOWS that Arkham is more a hellish prison than it is a mental health institution, and the game still only gives you those two options because Bruce Wayne, instead of helping Gotham out in ways that he actually could with his wealth and fortune, is cosplaying as Dracula every night and carrying out all his dark, violent fantasies, and yep, that checks out.

#Batman #Bruce Wayne #Batman: The Telltale Series #PS4 #DC

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mars-and-the-theoi · 11 months

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Day 8 of Deity Devotion Challenge: ⚡️Zeus⚡️

Question- What’s the most valuable lesson your deity has taught you? That it’s okay to be human. Sounds silly, I know, but hear me out. In case y’all don’t know I’m disabled and I’m also no stranger to struggling with my mental health. This makes a consist worship schedule/habit not feasible for me. And I used to beat myself up about that so much (and honestly I still do sometimes). Because I would feel so bad about my inconsistency. Like I would go months w/o doing anything religion related sometimes like I wouldn’t even do altar cleanings for a long time sometimes. And I would try for consistency, and I could keep it up for a bit, but it usually never lasted more than a month at a time.

And it all kind of came to a head last year where my guilt about it was at its worst. Early 2022 had been hellish I mean truly I became super sick, needed surgery, had to take care of a family member after they’d had surgery, had a mental breakdown and ended up hospitalized, and had covid all within the first few months of 2022. So obviously worship and all that very much fell to the side and while I felt bad about that there wasn’t much else I could do. And finally, come June I was able to finally get back into it after not doing anything since January. And I felt horrible. I remember crying as I cleaned his altar and just apologizing cause I felt like I’d neglected Him in a way and I prayed to him and gave him an offering and that was that.

Then that night I had a dream with Him and I’m not going to go into all the mushy details but He was just like ‘it’s okay. I’m not mad at you about this. Like it’s been a rough few months for you and it’s okay that you prioritized yourself and it’s okay that you were in circumstances where worship just wasn’t a priority. It’s okay. I get it. We all get it. We know things come up that make worshiping hard. We do. It’s okay’ and I just felt so much better. Because They do. They all get it.

And I share this story knowing that this is something a lot of people struggle with but rest assured that they’re much more familiar with us than we tend to give them credit for. Shit happens. Life can get chaotic. Life gets busy, stressful, tiring. We get sick. Get hurt. Have to move unexpectedly. We have exams. Work overtime. Work weird hours. Have people to take care of. So on and so forth. But these things aren’t new. These have been traits of humanity since the dawn of time. The Gods have been around for a very long time too. So they get it, they know, and they aren’t mad.

#hellenic polytheism #helpol #hellenic pagan #hellenic pantheon #zeus deity #zeus worship #zeus devotee #deity devotion challenge #such a personal story but I think it’s an important one to tell

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raptorsaurusmelain · 6 months

Text

Let me show you... Youtube - chapter 26

I was a little burn out after my project but @boba-tea-fish comments gave me strength to write a chapter today. It is a mental health centered chapter.

Warning : no proof reading, English is not my mother tongue.

If you are interested in reading this fic, the tag "#twst lmsyy" will give you all the chapters.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

It was like a revelation for her. [Of course, that is the only explanation. All those weird whispers, those sounds… Plus, my ex ?? Couldn’t I choose someone else ? Like Morgan Freeman ? At least he could narrate my life with his beautiful voice.]

She sent her crochet flying. She was angry at herself. How could she even let her mental state become this wrecked ?

She laid down. The duvet and bed weren’t comfortable anymore. It was as if she was laying on the ground in the middle of the hallway of Ramshackle. It was hard. It was cold. If it was a sound, it would be like scratching metal. Disturbing. Strident sound. A call for help. What she didn’t know was what aspect this call for help will sound like in real life.

The tonic made an effect a few hours later, allowing her some kind of relief for her neurons. It was a night without any dreams or nightmares. It was just like passing out, like Crewel promised.

When she woke up, she had slept for approximately 5h, which was not a lot for an ill brain.

She stood up. She felt like her body was in a numb state. It was going to be a hellish week to survive until the doctor appointment.

She moved little by little to wear a pair of black leggings and an oversized t-shirt. The bare minimum. She wasn’t feeling like putting on make-up. She would be ugly for a week. Or more, if it stayed. It was going to stay, she knew it, but she was lying to herself because she needed to feel better fast. For Yuu. For Grim. They needed her.

She went out of her room and prepared breakfast. Yuu arrived in their school uniform, Grim by their side.

The woman smiled at the view. “Are you already going back to school ? You could stay a little bit longer at home, you know.”

Yuu smiled in return. “No, I have to go back to school at some point. I want to be able to survive in my environment, so I need to learn as much as I can. Like you said.”

The oldest blinked. [I did say that but I wasn’t expecting it to have an impact on Yuu…]. Victoria nodded. “Alright, if you think so. Who am I to stop you ?”

They went to school, hands in hands. All 3 needed strength in their own ways. Yuu needed help to cross the school gate. Victoria needed help to be able to work for the day. And Grim just needed help with his grade. It was exam season soon, they needed to pass. She needed money to shelter them, so they wouldn't be thrown out.

Before school started, she dropped by Crewel’s desk.

She looked left and right before entering the teacher’s lounge, hoping that Crowley and Trein wouldn’t be there. She didn’t need useless stress or nagging today. Or for a few days. Let’s make it a week.

Crewel saw her doing her little shenanigan. “Searching for someone ?”

Victoria was happy to see him. Like genuinely happy. And it showed on her face. “Dr Crewel ! I wanted to thank you for the tonic.”

He looked at her in silence for what seemed to be hours. She asked, doubtfully. “... Yes ?”

The man asked. “Did you wake up late ?”

The woman blinked. “No… Why ?”

Crewel bent to watch her closely. “You’re not wearing any make-up today. You look… Dead.”

She blanked due to the honesty she was facing. Then Victoria answered carefully. “Yeah, I didn’t feel like a living being today.”

He continued to scrutinize her, until he rectified his posture. “I know you looked cute, with your make-up and all, but despite being bare faced today, you are still cute.”

Victoria blinked a few times before saying. “I thought I was dead ?”

Crewel smiled. “A cute dead.”

Tagged : @boba-tea-fish @hipsterteller

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst lmsyy #twst fanfic #twst yuu #twst grim #twst crewel

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cherryrainn · 7 months

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━━ ✧ 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 {𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫}

.8 - 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚.

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; s3lf harm, depression, bulimia, mental health issues, self hatred, stuff like that, and just like my other stories... lots of angst!

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

─ ✩ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 ; here

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

the moon hung low in the dark, starless sky as striker and you rode on bombproof, leaving the chaotic scene of the cavern behind. the air was thick with tension, but the adrenaline of the battle had begun to ebb away, leaving you exhausted and shaken. striker's injuries were evident, his bandana tattered and his clothes stained with blood and dirt. you held onto him tightly, your fingers trembling.

as you rode through the desolate landscape of hell, striker finally broke the silence. his voice was rough, strained from the recent events. "we needa find a place to lay low for a while," he said, his gaze scanning the eerie, otherworldly terrain.

you nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. the motel seemed like a distant memory, and the thought of finding shelter in this hostile realm was both daunting and necessary.

after what felt like an eternity of riding, you came across a decrepit motel that seemed to materialize out of the darkness. the neon sign flickered with a faint, eerie glow, and the building itself looked like it had seen better days.

striker reined in bombproof, the gravel crunching beneath the horse's hooves. he dismounted with a graceful ease, his boots thudding against the ground. you followed suit, legs wobbling from exhaustion.

"we'll take a room," striker announced to the bored-looking imp behind the front desk, who lazily glanced up from a magazine. "don't care which one, as long as it's got a bed."

the imp nodded and handed striker a key with a numbered tag that seemed to have seen better days. "room 6," the imp muttered, returning to his magazine without much interest.

striker led you down a dimly lit hallway, the faded wallpaper peeling off in places. the air was stale, and the sound of distant murmurs and muffled laughter filled the corridors. you couldn't help but shudder, feeling the oppressive weight of hell pressing down on you.

room 6 was a small, dimly lit space with worn-out furnishings. the bed, covered in faded, scratchy sheets, dominated the room. a flickering television in the corner offered a distorted view of a hellish game show, and the curtains were drawn tightly, blocking out the eerie glow of hell's landscape.

striker closed the door behind you with a heavy sigh, the tension of the night finally catching up to him. he sauntered towards a chair by the window, his form casting a long, distorted shadow in the dim light. his ivory white hair seemed to shimmer in the faint glow.

you stood in the center of the room, feeling the weight of the night's events pressing down on you. the adrenaline had faded completely, you didn't know what to do.

with a casual grace that contrasted his earlier exhaustion, striker began to shed his attire. he took off his hat, revealing messed up ivory hair. he took off his jacket revealing his black turtleneck shirt that clung to his form, accentuating his physique.

as striker hung his jacket and hat on a hook by the door, you found yourself standing awkwardly. the silence weighed on you, and you weren't quite sure what to do next.

after a moment, striker finally spoke, his voice laced with weariness but retaining its characteristic charm. "you holdin' up alright, darlin'?" he asked, his gaze fixed on you.

the question caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but offer a wry smile. "alright? is anyone alright in this place, striker?"

he chuckled softly, the sound as warm and comforting as a campfire on a chilly night. "fair point. this place ain't exactly a walk in the park."

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "were you really about to take out stolas back there?" you inquired, needing some clarity in the midst of the chaos.

striker leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant as he recalled the events. "damn right, i was. that blueblood sumbitch thinks he's untouchable. his wife hired me to assassinate him, and i was ready to collect. but then she called it off, and now I'm stuck dealin' with her whinin' and complainin'."

he paused for a moment, his yellow eyes ablaze with intensity. "you know what i hate most about this fuckin' place? it's them royals, actin' all high and mighty, treatin' us like we're nothin'."

you nodded, finally grasping the depth of striker's disdain for the demon nobility. "sounds like a real pain in the ass."

striker's eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with venom. "pain in the ass? you don't know the half of it. those royals are the reason this place is such a goddamn mess. they stomp around, throwin' their weight, and expect us to bow down. well, fuck 'em. they ain't better than us."

you raised your hands in surrender, trying to calm striker down. "alright, alright, i got it. no love for the royals. but, you know, i'm not exactly losing sleep over them."

striker's expression softened, and he leaned back, letting out a deep sigh. "damn straight. you got the right idea. you gotta watch your back and take care of your own. ain't no room for pity or remorse."

the room seemed to close in around you, its walls tainted with the residual despair of countless guests who had passed through. as you settled onto the bed, you couldn't help but notice that it was the only one in the room. the realization struck you like a sledgehammer to the chest.

striker, leaning against the peeling wallpaper, glanced around the room, his yellow eyes narrowing in annoyance. "well, ain't this a shitty setup," he muttered under his breath.

you sighed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and awkwardness. "yeah, it's... not ideal."

striker crossed his arms. "i guess we'll have to make do. ain't no point complainin' about it now."

you nodded in agreement, trying to hide the butterflies in your stomach.

as you settled under the scratchy sheets, you couldn't help but steal a glance at striker, who was perched on the edge of the only chair in the room. he looked lost in thought, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on the armrest.

"striker," you began tentatively, "i know we're not exactly buddies, but i appreciate you looking out for me. i don't think i would've made it this far without your help."

striker's yellow eyes met yours, and for a moment, the mask of cynicism slipped away, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath. "no need for sentimentality. we're just survivin' out here."

you nodded, understanding his need to maintain his tough exterior. "surviving together, then," you replied, offering a small smile.

striker just sighed, he didn't look at you.

the room fell into a heavy silence, interrupted only by the distant sounds of the chaotic nightlife outside. you tried to relax, but the creaky bed and the unsettling surroundings made it difficult.

striker let out a frustrated sigh, realizing that standing there wasn't going to accomplish anything. with a reluctant grumble, he climbed into the bed, keeping a respectable distance from you.

striker, seemingly more at ease than you, lay on his side of the bed. he let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes, attempting to drift into slumber.

but as the minutes passed, you couldn't help but shift in your spot, trying to find a more comfortable position. you moved slightly to the left and then to the right, your body searching for relief.

striker's eyes snapped open, and he shot you a venomous glare. "what the hell are you doin' over there? i'm tryna sleep."

you froze, your heart pounding in your chest. "sorry, i'm just trying to get comfortable," you whispered, not wanting to provoke him further.

striker grumbled something unintelligible and turned away from you, hoping to recapture his fleeting peace.

for a few minutes, you lay perfectly still, almost on the brink of sleep. just when you thought you could finally drift off into slumber, striker's voice cut through the silence like a screeching train.

"stop movin'! you're doin' it again!" striker's frustration was palpable.

"but i'm not moving!" you protested in a hushed tone, bewildered by his insistence.

striker sat up abruptly, his hair disheveled and his patience worn thin. "hell yes, you are! i can feel it."

you rolled your eyes in the dimly lit room. "i swear, i'm not moving, striker. maybe it's just your imagination."

striker's face contorted in annoyance, and he grumbled something under his breath. as you lay there in the silence, you couldn't help but smirk.

with a mischievous glint in your eye, you started to move ever so slightly. a subtle shift of your leg here, a slight twitch of your arm there, just enough to irritate striker without him realizing you were doing it on purpose.

striker, now lying back down with his eyes closed, was not one to be fooled easily. he sensed your movements almost immediately. "you're doin' it again." he growled.

you couldn't help but chuckle softly under your breath. "i have no idea what you're talking about," you replied innocently.

striker's temper flared. "you're testin' my patience'."

you decided to push his buttons a bit more. you started moving more noticeably, almost fidgeting in the bed, making it impossible for striker to ignore.

"would you cut it out?" striker snapped, sitting up once more, his hair now sticking up in wild tufts.

you grinned mischievously, enjoying his reaction. "cut what out?"

that did it.

striker's patience snapped like a dry twig. he leaped out of the bed, his eyes blazing with annoyance. "that's it!" he exclaimed. "i'm not sleepin' here!"

with that, he stomped over to the small chair, kicking it aside with a loud crash. striker sprawled out on the floor, muttering curses under his breath.

you couldn't help but laugh. "aw, come on, striker. it's just a bit of fun."

he shot you a withering glare from the floor. "fun? you're drivin' me crazy."

as you chuckled to yourself, you noticed striker lying on the floor, his back to you. your amusement faded, and you realized you might have gone a bit too far in trying to get under his skin. while his gruff demeanor and constant complaints had been irritating, you didn't want to push it too much.

"striker," you called softly, trying to convey your sincerity.

striker didn't respond immediately, but he didn't tell you to shut up either. he simply grunted in acknowledgment.

"i'm sorry if i annoyed you too much," you apologized, genuinely regretting your earlier mischief. "i was just trying to lighten the mood a bit."

no response.

"come on, striker!" you finally pleaded, unable to bear the tension any longer. "i said i'm sorry."

striker still didn't respond, but after a few moments, you heard him shuffle on the floor. to your surprise, he got up and made his way to the bed. you shifted to give him some space.

without a word, striker settled onto the bed, surprisingly close to you. his body was warm against yours, and you could feel his steady breaths against your neck. it was an unexpected turn of events, to say the least.

you couldn't help but blush at the sudden intimacy, your heart racing in your chest. "what are you doing?"

he grumbled something incoherent, but you couldn't quite make out his words. then, to your astonishment, his tail began to rattle, creating a rhythmic, soothing sound. it was strangely hypnotic.

your breath caught in your throat as striker held you snugly against his chest.

striker's voice was surprisingly gentle when he finally spoke. "just shut up and go to sleep."

you nodded, despite the fact that he couldn't see it, and nestled into his embrace.

#STRIKER #helluva boss #helluva #helluva boss striker #striker helluva boss #striker x reader #bulimia #helluva boss x reader #angst #depression #y/n #reader insert #x reader

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fastlikealambo · 2 years

Text

link to chapter one.

link to chapter two.

link to chapter three.

Fall of 94′: Eddie Munson x Black Reader Chapter 4

summary:

it’s been nearly 8 years since the events of hawkins and out of the entire party, the only one to stay behind is the one and only eddie munson. with a five year old daughter in tow, his life is a simple one, still trying to escape the dark cloud over him that never went away.

but when all too familiar hellish events start happening again eddie must team up with his daughter’s favorite and mysterious new teacher to protect his little girl and the town he owes nothing to.

warnings: violence, gore, religious trauma, soft dom! eddie, discussions of mental health and ptsd, praise kink, childhood trauma, smut to end all smut, hawkins indiana is a warning to me.

minors dni

Eddie Munson was a lot of things.

A guitarist,

An end of the world survivor,

A former drug dealer,

A friend,

A DM,

A parent.

But on a Friday night in the fall of 1994, Eddie Munson was just really sick of spooky shit.

8 years since the spookiest of all spooky shit had come to a crescendo, nearly taking his life and the life of his friends with it.

He had made it through graduation, stopped dealing, moved away only to move right back when Rosie was born.

It had taken him so long to feel like a person in the normal non monster filled world but with Rosie in tow, he has a duty to take care of himself at the very least for her sake so she would never have to grow up with an old man as bad as his own father or no parents at all.

He made a promise to himself to keep moving forward, no matter what, but that was hard when the past literally just tried to take a bite out of him.

The only reason he still had a windpipe was due to the currently unconscious woman in the back of his car.

This was spooky bullshit with a capital B and Eddie Munson had enough of it.

Yet instead of dropping you off at the nearest hospital he came across and calling it a shitty night, he drove past the emergency room and towards his apartment. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he just knew he couldn’t leave you at the hospital, not on your own.

Thankfully, his nosy neighbors had their lights off and blinds closed so there was no audience as he gently lifted you, still half wrapped in one of Rosie’s blankets, into his arms, your head nestled into his shoulder as he all but tiptoed across the parking lot, awkwardly opening the door with one hand.

With step one complete with you softly placed on the couch, Eddie checked your pulse, happy you hadn’t decided to expire on the short trip for the car to his home, less happy that you were hot and clammy to the touch.

How long were you out there in the rain?

Did you get hurt when the car crashed?

Were you a spy from the upside down?

That last question Eddie could live with not knowing the answer to but seeing as you only had a few bruises, no bites, and all your limbs were facing their natural directions, your fever and shivering that seemed to be getting worse outweighed his many, many, fears.

He wasn’t up to date on the care and keeping of telekinetic adult kindergarten teachers with smiles like literal fucking sunshine but he gotten Rosie and himself through multiple flu seasons and such so he could handle this.

He could handle this, right?

The small groan of exhaustion that escaped your lips and broke his heart told him he’d better.

“Your gifts are a sign of God’s existence on earth. Would you go against God?”

“No, Mama.”

“ Then understand this: you are not a person, you are a product of sin made clean and you will rid this world of every last unclean thing. I saved you, I have given up my scientific work for you, don’t you love me? Don’t you love your Mama?”

“ Yes, Mama.”

“ Then you understand your punishment for trying to leave Mama. I do this because I love you-

“ You’re okay, you’re safe, just put me down please! I don’t like this, please put me down!”

Your eyes snap open and you look upwards to see the father of one of your students hovering in the air.

“I didn’t look, I swear!”

“ Mr. Munson? Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! “ You exclaim, using your last bit of strength to set him gently on the floor before falling back on the pillows.

Wait, pillows?

It takes one look around the lived in space for you to realize this isn’t your apartment and one glance at the band tee you’re in that these aren’t your clothes.

Some of the events of the last few hours return to your brain, including the part where you passed out on the poor man you had apparently levitated in your sleep.

“Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, I should go.” You asked, attempting to swing your legs over the couch but Eddie shakes his head, softly pushing back you down on the pillows, readjusting the blankets thrown over you.

“Hurt? No. Scared that I might have pissed myself in front of my kid’s teacher not to mention the person who saved my life? Hell yeah. May I?” He waves a towel in front of your face and you nod, letting him wipe the drying blood from your nose.

“You’re awfully calm for someone who just got attacked by a monster and almost introduced to their ceiling.”

“ Bold of you to assume you’re the first psychic with a bloody nose in my area code.”

“ Mr. Munson, thank you but I should go. I’ve put you through enough and with everything you just saw, I know you don’t want me around. I’ll be out of Hawkins by morning, for good.”

He ignores you, his lips on your forehead and you know it’s not the aftermath of everything making you shiver.

“ Your fever’s not broken yet so you’re staying right here.”

“Mr. Munson-” He holds up a hand, sitting on the edge of the couch.

“ For the love of everything that’s holy, please call me Eddie. Look, if you want to go, I know I can’t stop you and you’ll fling me into oblivion with your mind. But if you’ll let me look after you for just a little bit longer, I know I can get you through the rest of the night. You don’t have to trust me, I know no one in this town does, but trust that I can do this for you after what you’ve already done for me.”

His pleas hit you in the gut.

Even if you wanted to leave, you’re not sure you’d make it to the front door, much less home. You haven’t used your powers to this extent in years and everything fucking hurts so your choices are suffer at home, or stay with someone who just might be the nicest person you’ve encountered in a long time.

“Will there be chicken soup?”

“Only Campbell’s finest.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

He smiles, jumping up to fluff your pillows, replacing the cold compress on your head before moving into the kitchen to get you some water.

“Shit, the girl! ” You exclaimed, the last missing detail of the night unlocking itself for you.

“You teach my daughter with that mouth?” Eddie says over the sound of the sink, filling your glass.

“ When I crashed my car, there was a girl in the middle of the road. Blonde, ponytail, maybe seventeen or eighteen.”

“There was nobody there when I got there, just your car.”

“ I saw her, she was wearing a cheer-leading uniform. She could still be out there-

The sound of breaking glass in the kitchen has you sitting straight up to look at Eddie’s who’s gone pale and quiet.

“That’s not possible.”

“What’s not possible? Eddie, what’s wrong?”

Disregarding the glass, Eddie sinks down on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest.

“Because the girl you’re describing is dead.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x yn #stranger things fanfiction

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dragon-swords-prophecies · 11 months

Text

Hi, I've been meaning to do this for several months, executive dysfunction got the better of me, and it's 1 in the morning (or, it was, but then I fell asleep while writing this, but 95% of it was written at 1 in the morning), but, hi, hello, your friendly neighborhood [insert adequate descriptor here, I'm too tired to come up with anything right now]!

I have not posted anything original on this blog for. uh. months. my best guess running at actual long form not fulfilling a tag game thing is november. of 2022 (I can't check I'm on mobile). which is much time ago! (the last tag game fulfilling writing posting was in like may) hi, I'm not dead and I haven't stopped writing forever, I just had one fucking hell of a year for mental health and school and moving up schools

but! it's summer now, I'm some twenty ish days into break, and I suddenly have spoons again. wow. I forgot what that feels like. I've done So Many Things recently it's insane, anyway--

I have been writing things! I'm doing an impromptu (as in started it on July 13th) camp nano challenge of typing up 3000 words of the massive amount of Enna's prequel I handwrote in a notebook at varying distressingly late hours of the night. I am actually decently close to done with that, I got a shitload done the other day, that's to say:

this lovely little blog of mine has been unintentionally mostly dormant for a while now, but it has been woken up and there will be things here again! tomorrow, even! (or today. timezones.)

lots of things have changed, in the stories, I have finally figured out a MASSIVE AND HELLISH plot hole in Enna's prequel story, and it's all figured out now, and I'm so fucking happy it's awesome can my brain feel like this all the time please the serotonin is excellent, but fixing that plot hole means that I need to redo so much lore and and backstories now it's ridiculous

to everyone who's sent me asks and tagged me in games and etc in the last few months/year. I'm sorry. I'll do most (hopefully almost all) of them. (Sleepy especially, I'm sorry, I'm not really sure if that means anything to you I probably sound like a broken record but I do mean it genuinely, I'm sorry, I will answer all of the ones you've sent me)

#i have had a Year And A Fucking Half #dont take an ap class your freshman year folks its not a good idea #(it was so much fun and 1000/10 i *would* do it again but it was also a lot)#and i had so many crisis.#either ''oh hey what if im a boy''#''oh shit i think im autistic''#which. that was something that was fun one time just one time i would like to INTENTION ALLY come out #and not do it by accident #granted. accidentally in the playbill for the show im doing is better than accidentally in the middle of a sidewalk in detroit #i have just woken up. i am not going to reread this because then the anxiety will get the better of me and i will vanish into a hole again

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seal-writes-stuff · 2 years

Text

Deep Down

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: swearing, mental health struggles, heavy suicidal ideation, one NSFW mention

Summary: How deep do you need to sink before you can push yourself back up?

A/N: Hello friends. I’ve recently rewatched “Filth” and I intend to make it everyone’s problem. The bolded part is a prompt taken from here, feel free to request anything on the list! Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Days blur together. One after another, over and over again.

Bruce isn’t sure which one is it today and he doesn’t care either. After the night, he’s had to drag himself through this hellish loop anyway, taking it one hour at a time. Forcing himself to eat. Forcing himself to shower. Forcing himself to go to work, trying his best to ignore the pitying looks of his former colleagues. Most of all, forcing himself to shut out all of his thoughts and go numb. Even a moment of reflection is too much.

Weekends are the worst. Bruce still remembers what he used to do before the night, but none of this seems appealing now, so he just watches TV or sleeps it off. Sometimes both.

Pathetic.

Bruce doesn’t notice it right away, but you always seem to be around lately. Did he give you the spare key? Probably – hell if he knows. What he does know is that he lied to you a lot so you wouldn’t get in the way of his promotion. Wouldn’t stop from achieving… What exactly?

Was it worth it? Why did he even do it?

Just couldn’t help himself, probably.

Doesn’t matter. What matters, though, is that then the night happened and you just kind of stuck around ever since. Cooking him dinner. Cleaning up the place. Talking to him; Bruce is pretty sure he gives you some short answers every time, but their contents don’t make a difference. They seem to satisfy you. That’s all that matters.

Sometimes, when he’s half asleep, Bruce can feel you caressing his head – gently, almost lovingly. Bruce knows his hair is dirty half of the time and you probably pity him too, but he can’t find it in himself to pull away. Maybe that’s the only version of heaven he’s getting. He still doesn’t feel like he deserves that.

Right now, in this very moment, however, things feel different. He’s more aware. His old senses are back and Bruce doesn’t like it. He finds himself on a couch in his own apartment; TV illuminates the room slightly. Bruce rises up on his elbows and sees you in an armchair nearby. Noticing it, you snap out of your thoughts and look at him.

“Hey, Robbo,” you shoot him a sweet smile. As if everything is alright, as if he’s not a complete fucking mess. “What’s up?”

He nods vaguely, settling back on the couch. What is there to say? Still, you keep going.

“How’s your face?”

This brings out some absolutely awful memories; Bruce immediately pushes them aside. He touches his nose and suddenly realizes that it doesn’t hurt anymore.

What does his face look like, though? Does it look like anything?

“Still on my head,” he rasps out. You chuckle.

“That’s nice to hear.”

Silence falls again. One that probably feels comfortable to you but is agonizing for him. A realization that you’ve seen him like this all this time, that you’re seeing him like this now weights heavy on Bruce. He decides to put an end to this, one way or another.

“Why are you here? Don’t you have your own place or something?”

“I like yours.”

Fucking hell. You don’t seem too fazed, and that frustrates Bruce even more.

“Can’t get enough of all the filth?” he gestures around the room, looking away from you.

“I don’t care. Just wanted to see you.”

Bruce hums, hoping it would pass as some kind of answer. Same difference, he thinks. Probably not something you’d want to hear though. You’re still here and that’s a problem; he needs to be harsher. Bruce hates to hurt you like that, but it needs to be done.

For your own good.

“I was thinking about killing myself lately,” he starts in a flat tone, like he’s talking about the weather. “You’ve got any good options in mind? I do.”

“Robbo-”

“They don’t trust me with a gun now, but hey. I can still jump off a bridge, eh? Oh-or I could slit my wrists. Dougie did.”

“Bruce-”

“Or hang myself, I’ve even got-”

“Bruce, stop!” your voice cracks, and Bruce feels a rush of guilt mixed with satisfaction. Finally, he’s doing something right. “I don’t wanna- Do you mean it? Do you mean all of that?”

“Would it fucking matter if I did?”

“Yes. Yes it would.”

He huffs, sitting up straight. Why won’t you listen? Why won’t you go away? Bruce used to be able to force or manipulate anyone into doing whatever he wants. Why doesn’t it work on you? Is he that much of a fucking failure now?

“Why, cause you like feeling like a savior?”

“Wh- No, cause I care about you! I-”

“Just shut up!” he spits. “I’m not as good as you say I am! You have it in your fucking head that I’ve got something deep down. Well, guess what? There’s no deep down. This is me!”

He picks up an empty beer can before flinging it across the room.

“This is me!”

He gestures at his face, still covered in half-healed cuts and bruises.

“That’s it! There’s nothing there! Fuck the deep down. So you can stop digging and save us both some fucking time.”

That’s it. Bruce takes a deep breath, exhausted. He looks at you, trying to put every last bit of disdain he has in that look. He knows you’re trying to help; you’re not the first, but he still hopes that you’ll be the last. It’s not your fault, of course, but you must leave. He’s beyond saving and he knows it. It’s about time you realize it as well.

You open your mouth, then close it again. You don’t seem like you’re pitying him, but you don’t seem angry either. You just seem…

Sad?

“I’m okay with that.”

He blinks, confused.

“What?”

“You’re right. Fuck the deep down. I’m here cause I like you as you are. If…” you look at the floor, as if you’re gathering the courage to keep speaking. “If you think I’m playing a game, whatever. I’m okay with that too.”

You are not leaving. You are still not leaving. Why the fuck are you not leaving, what is he doing wrong, what-

Bruce tries to reply, but all that comes out is a strangled sob.

That's the final straw: Bruce finally breaks. He cries and cries, covering his face to hide from you, even though he knows it's useless. Every feeling, every negative thought he's suppressed surfaces all at once. Bruce feels like he's drowning.

All of a sudden, he realizes he truly wishes he was dead. At least death is finite. Humiliation seems never-ending.

Bruce doesn’t look up, but he hears how you stand up from the armchair with a barely concealed sad sigh. At least you’re done with him. That makes him cry even harder and he doesn’t know why.

Isn’t that what he wanted? Didn’t he finally do something right?

Before his thoughts can spiral any further, Bruce feels you pulling him into a hug. You don’t say anything. He’s grateful for that.

“I'm sorry,” Bruce clutches your shirt like his life depends on it. “I’m fucking- Please don’t leave. Please.”

“Don’t plan on that.”

Time goes by. Bruce doesn’t know if it’s been three minutes or three hours. He knows you’re here and somehow, that’s enough.

As his composure comes back, so does the shame.

“Do you… Wanna watch TV?” he asks awkwardly, not pulling away from your grasp. He hopes, prays even that you don’t mention any of... This.

You don’t.

“Sure. Let’s do it.”

You settle on the couch comfortably, his back against your chest. No kissing, no fucking, just together. Bruce can’t remember the last time he’s been with someone like this, but your body is warm and your touch is inviting, so he just accepts it.

“You know, Robbo, it’d be nice if you washed your hair sometimes,” your nails scratch his scalp gently. “I love you, but you stink.”

“Nobody complained before.”

“Well, did you ask them, or-”

“You know what, go fuck yourself,” Bruce laughs.

“Go fuck me yourself, you pussy.”

“I thought I was gross, no?” his eyes dart away before he finally gathers enough courage to say what he needs to say. “Uh, by the way, thanks. For everything.”

“Ah, it’s alright,” you plant a kiss on top of his head. Bruce closes his eyes and sighs. “Glad to help. Speaking of gross, I took out four bags of trash out of your fridge the other day. Four full bags, man!”

“Yeah, this place can use, um… Some cleaning up.”

“Some? Drug dens are cleaner than this.”

“And you’ve seen a lot of drug dens.”

“Nah, that’s your thing.”

“Right. They all know me by name there. Personal discounts, all that.”

You giggle, cuddling up closer to him, and Bruce feels content. Frank Sidebottom’s show is playing. For the first time in a long while it doesn’t even make Bruce want to smash his head against the floor.

Maybe same rules don’t always apply after all.

#bruce robertson #bruce robertson x reader #bruce robertson imagine #james mcavoy x reader #james mcavoy imagine #filth #seal writes

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nolassolace · 2 years

Text

HHHHHHHH

I caved

Fight me

Here's the dumb little nark drabble I wrote at 4 am. I typed it all up on my phone so I really don't care if it's formatted wierd or if there's any punctuation wrong oops?

Might do a small series with it who knows.

But yeah here's one of the ways I see Nicky and Larks first kiss going down.

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Lark realized he may have been in just a little bit deeper than he originally intended with one Nick Close than he had thought.

The two of them grew up together, went through tough shit, nightmares, break ups, experiments, the list goes on. Nicky was a big fan of always throwing out the good old “ Nothing brings people together like shared trauma.” quote always through a crooked grin and a shrug of his shoulders, and you know what? He was right.

After everything, Lark could only go to Sparrow for so much. But Nicky? He could rant about his dad to him for hours on end. That's when this whole mess started, the feelings and all that other bullshit.

They were probably 16 or something. Who cares really? Lark had been ranting non stop going on almost 45 minutes (not that Nick was counting) It was when Lark was having a hard time calming his breathing and Nicky stopped him from pacing, grabbed his shoulders, gave them an affirming squeeze, looked in his eyes and barely above a whisper said “ hey, man, deep breath. You're good, I'm right here.” amber eyes searching into his with concern and reassurance, then a gentle kiss placed to his forehead before the other ruffled his hair and stated light heartedly “ it's gonna be alright song bird.”

As they got older things got a bit more complicated. Nicky started spending more time in the infernal plane, he’d visit every now and then and when he did they would stay up all night talking, laughing, having a few drinks, better judgment stalling things that could ruin a good friendship. Especially when the older of the two would do things like fidget with the brunette's hands or rest his head on his shoulders. Lark liked when Nick would do those things which just made it that much worse. He'd notice how Nick's fingers were always warm and his nails ever so slightly pointed, and his hair always smelled good, even with the addition of the infernal planes smoke.

–

There were a few times that were too close for Larks' comfort honestly. Like when Nick would play with his unruly locks as they watched tv together and fell into comfortable silence. Or when he would teasingly blow smoke in Larks face when they shared a smoke or even worse the way they would perfectly banter with each other through arguments when things got too competitive.

Their first kiss happened in Larks second year of university. They went to some party on campus since Nicky was visiting after who knows how long. Lark decided it was best for his mental health to not keep track ( 63 days). Nick was quick to show his skills in Guitar Hero as soon as he saw the avatar selection screen on the tv in the living room. It didn't take long for him to start beating ass left and right at the game. As bystanders watched in awe, Lark sat nearby sipping on a solo cup tracking the half demon's expression as he played, his heart stuttering at the curve of Nick's smile, the faint glint of canines being ever so slightly too sharp. The way he bounced on his feet when he got too into the song and gave an occasional hop that made his black hair bounce on his shoulders and get in the way of his eyes which always led to him flipping it out of his face. Lark let a fond smile slip when he could see the ever so slightly visible smoke and warmth radiate off his friends fingers on the plastic frets as he tried to suppress his hellish nature.

Nick finished his last round before he let some poor freshman take their turn to try and follow up the show he had put on, he plopped down next to the younger on the worn down couch, stole his cup and chugged whatever was left of the awful college grade concoction. Nick patted his back and noted he was going to go get them refills before standing and taking his leave to the kitchen which before Lark knew it and before his brain could scream at him to stop what he was doing he was following Nicky close behind following the sweet smell of that he carried with him.

Once in the kitchen, solo cups refilled, Nick turned around to face Lark, only a little surprised to see his friend had followed him “ ahh it too loud out there for ya songbird?” his lips curled as he got ready to make some cocky remark about lark missing him after barely 30 seconds, the younger cut him off barely above a whisper of “ Shut it Foster” practically whispering it in to Nicks lips as he closed the distance and gripped the front of the jacket that he'd been gifted by his father. Lark waited to be pushed away, for the older to separate from him and chew him out or just disappear like he had gotten so good at.

But it didn't happen, at least not how he expected.

The ravenette pushed back just the slightest to break the kiss just for the tiniest moment. Amber eyes desperately searching Sage ones trying to find the hints of how this could be a prank or any type of deception, and when he couldn't see any, the faintest glow of blue flickered from Nicks eyes the same shade his horns seemed to give off like the center of a match and he dove back in to the kiss. He snaked his arm behind Larks neck to hold him close and it didn't take long till the cup was spilled down his friends back as they backed up into the pantry in a mess of drunken passion, open mouth kisses, tightening grips on clothes, just barely too warm fingertips brushing across scarred skin and the faintest scent of smoke.

Nick was the one who broke the kiss, panting and touching his lip with his hand after Lark had given a bit of a too confident bite. Maybe it had been too far? And of course only now he would realize this too late and he was absolutely going to beat himself up for it forever now as Nick practically rushed out of the kitchen and back into the fray of the party. Face flushed, his nose and lips the same warm shade of red. He shouldered his way past a few people and made his way to the back yard, opened a stupid portal back home to the infernal plane with his dumb flaming fingers and vanished just like that. Just like he had gotten so good at once they had gotten older. The portal closed and the smell of smoke and Nicks shampoo lingering in the air around Lark, he groaned and rubbed his face with both hands in frustration before punching the door of the pantry and leaving a significant dent in it. It didn't take long for him to grab his jacket and notify Sparrow he was going home.

Nicky didn't come around as much after that.

#nark #nark dndads #lark x nick #nick close #nick foster #nicky freeman #lark oak #lark oak garcia #lark garcia

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