#I love doing things that I don’t regret

[loathsome-little-creature]

I love historical fencing so much I dedicated my entire life to studying it. I think the cultures of medieval Europe are deeply beautiful and I love their art and music and architecture.

If someone else is into these things I immediately distrust them and will only ever be willing to talk to them if they make it explicitly clear that they actively combat Islamophobia, antiblackness and antisemitism in every aspect of their lives. 80% of people who are medievalists at a professional level fail to do that and I’ve seen a tiny few “enthusiasts” who don’t fail at those criteria

Honestly I regret the fact I love what I do every day because it fundamentally probably makes the world a worse place

There’s certain hobbies and interests that aren’t inherently conservative or regressive but do attract a lot of people who are those things or worse and when you’re a progressive person involved in those hobbies hearing that someone else is interested in your hobby usually has to involve some “But are you normal about it?” conversations before you get too excited

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Here"

Ok yall I'm back with chapter 7!! Hopefully this posts bc it wasn't working yesterday. Sorry if it's confusing, I rewrote it like 5 times! I tried not to use {y/n} but i mightve slipped up! Hope ya'll enjoy!! The plot is finally moving!! Lmk if you have any questions. Likes, reblogs, and asks motivate me! I love when yall send me your ideas and comments and asks! Wish me luck, I'm posting this and then taking my math exam! If you don't like it, don't read, stop sending mean asks and submissions!

Breakfast the next morning was horrible.

The awkward silence lingered, thick with unspoken words and eyes that felt like they were scanning every inch of you. You could feel their weight on your back, like a thousand invisible hands pushing you deeper into your seat, forcing you to stay in this uncomfortable moment.

You could already feel the heat rising in your chest, but you bit your lip, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You weren’t going to lose your cool—not yet.

Damian’s gaze was fixed on you, like he was waiting for some kind of reaction, his lips pressed into a thin line. You knew what he was expecting: compliance. Submission. He expected you to shrink back under his scrutiny. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about not giving him that satisfaction.

Instead, you focused on the plate in front of you, stabbing your fork into the pancakes with far too much force. You were still hungry, but the food felt like cardboard in your mouth, tasteless and dry, even though Alfred’s cooking was always the best.

Bruce was still watching you, his eyes heavy with a kind of expectant patience, like he was just waiting for you to crack. You could feel the tension in the room like a ticking clock, the seconds stretching longer than you’d ever thought possible.

"Why are you all staring at me?" you finally muttered, breaking the silence, your voice low but biting. You didn't look up from your plate, but you could feel the eyes on you. They all thought they could break you. They thought you were some fragile little thing, someone they could fix with their pity and their "family time." But you weren’t. You’d stopped being that person a long time ago.

Dick was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual, like he was trying to tread lightly around you. “We’re just trying to connect, I know it’s been a long time, and things got… complicated, but we don’t want to lose you again. Not after all this time.”

His words weren’t as comforting as he probably thought they were. In fact, they made your skin crawl. He was trying to be kind, but it felt forced, like he was reading from a script. You didn’t need this. Not from him, not from any of them. You wanted them to stop pretending like they could fix everything with a few hugs, a couple of "we missed you"s.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, but it carried a weight. “I didn’t ask to be here. And I didn’t ask to be part of this family anymore.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t say anything at first. You could feel the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, maybe. Regret. He was looking at you, like he was trying to see the person you used to be. The person you had been before everything fell apart.

You weren’t that person anymore. And he needed to understand that.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Damian suddenly said, his voice a little too sharp. “You can’t just shut us out like this. You’re still a part of this family. Whether you like it or not.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. " I can shut you all out, I can do whatever I want” you snapped, the frustration leaking through. “You’ve done it to me for years.”

Dick’s brow furrowed, his lips pulling into a frown. For a second, he looked genuinely taken aback by your words, “You don’t understand,” he said, his tone quieter but still laced with an edge. “We didn’t abandon you. Not on purpose. You think we didn’t care? You just never seemed to need help.”

You could feel the sting of his words, but you pushed it down, locking it away. You weren’t going to break. Not for him. Not for any of them. Of course you never needed help, you were too busy trying to be perfect.

“I was just a kid,” you replied, your voice a little rawer, louder than you intended. “And I was ignored by the people who were supposed to be there for me. So fuck you and fuck your family time too.”

There was a long pause, everyone looked around in shock, not expecting you to be so combatant and then Jason finally spoke up, his tone softer than usual, less teasing. “We’re trying, okay? I'm trying. We’re not perfect, and I’m not asking you to just forget everything. But we want to try. Let us try.”

You shot him a look, your eyes narrowing. “Trying isn’t good enough,” you muttered, your voice tight. “Not when it’s years too late. I don't want scraps of love anymore, not when i've had the real deal.”

Everyone seemed to quiet at the last part of your statement, suspicious of what it meant and from who you received "love" from. What convinced you that you didn't need them anymore?

“Then what do you want?” Tim interjected, his voice suddenly sharper, more direct than before. “What do you want from us? We’re here, and we’re trying to make it right. But you’ve got to meet us halfway.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell them that nothing would ever be good enough, that the damage was already done. But you didn’t. Instead, you just stared at Tim, meeting his eyes with a challenge of your own. You didn’t owe them answers. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost defeated. “I don’t know what I want.”

It was the truth. You didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t know if there was anything they could do to fix things. But one thing was certain: you didn’t want to stay in this mansion, suffocated by their expectations. You didn’t want to play along with their idea of a happy family.

Before anyone could respond, you stood up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a loud scrape against the floor.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, turning on your heel. “I’ll figure it out on my own. I always have.”

You heard Duke’s soft voice in the background, calling after you, but you didn’t stop. You just walked out of the dining room, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way toward the staircase.

As you climbed the stairs, you could feel their eyes on your back, the weight of their presence pressing down on you, but you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if they watched. You didn’t care if they were disappointed. You just wanted to be alone.

That day, you stayed in bed. You ignored every knock on your door, every phone call, every beg and plead to come down and eat. You just wanted to be alone.

You woke up to the quiet hum of the manor, but it was far from peaceful. The silence was suffocating, a constant reminder that there was no escaping them—not now. You tried to pretend the night before hadn’t happened, that their constant attention wasn’t as overwhelming as it was, that you were going back to New York soon. Unfortunately, fantasies don't become realities, especially when reality is chasing them down.

Every one of them was here, waiting. Watching.

Bruce stood near the staircase, his presence larger than life. His eyes lingered on you as if he expected something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe gratitude, maybe obedience. He said nothing, just watched you with that expression of silent insistence.

“Good morning,” he said in that deep, calm voice of his, but there was something off about it. There was a layer of expectation beneath his words, like he was waiting for something from you.

You ignored him, brushing past him without a second glance. You didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. But it didn’t matter. They were all around you now, slowly closing in.

Tim was the next to corner you. You could feel his calculating eyes on you the moment you stepped into the kitchen. He had a cup of coffee in hand, but his focus was on you. Just you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, the question seemingly casual but the undertone too sharp, too analytical. It wasn’t just a question, it was a probe, a way for him to gauge how much control he had over you.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the fridge to grab something that could distract you, something that could make the reality of this house feel a little less like a cage. But the moment your hand touched the door, he was there, standing far too close, watching you, almost breathing down your neck.

“You know,” Tim said, his voice low, “we can talk today. If you want. We need to keep your abilities in check, make sure you’re safe, protected. ” His tone lingered on that last word, like he was reminding you that you were under his watch now.

You hated how calmly he said it. It made your skin crawl.

Steph was next, adding onto what Tim said with her stupid signature smile, "He's right y'know. It's dangerous out there. For you especially."

You ignored them both. Payback for their years of negligence.

Tim just stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning your face. “Fine, be like that,” he muttered, before walking away, but you knew he wasn’t done. He never was.

And then there was Dick. His usual cheerful demeanor didn’t falter as he breezed into the room, but it was too cheerful, too bright. He was pushing something, forcing something, like he was trying to manufacture happiness out of thin air, trying to remind you of who you were, who you used to be.

“Hey! How about we do something today?” he said, his voice far too eager. “We could go out and grab coffee, breakfast, anything. I know you’re probably not feeling it, but you need to get out of this house for a bit.”

You wanted tear him apart for thinking you could just “forget” everything and fall back into some comfortable, happy routine. But you didn’t. Instead, you just nodded stiffly, walking past him without acknowledging his words.

“Come on,” he tried again, following you, “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Just drop it, Dick,” you said, your voice like ice. “I’m not going anywhere. Ya'll made that pretty clear.”

His face faltered for just a moment before he plastered that damn grin back on. But you saw it, the frustration and determination behind his eyes. He wasn’t going to stop. None of them were.

Jason leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a smirk you couldn’t quite decipher. “Ah, the princess finally comes out her tower,” he teased. “What? Got tired of throwing shit around in there?"

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the heat in your chest rise. Jason always had a way of pissing you off with his words, making everything seem like a joke, but you knew there was something darker underneath. He wanted to get a rise out of you, he craved it. He wanted you to go back to being his annoying little sister with anger issues.

“Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, turning away from him, not caring that you weren’t hiding your anger anymore. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

Jason just laughed, but there was a hint of something softer there, something that felt almost... like concern, buried beneath the sarcasm.

“Stop,” you snapped, but before you could escape, Damian stepped in.

Damian was the most direct, the most unforgiving in his attempts to bond. He stepped into your path without hesitation, his posture rigid and eyes narrowed, as if daring you to push him away.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low, yet intense. “You think you’re some rebellious teenager trying to escape, but you’re not. You don’t get a choice in this.” His words weren’t harsh, they were final, like he had already decided your fate. And you were staying here, whether you liked it or not.

“You’re wrong,” you spat, your voice venomous. "I don’t need you.”

Damian tilted his head slightly, an unsettling calm settling over him. “You’ll need us eventually. Whether you want to or not. And you'll be grateful we never let you go.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t let him see it. Not yet. His audacity was insane. To think that you'd be thankful for being trapped in Gotham. Never.

As you tried to walk past him, you collided with Cass, who was standing silently behind you, her eyes filled with that knowing, unspoken concern. She's so creepy. She didn’t say a word but you could feel her presence, like a weight pressing down on you.

Cass placed a hand gently on your arm, her touch barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make you freeze.

Why are they acting like this? What changed these two weeks?

"You’re safe here," she said quietly, her words cutting through the tension in a way that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

You pulled away sharply, nearly punching her, your fists clenched at your sides. “I'm not happy.” you said, more to yourself than to her.

But she didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. Her eyes just followed you, and that was worse than any words.

Barbara was close by, but she didn’t need to be loud. She never did. She had this way of talking in soft tones that made everything sound so reasonable. So loving.

“You don’t have to keep shutting us out,” she said gently. “You can talk to us. We just want to make sure you’re okay. All of us. We care about you.”

You felt the weight of her words crash down on you, suffocating you with their sweetness, with their hidden demands. Care. It was just another word for control, for keeping you locked in their world, locked in their gaze. If they cared, they would let you be happy in New York.

“Just stop,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “Just... stop.”

You sat in your room for hours again, ignoring everyone.

Bruce had spent the last few days carefully watching you, keeping his distance just enough to make you think you had some semblance of freedom, but now he was ready to step in, to claim his role as your father.

He had promised himself when you left for France, he would make it right. That he would make up for everything he had missed, for every moment he had abandoned you for the greater good of Gotham. But now, as the silence stretched between you two, he was determined to close that distance.

You had just returned to your room after another breakfast you didn’t want to be part of when you heard the knock.

It was Bruce.

“You’re not busy, are you?” he asked, his voice almost too warm, too hopeful.

You shot him a glance, wondering if he truly thought this would work. After everything that had happened, after all the times he had failed you, he still thought a few “father-daughter” moments could make things better.

"I guess not," you replied flatly, stepping aside to let him in, your mind already racing with how to get through whatever this was going to be.

The moment he entered, Bruce seemed to settle, as though he had a plan in mind, one he was eager to execute.

“Good,” he said, looking around the room, his eyes scanning for something, maybe an opportunity. Then, he turned back to you, hands clasped behind his back. “I thought today, we could spend some time together. Just us. It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this, hasn’t it? School starts soon and you'll get busy, you won't have time for me anymore.”

He was trying to joke around.

School. More like prison. The more he mentioned school, the angrier you got. You'd never done something like this. He did it with all his other kids though, with Tiffany. As you thought of her, all ideas of being nice to Bruce, of trying to bond with your father, flew out the window.

The words felt like a slap, and you couldn’t keep the bite from your tone. “Is that what you think this is? Quality time? You really think we’re just gonna pick up where we left off? Think you can change the past with brunch?”

Bruce’s eyes softened for a moment, his expression cracking, but only slightly. The guilt was there, unmistakable, but it didn’t erase the unspoken expectation behind his words. His voice became more gentle, more insistent.

“I know it’s not easy,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something else—something almost pleading, though he would never admit it. “But I want to make this right. You deserve this. You deserve... me. We can go out, maybe catch a movie, grab lunch, talk, whatever you want. I just want to be with you. Like you always talked about.”

You didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as the weight of his words crashed over you. It was nice watching him beg for once. You had always wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted him to be a father, to care for you like he did the others. But that was before you tasted freedom, before you tried love.

Now, the idea of spending time with him felt like a betrayal to everything you had tried to protect: your own independence, your own space, your freedom. You didn’t want to be a part of his perfect little family anymore.

“No.” you muttered, unable to stop the anger from flooding your chest. “You really think that’s going to fix things? You think I just forgot what you did? Because i'm nice sometimes?”

Bruce didn’t flinch at your words, didn’t even show any sign of anger. Instead, he just stepped closer, his presence filling up the room, looming over you like an impenetrable wall. His tone remained patient, almost too controlled, like he was walking on eggshells.

“I know I can’t undo the past,” he said quietly, a trace of regret slipping through. “But I can be here for you now. I won’t make the same mistakes. I promise.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. “You already have.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the anger bubbling up inside you, but you pushed it back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Bruce’s eyes softened even further, the guilt twisting in his expression, and for a moment, you saw something else there—desperation. As if he was begging you to let him in, to give him just one chance to prove he wasn’t the same person who had abandoned you for years.

“We could just sit and talk,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No expectations. No agenda. Just us. I’m not trying to fix you or make everything perfect. I just want to spend time with my daughter.”

Something in you snapped at the mention of daughter. The word that had haunted you for years. The word that had felt like a lie every time he used it. You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your composure.

“No,” you said, your voice flat, cutting through the tension like a knife. “You don’t get it. I don’t want this anymore. I don't want you anymore.”

Bruce’s face faltered, just for a moment, before he recovered. But the hurt was there, tucked in the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry. I hope you know that.”

You shook your head, not wanting to hear it anymore. The damage was done. He couldn’t erase it. No amount of “father-daughter time” was going to make you forget what it had been like when he wasn’t there for you.

“Stop,” you snapped, taking a step back. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this, Bruce. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like everything is fine. Like everything’s fixed. You’ve ruined it. All of it.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but no words came. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to understand where it had gone wrong.

“I’m just trying to make up for it,” he said quietly, but the sound of it made your stomach churn. The way his voice cracked slightly at the end of the sentence only made it worse.

And you hated yourself for feeling even a little guilty for saying no.

But no. You wouldn’t let him do this. Not again.

“I don’t want your apologies,” you spat, your tone sharp, venomous. “And I don’t want your ‘time.’ You don’t get to play the father now.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked toward the door. You needed to escape. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You were leaving your own room to get away from him.

Bruce’s voice stopped you, and you felt the pull of his desperate plea in the back of your mind. His words clung to you, too heavy, too much. “I'll go, don't leave. This is your room. I just want you to know I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You watched your father walk away, and only after he left did you fall to your bed and cry.

The next days before school were a blur. You spent them locked in your room, alternating between crying on the phone with Ariel, avoiding the family when you went down to sneak food to your room, trying to butter up Bruce and convince him to let you go back to boarding school, and online shopping.

Yet somehow Monday morning you were up at 5:30 getting into the shower.

The thought of returning to Gotham Prep made your stomach churn. How could you go back to a place where you had no true friends? A school where you’d been bullied by half your grade. Where Tim pretended you didn’t exist, Damian and Tiffany ridiculed you in front of everyone, and Duke ignored you like you were invisible. Where you ate lunch in the bathroom, alone and cried in the janitor's closet like a loser.

But you weren't the same girl who walked through those halls last year. No, this year was going to be different. You were different.

Last night, as you scrolled through Tik Tok, a new idea formed in your mind. You’d had enough of being invisible. It was time for a change.

You had a plan.

You found the bleach blonde hair dye in your bathroom, hidden away in the back of a drawer. You didn’t need permission, and you certainly didn’t need anyone to hold your hand.

By the time the dye had set and you’d rinsed it out, you felt like a new person. It was the kind of hair that would make people stop and stare.

You woke at 5:30 and hopped in the shower, you wanted to take your time getting ready. You plugged in your pink dyson and curled your new blonde hair, it would fall into a blow out later in the day, complaining about your family to Ariel and Claire. You spent the next two hours getting ready, perfecting your makeup. You’d learned to contour, learned to do your eyeliner just right, and became a bronzer girl over the summer. You grabbed your favorite Chanel palette and messily applied dark eyeshadow in smoky charcoal, blending seamlessly into the crease of your eyes and eyeliner. You smudged on a bold dark burgundy lipshine that drew attention. You weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself, your new self.

Then came the clothes.

You'd already shortened your Gotham Prep skirt by more than a few inches. It was below your knees and now it showed off the thighs you spent all summer tanning. You wanted to make a statement, and if they didn’t like it, that was their problem. The white blouse, originally oversized, was now form-fitting, you wanted it to give that one Bella Hadid picture. You left the top buttons undone, the tie hanging loosely around your neck in a deliberate, I-don’t-care gesture. You could feel the fabric clinging to your skin, reminding you of how much control you were regaining. You looked like the kind of girls you used to call whores last year.

You looked through your drawers for your signature jewelry you collected over the summer and during school. Big gold hoops on your ears, studs in all your other ear piercings, a tiffany heart necklace that rested on your exposed collar bone, and multiple bracelets stacked on each arm, jingling as you moved.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you smiled. You looked good.

Lastly you grabbed your Isabel Marant sneakers, chic and effortless, and slipped them on. They were expensive, but it wasn’t about the price—it was about the look. The vibe. Then, more than few spritzes of perfume. Something sharp, and not too sweet. You wanted to make a lasting impression, to turn heads as you walked.

By the time you were done, you felt invincible. The girl staring back at you was someone who didn’t care what anyone thought. You weren’t going to be bullied anymore. You were going to be the one who dictated the terms.

You walked out of your room, head held high, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Downstairs, the Batfamily was gathered at the breakfast table, doing their usual routine. They all stopped talking the second they saw you.

You’d barely stepped into the room when the heavy silence fell over the table. Bruce looked up, his expression instantly darkening. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze flicking over your appearance.

“Is this what you're wearing?” His voice was tight, a hint of disapproval slipping into the words.

You gave him a look that said everything. “Is something wrong? I thought it was cute.” Your tone was soft, teasing, but with a bite underneath. You weren’t asking for his permission. You were daring him to say something.

Tim, who had been looking at his phone, blinked up at you with wide eyes. He’d been so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even seem to know how to respond. His fingers hovered over his screen, unsure whether or not to comment.

“Are you seriously going to school looking like that?” His voice was tight, an edge of surprise and confusion beneath it.

You crossed your arms, leaning back in the doorway. “What? You don’t like it? Your friends might.” You knew how to unsettle him. That much you were sure of. You wanted to push his buttons, make him paranoid.

Dick was the next to react. He put down his coffee, glancing over at Bruce before looking back at you. “I get that you’re, you know, trying something new,” he began carefully, but the unease in his voice was clear. He was trying to be supportive, trying to understand, but it didn’t take much to see how disapproving he felt. “But—”

“But what, Dick?” you interrupted with a sudden change of attitude. “You don’t like it? That’s a shame. It's so crazy I literally never asked.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He simply shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Jason snorted, clearly not impressed. “You trying to turn heads or get yourself in trouble? Skirt's too short, change that shit.” His voice was low, but it had a sharpness to it now. His gaze scanned you from head to toe, his mouth curving into an almost imperceptible frown.

You weren’t fazed by his dismissive and angry attitude. If anything, it made you want to lean into it more. “I'm not changing, you want alonger skirt? You go put one on and come talk.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your tone saccharine sweet. "And I don't want trouble, but i don't mind it."

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jason drawled, eyeing the large hoops dangling from your ears. “Nice hoops. Real classy.” His lips twitched, mocking the exaggerated size of them. "I didn’t realize big was your thing now."

You smirked, reaching up to tug at one of the hoops, the gesture playful, but intending to piss him off. “Big boys like big things, Jason,” you replied smoothly, without missing a beat. “And you know what they say, the bigger the hoop, the bigger the....” You were quickly cut off before you could finish talking and ruining everyone's apittite.

Damian, ever the hater, set down his cereal with a dramatic flare, slamming it down and glared at you. “You look like you belong in a cheap nightclub, not Gotham Prep. Should we drop you off on the nearest corner?” His words were sharp, cutting—typical Damian, though you could hear the pure anger in his voice.

You chuckled softly, not phased in the slightest. You'd rather be at a cheap nightclub honestly. “I’m just bringing a little fun to Gotham, Damian. You should try it sometime, maybe then you wouldn't be so hateful all the time." Your tone was uninterested, like his insults weren't even worth your time.

Steph and Cass exchanged a look, both clearly unsure of how to react. Cass, as always, seemed more interested in watching you than engaging, while Steph’s gaze flickered between you and the rest of the family. Barbra was just staring at you in disbelief.

“Is it really that bad?” Steph finally asked, though her voice wasn’t quite as gentle as it could have been. There was a nervous edge to it. “I mean, you’re, uh, pulling it off…” She trailed off, clearly unsure how to proceed.

You ignored her, who cares what she thinks? Her and the rest of them are irrelevant. If you like it then so what. Her comment did make your lips twitch into a smile subconsciously though.

Alfred, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat before standing. “Miss, I must say, it’s a rather bold change. But perhaps not one that will be received well by the staff and teachers.” His words were polite, but you could hear the disapproval in the undertones.

You gave him a bright smile, not at all sorry. “I’ll take my chances, Alfred. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I've played this game before.”

Bruce, who had been seething quietly, finally stood up from the table. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with a tense frustration. “Go change. Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Make me.”

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, then something else, something more. He clenched his fists for a moment, clearly fighting to maintain control. But you weren’t backing down. Not this time.

“I’m not going to let you walk out of here like that,” Bruce snapped.

You didn’t miss a beat. “You won't let me do anything. I go to school like this or I don't go at all. And since when do you care?” You crossed your arms and stuck your foot out, pouting like a child, staring him down waiting for him to surrender.

Bruce hesitated for a moment, his expression softening ever slightly. “Fine. But you’re pushing it. You're not going like this tomorrow.”

Bruce 0, You 1.

Jason, who had been watching the exchange with interest, chuckled. “You really know how to work him, don’t you?”

You flashed a smile at him, leaning back in your chair as you stood up and grabbed your bag, ready to leave the room. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We're already late. Jason, you driving?” Jason was the most fun, and he wasn't as nosy as Dick or Barbra.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m driving us all today. Come on, let’s go before Dad starts pulling rank.”

With a dramatic sigh, Bruce reluctantly agreed, shooting a last, disapproving look at your outfit before turning toward the door.

The engine of Jason’s car hummed steadily, but the air inside was anything but calm. You had decided to make this ride your moment. If you were uncomfy, you'd make them all feel the same. The others in the car—Damian, Tim, and Duke—were bracing themselves for your usual attitude, though this time you could tell there was a noticeable edge to the tension.

Jason, who was driving, was trying his best to keep his eyes on the road, but you knew he was glaring at you through the rearview mirror. Damian was next to you in the backseat, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like he was ready to throw down at any second. Tim sat on the other side, buried in his homework, something to do with Gotham Prep’s ever-pressing academic requirements. Nerd.

And Duke? Duke was the least bothered, but you were sure he was mentally rolling his eyes at you the moment you stepped into the car.

You were far too busy with your phone, flipping through TikTok videos and checking your DMs, but every so often, you’d glance at the boys just to see their reactions.

“So…” You leaned forward a little, propping your elbow on the middle console. Your voice was light, casual, but you could feel the energy shift around you. You knew this would get under Jason’s skin. “You think any of the boys at Gotham Prep will notice my glow up? ”

You heard a long, heavy sigh from the driver’s seat before Jason muttered, “She's in that phase huh,"

But you weren’t listening. You were too busy smirking at Tim, who barely looked up from his book. You could feel his eyes narrow, probably out of sheer annoyance. “I mean, it’s inevitable, right?” you continued. “I'm 16 now, I'm better looking. Is there any fresh meat since I left? Anyone interesting, new friends maybe??"

Jason was silent for a moment, but you could see the grip on the steering wheel tightening in his peripheral. He wasn’t going to let you get away with this.

"Listen," Jason said, his voice calm but with that sharp edge he always used when he was trying not to lose his temper. "I don’t want to hear about boys, okay? Not today, not ever."

You blinked dramatically, as if you were the one being attacked. “Oh, come on, Jason, don’t be such a buzzkill. I’m not doing anything. I just wanna know if anyone’s looking.” You reached forward and pressed the button to connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth, your nails clicking loudly across the screen as you searched for the perfect song to add to the atmosphere.

You knew you were getting to him. Jason was always so serious when it came to boys, always so guarded, especially when it came to you. It was fun getting under his skin. He glanced over his shoulder at you, but you were already half-distracted by your phone.

“Relax, Jase,” you shot back, ignoring his glare. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just curious. It’s just—boys.”

You needed something to stop the ache that came with your new powers.

“Don’t make me pull this car over,” Jason threatened, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror again.

You laughed softly, loving how easily you could provoke him. You leaned back in your seat, stretching out your legs, and noticed Damian watching you like he was deciding whether to strangle you with his own scarf.

“Damian, you’re so serious,” you sigh, you'd been ignoring him lately but you forgot how easy he is to provoke. “You know, you should loosen up. Boys are fun to look at, and to—” You cut yourself off before you could finish the sentence, letting the tension simmer.

Damian’s face twisted in that way he did when he was trying to pretend you didn’t bother him. “I don’t care what you do with boys,” he muttered. “But if you think I’m going to sit in this car while you talk about them like you’re some kind of—”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted with a teasing smile, “Not some kind of what? Some kind of what?” You stretched your legs a little further, drawing more attention to the hem of your skirt as you adjusted yourself in your seat. Making it even shorter now that Bruce wasn't here. You felt the eyes of your brothers boring into you, especially Jason's. “Honestly, Damian, lighten up. If you stopped being such a little grumpy loser all the time, you’d get more attention from girls. You have my looks y'know. ”

Tim, who had been pretending to focus on his homework this whole time, finally looked up from his papers with an exasperated sigh. “Can you not?” he asked, voice strained. “We’ve got school in twenty minutes. We don’t need a whole lecture about boys in the car.”

“Hey, no need to be so dramatic, Tim,” you said, turning your attention to your phone. You found your favorite song, the one that was guaranteed to annoy everyone in the car. “I’m just having fun. It’s not like I’m gonna do anything crazy. I just wanna know who’s gonna be there today."

You were making them all uncomfortable, and you loved it. You could already see Damian’s jaw tightening in the rearview mirror and Jason’s knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Tim was staring at you like you were a whole new level of annoying. Even Duke rolled his eyes.

But that wasn’t enough. You needed them to be seething.

“I’m telling you right now,” Jason warned, his voice dead serious, “no boys today. No messing around. You’re going to class, and you’re staying focused. I'll check your phone if I have to. Got it?”

You put on your best innocent face, looking up from your phone as if you hadn’t just been causing a small riot in the car. “Okay, okay, Jason. No boys. I'm more into men anyway.”

Damian scoffed again, muttering something about how “pathetic” it was. You just grinned and rolled your eyes.

“Hey, you’re just jealous because girls don’t look at you,” you said, winking at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, you’d get noticed more.”

Duke, who had been quietly observing the entire conversation, finally spoke up from the backseat, his tone easygoing but with a hint of amusement. “You got any tips for me? Am I chopped liver”

You rolled your eyes at him, still not over his betrayal. “Glad you’re entertained, Duke. I don't think even I could help you.”

As you said that, you grabbed the aux cord and plugged it into your phone without asking.

Jason let out a sharp sigh, but you just grinned. “I’ve got it from here,” you said as you clicked on Drake’s Hotline Bling. The song blasted as you maxed out the volume. Damian looked like he was about to combust.

“You really are a pain in the ass, aren’t you?” Tim muttered under his breath, trying to focus on his schoolwork again.

You grinned. “I like to think of myself as entertaining.”

Duke nodded his head to the beat, tapping on his phone and Jason’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, but you could see the playfulness in his face. He was trying not to smile, despite himself.

“I’m just saying, no boys today, no skipping, no trouble” Jason reiterated, trying to keep a semblance of control. “And if I hear anything about you messing around, we’re going back home, got it?”

You leaned back in your seat and stretched again. “Sure, sure, no boys. But just so you know, if i get into "trouble" it’s not my fault.”

Jason didn’t respond.

When you finally arrived at Gotham Prep you sighed, grabbed your bag, straightened out your skirt one last time, and nearly ran away from them so you didn't have to walk in with Duke, Damian, and Tim. “See you later, losers,” you said with a grin, pulling your sunglasses on as you walked away from the car.

Gotham Prep didn't know what's coming.

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[dinosus]

John Price is a domestic menace who is so in love with you it’s borderline ridiculous.

Price is up at the crack of dawn, even when he’s home. Military habits die hard. But instead of rushing off to train, he takes his time watching you sleep. He adores how peaceful you look, face buried in the pillow, hair messy.

“Too bloody gorgeous for your own good, love.”

He always makes coffee first thing in the morning. Your coffee is made with care, perfect sugar-to-milk ratio. His? Jet fuel. The man drinks pure black coffee like a lunatic.

If you wake up early, he pulls you into his lap, letting you sit between his legs as he rests his chin on your shoulder, sipping coffee together in comfortable silence. This man cannot cook for shit. You let him try once, and the kitchen almost caught fire. His ‘specialty’? Scrambled eggs that somehow taste like regret.

If you’re cooking, he’s always hovering. Arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder, murmuring- “What’s on the menu today, sweetheart?”

You have to swat him away because he steals food off the pan.

“John, I swear—STOP PICKING AT IT.”

“I’m just taste-testing, love.” (No, he’s eating half of it.) Price is a touch-starved bastard. He constantly has a hand on you—your thigh, your back, your waist. He hates sleeping alone. If he’s home, you are glued to him.

Post-mission cuddles? He holds onto you like you’re his lifeline.

Comes home, sighs deeply, collapses onto you. He buries his face into your neck, muttering “Missed you so damn much.”

He physically cannot sleep unless you’re in his arms. If he has nightmares? You always wake up to comfort him. He tries to brush it off, but you cup his face, run your fingers through his hair.

“You’re home, John. You’re safe.”

And just like that, the tension leaves his body. This man walks on the side of the road closest to traffic. Always. Hand on your lower back when walking through crowds. If anyone even looks at you wrong? That stern Captain Price glare™ is activated.

One time, some guy at the grocery store got too close to you— Price instantly went into overprotective husband mode.

“The fuck you lookin’ at, mate?”

You had to drag him away before he decked the poor man. Don't let this man near laundry. “John, you can’t just throw your combat gear in with our clothes.” “...They all get clean, don’t they?” Absolutely not. One time, you found a grenade pin in the washing machine.

“JOHN WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

“…Souvenir?”

You ban him from doing laundry after that.

When he gets rare days off, he’s the laziest bastard alive. He’s in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, sprawled on the couch. If you try to get up? Nope. He pulls you back down.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’, sweetheart? You’re stayin’ right here.”

Movie nights? You lay on his chest, and he rubs lazy circles into your back. He snores. Loudly. But if you ever tease him about it, he denies it. “I don’t snore, love.” “John, I have video evidence.” “…Fabricated.”

[maskedbyghost]

Hihi!! Absolutely adored how you wrote ‘tolerate it’, you did an amazing job!!!

I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort and seeing men regret their actions and grovel for forgiveness. If you don’t mind, could you please write a part two where Simon is hit with regret when he realised how dull his life is without reader and begs them to take him back?

part 2 to this

Simon used to revel in the quiet, found comfort in it actually. But now, it’s suffocating. The house is still, too empty. There’s no soft clatter of dishes from the kitchen, no gentle hum of a song under your breath. No presence. Just him, sitting at the same table, staring at a plate he didn’t make, pushing food around without appetite.

He thought he could live like this. He thought that space and distance would make things clearer. But all it’s done is make the walls feel closer and the bed colder. He reaches for you in the middle of the night out of habit, only to find the sheets smooth and untouched beside him. The absence sinks into his bones, into his very being, heavy and unforgiving.

It hits him hardest when he catches himself setting out two mugs in the morning, muscle memory betraying him. He stares at them, at the empty space where you should be, and something inside him crumbles. He remembers how you always handed him his cup first, even if your hands were full. How you knew exactly how he liked his tea, down to the smallest detail. He never had to ask—you just knew.

And he had been blind to it. Blind to you.

Simon finds himself at your door before he even realizes he’s left the house. The drive is a blur, his thoughts filled with the echoes of your voice, the last words you said before you walked away.

Do you still love me?

I don’t know.

The memory makes his chest tighten, shame curling in his gut. He had meant it at the time, or at least he thought he did. But now, standing in front of your door, hands trembling, he knows the truth: He was a fool.

He raises a fist to knock but hesitates. What if you don’t answer? What if you do? What if you look at him the way he used to look at you—like he’s just another piece of the background, tolerated but not wanted?

The thought is unbearable.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he knocks. Once. Twice. The wait feels endless, every second stretching on, but then, finally, the door opens.

You stand there, wrapped in a sweater he doesn’t recognize, your eyes widening just slightly. His breath catches. You’re still the same—still the person he let slip through his fingers.

“Simon,” you say, without anger like he expected. No softness. Just his name.

He swallows, hands curling into fists at his sides. He doesn’t know where to start or how to say everything stuck in his throat. But he has to try.

“I was wrong.”

Your brows pull together slightly, but you don’t say anything. You’re waiting, like you always did, giving him space to speak. This time, he won’t waste it.

“I thought—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I thought I needed space. That I didn’t know how I felt.” His voice is rough, raw. “But the second you left, I knew. I knew I loved you, and I knew I had been taking you for granted.”

Your lips press together, eyes searching his face. He sees hesitation there and he knows he deserves it.

“I miss you,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “Miss the way you made our place feel like home. Miss the way you looked at me like I was worth something, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Your arms cross over your chest, like a barrier between you and him. “And what if I don’t want to go back to that? To being tolerated?”

“You were never tolerated,” he says, and for the first time in too long, he was sure of something. “You were everything. And I was too blind to see it before. But I see it now.”

Silence stretches between you. He won’t push, won’t demand. If he has to wait, he will.

Because love, to him as well, has always meant patience.

And this time, he’ll wait as long as it takes.

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

it's up to you babes if you want to forgive him or not :) anon, i hope you liked it, and thank you for this request.

also, i won't be able to update until next Monday probably, that's why I was active a bit more for the past few days, but if you have any requests pls send and I'll write them as soon as i can. lyyyy

@daydreamerwoah @dvmbk1tty

[fear-is-truth]

Hello! Can u make nam-gyu baby trapping💜💜

◟contents. — unprotected p in v ⋆ manipulation ⋆ baby trapping ⋆ drabble + character study ⋆ MDNI 18+ ◟note. — this is just diabolical… i love it

it’s not an accident that he came inside you. not really. but nam-gyu plays it off like one.

he fucks you so good and deep, slow at first, then rough, hands gripping your hips. pushing you flat against the mattress, pressing into you until there’s nowhere left to go (not that there’s anywhere else you want to be)

“f-fuck, you feel so good,”

he groans, pushing in deep, grinding his hips against yours. his voice is wrecked, and it only makes you cling to him harder, letting out a choked moan when he buries his face in your neck. his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic, and something in the back of your mind prickles with warning, but before you can say anything, his grip locks around your waist.

“fuck, baby, i—” it’s barely a warning before he shoves himself in to the hilt, grinding deep, staying there. warmth floods your core, and your mind snaps out of the haze of pleasure.

“w-wait, you—” you gasp, trying to push at his shoulders, to wiggle away, but he just presses in closer, a satisfied hum vibrating in his chest.

“should’ve told me sooner,” lips dragging languidly along the curve of your jaw, voice dipping into a syrupy tone. “look at that,” he purrs, tilting his head in mock wonder. “so messy, baby.” two fingers dip between your legs, pressing against the mess he’s made inside you, pushing it deeper.

you shudder. nam-gyu chuckles.

he doesn’t give you a chance to argue. instead, he rolls you onto your back, dragging his fingers through the slick heat between your thighs, bringing them to his lips. his tongue flicks out, tasting, and he hums, grinning down at you.

“i’ll be more careful next time.”

────౨ৎ────

your hands are shaking.

two lines. clear as day.

you feel sick.

the bathroom door creaks open behind you, and you don’t need to turn to know who it is.

“what’s wrong?” nam-gyu’s voice is groggy, thick with sleep. you swallow hard, still staring at the test on the counter. your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, throat too tight to speak.

he steps closer, and when he follows your gaze, everything in him goes still.

silence.

then— “oh.”

your stomach twists as you finally look up at him. his eyes flicker between you and the test, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, he exhales a breathy laugh, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“well,” he says, a lopsided grin gracing his lips. “guess we’re really doing this, huh?” his hands land on your waist. “hey,” he murmurs, tilting his head.

“you okay?”

you blink up at him, searching for something—regret, guilt, anything—but there’s nothing there. just that easy, casual smile, his thumbs stroking slow circles against your hips.

“we?” your voice comes out hoarse.

“yeah, we.”

he leans in, brushing his lips against your forehead.

“you think i’d just leave you to deal with this alone?” he murmurs, his voice gentle. like the thought itself is ridiculous. he pulls back to meet your eyes again.

“everything’s gonna be fine.”

it’s not that nam-gyu doesn’t care about your feelings. it’s that he cares about keeping you more.

love has never felt secure to him. it’s always been something fragile, conditional—something that can be revoked at any time, without warning. and you… you are the closest thing to permanence he’s ever had. the idea of waking up one day and realising you don’t love him anymore, that you’ve had enough of him, that you’re leaving—he can’t stomach it.

having a child out of wedlock carries social stigma, so if you were to get pregnant, the pressure to stay together and marry would be immense. and that’s what makes the idea so appealing to him.

so he lies. tells you he’s wearing protection when he isn’t. convinces himself it’s not really deception, just a guarantee. or maybe he “forgets” to pull out, murmuring a hoarse apology against your sweat-damp skin, pressing soft kisses along your jaw as if that’ll make up for it. “you just feel too good,” he mumbles thickly, as if that’s reason enough.

if he didn’t care about your feelings, he wouldn’t bother with the reassurances, but caring too much—caring selfishly—means he convinces himself this is what’s best. that this will make you stay. that if you’re tied to him in a way that’s permanent, unbreakable, then maybe he’ll never have to know what it’s like to lose you.

and if you panic, if you start to put the pieces together, he stays calm—too calm, in fact, as if he doesn’t see what the big deal is. wasn’t this bound to happen eventually?

“why are you freaking out? it’s not like i’m some asshole who’s gonna run off.”

“you act like i don’t want this, too.”

it’s not desperation, not exactly. it’s self-preservation, the only way he knows how to make sure you stay. because a baby means permanence. it means responsibility, pressure, expectations—all things that would make leaving harder. and sure, maybe that’s fucked-up and selfish.

but love makes people do crazy things. and nam-gyu? he’s crazy about you.

[gottencents]

Resentment - Winter

pairing. idol!winter x girlfriend!reader

synopsis. Y/N’s world is turned upside down when Winter suddenly ends their relationship without a word of explanation

The rain poured mercilessly outside, casting long, distorted shadows against the apartment walls. The soft hum of the city beyond the window was drowned out by the steady drumming of raindrops against the glass. Y/n stood near the door, arms wrapped tightly around herself, watching as Winter sat on the couch, her head bowed, fingers restlessly twisting the hem of her sweater.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

“You’re really going to do this?” Y/n finally broke the silence, her voice quieter than she intended but thick with emotion.

Winter’s fingers froze for a brief moment before she nodded, her eyes still locked on the floor. “Yeah.”

A bitter laugh escaped Y/n’s lips, though there was no humor in it. “Just like that?”

Winter let out a slow exhale, tilting her head back against the couch. “It’s not ‘just like that,’ Y/n.” Her voice was heavy, tired. “You think this is easy for me?”

Y/n took a step closer, her nails digging into her palms. “I don’t know what to think anymore.” She searched Winter’s face, trying to find something—anything—that told her this wasn’t real. That this was just another one of their stupid fights that they’d fix by morning. But Winter wasn’t looking at her, and that hurt more than anything.

“You could’ve talked to me,” Y/n said, voice trembling. “Instead, you decided all on your own that this—whatever we are—wasn’t worth it.”

Winter’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” Y/n demanded, stepping in front of her. “Because all I see is you walking away before we even have a chance to fix things.”

Winter finally looked up, her dark eyes stormy with emotion. “Fix what, Y/n?” Her voice cracked slightly, and she quickly looked away. “We keep hurting each other. Over and over again. And I—” She swallowed hard. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Y/n felt like the ground had been ripped out from beneath her. “You’re giving up on us.”

Winter stood up, shaking her head. “I’m trying to stop us from completely destroying each other.”

A painful silence stretched between them, only interrupted by the sound of the rain. Y/n’s chest rose and fell unevenly, trying to breathe past the lump in her throat.

“We’re not destroying each other,” she said, softer now. “We’re just scared.”

Winter clenched her jaw. “Maybe you’re willing to fight for something that might already be broken.” Her voice wavered, betraying the tears she was holding back. “But I don’t have the strength to keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

Y/n reached for her hand instinctively, fingers curling around Winter’s wrist. “So that’s it?” she whispered. “You love me, but you’re leaving anyway?”

Winter’s shoulders tensed, her body going rigid under Y/n’s touch. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t hold on either.

“That’s the worst part,” Winter whispered, her voice barely audible. “That I love you so much… but love isn’t always enough.”

Y/n’s grip tightened, as if holding onto her just a little longer would change everything. “But it could be.”

Winter shook her head, closing her eyes. “No, it couldn’t.”

The finality in her voice shattered something inside Y/n.

A tear slipped down Winter’s cheek, and she finally pulled away, leaving Y/n’s fingers cold and empty. She took a slow step back, as if putting distance between them would make this hurt less.

“I wanted this to work, Y/n.” She let out a shaky breath. “But I’m tired of feeling like we’re fighting a war with no end.”

Y/n bit down on her lip, blinking back tears. “If you walk away now, there’s no coming back from this.”

Winter hesitated, her fingers curling at her sides. She looked at Y/n one last time, her gaze filled with unspoken words—apologies, love, regret. Then she took a step back.

And another.

Then she turned away.

Y/n stood frozen as Winter grabbed her coat and walked toward the door. Her hand trembled on the doorknob, and for a split second, Y/n thought—hoped—that she might turn back.

But she didn’t.

She walked out, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving nothing but an unbearable silence in her wake.

And Y/n was left standing there, heartbroken, wondering if love had ever really been enough.

The rain hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t lessened. It just kept pouring, drowning the city in an endless storm. It reminded Y/n of the ache sitting heavy in her chest, refusing to let up, refusing to be ignored.

She stood there in the middle of the apartment, staring at the closed door like Winter might suddenly change her mind and walk back through it. But the hallway outside remained silent. Empty.

Winter was gone.

Y/n exhaled shakily, forcing herself to move, but every step felt heavier than the last. Her fingers hovered over her phone, debating whether to call. Would Winter even answer? Would it change anything if she did?

She pressed her lips together and sat down on the couch instead—the same couch where Winter had been just moments ago. The warmth of her presence still lingered in the cushions, taunting her.

How had they gotten here?

They had always been complicated, always pushing and pulling. But through everything—the fights, the stubborn silences, the moments where they felt like they might break—they had never let go. Not like this.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the first time Winter had ever told her I love you.

It had been late at night, just like this. The city lights had flickered through the curtains, painting Winter’s face in soft shadows as she hesitated—so unlike her usual confident self.

“Say something,” Winter had murmured after confessing, her fingers playing with the hem of Y/n’s sleeve.

Y/n had smiled then, pressing their foreheads together. “You already knew how I felt.”

“But I wanted to hear it.”

“I love you, Winter.”

Winter had kissed her that night, slow and deep, like she never wanted to let go.

But now, she had.

Y/n let out a shaky breath and reached for her phone before she could second-guess herself. Her thumb hovered over Winter’s contact. Then, before she could stop herself, she hit call.

The line rang once. Twice.

And then it went to voicemail.

Y/n stared at the screen, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She should’ve expected it. She should’ve known.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

She gripped the phone tighter, debating whether to leave a message. What could she even say?

That she missed her? That she loved her? That she wasn’t ready to let go?

Before she could decide, the phone buzzed in her hand. A message from Winter.

Winter: Don’t wait for me, Y/n.

Y/n’s breath hitched. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but she didn’t know how to respond.

How was she supposed to just… stop waiting?

Instead of replying, she set the phone down beside her and curled into herself, listening to the rain continue to fall.

Winter might have walked away.

But Y/n wasn’t sure if she could.

[sturniololuvz]

“Why We Can’t Let a 4-Year-Old in Our Car Videos Again”

Sturniolo x 4year old sister

The Sturniolo triplets had done hundreds of car videos, but today’s was going to be very different.

For the first time ever, they were letting their four-year-old little sister, Y/N, join them in the car. She had been begging to be in a video, and after weeks of relentless puppy-dog eyes, they finally gave in.

Chris, however, was already regretting it.

—

[CAMERA RECORDING]

Matt adjusted the camera on the dashboard, making sure it was angled perfectly. As always, he was in the driver’s seat, Chris was in the passenger seat, and Nick sat in the back.

Except this time, there was a tiny pink car seat next to Nick.

“Alright, what’s up, guys! Welcome back to the channel,” Matt said, starting the intro. “Today, we have a very special guest.”

Chris turned around in his seat, smirking at Y/N. “Everyone, meet our little sister, Y/N.”

Y/N waved excitedly, her pigtails bouncing. “Hiiiiii!!!”

Nick grinned. “Are you excited to be in the car with us today?”

Y/N nodded aggressively. “Yes! I wanna do all the funny jokes!”

Chris chuckled. “Alright, we’ll see what you got.”

Matt smirked. “Alright, first question for Y/N. Who’s your favorite brother?”

Y/N gasped, suddenly looking very stressed. She turned her head dramatically, looking at each of them.

“Uhhhh…”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Better choose wisely.”

Nick added, “Yeah, you don’t wanna hurt anyone’s feelings.”

Y/N frowned in deep thought. Then, finally, she said, “I pick… mommy.”

The car erupted in laughter.

Chris facepalmed. “Wow. Betrayed in 4K.”

Matt shook his head. “Nah, that’s actually hilarious.”

Y/N giggled. “Okay, okay, ask me another one!”

Nick smirked. “Alright, Y/N. If you had one superpower, what would it be?”

Y/N clapped her hands together. “TO BE A KITTY.”

Chris snorted. “Why does every little kid wanna be a cat?”

Y/N shrugged. “Because then I don’t have to eat broccoli.”

Matt laughed. “She’s got a point.”

—

The video continued on, full of laughs and random jokes. Everything was going great until, inevitably, things took a turn.

Chris, being Chris, made a joke that was definitely not four-year-old appropriate.

Matt had just finished telling a funny story when Chris smirked. “Dude, that was so funny, I almost busted.”

Nick, immediately catching on, wheezed in the backseat. Matt grinned but tried to keep it together.

And then…

“Busted what?”

Silence.

Nick’s laughter cut off. Matt and Chris froze.

Chris turned slowly, only to see Y/N blinking at them with pure confusion.

Matt immediately coughed. “Uh—busted… uh…”

Chris looked panicked. “Like… busted a—um—a move! Like dancing.”

Nick, covering his mouth, tried so hard not to laugh.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “Then why didn’t you just say that?”

Chris stammered. “Uh—because—I—”

Y/N tilted her head. “What does ‘busted’ mean?”

Matt gripped the steering wheel. “Okay, new topic—”

But Y/N wasn’t letting it go.

“Nick, what does ‘busted’ mean?”

Nick immediately shook his head. “Nope. Don’t involve me.”

Y/N turned to Chris. “Chris?”

Chris gulped. “Uhhhhh…”

Y/N’s tiny legs kicked the air. “Why won’t you tell me?!”

Chris sighed dramatically. “Because you’re four! Y/N.”

Y/N pouted. “But I wanna knoooow.”

Matt smirked. “Y/N, some jokes are just for big kids.”

Y/N gasped. “So I’ll know when I’m a big kid?!”

Chris nodded. “Yup. When you’re older.”

Y/N thought about that for a second, then smiled. “Okay!”

Chris let out a breath. “Crisis averted.”

Nick leaned toward the camera. “This is why we don’t put a four-year-old in our videos.”

Chris turned around. “Y/N, say bye to the camera.”

Y/N waved excitedly. “BYE, EVERYBODY! I LOVE YOU!”

Chris shook his head, laughing. “Alright, cut the video before she asks another question we can’t answer.”

—

CUT.

[girlkisser13]

being married to suguru geto would include

• suguru is surprisingly domestic. he enjoys slow mornings with you, making tea while you read together, or just sitting in comfortable silence.

• he absentmindedly plays with your fingers when you’re sitting next to him, tracing patterns over your knuckles.

• he ALWAYS insists on washing your hair for you. it’s a quiet, intimate moment he cherishes, gently massaging your scalp while speaking softly.

• he’s a night owl, often reading or thinking deep into the night, but he’ll always curl up next to you before dawn, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

• suguru values peace in your shared home. it’s a space he cherishes, where he can let go of the weight of the world and just be with you. he’s particular about keeping it tranquil— warm lighting, soft cushions, the faint scent of incense or herbal tea always lingering in the air.

• he enjoys simple domestic routines with you— brewing tea, brushing his fingers through your hair as he listens to you talk about your day, folding laundry together while making idle conversation.

• baths together become a regular thing. not even for anything intimate— just the act of unwinding together, warm water easing the tension in his body as he leans against you, murmuring how much he loves you.

• you often catch him staring at you when he thinks you’re not looking— his gaze filled with something unreadable, something deep, something yours.

• he’s INCREDIBLELY neat, but if you’re messy, he doesn’t mind— it’s just another thing he quietly adjusts to, picking up after you without complaint.

• he has a habit of braiding your hair absentmindedly while you sit together, his fingers moving gently as he listens to you talk. if your hair is too short, he’ll still find a way to play with it.

• suguru isn’t overly verbal about his love, but he expresses it in ways that are undeniable.

• when you’re together, he’s always touching you in some way— his hand resting on the small of your back, his fingers brushing over your wrist, a lingering kiss on your temple before he leaves.

• he’s incredibly observant. he knows your tells— when you’re nervous, when you’re tired, when you need comfort but don’t want to ask for it.

• you’re the only one who gets to see his true smiles. the ones that aren’t just polite or calculating, but full of warmth and genuine happiness.

• he whispers "i love you" at the most unexpected times— when you’re drifting to sleep, when you’re laughing at something, when you’re completely lost in a book. it’s never overdone, but always meaningful.

• when he kisses you, it’s deep, slow, lingering. he always makes sure you feel it— that you know just how much you mean to him.

• suguru is a thinker. he loves deep, philosophical conversations, and he loves that you’re the one person who challenges his thoughts.

• if you disagree with him, he doesn’t dismiss you— he listens, really listens, his eyes dark with contemplation as he considers your words.

• late at night, when the world is quiet, he’ll talk to you about his dreams, his fears, his regrets. no one else gets to hear these things from him— only you.

• he has a sharp sense of humor that only comes out when he’s with you. dry, teasing remarks, playful sarcasm— it’s a side of him no one else gets to see.

• he memorizes every little thing about you— your favorite book, the way you take your tea, the small habits you don’t even notice yourself doing.

• suguru has a quiet but terrifying protectiveness over you. he doesn’t often show rage, but if anyone ever dared to hurt you, he would make sure they regretted it.

• if you’re ever even slightly uncomfortable around someone, he picks up on it instantly and handles the situation smoothly— but there’s always a dangerous undertone to his words.

• he can be overly cautious about your safety, especially if he has enemies. if he ever leaves for something dangerous, he always makes sure there’s a way for you to contact him.

• he never lets you walk alone at night. if he can’t be with you, he sends a curse to follow and protect you.

• you’re the only one who gets to see his moments of vulnerability. the times where he lets himself lean into you, letting you hold him when the weight of the world becomes too much.

• if you’re hurt, even if it’s just a scratch, his entire demeanor changes. he’s suddenly cold, serious, checking you over carefully as if he could heal you just by sheer force of will.

• suguru places deep meaning in symbols and traditions. your wedding bands are carefully chosen— something elegant, something meaningful, maybe engraved with a word or phrase only the two of you understand.

• he never takes his ring off. ever. if he has to for some reason, he keeps it on a chain around his neck.

• he keeps a small charm or trinket from you— maybe a bracelet you gave him, or a scrap of fabric from your clothing sewn into his sleeve. it’s always on him, hidden, but present. <33

[rmview]

they have a low spice tolerance, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of what the stray kids boys are like when they find out they have a spice tolerance lower than yours!

contents — fluff, no warnings.

bang ☄︎ chan

bang chan always prided himself on trying new things, so when you casually suggested a spicy noodle challenge, he was on board. “how bad can it be?” he asked confidently, watching you prepare the fiery dish. but as soon as he took the first bite, his eyes widened, and a bright red flush crept up his neck.

“oh my god,” he gasped, grabbing his water bottle and gulping it down, only to find it made the burn worse. “how are you eating this so calmly?” he exclaimed, watching you casually slurp up the noodles like it was nothing.

you laughed at his reaction, offering him some milk. “i thought you were all tough and adventurous?”

“i am,” he insisted, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “but this is insane. it’s like eating lava.” still, his competitive streak wouldn’t let him back down, and he stubbornly took another bite, grimacing but determined.

by the end, he was slumped back in his chair, defeated. “never again,” he declared, fanning his mouth. “you win. i don’t know how you do it.” but even through the spice-induced torture, he couldn’t help but chuckle at your amused expression. “you’re scary good at this, you know that?”

felix ☄︎

felix loved food and was always down for an adventure, but spicy dishes weren’t his forte. still, when you brought out a bowl of spicy tteokbokki, he couldn’t resist trying it. “it smells amazing!” he said, his deep voice full of enthusiasm.

one bite in, however, his enthusiasm turned to panic. “oh no,” he croaked, his freckles standing out even more against his reddening face. “it’s so spicy!” he waved his hand in front of his mouth, trying to cool down the burn.

you couldn’t stop laughing as he fumbled for water. “it’s not that bad!” you teased, popping another piece into your mouth effortlessly.

felix pouted through his watery eyes. “not that bad? my tongue is on fire!” despite his struggle, he couldn’t stop eating, enjoying the flavor too much to give up. “this hurts so good,” he said, sniffling but smiling.

lee ☄︎ know

lee know was skeptical when you brought out a plate of extra-spicy wings. “this is nothing,” he declared confidently. “i’ve eaten spicier stuff before.” but one bite later, his eyes went wide, and he immediately started coughing.

“are you okay?” you asked, laughing as he reached for his drink.

“fine,” he croaked, stubbornly taking another bite. his pride wouldn’t let him admit defeat, even though his face was turning an alarming shade of red.

you handed him a glass of milk, smirking. “admit it, you’re struggling.”

lee know shook his head, his voice hoarse. “i’m fine. totally fine.” but when you turned away for a moment, he subtly pushed the plate toward you. “you finish it. i’m full,” he said casually, pretending like nothing had happened.

hyun ☄︎ jin

hyunjin was hesitant when you suggested trying a spicy curry together. “i don’t know,” he said, eyeing the dish suspiciously. “it looks like it might kill me.”

“it’s not that bad!” you reassured him, digging in with no problem.

encouraged by your confidence, he took a bite—and immediately regretted it. “oh my god,” he groaned, clutching his throat dramatically. “why is it attacking me?”

you couldn’t stop laughing as he gulped down water, his eyes wide and teary. “you’re so dramatic,” you teased, offering him some rice to help.

hyunjin sniffled, his pride wounded but his theatrics fully on display. “i think my taste buds are dying,” he said, glaring at the curry like it had personally wronged him. still, he couldn’t help but laugh at himself, especially when you teased him for being a spice lightweight.

i.n ☄︎

jeongin was cautiously optimistic as he watched you pile spicy noodles onto a plate. “it doesn’t look that bad,” he commented, although there was a hint of doubt in his voice.

“don’t worry,” you teased, handing him a pair of chopsticks. “just try it. it’s not that spicy.”

trusting you, jeongin took a bite, and within seconds, his eyes widened as the heat hit him. “oh no,” he gasped, covering his mouth as he coughed. “this is way worse than i thought.” he waved a hand in front of his face, his tongue clearly on fire.

you couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. “want some milk?” you offered, trying not to smirk too much.

“yes, please,” he croaked, grabbing the glass and drinking it like his life depended on it. when the burn subsided slightly, he shot you a playful glare. “how can you eat that like it’s nothing? are you even human?”

“it’s a skill,” you replied smugly, taking another bite with ease.

jeongin shook his head, his competitive side kicking in. “alright, give me another bite. i’m not losing to you.” despite his clear suffering, he powered through, determined not to be outdone.

han ☄︎

han was all smiles when you brought out a dish of spicy stir-fry. “i love food, so this’ll be easy,” he declared confidently, grabbing his chopsticks.

but the moment he took a bite, his expression shifted dramatically. “oh no, no, no,” he mumbled, his voice muffled as he tried to fan his burning tongue. “why is this so spicy? did you add extra chili just to mess with me?”

you burst out laughing at his theatrics. “i didn’t do anything! you’re just bad with spice.”

han grabbed a napkin to dab at his teary eyes. “bad? my mouth is dying. this is torture.” despite his complaints, he kept taking tiny bites, clearly torn between the delicious flavor and the overwhelming heat.

“you don’t have to keep eating it,” you said, amused.

“i do,” he replied stubbornly. “it’s too good to stop, even if it feels like my tongue is melting.” his dramatic commentary continued until he finally gave up, slumping back with a sigh. “never again. you’re evil for enjoying this so much.”

seung ☄︎ min

seungmin gave you a skeptical look as you placed a bowl of spicy soup in front of him. “this doesn’t look like something i’d enjoy,” he said bluntly, but he picked up his spoon anyway.

one sip in, and his calm expression broke. he set the spoon down carefully and reached for his water. “this is ridiculous,” he stated, his voice even but his face visibly flushed.

you raised an eyebrow. “it’s not that bad. are you giving up already?”

seungmin shot you a look of mock annoyance. “i didn’t say i was giving up. i’m just questioning your taste in food.” despite his words, he took another spoonful, his determination shining through.

after a few more bites, he sighed and leaned back, giving you a small smirk. “you win. i’ll stick to non-lethal meals from now on.” his deadpan humor made you laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile at your reaction. “you’re way too proud of yourself right now.”

chang ☄︎ bin

changbin’s confidence was sky-high as he sat down in front of a plate of spicy wings. “you think i can’t handle this? i’m tougher than i look,” he boasted, taking a big bite.

but almost immediately, his bravado crumbled. “oh my god,” he choked out, grabbing his drink and downing it in one go. “this is insane. who eats this willingly?”

you couldn’t stop laughing as he fanned his mouth with his hand. “i thought you were ‘tougher than you look,’” you teased.

“i am!” he shot back, although his watery eyes and flushed face told a different story. still, his competitive nature wouldn’t let him back down. “i’m not letting you win this,” he declared, taking another bite despite the burn.

by the time he finished, he was slumped over the table, exhausted but triumphant. “that was the worst thing i’ve ever done,” he said dramatically, glaring at you through his tears. “but i survived. barely.” his over-the-top antics made you laugh, and despite his suffering, he couldn’t help but grin at your amusement.

notes: this request for so fun to do! hope you guys enjoyed!

[thatonetargaryen]

No Tears Ricochet

Sevika x Reader

Alternate Ending of: My Tears Ricochet

Synopsis: After you catch your wife, Ambessa, in the act of ruining your marriage—you decide to visit the Last Drop for a release. Or, in other words, drowning yourself in alcohol. However, a certain woman suggests that there are better ways of relieving yourself.

cw; afab!reader; mentions of infidelity; alcohol consumption; rough sex; face riding; strap use; biting; Sevika is a warning as a whole…; not proofread; men and minors dni

Special thanks to @hell0-ki55y for original prompt. Hope you enjoy! 🎀

…….

You looked at Mel from across the room as she powdered and sprayed her face. She had just got done comforting you for an embarrassing amount of time after what her mother, your wife, Ambessa had done.

Never in a million years would you think she’d do something like that—to you. The vows you had taken before the preacher all those years ago started blurring years ago. However, it seemed they had finally started to deteriorate.

The paramour Ambessa had perched on her lap flashed in your mind. She’d probably purchased the twink from some underground brothel in Piltover. The brothels there were very secretive, and you’d have to get through a few people to even access one. However, the ones in Zaun were out in the open, and anything but secretive.

Zaun. The thought of the place sparked a thought in your mind. It had been years since you visited the place, and from what’d you heard, the place had just gotten worse throughout the years.

However, one key thing that stuck in your mind was a bar. You couldn’t remember the name, or where it was, but you remembered the feeling. The atmosphere, the smiles and warmth everyone shared, the strong taste of the ale on your tongue. And, right now, you craved a little bit of warmth.

You were pulled from your thoughts as your step-daughter laid a hand on your shoulder. Her smile was soft yet cautious—as if the slightest move might break you.

“I’m going to see Jayce now. Are you sure you don’t need me here?”

You nodded your head as you grip her hand in yours. “I’ll be fine, Mel. I might go have a little bit of fun myself.”

Mel’s eyes widened a little bit. She gave you a sly smile, “Well, you better pick up your phone if I call you.”

You playfully pinched the skin on her forearm, “Oh, hush. I am a woman grown. But if you call me, I’ll pick up.”

The both of you shared a laugh, before you pulled her into your arms for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. “Be safe, my love. And don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Mel leaned into your embrace, catching the underlying meaning in your words. She internally rolled her eyes, but heeded your advice. “You too, Mum.”

And with that, she threw her purse on her shoulder and walked out of the room. You sighed at her absence, but the feeling of her warmth would soon be replaced by someone unexpected—yet welcomed.

…..

The streets of Zaun were alive and buzzing at this time of night. It was no doubt dirty, and you could smell the fumes through your mask. You pulled forward the hood on your head, and held yourself tighter.

The place hadn’t changed much since when you’d last visited it. The air was still muggy, and the people were still as rude and selfish as ever, not that it was any better than Piltover. At least people here had a reason to be like that.

Your eyes darted around you. You surveyed anyone and everyone closely, not wanting to get caught off guard.

You breathed a sigh of relief as you were finally met with the neon lights of the place you walked far and wide for, The Last Drop.

You stepped inside and you the first thing you noticed was the heat that circulated throughout the place. The smell and alcohol, drugs, and sweat evaded your nose and you grimaced.

The bar across the establishment was calling your name, and you answered its call. You got comfortable in one of the beat-up black leather chairs. It was a little wobbly, but you didn’t mind it.

The man behind the bar worked tirelessly as he dried and shined the glasses. His skin was tan and his dark brown eyes moved skillfully as he made the drinks. It was a stark difference from the man you saw just years prior—his skin lighter and his frame even burlier—but you didn’t dwell on it for long.

The two of you made eye contact, and he immediately turned and made his way to you. “So, what can I get you?”

You hesitated for a second, your mind short-circuited. You saw no sign of a menu anywhere. “Um…what do you have?”

His eyes darted at your words, noticing your slight accent. Despite where you were originally from, living in Noxus for over twenty years heavily influenced how you sounded today. Especially since you had to speak some of the language almost daily.

He looked at you skeptically, “We have whiskey, beer, wine, y’know….what a bar would usually have…”

You were slightly taken aback at his words, not expecting to be talked to like that. You didn’t remember when someone had given you that much attitude—given your position and the power you hold. And who your wife was.

Your wife.

The thought of her churned your stomach like spoiled milk. Your mood dimmed as the thought of her came to mind. You cleared your throat after an awkward moment of silence, “One shot of whiskey, please. No ice.”

He nodded. “Good, cause’ we ain’t got ice anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at his words as you watched him fill a shot glass with whiskey. The bronze liquid poured into the cup gracefully, and you were momentarily distracted by the sight of it.

The sound of the glass gliding across the table and towards you broke your trance. You nodded at the bartender in thanks, but he didn’t acknowledge it as he moved on to the next customer.

You studied the drink for a moment too long, internally not trusting it.

“You gonna babysit that shot all night?”

You looked up from your drink at the sound of a rough, yet calm voice. You were met with a tall, muscular woman with low, dark eyes. Her jet black hair was pulled into a messy bun behind her head, and her black lips were pulled into a sly smirk. She was gorgeous, yet her physique told you she was a force to be reckoned with. You straighten up, trying to make yourself appear less fragile, but the effort only seemed to amuse her.

You turned back ground in your seat, attempting to ignore her presence. But her eyes bore into the side of your head like lasers, and you fight the urge to kick her wear it hurts.

“So, what brings you to Zaun?”, she asked.

Your breath hitched. How’d she know you weren’t from here? You’d dressed in the most dingy and boring clothes you owned, hoping nobody would notice who you really were.

She noticed your surprised look and scoffed, “Oh, you didn’t think throwing on some raggedy clothes would make you look like one of us, did you? I could smell the Piltie on you from a mile away.”

You rolled your eyes at her remark, and before you could think about what you were about to say, you spoke, “I’m actually from Noxus, thank you very much.”

The woman’s smug look turned to one of surprise—and soon realization—as she recognized your voice. She had seen you before, representing Noxus and your original house in a meeting held in Piltover’s walls. You had defended Zaun’s independence and had buildings rebuilt, ones that were once invaded and destroyed by Enforcers. Your name was spoken in Zaun with great recognition, yet suspicion all the same, not knowing your true intentions.

“Y/N?”, she spoke, almost in a whisper.

Your lips clamped shut as you held your coat tighter. You mentally slapped your forehead.

Her once smug smile returned again, “Hm. Seeing the wife of a warlord was definitely not on my bingo card for this week…”

You sighed in annoyance, wishing she’d just go away. “Look, it’s been a long day. I just came here for a release and a good drink. I don’t have time for—”

“A release, huh?”, she interrupted.

You stopped, taken slightly aback.

Her smile widened as she finally took a seat right next to you, “Next drink’s on me. Name’s Sevika by the way.”

…..

Sevika threw you against the wall, and the throbbing in the back of your head was quickly replaced with a large, rough hand cradling it.

Sevika’s lips crashed into yours with an intensity like no other. Your tongues fought for dominance, her ultimately winning. She grinded her body against you, and her heat radiated from her body to yours.

She picked you up, and you wrapped your legs around her. She broke the kiss by roughly pulling your head back, your hair tight in her grip. “Eager, are we?”

You didn’t respond, and instead pushed yourself against her, hoping the friction would quiet the ache in your stomach.

She threw you against the hard mattress, and didn’t waste any time tearing your clothes from your body.

Your nipples hardened as they were met with cold air, but you made no move to cover yourself. You knew you were beautiful, and you relished in the way Sevika studied your body in awe.

She chuckled, “Not too bad…”

You smirked back, studying the way curly hairs enveloped the space between her legs. “Not too bad yourself.”

The humorous mood was quickly replaced with tension as she reached over for something—a strap. It was thick and lengthy, but surprisingly didn’t look cheap. The material was solid in her hands, and she worked with the skill of an expert as she fastened the harness to her hips.

She spread your legs a little further and scooted herself closer to you. The lube in her hands loosened as she studied the way slick covered your walls and entrance. “Looks like I won’t be needin’ this.”

She plunged two fingers into you, and wasted no time as she pumped her fingers in and out of you at a steady rhythm. Your hips bucked towards her.

She leaned down towards you, and her plush chest pressed against yours. Your moans grew louder with each digit she added. Sevika nibbled at the sensitive skin on your neck, and the coil in your stomach tightened.

Her pace became more hurried and erratic, sensing you were close, and she rubbed the strap against your clit, earning a groan in her ear.

You released yourself with a sigh as you came on her fingers, the wet sound enveloping the quiet room. Your moans quieted as you calmed yourself from your high, sweat dribbling down your face and chest.

Sevika rose from your chest as she looked down at you. She lined her strap up with your slick, loose entrance, and placed a hand on your hip to keep you steady. The two of you locked eyes, and she smirked, “You good?”

You nodded your head sluggishly, “Yeah, yeah…”

Sevika hummed in approval, and in one swift motion, thrusted herself into you. You hissed at the stretched, but the slight pain flew by as she started to move in a steady pace.

Her hips moved back and forward as she thrusted into you at a relentless pace, and your moans bounced off the walls.

She leaned forward, and you wrapped your arms around her shoulders. You moaned into her bare shoulder as the smell of her musk evaded your nose.

The sound was wet skin hitting skin made you clench around her, a tears clouded your vision as you stared at the ceiling.

You dug your nails into her back, drawing blood that caked beneath your nails. She groaned at the action, the sound echoing through the room.

“S—Sevika—”, you choked out as your legs curled around her.

You could feel her smirk as she pressed her nose into your shoulder, “Hm?”

Your nails dug deeper into her back, “I—I’m close—”

Her thrusts became deeper, and she slowed her pace as she pulled at your hair from the root. “That’s it, shit—”

You came with a moan as your back arched against her. You could see the way she bit her bottom lip through your blurry vision.

Your moans quieted as she chased her own high, her thrusts refusing to stop. She kneaded one of your soft breasts beneath her hand, her fingers ghosting over your nipple.

She came with a grunt, the last few of her thrusts harder than the last. She threw her head back as she tried to catch her breath. She brought a hand up to her hair, running her hands through it. Sweat glistened her toned body, the valley of her breasts heaving with every breath. You took a moment to admire her beauty, in its rawest form.

She slowly pulled out of you, and you slightly winced at the motion.

You sighed in relief as you raise up, though you were careful not to move your numb legs.

You whispered as you spoke, “Thanks…I needed that.”

Sevika smirked at you, her tooth gap slightly showing. “It’s nothin’. I didn’t have anything better to do tonight anyways…”

You smirked back, “So, how much do I owe you?”

She was taken aback by your comment, but ultimately went along with the joke as she smiled, “It’s on the house, babe.”

……

I’m finally done with this 😭

I’m sorry it took me so long to post, college has been kicking my ASS left and right. I’ll be updating the Wolf and Dragon series later this week.

Hope you enjoyed 🎀

[lilgarbitch]

For Better Or For Worse - Noah Sebastian

Beside You Pt. 2

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: more angst<3

Word Count: 1.2k

Author’s Note: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @chey-h @badomensgoodomens @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @enemiestolovershoe @blade-dressed-in-red @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare

Y/N

It’s been about three years since that day, give or take. All I know is that time has passed and I’ve lost track. Things have changed, yet stayed the exact same. The pain has eased with time, but the love has yet to die. I’m still living in the old house, just changing as much of the interior as I could without feeling like I’ve lost too much. Because what else will be left when the hurt is gone? I now have a bed and sheets that have never touched his skin. A couch that didn’t home one or more of the boys in a time of need. The sad yellowing walls are now a light grey, with no sign of smoke stains or holes from bad decisions. Even I’ve changed. My hair is different, I’ve retired piercings, gotten new tattoos, and even changed my style. Things were different. Yet everytime I glanced into a room, I could see the memories replaying in my head like an old movie. Everytime I see the unclosed hole of my lip piercing, I’m reminded of Noah joining me for a last minute, impulsive decision. Everyday, I debate covering the tattoo that we got together when Nick started apprenticing, but then I see a photo of him on stage, singing with his arm raised, and I see that he still has his too. 

He’s changed too. Not to the point of losing recognition, but enough that I can tell he’s getting healthier out there. His voice has grown, his hair is shorter and choppy, and he’s fit into himself better than he ever has before. I don’t mean to look at pictures of him and the boys, but I could never unfollow their accounts. I could never pretend that my love died that day like they have. It’s an internal battle everytime I see him, debating if him leaving me behind was really what he needed to do.

But I know it wasn’t. Because in the days where I really miss him and really want to feel the grief of the past, I listen to their new music. It’s not hard to understand where the lyrics come from. I’ve known Noah for too long to ignore how he portrays his emotion through his music. But what I don’t understand is why. Why sing of regret? Why put yourself through all of this pain and misery when we could have lived a different way? Every time his voice rings through my home, all I can ask is would you have been there when I came home? Could you not have held on to another day, just for us to be together? I could have easily joined you in your journey, nothing else more important to me than you, so why make the decision for me? Especially when all it resulted in was the two of us living in regret? 

His regret being leaving. Of stupidly deciding that I was better off without him, even after years of me trying to prove that nothing could be worse than not having him by my side. Our lives may have never stopped that day, but I know, at least for me, that my will to try and make life worth living was gone the second he drove off. 

That leads to my regret. The regret of holding on for so long. To still be holding on. To the hope that one day, things can be okay again. Because I’m terrified. Terrified I’ll never see him again. Terrified that, one day, I’ll accept never seeing him again. Terrified that I won’t be okay again unless he comes back. Terrified that no matter the outcome, I won’t be happy again. And those are the days that I’ve lived for the past few years. In fear of losing someone I already lost. Because there was a day where I allowed him to pull me out of a dark and lonely place, only to allow him to push me back in, and still forgive him in hopes he’ll pull me out again. 

Noah

The days have become grueling again. I shoved my emotions into lyrics, pouring my rage and guilt into melodies, and it was a simple distraction…until tour started. And every song was another reminder of her. I didn’t even think. I was so focused on using my music as an outlet that I forgot it could bite me in the ass. That I’d be forced to travel back to Virginia, and sing these lyrics under the same sky. One we’d both be staring up at together again. 

I was more than grateful that Sumerian Records was able to get us an opening spot for Attila’s tour, but that meant within a month, I’d be back in Richmond and close to her again. Each night of the tour so far was painful, just counting down the seconds until the next day, because it was another day closer to home. And I don’t mean the home I grew up in, but the person I left behind. 

I had the whole world in my hands, and with one stupid decision, I gave it all away. What did I even think I would save? Life without her has been miserable. I thought I was helping both of us by leaving, but with every free moment I got over the last three years, all I could do was wish it was filled with her presence. I could’ve made it work, I just didn’t want to try. And I knew her long enough to know that she would’ve made it the easiest thing in the world. So this was my burden to take. Because I’m the only one to blame. I kept telling myself that she was so much better off without me. With nothing but the memories of my face. But now I know that, even if she was doing better, I wasn’t. Because I have no use now that she’s gone. 

I have no way of knowing how to deal with this. I knew better than anyone else that the decisions I made ruined things, but I couldn’t handle being back there and not trying. I knew the chances of me absolutely fucking everything up again by simply showing my face, but the risk was worth it. I couldn’t have a chance like this and not take it. I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least see if there was a possibility to have her again. This could either destroy both of us completely, or finally be a second chance at being happy again. I had to take it. I had to do this, because I was running out of faith. 

TO BE CONTINUED

[cryingpariah]

I know that we (Usopp Nation) love to discuss the multiple different ways the eventual meeting between Usopp and Yassop could go but today I wanted to discuss how I think the Strawhats would react to Usopp having/wanting/feeling like he needs to meet his father but hesitating for [Insert reason here].

Luffy: Likes Yassop obviously and would be excited to see him again! But our emotionally intelligent king would pick up on Usopp's vibes and just outright ask him what’s wrong. Would respect his decision to go or not go. If it’s a no though, he'd go and break the news but do it much too bluntly (“Yeah, Usopp didn’t want to come!”). Honestly the whole time there he’s unintentionally making Yassop feel like the biggest piece of shit.

Zoro: Pretends to not care/not have an opinion when he in fact has plenty of both. Zoro's just not the kind of person to care about blood connections, not his own anyway, so he'd probably veer on the side of not going but acts neutral. Regardless of Usopp's decision though Zoro is there to make sure he sticks to it, no wussing out! If he says he’s going he’s going, even if he’s got to hide behind Zoro the whole walk there.

Nami: Usopp's BFFL. She’s there to hype him up! No shitty absent father is allowed to make him feel like shit! She’s helping him get ready, picking a killer outfit and hairstyle for him, everyone knows looking good is the best social armour! If he decides not to go she’s still dressing up him but this time to go and paint the town red! If he does want to go she’s heading there right alongside him! Even if it looks like she’s engaged with something else best believe she’s keeping a hawk eye on Usopp.

Sanji: Guy who is so anti biological father. Is staunchly against Usopp going but tries to hide it behind neutrality and fails miserably. Ultimately though having had some emotional catharsis with facing his own father he’ll accept Usopp's decision no matter what. Absolutely tags along and brings a dish because he was raised a proper chef. (“Oh this? It’s Usopp’s favourite. Not that you had any way of knowing.” *faux polite customer service smile*)

Chopper: Little fella is CONFLICTED. On one hand he’s literally only heard good things about Yassop from both Usopp and Luffy so obviously this guy must be great! But if that was true why did Ussop look so..scared? He decides to approach this from a doctor perspective first by sitting Ussop for a checkup and letting him ramble all his thoughts out. If Usopp decides not to go Chopper's making an official announcement that Usopp's got ‘can’t-leave-the-boat-disease and has to stay for his own good.

Robin: Notices Usopp's discomfort immediately and whisks him away. Sits him down with a cup of her secret stash of soothing tea and lays down all the facts for him. Yes, he has no obligation to go see his father just cause he’s here. No it doesn’t make him a bad person if he doesn’t want to. Despite how wildly different they are, she’s the best at understanding his feelings right now and all that come with it. If he decides to not go, she’ll go in his stead to explain (and also to make sure Yassop doesn’t try to go himself).

Franky: He’s about as emotional as you’d expect. He’d probably be encouraging Usopp to go, not for his dad but for himself. His dreams of being a ‘proper man’ and ‘brave warrior of the sea’ means he shouldn’t live or die with regrets or what ifs. Regardless of Usopp's decision, Franky just wants to make he won’t regret for one reason or another. Will tag along and hype up Ussop to anyone and everyone.

Brook: Like Robin he’s taking Usopp somewhere else to calm down and think. He’s also playing him some soft violin to relax to. They don’t talk much, just let the music guide them for a bit. In a moment of violin driven vulnerability, Brook would tell Usopp that regardless of what does or does not happen, he has a place and a family right here, and that won’t ever change. Places neutral but would prefer if Usopp stayed and didn’t risk getting hurt.

Jinbei: Probably knows Yassop on a semi-causal level and therefore knew of Usopp long before FMI. Was really stunned upon hearing this would be Usopp's first proper meeting with his father. Jinbei's got plenty of sage of advice and can wash away Usopp's parental insecurities by reminding him of who he is and how any man worth a damn would be proud to call him his son. Stays behind if Usopp goes but only because he’s worried of overstepping if he does.

BONUS! (Argue with your mama, your daddy and your congressman Vivi will be the final Strawhat!!)

Vivi ft Karoo: They’re absolutely gobsmacked. Vivi's the one that brings out some latent anger Usopp doesn’t even realize he’s been holding in. I can definitely see Vivi wanting to go even if Usopp's not, she’s very confrontational after all but she defect to what Usopp wants ultimately. If he does want to go she’s right there with him and is totally throwing some shade Yassop's way. Karoo is there as a supportive friend and a quick exit strategy if Usopp needs it.

[leona-hawthorne]

Bfb!mattheo really did something to me…. All the possibilities for smut, angst, fluff, TOXICITY 🫨🤤 He’s so in love with us, but tried to suppress it and it got too late and we got with Tom. He’s regretting everything now, but can at least have you sexually behind his brothers back 😩

Please I beg of you, more of bfb!mattheo! I want him so bad </3

girl of course there will be more, he’s rotting my brain!! bfb!mattheo is a problem, he knows it. he had spent so long pushing down his feelings, letting his interest fester beneath sharp smirks and cocky remarks, and now it’s too late—you’re with tom. but does that stop him? absolutely not. if anything, it only makes him worse, his guilt and jealousy twisting into something dark and insatiable, the love he once held for you becoming something cold. he tells himself he’s just taking what should’ve been his all along, that it’s your fault for letting him, for falling so easily into his hands. and the guilt? oh baby, he loves the way it looks on you. loves the way you gasp his name like you’re horrified by what you’re doing—like he’s not the one with his hands between your thighs, forcing your betrayal to feel good.

and he’d make sure you felt just as guilty about it as he did (which let’s be real, he doesn’t feel that guilty)—except, deep down, you like it. you like knowing how far he’s willing to go for you, that he’d betray his own family just for a taste, don’t you, sweetheart? that’s the thing about mattheo. he ruins things. and this? this is his favorite kind of destruction.

boyfriend’s brother!mattheo au ; moodboard

[freyito]

Want to write for boothill? Then....remember how he reacted when he was called cute? That should be your starting point

✭ pairing(s): boothill x gn reader

✧ a/n: as always, boothill cannot live a peaceful existence around me and MUST have some sort of angst in any fic i write. youre welcome :D

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, GET SHIP OF THESEUS'D, little bit of hc work?, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.6k

ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴ'

Boothill is a prideful man. You know that better than anyone. He doesn’t take much compliments, if at all. Perhaps ‘handsome’, or maybe even ‘dashing’, but he only really accepts them from you. A man of his standing can’t be called… ‘cute’. No, no. He’s rough ‘n’ tough, he’s manly, and on occasion, he’s pretty. But not cute, adorable, or anything of the sort. Don’t insult him like that! Not even when he comes home with a new getup, pretty in pink, even down to his medals.

Well, not that you cared. You called him whatever you wished, because he was cute. Especially when he was all pouty, acting indignant. This didn’t help him, of course, it only spurred you on to show him with as many adorable nicknames you could. ‘Boo-Boo’ in particular has always stunned him. He’d get this look, where his nose scrunched, giving you an awkward grimace (which often turns into a sheepish smile), and his face lighting up like a firecracker. He’d stammer and trip over his words, telling you to ‘knock it off, sugar…’, shake his head, and mumble something about how you can’t do that to a man’s dignity.

But you do. He won’t do much about what you call him, because deep down it sparks something akin to butterflies in his stomach. Or, at least, in what could be his stomach. It’s more like an odd quivering feeling within his wires that simulates adrenaline, and apparently, nerves! Boothill himself will never get used to it, but you’re quite taken with the effect you have on him, and the subsequent results.

He loves you, he truly does. And of course he’s willing to sit still and accept the fact that you won’t stop hurling such… endearing words at him. Yet, despite all his protests, all his pouting and shaking his head, he can’t help but admit (to himself, if he let you know, he would never hear the end of it) that he quite enjoys it. A man like him, who tossed his body away to become a killing machine, the hollow shell he inhabits created for the sole reason of revenge, considered cute? He hasn’t heard words like that directed at him in such a long time. Not since he was a kid, anyways.

When he looks into the mirror, all he can see is a weapon. Even the most human parts feel twisted to him, his teeth reinforced for… what reason? There was a point where he forgot why he had gotten all these augmentations, wondering if he truly needed to shed the entirety of his humanity. Truly, there was no need for sharper teeth, augmented tongue, and an augmented eye. Nor did he need a neurochip, his mind alone could’ve gotten him this far. And yet, he had still gone through with it. All this to kill one man, who has avoided him for so many years. How many more augmentations, or “upgrades” would he need until his dream of revenge was finally realized? What would happen once that happens? Perhaps, by then, he wouldn’t be so deserving of–

You wrap your arms around Boothill’s waist and rest your head on his shoulder. He flinches instinctively, before letting out a soft chuckle and reaching up to pet through your messy hair. There you two are, framed in the length of the mirror, and in an instant, he forgets about his earlier thoughts. 

You had just woken up, barely able to keep your eyes open, or your steps steady. Despite your blurry vision, you had caught Boothill standing there, staring solemnly at his reflection in the mirror. This kind of thing was all too common, and you regret to admit you’ve noticed his penchant to stare for too long. You don’t understand what’s going on in his head, but at this point, you’d rather just hold him. And hold him you do, burying your face in the crook of his neck like the measly morning light that had filtered through the curtains was just too bright.

“Awh, darlin’, why don’t you go back to bed?” Boothill murmurs softly, leaning his head onto yours. “Didn’t mean to wake you, and definitely don’t mean to keep you up.”

You groan and shake your head half-heartedly, squeezing his waist just slightly to emphasize your want to stay. Or, perhaps your stubbornness to let go. You peak out from his shoulder, shooting him a look that tells him all. ‘I won’t go back to bed without you’, or something of the sort.

“Don’t give me that look,” He chuckles, tilting his head a little so he could press a kiss to the crown of your head. “I’ll be back in bed in a minute, okay? Just gotta… clean up…”

His voice tapers off as his gaze returns to the mirror, oddly transfixed on his teeth and eyes. You let go reluctantly, but you decide to stay close by. You stand next to him for a moment, looking up at him and watching the way he bared his teeth and leaned in. You raise your eyebrows, trying to decipher what was going on his head at the moment, to no avail. While he registers the fact that you are right next to him, he doesn’t say much else, focused on his reflection.

“Hey, cutie,” You mumble, deciding to take a page out of his book. He snaps out of his trance and stares down at you with that same, flustered look, his cheeks red as he tries his best to form a sentence, something to tell you off. Eventually, he gives up, shoulders slumping slightly as he allows himself to be defeated by such a simple word. “What’cha thinkin’ about?”

“I-It’s nothin’, hun. Just…” He shrugs, gesturing towards the mirror, then himself. “I think I’m… unhappy.”

You blink and stare up at him for a moment, surprised by those words. Boothill has always had his ups and downs, and around you, he was never afraid to ‘cry’, wallow, or anything of the sort. He could mournfully explain what happened to his home to you, he’d tell you he missed it, but you don’t think he’s ever said he was unhappy. 

“Ah, uhm… with me? With us? Or, like…” You point at his mouth, “Your teeth?”

“No! No, I could never be unhappy with you, sugar. Or the life we have– but, I mean, I guess the teeth are part of it,” He turns away from the mirror, gaze softened, almost sorrowful. “It’s my body… I ain’t insecure, or anything, and I know what I was gettin’ into. I mean, I chose this for a reason, but… I dunno. I don’t. Sometimes I start thinkin’ if it was worth it, and sometimes it scares me to think of what happens after.”

“After… what, exactly?”

“When I find that sunuva-nice-lady, and string him up by his pearls and show him what iron tastes like–”

“You’ll have me. We’ll have a life, we’ll have the same life we have now, or maybe even better.”

“I… I suppose we will… but I hate to be the bearer of bad news, when Oswaldo Schnieder is dead, my bounty’s only gonna get bigger. You know that.”

“I do, but, not to jinx it or anything, they don’t know where we are. We can live out our peace day by day by day… yada yada yada.”

Boothill pauses, and thinks about it. It’s nice, that kind of future. But he also understands that it won’t be possible. You do too. Not that you want to admit it, if you were to say it out loud, you feared that it would become true.

After a beat, Boothill sighs and wraps his arm around your waist, nudging you back to the bed.

“Well, it’s a bit too early to think about that, isn’t it. I’ve yet to find the dang clockstucker,” He huffs, shaking his head, before falling back onto the bed, hands behind his head. “Best we get some rest instead of talkin’ all grim-like. Ain’t good for our minds.”

You follow suit, laying down next to him with a huff, rolling over onto your side and staring up at him. He closes his eyes, as if pondering something, or perhaps trying to go to sleep. Granted, he didn’t need to. He just liked to play along with you, hold you close and cuddle up despite how ‘uncomfy’ he claimed his body to be. Yeah, metal and steel wasn’t exactly the softest material, but… you liked it all the same. At this point in the relationship, it felt normal. If anything, it’d feel wrong to hold anything else other than steel.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you reach out with your other hand and cup his face. His eyes flutter open near immediately, tilting his head ever so slightly and looking up at you.

“What’s up?” He smiles weakly, his bravado faltering. You know damn well that whatever was on his mind earlier was still haunting him, and you’d rather have him fight against being called the word ‘cute’, rather than this.

With a huff, you take your hand from his cheek, raking your fingers through his bangs before pushing them up and revealing the rest of his face. Taken aback, he blinks, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to decipher your goal. The eye that’s normally covered is damaged, torn a little at the edge, revealing some of the mechanized shell underneath. It’s not something he’s secretive about, you’ve known about it well before you two had started dating, but you didn’t see it much, and therefore, you were quite fascinated by it.

Before Boothill gets a word of protest in, you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips. It’s small and fleeting, but it’s enough to earn you a blush and a confused look. His lips work to form a word, but he ultimately fails, body slumping slightly as he realizes exactly what you’re going to say.

“You’re cute, you know? Like–”

“I know, I know, sugar. Thank you.”

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | strawpage | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[livingformintyoongi]

Poème | Kim Taehyung

Summary: For centuries, Taehyung has roamed the world, trapped in an eternity he never truly desired. Desperation led him to accept an offer of immortality, a gift that quickly turned into his greatest curse. Once a hopeful young man dreaming of a future with the love of his life, he now wanders through time burdened by regret, forever mourning the one he lost. No amount of power, beauty, or wealth can fill the void left by you. If eternity means living without you, then what is the point of living at all? Author’s note: Hi again! I hope everyone is well ^^ I know I had said I was going to focus on GAS? but…. Tae vampire came to my head and demanded to stay until I managed to bring him to this world :) Soooo, I don't know if most of you read this but I seriously, seriously need your help for this, I really don't know how to move it forward :(( so please, if you have any ideas on how to move it forward or any scenes you'd like there to be, send me an ask or a dm, I'd really appreciate it <3 Pairing: Vampire!Taehyung x Human!Reader (female) AUs: Vampire!AU Word count: 4.6k Status: Unedited Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @madussthougths Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop and @strangergraphics

What would you do if you were given the option to live for all eternity? If someone offered you the secret behind immortality and eternal youth, would you accept? Would you be capable of leaving everything behind just to avoid facing death?

Taehyung wished with all his heart that he had asked himself those questions before saying yes to the beautiful woman in the elegant dress who offered him a second chance at life—one without sickness or poverty, a life filled with luxuries and privileges he could never have had as a mere villager in the Victorian era. Something he could have never even dreamed of when he was still human.

When desperation consumes you and you don’t know what else to do to avoid falling into the clutches of death, you… accept the first offer placed in front of you, no matter how risky it may be. That was exactly what led Taehyung to an eternity of regret, suffering, and torment.

He had been blessed with eternal life, but what was the point of living until the end of time if he was alone? What was the use of existing for centuries, watching people be born and die as if they were nothing more than tiny toy soldiers with an expiration date set by a child who had decided it was time to discard them, believing he was too grown up to play with them anymore?

He refused to live an endless life if you weren’t in it.

But you had been gone for so, so long, and he could never forgive himself for it. He could never turn back time and reject the offer from the one who was now his creator. He would never see your smile again, hear your laughter, or smell the soft scent of flowers, of the forest, of you. If only he hadn’t left home that night, if only he had waited a few more minutes… If only you had gone with him, perhaps… Perhaps now, the two of you would be living a long life together, enjoying each other’s company until the end of time.

But that wasn’t how things happened. He left his home that night. He didn’t wait. You didn’t go with him. And now, his fate was sealed. He couldn’t die, he couldn’t be harmed, he would have eternal youth and an ethereal beauty that could make any human give him anything he asked for with just one look. He could have everything—everything except you. And that, without a doubt, was the greatest torture anyone had ever inflicted on him.

That had happened over 170 years ago, and he had spent each one of those years tormenting himself. When he was still human, he had been vibrant and full of life, a social butterfly who, even without the seductive abilities of a vampire, could charm anyone with a single smile. Now, he was nothing but the empty shell of the man he once was.

During that time, he met many like him—those with whom he managed to form something close to what he could call a "family." Jiah was his mentor, the woman who had turned him and helped him through the difficult transition from human to vampire. Chaeyoung was the second oldest, a cheerful and optimistic young woman who had been a vampire for over a thousand years. Sooah and Hoseok came next, both turned in the 15th century. Then there was him, Jiwon, and Jimin—the three of them transformed in the 19th century, all saved from the brink of death by the compassionate leader of their small group.

They had been his family until now, and though he loved them as much as he was still capable of love, his love for them would never amount to even a fraction of what he felt for you. Not even a hundred people could mend the wound in his heart, no matter how hard they tried.

He could still remember his life by your side, when his body was still warm and his heart beat in a rhythmic melody, reminding him that he was alive. The two of you met because of Taehyung’s father’s work—you were a young lady from a wealthy family, and he was the son of a tailor who barely had enough money or resources to live. Yet, you noticed him—his smile, his playful jokes, and his flirtatious charm, reserved only for you.

You weren’t supposed to be together—you both knew that. But neither of you wanted to give up, you didn’t want to lose the only real thing in your lives. So, you ran away. With no money, no place to stay, only the hope of finding a place in the world where you could live without regrets or judgment.

It was his selfishness and foolishness as a teenager that led you both to that situation.

He should have realized it was madness, that there was no way you could survive in the outside world with dreams and hopes coated in sugar and honey. This was the real world—it was cruel and ruthless, showing no mercy to anyone, no matter their age or gender.

The first few months on your own were peaceful. You traveled from town to town on horseback, living freely, loving each other with all your hearts, talking about your dreams for the future, and how exciting it would be to have a family together.

You had managed to stabilize your life—Taehyung making elegant garments for high-society ladies, and you painting beautiful portraits under a pseudonym, which he promoted and sold with his natural charm.

For the first two years, life had been peaceful. Until smallpox arrived. That was when everything fell apart. No matter where you went, how much money you had, or which doctor you saw, once you were infected, there was no escape.

You both caught it at the same time. He did everything he could to keep you both from falling into death’s hands, but it was a fatal disease—there was no cure, especially with their limited resources.

It was on a dark winter night that everything changed. You were starving, and Taehyung was determined to find something—anything—to feed you. Despite his weakened, trembling body, he walked through the dark streets of the coastal city until he reached a shop. But his body was on the verge of collapse, and he fell just a few meters away from home.

He clung to the last bit of strength he had, trying to crawl back to you if necessary—anything to avoid dying far from you. He didn’t want you to think he had abandoned you, didn’t want to make you suffer when you found out he had died in the cold, damp streets, all for the sake of bringing you something to eat. He didn’t want to die without you by his side.

That desperation was what made him accept so quickly the offer placed before him by a complete stranger. “Just one drop, and you will never feel pain again.” And he accepted. He drank whatever she gave him, clinging to the hope of surviving a few more minutes. Then, everything went black for a moment—until he opened his eyes again.

Everything felt new, as if he had been reborn and was rediscovering the world. He felt good, healthy, strong, and maybe a little thirsty—but alive. And that was all that mattered.

When the initial shock passed, he begged the woman to do the same for you, to save you just as she had saved him. She smiled kindly and let him lead her to your small home.

But she stopped before entering, giving him a look of pity and compassion. At that moment, he didn’t know that he could hear a human’s heartbeat from a distance. He didn’t know that, even before stepping inside, she already knew that you were no longer in this world, and nothing could change that—not even her blood.

Taehyung may not have died that night, but his heart… His heart shattered into a thousand pieces the moment he laid eyes on your pale, lifeless body. His body had survived death—but his soul never would.

For a long time, his life had become a series of meaningless events that only served to make his desire to die grow stronger. He knew it was foolish to feel this way when he had what many would kill for; his eternal life was a miracle that tormented him every damn day, and he knew that would never change.

It took him 138 years to get over you—if that was even the right word to use in this context. Perhaps a more accurate way to put it would be, well, trying to forget you through other people. 138 years of solitude, where his only company was six other vampires just as reserved as he was, each keeping the scars of their previous lives a secret, each too afraid to open up to the others and relive memories of a past they all wished to forget.

The first time he tried something with a girl was because of Jimin, who insisted that he should look at someone else besides your portraits—the ones he himself had painted back when he had wanted to immerse himself in your world. He went to a stupid bar, too loud and filled with drunk and high people looking for something casual. But he didn’t want something casual. He wanted something lasting. He wanted you.

Hours passed before a rather beautiful girl approached him. Her shy smile and flushed cheeks seemed endearing, but nothing inside him stirred the way it had when he first met you; her eyes weren’t like yours, her essence wasn’t like yours. He didn’t like her, but still, he forced himself to try.

That night was the first and last time he attempted to move on with someone else. There was only a kiss, a brief brush of lips that the girl gave him as a thank-you for walking her home. That night, he cried like he hadn’t in years, clawed at his lips with his nails until they bled, and his screams were so agonizing that everyone in the house had to check if he was okay, because it sounded as if someone had just run a blade of iron straight through his body.

Taehyung felt that kiss exactly like that—like someone had just plunged an iron sword into his heart and desecrated his body in every possible way.

Sooah called him dramatic. Jiwon even mocked him for making such a fuss over a simple kiss. But it was Jiah who ordered them to be quiet and stayed by his side all night, comforting him as his tears fell ceaselessly down his cheeks.

After that day, he resolutely refused to go out with anyone else for the rest of his life. He didn’t need a replacement—he was much better off living with your memory than trying to forget it.

That was exactly how he managed to slowly overcome his pain—by treasuring your memory through the works of art he created, reliving every one of his feelings for you with each brushstroke on the blank canvas, until there was no trace left of the pain he had once felt. Now, all that remained was peace and a beautiful memory that he would keep deep in his heart for the rest of eternity.

It took him 175 years to achieve that peace—175 years in which he held onto the one thing he had left of you: your last painting, the one of a young wealthy woman standing alone in the middle of a grand ballroom. The soft tones and the contrast between the setting and the woman in her simple pastel dress gave off a strange warmth. It wasn’t one of your best paintings—he knew that better than anyone. You had created true masterpieces, works that your clients back then would have died to own. But this one… this one was simple, more discreet, with much less detail—mostly because you were already unwell when you finished it. But your essence, your touch, the feeling you poured into it… all of it was still there. And that made it the most important piece you had ever created.

That was why, as the last act of love he could offer to you and your memory, he traveled to Paris to present it at the Musée d’Orsay. The meeting with the museum’s curator was far more pleasant than he had expected, and he even considered making a generous donation after they agreed to exhibit the painting.

The inner peace he felt when his eyes saw the painting hanging on those cream-colored walls, among hundreds of other paintings from important figures of his era… was something he could never put into words. For the first time, his heart felt at ease—it did not beat, it did not pump blood, he knew that. And yet, for a second, Taehyung felt as if he had come back to life.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent around him. Despite the years, there was still a faint trace of you in it. And though it hurt to think that he would never again hold you in his arms, never again breathe in your scent, he felt happy.

Happy for you—because finally, one of your works bore your real name, because at last, people could see the incredible talent you had. This had been your dream, and somehow, he had made it come true for you.

He wondered if there was something after death, if there was truly a paradise in the afterlife. He knew that if such a place existed, you would undoubtedly be in heaven—in a paradise unlike any other, shining like the brightest star the world had ever seen. If that place was real, were you watching him from above?

What would you think of him right now? Would you be afraid of the fact that he was no longer human? Or of the fact that, in his first years as a vampire, he had taken the lives of many?

Would you still love him from that place so far away from him?

He prayed every day to a god he wasn’t sure existed, just to hold on to the hope that the answer was yes.

"How are things going over there?" Jiwon asked through the phone.

Taehyung’s feet carried him through the museum for the sixth time that afternoon. He still wasn’t in the mood to leave, and it’s not like anyone needed him at home at the moment. He would probably head to a nearby bar, have a glass of wine, and wander around the city until the sun rose again.

"Fine, I guess," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the paintings displayed in front of him. He had seen many of them online, but seeing them in person… it was definitely something completely different. Noticing the brushstrokes, the old traces of a brush over the oil paint, the colors, the size—everything was a new experience. It was like meeting the same person a second time; the feeling and the first impression could never be the same if you only saw them through a screen.

"So expressive, Kim." Taehyung rolled his eyes at Jiwon’s mocking tone. He wasn’t in the mood to be expressive, and it’s not like he was obligated to be.

"Anyway, Jiah is pretty worried. You know how she is, especially when it comes to you."

Taehyung nodded in silence, even though he was aware she would never see the gesture. Jiah was… she was like a mother to their small family. She was the one who turned them, the one who took care of them and taught them how to maintain their composure, always patient and loving with everyone. Taehyung couldn’t recall a single time when she had ever raised her voice at any of them.

He had always known, just like the others, that she had a certain weakness for him, something he associated too much with the fact that she had witnessed him fall apart upon finding you lifeless that night. She was the one who worried about him, who paid to give you a proper funeral, who helped him get through his sleepless nights, and who showed him a completely new world. She was the mother Taehyung never had, and he was grateful every single day for everything she had done for him, despite all the trouble he had dragged her into.

"I’ll be back soon, I just… I just want to say goodbye properly."

He stopped again in front of the painting he had submitted. That small pang in his chest had returned and, although for a few seconds he regretted it, the weight lifted when he saw someone else stop in front of your artwork to take a photo. He had managed to immortalize your memory—that was all that mattered.

At last, he would no longer be the only one completely in love with your art.

There were a few seconds of silence in which neither of them seemed to know what to say. The stillness was broken by Jiwon's soft and—unusually—understanding voice.

"Are you really okay over there, alone? We’re all a bit worried about you."

Taehyung let out a soft chuckle, lowering his head to glance at his elegant brown oxford shoes. When he was still human, he had longed to wear a pair like these, and now that he could afford them, half of his wardrobe revolved around them. You would probably be just as enamored with them as he was.

"I’ll be fine, Jiwon. It’s just a few days, it’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing."

He made his way toward the museum exit, but not before giving the painting one last look. This would be the last time he saw it—this was the final farewell. He sighed, running his tongue over his dry lips.

"Besides… I need to do this alone."

"Alright, okay, I get it. It’s your healing process and all that cheesy crap you love." Jiwon let out a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. Even miles away, Taehyung could feel the worry in her voice. A part of him was touched by it. It was nice to see that, despite everything, she still cared for him.

"Just… call us if anything happens, okay? Jimin is about to lose his mind."

"Jimin is always about to lose his mind," he chuckled under his breath, politely nodding to the guards watching the entrance.

The first thing he saw upon stepping outside was the sky, painted in pastel hues, with a faint trace of stars beginning to emerge, preparing to turn it into a beautiful nocturnal canvas with the moon as its protagonist.

"I’m going to hang up. I need to go somewhere else before heading back to my hotel."

"Alright, I get it, you’re bored of me." Even without seeing her, Taehyung knew she was smiling on the other end of the line.

"See you."

And with that, the call ended, leaving him alone with his own thoughts once again.

He wished that becoming a vampire had meant his emotions—like his heart—simply stopped functioning. Life would be easier that way. Carrying the weight of his emotions would be… probably a little more bearable.

The soft sound of Taehyung’s footsteps echoed through the dark streets of Paris, faintly illuminated by the streetlights surrounding the small, quiet alley he had chosen to escape the bustling crowd—and, in turn, his own thoughts. He had stopped by the bar he had wanted to visit for so long, but after spending a couple of hours sitting at the counter, sipping a drink he could barely taste… it was dull not being able to savor it the way he once did.

He gazed up at the night sky stretching above him, noticing how the stars seemed much closer, as if they had gathered there just to shield his eyes, rather than simply existing as part of nature’s design.

Tomorrow, he would probably buy a ticket back to Korea, still debating whether to purchase a first-class seat or a regular one. Jiah had given him more than enough money to indulge in any luxury he desired, but he didn’t want to take advantage of her generosity. He had his own savings, and not just a small amount—old trinkets he once considered worthless centuries ago were now worth millions, a fortunate advantage for all of them.

A soft melody from a nearby radio pulled him from his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed the old record store beside him, still open for some reason. It had a distinctly vintage, understated charm—exactly Taehyung’s style. He studied its exterior, noting the yellow sign with red lettering perched atop the roof, reading: Le cœur de la musique.

In the display window, several vinyl records from the ’70s and ’80s were neatly arranged, among them the famous Can’t Help Falling in Love with You by Elvis Presley, the very song now enveloping the alleyway with its gentle notes and romantic lyrics.

Taehyung truly loved that song. He closed his eyes, letting the music seep into more than just his ears—letting it settle into his body as well. With graceful movements, ones that seemed almost ingrained in him, Taehyung began swaying to the melody. He had been a great dancer in his youth. When you were both just children, you had asked him to be your dance partner so you could practice. The two of you had ended up falling completely in love with the warm, intimate feeling of it. Even when your bodies had grown cold, even when death gnawed at your bones and drained your souls, neither of you had ever stopped dancing.

His memories of you returned, vivid as always; he could almost feel the soft scent of your skin against his nose, the sensation of your hair brushing against his rough fingertips, your forehead resting gently on his shoulder, your breath against his chest. It was almost as if you were still there with him, dancing in the empty streets of Paris, in front of an old record store, your hearts swaying in perfect harmony beneath the stars.

His feet continued moving across the pavement until a soft click snapped him out of his trance.

Instantly, all of his senses sharpened. He halted his movements at once, scanning his surroundings for whoever had made that sound. He knew it was a camera. And he knew it hadn’t been close—if it had been, he would have smelled the person’s blood by now, wouldn’t he?

His dark eyes flickered with a brief glint of alertness as he surveyed the alley. That’s when he finally noticed her. At the far end of the alleyway, a young woman stood frozen in place, her face still partially hidden behind the camera lens aimed directly at him.

Before he could even think, his feet carried him forward, ready to demand why she had captured such a personal moment without his permission. But then, the delicate scent of strawberries and roses reached his nose. And right after—her blood.

Sweet. Addictive. More tempting than any other scent he had encountered in his 175 years of existence.

For a fleeting moment, Taehyung swore his heart beat again, just from the sheer intoxication of it. His gums began to itch as his fangs pressed against the inside of his lip, the thirst for blood growing exponentially with every step he took. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the overwhelming urge to feed suffocating him, clouding his mind.

Until she lowered the camera.

Until he saw your eyes.

Large. Bright. Filled with life, staring at him from the end of the alley.

His heart—still lifeless, still incapable of pumping blood—felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. And though he had no need to breathe, he swore the air caught in his lungs.

Did that make sense? Of course not, but you—standing right there, smiling at him as if you hadn’t died in his arms over 170 years ago—didn’t make sense either.

And yet, there you were.

The same eyes. The same lips. Your hair was different, yes, but everything else… everything else was exactly as he remembered. Exactly the same as the day death had stolen you from him.

Was this some kind of punishment? Retribution for the countless lives he had taken in his early years as a vampire?

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” you blurted out the moment you noticed the man standing just a few feet away from you. A soft, warm blush quickly spread across your cheeks—not only from the embarrassment of being caught photographing a complete stranger without permission but also because that very stranger, the one now standing before you, was breathtakingly handsome. And now he was looking directly at you, so intensely that you could feel his gaze burning into your skin.

“I-It’s just that I was on my way back to my hotel, and I saw you dancing alone. You had this melancholic expression that was just so captivating from here and… I’m sorry, that’s no excuse for what I did, I’ll delete the photo right away!”

As you fumbled over your apology, nervously gripping your camera once again, Taehyung took the opportunity to examine you—every detail of your face. You had the same beauty mark beneath your left eye. The same faint scar between your index and middle fingers. Even your voice—one he remembered as if it were his own—was exactly the same.

Your clumsy way of speaking.

The pink flush on your cheeks.

Your long eyelashes.

There was no doubt in his mind. The young woman standing before him was you.

“I…” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “What’s your name?”

He watched as your eyes lifted to meet his. He couldn’t help but notice how your lips parted slightly at the unexpected question.

Ah.

He still remembered the way your lips moved against his—soft yet intoxicating, slow yet sensual, always keeping him on edge. He remembered the way you used to smile whenever he playfully nibbled on your lower lip.

He missed it.

He missed you.

“Oh! S-Sorry, how rude of me,” you chuckled nervously, carefully lowering your camera so that it hung freely around your neck. The strap dug slightly into your exposed skin, but it was the safest way to carry it without accidentally dropping it. “I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Y/N,” he murmured, savoring every letter of your name.

He knew it. He knew it. It was impossible for you to be anyone else.

His eyes began to sting as the reality of what was happening finally settled in.

After 175 miserable years—

You had come back to him.

Looking exactly as you had the last time he saw you.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said softly, reaching out to take your hand in his own, gently, fearful that the moment his fingers brushed against your skin, you would disappear.

But you didn’t.

You were still there when his lips pressed lightly against your knuckles, inhaling your scent as discreetly as possible.

So this is how you smelled when you were full of life.

Without an illness slowly stealing you away. Your blood had the sweetest scent he had ever known, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes at the steady, rhythmic beat of your heart echoing in his ears, proof that you were alive, proof that you were here.

Taehyung had never believed in God, but now, with you standing before him— he could only describe this as a miracle.

Masterlist.

[sequinsmile-x]

Alone Together

“My name is Emily Prentiss. I…live with Jack.”  

The nurse furrows her brows, “Are you his mother?” 

She clenches her jaw, cursing herself for correcting the other woman in the first place, for letting her worry fluster her to the point where she didn’t even think about letting the half-lie slip by her. She can see where this is going already, and it makes her tense, her shoulders so tight she thinks she might snap in half.

AKA - the one where Jack is in the hospital, but Emily isn't allowed to see him.

-x-

Hi besties,

Hope you are all okay <3

We are finally out of the longest January on record and at the end of another week! Here is some family hurt/comfort with our two idiots and Jack for you <3 I know a lot of you love Jack/Emily content so this is for you - you know who you are <3

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 3,6k

Warnings: none!

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily doesn’t remember a single moment of the drive from the office to the hospital. She’d been on autopilot the entire time, her hands so tight around the steering wheel her knuckles were stark white, her skin so taut over bone she was surprised it didn’t split open as she desperately tried to think back to first thing that morning, to go over her interactions with Jack again and again to see if there was anything she could have missed. 

It had been a busy morning, like most mornings were in their house, and Jack had seemed fine. He’d been a little slower than he usually was in the morning, more tired, but when she and Aaron had both asked if he was okay he’d nodded. She wished she’d pushed, that she’d asked again, but her phone had rung, and so had Aaron’s and the day started in a hurry as work pulled them in different directions. She’d left the FBI shortly after she and Aaron got together, had grabbed the opportunity that Clyde offered her of going back to Interpol with both hands, any doubt she had about it gone as soon as he told her she didn’t need to leave DC for the offer to stand. She hadn’t regretted it for a moment, had always known it was the right thing for her and her relationships with the people she loved, but right now she wished she still worked with her fiance so she knew where the hell he was. 

The school had called her because they couldn’t get hold of Aaron. It was only after she was in her car and had got hold of Dave after leaving Aaron two voicemails, that she remembered he said he was going to a prison to conduct some interviews. He wouldn’t have his phone for hours, which meant she was all Jack had for now. Dave had promised her that he’d do his best to get hold of Aaron, even if it meant going to the prison and dragging him out of the interview room himself, and it had helped calm her down a little. 

She just about remembers to lock her car behind her as she marches into the hospital, still every part of the Interpol agent that she had been when she left the office, her gun and badge still on her hip, but with an undeniable air of a concerned parent too. She walks up to the nurse's desk and clears her throat, barely waiting for the nurse to look at her before she starts speaking. 

“I got a call about Jack Hotchner,” she says, sounding less anxious than she feels, “The school nurse called to say that he has suspected appendicitis. He was fine this morning, I don’t-”

“Mrs Hotchner,” the nurse replies, her smile annoyingly kind as she cuts over her, “These things can come on very quickly in children. Your son is currently being looked over by the doctor.”

“I’m not…” she clears her throat, stopping herself before she says too much that might get her nowhere fast, “My name is Emily Prentiss. I…live with Jack.”  

The nurse furrows her brows, “Are you his mother?” 

She clenches her jaw, cursing herself for correcting the other woman in the first place, for letting her worry fluster her to the point where she didn’t even think about letting the half-lie slip by her. She can see where this is going already, and it makes her tense, her shoulders so tight she thinks she might snap in half.

“I’m engaged to his father,” she says, digging out her wallet from her purse, slamming her driving license on the counter with more force than necessary, “Look, we have the same address.”

“Be that as it may, Miss Prentiss-”

“Agent Prentiss,” she corrects, again with more force than she means to, her desire to see Jack, to see the little boy she knows she couldn’t love more if he was hers, overriding her need to be polite. She sighs and looks at the nurse's name badge, “Look, Sophie, I poured his cereal this morning. It’s me he wants when he’s sick. Can you please just let me through?” 

Sophie smiles politely, clearly sorry that her hands are tied, “I’m sorry Agent Prentiss, but we can only let a parent or a legal guardian see him.”

She thinks of the paperwork they’d filled out, the paperwork to make her his legal guardian that was currently with the courts, and she curses herself for not doing it sooner. They’d waited until the purchase of the house had been finalised, until both her and Aaron’s names were on the deeds, to organise it. Their lawyers had told them it was better if their lives were more obviously intertwined, that family court would look on the addition to her in Jack’s life in a legal aspect more favourably if they were living together permanently. 

“His dad is at work,” she says, “I’ve tried to get hold of him.” 

“And his mother?” 

“His mother is dead,” Emily replies, half shouting it, and she sighs at herself, pinching the bridge of her nose when she realises she’s drawn the attention of more people around her. “Sorry,” she chokes out, blowing out a slow breath, “Is there really no way? He’s back there by himself.” 

Sophie shakes her head, “Not until his father gets here. But a nurse is with him, he isn’t alone I promise.” 

Emily considers pulling her badge from her belt, the weight of it almost pulling her down, and waving it around until someone lets her through. She considers doing what her family had always done - throwing money around, offering to buy the hospital a new wing until she was told she could see her little boy, but she knows it won’t help her. That it won’t help Jack. So she nods and heads towards the waiting area, swallowing back the emotions she won’t set free here, letting them sink into the lowest parts of her chest as she settles into an uncomfortable plastic chair. She twists her engagement ring around her finger and sucks in a breath. It’s bitter when she blows it back out, makes her feel nauseous as she thinks of Jack in a room just out of her reach with only strangers for company. 

“Damn it,” she says, wiping away a single stray tear from her cheek, determined it will be the only one she lets slip free before she goes home. She pulls her phone from her purse and groans when she has no missed calls from Aaron, “Where the hell are you?” 

___

Sophie takes pity on her about 30 minutes after she arrives and comes to tell her that Jack needs surgery. She still can’t let her see him, something is even harder to swallow now she knows the little boy needs an operation, but Sophie says she’ll tell Jack that Emily loves him and that she’ll see him later. 

Emily watches the clock, each minute a lifetime until she gets a call from Aaron. She has to be the calm one, has to tell him everything is okay, that Jack needs his appendix taken out but that he will be fine. He says he’ll meet her at the hospital and she makes him promise that he’ll drive safely, wryly jokes that she can’t deal with both of her Hotchner boys in hospital at the same time if he gets himself into an accident. 

At least, she thinks sadly to herself, if Aaron was in hospital she’d be able to see him. 

Almost two hours after she arrived, two hours of sitting in a hard, uncomfortable chair, the ache in her back nothing in comparison to the ache in her chest, Aaron finally arrives. She hears him before she sees him, his voice calling out for her the second he spots her. 

“Emily?” 

She stands up, her purse slipping from her lap to the ground, but she doesn’t pay it any attention. Instead, she lets Aaron pull her into a fierce hug, and she hugs him back just as tightly, her hand running soothing circles on his back. 

“He’s in surgery,” she says, cupping the back of his head as she pulls back, hoping that her smile is comforting, “He should be done soon.” 

He nods, and he looks older than he usually does. Anguish and fear pressed into the lines on his face, making them and the bags under his eyes deeper, “Why are you out here? Is something wrong-”

“No, honey,” she says, cupping his cheek, making him look at her as his eyes dart around the room, “They…” she clears her throat, tries to make sure her voice is even and doesn’t give way to her sadness and stress. He was the one she had to focus on for now, him and Jack. She could fall apart later when they were both okay, “I’m not his mom. Or his legal guardian yet,” she says, pressing her lips together to stop them from shaking, “They wouldn’t let me see him.” 

His eyebrows furrow, the line between them so deep she can’t stop herself from pressing her thumb into it, trying to soothe the anger she can see building there, “What?” He says, his voice low and stern as he looks around as if trying to find someone, anyone, to tell them exactly what he thought of that, “They wouldn’t let you see him? He was alone-”

“Aaron, baby, look at me,” she says, grasping his chin, “It’s okay,” she says, even though they both know it isn’t, even though she knows he can see how much it’s upset her too, “Jack is the most important thing right now, okay?” 

He nods sharply, his breath stuttering across her face as he presses his forehead against hers, desperately trying to seek out her strength and comfort. It’s enough to let her know just how stressed he is. Their displays of affection, their need for each other, were usually kept just for the safety of their home. The walls that surrounded them were the sanctuary neither one of them had had in years, or, in her case, ever. They sought each other out constantly, always pressed up against each other in one way or another whilst they were at home, as if they were storing up the love they had for each other for when they were apart. It felt like theirs, so it was rare for them to seek it from each other in public, to let other people - especially strangers - in on what felt so precious. 

She cups the back of his head to keep him close, gives him what he needs with her forehead pressed against his. She’d let him take all her strength if he needed it, would let it leech from her skin into his, because she knew when it was her turn, when she needed his strength, he’d give it to her in return. It was a give and take that they’d had since they simply friends, a cornerstone of their relationship that she knew made them as strong, that she knew allowed them to weather whatever storm life threw at them. 

“Come on,” she says, stamping her lips against his and smiling softly as she pulls back just enough to grab her purse from the floor before she sinks into his side again, her hand tight around his, “Now you’re here, they’ll tell us more.” 

They are shown through to the pediatric ward so quickly it feels absurd. Jack is already back from surgery and in a room, and the doctor tells them that he’ll be awake soon. It’s a relief, a weight off of both of their shoulders, when they see him. He looks smaller than usual, drowning in the starched sheets in a bed made for an adult, but other than that he looks like he’s sleeping. Aaron sits in the chair closest to the bed, and Emily sits next to him, their hands still linked together as they look at the little boy.  

“We’re going to have to fill the freezer with ice cream,” Emily says, resting her cheek against Aaron’s shoulder, “We both know he’ll ask.” 

Aaron chuckles dryly and turns his head to kiss her temple, “We both know you’ll give him anything he asks for.”

She gasps in fake outrage and pulls back to look at him, “Like you’re any better at saying no.” 

He hums and leans forward to kiss her, “We’ve got to get better at it before we have any more kids,” he quips, “Otherwise they’ll run rings around us.” 

The thought of it makes her smile, just like it always did. A baby that was half her and half him, physical proof of their love for each other out in the world for everyone else to see. The happiness doesn’t linger like usual, it fades as she looks at a sleeping Jack, as she rests her hand on his leg, because she wonders if, even when she is legally his guardian, the wider world would view him any less her son than any other children they may have. 

Jack groans, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she and Aaron both turn to look at him. 

“Jack, buddy,” Aaron says, standing up so he can sit on the edge of his bed. Emily stands up too, her hands on Aaron’s shoulders as she smiles down at the little boy, “How do you feel?” 

“My tummy hurts.” 

“You had to have an operation,” Emily says, breaking away from Aaron to sit on the edge of the other side of Jack’s bed, her hand reaching out for his, smiling when he holds her hand as tightly as he can, “Your tummy will feel sore for a few days but then you’ll feel better.”

He nods, “The nurse told me that you were here but you didn’t come to see me.” 

It’s like a knife to the heart, his innocence, the lack of understanding shining in his eyes, each a fresh wound that makes her want to take back her decision to sit peacefully in the waiting room. 

“I know, sweet boy,” she says, leaning in to kiss his forehead, “I’m sorry. I would have been here if I could. But she told me that she’d let you know that I love you.” 

He leans into her hand as she strokes his cheek, “I always know you love me,” he says, and he looks between her and Aaron, “Can we go home now?” 

“You have to stay here tonight,” Aaron says, running his fingers through Jack’s hair, “But if you’re feeling better tomorrow, the doctor said you might be able to go home. I’ll stay here with you tonight so you’re not by yourself.” 

Jack looks at Emily, “Are you staying too?” 

She shakes her head, and feels Aaron’s gaze burning into her cheek, “I can’t, honey. Only one of us has to stay and it has to be Daddy.” 

It was something else the doctor told them, that one parent or guardian could stay overnight, and it had been another kick in the gut. 

Jack furrows his brows, “But then you’ll be alone at home.” 

She sucks in a breath, covering it with a smile as she looks up at Aaron for a moment before she looks back at Jack, “I’ll be okay,” she says, not sure which one of them needs to hear it the most, “And I’ll come back tomorrow with some clothes for you and Daddy.” 

“And you’ll bring Rupert?”

“And of course, I’ll bring Rupert.” She smiles as she thinks of his favourite toy, a stuffed rabbit that Aaron told her had once been bigger than Jack, and she nods, Aaron reaches over Jack for her, seeking out the hand that wasn’t in Jack’s, and she takes it, squeezing his palm against hers in an attempt to comfort them both. “I’ll be okay.” 

This time, when she says it, she thinks she might be trying to convince herself. 

___

She gets takeout on the way home. 

She eats it in the kitchen, the house unbearably quiet around her, and as soon as she puts food down for Sergio, she heads upstairs. She showers quickly, the rush of the water a welcome distraction from the emptiness of her home, and then changes into a pair of Aaron’s sweatpants and one of his swearers - cuffing the pant legs so she can walk without tripping over - settling for trying to seek comfort in the clothes of the man she loves since she can’t be in his arms. 

Before she gets into bed, she goes into Jack’s room. She picks up Rupert from his bed, buries her face in his worn fur and breathes in. She takes him with her to the master bedroom, and she sneaks under the covers, the vastness of their bed bigger than ever without Aaron next to her. She was used to sleeping without him when he was on cases, but having to do it when he was just across town felt different - especially because Jack wasn’t here to sneak into bed with her. She sighs as she pulls the covers around her, smiling sadly when Sergio jumps onto the bed with a muted thump, his meow loud in the otherwise quiet room, she reaches out to scratch between his ears.

“It’s just the two of us tonight, Serg,” she says, sighing sadly, “Just like it used to be,” he meows again, “I know, buddy. I don’t like it anymore either.” 

She jumps when her phone rings, and she sits up, scrambling for her phone, panic she’d pushed down earlier making a quick return the second she sees Aaron’s name on the screen. She answers quickly, her hold on Rupert against her chest tight. 

“Aaron? Is everything okay? Did something-”

“Em, he’s okay,” he assures her, his voice low and quiet as he cuts her off before she can spiral any further, “He’s asleep. I thought I’d call to check on you.”

She chokes on a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and she shakes her head at herself as the tears she’d been suppressing all afternoon spill down her cheeks, “I’m okay.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’m not okay. Today was a lot. It’s okay if you’re not okay too.” 

She hums, almost mad at him for how well he knew her, and she wipes her cheek before she rests it against the top of Rupert’s head, her tears dampening his fur, “I just…I forget sometimes.” 

“You forget what, baby?” 

“That I’m not his mom,” she says, unable to stop the sob that tears from her throat, the sound turning into a wet laugh as Sergio nudges at her hand, his head tilted to the side as if he’s trying to work out what’s wrong, “God, I’m sorry,” she says, sniffing, “Your son’s in the hospital and I’m the one crying.” 

“He’s our son, Emily,” he says, his voice firm and loving, “He’s yours just as much as he is mine and Haleys,” he laughs wryly, “I think we both know if given a choice, he would have wanted you to stay with him.” 

“That’s not true,” she replies automatically, “You’re the centre of his world and you know it.” 

“And you’re the sun,” he says, and she scoffs, shaking her head even though he can’t see her, “It’s true. We Hotchner men are unable to stop being drawn to you.” 

She chuckles and wipes her cheek, “If Reid were listening in, he’d remind you that the planets orbit the sun because its mass is bigger, and therefore it creates a gravitational pull,” she scrunches her nose up, “If I didn’t know better, or if you were my mother, I’d think this was a very creative way of telling me I’ve put on weight.” 

“Never, Em. You know that.” He laughs at her joke, the sound music to her ears, a far cry from the strain in his voice earlier when he’d shown up at the hospital, “Sometimes I forget I’m marrying a nerd.” 

“You love it, and you know it.” 

“I love you,” he says, and he sighs, “We’ll get the paperwork fast-tracked, Em. I know a guy who can help. This won’t happen again.” 

She hums, “Well, his appendix can’t get inflamed for a second time anyway.” 

“You know what I mean, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing thickly as she wipes a tear from her cheek, “I know. I love you too, by the way,” she looks over at his empty side of the bed, “Our bed is cold without you.” 

“We’ll be home tomorrow night, Jack seems to be doing well.” 

“And until then, I have Sergio and Rupert for company.” She says, and she can practically hear his smile down the phone and it’s a comfort she hadn’t known she’d needed. She sinks into the bed, pulling the covers around herself again, and she sighs contentedly. 

“Want me to stay on the line until you fall asleep?” He asks, and she almost tells him no, almost shakes off the offer and tells him she’ll be fine, but she wants this. Wants him. And until she can have him and Jack back with her, she’ll make do with what little bits of him she can have. 

“Yeah,” she says, tucking Rupert against her chest, “I’d like that.” 

She falls asleep as he tells her about his day at work, about the interview she never got to ask him about, and she knows that whilst tonight she might be alone, she certainly wasn’t lonely.