successfultradingidea

[backinmyphase]

Not your wife

Synopsis: The walls of the Gojo estate were big as always. The atmosphere cold like before, more than ever since the sudden end of Gojo Satoru's and your honeymoon. And the meeting with the higher-ups was coming near...

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 6200 words Masterlist

Contains: arranged marriage, generational trauma, jujutsu clans and higher ups, much Angst (I'm saying, MUCH angst!) Angst to comfort at the end, after this part will come more, but this will be the end of their introduction to each other

A/n: Alright it took awhile, but I still hope you will like it and it will be worth the wait for you! Like always I'm happy about any comments, they make seriously my day <3

Gojo Satoru was always the strongest and most powerful man in jujutsu society, you knew that.

You heard stories when you were a kid. Your father remembering the meetings with the Gojo Clan more than your birthday. And he was always fascinated by this boy with these absurdly godlike talent.

And then there was his daughter. You didn't have any talent. No, you didn't have the power to make any adult cower before you.

And you were a girl.

It was only natural your father forgot you or at least tried to. Then how could he look at his child and see that he was not the one his Clan prioritized, because he didn't have a worthy heir.

You were an only child, much to your parents dismay. Your father was… Well he couldn't have more kids. You could still see the doctors, and the screams of your father. The crying of your mother. You were six, when you realized you were doomed.

Doomed as the girl who ruined her father's life and name.

It could have been worse. Your parents didn't treat you too bad. They mostly left you in the hands of the maids and Servants. You ate alone since your eighth birthday. Your father couldn't stand eating and looking at you and your mother didn't want to be alone with you.

But it wasn't the worst. They didn't hit you or anything like that. They were frustrated, of course and they still are, but they knew you could still be useful to the Clan. And you knew that one day you would have to marry some man, hopefully a clan leader, to make up for the fact you weren't a boy.

Your mother did teach you personally. And even if she just did so you could get a husband, it still showed she cared.

You didn't live like the golden boy Gojo Satoru.

No, you knew he was special since your father told your mother and you that 'this one boy could be the rising of the jujutsu society to a new level!'.

Your Status was so different from his, you could laugh.

There was one time you saw him, before you two married. And of course that wasn't in the arrangement time, he didn't show up to meet you personally, but it was at a Clan meeting a couple of years ago.

How old were you? Fourteen? Maybe even fifteen. And your parents were arguing about if you should even come with. Your father was livid. 'How could I show myself, when she is there to remind everyone?' he yelled.

But your mother insisted that you should show yourself to start leaving an impression. 'She has to find a husband.' your mother was ice cold. 'And she has to start young. Don't you want a connection to the Gojo Clan?'

'As if Gojo.' He looked at you and that was the first time you had heard him laugh. 'As if she and Gojo…'

The difference between you and Gojo was always clear to you. And you knew that everyone else knew too. But your mother pushed through and took you with her. The ride was silent and you could stil see the empty eyes of your father.

His ego was so easily bruised.

As you made your way into the big estate of the Clan, you could feel the stares of the maides and the servants. Even they knew what you were. Who you were. And why your parents scowled as they came with you.

'So lovely to meet you.' Mrs. Gojo had that same smile you would see on her years later. And when you thought about it, she and your mother had tension between them even back then.

'And who is that beautiful lady?' she smiled at you, her hair was perfect, her dress made perfectly for her. She was a lady in power. But everything was only held together by the pretty golden ring on her ringfinger. Pretty but heavy, you knew that even back then.

'Our oldest daughter.' you father held up this nothing saying face but you could see his frustration.

'And your only one.' Mr. Gojo spoke up behind his wife and had the same but more smugly smile as he looked at your father. And you didn't miss the clenching of your father's teeth.

'Where is the young Gojo boy?' of course even back then your mother searched the control in the situation. And she always did a good job in directing the tension into a different direction.

'Oh, he is out playing.' Mrs. Gojo waved her hand. 'Some of his friends came by.'

He was out playing. His friends visited.

That was the moment you first really realized just how much different you lived. You had to beg to go outside, to attend meetings. He could just leave when his friends asked for him. Hell, he was allowed to play with friends! It was almost surreal how such an important figure had such a normal relaxing life.

'You can join them of course?' Mrs. Gojo smiled at you. Not much later you were send outside into the little yard of the estate.

Gojo laughed with some kids. They were running around, made dumb jokes you didn't understand and furthermore didn't talk to you. You were the weird stuck up girl to these boys and boys shouldn't talk to girls. That was stuck in their dumb teenage brains.

But in Gojo's eyes was something that ticked you off. This look of knowing. Maybe it was your paranoia but even back then you were sure of it, that he understood your different status and what it meant.

So you couldn't say you were that surprised.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"How was your Honeymoon, my Lady?"

You tried to smile as you looked at Hina. She was smiling softly and only now you realized just how much you missed her. The cold walls of the big house were not missed.

"Lovely." you held your things close to yourself, most of your baggage already brought into your room. The uber behind you drove away, now that you were back home. If you could really call it that.

"You look exhausted?" she didn't miss the eye bags under your eyes. But they weren't hard to miss, after all every night was a fight.

"Just missed my own bed." you moved, Hina taking some things from you. Your steps steady, determined.

"Is that why you came back so abruptly?"

You couldn't help but stop in your tracks. And you wished that was the reason. But it wasn't. It was also not the reason your husband wasn't in the uber with you. It wasn't the reason why you longed for your own room.

"Yeah. Just was a bit exhausted." you smiled at the lovely girl in front of you. "Will you excuse me?"

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"My lady?" Hina's voice was soft, like it was scared to speak to loudly. "Dinner is ready and Mr. Gojo is waiting for you."

Your room was dark, the curtains closed and your back to the door. Since hours you were laying in your bed trying to sleep, to relax like those nights when you slept well. But it didn't work, nothing worked.

"I will be there in a minute."

You heard her steps distancing from your room. And with a heavy feeling you stood up. Your gaze dropping to your night table. The hairpin of your mother laying there, neatly. So put together.

Next to it the letter of the higher-ups. It reminded you of the following Friday. The meeting that was waiting for you.

And the husband that was waiting for your presence.

It wasn't easy to get up, to take all these steps towards the room with the person you really didn't want to see. In fact you didn't want to see anyone.

The table was big as always, filled with food you knew wouldn't all be eaten. Your seat open and waiting for you. And across from it, he sat. Satoru.

His head was down, cutting his meat as he chewed. He didn't look up as you sat down, no he gripped his fork harder as he ate. The nerve of him.

"Did you get home safely?"

"Yeah, I did." you took a bit of the food around you, even though you were nowhere hungry. "I wouldn't be here if not, would I?"

He stopped chewing for a second, his eyes almost going up. But he didn't and swallowed. "I guess."

The silence that flooded the room was filled with tension you felt familiar with. It was like when you were eight again, the dinners after it was revealed you would be the only child of your parents.

He was mad.

He cut his food like he hated it. And his blue eyes were like storms, fighting and brewing. In the end you still didn't know this man.

"Will you go to meet them?"

He had no right to look at you like that. No right, to make you feel guilty, to make you feel like the villain here.

"Will you disappear for a mission again?"

He was silent. And he should be. It was humiliating, how he left you to ride alone home again. Just mumbling of having to work instead of talking to you.

The sound of chewing and eating was the only thing that filled the room and it wasn't too long until you were finished. He stared at you, watching your doing. Now you couldn't bear yourself to look at him.

"You could have come to me. You could just tal-"

"I want to eat alone from now on again." you cut him off. You didn't want to hear his oh so great ideas, as if he knew your position.

He was quiet again. You took that as a sign to continue. "And I want to promote Hina, if that's okay. I still need a personal maid, to help me prepare for our later Clan events."

You stood up, the conversation was finished for you. You couldn't bear to hear his accusations, feel his piercing eyes on you and endure this tension in the room.

You hurried to take the steps to your room, Gojo not speaking up again.

Maybe you were overreacting. But if you felt the way you felt, why try to act not like it? He said he wanted to see your real emotions, he could feel it.

After yesterday you wouldn't need to be told twice to give him the cold shoulder.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺ Yesterday

"What is this?" he held the cursed piece of paper up, the one you didn't know about. The one he just stole from you.

"A letter for me."

You looked into his eyes, your face was scowling now. He didn't have the right to just take your things, sneak around in your business and then act like you did something wrong.

"From the higher-ups." he let out a low joyless laugh. "You talk to them regular?"

He was intimidating. His body seemed so much bigger suddenly, his eyes like blades and he towered above you.

"Talk about me with them?"

"Stop." you narrowed your eyes as he let out another of these scary chuckles.

"Do you tell them all the things I do?" he shook his head and a scary smile mirrored his laugh. "Tell them everything about our marriage?"

"I said, Stop." you snatched the letter from him, finally having it secured.

"Is it true you meet up with them regular?" he didn't smile anymore. Didn't laugh. There was only this vulnerability and you did feel bad. But in this moment all of it clashed down on you, your exhaustion and everything on top made you overwhelmed like no time before.

"Why do you care?" you turned around trying to hide the tears that were clouding your eyes. Suppressing the heavy breathing and the hiccups. The shaking. Everything was becoming so loud, so alive.

"I care!" he became louder. "If my wife is talking to old hags more than to me! I care when she meets up with the people who controlled my whole life, and discusses me with them!"

Now it was your turn to laugh. "You want to talk about control?" you shook your head. "Gojo, you had freedom! My whole life was built up to marry you, that is my whole purpose. You had control, you had the freedom to have a childhood! It is my duty to meet up with them, I have no other choice!"

Now you could feel his infinity. It felt unstable, uncomfortable, just awful in your back. "But you do." his voice was eerily calm. "You could have talked to me. You could have come to me, instead of working with them!"

"Oh please, do you hear yourself? Working with them, what do you think they talk with me about?" you turned around to look at him and the sight shocked you. He looked like a whole different person. What a smile does to a lerson right? And how the disappearance of one changes one.

"Well it's worse enough that you feel the need to keep it from me."

"What do you expect from me?!" you screamed now, the exhaustion now making your head dizzy. Or was it really just the exhaustion?

"Do you expect me to tell you everything? To immediately trust you? I don't know you, Gojo!"

He flinched at that, the anger in him was rising. "At least I try to get to know you! You just run away from me and don't even consider us working together! How should I know you, if you don't open up?!"

"How do you expect me to just open up?" you hiccuped, the tears now falling, the paper in your hands getting wet. "Since the beginning of the discussion of this marriage you rejected my existence. You made me deal with our Clan relationships alone since our wedding day, how do you expect me to just share all of it now with you?"

Your breathing was uneven, the tears blocking your lungs, making it oh so hard to breathe.

"But I am trying right now-"

"I know, okay?" your voice began to fall apart, becoming more hoarse. "I know you try, but a couple of conversations don't fix everything! I don't expect you to fix everything right now, but you have to forgive me if I can't switch up after a couple of days. This isn't your issue, it's mine."

His body was shaking a bit. He was still so tall, you couldn't look at his face, it seemed impossible. "I think our marriage shouldn't be discussed with these old hags. That isn't just your issue, it's mine too."

"It's not about how our marriage is going." speaking was hurting a bit, and the words were heavy on your lips. It felt so unfair. "It's about what… I should do. How my Clan relies on me in this. How I have to steady their relationship with the Gojo Clan." Through a heir.

"And how can I trust you on that?" his eyes seemed so coldly empty, it was almost scary. A person can be so different. His words stung and at the same time almost made you laugh.

"You talk a lot about me needing to open up and trust you, but at the same time you sneak into my letters and my business." You stood up.

"I think that says more about you than me."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

After that evening Gojo said he had to go on a 'mission' and that the Honeymoon would be fine to be cut short. He left the same morning. There was already an uber for you ready, the little hotelroom for yourself and his things long gone.

You really shouldn't surprised and you hated yourself for crying that morning after he left. But it still hurt. How he could always just leave. You felt so alone.

And now you were 'home'.

You couldn't stand looking at him for too long that was clear from the dinner yesterday. You couldn't stand his anger.

You just wanted to curl yourself in a ball and sleep forever. But even the sleep was a chore, the nightmares still not leaving. The only good time was with the young Hina, who made you go outside and for the first time you explored the big mansion you were living in.

And even though it was tiring, you were happy she made you go through the big halls. It gave you a task, a new adventure, something else than the next meeting with them to focus on.

The garden was beautiful. All the flowers, some you have never seen or heard from before, blooming in these varieties of vibrant colors. The big trees giving a safe place from the sun and a small lake, which you could sit next to.

"Do you feel better, My lady?" Hina was desperately trying to make you feel better, she was really a sweet girl.

"Yeah, it's calming here." the breeze which made your hair float a bit was refreshing.

"I'm glad." she smiled, "I was a bit worried after you ate without my lord this morning.

The cold that came over you made you shiver. What should you tell her? What would she think of the truth? How would she react? You'd better not tell her, hina had other problems. Hina shouldn't find out what you're going through and even if she did, would she tell Gojo? Would she tell him what your mother said to you? No, you couldn't risk that, it just wasn't reasonable.

She was such a nice girl.

So caring. So open minded. How were you so lucky? To have a face around you that's not stoic? You couldn't be more thankful.

"Oh, We just agreed to eat separately because of our different bed and his work time. And he has to eat early, that's why."

She locked a bit perplexed. And the little frown on her face told you that she didn't really believe you. But she didn't press anymore, just explained the flowers to you.

"Should we go to the library next?"

"That sounds lovely."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺ Satoru never felt so bad. Yeah, he felt guilty a couple of times but never like this. But at the same time he was hurt. It felt like something was pressed down in his stomach and pushed around, when he just thought of these old bastards working with you.

He felt terrible. How was he supposed to act now? he wanted to go talk to you, but at the same time he felt like that would only make things worse. You worked with these people, you tolerated their ways. These people who were the root of the problem of this doomed society.

Maybe you did it all for your clan, but shouldn't your marriage with him be your priority now? Maybe he was being a selfish asshole, but it just hurt so damn much.

And then there was the letter. He still had the second letter, the one from your mother that you had left on your bedside table.

And he just didn't know whether he should open it or not. Actually he wanted to, actually he had to, because he wanted to know what was really written in there, but…

There was also the hurt look on your face when he had opened the other one. Every time he closed his eyes he saw this vulnerable expression on your face.

Would you even be able to forgive him then?

At the same time, you had lied to him and he just didn't know what to believe anymore. What should he do?

The paper in his hands was heavy, hard and incredibly uncomfortable in his hand, it was as if it was cursed.

He still knew the letter from the higher-ups by heart.

Dear Mrs. Gojo,

We are pleased to inform you that your little misstep is being forgiven. We hope you have a good honeymoon. Despite everything, we are still very unhappy with the incident and hope that you have learned from it to let us know before you act. But we are glad that you have taken the matter into your own hands and wish you happy days in which you hopefully get your husband under control.

See you at the next meeting.

The paper rustled in his hand and although his heart was beating incredibly fast, almost like to stop him, he opened the paper with his shaking fingers.

He was in the jujutsu academy near his old classroom. His mission was long finished. Earlier this day he wanted to talk to Geto about everything that has happened but his friend had accepted a mission that would probably take a while.

And now Satoru was alone to make probably a bad decision.

On the letter were numbers, no rather a date not so far away, which made him shiver.

Something was odd with the way the letter was written, the writing of your mother felt eerily. And he felt cursed energy. No, there had to be something wrong with your mother.

Should he really read it? Was it really his business what your mother was writing you?

The last week he got to see and hear you cry every night. Whispering your mother's name in fear. Maybe you did because you missed her. But something about this woman ticked something in him off.

He didn't want to sneak around behind your back.

But it began to be his business, the moment he started to care about his darling wife.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The Friday knocked on the door of your mind every minute of every day. And even though you didn't want to open the door for it, it did come around.

And you knew as you woke up that it would be torture.

You were tired. It was surreal how you could even stand up. How were you supposed to attend a meeting like that?

With a heavy heart you got ready and your eyes fell on the old hairpin your mother had given you - she really was everywhere.

This morning hina hadn't come by your room at all to tell you that gojo was eating breakfast.

Was it really still that early? No, it was almost noon. Oh God, noon! You had to get ready, you should be there soon!

Once again, they had scheduled so much time that you felt horrible. Would you have to listen to them babble on for hours again, the nasty words about your clan and how you would defile it?

"Hina?," you picked up your things and got ready. "I have to go now, would you please let the cook know that I'm not eating here today?"

There was no answer for a long time but eventually the girl came in with wide eyes.

"What do you mean, you are going?" she asked.

"Of course, Ihave to go to the meeting, didn't I tell you? Ihave an appointment." you took your hairpin and this time you even got ready with it.

"But why today?"

"I told you I have to go today. It's Friday, isn't it?"

Hina seemed different, somehow more tense than usual and it didn't make you feel good.

"If you say so." she said and picked up a few things that were dirty. "But please come back on time, not as late as last time, my lady."

A chuckle escaped you, as you saw her worried look. Why was she so tense about this?

"Don't worry, I won't die."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Did you make any progress?"

You wanted to eat your words. Since you came into the building you once called home you felt like a corpse. Your mother wasn't here, the maids telling you she got sick this morning.

You thought it wouldn't be that bad without her but you were mistaken. Normally she would sit beside you on the other side of the table, but now you sat there alone, like you were fighting against them on your own. Like no one here was on your side.

"My Honeymoon was lovely, thank you." you didn't know how the sentence slipped past your lips, but your exhaustion made your tongue slippery and your attitude bigger.

"Be careful young lady, you can be very thankful you are even still his wife! After your little misstep you can be very grateful for our forgiveness." an elderly woman spoke.

Every meeting she picked at you and took you apart. She always seemed so mad at you.

"I am." you lowered your head, hitting yourself for your carelessness.

"So there is a baby on the way?"

The leader of them, an old man with a long beard was looking at you with a neutral look. You could never read him.

The question scared you since you left for your honeymoon. This pressure on top of you was making you sick. The weight of it making you dizzy. What were you supposed to do? If you told them no, you could easily be banished back to your own Clan, and lose all of respect your mother had left for you.

If you told them yes, then you had to…

No, no, no, no, why? Why did you have to be a puppet for them? Why couldn't you just live? Why did you have to push all your emotions aside and drown them?

You were so scared of the night. So scared of the act you should have already done.

"It isn't, isn't it?" the elderly woman laughed as you gripped your stomach.

And even though it was empty, you felt like throwing up.

"I told you!" the woman stood up. "This girl shouldn't have been chosen for this! We need a woman who knows what is at stake here, not a filthy selfish little girl, who cries at the pressure!"

Every word pierced you, and you hated that tears formed themselves.

"Someone like your granddaughter?" The 'leader' of them raised an eyebrow. "Please, Kamo, that's ridiculous. And not in our control. Mrs. Gojo wanted to meet every girl and judge them personally. And be in control of the relations with other Clans."

His look at you was just as poisonous, regardless of his previous words.

"We have to work with this. Until we have found an alternative."

An alternative.

You were screwed. They had already a search going for a replacement. Were already ready to drop you and break the news to your Clan.

"I think she is misunderstanding something." A man, who was a bit younger than the rest, smiled smugly at you. "This whole thing isn't about love or wanting to do things. It's about what you have to do."

"So just get it over with and spare yourself the trouble?"

Your body felt so heavy, everything tense, fighting the urge to run away, to throw up and hide all at once.

Suddenly the door swung open and one of the guards came in completely out of breath and visibly agitated.

"I really tried, but I just couldn't stop him! That's just not in my power." he was out of breath.

"What are you talking about?" the old 'leader' stood up and suddenly looked so small. His eyes were big, something like fear was there.

"Well.." the guard looked uncomfortable.

And then you heard it. At first you thought it was one of them but then you realized.

"What do you think you are doing, talking to my wife like that?"

No, that couldn't be. How? How was he here? Why? What did you give away? No, this had to be one of your dumb dreams. Because it just couldn't be that Satoru Gojo just came through that door-

Oh.

Satoru had clothes on you had never seen on him before. It was an kimono, the usual for Clan leaders. His face was concentrated, didn't show any weakness in front of this important people. Instead it was almost belittling how he looked at them.

"There you are sweetheart!" his face lit up, as he spotted you, there was no sign of your fight and his anger. There was just Satoru.

He walked over to you, all these oh so mighty people clearing the way for him. He didn't even bat an eye at them. Without any hesitation he sat down next to you.

"Now, it really wasn't polite to not inform me of this meeting." he looked at them, with one of his challenging smiles. "But I will forgive it this one time. Now, what did you want to discuss with the Gojo leaders?"

You could see the shock in their faces. The elderly that screamed earlier, now glaring at you. Her gaze was almost cutting you, it was that sharp. And the old leader hesitated before sitting down.

"What are you doing here?" you whispered into his ear, careful to be silent enough that they wouldn't hear you.

"We will talk later." he grabbed your hand and squeezed it gently.

"This wasn't really a meeting with the Gojo leaders." the slightly younger man spoke up, breaking the silence from the mighty higher-ups.

"Oh, but I don't understand." Gojo tilted his head. "If it wasn't then why did you speak to my wife?"

A shiver went down your back as you saw into their faces. They didn't say anything. Suddenly the position of power was shifted and they were careful to say something.

"It was about her duties for her Clan." the elderly woman shook her head. "And she was specifically asked to be her alone."

"I wonded," His grip on your hand tightened. "What of these duties are so important, you can't discuss with me too? Because last time I checked, my wife's Clan was the Gojo Clan now. So what responsibility does she hold that I don't?"

Your hands began to sweat. All of these people were shooting daggers at you and you felt like you would be murdered if Satoru left the room.

"She still has to make the relation of the Gojo Clan with her old one better-"

"And why can't I be there too?" Satoru started to laugh. "That's the thing you don't really have a reason other than to play my wife against me. Don't you?"

You couldn't help but lower your head. The tears now pushing your head down.

"Well, she wanted to come alone with her mother!" the woman who seemed to be called Kamo spoke loudly. Now you could feel all of their gazes. "Didn't you, Mrs. Gojo?"

Your body began to heat up, fire embracing you, swallowing you whole. It was itching. Decisions, decisions, decisions, why were you not doing anything, why couldn't you move? Your own body felt like a prison.

"You dumb girl, say something!" you heard her scream again. "If you don't then-"

Suddenly her voice died down. You could feel the shift and pressure was falling off of you onto the ground. And as you slowly rose your head you saw the woman pressed onto the wall, the others all in a fighting pose.

"Be careful what you are saying." Satoru's voice was icy. His eyes were like a warning and he didn't even move to activate his cursed technique. Was that the great Gojo your father was so fond about?

"Anyone talking ill about ot to my wife makes themself the Gojo Clan as enemy. And you know what I'm capable of."

The woman dropped to the ground.

"I think we can move the meeting to another day, can't we?"

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Why were you there today?"

Satoru sat on the opposite side of the dining table, the car ride home with him long behind you two. You waited till home to talk to him, the courage finally growing.

He stopped eating and looked up at you. He still had these clothes on, the ones that mirrored his real position.

He shifted in his seat, his eyes avoiding yours.

Then he sighed and dropped his cutlery. "I didn't want you to be alone with them."

You shook your head. "Why? I told you, it's just about-

"Stop it." he raised a hand. "Please let me talk."

You kept quiet after that. Now it was your turn to look down.

"I've been so angry the last few days. You accused me of not knowing you, but at the same time you pretended to know what my childhood was like. How could you have known that? I've known these people since i was little, i know about their games, their desire for control and especially their obsession with strength."

His voice was slightly shaking. "I'm not denying that I had some freedom, but I want you to know that a big cage is still holding someone down. And these people have always controlled my cage."

You wanted to say something, but every sentence that your head crafted was forgotten in the next second.

"But," he began, his voice now a little firmer. "It still didn't give me the right to be like this to you. Mainly I want to apologize to you and that I came to the meeting today was not because I didn't trust you but because I couldn't stand the thought of them torturing you."

"I'm sorry for invading your privacy. I know it wasn't right and I'm sorry that I only realized it after I read the letter from your mother."

You pushed the chair back so violently, it fell over. "You did, WHAT?"

Satoru looked down, shameful.

"That's why you knew where and when we would meet up?" you couldn't contain the hurt in your voice, but for the first time you didn't care.

He nodded.

"Do you really think I'm acting against you, or-"

"No!" Now it was his turn to stand up. And in only a matter of seconds he stood right before you. "It's not because I think badly of you!"

His hands were going through his hair, making it much messier than usual. You saw how he bit his lip, and it felt surreal to see Gojo Satoru so vulnerable.

"I- All of this was just driving me crazy!" he sighed frustrated. "Knowing you meet up with these people and didn't even want me to know about it. Knowing these people were talking and seeing you more than I was."

Your mind went blank as you looked at his eyes. Were they always this sad?

"When you said you wanted to have a Honeymoon to get to know me, I felt so happy, so relieved!" he turned around and paced around the rooom.

"Do you know how you look at me?" his voice was shaking. "Scared. You look at me like you are scared of me. Like I will do you wrong. Like it's me that's pressuring you."

He stopped in his tracks and let out a shaky laugh. "And then I thought that I was maybe imagining that and you weren't scared of me."

He shook his head. "And then I saw the letter. I didn't read it right away, but when I asked you some things, you lied to me and had that scared look again. And… I don't know, it was so crushing to know you never wanted to go with me on our honeymoon!"

His voice broke down a bit at the end.

And as you stood there, you felt yourself becoming shaky too. You didn't want him to think that. You were mad at him, you were still hurt, obviously, but…

You didn't want him to be hurt too.

"Satoru…" you began, but he raised another hand to stop you.

"That still doesn't excuse what I did. I don't want you to pity me into forgiveness."

You shook your head. "I am at fault too." One step towards him. "I just have my problems to trust you right away. But you were right."

You smiled as you looked down. "I do accuse you of not knowing me, but then run away from you trying. That's unfair."

As you looked up, he was already looking at him. And you could see a slight redness in his oh so blue eyes.

"I will try to open up more."

He gulped as stared at you. "I will be patient. And- I will make it up to you, till you forgive me! Really, I will never invade your-"

You chuckled a bit, some of the forming tears in your eyes escaping. "It's alright Satoru. You don't have to promise the world right now."

"Let's take it slow. That's a start."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺ It was late at night. You were sitting on the couch in Satoru's big living room. You were watching a movie, he was begging to show you.

And for the first time since that night you were relaxed and all the exhaustion fell from you. Your head fell onto his shoulder, any feel of shame was long gone from being so tired.

He didn't move as you were drifting into your long awaited sleep.

"Hey, can you hear me?" he was whispering as you hummed.

"I still want to apologize. For not appearing to any arrangement meetings. I never did that."

His shoulder was really soft and you felt so heavy.

"I hope you sleep well, sweetheart. You deserve it more than anyone."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

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[asteroidtroglodyte]

When encountering someone stuck in an Apology Loop, I do not uselessly ask, or worse, demand that they “stop apologizing.”

Rather, I have found it much more useful to affect a theatrical tone and formally “absolve” them. “Like a Renaissance pope, I absolve you, my child.” Usually the combination of having the absurdity of the situation highlit, combined with a touch of physiological release if I can get a laugh, is enough to soothe their nerves a bit and get them to break the loop. And who knows maybe they feel absolved I dunno I have an authoritative bearing

[nhlclover]

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 | 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

— cozytober masterlist !

summary: your first halloween spent in your new house together becomes unforgettable after a trick-or-treater brings unexpected joy for you and jack

warnings: literally so much fluff it's crazy, jack kind of having a revelation

word count: 1.36k

notes: tenth and final fic of cozytober! hope you enjoy i thought this was such a cute idea.

As October settled in, the air grew crisp, carrying with it the scent of fallen leaves. Your neighborhood began to glow with an eerie charm — orange and purple lights strung along rooftops, spider webs draped haphazardly over bushes, and grinning jack-o'-lanterns perched on porches, their flickering candles casting shadows on the pavement. It was your first Halloween in your new home, and excitement buzzed in the air. You and Jack had spent the last few weeks transforming your house into a Halloween wonderland, determined to embrace the spooky season in full.

“This is going to be such a good Halloween,” you said, standing in the kitchen surrounded by packages of candy. You poured another mountain of treats into the bowl, feeling like a kid yourself.

Jack, lounging against the counter, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You know we’re probably gonna be that house, right? The one that gives out so much candy the kids talk about it all year?”

You grinned back, unbothered. “Good! We never got to do this in the apartment. We’re going all out.” You tossed another bag of chocolates into the mix, the bowl overflowing now.

Your previous apartment building didn’t have many kids, and handing out candy was never part of your Halloween traditions. But this year, nestled in a family-filled suburb, it felt like you were finally getting the Halloween you’d always wanted — the decorations, the costumes, the eager trick-or-treaters. You could hardly wait.

When the doorbell rang for the first time, you practically leapt off the couch. “They’re here!” you squealed, racing to the door like a child on Christmas morning. Swinging it open, you were greeted by a group of tiny witches, superheroes, and a very tiny dinosaur with a tail too long for his legs. Their eyes widened at the sight of your candy bowl, and you couldn’t resist giving them extra, their excitement contagious.

You watched them scamper off down the walkway, their candy bags bouncing, before collapsing onto the couch next to Jack, who had Ghostbusters queued up on the TV. “There was this little dinosaur, and his tail kept dragging behind him,” you laughed, snuggling under his arm. “It was adorable.”

“Is that what happens every time the door opens? You’re going to give me a recap of all the costumes you see?” Jack smirked, pulling you in closer.

“Absolutely,” you grinned, poking him playfully. “I don’t want you missing out on all the cuteness.”

And that’s exactly what you did. Each time the doorbell rang, you bounded up, eager to meet the next batch of trick-or-treaters. After every encounter, you’d return to Jack, excitedly recounting the different costumes — witches, zombies, fairies, and one memorable kid dressed as a very squishy marshmallow. Jack would laugh at your eagerness, but you could tell he enjoyed each one of your recaps.

Between the rounds of doorbell dashes, you and Jack sank into the movie, the Halloween vibe settling in like a comfortable blanket around you. The evening was perfect — the glow of the porch lights, the hum of neighborhood excitement, and Jack’s arm wrapped around you, making it all feel just right.

As the night began to slow and fewer knocks came, the doorbell rang one last time. You jumped up, still full of energy. “I’ve got it!” you called, already halfway to the door.

Opening it, you were greeted by a sight that made you freeze — a kid fully decked out in hockey gear, pads, helmet, gloves, and all. But what caught your attention was the jersey. The black, white, and red jersey stood out in the dark, the 86 on the sleeve glimmering under the porch light.

“Trick or treat!” the small voice squeaked from beneath the helmet.

Your jaw dropped as you let out a small gasp. “Oh my gosh, you look amazing!” you gushed. “Hold on—there’s someone who has to see this.”

You darted back into the living room, grabbing Jack by the arm. “Come on, you’ve gotta see this!”

Jack, confused but curious, paused the movie and followed you to the door. The second he saw the mini-hockey player in his own jersey, his eyes widened in surprise. The kid looked up, eyes shining as he recognized Jack.

“You’re Jack Hughes!” the little boy said, his voice filled with awe.

Jack crouched down to the kid’s level, smiling. “Looking good out there, bud,” he said, adjusting the boy’s helmet so it wasn’t covering his eyes.

The kid's dad, standing at the end of the walkway, waved his phone. “Would it be alright if we got a picture?” he asked, clearly as excited as his son.

“Of course,” Jack grinned. He knelt beside the kid, who raised his hockey stick proudly. You quickly snapped a few photos, capturing the pure joy on both their faces.

Before they headed off, you grabbed two fistfuls of candy and dropped them into the boy’s sack. “You get some extra candy for having the best costume we’ve seen all night,” you told him, smiling as he skated on his roller blades down the walkway.

Jack stood there for a moment, still processing what had just happened. You could see a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched the boy skate off.

“That was seriously cool,” Jack admitted, sliding his arm around your waist.

You nudged him playfully. “You’re a little stunned, huh?”

Jack chuckled, his eyes still lingering on the street where the kid had disappeared. “Yeah, I mean, it's one thing to see people wearing my jersey at games, but that little guy was really into it. He looked like he was having the best night of his life.”

There was a warmth in his voice, a mix of pride and disbelief. “It’s gotta feel pretty surreal seeing a kid look up to you like that,” you said, guiding him back into the house, his eyes still going back to the kid who was far down the street now.

Jack nodded, his smile widening as you took your places on the couch once more. “It just… it reminds me that this whole hockey thing is bigger than just me, you know? Seeing him so pumped, dressed as me for Halloween… it kind of makes it all feel worth it in a different way. A way that’s not just for me.”

You could tell that moment meant more to him than he let on. His eyes glinted with that same spark he had when he was passionate about something, and you loved seeing him like that.

As you both settled back onto the couch, you leaned your head on Jack’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in. “You made that kid’s night,” you said softly, glancing up at him.

Jack’s arm tightened around you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I think he made mine too,” he replied, his voice filled with a contentment that made your heart swell.

As the credits rolled on the movie, you sighed happily. “Best Halloween ever,” you murmured, smiling to yourself.

Jack chuckled, resting his chin on your head. “You always say that,” he teased.

You laughed, looking up at him. “Well, this time I mean it.”

He grinned down at you, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Good. Because I kind of want to make this our new tradition. Decorating, handing out candy, watching you light up with every costume… I could get used to this.”

You leaned up and kissed him softly, feeling that familiar, comforting warmth between you. “Me too,” you whispered. “Me too.”

As you both sat there, the last remnants of Halloween fading into the quiet night, you couldn’t help but think about how special this first Halloween in your new home had been. It wasn’t just the decorations or the candy or even the costumes — it was the moments, big and small, that made it unforgettable. Moments like Jack seeing a kid in his jersey, or the way you both had embraced the evening together, fully present and happy.

And you knew that no matter how many Halloweens came after this one, this would always be the one that set the bar.

[zafirosreverie]

Call the exorcist (Agatha x F!Reader)

For @roseclear

a/n: I haven't watch the show, I just know the basics, so sorry for any plot mistakes.

Spoilers for the ending

______________

Your life was chaotic. From the moment you met that damn charming, chaotic and slightly evil (well, very evil) witch, your whole world did a 180.

From one day to the next, magic was not only something possible, but little by little, it became something common in your life. Something you got so used to that you thought nothing could surprise you anymore.

Rule number one of being married to a witch: Agatha Harkness can always surprise you.

You weren't stupid, you knew she didn't tell you absolutely everything, that there were parts of her past she would never tell you, that they were completely buried and she planned to keep them that way. Not that it bothered you, if you were honest. 300 years of life had to have hard moments, and you decided that you wouldn't push her any further than she felt comfortable sharing you.

Still, that damn woman always managed to give you gray hairs, and you were sure that one of these days she would put you in an early grave. But you still loved her, more than life itself.

______________

The first scare was when she disappeared to go to Westview. You had a hard time getting in touch with her, and she only gave you a hasty and poorly structured explanation about chaos magic before sending you back home.

A week later, Maximoff's escape and what she had done to the town was reported on the news. You came back as quickly as you could, but you couldn't do anything. You were forced to watch your wife live as Agnes for 3 years, powerless and weak to bring her back.

Then the boy showed up. Billy Maximoff, or at least a variant of him? A reincarnation? The truth was that you didn't quite understand, nor did you care. The only important thing was that Agatha was back. And with her, chaos. Of course.

God forbid you have a second of peace with your wife.

The coven, Rio, Billy, everything was too confusing, too much for your mortal mind to understand in all the details how quickly the situation was changing, and Agatha, in the middle of it all, the central pillar, was not much help.

You knew she didn't tell you everything, but that she had gotten involved with death or that she had a child should have been some of the things she could have tell you, right? At least you thought that something like that should be important enough to tell her new wife.

You hadn't even finished assimilating all that when your witch, always chaotic and without explanations, kissed Rio, lady death, to save Billy. You didn't even have time to say goodbye to her, or to assimilate that, just like that, from one moment to the next, you had become a widow.

You didn't think you had known greater pain in your life. Knowing that your wife, the woman you loved, as imperfect, chaotic and evil as she was, was no longer there, broke your heart. You couldn't even stay there for long, you went back home as soon as you could, desperate that everything was a damn nightmare, that when you opened your eyes, Agatha would be there, with that infuriating but beautiful smile that you loved so much, ready for a new chaos.

But no matter how many times you woke up, reality was still there. Agatha was dead, you were alone. And your wife wasn't coming back.

_______________

…until she did.

________________

You calmly stepped into the shower, allowing the hot water to wash away the stress of the day, the worries and sorrows. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and focus for a moment on the feeling of the water against your skin, the warmth of the steam and-

"AGATHA!!!" you screamed as you jumped up, and your wife still had the nerve to laugh.

It had been less than a week since Agatha Harkness had come back into your life, ready to turn it upside down again. At first, you thought you had finally lost your mind (sometimes you still thought that it was the case, to be honest), when the ghost of your dead wife appeared in the middle of the living room.

However, in true Agatha fashion, she began to cause all kinds of mischief around the house, moving things around, disarranging things, and giving you those damn kisses that you still couldn't decide if you loved or not. And that was all you needed to know that yes, your wife was back. In the form of a pile of ectoplasm with too much time on her hands and too eager to take you to the grave too, but she was back.

"Come on sweetie, you can't blame me" she laughed, floating closer to you "you know I've never been able to resist your…charms"

You shivered as her fingers, cold and not quite physical, ran down your lower back. Before you could protest, Agatha kissed you deeply. Kisses with her were very strange now, to say the least.

Not that they bothered you, you just still had to get used to the feeling of kissing an ice cube that you couldn't really touch but was at the same time as real as yourself. You never imagined kissing a ghost, but here you were, proving once again how much you loved this woman even in death.

"You're a menace" you said as she pulled away

"But I'm your menace" she smirked

"…we said 'till death do us part', why are you still here?" you crossed your arms, covering your naked body a little

"Oh darling" she laughed and caressed your cheek with those icy fingers "it's cute how you really thought death would rid you of me. No, my love, you're mine, in this and every life after"

Something in her tone and the way her ghostly fingers gripped your chin, told you that she really planned to keep that promise. And you couldn't help but smile.

"That's cute, my love" you said "…but get out of my shower right now"

"Oh come on" she laughed "I've seen you how tou came into the world many times"

"Agatha!" you shivered as you felt her icy fingers on your lower back again

"Yes?" She smiled like the Cheshire Cat

"I love you" you said "but if you don't let me take A FUCKING SHOWER IN PEACE, I'M GOING TO CALL A PRIEST AND EXORCISE THE DAMN HOUSE!!"

And of course, that damn beautiful, charming, chaotic and slightly evil (well, very evil) witch that you loved more than life itself, had the nerve to laugh.

[peachesofteal]

Fix You

John Price/female reader 11k words - AO3 - story is set in Through Me (The Flood) but is an AU and can be read as a standalone. Tags: 18+ major character death, heavy angst, loss of a loved one. Grief. Overconsumption of alcohol. Explicit sexual content. Emotional hurt/comfort. Complicated feelings. Angry sex. Caretaking. Trauma. Tenderness. Reader is a widow.

John Price knocks on your door in the late afternoon.

When the doorbell rings, you slip the baby into her bouncer and rub Orion’s hair affectionately at the table where he’s scribbling away with some crayons.

You’re not expecting anyone, but you guess it could be Cami. Though she usually just waltzes through the front door after using her key.

But it’s not.

It’s John.

You’re silent in front of him, eyes wide. He’s holding a bag, a black duffel, still dressed for work, for battle, face pinched in despair. Your heart lurches. “What is it?” He peeks over your shoulder to where the kids are, preoccupied, happy.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“No,” you tell him sharply. “No, I- what is it? Where is he? How bad is it?” His eyes soften, and he whispers your name. You barely notice when he reaches over to close the front door, too busy cycling through every worse case scenario. He eyes the chairs on the porch.

“Let’s sit down.”

“No.” You’re going to be sick. “Just tell me. Say it.” There’s a long moment where your life plays out in front of you. The stretch of before, and after. John takes a deep breath.

“He’s gone.” Gone. Gone as in, missing? Gone as in, on a different mission? What does gone mean? Your confusion must be blatant, because he reaches for your shoulder. “He’s dead. I’m so sorry.” You jerk away and laugh. That’s all you can do. Laugh. Laugh at the absurdity. Simon's not dead. He can't be. That makes no sense.

“No, he’s not, he can’t be. I literally just talked to him, like three days ago. He said you guys were wrapping up, that you were done.” He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, he’s-“

“Stop. Don’t- don’t say that. He’s coming home. You’re all supposed to be home next week, he promised, he-“ Your mind is fighting something your heart already knows. “It’s not true.”

“We ran into a situation, there was-“

“Stop!” You back away, bumping into the railing. You’re shivering, sobbing, unable to catch your breath.

“C’mon,” he says gently, trying to guide you towards the chair, but you don’t budge. You can’t. If you don’t move from this spot, you don’t have to accept it. If you don’t move from this spot, you don’t have to move forward. You don’t have to live a life without him. You don’t have to walk inside and tell your son his father is dead. Your daughter won’t have to grow up without ever knowing him.

“Please.” Your voice cracks, and you stare up at him. “Please, it’s a mistake, it must be. It has to be. He can’t- He promised, he promised.”

“I know.” You shake your head.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t save him, I-“ His voice breaks, and then you do, sobbing so loud you’re sure it can be heard over the hills. A scream is building up inside you, burning and itching to get out, and he tugs you forward, cradles a hand around the back of your head and pushes your nose to his chest.

When it finally breaks free, it echoes directly over John’s heart.

You’ll never understand how people can say funeral services are beautiful.

They’re not.

They’re agonizing. Devastating. The last screw in the finality of your new reality.

It’s only you, the kids and his team. That’s all he had.

“You’re everything mama. I love you so much.”

Orion’s barely old enough to understand. He asks when he’ll see his dad again, and your answer is traumatizing for your child, at best. Daddy’s not coming home, you tell him. Daddy’s going somewhere else now, somewhere better.

He’s dead.

You black out during the entire thing. There are words being said, by a priest, by Johnny, by John, flowers being thrown. Cami stands at your side, holding your daughter, the child who will grow up never knowing her father. Barely five months old. Occasionally you look over at her, blissfully asleep, and you feel envy. Envy of your own child, who will never know this loss. Who will never feel the pain of losing Simon Riley.

Someone asks you if you want to do the honors of dumping the first shovelful of dirt onto his coffin.

You laugh out loud.

What a ridiculous custom.

Johnny and Kyle exchange a look of concern, you ignore them. You know what they think.

“Let’s get you home.” John’s eyes linger on your face, their sapphire and gunmetal shine holding you captive for a second as you grapple with what he’s said. If you were more present, more aware in this moment, you’d probably say they were akin to the palest hydrangeas, the color of the shrubs growing in your own front yard.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, you’re not in any state at all, you’re just here, standing at the edge of the cemetery, staring at a mound of fresh dirt.

The dirt covering your husband.

Orion hugs your legs, trying to force his way between your knees. You’ve long tuned out the sound of his wails, unable to give him more, give him anything except your relentless grief.

You should be stronger, for them. Should handle this better.

There are a lot of things you should have done. Should have told him you loved him more. Should have been the one to hold his hand as he died. Should have made sure he wasn’t scared and alone at the end.

The gaping wound in your heart tears wider, and your knees buckle.

John wraps his arm around your shoulders, steadying you, shifting your weight into him, keeping you upright. Cami watches, gaze glossed over with tears, baby in her arms. Your baby. You and Simon’s baby. Orion cries louder.

“I can’t do this.” You whisper, to no one, to the wind-

But it’s John who answers. “You can.”

There are voices in the kitchen.

It’s late now, long after sunset, the day you buried your husband almost over. More and more of him slips away. You get farther and farther away from the last time you saw him, spoke to him, heard his voice with every second.

It aches, so you close your eyes instead and tuck the blanket under your chin, curled up with your nose in the couch cushion.

The kids are asleep. You’re hoping you’ll follow. Soon.

“-want us to stay?” It’s Kyle. He’s trying to keep his voice down but you’re only in the other room, on the couch, staring at the wall.

“No,” John assures him. “You guys go home. I’ll be here.”

“You sure? The kids… if she’s not feeling up to it, or needs help…” Cami’s voice is wet, still heavy with sadness.

“I’m here. I promised him.” There’s a long pause, and he clears his throat. “I’ve got her.”

You can’t dwell on them for too long, exhaustion of the day finally dragging you down, slowing your breathing and cutting off your consciousness, giving you a reprieve from the grief by sealing you away from it in your sleep.

“Mama?” Orion’s little voice calls for you in the dark, and you jerk awake. The baby is crying. Someone is knocking on the door.

“Hey little man,” your throat is raw, your voice not your own. His little eyebrows crease together.

He looks so much like him.

You glance around. You’re no longer on the couch but tucked away in bed, slippers placed neatly on the carpet, phone plugged into the charger. Odd, considering you fell asleep on the couch.

“You hungry?” He nods as you sit up and wipe the sleep from your eyes. “Alright, let’s have breakfast then. What do you think sounds good?”

“Waffles?” “Okay. Go wash up while I go get Nix.” And figure out who’s at the door.

“John.” His hands are in his pockets, beanie folded up on his forehead, and you don’t miss the way he evaluates you, crying, wriggling baby in your arms, still in your pajamas, Orion hollering about breakfast in the background.

“I wanted to come by and check on you guys.” Right. Of course. Come check on the widow. What if she can’t get herself out of bed? What if she’s too sad to take care of her kids? He grimaces and clears his throat. “You’re uh… you’re wet.” He inclines his head towards Nix, who is mouthing at your chest over your t-shirt. Shit.

“Oh, crap. Uh, come in. We were about to have breakfast. Well, not just about. Ry wanted waffles and I was about to start them,” you’re babbling down the hall, glancing at Orion in his booster seat at the counter, banging around a bowl and spoon like a little king waiting impatiently for his meal.

“’cle John!” He claps, and John smiles.

“I’ll start them for you while…” He trails off and you smile awkwardly.

“Thanks.”

Phoenix is an easy baby. She latches easily, eats easily, goes down to sleep easily. She’s a breeze compared to Orion at this age.

Small blessings, you guess.

Simon said it was you earned it, after Ry. You deserved it.

What did you do to deserve this?

“Mama sad.” Orion whispers, his mournful little voice the first thing you hear when you shuffle out of your room. Nix went down after a change and a burp. Easy.

“She misses your daddy,” John answers, “like us.”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip so hard it stings at the sound of his voice, dejected, depressed, palm finding the wall to stay upright.

The world tilts, falling out beneath you. For a second, you can see him. Standing on the other side of the counter, black sweatpants low on his hips, pouring some milk in Orion’s little orange cup, Nix cradled against him, stretched across his forearm. Simon laughs, licks his finger, and rubs something off the corner of Orion’s mouth.

You want to scream.

It’s a memory. Nothing else.

“.. okay?” John’s standing in front of you, head tilted, cupping your elbow. “You alright?” You raise your eyebrows, and he rolls his lips inward. “Sorry, course. You just… you looked a little sickly there for a minute.”

“Mama!” Orion yells, rocking back and forth to see you on either side of where John blocks the hallway. “Waffles!” You slide your hands down your shirt, Simon’s shirt.

“You made waffles?”

“Pre-mixed batter isn’t so hard. The lad was hungry.” Guilt simmers in the pit of your stomach, pinches your cheeks inward. “Hey, it’s okay. He was fine, jus’ a little impatient.” You nod, and he jerks his head back to the kitchen. “C’mon, I made you some too. And there’s fresh coffee.”

“Did you put me in bed last night?” You’re wiping down the countertop, some movie enrapturing your toddler in the background. He hesitates, and then nods.

“You were falling off the couch. Didn’t want you to brain yourself on the coffee table.” Your fingers curl around the mug, still warm to the touch, shoulders bunching beneath your ears before you forcibly relax them.

“Well, thanks.” I guess. An uncomfortable silence settles between you, questions evaporating on the tip of your tongue.

“I was going to head into town today for some groceries, can I get you anything?”

“Formula.” You blurt. “I can’t… we’ll need formula.” You don’t want to explain to him how it’s too much now, to breastfeed. How you won’t be able to handle it on top of everything else. How you think your milk will probably dry up anyway, bowing and breaking with the waves of your despair.

“What are you thinking about for dinner?” He scratches at the underside of his chin. The beard is overgrown, something you haven’t seen on him in a while, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

He’s grieving too. You know it.

You just can’t find it in you to care.

Something is weighing on John. Something is tied around his ankles, tethered to the sea floor, waiting to drag him beneath the surface. You see it. There’s guilt in the lines of his face, tension between his brows.

You wonder if there is blood on his hands.

“Why are you here, John?” You don’t intend to ask, but the words have a mind of their own and slip free.

“Wanted to stop by.” His voice is tight, rough like yours this morning. “Check in, see if you needed anything.” There are a million things you want to say, but words fail you. You don’t know how to tell him he should just leave, because nothing will ever be okay. You’ll always need something.

Simon.

Your husband.

The father of your kids. The man whose shirts are hung up in the closet. His paperback book still sitting open on his nightstand. His toothbrush still in the cup by the sink.

The agony you’ve managed to lock away for a few brief moments breaks free again, and you clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the heaving sob. John looks past you to where Orion still sits in front of the screen, mesmerized, and then takes you by the elbow to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, settling on the closed lid of the toilet, still choking on the lump in the back of your throat. “I told you, I can’t do this, I can’t. I can’t be without him, I don’t know how to be without him, I can’t-“

“Hey,” He’s crouched down, evening the height difference, looking at you with an expression so serious it quells your spiral for a fleeting moment. “You can do this. You have two beautiful kids who need you to do it for ‘em.” He hands you a square of toilet paper, and you wipe your nose.

“I want him back, John, I- I need him back.” You tuck your hands between your thighs, suddenly freezing, cold from the inside out.

“I know,” he murmurs gently, “I know you do.”

“There’s a lasagna in the fridge. Cami left it last night.” He’s tugging on his jacket, your handwritten grocery list from the fridge tucked in his pocket.

“Oh.” She’s texted you multiple times today, and all have gone unanswered. You don’t know what to say. “That was nice of her.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours after I take care of a few things and do the grocery run. You’ll be alright?” He’s treating you like glass. Like you’re a bomb primed to explode, big red letters counting down to an inevitable explosion. You manage to nod.

“Yeah.” The smile you give him is painfully fake, and you know he clocks it. “I’m going to hang out with the kids. Cuddle on the couch.” His smile is more genuine, but small.

“I’ll help you with dinner later.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” He turns to leave, but you call his name before he hits the door.

“John?” His eyes meet yours. Blue. Crystalline like the sapphire on your finger. You clear your throat. “Thank you.”

He nods.

John finds you catatonic on the couch one morning. Nix in her day crib, the one that’s a permanent fixture in the living room, and Orion perched in front of an old Disney movie for the hundredth time this week.

You’re failing. Failing your kids, failing as a mother, failing to keep yourself patched together.

You thought you’d be stronger if it ever happened. You promised him you would be, but the promises have turned meaningless, your integrity torn to pieces.

You can’t remember the last time you showered or brushed your teeth. You’re sure you smell.

At least the kids are clean. Dressed. Fed. You’re not a complete disaster, you guess.

Still, when John appears in your line of sight, brows knitted together with worry, you’re caught off guard.

“Oh.” You blink, his frown deepens.

“I was calling your name. Were you somewhere else sweet?” Sweet.

“Sorry, I was… lost in thought.” He takes you in from head to toe, you in all your grimy glory.

“How about you take a break?” Irritation ignites, and you grit your teeth.

“I’m fine,” you snap. “I don’t need help.” His arms cross his chest.

“It’s not a request. You’ve been wearing those sweatpants for four days. Get up, and get in the shower, or I’ll put you in myself.”

“Fuck off.” You hiss, and his eyes widen, surprised. How many people have surprised John Price? Close to none, you imagine.

“That’s enough.” He hauls you off the couch by your forearms just as Orion glances your way, little brain no doubt trying to understand the situation. “Be right back, bud.” John soothes him, and you seethe at how easily your son, Simon’s, nods and returns to his movie.

He’s gentle somehow, dragging you to the bathroom, but still forceful as he holds you by the elbow and reaches into the shower to turn the tap on.

The little fight that was inside you is gone. You wilt. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to the floor, fingers knotted together.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” You’re sniffling, crying for the hundredth time in the last few days, and he rubs your upper arm.

“Nothing is going to be okay for a while,” he murmurs, “forever, even. But you’re not alone, okay?”

“Okay.”

The rest of the week goes too fast. You’re getting farther and farther away from it, from the moments when Simon was still alive in this world, when he still existed.

Desperate to slow it down, you don’t sleep. You sit in the kitchen and scroll through your phone, replaying the same videos over and over again, tears dripping down your cheeks. Grief is an emotion, but it’s a physical ailment too. It rots in your stomach and starves you. It aches between your ribs, so viscerally it’s like there is a knife twisted there, scraping against your bones, sawing between your muscle.

You take care of the kids in a daze. Feed and change Nix on autopilot. You give in to Orion’s every wish without a second thought, and he has waffles every morning. Chicken nuggets every night. Ice cream sundaes with too much chocolate syrup and a mountain of whipped cream. As much screen time as his little heart desires. You let him sleep in your bed, curled up in your arms, his little fist clinging to the neck of whichever shirt of Simon’s you’re wearing.

He can’t sleep in his own. He wakes up crying.

Cami comes over and stocks your fridge and freezer. She refills your tea canister. She vacuums the entire house. She feeds and changes the baby. You watch, listlessly, and when she’s finished, she squeezes your hand with a promise to be over again in a few days. You don’t have the words to thank her, so you don’t try. You want to believe she knows anyway.

John is the steady presence. He’s here, doing the dishes, making sure the three of you are eating, helping with the kids. He watches you shrewdly, careful.

A ticking time bomb.

One he’s afraid to set off.

It doesn’t matter how much they try to lessen the burden of living. How much they try to support you. They can’t change anything. They can’t stem the bleeding of your broken heart.

Seven days after Simon’s funeral, you crack the bottle, the one you had shipped from the states, stupid expensive Kentucky bourbon, caramel colored gasoline.

The baby is asleep. Orion is exhausted from his day with Gaz and Cami.

You’re alone on the front porch, curled up in a blanket, the hood of Simon’s sweatshirt pulled over your head. The only light you have is the green glow of the baby monitor. Otherwise, it’s just you, the moon, and the stars.

The hoodie still smells like him. So do the pillows. His t-shirts. His side of the closet. It’s a blessing. It’s agony.

You drink directly from the bottle, though you should use a glass. Simon would chastise you for not using a glass. He would tell you to sniff it from the rim of a tumbler, and then laugh when your nose wrinkled.

You should use a glass, but you don’t. It’s easier to take big sips this way.

Truck tires crunch on gravel, and then the broad figure of John Price stands at the foot of the porch. “Hey.” You raise the bottle, expecting him to laugh. He doesn’t. The stairs creak beneath his feet.

“What do you have there?”

“Bourbon.”

“Kentucky?”

“The one and only.” You take another swig, baring your teeth when it burns. You shake it. “Want some?”

“Think you’ve had enough for both of us.” Ass. You bristle, anger boiling in your blood, but you’re too drunk to stay on track and unleash it.

“Why are you here?” It’s the same question you asked earlier this week, but you still don’t understand. He holds your gaze for a long time. The only thing you find there is devastation.

“I promised him.”

“You promised him what?” He rubs the back of his neck.

“This isn’t a good time for this conversation, let’s go inside-“ You don’t budge. You can’t.

“You promised him what, John.”

“I was there,” his voice is hoarse, and there’s a heaviness to it, an agony the two of you share. “And he knew. He knew we wouldn’t get him back in time, no matter how fast we landed a bird.” You can’t see, vision blotted out by your tears. You want to put your hands over your ears. You want to know everything single thing. The two sides battle, and your cheeks grow wet like your face is upturned in a downpour. “He made me promise to take care of you. To take care of the kids. Grabbed me by the front of my vest and asked me to swear. So I did. I swore. I swore and I’m not going back on my word to him. I never will.”

“You were with him.” You’re not sure you want to know, but you have to. You have to know every piece of him, even this. Even the end.

“Yes. I was with him at the end. He wasn’t alone.” You clutch the bottle against your chest, so tight you’re afraid it might break, shatter the glass into your fingers. It would hurt less than this.

“Was he scared?”

“No. He was only thinking about you. You and the kids. He wanted to make sure you were going to be okay, that was all he cared about. He dug the pocket square out of his vest and held it over his heart.” The sob breaks free and destroys the dam holding everything together. Your body shakes with it, the ugly noises coming from within you, the pain of losing the love of your life.

“You were supposed to keep him safe.” Your voice raises, the alcohol tainting your ability to be rational or stay quiet.

“I know-“

“Mama?” You jolt, turning to ice, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. John swears under his breath.

“Orion,” you croak. He’s stricken, holding his sippy cup, wide eyes focused on your face. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.” You try to reassure him, but his panic only increases, and you fail in the moment, unable to offer him comfort. John steps between the two of you and crouches.

“Hey bud.” He points at the sippy cup. “Need some milk in there?” Your son nods, trying to peek around him to see you. “How about,” John scoops him up, “we get you some more milk and get you back in bed okay?”

“I want mama.” His voice trembles. You feel sick and close your eyes, but the next thing you know there are little arms wrapping around your neck in a hug, your boy’s hair under your nose. You look up at John, his eyes red and his face tormented.

“Say goodnight and she’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“I love you, little man,” you kiss him once, twice, before rubbing his back. “Let Uncle John get you some milk and put you back to bed, okay? I’ll be in soon.” Their voices disappear down the hall, and you twist the cap on the bottle.

Down the hatch.

“He looks like him.” Orion is rolling around in the living room, playing with his magnatiles while Nix is on her back, feet in the air, kicking at the play arch. John hums, stroking a hand over his beard. He’s finally trimmed, looking more like himself and less like a mountain man.

It’s a strange feeling, to see him and notice it looks better. Good, even.

“He does.”

“Guess we’re lucky, in that way. Having these little pieces of him.” Orion has his eyes, his shoulders too. They have the same smile, even some of the same mannerisms, and it hurts so much to think about how it will fade over time, how Orion will no longer be able to mimic his father. John steers your mind away.

“Can I help you with dinner?” “No, I’m okay. But… if you want to stay, you can.” He should, but you don’t say it out loud. You don’t admit to him or even yourself that you’ve become reliant on him, his consistency, the steadfast force in your lives.  Weeks have passed, and he hasn’t given up, no matter how hard you fight and fall apart. No matter how destructive you, the maelstrom at the center of your family’s life.  

“We all lost-“

“You didn’t lose anything!” You’re screaming, finger jabbed in his chest, pushing him backward. He lets you. He doesn’t flinch. “He was mine! He was mine, not yours. He was ours. Our son’s. Our daughter’s. He belonged to us.” You’re barely breathing, suffocating underneath your grief, fingers going numb. He reaches, but you step away, swaying on your feet. You whimper. “F-fuck.”

“Come here.” It’s not a request, not the gentle coaxing you’re used to from him. It’s a command from a captain. When you don’t, he strikes, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into his chest, hand at the back of your neck. “Breathe.” He rocks you side to side slowly, head down, rumble in his diaphragm soothing against your ear. “C’mon, you can do it. Big breaths.”

“I can’t.” It’s the same thing you’ve been saying over and over again. You can’t do it, you can’t do this, you can’t you can’t you can’t you-

“Yes, you can, you can. Try. I’m right here, I won’t let you fail. I promise.”

“John said you needed a break.”

“John doesn’t make decisions for me.” You snap, and Cami winces, triggering a tidal wave of guilt. “I’m sorry Cam. I… I’m having a hard time.” She rubs your shoulder.

“I know. It’s okay. You’re not going to offend me or push me away. I just want to help.” You sigh. “Let me take them for the night. You can catch up on some trash tv. Read a book. Take a bath.” She whittles you down, and you finally concede.

Except being alone is bad for you. It’s bad for your mind. It’s bad for your heart.

Hours later, John finds you in a pile of Simon’s clothes. You’re curled up, nose buried in cotton, skin swollen under your eyes. “Oh, sweet.”

“Go away.” You don’t even lift your head.

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”  

“That may be but I’m not leaving you here by yourself like this.” There’s an empty bottle of wine buried in this pile somewhere, and he plucks it free by the neck. “Didn’t save any for me?” It’s supposed to be a joke. It falls flat.

“I didn’t want… I didn’t want to have to think.” “I know.” He pulls you into a sitting position, palm cupping your cheek. “It’s okay.”

“I can help,” he motions to the kitchen. “I know how good you are with rice.” His smile turns mischievous, bright blue irises sparkling in the low afternoon sun, and you glower.

“I’m not that bad.”

The sink gets clogged one afternoon.

You try to diagnose it yourself, scrolling through google results on how to DIY it, try standing on your own. You’ll have to get used to it; you guess. Being a widow and all.

The attempts last about thirty minutes. Just in time for your front door to swing open, little feet hauling down the hallway, your son breathless and excited to tell you all about his trip to the park with John and Gaz. John follows right behind, trying to remind him about Phoenix’s naptime.

He pulls up short at the sight of you next to the sink, a pile of tools in the bowl.

“I uh… it’s clogged.” His lips twitch into a half smile. “I tried to fix it; I thought I should try. You know since…” You still have a wrench in your hand, but Orion is tugging at your shirt.

“Here,” he takes the wrench, touch casual as two fingers of his wrap around yours. It’s innocent. It’s nothing. But here he is, fixing your problems. Selflessly again, helping you out.

You’re not sure where you’d be right now if he wasn’t around-

At the thought, guilt so violent almost makes you double over.

Cami and Gaz host a spaghetti dinner, and you leave the house for the first time in weeks, months even. Time is a thief.

There’s laughter coming from the living room when you open the door, Orion sprinting from your side to where his uncles and aunt are hanging out. When you cross the threshold, Nix cooing in your arms and a loaf of banana bread in your free hand, the voices screech to a stop.

“Hi.” Your enthusiasm is lacking, but you’re trying. You really are, even though this is all you can give. Cami smiles excitedly as John stands and crosses the room.

“Let me help you with that.” He grabs the bread, warm hand briefly settling in the middle of your back before it disappears, taking the baby bag off your shoulder. You breathe him in, cigar smoke and pine. It’s calming, somehow. Familiar. “You okay?” He knows how hard this is. Knows how you tossed the decision back and forth, unsure, uncomfortable. You did it for Orion, in the end. You can’t deprive him of his community, so you nod silently.

Cami pulls you into her arms, putting her finger in Nix’s fist and pressing her cheek to yours. “I’m so glad you came.” You manage a weak smile.

“Me too, I… it’s good to see you. And everyone. Ry was really excited.” You look past her to where Soap has him in his arms, moaning and groaning about how they’re nearly the same size.

You take a deep breath.

You can do this.

They tiptoe around you all night. It should bother you, but it doesn’t. You’re not ready for anything else. For stories, for meaningful conversation. Everyone keeps it light. They veer away from work. They treat you with kid gloves.

It’s fine, but it’s exhausting, trying to keep yourself under control. Trying to quiet the ringing in your ears, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

You almost manage it. But then someone slips up.

“- an’ that piece o’ shite. Simon was so pissed; I thought he was going to rearrange his face before he let him go.” Gaz laughs, you freeze. “He won in the end though, didn’t he? Always did, until-“

“Soap.” John cuts, and the table goes dead silent, as if they forgot. There’s a warm hand on your knee, but it’s not enough. Cami is shaking her head, blinking at him in horror, and Gaz glares. You stare down at a pile of peas.

“’m sorry,” Johnny whispers, stricken. “’m so sorry. I miss ‘im too, it helps… to talk about ‘im, ye know? I-“

“That’s enough.” John’s command is scathing.

You throw a quick excuse me over your shoulder as you make your way to the bathroom by the kitchen.

You try to breathe deep, but the oxygen doesn’t come as fast as you need it. You’re falling down the dern, despair filled hole that plagues your every waking hour. The reality you try to shove away, the fact that you’re here and he’s not.

Knuckles rap against the door. You undo the lock to come face to face with John, who steps inside and closes it behind him. You keep your gaze fixed on the floor, chest heaving. “Shhh,” he murmurs, pulling you close, “it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.” He wipes the tears from your cheeks, tipping your face up.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Soap is oblivious sometimes.”

“It’s not up to me to tell people how to grieve.” He wraps you in a hug.

“It’s not, but he should treat you with respect.” You nod, drifting, trying to burn the words from your brain. You’re holding onto him. Clutching at his shirt, and he rubs a hand up and down your spine. It’s good. Warm, and comforting. You sink deeper, let him hold you, seeking solace. The strength you find in John.

You rest your cheek against his chest. “I’m so tired. I want to go home.” You whisper, and he smooths a hand over the back of your head.

“Okay. I’ll take you.” There’s another knock on the door, and you grimace.

It’s Cami. She has the baby on her hip, tears in her eyes. “I’m so-“

“It’s okay. Really. I’m just tired.” You’re lying, but you don’t have the heart to tell her the truth. She knows anyway. You never should have come. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“I figured. I packed some food to go, and Gaz has Orion at the door.” Your best friend, always so kind, so thoughtful.

“Thanks, Cami. I love you.”

“I love you too. Text me when you get home, okay?” She passes Nix into your arms, following her with a hug, and you press your face to her shoulder before pulling away.

“I will.”

It’s been three days since the dinner, despondency settling back into your routine like it never left.

The kids help, John too. They keep you focused. They keep you alive.

“An’ cookie!” John smiles. It’s the lips quirked to the side one, the gleam in his eye one, combined with his standard issue work hair and beard, thick cable knit sweater stretched across the firm weight of his shoulders. It’s navy. Complements his eyes.

A flicker of heat burns in your stomach, between your legs, taking you by surprise.

You’re staring. You’re staring and he looks away from Orion, meeting your eyes, a question forming in them until you clear your throat and glance away, focusing on the baby in your arms and the last of her bottle before trying to get Orion prepared for the end of his night.

“Come on little man, finish your dessert so we can get your pajamas on.”

“U’cle John help me.” His arms cross against his chest, and you give him a reproachful look.

“What do we say when we want to ask someone to help?”

“Please.”

“Yes, please. Good job.”

“Please ‘cle John?” John glances your way, hesitant, and you shrug.

“Sure, bud. Once you’re finished.”

The kitchen gets the final wipe down when John slinks out of Orion’s room, clicking the door shut softly behind him.

“Nix go down?”

“Easily. She’s never fussy. Sleeps like a dream. Thanks for helping with him.” There is a glass on the coffee table, and a bottle of wine. You meant to have some earlier but got distracted. “I was going to have a glass of wine and watch something, want to stay and hang out for a bit?” You love your kids, but only having a baby and a toddler to talk to all the time can get old fast, no matter how much you love them.

His fingers brush yours when he takes the second glass from your hand, and you swallow. Your throat is suddenly dry, and you shiver.

The movie is two hours long, but forty-five minutes and two glasses of wine in, your head starts to feel heavy, and your eyelids grow lazy.

“- want to go to bed?”

“No,” you sigh. Your head is quiet, and you’re curled up against something warm, drifting in the sweet space between sleep and waking, low volume of the tv murmuring in the background. “Gonna stay here.” The blanket is tucked around your shoulders, and you snuggle deeper, sagging into the cushions. You’re almost there, just on the cusp when you jerk. “Baby monitor.” You mumble, and a whisper traces an arc from your temple to jawline, touch so featherlight it’s hard to know if it was ever there at all.

“Sleep, dove. I’ll be here.”

“We were going to have another baby you know. He wanted another one so badly. Kept trying to knock me up every time he was home.” The ice rattles in your glass, and you cast a long look at the half empty bottle between the two chairs you’re in on the porch.

“He told me.”

“He did?”

“Mmm. Kept talkin’ about how you turned him into a caveman all the time.” You laugh. It’s real. A real laugh, something unbidden, releasing from your chest. John raises his eyebrows, and smiles.

“That’s how it was. He was always like that.” The stars are really bright tonight. They have been, ever since you buried him. You’re not sure if there’s less light pollution lately or if you’re just paying attention more. Sometimes you want to believe it’s something else entirely. If it’s a piece of him making them glow for you. Lighting up your sky. Wrapping you in a blanket of midnights, little collections of constellations in his arms. “They’re named after the stars, you know. The babies.”

“I know.” He sips his whiskey. “Orion the giant hunter, son of Poseidon, and Phoenix, rising from ash to be reborn.”

“Yeah.” You’re crying, again, and you wipe the tears away as quickly as you can.

“They’re beautiful names.” You don’t answer. There’s nothing to say, so the two of you sit there, side by side on the porch in silence until you break it.

“I’m angry at him. I’m so mad, he broke his promises. He broke all his promises and left me here. He left me.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose. He loved you so much.” You twist the ring on your left finger. It’s looser now, your inability to stomach most things starting to show. You wouldn’t have even noticed, or cared, unless John said something. ‘I promised I’d take care of you. That includes not letting you turn into a beanstalk.’

“He didn’t keep his promise.” There is the crux of it. All the promises made, only one kept. ‘Til death. Except he’s gone, and you’re still here.

Turning into a ghost.

“Can you hang out with the kids for a little bit tonight?” His brow pulls together, pinching in the middle, lines of his forehead wrinkling just bit, just enough to remind you of his age.

“Sure, everything okay?” Your eyes find your feet.

“I want to go to the cemetery.” His mouth opens, and whatever was going to come out of it disappears with his nod.

“Alright.”

You’re sick.

That’s the only way you can explain this, laying here on top of the plot, bottle of Kentucky bourbon in your hand. You’ve dumped some on the ground at the base of his stone, a toast of some kind, a sad, hopeless connection sitting one sided.

This is a special kind of agony. It’s the kind that wears you down. It makes you ill. It has you wishing you could dig up his coffin and crawl inside it. Sick. Rotting from the inside out.

“John’s kept his promise to you,” you manage another large swig, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “He’s always around. Helps with the kids a lot. Keeps us afloat. I guess he takes his pledges pretty seriously.” Another swig. This one leaks from the side of your lips. “I hate you, you know that? If you weren’t dead, I’d kill you myself. You weren’t supposed to leave us here. You were always supposed to come home. You promised.” You dig into the earth, dirt and grass compacting under your fingernails.

The night is dark and starless.

Figures.

You’d do anything to change this. Anything. You can’t carry it. You can’t bear it. It’s too heavy. Too much. For one moment, you’d like to not feel it, to not know the crushing weight of your grief. It follows your every waking minute. It follows you in your dreams.

When people die, there are always these fantastical stories floating around about their loved ones seeing a bird, or a cloud, or a rainbow. Some overwhelmingly positive sign leading them to believe the deceased is at peace.

It’s all bullshit.

There are no signs. There is no peace.

There’s only you, and the dead man you love in the ground.

It’s late when you make it home.

You probably shouldn’t have driven. It’s a short ride to and from the little graveyard on the hill, but you’re ashamed to have done it.

You know better.

“Didn’t hear you come in.” Your keys clang against the counter, forgotten as you turn to face him. The lie gives you pause. He knew you had come in. Simon never missed the sing of a door hinge, the latch of a window. You know they operate. How they function.

Still, you let it go. You don’t have the mental capacity to call him out.

He’s closer than you expected. Close enough you can smell him. It’s always the same, cigars and pine. Fresh needles fallen on the forest floor. He reminds you of it too in a way. The woods. Something about him, the way he fits into his sweater, the rough heels of his hands, like he’s felled a thousand trees and could go for a thousand more.

He’s got amber gold on the rocks in his hand, more whiskey. The ice has diluted it a bit, a thin watery film sitting on the bottom of the glass. You wrap your fingers around the rim and tip it to your lips. It burns. The clock ticks, the two of you breathe in and out. In and out.

“I can’t carry this.” You blurt, setting the glass down a little too hard. “I know you think I can… but I can’t. I’m drowning.”

“No one expects you to right now…” He’s talking, reassuring, supporting you, but there’s nothing except for his eyes. They’re the color of the ocean, the one you swam in the weekend Simon put the ring on your finger.

Your ears are ringing. Your blood is hot, the alcohol rewiring your brain until it conjures wild ideas about an escape. Maybe you don’t have to carry it, for a minute. Maybe you can close your eyes and share it with someone. Share it with him. Just for a minute.

“John.” You whisper, still focused on his eyes.

“What is it?” You twist your fingers in his sweater, dirt from under your fingernails getting caught in the wool, and he tenses, confused. “Hey, maybe-“ No maybes. You swing onto your toes and drag him downward, pressing your mouth to his in a rush. He grunts, but the kiss lingers until he pulls away. “You’re drunk.”

“Yes.” You can’t place the look he gives you, mind too far gone. If you were sober, you’d say it was significant. He cups your cheek.

“Let’s sit down and-“

“No. John. Please. Help me carry it. Please.” Electricity crackles in the air, his hand sliding to your neck where he holds it firm with two fingers.

“We can’t. Shouldn’t. It’s just the grief, it’s-“

“Please.” You raise yourself back onto your toes, and though he’s dead still, he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t stop you as you kiss the corner of his mouth, beard brushing against your chin, and he doesn’t stop you when you find his lips again, parting your own, holding onto his shoulders.

He groans, hands drifting to your hips and digging into them, gripping you so tight, a pendulum swinging, pushing you away, pulling you back, until he gives in.

You’re kissing captain Price, for fucks sake. Your husband’s boss, his friend. One of the most important men in his life.

The betrayal burns.

This is wrong. So wrong, but there’s a wild piece of you that wants it. Likes it. The pieces that have taken solace in John have now turned to something else, something stronger, more vibrant.

It’s wrong. So wrong.

But in this moment, there’s nothing else but you and him and this decision. There’s no room for the other things that plague you.

It’s rough. You’re rough. He’s rough. You pin him against the kitchen counter, fumbling with his belt and zipper, sandpapered pads of his thumbs under your shirt and rolling over your nipples. You’re clumsy, disorientated, only saved when he spins you around and folds you over the cool surface. “Alright.” He murmurs like it’s just now kicked in what you’re doing, what’s happening in this moment, this sacrilege now staining you both. He kicks your feet wide, and rips your leggings to your ankles, tracing a line back up your thigh to shove his hand inside your panties and through your folds to push his finger inside you.

“Ah, John-” You hiss, arching your back, greedy for more, desperate for something, waiting and wanting, willingly going with him as he drags you to the floor, pushes you to your knees and bends you over, too big hand between your shoulder blades.  

He fills you in a single stroke and you cry out, slapping a palm over your mouth to cover your scream, stifling the moans that follow. It’s a stretch, one that burns, too much and too soon, but this isn’t meant to be slow. It’s not a treasure, a sentimental unfolding of passion. It’s grief. It’s loss. It’s nothing like love. “Christ.” He grits, pinching your ass. “You’re bloody tight, sweet.” You can’t respond, your free hand digs against the hard wood, scrambling for something to hold onto as he shoves his cock against your cervix. You’re going to come unreasonably fast, already clamping down around him, tightening with the curl of your toes. “Be nice and quiet for me now, angel.” He pulls you up by your chest, mouth hot at your ear as he reaches for your clit, pinching the swollen nub and then smacking it with an open palm, your shriek barely muffled by your hand. He’s speaking, but you’re not quite catching it, too distracted by the blinding light on the outside of your vision, sparks blooming into fireworks. “Oh dove, you’re coming,” his mouth is on your cheek, kissing, nipping, and you turn to steel, vibrating with the strength of your orgasm, pathetic whines ghosting over his neck as your head tips back. He coos, brushes a hand over your forehead. It’s comforting, sick comfort for a sick girl. “Good girl, Shh, I know, I know it’s a lot.” The peak crashes, and you twitch, pulsing around him, fingernails digging into his forearm.

He comes all over you. Puts you back on all fours and curses under his breath, holding you steady, gripping your ass cheek so hard it will be tender tomorrow. The ocean rushes in your ears and you start to drift away, post orgasm, post fuck, sweaty and sated as he paints you.

“Fuck honey-“

I’ve got a lot of cum for you, honey

Tell daddy what you’re doing, honey

Can’t get over how good you taste, honey

Feel how bad I want to be inside you, honey?

The tip of the knife jams between your ribs. It penetrates your heart. It shreds organ and bone until the injury is so catastrophic, the only fix is death.

The noise you make is more animal than human.

Honey, honey, honey-

You flinch and crawl away panicked. He’s calling your name but you’re deaf to it, drowning in Simon’s voice.

Simon, your husband, who was the last man inside you. Simon who called you honey, and sweetheart, and mama. Simon, who’s body is cold in the ground. Who’s ring is on your finger.

Honey, honey, honey-

You stumble to your feet and make it to the sink just before the whiskey and bourbon comes shooting out of your mouth.

Sick.

“Promise me-“

“Shut up Simon. That’s an order.” He’s got her embroidered pocket square in his fingers, stained in blood, crimson dotting out the constellations. The radio crackles, but it only confirms what they both know.

Simon has minutes. They need at least twenty.

He shakes his head. John presses harder on his abdomen, pointedly ignoring the river of red spilling out beneath his palms. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much human bodies bleed. It’s not like he’s usually sticking around to watch.

“John.” Simon’s free hand latches onto the strap of John’s vest and jerks it roughly, pulling him closer. “You swear to me, right now. Do it.”

“I won’t. There’s still time. Stop talking, you need the oxygen.” His lips crack into a smile, gaze already starting to fall away, and then snaps to, refocusing.

“Tell her I love her. And that I’m sorry.”

“You’ll tell her yourself, Lieutenant.” He shakes his head, fist tightening over that little square, dragging to his heart, the organ beneath the vest that’s beating too slowly.

“John. Swear it. Promise me you’ll take care of her. You’ll take care of them.” There’s blood trickling down his jaw now, flowing from his lips. “She’s strong, but it’s gonna be hard. She’ll need you. The kids will need you. Nix is only a baby, she can’t-“ he coughs, shudders, and then his brow furrows with determination. “They can’t grow up without a dad.” John’s stomach, already an open pit, now rips into a black hole.

“You’re their dad, Simon. You are.” His voice cracks.

“Swear.”

“No.”

“Swear to me!” Simon shouts in his face, blood spraying on his cheeks. Gaz is yelling at them from twenty-five yards away, but it doesn’t matter. There’s not enough time.

They stare at each for seconds that are really eternity. They’ve been together in this hell, in this job, for so long. Suffered and slogged and killed together for so long. Simon isn’t just his team member, he’s a part of his life.

A rabid fucking dog brutalized and beaten down, now a husband, a father, a leader in his own right.

John pushes away the memory of the day he met Orion. The pride on Simon’s face. The pure joy.

He would never deny him.

They hold on to each other’s forearms. It’s goodbye.

“I swear it, Simon. I will take care of them. I promise. On my life.”

“And you’ll tell her I love her.”

“I will.”

He should have stopped you.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe it happened, but it’s not hard to remember. Not hard to remember how you felt, scorching velvet plush around his cock, not hard to remember the sounds you make when you come, how your pussy twitches. Not hard to remember how beautiful you were in his arms, shaking and crying, holding tight to him as he fucked you as deep as he could.

And it’s hard to forget the horror on your face. The way you crawled away like a wounded animal. The hoarse sobbing that came after the vomit in the sink. The way your knees gave out. The way you told him to get the fuck out.

Help me carry it.

It’s survivor’s guilt. It must be. Or trauma bonding. He’s been here for you, for the kids. He’s held you and wiped your tears and scooped you off the floor.

Because it’s his duty.

Right?

He can’t deny there’s something wrong with him, though. There’s something wrong with the way he barked at Soap during dinner, something wrong with the way he let you curl up beside him with your head on his stomach the night you fell asleep on the couch. He just sat there, stroked your cheek, rested his hand on his shoulder.

The guilt builds. It’s compounding, and fueling the anger, the rage directed at himself.

How dare he? How dare he betray Simon like this? How dare he try to take something that’s never been his?

He walks it like a tightrope. It’s his duty. It’s a betrayal.

Duty. Deceit. Duty. Betrayal. An oath. A line crossed, again and again.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do except crush and pulverize this thing trying to bloom. He rips out it by the roots.

Though he knows as well as any, determined things always find a way.

You don’t even look at him, and it gets under his skin. It feels wrong. Everything is wrong.

“Orion is almost ready.” You say over your shoulder, already moving away from him and down the hall, running but you’re not being chased. He’s supposed to take the lad fishing today. Orion has been looking forward to it all week, and you, quite frankly, don’t have the energy.

He catches you by the elbow and you jerk away, lips pressed together and eyes down. “Look at me.” You shake your head, glisten of tears catching in the early morning light streaming through the windows. He says your name, as softly as he can manage, and you tremble.

“I can’t do this right now.”

“Do what? Talk to me?” He’s pushing, and maybe he shouldn’t.

“Yes.” You hiss, venom twisting your face into a mask he’s never seen before. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk about what we did.” Your voice cracks on the last word, and it hurts in a way he didn’t expect. He wants to agree. He wants to wipe your face and tug you into his chest. He wants to bury the guilt ripping through him and turn around. Walk out the door.

He’ll do none of it. He’s a man of his word, above all else.

“When you’re ready then.” He nods as if it’s nonnegotiable, and then saved from a rebuttal when Orion runs full speed from his room. You turn on your heel and storm away.

Fine.

He’s at your door the next night for dinner.

You stand in the frame, arms crossed, anger etched into your face. “I don’t need your help tonight.”

“You going to make me a liar then?” He snaps, patience thin. The anger dissipates, and it’s replaced by that same despondent, dead look in your eyes that’s been making him sick since the day he came to the door. “Make me go back on my word to him?”

“John.” You whisper his name with shaking hands.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” There’s acid on the tip of his tongue. It’s stringent, bitter like the soap his mum washed his mouth out with. He doesn’t know why, but it stings. You look up at him, eyes so wide, so sad, so lost, he has to hold himself back from dragging you into his arms. “It didn’t mean anything, dove. It was just us. Just between us. Just grief.”

“Just grief.” You parrot, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes and down your temples. He brushes them away, and you surprise him by leaning into it. You smile weakly. “We’re having pasta bake.”

A few days later, and there are loads of laundry on your couch when he walks in. You throw him a desperate look, piles separated into toddler clothes, baby clothes and your own. They’re mountains, nearly at your chest when standing.

“Get a little behind?”

“I’ve been a little tired, I guess.”

“Can I help?” “Sure, want to fold onesies?” You laugh a little bit, enough to crack your lips into a small smile. He likes it. Likes your smile. It reminds him of the one you used to give Simon, the way it would break across your face, sunshine in a patch of clouds. He’d nuzzle your cheek, your neck, holding Orion on his hip with one arm, and you with another.

He stills, holding a small yellow piece of clothing.

Your husband. Simon was your husband.

And he’s the interloper.

Swear to me-

I swear it-

I will take care of them.

His ears ring with the bells of remorse, the song of at the beginning of a procession.

“John? You alright?” He’s been staring at you this entire time, but not seeing you, just seeing the past, seeing Simon, seeing everything that came before these moments where he’s being torn in two. He nods, not trusting his voice, his words.

“Will you be here for dinner tonight?” He usually is. It kills two birds with one stone. He makes sure you’re functioning; he makes sure you’re eating. It’s never been a question of you caring for the kids. The worry has been about you caring for yourself.

He can’t stomach sitting down for a meal with you and Orion today, so he lies. “I have to get home and get some work done.” You’re surprised, and then disappointed. He sees it so clearly and chooses not to dwell on it.

He can’t stay. He needs to work this out of his system.

You’re sad tonight.

Some days are really bad days, and then some of them are awful, like these. The ones where you move from bed to the couch, feeding and changing and dressing the kids on autopilot. He calls them your sad days, because he doesn’t want to call it what it is. Depressed days, despair days, you’ve given up days.

Some of the days are better, but these are the worst. It gets ugly at night, when the anxiety and fear becomes too much, when the loss crashes down too quickly.

The house is quiet, and you’re curled up in the middle of the bed under a heap of blankets, staring at the wall. You don’t acknowledge him when he opens the door or slips inside, you say nothing when he sits on the side of the bed. He lays a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react.

“Did you eat today?”

“A little.” He strokes your cheek, backs of his fingers gliding over soft skin, trying to rouse you a bit more, and you sigh.

“Kids go down alright?”

“Fine. Orion is upset he can’t sleep in our,” your face twists, “my bed anymore. But I placated him with too much ice cream.” You manage a smile then, and he matches it.

“That’s good. Nothing he won’t do for some chocolate yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small. “John?”

“What is it?”

“Do you think it will ever go away?” He smooths some baby hairs back from your forehead.

“I don’t know, angel. Eventually it will hurt less, I imagine. But the loss will always be there.” Your cheeks glisten in the dark, sliver of light shining through the crack in the door from the hallway.

“I’m glad you were with him.” He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he bleeds.

“I am too.” Your fingers curl around his.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” The ache in his heart is back, doubling the beat, blood churning all the way to his toes. “Will you stay?” He shouldn’t, but he folds himself alongside where you’re under the blankets and tucks your head into his neck.

“Yes, dove. I’ll stay.”

The next time it happens is filled with rage.

You’re a wild animal, a wolf starved, teeth bared and snapping, claws out.

But you beg him for it. You plead. You demand.

It’s just us. Just grief. Take it from me. Why should I be the only one carrying this?

It’s wrong as he takes you on the bathroom floor, cold tile under his knees, warmth of your thighs bracketed at his waist. You dig your nails into his back hard enough to break skin, and he pins them back, his forehead knocked against yours, sharing breath. Sharing grief.

He breaks you down eventually, pushing his cock so deep you wail, holding you firm with a hand on your hip. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to betray him, doesn’t want to take his place in a home that could never be his.

Still. He can’t stop. He can’t help himself. He lives for your cries, the way you tighten around him when you come, how your eyes turn into bright stars at your peak.

It angers him. He’s always been a man of control.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, fuck, t’s not… it’s just-“ He snatches your jaw, and you look away.

“Look at me sweet. Look at me and tell this is just grief.” You can’t. You don’t. Instead, he shoves his hand between your legs and rubs your clit until you come.

When it’s over, you cry.

“Is this it?”  He stares at Simon’s headstone. “Is this what you meant? Is this what I promised you?” Dead men don’t answer to anyone, ghosts don’t provide explanations. John replays those last moments in his mind, burning Simon’s face into his memory so he never forgets, so he never gets confused. He’s in another man’s place, a father and a husband’s place. 

It’s been days since he’s seen you. Cami visits in his stead, which is good for you, better. You need a friend now, not him. Not whatever this is. Not whatever he’s done to you or vice versa.

He claps a hand on top of the stone, the same way he’d do it to Simon’s shoulder.

“I promised on my life, but I didn’t promise this.”

You haven’t seen or heard from John in nearly a month.

It didn’t bother you at first since they were gone for work, but when Gaz opened the front door to greet you two weeks ago, you were surprised.

They’re back and he didn’t reach out.

Why? 

You miss him. It’s a shameful revelation, and a surprising one.

So much for the mourning widow.

“Mama, i’cream?” Orion is huddled between your legs, tugging on your jeans while you bounce Phoenix, trying to get her to settle before bed.

“No ice cream tonight baby.” His eyes well with tears, and the guilt hits you. Be strong. Don’t give in, you’re spoiling him too much.

“Let’s go get in bed and I’ll read to you, okay?”

“No! I’cream!” Your face crumples.

“Orion, please. I already said no. Now can you help mama and go get in your bed?” He flings his hands at your thighs, little face twisted up with rage.

Normally, you’re well equipped for the tantrums. It’s part of having a toddler, but tonight, it’s breaking your back. Wearing you down. You’re about to walk away, create some space, take a deep breath when the doorbell rings.

Literally saved by the bell.

Orion’s already running down the hall, bouncing on his toes as you open the door to see John on the other side. Weary. Weathered. “U’cle John!”

“Hey, bud.” He locks eyes with you, standing on the threshold, meeting your eyes unflinchingly. “Need some help?” You swallow.

“Come in, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your mouth is on his, or his on yours, you’re not sure how it started. All you know is his arms are warm, and strong, and a safety net at the bottom of your life now, waiting outstretched for when you lose your balance on the tightrope.

“I know.” He does that thing where he cradles your face, stares into your eyes like he’s seeing an entire universe, one he’s never been to, a planet undiscovered, stars recently born and exploded across a night sky. “I know sweet, but- I can’t-“ It’s why he stayed away, he confessed earlier. Why he disappeared. It wasn’t fair, he knew that.

The guilt is crushing him. It’s crushing you.

“What’re we doing then?” It’s not right, whatever this is.

But his body pressed against yours, his arms holding you tight, it’s impossible to run from. Hard to hide.

It’s not just grief anymore. A hydra with a head cut off, two more born again from the wound. It's a flower blooming in a forest of ash, life finding a through the gash of a wildfire. A small, tiny, flame, desperate to burn.

“Just kiss me,” you breathe, mouths now millimeters away from one another. His chest heaves beneath your fingertips. “Just kiss me, John.”

“Daddy.” Orion pats his hand on the stone, little fingers digging into the engraving.

Husband. Father.

Your thumb finds the sapphire, rubbing the stone it in practiced circles, and Phoenix coos beside you, half buried beneath the wool of John’s jacket. “Ready to go home, little man?” You’re crouched behind him, holding him, kissing his cheek. This is a weekly tradition, the visit, and even in the dead of winter when it’s too cold for the kids, you never miss it.

Your commitment never wavers, your gold band a mirror to the one buried beneath your feet, an eternal tie to your husband.

‘Til Death.

You will never not be Simon’s wife, the mother of his children, his moon. You will never marry again. You will never have another child.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for a sunrise, a dawn, a new promise. An oath to John, though never formal or official in the eyes of the law, but true all the same.

The sun. The stars. The moon.

“Alright, we ready?” You press another kiss to your son’s face before scooping him up, taking one last look before nuzzling Orion’s face. “See you next week, Si.”

John lingers for a moment, a hand curled over the stone, fingers flexing into a squeeze. His eyes are distant, a world away, tangled up in the past for a long moment.

“Hey,” you call softly, extending a hand. “let’s go home.”

[ivy-elle]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Part 1 ft. Scaramouche, Childe, Diluc, Xiao

Scaramouche

Jealousy?

Tsk. Please.

Don’t flatter yourself.

Do you really think someone like him would ever succumb to a pathetic sentiment such as “jealousy”?

If someone threatens to take what is his, that person simply ceases to exist.

There. Done.

Why would it ever bother him if you’ve found a new friend among his men?

He does not have time for such trivial matters.

He knows that person is not able to make you feel the way Scaramouche does. Not in the slightest.

What can they even offer you?

Time? Attention? A pathetic attempt at making you laugh?

Ridiculous

Just because Scaramouche hasn’t been able to be with you as much as he wanted to, doesn’t mean-

Now they’re pulling you into an embrace? The sheer audacity to do this with him in the room.

Are they truly that desperate?

No, while Scaramouche trusts you not to be foolish enough to embarrass yourself in that way, he has pride and a reputation to maintain.

And right now, his pride is flaming up.

He is seething.

He confronts them when they’re alone and makes things pretty clear.

Have they forgotten who he is?

“Oh, you really think you have a chance? How amusing. Know your place, or should I remind you of it again?.”

Childe

Oh, best believe this man here is protective af

Borderline possessive, even

Yet, he too, has enough faith in you not to taint the honour or your relationship in any way

So, he sometimes allows himself - for his own entertainment of course - to watch from afar as the guy puts his moves on you

Childe delights himself in the way you reject the guy’s antics in your own charming way

But when it becomes clear that the guy isn’t planning on backing off, Childe’s temper flares up, and he’d enrapture in the opportunity to put the dude in his place

Wouldn’t be above straight up making out with you then and there, just to prove his point

Would then proceed to look at the guy with a broad smile, with an undeniable menace behind his eyes

“Hey there, comrade. 😄 Mind knocking it off a bit?”

Diluc

His jealousy is more often displayed as annoyance or irritation

But at the same time he maintains his stoic, yet dignified composure

Like during one of his shifts in Angel’s Share, if he notices someone flirting with you at the bar

He respects your independence, and recognises that you are capable of defending yourself and setting your own boundaries

However, that wouldn’t stop him from letting some passive-aggressiveness slip out

May it be if he places the ordered drink just a tad too loudly in front of the man, causing him to jump slightly

Or he might declare that their usual order is out of stock today, only to serve it to the next customer right on front of the man’s eyes

Yet, Diluc would keep a watchful eye on you, ready to intervene if you seemed uncomfortable or silently asking for his help

Xiao

With Xiao, jealousy takes shape in a less conventional manner

It’s neither hot, nor cold. It doesn’t burn, nor does it hurt

Not the way he wished it would at least

Rather when he spots you in merry company with a friend, a companion or a nice chat with a traveller from afar

He is greeted with a deep routed sense of guilt.

Not every time of course, but enough to cause a pit of self-hatred to add to his long list of faults in his character

Over the course of your time together, you have become quite attached to him, you loved him even

A concept he thought to have long forgotten

But your humans’ emotions are blinding you. Clearly. They have to.

While the world is out there, waiting for you to step out, calling your name

You choose to stay by his side

Instead of taking on the freedom he couldn’t gift you, you are now sitting next to him by the river

Your reflections watching him quietly with a smile

No amount of almond tofu you make, could fill the dull ache he feels in the back of his mind when you seem to be so blind to your opportunities, your chances, your life

Instead of staying in a cage he traps you in.

And yet, whenever you set out with your other companions you always return to him.

In the end, he will be the one keeping watch over your sleep in his bed, and you will be the one waiting for him at dusk

“This is no golden cage for me, Xiao. You are the one gifting me my wings.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Bug's Halloween

Leah Williamson x Child!Reader

Summary: The tenth of my Halloween-centric fics

"Sorry, Bug," Leah says, switching off her phone," But Bear's having an early night. She's already asleep."

You pout as you stand on the stairs. "But you said Bear could come with!"

"I know, Bug," Leah says, tying the laces of your boots," But you know Bear can't help it when she falls asleep."

"Auntie Keira said they have to go to doctor's soon."

"That's right, to look at Bear's sleep. So we have to make adjustments sometimes. I know you wanted to go trick or treating with Bear but Auntie Lucy is keeping Bear in tonight. She doesn't have the energy to go out so it's just going to be us."

"But it's Halloween! I dressed up just for her!"

Leah breaths out some soft laughter. "I thought you dressed up for Mummy."

"Her too."

You're wearing your special Nobbs Arsenal shirt and shorts today. You'd known you wanted to dress as a footballer for Halloween for ages and ages, you just didn't know which one.

Your first thought was Thierry Henry but Leah's old Henry shirt from when she was little didn't fit you properly so you couldn't wear it. Your next thought was Sarina but you couldn't find an outfit for when she was a player.

That's when Leah reminded you that your old Nobbs kit still fit you and you decided to go out as Mummy instead.

You were meant to be going out with Bear. Last year, Bear and her mummies dressed as the three bears from Goldilocks and you're pretty sure Bear was going to remain baby bear for this year too but now she's sleeping and you know better than to wake Bear when she's sleeping.

You're sad that she can't come with but that means you can work doubly hard to get enough sweeties for the both of you.

"You ready?" Leah asks and you nod, jumping down the last two steps.

"Ready!"

"Right, up against the wall please. I want to send a picture to Mummy."

You pose for a few pictures before you grab your ghost bucket and nearly bolt down the street.

Leah grabs your hand first though, keeping you close to her side before you can get too far away.

"Let's go!" You whine when Leah starts walking slowly.

"We've got plenty of time, Bug. We can take it slow."

You huff but stop pulling, letting Leah dictate the pace and which houses to go to.

"Remember," She says, straightening out your jersey and handing you your bucket," Smile. Nice and big. They'll think you're cute."

"But I am cute. Mummy calls me cute all the time."

Leah laughs, giving you a little push. "Go on."

The couple at the door coo and fawn over you as you give them your biggest and best smile.

"Can I take one for my friend? She's sick and couldn't come out today."

"Oh, you go right ahead, sweetheart."

You frown at that. "I'm not sweetheart. I'm Bug."

The couple coo again as you take Bear's share and you run back to Leah to show her your haul.

"You can't keep telling people Bear is sick," She says as you both walk to the next house.

"But she is," You say," Auntie Lucy and Auntie Keira are taking her to the doctor's. You don't go to the doctor's if you're not stick. Mummy had to take me when I had my sore throat. I was sick then."

"Doctors do more than just sick people," Leah complains," They look after hurt people and-"

"Bear's hurt?! Like when she fell and hurt her arm?!"

"Bear's not hurt," Leah says," But sleeping as much as her is worrying for Keira and Lucy. They just want to make sure that there's nothing in Bear's body that isn't working properly. That's why they're taking her to the doctor."

You guess that kind of makes sense.

Doctor trips are kind of scary in a weird way. Not a Halloween-scary way but just in a generic scary way. Like the scary kind of feeling you got when you saw Leah tear her ACL.

You imagine a trip to the doctor will be doubly scary for Bear so you make sure to take a bigger handful of sweets for her at every house.

"When can we see Bear next?" You ask as Leah unlocks the door," Because I've got sweeties for her. I want her to have them before her doctor's meeting. Sweeties always makes things better."

Leah smiles softly at you, hand running over your head as you look up at her.

"You're a good friend, Bug. I'm sure Bear would love some sweets before her appointment."

You nod. "Good because I collected a lot for her."

"Alright, Bug," Leah says," That's enough excitement for tonight. Let's get you ready for bed."

"And Halloween movies in your bed? Mum, you promised."

Leah sighs. "Fine, yes, but then you have to promise to go to sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow."

You grin. "Promise!"

[saintzweig]

challengers x reader halloween headcanons

– happy halloween!! i wanted to write something cute with the trio so here! (can be platonic or romantic idk) enjoy!!!

ꢾ꣒ i feel like tashi would love carnivals and horror houses, patrick would agree almost immediately but it takes a while for them to convince you and art.

ꢾ꣒ "it's literally just a decorated house with people acting like ghosts, it's not that big of a deal. here, i'll go first, okay? just stay behind me"

ꢾ꣒ tashi holds your hand and takes the lead, smiling when she feels you hide your face behind her shoulder. feeling you tense up at the smallest sounds, shielding your body during jumpscares.

ꢾ꣒ art would be screaming every second, literally crouching down and cover his ears everytime there's a jumpscare and of course patrick's there to laugh at him

ꢾ꣒ patrick would be dapping up the scare actors, "yo what's up, you see that blonde dude over there? can you follow him around and scare the shit out of him?"

ꢾ꣒ or he'd do it himself, circling back to hide behind a post then jump out to scare his poor friend. one time he accidentally scared a random child and made it cry.

ꢾ꣒ patrick would love going to drive in theatres and doing horror movie marathons. after the second movie, he'd sneak up on a few cars and jumpscare them because he's a dick.

ꢾ꣒ tashi would buy shit ton of candies to share with you and art, usually twizzlers or sour patch. she'd be focusing on the movies and talking shit about the characters and their idiocy, claiming she can do better (let's face it, she probably can)

ꢾ꣒ you and art are in the backseat, barely paying attention to the screen. you're either yapping your ass off or falling asleep, his head on your shoulder or your head on his lap while he plays with your hair.

ꢾ꣒ art loves trick or treats!!! he'd invite the group over for a sleepover on halloween night just so he can give out candies to kids in costumes (because of course no one would do that on campus dorms)

ꢾ꣒ everytime someone rings the doorbell, he'd jump up and run over to the door with a smile, gasping when he opens the door. "hey there little guy, you're spiderman?! he's my favorite superhero!!! here, take all of the candy"

ꢾ꣒ patrick would take a ghostface mask he found randomly inside the house, go outside and run after some kids. he claims halloween should be scary and kids should have the full experience.

ꢾ꣒ you and tashi would be in the kitchen baking halloween themed cookies, most of the flour is on the floor or on your face instead of the bowl.

ꢾ꣒ the four of you would pass out in the living, having ate too many sweets. you and tashi on the couch while the boys are sprawled out on the floor. the tv still on playing a random horror film.

ꢾ꣒ the three knows how much you love dressing up for parties so you start planning your costumes in advance, always having a theme because you love coordinating costumes.

ꢾ꣒ tashi would suggest sports figures (wbk), patrick wants something sexy (he wants to see you in a playboy bunny costume) and art, being the sweet boy he is, would go along with whatever you want.

ꢾ꣒ last year, you all went as shrek characters which was jokingly suggested by patrick (because you wouldn't accept his sexy nurse suggestion). tashi was fiona, art was shrek, you were lord farquaad and patrick was donkey (he got a onesie and called it a day).

ꢾ꣒ this year, you wanted to go as sanrio characters (which patrick complained about) but complied nonetheless. tashi was okay with it and art found it really cute. you dressed up as my melody, tashi as kuromi, art as pompompurin and patrick as badtz-maru

[it-happened-one-fic]

Steal Away - Malleus

Author Notes: I wrote this fic a little while back and its just been gathering dust in my documents until now. I guess you could say this fic is a bit of a callback to simpler times pre-Diasomnia chapter, though it doesn't have to be specifically set at that time. This fic was written while I listed to the song “Steal Away” by Robbie Dupree. As per usual, reader is gender neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender neutral reader/ sfw/ fluff/

Word Count: 979

I slipped quietly out of the front door and onto the porch of Ramshackle Dorm. My eyes quickly finding the shadowy figure that had drawn me out of my warm bed and into the chilled night.

Most people would probably be distressed by seeing a tall, horned figure out in their front yard in the dead of night. But I wasn’t concerned. After all, I happened to know the young man whose lilting humming currently filled the otherwise silent darkness quite well.

“Hornton,” He turned at the sound of my voice, bright green eyes widening slightly as he spotted me before he relaxed once more.

“Child of man, I wasn’t sure if I should expect you after you didn’t come out to greet me last time….”

And there it was. His signature pout. It was hard to believe that anyone could find this man terrifying when I was looking at him like this. Especially considering that he let me call him ‘Hornton’ of all things.

“Sorry about that… I guess I must’ve been really tired the other day,” His expression softened as I explained my absence from whenever his last visit had been.

There was a slight smile on his face as he tilted his head, “Is your daily toiling so great that you fall into such a deep slumber when the evening comes?”

I laughed slightly at his odd way of phrasing before shaking my head, “Well, Crowley and school together do keep me pretty busy, but I think I was just sleeping really well.”

His smile turned amused as he continued to gaze at me, “And what of tonight? Does sleep evade you, Child of Man?”

I blinked up at him before shrugging, “Maybe a little? I just saw you and wasn’t really that tired, so I came out to chat.” 

And it was true. Up until the moment I’d seen Malleus’s glistening faerie lights, I’d been curled up in bed listening to Grim’s soft snores, feeling totally incapable of falling asleep.

He hummed in response before turning to glance into the distance before looking back my way with a distinct frown, “It seems I shall not be staying long this evening.”

His pout had returned, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. Sebek and Silver were no doubt out looking for him, and that meant he would either be returning to Diasomnia or giving them slip yet again.

I reached out, patting his arm affectionately as I grinned at him, amused by his sulking, “Hey, it’s okay. I doubt this will be your last evening escapade.”

His eyes widened in an almost comical fashion as he echoed me, “Escapade?” His gaze turned thoughtful, and he seemed to look past me, at some distant point of interest, before reaching a sudden decision.

A grin that I could only describe as evil crossed his pale face as he looked at me and held out a gloved hand, “A splendid idea, Child of man. Shall we steal away?”

I blinked up at him, startled and with widened eyes, before fumbling out a reply, “Wha- What?”

He chuckled, a low sound that, accompanied by his gleaming, unnaturally green eyes, made him both appear and sound distinctly villainous. 

Maybe I actually could understand why some of my classmates were wary of him. Just a little…

“An escapade. Would you like to come with me?” His explanation confirmed my suspicions. 

The great Malleus Draconia, heir to the throne of the Valley of Thorns, was asking me if I wanted to help him avoid his bodyguards and play hooky.

It was an impulsive decision, and I honestly wondered if Ace’s troublesome ways were beginning to influence me, but I found myself slipping my hand into his nonetheless, “Just for a bit, we don’t want to worry them too much.”

His grin was now positively devious as his fingers curled around my hand as if he were claiming some sort of prize, “They would be fine even if I stayed away all evening.”

I squeezed his hand slightly and grinned back at him as I teasingly scolded him, “Behave.”

He chuckled again before tugging me over towards him and wrapping an arm around me. I stumbled slightly but managed to catch myself against him before I looked up at him as the strangely firefly-like green lights began to float around us. A signal that he was just about to use his magic and teleport to some place.

In the distance, I could hear Sebek calling for his lord, but I ignored him in favor of questioning Malleus, “Where to?”

His gaze met mine, and he squeezed me ever so slightly in a half-hug before turning his bright-eyed gaze towards the sky with a truly villainous grin, “Where else? Into the night, of course.”

There was a floating sensation and flash, and then we were gone. Leaving the front yard of Ramshackle dorm empty as both knights came walking up. One, perfectly calm even as the other one agitatedly scanned the area.

“LORD MALLEUS?” Sebek’s yell shattered the silence of the night as Silver shook his head.

“It looks like they’ve already left,” His voice was distinctly tired sounding as he trailed off in a yawn that had Sebek looking at him irritably.

“Who are they? The only person I’m concerned with is Lord Malleus!” Silver sighed almost immediately at Sebek’s intonation before looking at him meaningfully.

“Malleus and Y/n. We should leave them be. Father said having friends was good for Malleus,” And with only those words, Silver turned and started to stroll away. Leaving a sputtering Sebek to follow him.

“Bu- But… A HUMAN?”

“Quiet Sebek. You won’t want to wake the ghosts like you did last time,” Silver hardly even missed a beat as he continued on his way. Leaving you to spend time with Malleus for as long as your shared escapade lasted.

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 22: Aftercare

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Aftercare (🌼✨)

Summary: Matt takes care of you after a particularly rough session.

Warnings: Heavy allusions to smut (18+), mentions of unprotected p in v, mentions of oral sex, aftercare, fluff, light subspace

Word Count: 604

A/n: The next few prompts will come over the next couple of days. I thought I'd get them all done during October, but unfortunately, life got in the way. I'll also start cross-posting on AO3 again once all Fictober fics are out there. So, don't worry, you'll get them, but it will be a few days into November until we're done.

Read Me On AO3! (Coming soon)

You lie bonelessly tangled in silk sheets.

Hours he spent worshipping at the altar between your legs. Hours he spent pounding into you with his cock from behind until he could no longer hold himself up, fucking you deeper into the mattress. At some point, you must have even lost your voice from how the countless orgasms he gave you tore a scream of his name deep from your throat. 

“Here,” Matt murmurs, holding the bottle of cold water to your chapped lips. “Hey. Sweetie, look at me. Stay with me.”

You can barely make out his silhouette in the dark, but even drenched in sweat and with his hair disheveled, he looks like a dream.

“There you go. Hi.” He smiles. “Can you take a sip for me?” Shaky fingers reach for the bottle, and you try to swallow some of the liquid without making a mess. You feel like a child, unable to do anything by herself, but his patience remains unwavering. 

Matt waits until you’ve sufficiently hydrated yourself before gently rolling you back onto your back. He grabs a towel, warm and wet, and starts to wipe the remnants of his cum from your quivering thighs. He’s gentle when he reaches your swollen folds, making sure not to cause you any more discomfort. 

You don’t want to talk—you can’t—and that is fine with him. 

“C’mere.” He wraps a blanket around you. “Do you want me to hold you or would you like to be alone?”

Sometimes, you ask for privacy. Just a few minutes to find back to yourself. Sometimes, you get so overstimulated that even being close to him physically hurts. The things he does to your body are nothing short of unreal, and you don’t always have time to catch up with all the new sensations he manages to pull from you time and time again. 

Tonight thought, you crave him. You crave to be held by him. The words die on your tongue, so you reach out for him instead. 

Matt senses your grabby hands, he could do so from miles away. You’re reaching for him, and it does something to his heart. He slides under the blanket with you, carefully pulling you against his bare chest. “Okay, I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

You deserve to be taken care of. 

Seconds turn into minutes. His fingers trace invisible patterns on your back. Slowly but steadily, your heartbeat aligns with his. 

“Too much?”

You blink, tilting your head to meet his unfocused hazel eyes; there is always so much guilt, so much uncertainty in them when he can’t quite read you. When he’s scared he might have hurt you. It is a fine line he walks every time he fucks you senseless. 

You manage to weakly shake your head. “It was perfect,” you whisper. 

“Yeah?” He brushes the tip of his thumb along the vein on your temple. 

You smile. “Yeah.”

He loves the way your pulse jumps. The way your heart starts beating faster when he’s around. He loves the sound of your laugh. The smell of your shampoo and perfume. And he loves how you look at him like he’s the only man in the world to you, and he doesn’t have to see to know. 

“I love you,” Matt breathes into the darkness. 

“I love you too,” you say.

Though even without those beautiful three words, he can feel your love in everything you do. In his own way, he sees you, and he could never get tired of the picture his mind has painted of you. 

He could never get tired of you.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

[ginxyy]

Love and Jealousy

A surprise visit to Seungcheol’s dance practice turns into an unforgettable moment of love, jealousy, and heartfelt confessions.

As I stepped into the practice room, the unmistakable rhythm of music vibrated through the air, and I felt an overwhelming sense of excitement knitting itself within my chest. It had been a few months since Seungcheol and I had begun this beautiful journey together, filled with stolen kisses, shy smiles, and quiet moments that whispered promises of forever. I had visited him countless times, always eager to see him in action, but each time was a fresh thrill, a new experience that made my heart race with a delightful mixture of love and admiration.

Today, I had decided to surprise him with his favorite snacks those delicious, crispy pancakes that we had shared during our first late-night outing. I wanted him to know just how much I cherished him, to infuse our cherished moments with the comforting warmth of food. I could almost picture the way his eyes would light up at the sight of the little containers, his boyish delight melting my heart further with each glimpse.

The moment I entered the room, I caught sight of him: Seungcheol, his hair slightly damp from practice, moving fluidly with the other dancers. He was engrossed in their movements, a natural leader and a beacon of energy that captivated everyone around him. For a moment, I just stood there, entranced, holding the bags close to my chest as if they were a treasure. When he finally turned around, our eyes locked, and my breath caught in my throat. His face broke into that charming smile, the one that made everything in the world feel just right.

“Hey! You’re here!” he exclaimed, crossing the distance between us in just a few strides. The warmth of his body radiated towards me as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on my lips, deliciously lingering.

“I brought these for you!” I replied, holding up the bags with a flourish, filled with the sweet, savory delights.

He laughed, eyes sparkling. “You spoil me, you know that?” Seungcheol rummaged through the bags, grinning from ear to ear like a child on Christmas morning. As he savored the first bite, I felt a rush of happiness fill the room, a shared moment of uncomplicated joy.

Before I knew it, he was whisked away, needing to grab something from the other room. I took a seat on the edge of a nearby bench, enjoying the vibrant energy of the practice quietly. It was a cozy little corner of the world, the echoes of the music swaying within my heart, and my thoughts drifted happily to the moments we’d shared the laughter, the gentle teasing, and the growing warmth between us.

It was then that I felt a presence near me, a backup dancer who had approached, their friendly demeanor masking a flirty undertone. “You must be Seungcheol’s girl,” they said, their voice smooth as silk. I felt flattered, a blush creeping up my cheeks as they continued to talk, showering compliments that I initially took at face value.

I was so enraptured in the lighthearted banter that I didn’t even notice Seungcheol walking back in until I caught the shift in the atmosphere, a sudden change in the music the tune bustling with energy, but my heart began to drop.

I turned to see him standing there, eyes narrowed, tension visible in the set of his jaw. The realization of what was happening knitted a blanket of confusion and a small twinge of guilt around my heart. I rushed to assure the dancer that I was content, blissfully oblivious to the way Seungcheol's protective instincts flared.

“Seungcheol! I—” I started, but he moved quickly, stepping between us, a determined look in his eyes that lectured the dancer away without a word. He pulled me gently away from that charming distraction, wrapping his arm possessively around my waist, his warmth enveloping me in a protective cocoon.

“What was that about?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with jealousy that made my heart race.

I looked up at him, battle lines drawn in the air, confusion swirling like a playful wisp between us. “He was just being nice,” I tried to explain, though I could see the sulk creeping into his expression, something endearing amidst the seriousness he wore.

His brows knitted together; the playful glint in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a stubborn pout that made it hard to stifle a giggle. I shifted closer, wrapping my arms around his waist, feeling my heart beat wildly. “You’re not mad, are you?” I asked softly, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

There was a beat of silence before I leaned in closer, brushing my lips against his. “I only have eyes for you, Seungcheol. I love you.” The confession slipped out before I could even think of the weight of those words, yet they felt so exhilarating, liberating.

His eyes widened, surprise dancing across his features. A moment of hesitation flickered between us before an overwhelming wave of joy washed over his face. “You love me?” he asked, gently as if afraid it might be a dream.

“Yes,” I whispered, my heart dancing with each syllable. “I’ve loved you for a while now.”

His lips spread into the most radiant smile, a light that could outshine the sun, and he pulled me into him, claiming my lips passionately, as if sealing our declaration. I felt his happiness resonate deep within me as he kissed me, again and again, the world melting away with each touch, the sweet taste of victory lingering on our lips.

In that moment, time stood still, and all that existed was Seungcheol and I wrapped up in a beautiful, blissful embrace, the dance we had only just begun now perfectly in rhythm. The music of our hearts played on, a melody we'd craft together for all the moments to come.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

Logan and Rapunzel reader perchance? I would imagine him being absolutely enamored by her long hair when they first meet. <333

not my best work but this idea was so cute so i had to write a little something

-

your hair has always grown faster than normal. it’s the colour of gold, shining when the light hits it. as a child, you were your parents' favourite - they adored the compliments you would receive every time they brought you out of the house for errands or a playdate at the park with your friends.

and then at ten years old you found out that you had the power to heal. your best friend was in the hospital and you were by her side, refusing to leave no matter what. she was asleep, passed out from the pain drugs they’d given her, so you sang her a lullaby, hoping that she might be able to hear you even subconsciously, that it would bring her comfort.

your hair began to glow. stray stands of your hair had fallen onto her arm, and the contact of your glowing hair with her skin began to heal her.

your parents had very different reactions when they found out. your father was disgusted that his child was a mutant, but your mother wanted to use your powers. so she pulled you out of school to homeschool you, saying that you weren’t safe around others, that they would try to hurt you if they found out.

and for years you lived like that, trapped in a not-quite-life. you hardly left the house, your only role was to keep your mother young and beautiful.

until one day, a group of mutants came knocking at your door. a man named charles xavier who told your parents all about his school. your mother didn’t want you to go, but charles managed to speak to you alone and you begged him to help you escape, to help you leave this wretched place.

your first few weeks at the mansion you were terribly shy. it had been years since you’d had much contact with others, since you’d met anyone new. so you would hide out in a secluded section of the garden.

that’s where you meet logan.

he leans against the wall, smoking a cigar, and when you ask him what he’s doing here, he replies that it’s probably the same thing you’re doing out here - avoiding the others. he doesn’t speak to you much the first few times, but you find a comfort in his presence. he has no expectations of you.

day after day you hang out with logan, and you grow closer. you tell him about your childhood, and in return he tells you stories about his long life. some are quite brutal, and they make you wince, to which he just laughs dryly.

and then you start to spend time with him outside of the garden. you find him on the couch, drinking and watching a movie, and you settle by his side. he plays with your long hair, twisting it between his fingers, and while normally you hate when people touch your hair, logan isn’t doing it to take advantage of your abilities.

it becomes a habit of his, he always has a hand playing with your hair. and when you finally kiss, against the door of his bedroom, he tugs at your hair to make you gasp, opening your mouth for him.

logan adores your hair, and eventually you learn to love it too, to no longer associate it with the pain of your childhood but with the smiles he sends you from across the room and the feeling of his large hands running through the strands, reverent. he treats you like a goddess, though he argues it's just what you deserve.

[liampaynememorial]

Before saying thank you to everyone who participated and reblogged, I want to say some words too. Some words that I haven’t been able to say in my main blog because feelings aren’t my thing, and I hate being vulnerable… so I’m hiding behind this anonymous blog. So sorry, it’s going to be long and there are going to be typos, probably, sorry for that too.

Liam, I don’t even know where to start. I really can’t believe it’s been 2 weeks. Time goes too fast and too slow at the same time, and I feel like I’ve been living these past 2 weeks in a limbo of time going too fast and time going so slow. And I haven’t been able to say a proper goodbye to you yet. Not in the memorial I travelled to, not on my own, so I’ll try now.

I have many “what if?” in my personal life that I try not to get into because spirals, and you have become one now too: What if I could save him? As if I had that power, wish I had. I really wish that my support (your fans support) has been enough to save you, has been the blanket you needed, the hug you needed, whatever you needed. What if One Direction has never existed? What if things were different? And it’s so selfish of me to think that I wouldn’t be here if One Direction never existed. Because you’re not here because One Direction existed. And it’s something that is getting hard to process. I know you loved One Direction, maybe Niall was 1 directioner during the band years, but you were 1 directioner after the hiatus, and 1 supporter for your band mates, for your brothers. I know that besides everything that happened, you loved to be in that band. But what if Simon hasn’t been behind the band management? You know where I’m going… I start spiralling, I find an answer to a question, and I have a new question in mind.

I’m sad and I’m mad. And I’m in denial. I’m sad because you deserved to have a happy ending, you deserved to find your place in the world and in that industry you loved so much. You deserved to heal and to get better. You deserved to see your child growing up. You deserved to see the love. You deserved a much better ending. It’s so tragic. I have been worried about you for years, but never, not even in my worst nightmares I thought this was going to be your ending.

I’m mad at the whole industry. An industry that is full of selfish and greedy people who care more about money, numbers, and money again that they care about the artist. I’m mad at everyone in that hotel who didn’t try and who didn’t do enough. I’m mad at everyone who didn’t defend you, to everyone who bullied you, to everyone who didn’t understand what trauma and addiction can do to a person. I know a lot of people have been saying that the hate you’ve got was because of everything that was being said in early October, but it’s not true. The hate didn’t even start in 2022 after that podcast. The hate started before. The hate started during the band. The hate continued after the hiatus. The hate was always there, for stupid reasons and because of the hypocrisy of this fandom. And because of solo fans who found very funny to put you against each other and loved using the word “flop”. I hope you knew that your music was great. I hope you knew that One Direction wouldn’t have been the same without you. I hope you could know that I have a tattoo related to you, done before the tragedy, but it won’t be the only one. I hope you knew that you had talent, so much talent. I hope you knew you were enough. And loved. I’m mad at the whole world for dampening your light.

And I’m in denial. I’m in denial because you’re here, Liam. I have been a fan of you since I saw you five singing Viva La Vida in the xfactor, and in the fandom some months later. We’ve grown up together, I’m just months older than you. In all these years, 14, you were always in my screen, always in my earphones. And you’re still there, so what do you mean you’re not here? What do you mean you’re not here when I see your gifs, when I can listen to your voice, to your laugh. You know? You were also part of my final project in university, a project about One Direction. You were in so many parts of my life. You are in so many places in my life. It’s so hard to process it when I have you the same way I have always had you—on a screen and earphones. And I’m trying to think that this means that you’ll live forever. I know you’ll do. I know I won’t love anything the way I have loved this band and you all 5. The way I love this band and you all 5. You’re still here. I’ve been seeing white feathers when I was thinking about you during walks, so you’re still here.

I know my comfort place is now tainted by other emotions that aren’t joy, comfort, and love. Tainted by sadness, and anger, and pain, and what ifs. But I’ll know, or I hope, that in the future I can listen to your music— both your solo music and the band music—and feel more positive emotions than bad. I hope I can do the same watching “one direction funny moments” and no think about how it all ended. You know? I always imagined being on my 40s or 50s and going to the reunion, meeting with my mutuals (who most are friends) and dancing all night to the best songs ever.

I imagined dancing to one of One Direction songs during my wedding, wasn’t sure one. I knew I wanted to dance No Control because I wanted to do the dance with my friends who love you as much as I do, but I also was thinking about If I Could Fly piano version, or Home. I imagined so many things in my future and in so many of them, One Direction and you were my soundtrack: getting my first house and the first album played there being Midnight Memories, getting married and having your songs in the wedding, going to your solo concerts and the reunion concert, singing your songs in karaoke, talking to my kids about you and watching videos together, getting more tattoos related to One Direction, doing a tour in London visiting iconic places, doing a pyjama party with my friends that I met here and watching videos and singing together. So many moments that now I don’t know if I’ll do, because now I’m not strong enough to think about it. But I’ll hope I’ll do, because you deserve to be celebrated and honoured in a happy way too. I’ll try Liam, this is my second promise.

I’m not quite sure if I believe in afterlife, in heaven, or in reincarnation. But wherever you are, I hope you are at peace. I hope you’re receiving all this love (that you deserved to see). I hope you’re happy. I hope I’ll get to live another life where you’re part of it again. I love you, Liam. You’ll live forever, in my heart, in my mind, in my screen. I’ll keep talking about you, listening to your songs, and honouring you anyway I can. It might take some time because I need to process and heal, but I’ll do, because you deserve that. My third promise?

Sending kisses, hugs, and love to you. 💕

PS: I’ve made a first promise to you in private that I plan to keep.

[haveihitanerve]

Thought about Bruce calling Jason different variations of 'My __ little boy' (eg. 'My nerdy little boy', 'My mean little boy', 'My lovely little boy') And each time Jason is just like "Dad, it's only a 2 inch difference, I ain't little."

Even better if this isn't him saying it as Brucie, but as Bruce Wayne who just loves his little gremlin of a child even if he is an adult now.

The first time Bruce did it, Jason almost cried. They were at a Wayne Gala, and Bruce was leading him around, because he didn't trust anyone alone with his child want Jason running away, when they met a lovely old lady, a sweetheart, different to most Gotham Elite.

"Well, isn't he just darling." She cooed, and Bruce grew an actual smile, bending to kiss her hand.

"Mrs. Kershaw, a pleasure, as always. You look radiant. Also as always." He winked, and the woman, Mrs. Kershaw, laughed, blushing, as she pushed his shoulder teasingly.

"Och you, always knows just what to say." Jason pulled a face, but he couldn't deny it was nice to meet someone in Gotham at a Wayne event that Bruce actually liked. Mrs. Kershaw turned to Jason, bending so she was at eye level. A surprise, as most people took some sick pleasure in having height over him.

"Hello there dear, what's your name?" Jason offered a polite smile, waiting for the horrible pinching of his cheeks the older ladies seemed to be fond of.

"I'm Jason, ma'am."

"Jason Todd." Bruce added, and Jason shot him a confused look over his shoulder. When people, to be polite or something, asked his name, he always stuck to the first name, so that people didn't know he kept his own last name and wasn't a Wayne. Well, it was hyphenated, but that was a little too much.

But Mrs. Kershaw smiled, hands reaching dreadingly for Jason's cheeks. He tensed, but her hands were warm, and soft, and cradled his cheeks rather than pinched them. Like a mother. "You are such an angel, Jason Todd" She laughed, brushing his hair away from his face with a small smile.

"Putting up with Brucie all this time." Jason laughed, surprised that she was actually funny, and that she had insulted Bruce. To his face. But Bruce was grinning, seemingly pleased she liked him, and pleased he liked her, without even flinching at her Brucie.

"Yep. That's Jay." Bruce's hand landed on his shoulder, tugging him against his leg. Mrs. Kershaw straightened, pulling her hands away as Bruce rubbed his back. "My little angel boy." He laughed and continued conversing with her, but Jason couldn't hear anything. His ears were stuffed with wool, brain focused on those four little words. Those four, perfect words. My little angel boy. His boy. He was- he was Bruce's boy.

"It's always nice to see you Brucie, do stop by soon won't you? And bring your son, he's such a doll." Bruce laughed, drawing Jason back to the present.

"I certainly will," He promised, squeezing Jason's shoulder. "I don't go anywhere without my kiddo." He laughed again, and Jason wrapped his arms around his legs, squeezing tight.

The last time Bruce said it, Jason couldn't hear him. His body hurt, it burned, pain lacing every pore, every single cell. He could feel Bruce's arms around him, Batman suit scraping against his skin painfully, but he couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything, and he didn't want to anyway. He didn't want Bruce to put him down. Not now.

Bruce's head was hung, on his knees, Jason clutched to his chest. Jason could see, faintly, out of the corner of his eyes, the remnants of a burning building. It looked familiar somehow, but the memories were just out of reach.

Bruce's lips were moving, repeating, chanting something, over and over, body shaking with silent sobs as cradled Jason's limp body. "My boy, my darling boy, my boy."

The next time Bruce said it, Jason almost punched him. "Is this him?" The voice was soft, disbelieving, and so, so grievously scratchy and old.

"It is, Mrs. Kershaw." Bruce answered quietly, holding the old woman's hand as he sat on the edge of her bed. "Its Jason. My baby boy." Jason gaped at him, taking a seat next to the bed.

"I'm two inches shorter than you, old man." He grumbled, leaning forward to be in Mrs. Kershaw's eyeline. "Hello ma'am." He greeted quietly. Mrs. Kershaw's eyes crinkled, and she reached one weathered, wrinkled hand for his cheek.

"Oh, oh my darling angel." She whispered, hand tracing the scars on his face. Jason fought the urge to squirm, to escape her condemnation, swallowing hard. Her eyes filled with tears as she cupped his cheek.

"I'm so sorry for all you went through, my Todd." Jason choked on his tears, heart constricting at the old nickname, the soft touch. Her fingers expertly wiped every tear away, smiling softly. Her hands dropped eventually, exhaustion clear in every breath.

"Take it easy, darling." Bruce murmured quietly, pressing a kiss to her hand again as he set it down on the bed. "We'll visit again soon." She smiled, hand reaching up one last time to snag Jason's.

"You done good, angel. Putting up with Brucie. He loves you." Jason smiled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her hand as well.

"I know ma'am. I know. Sleep well. We'll come visit." She smiled, squeezing his hand before letting go. "You'd better." Jason chuckled, exiting the room to meet Bruce, waiting outside with a smile.

"Hey old man." Bruce swung an arm around his shoulders, knocking their heads together gently. "Hey, my lovely little boy."

uhhhhhh hope you enjoyed??? So sorry for bringing in a random OC it just felt right??? Idk i hope you liked Mrs. Kershaw as much as I did, and hope my story satisfied you, I'm still working through all the asks I've gotten, but my motivation as been like... awful, so i'm trying but make no promises :/ sry for the wait but this one just sparked up some thoughts and i had to write it, hope you liked!

[xmads-omensx]

Once Upon A Dream

Masterlist

Word Count: 2,781

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: fluff, wearing, kissing, mentions of a slight fear of rollercoasters and mild anxiety

Summary: Noah takes Y/N to Disney for their anniversary... except they can't quite get rid of the rest of the guys

Thanks @tosoundlessdarkistare for the idea <3

I have also never been to Disney Land before so please be aware that there will be inaccuracies.

I had always wanted to go to Disney, ever since I was a kid, but I had never had the chance to go. It was always too expensive when I was younger, and by the time we could afford it, I had pretty much outgrown it.

Part of me still wanted to go, but with balancing work and spending time with Noah when he wasn’t on tour, it was hard to find the time to visit with enough time to do everything that I wanted to do.

This wasn’t something I had told Noah outright. It wasn’t exactly something I openly told people. The circle of people I surrounded myself with were, much like Noah, intimidating metalheads covered in tattoos who would have absolutely no business being in Disneyland. The mental image made me laugh.

One day, I had some time between meetings. I was working from home that day, so I didn’t really have anything to do in this particular thirty minute gap, so I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to have a glance at prices for a hypothetical trip to Disneyland. My very surface-level research confirmed the astronomical prices for tickets, and did not factor in accommodation, snacks, souvenirs or a second person to join me on the trip.

I promptly gave up on my side-quest and went back to my meeting, feeling ever so slightly defeated at my lack of accomplishment.

The rest of the day felt heavier. It wasn’t like I desperately wanted to do, but more so something the small child within me yearned for. Plenty of kids my age, friends included all got to experience the joys of Disney, but I never quite reached that.

Crawling into bed after dinner felt nice. Especially with Noah wrapped around me.

“How was your day?” He asked softly.

“Not bad. Work was a bit boring, as usual.” I laughed into his chest, making him laugh as well.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t around much today. We were making real progress in the studio.” He said softly, a twinge of regret in his voice.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re making progress, honey.” I replied, snuggling further into his chest.

“Me too.” He kissed the top of my head. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” I drifted off to sleep easily. I always did with Noah there.

The next day I woke up to an empty bed. I didn’t like waking up alone. I looked around the room but couldn’t see Noah anywhere. The bathroom was empty and it was only 9:45am, so he shouldn’t be at the studio just yet.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and left our shared bedroom. My office was down the hall and the light was on. Weird. I was sure I had turned it off when you finished work yesterday.

Walking closer to the slightly ajar door, I started to hear voices coming from inside. Noah? Matt? Jolly? Why were they in my office?

I lightly pushed the door open and they hurriedly stopped their conversation. Noah had a look that was equally suspicious as it was guilty.

“What are you guys doing in here?” I asked sleepily, rubbing my eye.

“Nothing really, just chilling.” Noah said, trying to act calm but ultimately failing.

“In my office?” I asked sceptically.

The guys looked between eachother as I just stared at them. From an outside perspective, it must have looked like a mildly disappointed mother scolding her three sons.

“You better take this one man, it was your idea.” Matt said, clapping Noah on his back, making Jolly laugh.

Noah sighed before speaking. “So, you know how our anniversary is coming up soon?”

“Yeah.” I said, a small smile appearing on my face, as it did every time someone mentioned our anniversary

“I thought maybe we could go on a little trip, instead of just going on a nice date or something.” He said quietly, with a small smile on his face.

“A trip where?” I asked, excited.

“That’s a surprise.” Noah replied.

“Disney Land!” Matt and Jolly exclaimed at the same time Noah was speaking.

“Are you both fucking kidding me!” Noah shouted, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

Matt and Jolly laughed at his outburst, hurriedly escaping the room to avoid Noah’s anger as well as the pillow he had picked up to throw at them.

I just watched, laughing at them.

“I’m sorry baby, it was supposed to be a surprise.” He mumbled, looking down at the ground in defeat.

“Hey.” He looked up at me when I began to speak. “It’s okay. I’m looking forward to it.”

He smiled softly and pulled me into his lap, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Good morning beautiful.” He said softly.

“Morning handsome.” I giggled.

We stayed like that for another few moments before deciding to go and get ready for the day.

The rest of the week rolled around quickly as Noah and I’s anniversary approached. We had packed for three days at Disney Land and were eagerly awaiting our trip to roll around.

After what felt like eternity, the time had arrived for us to begin our journey to Disney Land. Luckily, we didn’t live too far away, so we could drive there and back relatively easily, but we still booked a hotel to make out lives easier.

Moving our bags by the front door, Noah began loading up his car. Since it was our anniversary, he wasn’t letting me help him with anything, which frustrated me, but seeing as he was significantly taller than me and could lift me up like it was nothing, there wasn’t much point trying to help him.

“Noah come on. Let me help.” I had argued.

“Nope.” He simply replied.

“Noah ju-“ I started before he interrupted me.

“I said nope.” He looked at me with a jokingly stern expression.

I had sighed, giving up.

Once the car had been packed, Noah clapped his hands together, proud of himself, and we began to make our way to his car.

Before we could even open the door, a small commotion from inside the house made us pause, before what can only be described as a gaggle of arguing men poured out the front door carrying bags with them.

Nick, Folio, Jolly, Matt, Bryan and Steven now all stood on our driveway looking mildly sheepish.

“Where are you guys going?” Noah asked with a suspicious tone, nervously eyeing the bags they each carried along with them.

“So, we may or may not have booked tickets to go with you guys to Disney Land.” Folio said sheepishly.

“Out anniversary trip to Disney Land?” Noah asked, still eyeing them all suspiciously.

The rest of the guys had a guilty look on their faces. “We’ll stay out of your way, we just liked the idea.” Nick added, trying to lessen their guilt.

“You fucking better.” Noah huffed before getting into the drivers seat of his car.

“See you guys later I guess.” I laughed before climbing in the passenger seat.

Noah sighed before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway. He remained quiet for the first ten minutes of the drive, which was unlike him. He usually asked for a specific playlist, or talked about our plans for the day.

“Are you okay babe?” I asked, placing my hand on his knee and squeezing it affectionately.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He sighed. “I just wanted to take you somewhere special for a break away from the others. You know? Just us.”

“And whilst that is a very nice idea babe, we both know that neither of us will ever escape those guys.” I laughed.

“Yeah you’re right.” Noah sighed, a weak smile appearing on his face.

“I have a nasty habit of doing that.” I smirked at him.

“shut up. Put some music on babe, you’re choice.” Noah laughed.

“Okay.” I giggled, queuing up my musical theatre playlist, which I knew Noah secretly liked, despite stating that he hated it several times.

The entire drive there I performed every single song, which was probably why Noah constantly protested the playlist every time. I more or less made a mockery of his job.

Once we arrived at the hotel, we unloaded Noah’s car and brought our things up to the hotel room, which wasn’t fancy in the slightest, but did the job for four nights. The guys had booked rooms in the same hotel, but luckily not on the same floor as Noah and I, so we still got some peace and quiet away from them.

Dinner time rolled around and Noah took me out for a very nice, quiet, romantic meal for our anniversary, as had become tradition between the two of us over the last few years.

The morning sunshine lit up our hotel room and aroused me from my sleep, Noah still lay beside me snoring contently away. As much as I hated to wake him, I knew that we probably had to leave soon to avoid the rush at the entrance. I gently brushed the stray hairs off of his face, before placing gentle kisses all over his cheeks, making him stir and his eyes flutter open.

A soft smile appeared on his face. “Hey beautiful.” He groaned.

“Hi baby.” I replied, kissing his forehead.

He wrapped his long, strong arms around my waist, trying to pull me back into bed, but I resisted. “Noah, baby, as much as I would love to hide in bed all day with you, we need to beat the rush and the rest of the guys.”

Noah groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

“This was your idea honey.” I laughed, shaking his shoulder gently, making him roll over and face me again.

“I know.” He sighed before climbing out of bed and dragging me into the bathroom behind him.

After we were showered, dressed and I had done my hair and makeup, it was time to go. We planned on grabbing some breakfast at the park as well as lunch, and just seeing how we felt for dinner.

The drive over there was short and we got parked relatively easily, despite our parking being far to the back of the car park.

We collected our wristbands and entered the park. Neither Noah or myself especially liked rollercoasters, but we were both determined to try at least one before our trip was over.

“Hey! Y/N! Noah!” A voice called from behind us.

Turning around, we saw Jolly towering over the rest of the crowd and waving at us. Noah sighed before waving back at him.

“I guess we aren’t getting our trip for just us two after all.” He groaned.

“Don’t worry about it. We still have our hotel room to ourselves and we can go out and have dinner just us two. It’s all going to be fine, Noah.” I comforted him, squeezing his hand affectionately.

The rest of the guys all crowded around us, shouting out different things that they wanted to do and explore. Most of the guys wanted to try the Guardians of the Galaxy ride, whilst Noah and I were more hesitant. “Maybe we should just say fuck it and try it out.” I murmured to him.

“Babe, if I’m being honest, that sounds like hell to me.” He laughed in reply.

“I think I’ll try it.” I said confidently. “How bad can it be?”

Noah laughed at that. “Sure.”

“No really. I’m going to do it.” I replied confidently. I was determined to prove to him that I could do it, no matter what.

“Fine. If you do it, I’ll buy you as many churros as you want.” He replied.

“Okay. And what do you get?” I asked

“Oh babe, there is no way in hell I’m doing that.” He laughed, pulling me into his side.

I really loved churros, but was the price I would have to pay worth it? Yes.

We decided as a group to head there first and beat the crowds. Queuing took no time at all and we sat down in our seats. Steven and Noah stayed back holding our bags, whilst the rest of us went on together.

I was sandwiched in between Matt and Jolly, gripping both their hands tightly. My heart raced inside my chest as the attendant came over and lowered the security bar, securing us in place.

“You good?” Matt asked.

I just nodded my head.

He laughed in reply. “It’ll be over before you’ve even realised it’s started.”

I nodded again. Having Matt and Jolly beside me helped calm my nerves ever so slightly.

Suddenly, the ride jolted forward and we were off. Music flooded into my ears, but I couldn’t make out what songs they were playing. All I knew was that it was cheesy 80s hits that I presumed were in the movie. The cart flew along the tracks quickly, taking the air out of my lungs. But it wasn’t fear that I was feeling. It was joy. Pure joy.

I laughed and screamed alongside the rest of the people on the ride. Who knew something like this could be so much fun?

Like Matt had said, it was over before I knew it and the ride pulled to a stop.

My legs felt like spaghetti as I stood up after dismounting the ride. I laughed and clung onto Matt as we walked back to Noah and Steven who were sat on a bench nearby eating something that looked like… a turkey leg?

“Have fun guys?” Steven called out to us. We erupted in various replies of “yes”, “holy shit” and “fuck yeah” as we rejoined them.

“Have fun babe?” Noah asked as he put an arm around my shoulder.

“Yeah, I did actually.” I replied with a wide grin. “It was way more fun than I expected.”

“That’s great babe.” He laughed.

“What the fuck are you eating?” I asked.

“Oh this?” He held up what I thought might be a turkey leg, and ripped a chunk off of it with his teeth, before chewing aggressively. “It’s turkey.” He said with his mouth still full.

I turned away from him with a grimace, making the other guys laugh.

The rest of our day was filled with countless more rides, as Noah now couldn’t keep me off of them, and stupid group photos, obviously pulling weird faces and poses. Keeping up his end of the bargain, like a true gentleman, Noah bought me as many churros as I wanted. In fact, he kept it up for the rest of our stay at Disney Land, which filled me with immense joy.

On our last day, Noah said he had a surprise for me. The guys had shared a knowing look before leaving us to it and heading back to the hotel for the night.

Noah took my hand and guided me to a quiet spot near a restaurant that was on a slight hill and gave us a brilliant view of the Sleeping Beauty castle, whilst being completely out of sight from the crowd.

“What’s going on Noah?” I asked with a laugh.

“Nothing, just wanna show you something.” He replied with a smile.

I gave him a suspicious look before returning my gaze back to the castle.

“I guess I just wanted to say that I love you, and I’m glad we did this trip.” He said after a long pause.

“I love you too.” I said, squeezing his hand. “I’m glad we did this too, even though it’s a bit out of your comfort zone.”

“You got that right.” He laughed.

“Well I do tend to-“ I started.

“Don’t you dare say you’re always right.” He laughed, shoving me playfully.

“Well, I am.” I repied.

“Shush.” He pulled me into his side.

“Why did you even suggest Disney Land?” I asked, looking up at him.

“You never got to go as a kid, and it’s pretty much right on our doorstep.” He replied.

“You remembered that?” I asked, surprised.

“Well, duh. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t.” he laughed, kissing the top of my head.

We stood there in silence as the fireworks started, I leaned back into Noah’s chest as he began to gently sway us back and forth to the music that was playing.

“I love you.” He muttered into my hair.

“I love you more.” I whispered back

“Not possible.” Noah replied softly.

He began humming along to the song, his chest vibrating behind my back as the fireworks illuminated the night sky.

So this is what having a soulmate feels like? Like living in a dream that never ends.

[nshtn]

i decided to make it ambiguous for now and did a oneshot to tinker with the concept on a less broad timescale - also far more selfishly, and less introspectively.

but i did find a good base in this Pinterest if anyone wanted to see some vibes i've got brewing up.

here's some of the character dissection i'm thinking of.

i think it would be particularly interesting if he views the people around him like a game he wants to play well, and that "winning" that game is a reward to him, so losing a patient is losing the game. the feeling of losing or winning the game is itself tied to his hyperacademic, trafficked, experimental childhood; he doesn't know how to identify with empathy, or how to distinguish it, or if feeling like you lost the game is good enough to count.

he knows he's different - empty, dead, nothing behind the eyes. he knows something is wrong with him; not inherently, moreover as artificial as the viruses he's tailored, so many different strains in which only one single strain rises to the top in a way not dissimilar to the weeding of his bretheren under Project W - his classmates under Marcus. the scum rises and is scooped, the cream is made pure, the fat is boiled away. to want is to want power, to need is to need air, food and water - everything boils down to power or a lack of it, everything can be summated in the monochrome shades of obedience or a need for it. his inner child pays no mind to spencer's rebels because the rebels are dead and strung up before the dawn can peek through the blinds.

you learn quickly what compassion will earn you. you learn how to let the ice in, and then you learn how to sustain it.

and, then, you forget that you're sustaining it at all.

is he human? he relates more to machines in their cold perfection; in their lack of human error, there is something to be appreciated. albert wesker passes through the aching, rotting civilian city and he walks past a clothing store, and when he peers into the glass and sees the mannequins staring back at him, he sees himself in their featureless, doll-jointed faces.

he sees his reflection in the glass, next, and he flinches.

is there more to life than this? did he feel the way others did, once? 'it's a spiral of ants,' says spencer. but he recalls it, faintly, a time when he felt, truly: laughing... laughing... laughing and kicking. kicking and screaming, screaming and crying, crying and pleading. he stops thinking about it, then.

is it sinful to feel object empathy for a da vinci machine and no human empathy for the man dying across the hall, who had told you it was up to god to save him? is it bad if you stopped believing that god existed before you understood that what you experienced was violence?

what is sin to the man whose eye casts no conscience?

bioweapon. the word concatenates two opposing concepts, uniting oil and water. to be a weapon is to enter a state of purity confined to the concept of violence. to be alive is to enter a state of impurity unconfined by one singular, pinprick goal.

what do you do when meet someone who violates these conventions and makes you question what you feel and how you feel it - someone who makes you feel real and tangible, bloodied and graspable - someone who could slip out of your reach if you do not reach forward and grab them before they can turn tail and run from the monster they find behind the eyes of the director spearheading their case? what do you do when they make you feel an emptiness deep within you, and then their attentions slather ecstasy over that emptiness; a deep and confounding satisfaction; startling, hot, and bubbling to keep their flesh close?

what do you do when someone makes you feel like a raw, debrided wound?

what do you do to protect them when they exist far too close to the line between knowing so much you need to kill them and being so innocent that this city's sins would wrap their good intentions around their neck and pull?

when you've run out of choices to save them from themselves... how far are you willing to fabricate to keep them safe? is ignorance a kinder, gentler fate?

there was nothing, and then there was something, and then there was everything all at once, too bright and bleary; understimulation flipped to overstimulation with a painful crack. why does he even care so much, and when did it all run away from him into this bleeding, razing obsession?

when a weapon develops a conscience, does it gain the burden of morality, too?