#You do take him back and get married at the end :)

[devosin]

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! prologue : a series of unfortunate events . .

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

Vil sighs, scrunching his eyes shut, which proved to be more difficult than it appeared with the mud mask that he applied over half an hour ago still on his face, currently drier than the gluten free bread he bought last week. He melted into his couch, feeling an overwhelming sense of boredom settle into his otherwise restless body. 

Before he knew it, he found himself mindlessly scrolling through Magicam, looking through the self proclaimed critique’s 30 to 60 second reviews on his new movie or the finale of some show he was in, for a hit of dopamine. Which clearly wasn’t working, as each video was the same thing washed over and over again repeated with new synonyms bundled together to sound authentic (Which it rarely was) and of course, there was those few criticisms here and there, nothing uncommon. 

Vil lays his head back, scrolling some more, “Influencer Tartaglia joins the new soon to debut boyband, D!CKZ—”, he shuts his phone and tosses it to the side carelessly . . Did he ever mention his distaste for influencers moving into the entertainment industry? . . It makes his blood boil, just a tiny bit, since most of the influencers tend to ruin it for a lot of genuinely talented and lesser known actors out there, not to mention they’re so-called talent is usually mediocre at best. 

And he could go on and list all the reasons why influencers do not deserve a spot in the spotlight with the elite, and they may all seem reasonable at first, but it’s a cover-up for the real reason.

He feels some weird sort of envy, towards those individuals who put in zero effort and somehow make it, and get all these big protagonist roles right away, and how they aren’t criticized for their faults or terrible acting skills, just because they have a huge built fanbase of delusional fangirls ready to defend them from the get-go. 

Or how they aren’t criticized when they look less than perfect on screen, although he appreciates that current age viewers can acknowledge that it’s only human to get acne or maybe a pimple here and there, he didn’t meet the same fate when he was younger . .  It just makes him feel bitter . . and he’d never speak those feelings into existence, but deep down he does feel a bit hurt by the shift, it sometimes makes him feel like all those previous breakdowns were for naught. 

Vil snaps out of his pity party for one, getting up and stretching, going into the bathroom to wash off the mask before it dries out his skin (It probably already has), burn-out has hit him hard, and as much as his love for acting runs-deep, he’d rather take a break before his audience starts noticing his shift in acting. 

Which is why he agreed to hosting the show in the first place, he wanted to switch up his career, for awhile at least, he’s taking a break from acting but doesn’t want to directly leave the industry, because it’s difficult to fit right back in place once you leave, as there's always someone who could come and steal your position, and maybe even do better . . that’s why this industry is so hard to survive in, and as pitiful as it sounds, he’s practically married to his work, he can’t exactly risk it, in peace. 

Vil dries his face with a towel and then moves to grab his moisturizer, when his work phone rings. 

“Hello, this is Amanda from Descendants. Inc. We talked before reguardinging ‘Late nights & Flashing lights’ . ” . . . “So, due to a multitude of reasons, we’re kind of in a time crunch to get the premiere launched, by the end of this month actually . . . but, we’ve received confirmation on who’ll be co-hosting with you, Y/n L/n!” 

“ . . . excuse me?” 

“This must be such a shock, but Y/n has actually been our top pick for this role, and the internet seems to really want to see the two of you on-screen together, considering your screen presence, I honestly think you two will be a perfect match for the show.”  

“I—”, Vil’s voice was hoarse as he tried to mentally wrap around all the information that was just dropped, “Ah—That’s time, we’re so excited to see you on set next week.” . . . “If you’d like, I could send you y/n’s number beforehand, so the two of you could talk things through?”, that seems to snap him back to reality, as the professionalism seeps right back into him, “That would be lovely, thank you.” 

The doorbell rings, informing Vil that his takeout that he ordered about two hours ago had finally arrived, but he didn’t feel like eating anymore.

Drinking is completely legal at 18-19 in my country, so I'm just putting that over here before someone tries fighting with me about it (This has happened before), also Vil is currently in his late 20's.

Don't expect everything to play off of Vil in-game, since this is placed like a decade into the future, so things will be changes and messed around with to fit the current age and setting more. <3

Profiles | Masterlist | Next chapter . .

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

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

[vivwritesfics]

Smooth Is The Descent

All your father did was talk of rest, but the emperors didn't take that well. Punishing your father didn't do much, so you were punished instead. It's a shame the champion gladiator they gave you too has no interest in being anything but sweet to you

Lucius Verus x reader (general Acacius's daughter)

Warnings: sa (not explicitly written but heavily implied), Canon typical violence, use of the name whore (let me know if I've forgotten anything)

You were never supposed to bear the weight of his words. You hadn't been the one to say them, to let such blasphemies leave your lips. Yet here you were, facing the punishment for them. 

"No!" Your father cried when Geta turned his attention to you. "Emperor Geta, please! The words were mine! Do not punish my daughter for them!" 

But the general was ignored and you were taken away. 

For such punishment, you would have thought it treason your father had spoken. But no, he only spoke of rest, of spending some time at home with his wife and his daughter. His wife, Lucilla. She was not your mother, but you respected her still. The woman your father had chosen to marry after your mother's tragic end. 

No more details of your punishment were given to General Acacius. The twin emperors, with sickening smiles on their painted faces, sent your father away before you could utter a word to him, before you could assure him that you would be okay, that you were strong. 

Of course, if he knew the true nature of your punishment, he would have stormed the Palace to get you back. He would have taken on every man that stood between him and the twin emperors, slain them then and there. 

Whatever your fate was, you knew no harm would befall you. Well, no lasting damage, nothing that would send you to the afterlife. For the moment your hand was placed in Death and you allowed her to lead you to a forever slumber, their control over your father would have been lost. 

But it was still a punishment. 

With your wrists shackled together, you were led away. Emperor Geta had controlled his men with nothing but the flick of his wrist and you realised that your punishment had been preplanned, prepared for the moment your father stepped out of line. 

You had no idea what awaited you. Lashings, beatings. Maybe Caracalla would have you dance for them, for their entire court, the senate, and your father, wearing nothing. That had happened before. Your face had burned with humiliation and your father had been unable to look at you. 

Instead, you were taken from the Palace. The control the twin emperors had over your father was no secret, the reason why their hold over him was so strong was no secret.  

You. It was all because of you. 

"Feed her to the barbarians," the man pushing you out of the Palace had said once you'd made it to the Colosseum. 

Feed her to the barbarians.

Suddenly, you struggled. "No!" You cried as you tried to twist out of their hold. "No, you can't!" Barbarians. Once slaves from conquered nations, now gladiators, fighting for their freedom. 

Your father had been the one to conquer their lands, the one to take them prisoner. There was no telling what would happen once they found out who you were. 

"Please," you cried, tears rolling down your cheeks. "Please, they'll kill me! Once they find out who I am, they'll kill me." Clutching the soldiers armours, you dropped to your knees, still sobbing. "Please," you cried. "Please." 

He kicked you away, his sandal hitting your chest. It knocked the very wind from your lungs, left you struggling for breath as you tried to get up. "I suggest you keep your mouth shut," he spat. 

The men outside of the Colosseum, the ones that had watched you pathetically sob, grabbed you and hauled you to your feet. You couldn't help they way you cried, your feet dragging and the gravel digging into your skin. 

They carried you into the darkness, the only light source being the flicking lanterns along the walls. When you were far enough into the labyrinth beneath the Colosseum, they let you go and pushed you to your knees. The dirt and the gravel bit into your palms as you were pushed forward. 

"Come and get your fill," one of the men that had dragged you called, but they weren't talking to you. 

One hulking gladiator stepped forward. The very ground shook with every step he took towards you. He crouched in front of you, fingers beneath your chin forcing you to look at him, to look into your eyes. He took in the finery of your clothing, the gold atop your head and the bracelets around your wrists. A girl of status, that was clear. 

When he smiled, you saw mostly gums. The smile was ghastly, twisted and evil. The sort of smile you had only seen the twin emperors wear. "She'll do," he said and dragged you to your feet. 

"No!" You cried again, screaming in his face as your struggled against your grip. But he pulled you against his chest, arms wrapping around you as he dragged you away. 

A night of torture. That was what it was, nothing more. Torture that never seemed to end. Gladiators that never grew weary, gladiators that kept your torture going through the night. Torture that kept you from the reprieve of sleep. 

The sun might has risen, but you weren't to know. It was only when soldiers came to fetch you, threw you a cloak to hide your tattered clothing and your broken state, that you allowed yourself to breathe. 

Breathe without the foul scent of gladiator surrounding you. Breathe without tasting death. 

Your body ached as you were again shackled and taken back to the twin emperors. Geta and Caracalla revelled in pain and torture, this you knew. Even as General Acacius's daughter, you were not exempt. 

You were dragged before the twin emperors, cloak pulled from your body. Geta grinned at the sight of you, at the bruises marring your skin, at the way your legs trembled in exhaustion. At the way your clothing hung in tatters, showing too much of you. It was nothing they hadn't seen before, again down to your punishment. 

"A fitting reminder to your father of what will happen should he dare to question me again,"  Geta said and held out his hand. You couldn't help but tremble as you took it and kissed his ring. 

He pushed you away with a demand to clean up before the games. They were in your father's honour, after all. Sick and barbaric games, all for the pleasure of the emperors. Games meant to be in your father's honour, yes, but you knew how much he hated this. 

Your horse walked slowly, as if he was aware of just how much pain your body was in. Your patted his neck in appreciation as you rode towards your home. The gates opened as you approached and you rode through. You were slow as you jumped from his back and handed his reins off to your groom. 

Holding your cloak closer to your body, you headed inside. As much as you didn't want your father seeing you like this, as much as you wanted to run to the baths before your father or Lucilla could catch sight of you, you couldn't avoid it. 

There your father was, dressed all in white. Ready for the games, you realised. He wore concern on his face when he took in your appearance. "Oh, my daughter." General Acacius couldn't hide the sadness from his voice as he strode towards you. "I swear they'll pay for this." When his hands touched you, touched the bruises you were trying to keep hidden, you hissed and pulled away from him. 

"Do not speak such things, father," you said as you stepped away from him. "I will be ready for the games shortly."

You bathed as quickly as you could, desperate not to make your father late. God, you could only imagine the anger on Geta and Caracalla if you made him late, could only imagine the punishment that would be placed onto you. Lucillas staff helped you to dress, helped replace the jewellery the gladiators had stolen from you and helped you to fix your hair. 

Gathering your skirts, you joined your father and Lucilla. Things were quiet, you refusing to speak on your way to the games. Games, what a silly word for it. What a silly word for men fighting each other for the pleasure and amusement of other men. 

You sat silently, head bowed as you rode towards the games. Your father said nothing, you said nothing to him. It was better that way, better if you didn't talk about it. The less he knew, the better. The better for the both of you. 

At the Colosseum, you were led to your seats. Led to the Emperors box. Geta and Caracalla stood, observing the crowd as the games announcer announced your father. The crowd roared as your father stepped towards them at the request of Emperor Geta. A request he answered when Geta looked to you in silent threat. They cheered his name and clapped their hands. 

"Speak to them," said Emperor Geta as your father turned to return to you and Lucilla. Another request your father couldn't deny, another silent threat made towards you. 

It was hard to listen to your father as the Colosseum surrounded you. Mere hours before, you had been here, you had been tortured beneath her walls. The men that would come and fight in the name of your father had been your tormentors through the night. Your eyes stung with fresh, hot tears, but you didn't let them fall.

You were all too aware of the man sitting behind you. Macrinus, the gladiator king. The title did not come from his ability to fight, you knew, but his ability to choose. Choose the best fighters, the one that would win him the most coin. These were his fighters, you realised as your father finished speaking. He came and took his seat between yourself and Lucilla. The crowd was still cheering his name, showing him more love and loyalty than they showed their emperors. 

The barbarians from Numidia. That was what the games announcer had called them. You watched, none of their faces those of your tormentors, they they strode into the middle of the Colosseum. Their armour was minimal, some carrying swords, some carrying a sword and shield. Some pointed at the crowd tried to get their attention, tried to elicit cheers, and the rest were more concerned with what was to come. 

And one looked towards the Emperors. At least, you thought he was looking towards the Emperors. But Lucilla stilled, and polite smile dropping from her face. "What is it, my love?" Your father asked her, but she could not bring herself to answer. 

The rhino and its rider. You knew the face of it's rider, the face of the man that had taken you first the night before. Your blood ran cold as you watched. For the first time, your support when to the barbarians, to Macrinus. 

The rider pulled a weapon, something sharp and deadly. The crowd around you cheered for him. Your focus was for the Numidian front and centre, instructing the other gladiators. Unable to hear what he was saying, you sat forward in your seat. 

The rhino charged and the gladiators broke, running for the wall. The Beast kicked up sand, preventing you a clear picture of what was happening. "Do not watch the brutality, my daughter," your father whispered, but you couldn't help yourself. 

Violence and death didn't fascinate you like it did men. But to see the rider of the rhino brought to his knees? You weren't looking away for one second. 

But there was a reason he was undefeated. 

You watched the Numidian pick up the gravel and sand in his hands. The rider was focused on him, you realised. He charged but the gladiator stood there, unyielding. He was going to get himself killed. 

At the last moment, he threw the sand and it spread out around him, blocking him from view. The rhino still blindly charged, but the Numidian man leapt out of the way. Suddenly, hope soared within you. If anybody could bring down the rider...

With its horn smashed and its rider no longer on its back, the rhino sat in pain. But the two gladiators were on their feet, racing towards the sword. You held your breath as the Numidian grabbed it first, repeatedly used its hilt to hit your tormentor in the head. 

But then your tormentor twisted in his hold and grabbed the sword. He kicked the Numidian until he was on the floor and then roared to the crowd. 

No.

"The gates of hell are open night and day," Geta said with a grin as he looked down at the Numidian man. "Smooth is the..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to remember the rest of it. 

"Sooth of the descent, easy is the way." 

You tore your eyes away from the Numidian man as Lucilla stood. 

But the fight was still happening and you were entranced by it. The Numidian was given a shield to aid in his fight. You couldn't help but watch him, eyes roaming over every inch of muscle as he fought back. He was strong, but so was the rider. An even match, the end result came down to skill. 

But the Numidian was on the floor and the crowd was chanting. "Mercy! Mercy!" You heard them chant again and again. 

"Blood," Caracalla said to his brother wearing a twisted grin. Caracalla always wanted blood. 

Geta turned his attention to you. "What shall we do? Shall we show the barbarian Mercy?" No matter your answer, Geta was going to do what he liked. 

"Mercy," Lucilla said suddenly, before you could give your own answer. 

Geta brought his hand down, channelling the Gods. It was a farce, your God's wouldn't allow this. He clenched his fist, his thumb sticking out. As he did so, the crowd fell silent, waiting with trepidation. 

His thumb raised. Mercy. The Numidian man was to stay living, and so was your tormentor. Your breath caught in your throat from the unfairness, the injustice. If the Gods were out there, how could they le this happen?

"No mercy!" The Numidian man shouted as he got to his feet.

"Your life has been spared by the Gods-" 

"I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy!" The Numidian shouted, interrupting Emperor Geta. Foolish, foolish man. 

But the fight resumed. The Numidian man dodged out of the way. He picked up his own sword, and the fight truly began. 

It wasn't long until his blade went through the stomach of the rider. Undefeated, yet all it took was a man from another land to end his life. As he sat there, on his knees, the Numidian man took his head from his body with a mighty shout. 

He was dead. The man that had taken you so forcefully last night was dead. Many of your tormentors were still alive down there, but not for much longer, not with this barbarian around. 

You released a choked sob as the barbarian gladiator walked away. 

Emperor Caracalla turned to you, still wearing a sick smile. "Perhaps we should give our new champion a prize," he said, lounging back in his seat. "An insensitive to keep winning." 

"You know, brother? I think you are right," Geta agreed and looked back to you. "A fitting prize for our new champion, wouldn't you say?" 

Hands gripped your arms and pulled you from your seat. "No!" Your father cried. "Emperors, please! You have no reason to punish her! We have done nothing wrong!" 

Emperor Geta levelled your father with a vicious, horrible look in his eye. "If you care about her life, Acacius, you will stay quiet." Geta snapped his fingers and you were dragged away, unable to look your father in the eye. If there were Gods, why weren't they helping you?

They dragged you to the baths and pushed you inside. You fell to your knees in front of the baths and the guards backed away from you, locking you inside. 

There he was, already in the water. His eyes tracked you as you stood up and brushed the dirt from your clothes. If you could stand to look at him, you would have seen just how beautiful those eyes were. 

"You don't belong down here," he said, 

You held your hands in fists by your sides as you watched him, waiting for him to move in some way. But he was completely still, watching you. Waiting for you to move, just as you were waiting for him. 

"You're right," you said, holding your chin up high. "I don't belong down here." 

He stood, water dripping from his skin as he stepped out of the baths. You looked at your sandals, unable to properly gaze upon, to see how much of a man he really was.

The gladiator laughed when you averted your gaze. But he got dressed, bothering with everything but his shirt. That you could look upon. The defined muscles of his chest, his thick arms. He was beautiful, you realised.

"You don't belong down here, yet you are here. Why?" He asked as he stood before you. You couldn't help but shrink under his gaze as he took another step.

You couldn't press yourself any closer to the wall. But you raised your chin, as if in defiance. "I am here as punishment."

His fingers touched your chin, face close to yours. Even after his bath, he still smelt like the Colosseum. "What did a little thing like you do to deserve punishment?"

Finally, you tore your eyes away from his intense, blue stare. "My father spoke of rest," you spat as you stepped away from him, arms crossed over your chest. "Rome is hungry, she must be fed."

The gladiator released a laugh, bitter and sad all at the same time. "Tell your emperors I don't want the general's whore." He walked away, leaving you in the baths.

Again, you were alone in the Colosseum. If last night was any indicator, it wouldn't be for long. You released a sob as you sat there and desperately wiped at your eyes. 'The general's whore.' The gladiator had no idea who he was talking to. Good.

Footsteps, sandals against the stone floor of the baths. You looked up, your eyed looking into the stormy blue of the handsome gladiator. "Come on," he offered you his hand.

Swallowing, trying to act like you hadn't just been crying, you placed your hand in his. His arm settled around your shoulders, holding you against him as he walked you through the Colosseum. The other gladiators stared at you, their eyes hungry. But you looked away, kept your focus on the gladiator holding you. "Why are you doing this?" You whispered.

"You wouldn't survive a night wandering around down here," he murmured as the door to his cell was pulled open.

You swallowed as you walked in. The door was shut behind you as the gladiator walked in. "Sit," he said and gestured to the bed.

You did what you were best at and obeyed. Sitting on the bed, you looked as he sat before you, his hands clasped together. He wouldn't touch you, not in the way the emperors intended for him to. That much was clear.

"What is your name, gladiator?"

He stared at you, unspeaking for a good long moment. It was unnerving, the way he just stared. His stormy eyes focused on you. "Hanno," he answered and turned away from you. "I was taken from my home by the general whose bed you warm."

"I do not warm his bed!" You shouted, suddenly on your feet. The notion had bile ready to rise in your throat.

Hanno laughed. "Yet you enjoy his company. You sit with him while you watch us, get sick pleasure from watching us maim each other.”

"I was there by order of Emperor Geta!" You challenged, standing up. "You act as if I have a choice, as if I want to sit there and watch men get slaughtered. No, I hate it! I don't see why you have to fight!"

He stood, too, towering over you once again. "I fight for my freedom." His voice was so low, dangerous, even. "I fight because my home was taken from me by your general. My home, my wife, taken from me because, what? Because Rome was hungry. Do not lecture me on choice."

You sat back down, tears in your eyes. You knew what your father did, but being told such details was something else. "I'm sorry," you sobbed as you pulled your knees up to your chest. "On behalf of Rome, of the general, I truly am sorry."

A sigh left his lips as he sat beside you. "It's not your place to apologise for what the general has done," he said and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Rome has been a corrupt place, long before you came along."

You blinked up at him, tears resting on your lashes. "What was your home like?" You asked and turned your head towards him.

He told you everything, told you about his wife, his home. The chickens he chased away from the crops and the harvest. The conversation always steered back to his wife.

You didn't ask what happened, didn't force him to relive the trauma so soon. But you couldn't hide your yawns, or the way your eyes were drooping. "Rest now," he said as he stood from his cot. "I will not disturb you."

You laid down, but you didn't sleep, not immediately. Your eyes were shut, but you weren't asleep. Every time Hanno moved, you opened your eyes to watch him, to make sure he wasn't going to use you. Not that you could stop him. But he didn't. He never laid a hand on you.

Eventually, you drifted off, eyes shut and breathing steady. Hanno watched you for a moment. It wasn’t your fault, what Rome had done to his land, to his home. It wasn’t your fault, what the general had done, and he wouldn't take it out on you.

a/n: definitely more parts to come! I won't lie I didn't mean to find Paul hot but his charms have bewitched me

[covenofagatha]

Could you write Agatha/reader where the reader discovers they have a nursing kink 🫠 The ending of chp2 of sugar&spice was so so comforting

I don't know if this is exactly what you had in mind for this request, but hopefully you still like it! Thank you to everyone who voted for this, here you go!!

Nurtured Desires

When your mom's best friend who just had a baby gets caught without a pump, you take matters into your own hands to help her out.

Word count: 1900+

Warnings: nursing kink, lactation, fingering

You’ve always found your mom’s best friend, Agatha Harkness, incredibly attractive. 

But ever since she gave birth three months ago, there’s been something even hotter about her. 

Maybe it’s the way she’s always exhausted but still finds time to smile at you when she sees you. 

Maybe it’s her nurturing side on display that’s tapping into some unresolved mommy issues you have. 

Or maybe it’s the way her breasts are huge and full and she makes no effort to hide her cleavage. 

You feel like a gross guy every time you find your eyes drifting down, but who can blame you? 

You’re pretty sure Agatha has seen you staring a few times, too. But every time, she just gives you a smirk with an imperceptible shake of her head, like she’s scolding you because she knows that she should, not that she wants to.

Her kid, Nicholas, is cute enough. You don’t really know enough about babies to have an opinion, but he gurgles and giggles when he sees you sometimes. When you hold out your finger to him, he’ll grab it with his entire fist and it makes you smile. 

Your mom had been named Nicky’s godmother and you had tagged along with her to the baptism. You can still remember how it felt when Agatha had hugged you, pressing her breasts against your chest. You had been able to think of very little else during the ceremony. 

Agatha had the two of you over to her house a lot after her son was born. Your mom was all too happy to help out, as Nicky’s father was barely ever home and Agatha was exhausted. You kept the older woman company while doing homework for your college classes in the kitchen while she prepared a light snack or in the living room while she caught up on the newest episode of the show she was watching. 

But it was inevitable that Nicky would start crying and Agatha would have to take him into her bedroom to feed him. 

Is it weird that you wanted to know what it was like?

Never before had you been so transfixed by the thought of that, and you had been around several of your mom’s and older sister’s friends who had given birth. 

But everytime, when Agatha could come back out of the room, holding Nicky with her shirt unbuttoned more than it had been, you couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. 

There is something especially different about today. 

It’s Thanksgiving, and every year Agatha has a lunch where she invites people from the neighborhood over. Her husband has taken Nicky to his parents’ house to give her a break and it seems like she is back to her normal self.

But Agatha has decided to wear a short, tight, navy dress with a very low cut, reminding you that something was still not normal. 

You’re practically drooling over her. There are several times that someone says something to you that you don’t even hear because you’re too busy staring. 

Is she wearing a push-up bra? How are they that perky? You’ve never wanted to suck on something more. 

You physically shake your head to get rid of those thoughts. 

She is your best friend’s mom. She just had a baby. She is married. 

You repeat those sentences like a mantra as you finish helping cook the food. You’ve been tasked with making mashed potatoes, which is a pretty easy job. 

Finally the meal is ready, and while you’re setting the table with your mom and another friend of hers, you notice that Agatha is nowhere to be found. You frown and check back in the kitchen. She’s not there. 

“Mom, did Agatha go to the bathroom?” You ask, hoping she doesn't ask why you care so much. Your mom shrugs absentmindedly, too focused on balancing the plate of cranberry sauce with the bowl of casserole so she doesn’t drop either. 

You glance at the hall bathroom to find the door open. Spurred on by something, you head up the stairs, just to make sure Agatha’s alright. It’s not like her to just disappear. 

“Agatha?” You call out and you hear a muffled sound coming from her bedroom. You can hear the front door open downstairs and you assume more guests are arriving. You tentatively walk into her room, the floor creaking. 

And that’s where you find her sitting on the bed, her back to you. 

“You okay?” You ask, not really sure what’s going on or how to explain what you’re doing. 

She sniffs and turns around and your jaw falls open. 

There’s two damp spots on her chest, visible on the navy material. 

“Uh–” You have no idea what to say. 

“I’m such an idiot, I had all the nursing stuff in Nicky’s bag and it’s with my husband, and I thought I would be okay,” she mutters angrily and you walk over to where she’s sitting, as if in a trance. You think you can smell it. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You ask breathily, falling to your knees in front of her. It sounds like you’re on something and she looks at you with surprise and maybe a little of something else. 

“You want to help me?” Her eyebrow raises like she’s daring you, but you don’t back down. You nod and her lips part. You think her pupils are dilating. “I see you staring, you know. You’re not subtle.” 

You shrug shamelessly, hands coming up to rest on her bare thighs. She gasps as the touch. You think she must be so sensitive. “Let me help, please,” you beg, staring up at her. 

She holds your gaze for a second and then obliges, reaching behind her to drag the dress zipper down. Your heart stutters in your chest when the front of the dress loosens and more and more of her pale skin is revealed. She’s wearing what looks like a special kind of bra and you move to touch without even realizing. 

You cup her swollen breast and run your thumb over her nipple through the fabric. Agatha’s breath hitches and she bites her lip, eyes watching you through hooded lashes. 

“Baby,” Agatha says, silently communicating what she needs, and you pull her right breast out over the bra, sit up on your knees, and take her leaking nipple into your mouth. 

Her head falls back and you moan at the taste. It’s so warm and rich and you start suckling, just wanting to bring her some relief. 

“Fuck,” she says sharply and you feel a spark of heat grow inside you. You keep drawing out the milk and her hand comes down to grab your left one and bring it to her other breast. You scrabble with her bra and she eventually gets fed up and reaches behind her to take it off. You have to take your mouth off of her for a second and she whines at the loss of the stimulation, but you quickly make up for it by sucking her other nipple into your mouth. 

The spark has become an ache, but you’re too caught up in the taste of the older woman to care. 

You use your teeth and tug and her fingers bury into your hair, holding you close. You can hear her making small noises and you switch your mindless lapping to a slow, steady rhythm of deep sucks. She brushes your hair out of your face so she can see you better and is perfectly content to watch you like that. 

You move back to the right nipple, but play with the left with your free fingers. She whimpers when you’re particularly rough with a suck and her hips jerk. 

You freeze around her breast and meet her eyes, which are completely glazed over with lust and desire. 

“Please touch me,” she whispers, hands moving down to hike up her dress. “I need it so bad.” 

Who are you to say no? You reach up under her skirt and feel her underwear and you gasp, her nipple dropping out of your mouth. 

She is soaked. Her underwear is dripping. You wouldn’t be surprised if there was a puddle on the bed under her. You almost cum on the spot. 

You slide them to the side and push two fingers in easily, eyes widening at the feeling of her warm and wet walls clenching around you. Agatha inhales above you and drags your mouth back to her nipple. You latch on, resuming your sucking, and you start moving your fingers. You curl with every thrust, teething harder on her nipples and drinking her milk, and she bucks her hips up every time. You rub her clit with your thumb and her moans are getting louder with all the stimulation. 

“Fuck, baby, so good, so close,” she pants. You can feel her getting tighter around you and you increase the pace of your fingers, sucking rougher. 

She cums and it’s explosive. There’s a gush of milk into your mouth and the hand on her other nipple gets drenched. You fuck her through her orgasm, still sucking the remaining milk out of her, until it gets too much and she pushes you off. 

You’re both breathing hard. You can feel how sticky and wet you’ve become between your legs, but you know better than to ask Agatha for help with that now. You're not sure what this even was.

“Feel better?” You joke and she chuckles, ruffling her hair. 

“Yes, thank you, dear. You seemed like you enjoyed that.” 

Now it’s your turn to laugh. “Yeah, I didn’t really know I was into that. Anytime Nicky isn’t around, just call me up.” It’s meant to be a jestful quip, but her eyes darken. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She muses and the blush on your face gives you away. “Okay, go back downstairs now and rejoin the party. We’ve both been gone long enough. I need to change clothes.” You start to move but she stops you. “Oh–and sweetheart?” 

You pause and look back at her. Agatha swipes her thumb across your chin and holds it up, milk droplets coating it. Before thinking, you take it into your mouth and suck, much like you had just been doing to her nipples. Her low groan excites you, but she’s right. At the very least, your mom is wondering where you were. 

“Thank you,” she says with genuine gratitude in her voice and you smile. “Now, go.” She playfully swats your shoulder to shoo you away and you bite back the urge to ask if it’ll happen again. 

You glance back when you get to the door just in time to catch a hint of her naked body and you have to force yourself out of the room so you don’t accidentally go back in for more. 

When you go downstairs, your mom immediately finds you. 

“Where have you been?” She asks. “The food is all ready, we’ve already started eating.” 

“Oh, I had to help Agatha with something.” Technically not a lie. 

She purses her lips but can’t complain. “Well, come get some food before it’s all gone.” 

There’s footsteps on the stairs and you look up to find Agatha walking down in a maroon suit and your mouth runs dry. She sees you staring – like always – and gives you a wink. 

“You know, I’m not really hungry,” you say to your mom, completely distracted by the older woman and the taste of her milk that’s still on your tongue. 

[iiotic]

─── જ ‎` ‎𓂃 ‎ viktor sfw alphabet

𖦹 ‎quick disclaimer: generally fluff, platonic/romantic mix, gn reader mentioned, kisses, not proff read

english is not my first language, so i apologize for any grammar mistakes.

masterlist | nav.

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Viktor isn't the most affectionate person that you'd meet. in fact he would be quite distant before getting to know you first, thinking that you don't deserve his time. However once he really gets to know you and start trusting you will he show his affection and appreciation through small acts of service.

B - Best friend (What are they like as a friend? How would the friendship start?)

Viktor is an amazing force to have on your team, however that might sound like. He's smart, loyal and trustworthy. I think that the friendship would develop a lot quicker if either A. you knew him since he was a child and still lived in zaun or B. you'd capture his attention and not the other way around.

as i said the friendship would start with Viktor being a little distant at first, but then he will start to appreciate you company and trust you a lot more. show him that you're trustworthy and really like him and he will warm up to you.

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

In the beginning of the relationship Viktor was strictly against cuddles, it made him feel weak. However once you show him how good it feels, with him trusting you 100% he will change his opinion on cuddling. Viktor is slightly bony so hugging him wouldn't be the most comfortable thing, and yet it feels so warm and loving everytime you cuddle, you just can't complain!

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I think that he'd like to settle down, if it comes to s1 Viktor, however there might be a little controversy. Viktor spends time at his lab 24/7 so he wouldn't be at home with you all the time. The times he is at home he is way too tired, exhausted even to help you cook and clean.

However if there would be a situation where either you or Jayce convince him to take a weekly break, with you, at home. so that he could relax and do domestic things with you, he would 100% try to help you with chores. (if his leg wouldn't hurt so much this day)

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I don't think that Viktor would ever want to break up with their partner, he will fall in love with one person so hard that he'd want to live with them his entire life. would be truly heartbroken if you'd break up with him.

F - Fiancé (How to they feel about commitment? How quickly would they want to get married?)

he would want to get married but wouldn't like to rush things, you know? he'd need to know all about you, whether it would be your weird quirks or just the specific shade of your favourite colour. about 4/6 years i think before he could propose, then the wedding in a year or three.

G - Gentle (How gentle are they? Both physically and emotionally?)

he always touches you as if you were a porcelain doll that would break under his fingers if he squeezed too hard. with you? he's the most gentle person in the entire piltover.

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it and what is it like?)

Viktor hugs are warm, gentle and loving. they always make you feel heard and the way he holds you speak volumes, the unspoken words that could come out of his mouth don't need to be spoken anymore. despite that hugs with Viktor aren't often, yet he likes hugging you.

I - I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

you'd probably have to say it first, he'd say it back to you. it really depends when you will start saying it, trust me he will say it back every single time.

J - Jealous (How jealous do they get? What are they like when they're jealous?)

Viktor doesn't like the feeling of jealousy, he doesn't want to feel this way. Viktor is very insecure about himself, his leg, his disease and there you were talking to another men who's bigger than him, that you could easily replace him with, it makes his blood boil.

yet, he trusts you. he trusts you to not do something stupid. he will stay quiet, occasionally glaring at the person but not trying to make himself known.

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

he loves being kissed on his forehead and nose. something about them is so romantic, yet domestic that makes him melt every time. he loves to kiss you anywhere really, he doesn't have a preference.

when it comes to kissing Viktor on the mouth, making out with him the kisses would be slow, slightly sloppy yet romantic enough for the both of you.

L - Little Ones (How are they around children?)

he's neutral about kids, he wouldn't like to have any children himself yet for some reasons kids always seem to like him

M - Mornings (How are morning spent with them?)

the rare mornings where you wake up not to an cold empty side of the bed, but with your beloved Viktor are truly an moments worth remembering. If there's no rush, mornings are slow, cuddling in the bed with the sun trying to get it in the room with the curtains closed, a few kisses shared here and there. domestic things.

N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

he sleeps a little stiff, cuddle him!! he's a little bony but its not usual for you to sleep together.

O - Openess (When will they start revealing things about themselves? Do they reveal things slowly over time or all at once?)

Viktor as i said before not once, not twice will be closed and distant at first yet once he starts trusting you more he might reveal a few of his traumas of his childhood, but you'd have to be deep into the relationship for that to happen. the moment would have to be right, almost fragile if you know what i mean.

P - Patience (How easily are they angered?)

he is not angered easily, quite the opposite actually. Viktor will be really patient with you and he'd like to recieve the same treatment from you in return. however if you'll insult his intelligence, work or make him feel bad because of his disability or diseases he will be mad. furious.

Q - Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail or do they forget the minor things?)

when this man is in true love he will remember every single detail that you mention, even accidentally. i don't like when people say that he will forget about important events for you two because he is a workaholic, i dont think he would. he will know what your favourite subject was in middle school, your favourite shade of your favourite color (the very specific one), your favourite flower, what zodiac sign you are, whats your favourite type of cake, what's your favourite ice cream flavour, the food that makes you gag when you see it, your least favourite season. you name it and he will know it.

R - Remember (What's their favourite memory of the relationship?)

probably the moment he realized he loves you or your first kiss. i don't want to dwell on it, but i might make a one shot or a drabble based on it.

S - Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

i hate when people say that he would need to be protected because he can't do shit himself, if you agree with this might as well block me. maybe he is disabled but he is totally capable of standing up for himself. when it comes to you? he will be protective, you're one of the few good things that happened in his life.

T - Try (How much effort do they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts and everyday tasks?)

listen, this man is tired so he won't put much efford into everyday tasks or such. But! he puts a lot of efford into the gifts or dates he organises for you two, might be so nervous that he forgets to give you the gift but praise him and give him his own kind of present and he will be over the moon if you know what i mean.

U - Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

he is a workaholic, overworking himself. sometimes forgets to do basic tasks like eating, drinking etc.

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

he doesn't care about how he looks, i mean he cares but not to the point of trying to dye his hair or something. dresses neatly, sometimes his hair is a little out of place but that's okay!!

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

if it would be really early into the relationship than absolutely not, but other than that. yes, yes he would.

X - Xtra (A random head cannon for them)

specific, hates jam.

Y - Yuck (What are some things they wouldn't like in a partner, or in general?)

someone who wouldn't support his dreams and ideas. someone sho would show absolutely 0 interest in his rambling. someone generally who is always negative and does not see anything good about anything.

Z - Zzz (What are some sleeping habits of theirs?)

snores, but like really quietly. wakes up late at night because of his nightmares sometimes.

© 2024 iiotic. — do not steal, translate or repost any of my content onto any other platform

[v6quewrlds]

How I met your mother after your daughter gets her heart broken

the front door slammed shut, and your teenage daughter, noa, stomped into the kitchen, her school bag dropping heavily to the floor. your smile faltered and joe straightened.

"noa? what's wrong, hon?" you asked gently, setting down the knife and turning to face her.

noa's eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was flushed. "i broke up with chance," she blurted out, her voice wavering. your heart sank, and you stepped closer, your arms instinctively reaching out to offer comfort. "he cheated on me," noa's voice cracked and a stream of tears trailed down her cheek.

your expression grew stern, and you shot joe a warning look, silently reminding him to keep his scowling in check. "oh, munchkin. that's terrible. do you want to talk about it?" you cooed, guiding noa to the kitchen island and pulling out a chair.

"it's just… i didn't expect it," noa sniffled, her eyes downcast. "some girl he works with texted me. she said they've been going on dates behind my back."

"that little…" joe's fists clenched, his jaw tightening. you laid a hand on his forearm, silencing him with a squeeze. "is there anything you want me to do, munchkin?" joe asked, his voice characteristically even though you knew he was seething.

"no," noa mumbled, shaking her head. "nothing that you won't end up on the news for, dad," she said with a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood. you couldn't help but laugh at joe's concession, despite the situation.

"wait, actually dad, can i ask you something?" noa's question snapped joe out of his anger-induced silence. he took a deep breath, nodding for her to continue. "how did you know you wanted to marry mom?" she asked, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand.

joe leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest, a fond smile playing on his lips. "well, it took me a long time to convince her to even go out with me," he began.

"oh, come on," you playfully rolled your eyes. "you make it sound like i was being unreasonable."

joe smirked. "weren't you? you had me jumping through hoops for months before you said yes to a first date that you swore wasn't a date."

you couldn't argue with that, your laugh bubbling up at the memory. "well, i had to make sure you were worth it," you quipped, nudging him with your elbow. "you were this hotshot quarterback, and i didn't want to be just another notch on your belt."

joe's eyes lit up with mirth. "and what made you decide i was worth it?"

you paused, your gaze flicking up to his baby blues. "it was the way you talked to my mom at the florida game. you were so respectful and kind to her, even when i was giving you the cold shoulder."

joe chuckled. "your mom was my biggest fan before you wanted anything to do with me." he turned to noa, his expression softening. "but the moment i knew i wanted to marry your mom was when i hurt my knee my rookie year. she didn't let me look down on myself, didn't let me feel sorry for myself. she was the first one to tell me to get back up and fight for what i wanted."

noa listened, her eyes on her dad, taking in his words like a sponge.

"it was your mom's way of showing me what real love and support looked like," joe said, his voice serious. "when you find someone who believes in you, even when you don't believe in yourself, that's when you know."

noa nodded, her eyes still glued to her dad. "what about you, mom? when did you know?" she asked, looking at you with a glimmer of hope.

you took a deep breath, your thoughts drifting back to the early days of your relationship. "don't laugh, okay?" you began, a grin spreading across your face. "but it was when my grandma was moving out of her old house. your dad insisted on tagging along for the 7-hour drive even though he had never met her before. he was so patient, so helpful, carrying boxes and assembling furniture like it was his own grandma."

joe's cheeks flushed slightly at your revelation. "i don't remember that being particularly romantic," he said with a chuckle.

"oh, it was very romantic. especially when you were arguing with my brother over which way the couch should face," you said, your eyes sparkling at the memory. "it was like you fit right in with the crazy. arguing with my brother, laughing with my grandma, and debating capitalism with my dad. it was perfect."

joe leaned in closer to you, his gaze filled with affection. "wasn't that the trip that i asked your parents for their blessing?"

you nodded, your smile pulling wider. "yeah, when you threw up in the bathroom just before you asked and i had to convince you that you weren't gonna die. i had no clue why you were so nervous," you said, your voice filled with the warmth of nostalgia.

joe could only grumble as noa laughed at his expense. "thanks for sharing that, babe."

[postm0rt3m]

happy thanksgiving everyone!

just a lil fluff thanksgiving bf!simon post bcz i just sobbed my heart out over the most absolutely devastatingly beautiful angst story i’ve ever read (through statics, give it a read!) and if i keep thinking about it i’m going to actually spiral

not proofread so :P

(i said this then made myself cry again writing this bffr. this also ended up way longer than i meant for it to so lol!)

“simon?”

“…baby?”

“simon theodore! are you even listening to-“

simon suddenly snaps back out of his thoughts at the stern tone in your voice, letting out a small grunt as if saying “yes i was” but in reality.. he wasn’t. he was too far gone in his absolutely harrowing thoughts, because today is the day.

the day he’s having thanksgiving dinner with your family. i repeat, simon “ghost” riley is currently on his way to eat turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie with his girlfriend’s family. sound the alarms!

don’t get me wrong, he’s met some of your family before. your parents, your siblings. but.. your entire family is going to be here. moms side, dads side, aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins. oh god.

this man has been through war and back. literally. yet, he feels as anxious as he did the first day he joined the army, just thinking about the events that are about to go down. he’s literally trembling. terrified to lift his hands from the death grip he has on the steering wheel because he knows you’ll get that same teasing sympathetic look on your face as you always do.

he finally clears his throat, breaking his deadpan stare out the windshield to glance over at you for a moment, which brings him a little comfort. just the sight of you, really, could relax every tense muscle in his body.

“yeah, yeah, ‘m listenin’. said sumn about.. ham..?”

you look over when you feel his gaze on his, that same smile he was just trying to prevent spreading across your face. holding back a laugh from the random mention of ham, you place your left hand on his meaty thigh, giving it a soft squeeze.

“…no. are you okay? i promise they’re gonna love you, si. seriously.”

you know, of course, about your boyfriend’s past. his alcoholic of a father, the absence of his mother, the way he buried himself with work and an early grave in an attempt to forget it all. every time you think about it, your heart squeezes. because his pain is your pain, and it hurts you so deeply its as if it happened to you. plus, your man doesn’t deserve all that weight on his shoulders!

so, you’re kind. loving. forgiving. you never hold his mistakes over his head, knowing it happened so many times in his childhood. you’ve been together not even a year, yet, you know. you know he’s the one that you’ll marry, the one who’s children you’ll have running around your big white suburban house. and he knows it too. which is why he agreed to this!

he gives another grunt after he mulls over your question, because, really, is he okay? he’s not sure himself, at this point.

“i.. ‘m fine. lets just get this over with.”

—

once you actually arrive, you’re.. not sure if simon is still breathing in his seat. neither is he. his hands are still placed firmly on the steering wheel and his feet on the pedals, even though he already turned the car off. five minutes ago.

“baby. take a deep breath in,”

you begin, your smile falling as you realize he’s actually terrified. this is probably the first thanksgiving dinner he’s ever been to. and with his future family? he just wants the world to open up and swallow him whole already.

but, he obliges, taking a sharp inhale in, holding it, then letting it out when you say. it actually does relax his muscles a little, but not his nerves. no, they’re so far gone he thinks they won’t be relaxed for the next five years.

“then out. you’re okay. everything will be okay. i promise, they’ll love you. worst case scenario, we leave and get chinese.”

he looks over at you, his gaze still as intense as ever, but you can see the utter fear and nerves swirling around behind his brown eyes. you let out a small sigh, leaning over the center console to place a soft kiss on his stubbly cheek.

“lets go in. we can come back out if its too much, okay?”

he nods, swallowing so hard he thinks he might’ve swallowed his own tongue. his grip on the steering wheel finally releases as he exits the car, the crisp november air instantly hitting his face and the white t-shirt & blue jeans that took him two hours to pick out.

he rounds the front of the black pickup truck, opening your door and taking your hand as you slide down out of the passenger seat.

as you two walk up to the front door of your mother and father’s home, his grip on your hand tightens more and more with each step. you place another reassuring peck on his arm, which loosens it just a little. just a little.

you make it to the front door, and oh my god simon thinks he’s going to pass out. he’s trying to keep it together, but staring through the foggy glass of the door, seeing the bustling of your family inside, he thinks he might hurl.

“oh — you must be the famous simon we hear so much about! her mom never shuts up about you!”

one of your aunts opens the door, a beaming smile spread across her face as she sees you, then cranes her neck up to look at your brute of a boyfriend. you can see the shock on her face for a split second, although she doesn’t dwell on it. but simon does.

why did she look at me like that? do i have something on my face? bloody hell, i’m gonna throw up everywhere and she’s gonna leave me and-

you cut simon out of his thoughts with a reassuring squeeze to his hand, glancing from him to your aunt. she reaches her hand out, and simon hesitantly meets it, giving it a gentle yet firm shake.

“we’re glad to be here! simon is excited to meet everyone, right, love?”

“yeah. can’t wait.”

you two make your way through the lively house, and simon can’t help but think about how.. domestic it all is.

your siblings and cousins all running around, playing together and weaving in and out of the various rooms. your mom, aunts, and grandmothers gathered in the kitchen, preparing the food and gossiping about their respective partners. your dad, uncles and grandpas laughing heartily over beers and nachos as they watch the ongoing baseball game on the tv.

its something simon has never had the pleasure of experiencing in real life, and something he never thought he’d get to experience.. ever. the reality hits him, so much harder than he’d thought.

that.. this is his life. this is his family. not those people who abandoned him all those years ago. you’re his family. and the thought warms his chest in a way not even you could.

the day flies by, so much faster than simon thought it would. he got to meet everyone, speak with everyone. he even had a beer with your dad. although this may be completely new to him, it instantly felt familiar. felt right. the stability and domesticity he’s craved for so long, and he’s finally got it.

he was nervous the whole time, of course. he still is. but having you there made it all melt all way after a few hours. he stayed by your side the entire time, not wanting to leave you alone, but also not wanting to be alone himself. your reassuring squeezes, your loving pecks to his cheek or arm, they kept him grounded. and he will never be able to re-pay you for such a feat.

when it comes time to eat, everyone is crowded around the living room with heaping plates in hands. your cousins are sprawled on the floor, uncles and aunts sitting in random camping chairs they brought knowing there wouldn’t be enough space for everyone.

simon can’t wait to eat. the fragrant turkey and gravy sitting in his lap, he thinks he will simply die if he doesn’t dig in.

but, one of your aunts mentioned saying grace. something simon doesn’t think he’s done a single time in his life.

everyones heads bow, hands connecting around the room, simon holding yours in his left and your sibling’s in his right as you all squeeze together on the couch.

your mother begins her prayer, giving her thanks for the people, the food, and the house they’re so lucky to be blessed with. simon finds it a little silly as a firm non-believer of any type of religion, but it also squeezes at his heart, because they truly are blessed. he’s blessed.

then, she mentions him.

“and thank you, for bringing such a handsome man into my daughter’s life. we hope for a long, healthy life for the two of them, and hope he doesn’t mind his new crazy family.”

his new crazy family.

you peek your eyes open with the widest grin, glancing over to see if simon is as flushed as you think he is.

but he’s not.

he’s crying.

you can feel his hand slightly trembling, his eyes still clamped shut as the tears roll down his face and his lip pouts out just the slightest. your smile instantly falls, your hand still connected with his as you raise them to wipe at his tears.

you try to be discreet, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to as you dry his eyes with your sleeve. you can feel your heart doing flips, the fact that he’s so touched that he’s crying making you want to cry yourself.

after they say amen, everyone instantly digs into their plates. except the two of you.

you can’t take your eyes off of simon, and he can’t take his reddened eyes off of you. here, in this moment, you both realize something.

everything you two’ve been through. the lows, the sleepless nights. the highs, nights out on the town until ungodly hours. has lead to this. this connection, this moment.

and, god, neither of you could ask for more. he truly can’t wait to put a ring on your finger.

after a few moments of silent conversation you give him a small smile, and the two of you tune back into the world, digging into your plates and enjoying the presence of your family and each other.

this is his family now. and just like he couldn’t ask for more from you, he couldn’t ask anymore from them. he loves them just as much as he does you.

a few hours later, everyone begins leaving and heading home. thanksgiving is officially over for your household.

you can barely drag simon away from the kitchen, who is stacking a plate the size of his own head with the various dishes strewn across the counter. your mother was absolutely delighted at the fact that he kept going back, for seconds, thirds, then fourths. and now he’s taking the remaining leftovers.

you two make it back out to the truck, him helping you in before the both of you settle in and fasten your seatbelts.

but he doesn’t yet start it. he looks over at you, a content sigh escaping his lips and a smile so warm across his face you think you could melt.

“i love you.”

he simply says, the usual monotone stance in his voice replaced with something else. something warm and sweet, like the soft piece of pumpkin pie in the plate in your lap, neatly covered by a layer of tin foil.

“i love you too, simon. i told you they’d love you.”

you respond, the smile on your own face giddy and almost sickly sweet as you think about everything that just happened, and everything that will happen.

its a little hard for simon to make sense of all these new emotions and flooding feelings as you two make the long drive back home. but one thing he does know, he’s thankful.

thankful for you, thankful for the 5 inch tall plate of food in the backseat, and thankful for your family.

for his family.

[arpicityandneed]

Hell Hath No Fury

(sequel to this ask.)

18+ f!reader. on the run Winter Soldier!Bucky. Dark Bucky. Angst. Violence. Hydra. Kidnapping. Threats of sexual violence. (No actual noncon) Rumlow (he's his own warning.) happy ending.

3.9k

~

The Asset was going to be punished. Maybe not right away, and never in a way he could anticipate, but he would be punished. The truth of it rattled in his bones.

He'd had pleasure, warmth, connection. All things that were forbidden to him.

So he'd ran.

But no matter how well he hid himself, the memory of you haunted him. Your conversations, the way your pussy felt on his cock when he split you open, the way you'd bitten his neck like he was yours.

He'd spent months simply observing you before you'd started teasing him. You were quick witted, a bit of a brat, more than a bit spoiled, but never cruel. You touched him without fear and only looked at his arm with curiosity.

You'd started confessing things to him when you realized he really wouldn't speak unless he had orders to. You told him you missed your mother who'd died as a child in an 'accident' you were sure was actually an assassination to get to your father. You told him you wanted a regular life with kids and maybe a cat. You even told him you hated being your father's daughter, the weight of expectation to be perfect and a pawn for him to marry off to whoever would get him the most power.

All the while the Asset had listened, tucking away the information deep into his heart because for some reason he knew it was important. He carried you home after parties left your feet too tired to walk another step in your heels and felt his heart flip in his chest when you nuzzled into him.

Then you'd started testing his patience, showing off your curves without remorse or shame. Tempting him with the softness of your breasts, the chub of your stomach and thighs, the wet heat between your legs.

When he'd finally snapped you'd taken him balls deep without hesitation. And it made him so angry (you'd let that pathetic dildo inside you? maybe you'd fucked other men before he'd been assigned to you. he hated the thought of anyone or anything but him fucking you) he'd used you like a whore, fucking you hard and deep without much thought of your pleasure. But to his surprise the harder he'd taken you the more you responded, clinging to him and begging for more.

Your pussy was sucking him in, milking his cock for his cum while you moaned and drove him crazy with your whines. "Do it, cum in me, get me pregnant I don't care--"

He'd had to cover your mouth, your words worming their way into his brain until all he could think about was seeing you grow round with his child.

The Asset knew he didn't deserve this pleasure but your pussy wouldn't stop fluttering around him, and the second he played with your clit you started fucking squirting on his cock.

How was he not supposed to cream you after that?

Maybe leaving the pillow under your hips was over kill, but some primal part of his brain wanted his seed to take. So he stuffed his fingers into your pussy to push his cum back inside you when it leaked out. You moaned in your sleep but didn't stir.

He licked his fingers before sneaking out the window- but not before he planted his own bugs in the room.

~

"Where did he go?" Listening to your father rage at you was killing him. Bucky- his name, lost for so long but knocked loose by the shock of being with you- knew you had every reason to turn him in. But for some reason, you weren't saying anything.

"I don't know dad. I had a one night stand and he was gone when I woke up." You muttered quietly, and Bucky wished he'd had camera's installed. He needed to see you. Make sure you were alright.

"You're lying to me! These people, darling, they don't like losing an Asset like that. If you don't tell me where he went we'll all have to face the consequences." Your father's voice was tight, anger and fear wrapped together in his tone.

"I already told you I don't know!" You yelled, and Bucky felt a fierce pride in his heart. The longer he was on his own, the more emotions he was able to feel. It had been months since his last wipe and his serum enhanced body seemed to be healing at an astonishing rate. So he was able to admit, he was proud of the woman his whole being had decided was his.

"Then we'll just have to hope they show us mercy."

~

Bucky now knew what his punishment was. You.

When he'd heard the chatter on HYDRA wavelengths discussing a possible reproduction of the serum, his heart was instantly in a vice grip. Of course they'd find out, and any child of his might be enhanced. How stupid could he have been?

By the time he made it to the hotel you were gone, your father dead from a bullet between his eyebrows. HYDRA worked quickly and quietly and Bucky was forced to reckon with his choice to leave you behind.

He had to do something, and fast. The thought of you in the clutches of HYDRA did something horrible to his breathing.

So for the first time since he remembered his name, he went to the only person he could for help.

~

Stevie was still an idiot. And though Stark's son was smart, HYDRA had been stealing his tech for years and Bucky was familiar with them.

He slipped into Steve's apartment without a sound and found the captain sleeping soundly. When Bucky allowed his presence to be felt Steve was up and searching for his shield in an instant. I still got it punk.

"I need your help." Bucky spoke before Steve could panic and call his teammates.

Steve paused, blinking and fully waking up as he took the assassin that was once his best friend.

"B-Buck?"

"We don't have time for this, Captain. I need your help." Bucky hissed, his own panic making itself known. That finally got Steve's attention and he nodded, his face growing serious.

"What can I do? Anything Buck." And Bucky could tell the man meant it. He still didn't trust the memories that had started to resurface, but he did trust the man in front of him for some reason.

"There's a woman. Might be carrying an enhanced child. HYDRA has her and we have to get her out." Bucky was tired, this was the most he'd spoken in years. But Steve was smart, listened to everything Bucky didn't say. She's mine. Can't let them have her.

"I'll tell the team-"

"NO!" Bucky's voice rattled the windows as he felt ice grow in his veins. If HYDRA saw the entire Avengers coming to their base? You'd be killed in an instant. "J-just, just us. Or else they'll terminate."

"Okay Buck, okay." Steve held up his hands gently in surrender, and took a deep breath before squaring his shoulders. "Then lets get to work."

~

It had been a month since the Asset disappeared when it happened. You woke up in a sterile white room with a throbbing headache and in a paper hospital gown. Your skin crawled at the thought of someone touching your naked body when you were unconcious.

"Hello? What kind of B list movie bullshit is this?" You called, trying to cover the fear that was taking over your body with bravado.

"I can see why he likes you." Came the reply when a man opened the door, his scarred face and leering eyes making you push back into the wall to try to get farther away from him. "But too bad. He's no where to be found. Ghost man you know?"

The man seemed to be enjoying himself until a second man popped his head in, an equally ugly look in his eyes as he looked over you. "Says there's still been no alarms tripped, Rumlow. He hasn't made a move."

"Thanks Walker, good job." When it was just the two of you again, Rumlow came over to crouch in front of you. He took a lock of your hair and rubbed it between your fingers. You wanted to throw up.

"You're pretty enough I guess. But honestly I'd just fuck you to make your precious little soldier boy pissed. He's the one who did this to my beautiful mug." He grinned as you cringed away, seeming to enjoy your revulsion.

"Don't worry, as soon as you pop out his brat I'll put another one in you." The threat made your stomach twist, but thankfully that was all he seemed to want to say. He stood and turned to leave, only pausing to smile at you once more- as if he knew that's what made you the most uncomfortable, seeing his scars pulled tight over his teeth.

When he left you curled around yourself, and the life inside you that you hadn't even known about until now.

We're gonna be okay. Your daddy is gonna come get us. I know it.

~

In the end it took four weeks. Four weeks to find information on where you were being held, plan out points of entry and exit, as well as transportation.

Bucky thought he knew pain, thought he knew everything there was to know about ways to torture a human being. But hearing chatter from some asshole about how he couldn't wait to force himself on you as soon as the baby was born was a new form of hell. That asshole, Rumlow Bucky found out, seemed to be the only real leak about you.

Everyone else barely mentioned you, trying to keep their new treasure to themselves. But Rumlow couldn't help himself. His putrid personality on full display as he talked about 'some girl' that Bucky knew in his bones was you.

It was the only connection Bucky had to you, listening to Rumlow go on about how fiesty you were and how he wanted to break you. It made Bucky decide Rumlow would be the last one to die. So Bucky could let you watch if you wanted.

By the time Bucky and Steve were heading out, Bucky couldn't even sit still. He paced the outdated quinjet Steve had stolen like a feral animal on a dangerously thin leash.

"We'll get her back Buck. We would've heard if something had happened." Steve had been a good partner in this, Bucky knew. He had done his best to reassure Bucky everytime he felt like tearing his hair out. (Could only admit to himself that Steve matched up with his memories almost eerily well, kind funny and protective of those he cared about.)

"Rumlow's been quiet. What if-" Bucky couldn't finish the thought. You were his. If Rumlow had touched you in any way, Bucky would have to start by breaking his fingers one at a time.

"He would've been bragging by now." Steve muttered as he flew the quinjet to the HYDRA base, one of their smaller facilities to distract anyone searching for you.

"Fly faster."

~

Something was different today. Instead of Rumlow coming in to taunt you, you'd been left alone. Every time your door opened for them to bring you a meal you heard lots of footsteps rushing around.

"What's going on?" You asked the tech assigned to feed you, not surprised when all you got was a look.

"Just tell me some gossip dude, I've been stuck in here for weeks." You tried to hide your desperation behind a charming smile, and it almost might have worked if Rumlow hadn't chosen that moment to stroll in.

"Get away from the subject." He growled and the tech snapped their mouth shut before scurrying out.

"Looks like its your lucky day princess. You're gonna get to see your boy toy get killed." You didn't rise to the bait even as your heart leapt in your chest, narrowing your eyes at the waste of space as he started pacing. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

You noticed three things right away. One was the massive gun strapped to him, one that looked more like alien tech than anything else. Second was the fact that he was blocking the door. Third, was that the son of bitch looked a little nervous, his mouth pressed into a flat line instead of his usual sneer.

"This? Oh I'm glad you asked," Rumlow held up the gun and pressed a button. The machine hummed to life and started glowing an odd shade of blue. "This is the newest HYDRA enhanced SHIELD knock off. Should even be able to destroy vibranium. Can't wait to test it out."

You heard a blaring alarm through the door, and for the first time in weeks it was your turn to smile.

"That gun you got?" You stood up, hand instinctively going to your belly as you taunted the man. "Isn't gonna be good enough. Cause he's coming for both of us and nothing will stop him. That's why you're afraid."

The slap surprised you, in your entire stay in this hell hole he’d never hit you. You cradled your cheek and glared at him with all the hate you had in your heart. You knew it would bruise, knew the throbbing pain wouldn’t go away for hours.

“Shut up! Just shut up! I’ll kill him, then I’ll kill you. But not before I get what I want.” He took another step towards you and you scrambled away, something clicking in your brain. You would have to survive—even if he touched you. For your baby if nothing else.

“I’m not going to die here.” You weren’t sure who you were trying to convince more, but the door opened again and Walker barked at Rumlow,

“He’s here. We need all hands.”

“In a minute!” Rumlow growled, but Walker shook his head.

“Directors orders.” Walker spoke firmly, and Rumlow cursed as he looked at you with something unhinged in his eyes, his grip on the gun tightening like he wanted to use it on you.

“We’ll continue this later, princess.”

You waited till he’d left before allowing yourself to sink to the floor, gasping for air as the reality of what was going on hit you. If your Soldat didn’t come for you, if he died (and fuck you didn’t even know the name of your child’s father) you’d be at the mercy of Rumlow and Walker with no way out.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

~

Bucky didn’t hesitate to slit the throat of any HYDRA agent coming his way, while Steve merely incapacitated them.

“Really Bucky?” Steve groaned as the pile of bodies grew. He had some misunderstanding that the lower ranked agents were somehow less guilty. But no, Bucky knew better. Ever single one of them would sell innocent lives for a chance for more power.

Bucky didn’t bother to respond.

12.

He moved with deadly grace, his knives slicing through the air before landing in the bodies of his enemies with frightening accuracy. He’d been armed to the teeth and hadn’t even touched a gun yet. That would’ve been too merciful.

15.

He kept a running tally of his kills as he was taught, his entire body searching for signs of you and Rumlow. Somehow he knew you wouldn’t be far apart. So as he worked his way deeper into the base and found two men, one with a scarred face that was vaguely familiar and a blonde who looked like a cheap knock off of Steve in front of a door with a heavy lock, he knew he’d found you.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Bucky would know that voice anywhere, and he merely stared at Rumlow. He knew his icy flat stare was unsettling and used it to his advantage. But despite the fear Bucky could smell off of Rumlow as Steve finally made it to Bucky’s side, he continued to talk shit.

“Too bad you’re too late. Your girl’s cunt is good stuff. I see why you’d kill for—” The knife lodged itself in Rumlows shoulder with a sickening thud and the man cried out in pain. And then Walker tried to back away, looking for ways to escape.

“Son, just don’t.” Steve warned before the coward ran, making Steve curse before going after him.

“Open the door.” Bucky’s voice was monotone, another knife appearing in his hand before it was thrown into Rumlows thigh.

“Over my dead body.” Rumlow tried to aim his gun at Bucky, but it was quick work to break his hand and toss the gun away. Bucky grabbed Rumlow by the throat in his metal hand and began to squeeze.

“Open. The. Door.” Bucky murmured lowly, watching with satisfaction as Rumlow slowly turned purple from the lack of oxygen. Just before he would’ve snapped Rumlows throat the man gasped out,

“Open, code R-two-D-seven-alpha-eight-six.” His voice was barely audible but the technology beeped anyway, the lock turning green. Bucky loosened his grip on Rumlow but didn’t release him.

Dragged him behind as he walked to the door, hesitating for the first time since this all started. Would you even want to see him?

When he stepped inside he was ready to grovel, apologize in every language he knew.

What he wasn’t prepared for was you launching yourself at him blindly, kicking and biting and screaming,

“You’re not gonna fucking touch me!” Rumlow got dropped like a sack of bricks, gasping for air and choking on it as Bucky grabbed your hands gently, speaking as softly (he didn’t even know he could do that.)

“Это я. Я не позволю им прикоснуться к тебе.” It’s me. I won’t let them touch you. Bucky watched as you slowly stopped trying to attack him, looking at him for the first time.

“Y-you’re really here?” You couldn’t stop the way your voice trembled, your eyes darting over him as if you couldn’t really believe it.

“Da.” He nodded before looking over his shoulder at Rumlow on the ground, trying to force his body to move despite his injuries.

“You want me to kill this guy for you?” Bucky asked in English this time, making you blink in surprise.

“You can speak English? You can speak?” You blurted out in your typical sassy way, making Bucky smile for the first time in months.

“Focus, do you want me to kill him? Because I will.” He was completely serious and he watched you truly consider it for a while, before shaking your head.

“You can put a knife in his dick though.” You were completely serious and Rumlow tried to crawl away, but Bucky moved faster easily.

“Тебе не следовало брать ее.” You shouldn’t have taken her. You watched with bitter satisfaction as Bucky kicked Rumlow onto his back and threw his final knife into the bastards crotch. Watching him howl in pain made you smile, and you went to your Soldat���s side grabbing onto his metal arm.

You looked down at Rumlow and grinned. “Told you, asshole.”

Then some other guy, Captain fucking America you realized with a start poked his head in the door and glared at your Soldat.

“Bucky we need to go. Reunion can happen later. They’re going to destroy the base.” The blond spoke swiftly and your Soldat, Bucky?, nodded.

“Let’s go.”

“You’re name is Bucky—?” You tried to ask before you were swept into Bucky’s arms, his grip on you secure as he started running behind Steve.

“My name is James, but apparently my friends called me Bucky.” He explained quietly, not even the slightest bit out of breath as they ran until they found a car. Bucky set you inside like you were made of glass before coming to sit beside you and slamming the door shut. Steve took to the drivers seat with a roll of his eyes. Tires screeched as you all drove away, and for the first time since you’d been taken your body allowed itself to break down.

You breathing started to grow fast, too fast, as you hyperventilated and started to shake. Tears fell down your cheeks as you hugged yourself. Bucky reached for you and you flinched without thinking.

“It’s over. I swear I will never leave your side again. You… or the baby.” He spoke with such conviction, fierce protectiveness in his gaze when you finally did look at him.

“You knew about..?” You asked as you tried to keep your sobs in, feeling like you were going crazy with the different emotions raging through you. Fear, relief, hope, it was too much to process at once.

“I’ve been trying to get you back since the day they took you.” He admitted quietly, holding his hand out slower this time, palm up in supplication. “I’m so, so sorry I left you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“They hurt you too. That’s why you worked for them.” It wasn’t a question, you’d seen the way his ‘handlers’ had treated him when you first met him. They spoke to him like a dog.

“I didn’t have a choice. You were what loosened their grip on me.” You took his hand, even though your fingers were trembling, and he brought your knuckles to his lips. “You saved me.”

“Then I guess we’re even.” You smiled a bit sadly, knowing it would be a long road to deal with everything that happened. But you were safe. And so was your baby. Even Bucky was back with you.

“10 minutes out to the quinjet.” Steve spoke quietly, and you startled. You honestly forgot he was there.

“Thanks Stevie.” (You noticed the way Steve’s eyes went wide, grew misty as he drove, and you wondered why that was.) Bucky carefully pulled you closer so he could wrap his arms around you, so his bones could know that you were safe.

“Where are we going?” You asked, looking up at him worriedly. “What about the baby? They wanted the baby, won’t they come for me again?”

“Let them fucking try.” Bucky growled, his arms tightening around you. “I’ll figure something out. But for now, just rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Now that he mentioned it, you were exhausted. And you trusted him. He’d come for you, just like you knew he would. And no matter what happened in the future, you knew he’d always come for you.

So you nodded, cuddled closer into his chest and promptly fell asleep.

~

Bucky carried your sleeping form into the plane, and Steve was amazed by how gentle his friend was with you. Bucky wouldn’t let you out of his arms let alone his sight.

Steve still couldn’t believe it. Bucky, who he’d thought was dead, was alive and somehow freed from HYDRA’s control. Bucky, who he’d thought was so broken by HYDRA that he barely remembered Steve, had called him Stevie like they were kids again.

And Steve knew it was because of you.

He was glad he’d put some other plans into motion while they’d been preparing to come get you. Plans that included Pepper creating a legal case in Bucky’s defense and sending Natasha to uncover HYDRA’s secrets to expose them.

It wouldn’t be easy, and there would always be people looking to get their hands on your possibly enhanced baby. But with the way Bucky was curled around you like a dragon with his treasure—Steve wasn’t worried. Anyone who tried to come for you again would have to deal with a wrath the likes of which no one had ever lived to tell.

Hell hath no fury like Bucky when it came to you.

[mochiwonz]

― YOU'RE JUST A STRANGER s.jaeyun

PAIRING. fem!reader x nonidol bf!jake CONTENT. angst , jake is kind-of a jerk (╥﹏╥) , breakup , cursing WORD COUNT. 1,281 NOTE. omg i've wanted to write an angsty fic for awhile so this is me finally doing it :3 the plot is kinda ass so i apologize T v T pls remember this is all just fiction !! hope you enjoy ♡

You were convinced that Jake was the best boyfriend anyone could ever have. He was insanely good-looking, dressed well, loved his family and friends, and had a loving personality. Jake always made time for you and never went a day without checking up on you. He even told you that he would marry you one day and that you guys would have three kids and one dog. Frankly, he was really just perfect.

Well, until he wasn't.

When you first met Jake, you guys were sophomores in highschool. You guys had met in your science class and ended up becoming close friends. After growing closer to him, you realized you had some pretty strong feelings for him. And surely enough, he felt the same way about you, too.

So in Junior year, he confessed to you and of course you said yes. How could you not? Throughout the next year, you felt as if life couldn't be any better. Your first love also loved you, and he was also possibly the most charming man on earth!

However, things quickly changed.

Fast forward a year and a half later, you guys graduated and quickly moved in together. But Jake was no longer the same. He was no longer the sweet boy that showed his love and affection for you. Instead, he was closed off. He never started conversations with you, you always had to be the one to start it. Jake was just becoming more distant.

Why? Why was your own boyfriend distancing himself from you? Did you do something wrong?

It was now 7:40 pm and Jake had still not answered your texts. Jake always answered, or well- he used to always answer.

baby i'm omw to the grocery store and i'll make us some dinner tonight <3

jake i just saw a dog that looks so much like layla lol

jake?? i haven't heard from you since you left this morning, r u okay?

i'm not trying to bother u jake but i'm rly worried pls atleast txt me back :(

You didn't know what to think. Was he ignoring you on purpose? Did you accidentally make a mistake? Was he falling out of love with you? Was he cheating on you?

No way, he couldn't. Yes he had been distant, but no, Jake would never. You wish he could just give you an explanation, at least.

You were just about to call him until you heard footsteps entering the apartment.

Jake's finally home.

You walk over to Jake and worryingly bombard him with questions while hugging him.

"baby...how're you? where were you today? did your phone die-"

He cuts you off.

"quit being so fucking nosey y/n." he says, sounding pissed off.

What? Did you just hear that right? And why did he sound and look so mad?

"jake...what? I was just worried..." you tell him, your voice laced with a bit of shock.

"i'm a grown ass man, i can take care of myself." he responds, not looking at you while pushing you away from his chest.

He quickly walks over to the fridge and grabs himself a cup of coffee- coffee that you made for him, hoping maybe he'd thank you or acknowledge you.

Not to your surprise, he just grabs it and walks to the sofa. Not one glance, not one "thank you". Nothing.

"hey jake, did i do something wrong? if so i'm sorr-"

And again, he cuts you off.

"can you just shut up please, you didn't do anything wrong." he tells you, and you're not convinced. How could you be?

"okay well then why have you been such an ass towards me? please just give me a fucking explanation" you say while sitting beside him on the sofa.

You notice how he moves away from you, and you can't help but feel a little frustrated.

"maybe it's because i'm sick of you always bothering me y/n."

Bothering him? You've only ever tried to care for him. Fuck, you can feel your eyes getting watery.

The room feels cold, even though the heater is on. There is no longer that warmth- the comforting warmth that you oh so loved. Things had really changed, and you really fucking hated it.

"bothering you? jake i'm your girlfriend, all i'm trying to do is love and care for you. i-"

"okay then just stop. stop loving and caring for me." he says in a louder tone of voice.

Now you're really frustrated. What the fuck is happening with Jake?

"what the fuck is wrong with you? jake, what the fuck?"

"nothing is fucking wrong with me y/n. maybe i'm just tired of your ass. maybe i'm just not in love with you anymore."

Did he just- oh. So you were right. He really doesn't love you anymore.

"jake you could've just told me you didn't love me anymore. you could've just told me so i didn't have to be put through this shit, and so that you could've just left." you tell him, your eyes filled with tears.

"i couldn't tell you because i know you would fucking cry like a crybaby."

You felt your heart break into two. The man you loved, your once sweet boyfriend, was now treating you like you were nothing to him.

And in Jake's eyes, you really were nothing to him anymore.

"jake what the fuck i-" you try to speak but you're choked up. And fuck, you feel the first tear fall and next thing you know- you're sobbing.

"see, look- you're crying. i knew you'd fucking cry. and shit, you're an ugly crier too. i can't keep up with your shit anymore y/n, i'm tired. you always treat me like i'm a baby, making me food and shit. just stop. i'm leaving and this is over. we're over. bye y/n" he says while getting up from the couch.

You feel numb. Your first love just stabbed you, right in the heart.

Before you could say anything back, he'd already grabbed his bag and jacket and was on his way to the front door. And this time, you knew he wasn't going to come back.

You quickly get up and run to the front door, stopping him in his tracks.

"jake can you atleast look at me please-" you tell him and he listens and looks at you. However, his stare is emotionless.

"please jake can i hug you one last time?...please" you ask, voice shaky from your sobbing.

"sure whatever" he responds in an annoyed tone of voice.

You slowly bring yourself closer to him and rest your head in his chest and wrap your arms around him. But you didn't feel that same warmth. You didn't feel any sort of love or comfort that you hoped you would.

He just stood there. He didn't wrap his arms around your waist and kiss the top of your head like he used to. Of course he wouldn't. You just missed the old jake.

"okay y/n that's enough. i'll get going" he tells you while unwrapping your arms.

You can't find any words to say to him, you really can't. You just stand there, looking and feeling like a complete mess.

"bye" jake says as he walks out the door.

You don't say "bye" back to him, because you can't.

You're just standing there, frozen, numb. You just watch him as he leaves. You watch him leave the apartment as your boyfriend, for the last time ever.

And then, the door closes. He wasn't your boyfriend anymore and you weren't his girlfriend anymore. And no you wouldn't be calling him your ex boyfriend or your first love.

If anything, you would call him a complete and total stranger.

part 2 is here and my other works are here ! pls reblog if you enjoyed :))

[rebelliousstories]

Rain Check

Relationship: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of a Case involving a Child (No Mentions of Death)

Word Count: 1,672

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Summary: When the team gets called out of town the day before Thanksgiving, Aaron has to beg for forgiveness from his wife. But the next week they’re home, he learns that he shouldn’t have felt guilty.

Consider Donating: Here

“We should certainly count our blessings, but we should also make out blessings count.” Neil A. Maxwell

Oh, his wife was going to kill him. This is how he went out. Aaron Hotchner, the formidable Unit Chief of the BAU, was slightly panicking as he was packing up his briefcase to take with him on the plane. His phone was out to call his wife, who was preparing for Thanksgiving dinner the next day, to tell her that they had been called out of town.

He sighed as he ran a hand across his forehead, already feeling the stress headache coming on from having to call her. This was going to be their first Thanksgiving as a married couple, and he had just hoped that they were able to have it. But, of course, that was not what the psycho and sociopaths of the world have in store for him.

There was one, two, three rings before her sweet honeyed voice answered with a cheerful, “Mr. Hotchner, to what do I owe this midday personal call? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Hey, honey. I’m uh- notgonnabehometomrrow,” he mumbled as fast as he could, causing her to have him repeat it.

“I won’t be home tomorrow for Thanksgiving. The team got called out to Nebraska on a child kidnapping case.” Aaron heard her take in a deep breath, and release it in a long sigh on the other end of the line.

“I am so sorry, honey. I know we had all those plans made, and you can still go have dinner with your family. I just… the team.” The longer he tried to justify his actions, the worse he felt about himself.

“Do you know when you’ll be home,” came her soft ask.

“No. These things, especially kidnapping cases, we never can predict how they’ll turn out. I’m hoping we’ll be home soon.”

“Okay. I’ll take Jack with me to dinner tomorrow. We’ll be fine, Aaron. Just focus on catching the bad guy.”

How he wished he could have. It had been five days since they touched down in Kearney, Nebraska. Five days, and they were right back to square one. Firstly, this unsub was crafty. He managed to throw suspension off of whomever it was and get another guy arrested. Every lead was turning out to be a dead end. And Aaron was pissed.

He had talked with his wife a little bit every morning and every night that he had been gone, but it did not hold a candle to the need he felt to be home. As he sat around the conference table they had been granted, Aaron pulled a bit on his tie to get it to loosen. A cup of mediocre cop shop coffee was placed in front of him, and an Italian sat next to him.

“I’m not gong to ask if you’re alright, because I know the answer to that. But I will say, it’s going to be fine.” The wisdom in his voice caused the younger man to stare him from where his chair was leaned back.

“I just want to go home, Dave. I want this case over with, and to go home. We never take this long on kidnappings. There has to be something that we’re missing.” The unit chief lamented, turning his face to the ceiling and shielding his eyes with his hands.

“We’ll catch him, Aaron. We always do. Don’t worry. Whether it’s a blessing or a curse, we haven’t found a body which means the kid is probably still alive.” Dave reassured, watching his friend closely.

“I know you were looking forward to spend the holiday with your lovely wife, but this is the job. Besides, she is more than likely not as upset as you think. Just put your head in the game, so we can get home sooner.” Rossi patted his knee, and left, shutting the door behind him. All that was left in the room was Hotch, the evidence board, and his own racing thoughts.

As much as he tried to remain focused, he could not help but think of his wife. And in doing so, he thought back to Hailey. She had only been able to take so much of him as unit chief before she threw in the towel. Would his current wife do the same if he kept having to cancel major and minor holidays for the sake of the team?

That was something that he never cared to think about, but it was a very real possibility. Hotch grabbed the cup of coffee and turned to the board behind him. The girl that had disappeared was the same age as Jack. She needed him now. Aaron really needed his head in the game. But the longer he stared at the evidence board, the more questions he got.

Had this girl been a newborn, he would have thought that this was a female abduction. Like a lightbulb flicking on, he sprang from his seat, and called the rest of the team in. From that point on, it was only a matter of time.

Coming home after six days away was like a breath of fresh air. It was late, almost midnight, when Hotch dragged his tired bones to the front door of his apartment. When he got inside, the sight made him chuckle as he disarmed his security system.

His wife was asleep on the couch with a bunch of laundry spread out around her. It honestly looked like a little nest that she had made for herself. Setting down his briefcase, and carefully stepping over the piles, his hand made contact with her arm and gently shook her awake.

“Aar, you’re home,” she mumbled sleepily.

“Yeah, I am. Let’s get you to bed, Mrs. Hotchner.” Aaron picked his wife up with little difficulty, before turning and making their way to bed. He placed her underneath their sheets, kissed her head, and went to take a shower.

His memory never recorded himself falling asleep, but he knew he did. Purely, for the simple fact that he awoke the next morning in his bed, with his wife already out of it. However, after checking the time on the clock, Aaron rushed to get ready to go into work. He took the fastest shower, put his suit on in record time, and was rushing to lace up his shoes.

“Good morning, dear. Why are you in such a hurry?”

Aaron paused in between doing the laces from tying his left shoe to look up to where his wife was standing in the kitchen. His mug was sitting on the table with some steaming coffee in it. A plate was in front of it filled with eggs, sausage, and toast.

“Um…” he trailed off, “going to work? It’s Tuesday.”

“Dave got you and the team the day off. Go change into something more comfortable, sweetie.” She giggled as she waved him off, back to the bedroom. As he did, he saw the counters filled with different preparations of side dishes. It confused him, but he was just thankful for the day off.

Coming back, Hotch was grateful that he could enjoy his day with his wife. He took his plate and pressed a kiss to her cheek while she went to sit with her own plate beside him. While they ate, she asked about the case they had just wrapped. Normally, this was not something that he liked bringing up, however, it felt nice to get it off of his chest.

Occasionally, when cases are this rough and long, it takes longer for him to decompress after the fact. Figuring out that someone was kidnapping a young girl to protect his wife that could not grapple with the fact that their daughter was dead; it was not something that you could easily comprehend. But, being able to talk to his wife and not a bureau mandated therapist was defiantly preferable.

Being able to go pick his son up from school was a welcomed change. However, his wife made sure to tell the Hotchner boys the second they got home to go get changed. He did not know why. All he knew was that the two adults, and Jack, were grabbing warmed dishes and heading out.

“Where are we going,” came his ask.

“You’ll see,” she replied.

The further they derived, the more he began to recognize the route they were on. Rossi’s mansion was quickly coming into view as they made the final turn into the driveway. Grabbing the dishes, the Hotchner’s went to the front door, and were greeted by their favorite Italian.

“Señora Hotchner, how I have missed you beautiful.” Dave pulled her in and took the dish from her hands with a kiss to each cheek.

“And I have missed you, Mr. Rossi.” Jack and Aaron followed after them. They were also greeted by Dave, and they placed their other dishes on the table outside, where a bunch of other food was already.

However, there was a sight that he never expected. The entire team was outside in the backyard. It was a massive party that he had no idea was going on. Garcia was with Derek and Emily already drinking wine. Will sat with Spencer who was shouting Henry magic tricks in the mean time.

Turning back to look at his wife who smirking an impish smile, he was confused, and knew it showed through on his face.

“I know you were upset about missing Thanksgiving last week. So I talked with Dave about maybe doing a redo.” Before he could stop himself, Aaron swooped down and kissed his wife passionately.

“Well, that is definitely one way to say thank you.” She said with a dazed smile.

“Come on, love birds. Let’s get this started.” Dave guided them to their seats, while Aaron was just thinking how thankful he was to have a wife like he did.

Catherine Pulsifier said, “Give thanks not just on Thanksgiving Day, but every day of your life.”

[naamahdarling]

Silly Game Time: The Skeleton King has asked for my hand in marriage ... Again (sigh).

How can I let him down gently enough to not make him an enemy, but firmly enough that he'll stop asking?

Listen. I know the Werewolf King is a total chad or whatever they're calling them now, and he has that pineapple farm and everything, and he has a really wonderful, supportive family who are actually very gentle.

I know he doesn't live in the "frozen wastes" which are just moors in winter, come on. I know the Werewolf King doesn't have like fifteen ex-situationships wandering around as banshees and wraiths and what-have-you, which can be a little teensy bit awkward when all you want to do is pace the castle walls, and all they want to do is scream and rend at their spectral hair.

But I need you to know the whole story.

They were friends before, I'm sure people have told you that. But no, yeah, back when the Skeleton King was just this prissy, gay little lich clattering around the dating scene, they were dating. Did you know that?They were really close. I don't know if the Werewolf King told you that. They were like boyfriend close.

They would have gotten married but the Skeleton King's dad finally disarticulated (at like the worst possible time) and he had to ascend and take the crown and that required sacrifices. It was so stupid.

Rather than claim the lives of fourteen of the Werewolf King's family and his husband the Werewolf King in order to ascend to the throne, he married that Viktor von Vampire or whatever his name was. I think we're all still forbidden from saying it even though he's dead. More dead. Whatever.

I know you heard there was backstabbing, and maybe that's why you're hesitating, but it was totally misrepresented. He married the vampire and then all of the vampire's petty, gross little ghouls got what they'd been deserving for four bratty, bratty centuries, and were discorporated.

I know it was like 60 years while the Skeleton King tried to kill that vampire douchebag, and it all looked really bad! It did! He killed his husband! But you know that fully half of the supernatural marriages that don't end in divorce and in some kind of permanent death or discorporation or what-have-you. It's not like nobody saw it coming, they're just being judgy.

And if he'd explained to the Werewolf King what was going on, about getting married just for the sacrifices and all, and told him that they could still totally be together afterwards, well. The werewolf King is a really great guy and would totally have committed his entire pack to the eradication of all those disgusting little vampire lackeys and their cults.

I don't need to tell you how that would have ended. I really don't. I mean, they're really just a bunch of puppies. They're just silly little puppies tumbling around that giant manor, playing all the time and hunting all the game and having music nights and dancing and barbecues, and it's all really fun. I mean, you've been immersed in it for the last 5 years. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

They're great, they're really great, they're very strong and brave and all of that, and the Werewolf King absolutely would have been up for a fight like that, that's why he's like king of all the werewolves ever, but oh my God his auntie? His cousins? Absolutely not the kind of people who could tear cultists apart. And I'm sure you know by now they wouldn't have listened if they were told to stay away. They can't keep their noses out of anything.

So it kind of had to be the way it was to prevent an absolute puppy slaughter. You don't want that, I don't want that, it's all just too awful to think about.

With all that in mind, I know there's some awkwardness about the time he made off with you in the night. The abduction. Okay! Okay, sorry. The kidnapping.

But you also know about the old curse on your family now, and why he really felt like he had to do it. I mean, your family was living on his land, and there were all these exes of his wandering around just waiting to suck your life force away if you had even one toe outside after the sun went down, or if your mirrors weren't perfectly aligned or your salt wasn't the right kind, god, who knew the really tasty flaky stuff was actually worse for that sort of thing? He kind of felt like he owed it to you. Hence the abd-- the kidnapping, sorry. And the gross blood ritual to make you immune to their bullshit. I mean, he's the one who created them, and you can't deny the fact that he absolutely stepped up to deal with the consequences.

I know it was awkward and all, but the two of you really had something together. Like, right away. Do you remember that entire summer where nobody could stop singing because some farmer broke some stone in his field and there was an ancient spirit trapped inside of it and it was just, well it was just a whole thing?

Everybody was just singing their real feelings, right out loud. It was so embarrassing. It was like the musical episode of every TV show ever, so unoriginal. But all of us saw your musical number together and it was really obvious that there is something incredible there.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to defend him, it's just been really hard for him to watch you going around with his ex, and both of you are so happy, cares about you both so much.

Okay, I can see you're not convinced. I'm not supposed to tell you this. I'm not even supposed to be able to? But I'm some kind of quasi feline creature on my dad's side and I can only be loosely bound by curses or geasa or whatnot. Everything just sort of falls off if I lose one of my lives. And don't tell anyone, but that time I saw a bird and ran full tilt into the glass window at your boyfriend's manor? I know you think I knocked myself out, but I didn't.

No, no, that's not what killed me, no, sweetie, you did fine. I actually died of embarrassment three hours later. When you heard me stop sobbing? Yeah. That was when. It was only for like 6 or 7 minutes though so, not a big deal.

Anyway, what I'm saying is that all of that crap I was supposed to swear and all of those spells that were on me, ugh disgusting, they don't apply anymore. So now I can tell you the real reason he asked again? Is that he has to ask three times before he can like, legally let you go. Skeleton rules, whatever. It's all really stupid.

So it's perfectly fine for you to refuse. Would he be sad, would his feelings be hurt? I mean, yeah, but not really any worse than they already have been with you turning him down twice already. At least then he could let it go. And then you can be with the Werewolf King.

No! I'm not being passive aggressive, I really do want to see you happy! We all want to see you happy. We all want to see the Werewolf King happy! I just feel really bad for my boss, because I love him, he's been kind of like a dad to me.

So I think that you should actually invite him down to the manor, and you can formally decline there. And at least that way he'll have some good emotional support from all of those nice puppy cousins, and he'll have a lot of food to drain of its flavor and a lot of flowers he can go wither to make himself feel better and maybe he can be just a little gay and prissy again.

And maybe you and him and the Werewolf King can sit down and talk all of this out like grown adults who love each other.

You are the protagonist in the middle of a love triangle situation, and it's going to get more and more insufferable the longer it goes on.

What I'm saying is you should all consider a throuple situation. The only way to defeat this stupid narrative that is trying to doom us all.

[darlingshane]

new chapter

Joe Teague x F!Reader

Summary: On his wedding night, before he gets to spend some time alone with you, Joe listens to the conversation you're having with your daughter as you tuck her in. The little girl has some interesting questions regarding him and his new role in her life that you're happy to answer to put her at ease.

CW: +18, explicit, smut, oral sex (f. recieving), p in v sex, fluff, wedding night, pregnancy, dancing, established relationship, mention of past abuse, mention of divorce, set in the late 40s.

Word Count: 2,3k

— Links: AO3 // Joe Masterlist

Joe takes one final look around the first floor to make sure all doors and windows are locked before heading upstairs. The kitchen is a cluttered mess of dirty dishes piling in the sink from the casual reception you hosted right at the brand-new house. Dishes can wait till tomorrow. It's been a big day worthy of celebration and while it's sad to see it come to an end, he can't wait to see what this new chapter in his life with you brings him.

He's excited to see what the future holds, what these walls would tell ten or twenty years from now. This is where he's putting his roots, and he's betting everything on it that there won't be no bail this time. You are it for him. There's no doubt in his heart.

Though it’s neither his nor your first marriage, it feels just like it. The experience is completely different, given that both of you come with your own baggage; and kids in your case from your first marriage. You chose to have a simple ceremony at the courthouse, followed by a small reception at the house, and it couldn't have gone better. He can't get over how beautiful everything was. He knew you were special from the moment he met you, but the sense of pride and love he's felt today comes second to none. Not only did you look stunning in the custom dress you made yourself, but the way you've handled every little detail is something to admire.

He still has part of his uniform on when he steps into the hallway of the second floor to see you tuck Grace, your six-year-old, into bed. He leans on the door frame, listening to your voices through the cracked door.

“Mama, you look like a princess today,” she says as you pull the sheet over her body, folding it carefully at the hem as the little girl gets comfortable on her pillow. Just like Joe, you're still wearing your wedding dress with no shoes on.

“Thanks, baby. Did you have fun today?”

“Yeah, I wish you’d marry every day.”

“Every day? That’d be a lot of work with that many husbands.” She breaks into laughter along with you. “What was your favorite part?”

“The cake.”

“It was a great cake.” You agree, pushing a strand of hair off her face.

“Will you make me a dress like yours for my wedding day?”

“Sure, but first I need to know who you're marrying.”

“Hm, I don't know yet.” The little girl shrugs, holding a stuffed teddy bear in her embrace. “Someone like Joe, I guess.”

“Yeah? You like Joe?”

“He's pretty funny.”

“Pretty funny looking, I'd say.” Joe watches you glance over your shoulder, smiling at him.

“Is he my dad now? Should I call him daddy?”

“Only if you want to.” You sweetly caress her face. “Do you want Joe to be your daddy?”

She nods. “What if he doesn't want to? Is he going to be mean to us like my other daddy was?”

It breaks your heart hearing her express it like that at such a short age. As much as you tried to protect her, she was still aware of how awful her father was to you both. You thought she had forgotten about him after he died a few years ago, cause she was still a toddler. It was hard to explain to her that he didn't come back from war, but somehow your little girl understood that your lives turned for the better the moment he was gone. And surprisingly, she’s never mentioned him until now.

“Baby, I promise you, Joe is a good man. He’d never hurt us like that. We wouldn’t be here otherwise. You might see us sometimes argue, but I give you my word that no matter what, Joe loves us more than your daddy ever did. He’s going to take care of us, and we’re going to take care of him, okay? We’re family now. It doesn’t matter if you call him daddy or not, he’s gonna love you the same.”

Grace hugs her teddy bear tight as you watch her pondering for a moment in silence.

“Do you wanna ask him or do you want me to do it?”

“You do it.” She sticks out her finger and boops your nose.

“Alright, I'll do it.” You turn your head again to nod at Joe, beckoning him to come closer.

He steps into the room and bends down by the bed, propping a knee on the floor and holding his forearm on your lap.

“Hey, Gracie Jo.”

“Hi,” she says shyly, even though she's usually pretty chatty around him. But this is a big ask, you're aware, and a big step for all of you. “Mommy wants to ask you something.”

“Oh?” he gazes at you with a smile on his face, very aware of what you’re going to ask. It’s something you’ve talked about before, but you didn’t want to force Grace into accepting Joe as her father before she was ready.

“Gracie and I were wondering if you’d like to be her daddy.”

He fondly looks at you and then turns to her to assure her there's nothing he'd love more.

“It'd be an honor to be your dad, sweetheart,” he promises, placing a kiss on her forehead.

It melts your heart to see them both beaming in delight. You have no doubts that Joe would be up for the task to fill that role in her life better than anyone. You and Grace would've been fine with or without him in your life, but you're glad you got the opportunity to meet him and fall in love with him like this.

You curl up with Grace until she falls asleep and then retire to your new room.

You've got the house for a week now, but with all the arrangements for the wedding and the hassle of moving, you haven't had a minute to stop to look at it as your new home until now. There's still work to do, but you're proud of what you've accomplished to make it feel safe and comfortable for your daughter. That's all you needed. You're exhausted, but it was all worth it at the end. Hopefully, you'll be able to slow down in the next few days while everything settles.

When you step out of Grace’s room, you leave the door slightly ajar. Next to it, by the staircase there's your workspace, and a bathroom on the other side. There’s an empty bedroom in front of hers that would soon be filled with baby furniture for the little guy growing in your belly. You haven't told Grace yet, she would have babbled to everyone at the party that she was having a baby brother or sister, which is something she's been asking for years. In a couple of days, you and Joe will tell her and you know already she'll be over the moon.

At the end of the hallway is yours and Joe's bedroom. There's only a light coming from a night lamp when you go inside. There's music playing on the radio while he waits for you, sitting on the chair by the window. He still looks as handsome as this morning, when you first saw him fully dressed in his uniform. Now, his shirt is half unbuttoned, his pants are creased, and the shoes are off.

“Thought you’d be in bed by now, Mr. Teague,” you say as he stands up to meet you in the middle.

“I was waiting for you, Mrs. Teague.” He picks up your hand and brings it up to his lips to print a kiss on your knuckles. “I didn’t get a chance to dance with my bride today, I was hoping we could do it now. Would you like that, sweetheart?”

“I’d love that.” Your lips form a smile as he spins you around in the middle of the room before securing an arm around your waist.

You place your palms on his chest, smoothing the fabric of his shirt across the breadth of his chest, locking eyes with him for a moment before pillowing your head on his shoulder.

Closely tucked in his embrace, you both start moving your feet to the slow cadence of the song playing on the radio.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to dance today. I wanted to do something small, I didn’t think that you’d—” you say softly before he cuts you off.

“Sweetheart, don’t apologize. It was perfect. I wanted something small, too. I told you I didn’t care for fanfare. I like it like this, just you and me.”

You lift your head to look at him. “You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met. How did I get so lucky?”

“All it took was a robber. I’d like to thank him personally for bringing us together,” he quips.

That’s exactly how you met. The tailoring shop you work at got robbed about a year ago, and Joe was the lead detective on the case. It was a terrifying experience, but it gave you Joe, so you have to look at it as a blessing. After a couple of follow-up interviews, he started showing up casually around the neighborhood to check in the place here and there until the robber was caught red-handed again, trying to rob a jewelry shop a couple of blocks away. By that time, Joe didn’t have any more excuses to show up, so he started bringing some of his personal pieces of clothing to fix. First a jacket, then a couple of shirts, a pair of pants… Until one day he built up the courage to ask you out for a coffee. Before you realized it, you were falling madly in love with him. It was never in your cards to marry again, but Joe was the odds that changed your luck. He wasn’t only great to you as a boyfriend, but the way he treated your daughter played a major factor on that decision.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart? Is our little buddy behaving today?” He glances down at your still seemingly inconspicuous four-month bump hidden under the loose fitting of your dress.

“Hm, he’s been an angel. I haven’t been sick all day. Just a little tired.”

“Yeah? You’re ready to go to bed?”

“No. Not yet. When the song ends.”

You lock your arms tight around his neck as he lets his forehead touch yours before letting his lips crash with yours in a firm kiss that almost makes your legs crumble down to the floor. His arms anchor you in place as the sweet undoing of his kiss sends you somewhere closer to heaven.

As the melody fades, your bodies come alive against the other. The magnetic pull of your unwavering love guides your lips to fuse together in a hot frenzy of desire. It hurts so good, you can't help but moan in his mouth. When you grow breathless, you pull back and turn around so he can unzip your dress. You quickly shed every piece of clothing and undergarment to consummate your marriage for the first time as husband and wife. It helps that you've had sex many times before, otherwise you'd be ridden with anxiety. But everything has always been so easy with Joe, and this night is no different. He makes you feel desired in ways you've never experienced before. He evokes something so powerful inside, you can't speak coherently without tripping over your words. So you suffocate him with kisses and hold him for as long as you can.

As your lungs lose the ability to breathe properly, he places you down on the mattress. Your body buzzes with anticipation when he kneels at the foot of the bed. He climbs his way between your legs that he spreads open as far as they can stretch. He kisses the inside of your thigh from you knew up to your groin, making your skin rise into pimples all over. His lips make an urgent stop at your center to bury his tongue between your folds. The eagerness to taste you causes your legs to shake like an earthquake. His tongue collects the essence of your arousal as if he was a starving man. Your core wounds up in an impossible knot made of fire that is almost unbearable to contain. You have to cover your mouth to muffle the sinful sounds that come out of your lips.

“Joe, honey,” you pant, extending your hand to grip at his hair so he would climb on top of you. “I want you inside me.”

Following your request, he slithers up your body, nestling between your legs, letting you feel his hardness against your sex. He deliciously rubs himself on your folds before guiding his cock between your soaked lips.

One of his hands holds your jaw, while his forehead leans against yours. His hips slowly push inside you, capturing the warmness of your walls that contract gently around him every time your hips slant against his moves.

“God, I love you so much, sweetheart,” his voice comes out ragged as he ups the pace of his thrusting.

“Not as much as I love you.” You use your hands to press harder on his ass, so you can feel every inch of him filling you up to the hilt.

Joe presses his mouth open against yours, seizing your breath as he takes you to the final line where your orgasm comes crashing against his own. They merge together for a second, surrounding both of you in a cloud of elation that rushes through the tangled mess of your bodies like thunder. Your legs tremble as the flutter of your opening squeezes every drop out of his seed.

— Credits: beautiful divider by @cafekitsune

[tropes-and-tales]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

(Richard Muñoz x F!Reader)

CW:  Light angst (talk of anxiety disorders, therapy, and medication); bad first dates; two shy dummies who are destined for each other. Fluffy goodness, as one would expect with Richard.

Word Count:  3951

AN:  This was requested a long time ago by @frasmotic - sorry it took a lifetime to write this!

AN2: Usual caveat - not edited in any way whatsoever.

Richard only agrees to the blind date because he’s had absolutely no luck in finding dates on his own.  When he sits and tries to calculate the last time he went out with a woman, his mind boggles at the years—not months—that have passed since then.

When he tries to calculate the last time he had a bona fide girlfriend, he despairs and gives up before he comes up with the exact amount of time that has passed.

Anyway, he doesn’t require precise numbers.  He knows how he feels:  lonely.  He has his dog but no one else.  He lives alone, spends his evenings and weekends alone.  Spends his holidays alone.  His sole interaction with humans is from his coworkers and whatever paltry connections he can build with customer service employees.

It’s a fellow guard, Mike, at the prison who sets up the blind date.  Mike’s sister-in-law is similarly shy, the same sort of introvert as Richard.

“A real nice gal, Rich,” Mike explains over lunch.  “Smart, has a good job.  Owns her own house.  She just has trouble meeting a nice guy.  Everyone on the apps are either creeps or assholes who ghost her.”

Richard would never agree to it, but then Mike slides his phone across the table to him.  He’s pulled up your profile on social media, and Richard studies your picture.

“She’s pretty,” Richard admits.  He feels a fluttery swooping in his gut at the thought of taking you out, but Mike is something of a bull in a china shop, and before Richard can even stop it, his fellow guard is setting up a double date for him and his wife, and you and Richard.

“Safety in numbers,” Mike says, and it seems that Richard has little to do other than show up and be himself.  As if it’s that easy.

“Dios,” he mutters after his lunch break ends.  Already he’s flushing at the thought, his palms slick with sweat.

-----

The date is supposed to be low stakes:  dinner at Mike’s house.  There are no public spaces to navigate, no random people to throw Richard off what little game he has.  He turns up at Mike’s house ten minutes early with a bottle of wine that he spent far too much time agonizing over at the store.  In his other hand he clutches a mixed bouquet, and that took too much time to choose too.

The zenith of the date is here, on Mike’s front porch, the few moments before he knocks.

It goes downhill from there.

*****

Your sister married an idiot, but Mike has his sweet moments.  For example, this date he set up.  To hear your sister tell it, it was mostly Mike’s idea. 

“He worries about you,” she told you weeks ago.

You snort and shake your head, secretly pleased that your brother-in-law is so, well, brotherly to you. 

“He’s only worried you’ll get stuck with me when I’m old and infirm,” you replied.

“Not true.  Besides, he said this guy, Richard?  Said he’s nice.  Shy, like you.  He thinks you’ll hit it off.”

You can’t quite buy into Mike’s optimism.  Because the guy, this Richard, barely looks at you, and he says even less.

Mike introduces you with an expectant smile.  Richard is cute, you decide, edging against handsome.  You offer him a smile, tell him you’re happy to meet him.  In reply, you get the limpest handshake in the history of mankind, and then Richard winces, swipes his hand against his pants. 

Mike frowns slightly but rebounds.  He claps Richard on his back and tells you about how your date works in the letter room of the prison.

“Tell her about it,” Mike prods gently.

“It’s not that interesting,” Richard mumbles.

Which is about all he says to you all evening.

Bless your sister and brother-in-law, though.  They try to help Richard along.  They do all they can to open up lines of conversation, to sing your praises to him, to sing his praises to you.  They uncork a second bottle of wine.  They put on some low music to fill in the awkward gaps of silence. 

During the start of dinner, you are merely perplexed.  Are you hideous to him?  Do you smell abhorrent?  He’s not even being polite, and as the evening drags on, your confusion cedes to a low-simmering anger—which makes your own shyness fade.

“More broccoli?” you ask him, and you move to hand him the dish.  The motion makes Richard flinch way too hard, and his hand catches the edge of his wine glass.  The deep red merlot splashes on your dress, and you slide back from the table, then stand.  Richard doesn’t turn to look at you; he only stares at the widening stain on the tablecloth, and he hisses out a low, tortured fuck.

Your sister stands too, and she gives a polite ‘excuse us, gentlemen,’ then ushers you to the powder room where the two of you daub at the splash of wine.

“This is not going well,” she finally murmurs to you.

“You think?”  It comes out sarcastic, and you wince when you catch her reflection in the mirror.  She looks apologetic.

“Mike said he was awkward…”  She tries to explain the rude behavior away but then trails off, goes silent.

You sigh.  You tilt your head towards the ceiling and shut your eyes for a beat.  Another awful date, and this one had been served to you on a silver platter. 

“It’s not Mike’s fault,” you finally concede.  “And anyway, it’s almost over.”

-----

When the two of you return to the dining room, it turns out the date is already over.  Mike sits alone, picks at the food on his plate, and he looks at you gloomily as he announces that Richard left.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I have no idea what his fucking problem was.”

You return to your seat and try to school the tears that prickle behind your eyelids.  Are you that terrible a prospect?  You know you aren’t some great beauty, but you have a lot going for you—

“I’m sorry,” Mike repeats, quieter, and you glance over to see him shaking his head. 

“It’s okay,” you reply, even though it isn’t.  This hurts, and it draws cracks in your foundation.  You know there will be fallout to your confidence in the days and weeks that follow.

You don’t have the heart to stay much longer, and your sister walks out with you as you climb into your car.  You wave at her and drive off, and you are a block away when your sister turns to go back into the house.  Something bright catches the corner of her eye, and she looks down at the ornamental shrubs that stand beside the porch.  Tangled in the low branches is a bouquet of flowers, tossed aside.  She bends down and scoops them up, notices that they look pretty fresh.  She takes them inside.

“What you got there?” Mike asks when she joins him in the kitchen.  He’s scraping off plates and loading the dishwasher, and he watches as she snags a vase from the cabinet under the sink.

“Flowers.  They were thrown in the shrubs by the porch.”

“Huh.”  Mike looks at them, then pulls together a theory.  “You think Richard brought them?”

“And threw them away before he even came in?”  She shakes her head.  “Why?”

*****

If Richard had enough money, he’d quit his job and move to the other side of the country.  Hell, he’d move to the other side of the globe if he could pull it off.

He’s never been so ashamed.  So embarrassed.  Mortified.  There’s no adjective that can capture the depth of shame he feels at how he acted on his date.

He can’t even really explain it—though he tries, of course, when Mike angrily corners him in the breakroom the following Monday.  Richard tries to explain how out-of-body he felt, how the moment he knocked on Mike’s door and heard footfalls making their way to let him in, he panicked.  He tossed the flowers away, suddenly terrified that the cheerful blooms looked cheap in their cellophane wrapping. 

And it only got worse from there.

He broke out in a sweat immediately.  He felt it trickling down his temples, had to daub it away with his shirt sleeve on the sly.  He felt his armpits growing damp, felt flushed and sickly, feverish.  The air in the room was too warm and too heavy, like breathing through soup, and the shallow breaths he took only made the panic grow.

Then you entered the room and for heaven’s sake:  you were pretty in the pictures Mike showed him, but you looked downright angelic in person.  Dress lightly skimming your curves, gentle smile on your face as you looked at him expectantly.  When you stepped closer to introduce yourself, Richard caught the scent of you—faintly sweet, a warm smell.

How could he feel anything but shame to shake your hand with his own sweaty palm?  You were perfect, and he felt unwieldy, monstrous beside you.

And you had tried to be kind anyway.  Tried to converse with him, asked him questions about his life that he only grunted at.  He asked you no questions in return, and when you tried to pass him some food, he ended up staining your beautiful dress with the wine he brought.

Of course he fled.  Of course he spent the drive home cursing himself, cursing his stupid brain that was always so eager to flood itself with stress hormones the minute a situation got uncomfortable.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells Mike in the breakroom of the prison.  He tries to explain it, assumes he fails like he does everything else.  “Please…tell her it wasn’t her fault at all.”

“Of course it wasn’t her fault!”

Richard flinches at the anger in Mike’s voice, but then he hangs his head.  He lets the fresh wave of misery course through him.  “She was too good for me anyway.”  It comes out a low mumble, but Mike must catch it anyway.  The other man sighs after a long beat, then lays a heavy hand on Richard’s shoulder.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have thrown you into the lion’s den like that,” he concedes.  “But for fuck’s sake, man.  You made her feel terrible.”

“I know.  I mean, I guessed as much.”

“So it wasn’t a love match.”  Mike drops his hand and sighs again.  “But it would help a lot to apologize to her.  She’s beating herself up pretty bad.”

Richard looks up, surprised.  “She’d be willing to see me again?”

“Doubtful,” Mike replies with a shake of his head.

“Then how—”

“Fuck, man.  You work in the fucking letter room, right?  So write her a letter.  I’ll get it to her.”

*****

You’re not overtly depressed over it.

You’re also not okay about it.

It doesn’t help that the days are getting shorter.  It gets dark early, so it’s easy to justify the hermit-nature you’re embracing.  You come home from work, you walk your dog, and then you spend long hours in your pajamas watching trashy reality TV shows before you go to bed.

You sleep a lot.  It helps with the little pit of despair your failed blind date opened up in you.  It shook your confidence harder than you would have thought.  You’re generally pretty sturdy in your sense of self, but each year that passes without any success with the men erodes it more than you care to admit.

You spend the week after the failed date wallowing.  No sense in white-knuckling through it.  You feel bad for yourself, you go a bit maudlin, and you start to climb your way out…

Then your sister stops by for a visit, and when she goes to leave, she hesitates, then reaches into her purse.

“This is for you,” she says, but she holds it for a long moment before she hands it to you.  It’s a white envelope, and it bears your name across the face in unfamiliar handwriting.

She takes in your puzzled expression and clarifies.  “It’s from Richard.”

“Ah.”

“He felt terrible, sweetie.”

“That makes two of us, then.”

She studies you for a beat.  “You know, he brought you flowers, but something made him panic, I think.  I found them tossed behind a shrub after you left.”

You furrow your brows in confusion.  “Kinda weird.”

“Kinda.  But not serial killer weird, at least.”

You smile.  “True enough.”  You hold up the envelope.  “At least he didn’t ghost me.”

-----

You’d like to say that you have a certain measure of patience, but the moment your front door clicks behind your sister, you tear that envelope open like a wild animal.  Your curiosity allows nothing else.

It’s a single page, but Richard’s printing is small and tight.  You have to hold the paper closer to the light to read it.

It’s an apology, of course.  A genuine one that goes a long way at softening your heart to the man who had been so impolite at your date.  Because he tries to offer an explanation too—the utter panic he felt, the crippling anxiety—and that softens you too.

You know about that sort of panic, that sort of anxiety.  It used to cripple you too until intense therapy and the right combination of meds helped you tame it.  Still, you can feel it claw at your chest sometimes, so your anger at Richard is replaced by understanding.

Also, he drops this line in the middle of his letter, and when has a man ever said (or written) something so guilelessly sweet?

I think you might not realize how beautiful you are, Richard wrote in his cramped, neat printing.  I was already struggling to breathe from the panic, but the moment I saw you, I couldn’t breathe at all.

“Richard, you surprising son of a bitch,” you whisper aloud in your kitchen, and you reach for your phone to text your sister.

*****

It’s grace that Richard doesn’t feel he deserves, yet Mike offers it:  a second chance.

“It’s a big holiday party,” Mike explains when he hands Richard the invitation.  “My wife fucking loves all that Martha Stewart, Bing Crosby, chestnuts on an open fire bullshit.  There will be a lot of people there, so...”

He trails off, but Richard catches his meaning.  A lot of people will serve as cover for Richard.  He’ll be able to melt into the crowd, peel off into another room if his anxiety threatens to choke him.

He’s not so sure it will, though.  In the month and a half since that terrible first impression, and since he found out his apology letter was well-received, Richard has taken control of it.  For the first time in his life, he got angry—angry enough to make an appointment to see his doctor.  Angry enough for a referral for a therapist.  Angry enough to try out a low dose of anti-anxiety medication.

There was no shame in it, he had decided.  If a person had high blood pressure, didn’t they get medicine for it?  Richard had grown up in a home that stigmatized feelings in general, and he had always taken the ‘ignore-it-and-it’ll-go-away’ approach to his own mental health. 

But when Mike had told him—secondhand, through his wife—how well you had responded to Richard’s letter, he felt that flush of anger.  At himself, partially, but also at the family legacy of suffering in silence.  Why had he suffered so long with no relief?  Why did you offer him more kindness than he had ever offered himself?

Hence the meds.  Hence the forty-five minutes every week where he awkwardly stammered through his overanxious thoughts, his family history, his own history.

And it seems to be working.  The medication seems to drop a thin veil between him and his own head.  It gives him the barest bit of a barrier, just enough protection from himself.  The therapy gives him the tools to understand why he reacts the way he does.  Richard comes to understand that it’s his low self-esteem that drives much of his social panic, and his therapist prescribes him a list of mantras he is to repeat to himself in the mirror each morning and night.

It embarrasses him at first.  His reflection flushes in the mirror as he says nice things to himself…but damned if it doesn’t seem to work.

-----

Who can say why it goes better the second time around?  Maybe it’s the meds or the therapy, or maybe it’s the barest bit of understand Richard has achieved through his letter to you.  Maybe it a combination of all three things.  Richard doesn’t linger over the why because the what is so much more gratifying.

What is it?  It’s…so much better.  Richard arrives at the perfect time—not too early, not too late.  He walks through the front door, and he doesn’t toss aside the bouquet of flowers this time.  His heart hammers in his chest, but he remembers to breathe, remembers to smile.  He repeats his mantras in his head as he makes his way through the growing throng to find you.

I am worthy of happiness.  I am worthy of love.  I am open to new possibilities.

He finds you alone in the kitchen, half-bent in front of the oven and peering at whatever cooks inside it.  You’re just as beautiful as he remembered.  His pulse picks up, rapid, but he swallows.  Takes a breath.

I am worthy of happiness.  I am worthy of love.

“Hello,” he says.

You stand up and turn; at the sight of him, you smile.  At the sight of the flowers in his hand—a wintry mix of white roses and sprigs of cut pine—your smile grows wider.

“Those would look better in a vase than tossed in the azalea out front,” you tease, but you say it gently with that smile on your face, and Richard shakes his head ruefully.

“I thought I might wait at least a few hours before I throw wine on you, too,” he jokes back.  The joke lands because you laugh—a merry sound that makes him chuckle.

You reply that you specifically wore black in case he turned up, and he chuckles at that too, but then he turns serious.  He apologized by letter, but he knows he has to say it to your face as well.

“I am sorry about that evening,” he says now.  “I’m m-mortified…”  He trails off when he stammers, and he feels his face flush hotly.  Dammit, he thinks, but then he realizes what he’s doing—he’s falling back into the deep rut of old behavior, so he thinks an abbreviated mantra over and over to steer himself away from the cliff’s edge where he stands.  I’m worthy, I’m worthy, I’m worthy—

His thoughts are interrupted by your soft hand, tentative, on his arm.  Just for a second you touch him.  Just enough to reassure him, because he looks into your eyes and sees only understanding. 

“You don’t have to apologize again.  It’s in the past.”

“I just—”

You shake your head, cut him off with a smile.  “I have an entire lifetime of awkward social moments.  I get it.  Really.”

What else can he do but gaze back at you, to return your smile with his own?  To finally nod his head, to consider himself forgiven?

“Good!”  You break away with a little clap of your hands.  “Now let’s get a vase for those flowers, and then you can help me with the mini quiches my sister has baking.  I forgive you, but your penance is being a fellow cater-waiter for the evening, okay?”

What else can he do but laugh at that, then give you a little salute?  How can he resist your charm as the two of you take orders from your sister, the hostess?  The two of you spend most of the party in the kitchen together, running the dishwasher, drying glasses, uncorking bottles of wine, refilling trays of food.  You take turns rejoining the party proper, but when you regroup in the kitchen after each excursion, you share little jokes about the other guests, observations and gentle teasing, and Richard realizes late that the entire evening passes and he hasn’t broken out in a cold sweat once.

He realizes that he hasn’t overthought anything either.  Hasn’t ruminated over his words.  He’s at ease, and he’s enjoying himself.

-----

Which means that the night ends far too early. 

His role in the kitchen gives him a bit of a reprieve:  when the other guests leave, Richard stays behind and helps clean up.  Not that you or your sister asked—he volunteers to stay, and he misses the bemused look that passes from your sister to Mike.  You miss the look too.

You and Richard tidy up as best you can.  The bulk of the cleanup will be in the morning, but you put away the leftovers, you set the dishwasher for one last load, and you sweep away the crumbs. 

The cleanup ends far too early too.

You get his coat for him from the guest bedroom, and then you walk him to the door.  Mike had said you were shy too, but Richard has never seen it—until now.  At parting, you turn shy.  You don’t quite meet his eye, and you stammer out how you had fun, as you thank him for his help.

It’s funny how much your sudden shyness endears you more to Richard.  He recognizes the emotion in you, and it makes the kinship between you feel stronger.  You understand him and he understands you, and when was the last time he felt that sort of connection?

That must be what gives him the mad bit of courage as he stands at the threshold.  You remain indoors, he stands just on the other side of the doorway, and he feels a surge of bravery that makes him lean forward, quick, and brush the gentlest of kisses across your warm cheek. 

“Oh!” you say, startled, and Richard suddenly thinks he’s overplayed his hand.  He feels his own flush creep up from the collar of his coat.

“Sorry, I—”  He starts to say.

“No.  No!  You’re fine!  You’re—”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You just surprised me.”

“Oh.”

You smile, your eyes finding his.  “A nice surprise.”

-----

The entire drive home, Richard can’t stop grinning.  He smiles so much—and has smiled so much throughout the evening—that his cheeks hurt, the muscles so unused to so much effort.  It’s only once he’s inside his own home that he kicks himself; he didn’t get your number or give you his, so there’s no way—

“Just ask Mike for it, dummy,” he mutters to himself, but then he recognizes the negative talk, so he amends it.  “I can just ask Mike for it.  No worries.  Of course I didn’t think of it in the moment.  I was enjoying myself so much.”

But maybe he wasn’t the only one with the mad bit of courage in the end.  When he goes to shed his coat and hang it up in the hallway closet, he checks his pockets for his wallet…and finds a small scrap of paper, folded into fourths.  It’s like a passed-note in school, though no one ever passed him a note during his school years.

It’s from you, of course.  Your elegant cursive with your name and your number, and below that, an invitation to call you sometime so the two of you can get to know each other better.

[misspelledwordswizard]

Good morning, afternoon or evening. I saw that your requests were open and I wanted to take the opportunity to make you one with one.

We all know that Time and Twilight are related in some way. So, my request was about how Time and Twi would react to finding out that reader is their descendant with some family and obviously platonic fluff

This is so cute! I believe both would be like "girl dad mode on" hehe Thank you for the request, I hope you like it <3

I had been in the group for a short time. I’m not sure how I ended up here, or why, I just know that suddenly I was having to hang out with nine heroes from Hyrule who all had the same name. Okay, I can handle a little adventure, I may be a farm girl, but being a hero has always been a dream of mine, it’s in my blood. Literally. 

From the moment that strange group told me their names, or rather, name, and explained that they came from different times, I was already sure that I was related to at least one of them. Well, at least I know that I’m descended from a hero named Link who saved Hyrule. 

The only problem is that I have no idea which of them I’m related to, especially when they all look so similar and the timelines are so confusing! That’s why I decided to keep this information to myself until I knew for sure. 

— Oh, Malon sent hugs to everyone. – Time said, as he read the letter recently delivered by the postman. I’m still curious about how he does it, but I’m more interested in the name unknown to me. 

— Malon? Who is this? 

— Oh, that’s right, you haven’t met her yet. Malon is my wife. – The Old Man answered me, with a somewhat proud smile on his face, he must love her very much. 

— Oh, and she’s the owner of the LonLon Ranch, back in the Old Man’s era! – Wind added, this fact might be nothing more than a curiosity for most, but it ended up meaning more than that to me. 

If Time is married to the owner of a ranch, it’s likely that his descendants inherited it, and over time it may have become my family’s ranch. Could the Hero of Time be my ancestor? 

— Oh, and maybe you’ve already come to this conclusion too, but Twilight also comes from a ranch, it’s not for nothing that we call him Rancher. – The Champion completed, and only then did I realize the obvious. 

But then, which one of them is my ancestor? I could try to find out more details about it, but it would take too long if I did it that way, so I decided to open my mouth, maybe they can help me. 

— Well, then it’s likely that I’m a descendant of one of you two. 

All eyes turned to me, I think the two in question almost broke their necks with that move. Was that really that surprising? Soon everyone was around me, curious. 

— Why do you say that? – Time was the first to ask. Fair enough. 

— Well, I always knew I was a descendant of a Link, I just didn’t know which one of you, and since I come from a ranch too, I think it’s quite likely. 

— Why didn’t you say so before? – Twilight asked, I figured this question would come. 

— I didn’t want to create expectations, or else I might upset everyone and not get any answers. But I still don’t know which of you two are my relatives. 

A silence settled in as everyone looked at each other, as if they were deciding what to say. They knew something. 

— Hm, how can we say this? – Warriors began. – Both of them! 

I blinked in confusion, many doubts swirling in my mind. Both of them? But they were quicker to answer them. 

— It turns out that I am a descendant of the Old Man, so either you are a descendant of him and my ancestor, or a descendant of both of us. – Twilight explained, and then things began to fall into place. Indeed, there were doubts in my family as to whether we were descendants of one or two Heroes, with this the answer becomes clear. 

— In that case, I’m almost certain that both of you are my ancestors, I really wasn’t sure if I was descended from one or both of you. – I explained finally, reaching the final conclusion. Wow, a descendant of two Links, who would have thought. 

They both looked at each other for a moment, they even seemed to be talking telepathically, but it seems that their choices of actions were mutual, because in the next second I was being crushed in a hug by two strong men. I can’t breathe, it’s definitely a hug worthy of a father. 

 I was finally released from the grip and able to breathe again, which I did dramatically, drawing laughter from some of the boys. 

— I can hardly believe this, is this how you felt when you met me? – The Rancher asked Time, with a smile on his face. 

— Hm, basically. Oh, Malon will love meeting you! I’ll write to her about it. – The old man seemed happier than I had ever seen him in the short time I had known him. 

I myself was still processing all of this. I had not just met one of my ancestors, but two of them? Before I knew it, I was smiling like an idiot. It was like I now had two more dads. Even if one of them was almost my age, which was a little strange. 

— Oh, when I can, I want to show you the family books about you, so you can check the information! – I said excitedly and they happily agreed with me. 

— The food is ready! – Wind said, drawing their attention. 

— Come, sit near us, we have a lot to talk about! – Twilight said, guiding me by the hand to the rest of the group. 

— Yes, little one, tell us everything about you and your family. – Time completed, resting a hand on my shoulder comfortingly. 

Who would have thought I would have such a cool family walking with me all this time. 

[kouudi]

ᡣ𐭩 every path leads back to you — isagi yoichi

warnings: reader has an ex fiancé (not isagi), reader has commitment issues, description heavy, mentions of drinking, kind of proof read but not really, reader feels very guilty

a/n: i'm sorry this took so long ;-; life has been crazy and my job's been requiring me to come in more. turns out i work on christmas eve and day so that's fun i guess? happy late thanksgiving i'm thankful for all of you + my moots :D not sure when i'll be able to post again but i'll try to keep y'all updated and not disappear. also yes this was teased as a reo fic but ignore that...

The air in your apartment smelled like stale beer. The low hum of the refrigerator filled the silence in the background, only broken by the occasional wail of a distant siren outside. You’re perched at the edge of the couch, staring at the scattered beer cans on the floor as if they hold the answer to a question the universe is too afraid to ask.

You’re not even sure how the night started. Bachira called you, telling you that the team was home for a break. You rejected his invitation to go out for drinks, preferring instead to settle in at home with your own packs of beer.

Maybe Isagi called you, or maybe you texted him first—something vague after a few drinks, an invitation he somehow read between the lines. Now, hours later, he’s sitting in front of your couch, back against the edge, a comfortable distance away from you.

You think it should feel strange, having him here like this, so casually. Isagi Yoichi, with his perfect life and effortless charm, is a far cry from the mess you’ve become over the years of your friendship with him. Despite the differences, you feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence, as if for tonight, your loneliness isn’t yours to bear alone.

He’s quiet now, watching you with an expression that’s hard for you to read, his sharp eyes flickering all over your apartment as if they can’t settle on one thing for long. You take a swig from your beer, the bitterness burning your throat, and glance at him. You feel exposed, as if he’s peeling back the layers of whatever shield you’ve managed to build.

It’s that specific look that pulls the words from your tongue before you even realize it.

“Did you know I was supposed to get married last year?” The bitterness and disbelief are laced in your voice.

Isagi arches a brow at your sudden confession, his expression unreadable. The clutter of empty beer cans scattered around the floor brings up the thought of why he chose to end the night at your place, instead of suggesting his own for a late-night drinking session.

His gaze lingers on you, sharp and searching. “No, I didn’t. You’ve never mentioned it,” he says finally, his tone careful and neutral. You wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. “Are you joking?” he asks, his voice calm and even, his expression still unreadable. You force out a dry laugh.

“Yeah, well. There’s a lot I don’t mention,” you snort, lifting the beer can to your mouth. The bitterness in your tone stings your own ears. That wasn’t something you meant to blurt out. The weight of your guilt feels heavier than usual tonight, with Isagi here. His presence brings forth that strange sense of comfort, though it’s almost aggravating to you.

“Why bring it up now?” he asks, leaning back against the couch, still keeping his eyes focused on you. His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of something beneath the surface—curiosity, or maybe even concern.

You shrug and stare down at the flat liquid in your can. “It’s been on my mind,” you mutter, though it’s only half the truth. It’s not just the memory of what could’ve been. It’s him—sitting here, looking too calm, too collected, as if your mess is just another puzzle for him to figure out.

You take another sip of your beer, the bitter taste doing little to ground you. Isagi’s gaze doesn’t waver, and you can feel the unspoken questions hanging in the air between you. Still, he doesn’t push, but his presence alone is almost like a small nudge, daring you to open up, to say more, to peel back a layer of your life that you’ve hidden from him for so long.

For a moment, you consider brushing it off with a dumb joke or changing the subject completely. But the quiet intensity in his eyes makes it impossible. Instead, you let the silence stretch, the weight of it pressing down until the emotions start to seep in—uninvited and vivid.

The memory floods back to you—the rush of slipping out the back of the reception hall, still in your wedding dress, makeup half-done and beginning to smudge. You remember the moment of freedom amidst the chaos, but the weight of the man you left behind quickly pulls you back.

“I left him at the altar,” you quietly confess, the words heavy on your tongue. The thought of your fiancé waiting for you at the end of the aisle, surrounded by friends and family, lingers in your mind like a shadow.

You never thought you’d be the type of person to run from their own wedding. You and your ex-fiancé had spent the year preparing to make that day meticulously perfect—the music, flowers, decorations, and even the vows that you spent countless sleepless nights perfecting. From everyone else’s perspective, the day was out of a fairytale. But to you, you didn’t belong in that story.

Your ex-fiancé was everything people thought you should want: a kind and successful man. You admit that it was everything you did want at the time. He was a respectable man. But, over time, the relationship became a suffocating routine, rather than one built on genuine love.

Every day that passed, and the wedding date drew closer, you felt more trapped. “It’s just cold feet,” you’d tell yourself over and over again. “Everyone feels this way before committing to forever.”

You remember the morning of your wedding, staring at your own reflection in the mirror, veil perched upon your head, feeling like an imposter. You remember the feeling inside you suddenly snap. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t marry this man. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life pretending to be someone you weren’t.

You can’t fake a thought—that was something you realized the day you met the man sitting beside you. In the last few months of your previous relationship, you started to notice things. It took you longer than usual to answer your phone, you never genuinely smiled anymore, and you only did activities that he suggested because you’d convinced yourself you didn’t know what you wanted to do. No matter how much you pretended not to notice the change in yourself, you did. You noticed it all.

It wasn’t until you and Isagi began crossing the lines between friendship and something deeper a few months ago that you realized what you had been missing. Isagi had a way of filling the empty spaces in your life—spaces you hadn’t even known existed. His presence was effortless yet inescapably consuming. And yet, as much as you knew you should surrender, a small voice kept reminding you of everything you had left behind: the stability, the comfort, the certainty. Isagi was none of those things, and perhaps that’s what drew you to him the most.

He was a force of nature, always moving, always shifting, while you were stuck in place, bound to the limit of the city you were in, caught between the pull of your past and the push toward something unfamiliar. You did try to fight it at first—tried to keep a distance, to protect whatever small sense of self that you still desperately clung to. But every time he smiled, every time he spoke, it was as if your world had narrowed to only show him. And that was terrifying.

You were stuck between staying with what you knew about yourself at age twenty-four or venturing out into the world. You didn’t want to stay stagnant, frozen in a life you felt was no longer yours. But with Isagi, there was no promise of tomorrow. There was no guarantee that things would stay the same. And maybe that was the most frightening thing. You could fall, and he wouldn’t catch you. Or maybe he would, but only for a little while.

A hand on your shoulder pulled you from your thoughts. Isagi’s expression had shifted, his usual calm replaced by something softer, tinged with sadness. His eyes met yours, but there was a distant heaviness in them, as if he were carrying a weight you couldn’t see. You weren’t sure when he got up to sit beside you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel the shift in the air, like something unspoken had settled there, pressing down on the two of you.

Isagi opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but he hesitated. His brow furrowed slightly, and he seemed to be grappling with his words, as though he knew what he wanted to say wasn’t going to come out right. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before, softer than his usual tone of confidence.

“I knew you were getting married. Bachira told me,” he confessed, his eyes flickering down for a moment before meeting yours again. “I didn’t want to make things... harder for you, so I pretended not to know.”

There it was—the guilt in his voice. You’d expected it, but hearing it now hit you harder than you thought it would. Isagi, who always seemed so composed, so untouchable, was suddenly vulnerable in a way you weren’t sure how to handle.

“I knew you would’ve told me if you wanted me to know.”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say, the weight of his words settling in. You weren’t prepared for this—this side of him. But before you could second-guess yourself, the words came out anyway. “I didn’t want you to know,” you said, your voice quieter now. His eyes softened, and you could see the faint shadow of regret in them. “You were always so busy, always out of the country… I just wanted to move on.” You paused, feeling the heaviness of it all. “We’ve been in this strange place for months now, but honestly, I’ve been here even longer.”

Isagi’s gaze intensified, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “What are you trying to say?”

You turned your head away, suddenly embarrassed to meet his eyes. “Isagi,” you whispered, the confession slipping out before you could stop it, “I’ve liked you for a long time now.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, the kind that made you want to sink into the couch and disappear. You felt exposed, as though everything that protected you had been stripped away. But Isagi didn’t say anything, not at first. His eyes never left yours, and his silence—rather than pushing you away—seemed to be drawing you in further.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled slowly, his breath shaky. “I don’t know what to say to that,” he admitted, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’ve always been so distant. I didn’t think I stood a chance.”

The words hit you in your gut. Isagi, a man who always seemed composed and confident, had been uncertain the entire time? The realization made you feel both relieved and guilty—you had been blind to everything for longer than you thought.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you said quietly, your throat tightening. “I thought that if I just kept going, kept pretending, it would get easier. But it never did.” You paused, your heart racing. “And now… I don’t know how to fix it.”

Isagi’s expression softened again, the sharp edges of his usual demeanor fading into something gentler. He leaned forward, his voice steady but full of something deeper. “You don’t have to fix it. You just have to tell me what you want. I’m right here. I’ve always been here, but you’ve got to let me in, too.”

His hand finds its way to your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your lips. “We can be a team, but only if you’re comfortable being one together.”

You lean into his touch, as if it were muscle memory. The warmth of his hand on your skin, his thumb pressing gently on your lips—everything about this moment feels like something you should’ve known before, something that was always there, just out of reach. For a split second, you let yourself believe that it’s real, that it’s something you deserve.

But then, as quickly as you let yourself forget, the weight of everything you’ve kept buried presses down on your heart again. The guilt. The confusion. The silence between you, stretched thin over the last few months as you both tread the line between friendship and something more. You pull back slightly, enough to break the contact between you, but not enough to distance yourself completely. You feel colder without the warmth of his hand on your face.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you say, the words escaping before you can stop them. You feel the uncertainty creeping back in.

Isagi doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t let the space between you grow too wide. His eyes are softer now, though you can still see the same intensity in them. He studies your face for a moment, but it feels like he’s seeing past you, into the deeper parts of you, weighing your words carefully. Then, in a voice as low as a whisper:

“No rush. We take things slow, one step at a time.”

The way he says it—the calm certainty—makes your heart race. It’s as if he’s offering a lifeline out of the mess you’ve made of your life. And for the first time in a long time, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

You meet his gaze, your breath catching in your chest. “Are you sure?” you ask, the vulnerability in your voice tightening your throat.

Isagi doesn’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”

And for the first time, you believe him.

written by koudi

tags: @sarahforever

[cwritesforfun]

Art Donaldson x Fem!Reader: Marry Me?

This came to me in a dream lol ... yeah anyway enjoy:)

Y/N = Your Name

~ I do not own the characters, plot, etc. of Challengers

Masterlist

Y/N's POV

You wake up and hear your phone buzzing like crazy. You push Art enough to grab your phone and answer it without looking at the caller ID.

Mom - Honey, are you up? Y/N - Just woke up, mom. Why are you bothering me so early? Mom - You're the one who told me that the family had to get there early to see Art before he leaves for his match today. We're waiting outside the neighborhood for you to tell security that we're okay to be sent through. Y/N - Oh shit yeah I did say that... I will tell Gary and he'll let you through. Sorry about that. Mom - It's okay sweetie. See you soon.

You hang up with her, call Gary aka your security guy, then you get up. You stretch your back, see your lack of clothing, and you remember last night. OH yeah... You turn to Art and push him a little. He groans, you kiss him on the cheek, and say, "Happy Match Day, and also my family is literally 5 minutes away!" Art replies, "Oh god... uh I'm getting up. I love you, baby." You kiss him on the lips and you reply, "I love you too, my love."

You throw on a casual outfit for now, run downstairs, and start heating up the oven for food. You also start packing up snacks for Art's day and making sure his water + smoothie is ready for him.

You hear knocking on your door, you let your family inside, and you rush back to the kitchen. Food goes into the oven for reheating and you make Art's oatmeal with fruit. You pour it into a bowl as he walks around the corner. He hugs your family before putting his arms around your waist and says, "You're so warm. I missed you. I love you." You ask, "Do you want to do match day yoga outside as the food reheats for them?" You & Art started a quick 20-minute morning yoga routine every day he competes to relax. Sometimes you'll even do it on off days because you both love yoga together. He nods, and you excuse yourself to your family and walk outside. You go through the yoga routine before heading back inside.

You take the food out and everyone serves themselves before you all sit at the breakfast table. Art pulls the chair next to him closer and you sit there. One of his hands finds your knee as he eats his oatmeal. You all talk and enjoy your company.

Art leaves to finish getting ready, you kiss him goodbye, and he heads out.

You chill with your family for a while before getting ready. The tournament is one where you wear all-white to every match. It's so scary to wear white and you just pray you don't spill anything.

Art reserved a place for dinner for you two and your family, which is very exciting for you. You cannot wait for it! You also can't wait to see Art compete today! He's been doing so well and you're so proud of him.

The match begins... you and your family go crazy for Art!

Patrick, his best friend from childhood, shows up and sits next to you. Art and Patrick may not see eye to eye on everything, but they still support each other. Patrick ended up with Art's ex-wife for a brief period and you're lucky you weren't around for that phase. You've met Tashi and you're not a fan of how she treats people.

ART WINS!!! He runs over to you after he shakes hands with his opponent. He pulls you close and into a kiss that gets louder applause. HAHA!

You wait at the cars for Art to be finished cleaning up. He rode with his manager this morning because he wanted to catch a ride back with your family in case he drank at dinner. He claims his alcohol tolerance is low because of his workout lifestyle.

You see Art round the corner of the building and you run towards him. His smile gets wider, he drops his bag right when you approach, and he hugs you tightly, before kissing you again. You exclaim, "Hi my love!" He replies, "Hi I love you." You reply, "And I love you... This outfit is very attractive and handsome tonight, Art. Who are you trying to impress?" He answers, "One woman, you. Did it work?" You answer, "I think you'll be very pleased with how tonight ends." He smirks and kisses you again.

You walk back to your family, pile into the cars, and drive over to dinner.

Art hangs back to ask your stepdad for something as you head closer to the building. Art catches up with you, takes your hand, and leads you inside where you see two of your best friends inside. OMG!

Art exclaims, "Surprise baby! I flew them in." You kiss him, thank him, and then hug your friends.

Dinner is AMAZING... It's probably one of the best nights of your life for a while. You have everyone you love in one place. How could it get any better? Oh ... the dessert really seals the deal, they have your favorite!!!

You all walk out to the pier behind the restaurant and you notice white roses everywhere. You look around and then you see the big "Marry Me?" sign at the end of the roses. Art pulls you towards it, gets down on one knee, and exclaims, "Y/N, you mean the world to me. I never thought I would find love again, but then you came into my life. It’s genuinely impossible not to love you. You embody what perfection looks like in a person. On my darkest days, you bring light, and during my happy moments, you make them even more joyous. The way you make me feel understood and valued is something I hold dear. You are not only the most beautiful woman I know but also the most intelligent. Your support and enthusiasm for tennis have reignited my passion for the game. I can’t imagine my life without you, and I truly don’t want to. Would you, Y/N, marry me?” You exclaim happily, "Yes, yes of course I'll be your wife." Art slides the ring on your finger and then kisses you.

[lonestardust]

carlos' eyes in the meeting room........ carlos' eyes at the hospital..... at the IC room..... his guts are boiling with hot rage!!! this very stubborn hope. it's in the clench of his jaw since the funeral. the lump in his throat that he swallows back every time because that's how the gut-wrenching vestige of murder that hasn't received its justice yet feels like."i see it now. the eyes.." because that's the glimpse of the resolute unswerving gabriel in him that echos 'if there are tears to weep we do it when the time comes, not before'. you grief but you don't get defeated when there is still work to do in order to rest in that grief. and GODDD carlos is so righteously resolved about getting there. i want him so so bad to solve the case. finally bring that retribution and avenge his family and himself. he's been in the waxing and waning throes for too long he only deserves the purgation and finality of it more than anything!!!!!

because no way all of this relentless endeavour and sharp stubborn wit would culminate to anything but cracking it. even storytelling wise that would be disheartening not to bring it to its desired ends. because imagine. all this time carlos was so right about the rangers from the start. then he looped in. was kept so close under their wing. and then he now realises that he wasn't really truly '''stuck''' but he was trapped and misled instead and it's all tumbling down now over their heads and he's seeing through the cracks. finally the darkness makes sense and he can move in action through the pinnacle and into the resolution!!!