#You go to almost any work place and start calling people slurs and you're being sacked not just suspended

[kyogos]

Yes calling someone a slur should be at minimum a 5 week ban. Yes the bans for what's basically assault should also be increased from the 1-2 weeks at current. These thoughts can co-exist

[omegawizardposting]

You being a native just makes it more powerful to me. Not wanting to essentially give in to what most of them want is something that is valid imo, but when it comes to the rhetoric in the states while it is technically safer moving its still giving the facists what they want, more control. More of a chance to start the actual violence they are promising; it seems impossible to judge anyone for their choices in how they handle this to me. What's happening is terrifying and all that can be done is fight as hard as possible or run and seek help in any way. Just like, I also use the f-slur pretty loosely because that's the culture I live and kind of grew up with. Q* is a word that is present at almost any lgbt event. Stuff like that. As stupid as it may sound with the way I've been wording things that honestly seems like a valid reason to be against the idea of moving states, a culture where its reclaimed is inherently going to be uncomfortable to you especially because even a lot of people that reclaim it have trauma with it, and having to deal with that isn't necessarily the better option. I also haven't been on tumblr for a while btw, I followed you before when I used to use this app and I had to refollow you because tumblr deleted my inactive account. Just some attempt to add context on the prospective? I'm also high. Just sort of like what's going on in the states is terrifying to me and I can't blame anyone I'm pretty sure for whatever they choose, and it just feels like a more exetreme version of people getting pissed at you for not wanting to be called q* especially after telling that person that you aren't okay with it when the cultural difference is undeniable. The fact that this is a concern and there are places where it isn't along with how far right the overturn window is normalizes the hatred that brews this, and refusing to fight back won't solve anything because facists are not and will never be reasonable but also running for your life because their coming for you and you refuse to die and let them take you because they show that they will stop at nothing to do it. It's not something to fight about and I may have smoked too much sage n sour

Don't worry, nonnie, I get what you're saying. The culture shock would definitely be a major obstacle to overcome. I've said before that I've never once been called a fag or a tranny (well, until I became semi-popular in the tumblr anti-SJW community), but I've heard queer used as a slur my entire life. Living someplace like, for example, Portland would probably make my head explode.

That's all stuff I could work past with time and effort. The real reason I refuse to leave is as you said. I don't want to let fascists take my home from me. I don't want to lie down and accept that some places will always be unsafe for me and mine. I don't want to go to my grave having done nothing for my people.

I want to fight! I want to change my home, not abandon it! I want to make the world a better place! I want everyone, everywhere, to be able to live where they want, without having to worry about their safety!

My ancestors were forced from their homes! I won't be forced from mine! I won't let history repeat itself!

[thegrandharveyspecter]

Grumpy Lawyer, Sleepy Ant; a Harvey & Scott Drabble

Or; 5 times Harvey found Scott sleeping in an odd place, and 1 time it was normal

1. San Francisco Park Bench

Mike complained that Harvey had been working too much and he needed to do something else. So, Harvey took a flight down to San Francisco. He wasn't planning on meeting up with Scott; it just happened that way when Harvey was strolling through a park.

It was around 9:00PM, the sun was gone and the stars and moon were out. Scott Lang was laying on one of the benches, one arm hanging off the bench, the other draped over his eyes.

Harvey could've been gentle in waking Scott, like a normal human being, but Harvey wasn't normal and Scott shouldn't have been sleeping on a park bench.

Harvey kicked one of the bench's legs twice. Scott made a sort of straggled noise and jerked up. He would've fallen off had he not grabbed the back of the bench.

"What's happening?" Scott slurred, looking around in a daze. When his eyes landed on Harvey, he tilted his head. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you that," Harvey replied, dryly. "I thought you'd have more sense than to sleep outside on a park bench. You could be jumped any minute."

"Hey, if someone tried to attack me, I could defend myself easily," Scott said, stretching his arms above his head. "I don't always need my suit, you know. I can fight without it."

"I know, but it's still stupid sleeping outside on a bench," Harvey said. "Go home."

Scott got off the bench and smirked a little. "Be careful, Harv. It sounds like you care about my well-being."

Harvey rolled his eyes, turned Scott around and gave him a light push. "I don't. Now go home."

2. Subway Station

When someone called Harvey's office and told him that His Nuisance was sleeping in the subway station, Harvey thought for the hundredth time that he should get rid of Scott Lang. If the citizens of Seattle gave him a title like that, it meant too many people saw them together and assumed they were friends.

Harvey drove down to the subway station and wandered through the area. There weren't many people around but there was no sign of Scott. He started to wonder if it was just a prank call after a few minutes of nothing. It was when he was nearing a staircase that he saw Scott curled up like a cat under it.

Harvey kneeled and thought about how to wake him this time. He took his phone from his pocket and started searching for the alarm. He turned the volume up to 100 and pressed play.

The alarm blared obnoxiously loud, almost echoing. Scott shot upright and his head smacked against the bottom of the staircase. Harvey winced, thought Scott's helmet would've activated when he got up, but it didn't. Scott groaned and held his bleeding forehead.

"That hurt!" Scott whined. He turned and glared at Harvey. "What's the matter with you?!"

"That's what you get for sleeping under a staircase," Harvey said, unfazed by Scott's glare. "You're like a cat, curled under there."

Scott crawled out and Harvey stood with him. Scott continued to rub his forehead. He was going to have that headache for quite some time.

"Why were you sleeping under there?" Harvey asked.

"I was on a mission, I finished the mission, and then I took a nap," Scott said, still glaring. "It was nice until you came along. What if I got a concussion?"

"You're being dramatic."

"How did you even know where I was?" Scott asked, lowering his hand.

"Someone called the office and said they saw My Nuisance sleeping at the subway station, so I came looking."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "How did you know they were talking about me and not Mike?"

"Because everyone in Seattle calls Mike my kid brother or My Problem Child," Harvey said. "So when they said "Your Nuisance", I knew they were talking about you."

Scott was silent for a moment as he seemed to contemplate what that meant. Harvey could see the wheels turning and the lightbulb ding when Scott realized what being called Harvey's Nuisance meant.

"People here gave me a nickname for you, that means they think we're friends." Scott sounded too happy and his smile would've been contagious if Harvey was a normal person. "Are you still going to deny we're friends now?"

"We aren't friends."

Scott groaned loudly. "Come on! Stop being in denial!"

"Go home and sleep off that headache," Harvey said, waving him off. "Shoo."

"I have this headache because of you. You should at least give me a ride."

"Jesus...Fine."

3. Harvey's Pocket

Harvey, as it turned out, was not safe from Scott Lang for more than a few days before he pounced. Or rather, when he half popped out of Harvey's breast pocket and nearly gave him a heart attack. Apparently it wasn't the first time Scott slept in there.

"I use your pocket square as a blanket. What can I say? It's soft," Scott sighed in content. "You also work as a taxi this way, getting me to places I want or need to be."

Harvey grabbed one of Scott's tiny arms and pulled him out of his pocket. The little ant started squirming, but Harvey knew if he wanted to, Scott could grow back to proper size in a flash. He was just being indulgent.

"Listen, Knievel," Harvey said, scowling. "I'm not a taxi service and I'm not a bed."

"But you can be, Pops! You need to have more faith in your abilities." Scott's helmet was on, but Harvey knew for a fact he was smirking. Harvey shook him.

Scott shifted out of his grip and grew back to normal size. His helmet retracted and Harvey could officially see his smirk. He was much too satisfied. Freaking brat.

"Look at it this way. This is the first time you didn't have a heart attack when I grew back to normal size in front of you."

"No, you gave it to me when you popped out of my pocket," Harvey said. "Stop sleeping in weird places. And this is the last time you're sleeping in my pocket."

Scott flatly said, "No."

Harvey didn't know which he was saying no to, but he had the feeling it was the latter. Or both.

4. Bonsai Tree

Donna said that their house needed more greenery, so she sent Harvey out to the flower shop to buy some kind of plant. He didn't really know what to look for. He was still bad at that kind of thing.

While Harvey was roaming the flower shop, he thought of asking the cashier for some advice when he saw something odd in one of the bonsai trees.

Scott Lang was laying underneath the branches of the tree like he was actually outside. Why and how Scott could sleep anywhere was beyond Harvey. He grabbed a nearby garden spade and poked Scott's side.

"Why?!" Scott complained, turning on his side and glaring at Harvey. "I was dreaming about pirate ships and dragons!"

"If you want to nap under a tree, why don't you go outside?" Harvey asked, ignoring his whining.

"It's too hot outside right now. I figured I'd nap here for a while," Scott answered, casually. "People would've left me alone if they saw me sleeping here anyway. Unlike you!"

By this point, the cashier and customers in the flower shop were giving Harvey odd looks. Right now, it looked like he was just talking to a bonsai tree and not Scott.

"Get out, come on." Harvey offered his palm for Scott to hop on. He did so and scurried up Harvey's arm and onto his shoulder.

"Hey. Hey...LISTEN!" Scott yelled, waving his arms. "Get it? Because you said I'm like Navi?"

It took all of Harvey's willpower not to flick Scott off his shoulder. "I hate you."

"Yup!"

Harvey left the shop without any sort of plants and instead had Scott yammering his ear off.

5. Caboose

Harvey was scrolling through his phone while he waited for his coffee when he saw on the newsfeed that Ant-Man was found passed out in the back of a caboose. He didn't like the headline 'passed out' and wondered if Scott was actually injured, or if he was just napping like all the other times.

Harvey left the coffee shop and drove to the train station as fast as he could. When he got there, he wasn't surprised that there was a crowd of onlookers and some journalists. Harvey felt a sense of frustration building in his chest. Scott didn't need this kind of attention, especially if he really was injured.

He made his way to the caboose and pushed people to the side, easily ignoring complaints as he tugged them away, telling them to get away from Scott.

Harvey hopped into the caboose and walked over to where Scott lay on his side. His helmet was on, so Harvey couldn't make out any possible injuries there, but the rest of his body looked alright. It gave him some hope that Scott was okay.

"Wake up, Ant-kid," Harvey said, lightly rapping his knuckles against Scott's helmet. "Naptime's over. Wake up."

He knocked on Scott's helmet a couple more times until he finally shifted. Scott's helmet retracted. He had no injuries but he was sweating and ghost white. His eyes were glassy as he looked up at Harvey.

"Heeeey," Scott mumbled, his voice scratchy. "What's happenin'?"

"You passed out in a caboose," Harvey said, not quite sure if Scott finished a mission and got sick after. "Can you stand?"

Scott scowled at the idea but he nodded. Harvey gave him a helping hand and with some effort, they got Scott up on his feet. Harvey had to keep a hand on his shoulder to stop him from falling over.

The crowd only seemed to get bigger and Harvey was about ready to break a camera. He threatened as much when someone started snapping pictures.

Harvey said, "Get that camera out of here before I break it."

For some reason, Scott smiled.

+1. Harvey's Couch

It was a long, gloomy day. It was nonstop rain, thunder and lightning. Harvey had the house to himself tonight because Donna was back in New York to see her father. Normally, Harvey would think about a movie night with Mike, but he was too tired to deal with his Puppy Energy.

He was soaked when he got inside and just wanted a nice, hot shower. As he made his way through the house, he noticed a figure on the couch. At first he wondered if Mike somehow got here before he did as a surprise visit. He was proven wrong.

Scott Lang was curled up on the couch, head rested on one of the pillows. Harvey suspected that Scott shrunk and came in through the crack under the door or through the lock. He was in his normal clothes now, making himself at home.

This time, Harvey couldn't be bothered to wake him. Instead, he took the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over Scott's body. He ruffled his hair a bit and left him sleeping in the living room.

[hjellacott]

For fuck's sakes you're pathetic. Why does it matter where exactly the photo was taken, or whether there are other bathroom options in that place? It's not like any of us, unless we frigging work there, could argue with you so the whole nature of your post is very much "this photo is false because I KNOW BETTER". In your desire to be pedantic and try prove yourself right you've stolen the attention of the post from what it really is about, what is the point of the whole thing: starting debate about how public restrooms should be. The photo could've been a bloody comic, and it'd still be important because of the discussion it ignites, and that is not a discussion about where the hell the photo comes from.

The point is that none of us needs to go to Canada to see bathrooms like this, because there are so many, and we all know so many situations like this and far worse, than we can think of our own experiences if not this one. The point is that because of this post, people are starting to comment their own experinces (in Twitter and anywhere else where this photo is shared), and have their own debates. The point is that nobody should struggle to find a public restroom where they feel safe, that the nearest one shouldn't be a "free for all", that they shouldn't be in different corners of a building depending on who the bathroom is for, but each washroom location should have all the options one next to the other so you don't have to go to another floor just because you're a man or a woman, and

the biggest point of it all, is that when any of us thinks of our own experiences, in our own cities, in our own universities, places of work and so on, we see over and over again that when it comes to making "diversity" bathrooms, it's almost always at the expense of women's spaces, and not men's. And it's so widespread that it makes no difference whether we discuss this out of a random Twitter picture or not, nor whether that picture is real or not, because even if it wasn't, the dozens of cases each of us personally knows are very much real.

I don't need to go to Canada to see this outrageous load of crap. I'm travelling around the world all the time and I see this in one country after another. I go to medical websites (pick any) and see men's cancers being called "men's", and women's cancers being called "people with vagina's" or "people with uteruses". I see the same collective of terrorists constantly using misogynystic insults and slurs specifically against women, not against men. Men invading women's health, women's spaces, women's things... all the time. Not the other way around. You don't like OP's picture? Go around your city, whichever it is I'm sure you'll find a dozen similar situations. Like the theatres in London where there's one queue for the men's bathroom and one for "everybody's", no women's, or the gym locker, where you're changing and suddenly there's a dick next to you, or the local women's marathon podium where it's all men. Pick the one that resonates most with you.

[katsukikitten]

Part one. Master list for plus one can be found here.

Just a nice fic I decided to write for fun. Please enjoy!

Asshole!

He was nothing but a huge, giant fucking ASSHOLE for the entire two years the two of you were dating and he decides NOW is a good time to break up with you?

Two days before your cousin's wedding and over TEXT MESSAGE?!

That fucking asshole.

He knew how you felt. Exactly how you felt about going alone to your cousin's wedding after your family begged to meet your boyfriend and teased you for "probably making him up." Which hell, he may as well have been made up considering how absent he was in the relationship. Using work as an excuse to come home late but forgetting to turn off his snap location when he showed up at the bar.

So you did what any rational woman in her upper twenties would do.

You drowned your sorrows in booze, tonight red wine as it was the only thing around, and you scrolled through your socials in hopes of distracting yourself from your suffering.

Alas the devil that is Instagram only amplified your sadness and irritation. Showing couple after couple, your friends on hikes kissing on the mountain top, kissing in the flickering light of candles at a fancy dinner or, worst yet, getting proposed to. The video showing her in hysterics screaming, "YES I DO I DO!"

And it feels terrible to feel this way. Especially about your friends, the people you love and want to support, still it stings. You hadn't told anyone about the breakup, you weren't even sure your friends even remembered that asshole's name.

A teardrop lands on your screen, magnifying all the magical lights of the led beneath the glad. You wipe away the tear and with that the feed refreshes. A new post has come in at the top, Res Riot's official account.

Kirishima stands with a fat white cat in his arms. He dwarfs the animal with his large stature that looks larger as he still has his Red Riot gear on. The caption reads something along the lines of "missed my precious baby."

Red wine is a dangerous thing as your body acts on its own. You go to his page to hit the little arrow to DM him. Typing out and backspacing your message as you struggle from the booze, you decide to say fuck it and use the voice memo feature. Before you know it your sniffling voice is playing back to you after you've hit send.

"My ex broke up with me before this stupid wedding. It's in two days and my family is going to roast me big time when I show up alone. They think I made that asshole up. I don't know why I'm even in your dms. Your account is probably run by some dick head who can't even capture your kindness. I guess I'm here cause my first thought seeing you on my timeline was Red Riot has always been my hero…"

Ugh totally fucking cringe.

There is no surprise as you see the three normally ominous dots pop up, probably his social media manager about to ask you to stop your "advances" as Kirishima is too busy to date and he'd hate to block you or some other bullshit.

But there it is a surprise to see a little bubble with the play button and some vertical lines in various heights. It takes your sluggish brain a moment to realize you've been sent a voice memo. Odd. Your thumb smashes the screen faster than you can think and a deep voice rumbles through the speakers of your phone.

"Actually I run my official and personal socials. And I'm sorry to hear about your ex doll. He sounds like a real ass. I'll be your hero, I'll go with you to the wedding."

Your heart stutters, no way, no way in HELL this was Red Riot. You had read about the horror stories before or pervy account managers taking advantage of women who so desperately wanted to talk to their hero.

Hell, it's happened to Dynamight plenty of times.

You swallow quickly but the bile rushes up your throat. Not just from the anxiety of a possible con but from drinking an entire bottle of wine with nothing on your stomach after months of sobriety. Quickly you stumble to the bathroom, abandoning your phone on your bed. You barely make it in time to praise the porcelain Gods before you fall onto your back. Looking up at the light in your cramped bathroom, the orb doubles and spins as you feel the Earth turning on its axis. You curl into your side using your bathmat as a pillow as you drift off into sleep, totally forgetting about the voice memo on your phone.

As you sleep peacefully on your memory foam bath rug, Kirishima settles into his nightly routine. One giant hand grabbing strands of long dark red hair into a towel while another sits snugly around his Adonis belt and the thick, black happy trail that follows up the center of his abs before spreading out onto his chest. He tosses the towel over the open door of the bathroom before sitting in his favorite armchair with phone in hand. Diamond, his beautiful white cat he rescued a few years ago, jumps onto the arm of the chair, purring loudly when Kirishima's free hand scratches her ears absentmindedly.

He chuckles to himself as he realizes exactly what he's done. Acting on a feeling instead of logic all because he heard a "damsel in distress." Starting off his rare vacation with spontaneity starting with an impromptu date with a stranger. He really isn't sure what you look like and it's obvious your handle doesn't have your real name in it, just PrincessPeach with some random numbers at the end. He takes the time to scroll through your profile. Seeing pictures of food, of many sunsets, a friend's dog that guest appears often, your own cat and plenty of strays.

It takes him a while before he sees a photo of you. His heart stutters in his chest as he looks you over. Laughing with a friend, soft lighting from strings over head that blur like little fireflies. Your smile is wide, half hidden by your hands as your eyes seem to smile with you. Sparkling as if they held stars.

For a moment Kirishima forgets how to breathe, it isn't until Diamond jumps down from the armchair does he inhale. He smiles softly to himself before he drops his towel, puts his phone on charge and promptly falls asleep in his bed.

Kirishima rises before the sun even has a chance to filter through his blinds. He sighs softly, getting up to a sitting position disturbing a fluffy white ball that lays beside him.

"Mmrow." Moon stone eyes blink slowly as they look at the mountainous man hogging the bed.

"I didn't mean to wake you sweet baby." He says softly, going to pet the soft white fur only for her to get up stretch and give him her butt before plopping back down.

"I know, mean ol' daddy woke you up too early again." He says softly, his hand falling onto her back before he rises from the bed. Fishing for his running shorts, socks, headphones and shoes. He makes his protein shake, leaning on the counter as he drinks it, looking at how you read, or better yet, listened to his message but still no reply. It was late and there was a small slurring of your words, he figures you've passed out. He just hopes you're okay.

His run goes as usual, up before anyone else unless they were the normal avid runner. Passing by the usual array of people. An old man holding onto his youth by jogging through his daily five mile morning run, Kirishima knows he runs another five in the evening while the sun is setting. He hopes he can embody some of this man's commitment when he is older. Then he passes a middle aged woman, who gives him the biggest smile as she pases, jogging backward to send him a wink before plowing ahead. Occasionally he'll see a running group or a few teens training to be heroes, they always ask if they can run his route. "It's long." He always warns in a kind, warm voice. They assure him they will be fine so far only one other person could handle his 12 mile morning run. A young woman in her second year of hero courses at UA. Since then Kirishima put in a word with his boss and so every time internships roll around she's in the office.

By the time Kirishima is rounding back towards his high rise apartment, the city begins to stir. Slowly waking as men and women in business suits rush towards the train, parents flinging open the doors or curtains fussing at their children who cling to an extra few minutes of sleep before school.

This was always his favorite part of the run, not because it was almost over, oh no it was because he had a chance to glimpse at everyday life. Of nine to fives, of school hours and after school hangs outs at snack bars or the library.

What most would call the mundane but Kirishima would never call it that. It's why he worked so hard to protect it.

Diamond greets his sweaty form at the door. Glaring angrily with her moon stone eyes. Tail swishing before she goes to the kitchen by her bowl. Waiting impatiently.

"I'm not late, sweet cheeks." He coos, and she glares, "I know I know. You're hungry now."

He opens the fridge, gets out the highest quality food there is and places it on her dish, sure to keep it all in the middle or she'll claim her bowl was empty. He added a splash of water too since the weather was starting to get hot.

He sucks down a water or two, demolishes a protein bar and then heads to the apartment gym.

A few hours roll by and without hearing from you yet his worry over your well being begins to cloud the forefront of his mind. He pauses his music, picks up his phone and talks out a voice memo.

A loud DING echoes from your room and around your skull as you rise with a throbbing headache.

"Fuck." You hiss to yourself grabbing at your head as you shakily rise to your feet. Yanking the handle of the faucet to drink from the stream before looking at yourself in the mirror.

"Ugh." You grunt ignoring your swollen face and eyes, yanking the mirror door open to snatch at the bottle of aspirin. Swallowing THREE extra strength pills before slamming the door shut and turning off the faucet. You make your way towards your bedroom, more than ready to sleep the rest of your day away. Grabbing at your phone to charge it you see the push notification of an Instagram message from Red Riot.

The fucking Red Riot.

Internally you scream before it bubbles up your throat and escapes. You fumble to unlock your phone before looking that it's a voice memo.

Mortified you realize you sent one too. And first at that.

"Fuck MEEE!" You plop onto the bed. Nervous this second voice memo is probably about how you're a weirdo or something as you relive the memory of asking him to be your plus one.

Hesitantly your thumb hovers over the play button before you find the strength to press the cool glass. A soft thunderous voice plays out.

"Good morning sleepy head. I haven't heard from you yet, I hope you're okay. Be sure to drink some water and eat something greasy. Trust me, late nights with Denki and Bakugou taught me something. Since the wedding is tomorrow I'll need a picture of your dress for the color and style so I can match you Sweet pea. Contact me soon so I can know where to pick you up."

Did he… did he just call you SWEET PEA? Your heart pounds in your chest before it registers he's asked for your dress color and lowkey asked for your address. This couldn't be real. It sounded like Kirishima, his voice familiar from interviews you've watched but it very well could be a prank. Defeated you hit the small microphone and reply.

Kirishima hears a sharp DING in his headphones over his music as he finishes his set. He wipes the sweat from his face on his shirt giving the few people in the gym a lovely view of his sweaty and thick torso. One woman trips on the treadmill but it goes unnoticed by Kirishima. He pauses his music and hits play on the little memo. Your beautiful yet groggy voice comes in through his ear buds causing Kirishima to bite his lip. It causes such a flutter of butterflies in his stomach he has to listen a second time to actually hear what you said. Although he understand, he cannot help but feel hurt by your reply.

"How do I know you're not just some pervy guy using Kirishima's Godly looks to prey on unsuspecting people."

Your phone chirps at you from the bed stand and you growl reaching for it. You had hoped your message would have been clear. An unspoken of you know they're a fucking creep taking advantage of their PR job.

"What can I do to prove it to you, Sweet Pea?"

You hate how that cute nickname sends your heart into a somersault and your stomach in delightful knots. Still your doubt pulls a harsh tut from your lips before you reply.

Kirishima doesn't need his phone to alert him that you've messaged him, he's been looking at his screen for far to long without having to restart his set. He listens to your voice as if it were music.

"Fine, you wanna prove it to me so bad. Take a picture of yourself shirtless with the word 'Sweet pea' you love so much and send it to me. No photoshop I know what my favorite hero looks like!"

For over an hour you don't hear back and you figure you showed that perv.

But now you can't sleep so you nurse a water, door dash a "greasy" breakfast all before cranking your shower as high as it can go. Your phone dings and you try to ignore it. You really do but as the saying goes curiosity killed the cat. Opening the message you see a classic guy mirror selfie. Kirishima is clear as day in the photo, his large hand pointing to his bare, hairy chest where sweat pea is scrawled in his adorable handwriting. He winks at the camera as his kissable lips wear a dangerous, almost cocky eyes travel down his bulk following his happy trail that dives under a pair of black shorts, the best part of the view getting cut off by the vanity. At first you try to rationalize that this was fake but damning evidence was sitting on the vanity. A fluffy white cat in a diamond and ruby encrusted collar sits on the counter giving her owner an odd look.

His cat Diamond that everyone knows he loves and adores. Slick begins to collect between your thighs and especially so after you listen to the voice memo that comes through shortly after. His normally friendly and soft voice comes out a bit dark, husky as he says in a playfully annoyed tone.

"Now send me a picture of that dress, Sweet Pea."

[stranger-marauders]

repaired

sixteen: the rescue

chapter summary: Dustin, Kate, and Erica find Steve and Robin in a much more difficult position than they were before they were kidnapped.

chapter warnings: language, drug use

word count: 3.6k

series masterlist | masterlist

IT HADN'T BEEN too long before the guards had left Steve and Robin alone again.

It had taken a while for them both to calm down after they'd been injected with the stuff the Russians had given them. Steve's face didn't hurt anymore, and even though he couldn't see out of his left eye, it wasn't bothering him. Everything felt numbed out, but not in a bad way. It certainly helped everything feel more... relaxed for the time being.

Robin had at least seemed to slightly feel the same way.

"Honestly, I don't really feel anything," Steve said. "Do you?"

"I mean, I... I feel fine," Robin said. "I feel normal."

"Yeah, I feel... I feel fine." He hesitated a moment before going on, almost smiling. "I kinda feel good."

They both giggled.

"Wanna know a secret?" Robin asked.

"What?"

"I like it, too!"

They both began to laugh harder.

"I feel good."

"Morons. They messed up the drug," Steve said, slurring his speech slightly.

"They messed it up! Morons. Hey, morons!"

"Morons! Hey!"

"Morons! Morons—!"

"Whoa!"

"Oh, no," Robin said, still laughing. "There's definitely something wrong with us."

"Something's wrong!"

Before they could begin to make even bigger fools out of themselves, the main guard and the doctor came back into the room. As the doctor pulled out some of his tools, Robin said, "Would now be a good time to tell you that I don't like doctors?"

"Let's try this again, yes?" the guard asked, looking to Steve.

Steve, who was rolling his tongue around while wide-eyed, nodded. He had barely noticed the man peering down at him.

"Who do you work for?"

"Scoops." He giggled. "Scoops Ahoy."

Robin still wheezed, not making a sound. Why was everything so funny?

"How did you find us?"

"Totally by accident." He chuckled again.

The man murmured something in Russian to doctor, and without another word, the doctor moved toward Steve with one of his tools.

"What is that shiny little toy?" Steve asked, not seeming to show any type of hesitation despite the Russian doctor coming closer to him.

"Where you going with that, doc?" Robin asked.

The doctor had placed it on his fingernail, starting to pull at it.

At the sudden pain of attempting to dislodge a fingernail, Steve immediately began to panic. "Whoa, whoa, hey, hey. Wait! No! Wait! Wait! Whoa!"

"There was a code! There was a code! We heard a code!" Robin said instinctually before the doctor could dislodge and remove one of Steve's fingernails.

"Code," the guard repeated as the doctor stopped pulling. "What code?"

"'The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west.' Blah, blah, blah," Robin said. "You broadcast that stupid spy shit all over town, and we picked it up on our Cerebro, and we cracked it in a day. A day! You think you're so smart, but a couple of kids who scoop ice cream for a living cracked your code in a day, and now, people know you're here."

"Who knows we are here, suka?"

"Uh, well, Kathy knows."

"Hey, Steve?" Robin may have been out of it, but she was of sound enough mind to know they should not be spilling names, especially the person's name that was their one ticket out of there.

"Yeah, Kate Hopper, she knows. Well, Katherine technically, but absolutely nobody calls her that. She doesn't like it."

"Steve!" Robin shouted, throwing her head back dramatically, but he only giggled, not understanding that he'd just dropped the full name of his girlfriend to Russian agents.

"Kate... Hopper," the guard repeated. "It is your small, blonde friend?"

"Oh, beautiful. Great hair. Great smile. Small. Hotter than Phoebe Cates. Yeah. That's her."

"Where are they?"

"Oh, they're long gone, you big asshole. And Kate's probably calling Hopper, and Hopper's calling the U.S. Calvary." He stopped to laugh again. "They're gonna come in here, commando-style, guns a-blazin', and kick your sorry asses back to Russia. You're gonna be two pieces of toast."

Robin and Steve continued to laugh as the guard got closer to his face. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," he said, making both he and Robin laugh again. This time, however, the guard did, too.

Before anyone could say anything else, the alarms began to blare again, just as they had before. Whenever Steve gave a "told you so" look to the guard, he left the room, leaving the doctor alone with Steve and Robin. Not much time passed between the guard leaving and Kate bursting through the room with the taser prod she and Dustin had found before, stabbing and electrocuting the doctor with it. When the weapon contacted the Russian man, the tip gave off electric sparks and smoke.

"An elegant weapon for a more civilized age," Kate said, smiling as the man fell to the floor. She was really, really enjoying this, even though she had just evidently killed a man.

Dustin and Erica immediately started to untie Robin, and Kate moved to untie Steve. Whenever she had seen his face, her mouth dropped, her eyebrows became raised, and her eyes became wide with worry. He looked terrible: somehow, he looked even worse than when Billy had beaten the shit out of him the last time he'd gotten into a fight.

Steve, however, seemed to not be phased in the slightest. "Hey! Kathy! That's crazy, I was just talking about you."

"Yeah, sounds great. Get ready to run," Kate said, finishing untying the last knot that held Steve down into the chair.

The group of five ran as quickly as they could to the cart they'd stolen, which Steve and Robin had barely made it to. Kate shook her head as she helped them both get into the back, watching Erica get back there with them.

"You gonna be okay back there with them?" Kate said, watching them get in.

"Okay enough," Erica replied, jumping in the back.

Kate locked the door behind her, taser prod in hand as she joined Dustin in the front. She kept glancing to the back of the cart, the box that currently held Erica, Steve, and Robin, only studying them.

"Jesus, slow down!" Steve slurred. "It's like Kathy's driving or something."

"Yeah, what is this, like, the Indy 500?"

"It's the Indy 300," Steve said, trying to correct her incorrectly.

"No, dingus, it's 500!"

"It's 300!"

"Let's say a million," Robin said, and they both laughed loudly.

"What's wrong with them?" Dustin asked.

"I... I don't know," Kate replied. She knew she'd seen Steve drunk, she'd seen him high, but he didn't act like that whenever he was stoned or intoxicated. Besides, there was no way the Russians were going to offer them Stolichnaya or even a simple joint after seeing the way they'd kicked the shit out of him. Additionally, Steve could usually handle his alcohol pretty well, no matter how much he drank. At least, he handled it better than the way he was acting right now.

That was when she noticed they were about to crash into a stack of crates and barrels. "Dustin, watch out!"

"Shit!"

There hadn't been enough time for Dustin to steer out of the way, and the cart crashed into the wall of objects in front of them, making them slam back.

"You guys all right back there?" Dustin asked.

Robin and Steve only groaned in response, and Erica hadn't even said anything. Dustin and Kate looked at each other in concern before getting out of the cart to retrieve the others in the back. "They're fine."

Kate opened the storage box part of the cart, helping Erica out of the cart. "Come on. We gotta go, now." Whenever they hadn't moved, she reached inside of the box, pulling at Steve's arm. "Let's go!"

"Ow! We're coming!" Steve whined, grabbing onto her for support.

"Hey, Kate, keycard?" Dustin said, standing at the electronic lock. "Like, now?"

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," she said quickly, shoving Steve off of her to reach into her pockets for the card. Whenever she slid it through the reader, she sighed. "Here goes nothing."

As the group of five went back up in the elevator, Robin and Steve's conditions still hadn't improved in the slightest. Whenever the elevator door had shut, they found an industrial cart to balance on, sliding back and forth in the room.

"Hey! You look like you're surfing!"

"Surfing! Yeah!" Steve said, putting his arms out and attempting to balance.

Kate only watched them in concern. She hadn't been the only one staring: Dustin and Erica had found themselves watching the show, too.

"They seem drunk," Erica finally said.

"Why would they be drunk?" Dustin asked.

"They're definitely not drunk. Trust me. I promise you, it's nothing like that," Kate said.

"How would you know?" Erica asked, Dustin shooting her an unconvinced expression.

"You do understand where the name 'King Steve' came from, right?" Kate asked, looking at Dustin. She hadn't realized he didn't know it came from him being the old keg king of Hawkins, which felt like a lifetime ago now. Dustin, however, hadn't known Steve back then, and she knew that Steve liked to keep his party life separate from the kids.

When Dustin gave a wide-eyed look, almost like he didn't believe her for a second, another thought came to her.

She cleared her throat. "Could they have been drugged? Like, not pot, I mean, like, hard drugs? Like a truth serum or something?"

"I'm a natural! Check it out!" Steve shouted as he fell over onto the floor.

"Wipeout!" Robin shouted.

Dustin got down on the floor next to Steve as Kate stood behind him. He put a hand to Steve's head. "He's burning up."

"You're burning up," Steve retorted.

"One sec, one sec. Steve, Steve—"

"God, no—Ow!" As Dustin tried to look into his eyes, he found Steve to be extremely uncooperative.

"His pupils are super dilated," Dustin said.

"Yeah, I see that," Kate replied. "His eyes are bloodshot, too."

"Ugh, boop!" Steve said, touching the tip of Dustin's nose.

"Steve, are you drugged?" Dustin asked him.

"How many times, Dad? I don't do drugs. It's only marijuana."

Kate's mouth fell open, and she quickly put her hand over her mouth to try to stifle her laughter. She knew he had to be completely out of it to willingly give up that information, especially to one of the kids, to Dustin.

"This isn't funny, okay?" Dustin said impatiently. "I need to know what they did to you. Are you gonna die on us?"

"Boop," Steve said, only touching the tip of his nose again.

"We all die, my strange little child friend," Robin said. "It's just a matter of how and when."

"They're gonna be looking for us up there, so. Need you to tell me where you parked your car," Dustin said.

"Shit, I got that, I came to work with him," Kate said quickly. "I can drive—"

"Oh, can we make a pit stop at the food court?" Steve asked.

"I would kill for a hot dog on a stick."

"Ooh!"

Dustin shook his head. "Kate, please deal with him?"

"All right, fine," Kate replied, sighing and sitting down in front of him Out of any of them, she knew how to handle Steve at his worst moments. "Hey, listen to me."

"Hey, beautiful," he said, touching the tip of her nose. "You're so pretty, you know that?"

"Steven, cut it out," she said sternly, grabbing his hand. Even though she did appreciate the compliments, this wasn't the time for flattery. "Listen, you can have all the food you want if you tell me where your keys are. Okay? Anything you want, I'll get it for you."

He giggled. "Well, if you mean anything—"

"Steven Harrington! Keys. Where are they?" she asked, her face turning red.

"Uh-oh," Steve replied after feeling around in his pockets.

Her face quickly grew concerned. "Uh-oh?"

"The car's off the board."

She scrunched her face in confusion. "What? Why?"

"They took the keys," Steve explained, turning his pockets inside out. "The Russians, they took the keys. Like, forever ago." Robin and Steve laughed like maniacs before he continued. "That's a bummer, right?"

Kate pressed her lips together, sighing as she looked at Dustin and Erica.

They were absolutely, positively screwed.

Kate had onlyhoped that whenever they'd gone outside again that Steve and Robin might've gotten off their high with the introduction of fresh air. Of course, that had only been a dream for her that wouldn't come to fruition.

"Oh my God, that tastes so good," Robin said, sticking her tongue out like she was licking something. "Steve, can you taste the air?"

"I taste it! I taste it!"

More Russians had come from behind one of the walls, opening the gate that stood in between them. "Stop!"

"Shit! Come on! Come on!" Dustin said. Kate took Steve's hand as the others started to run with them, following as Dustin lead the way back inside the mall. Kate only hoped that Steve and Robin would come off the high of whatever drug they were on soon—that would be the only way they would survive.

"Where are we going!" Erica shouted.

"Just trust me!" Dustin replied.

As Steve and Robin still giggled as they dragged them through the mall, Kate only watched her surroundings. She'd left her weapon back in the elevator, naively thinking that the Russians wouldn't find them again. Her heart rate started to slow down whenever she realized where Dustin had taken them. They'd gone down one of the hallways that looped behind the storefronts, and when she'd walked into the movie theater, the dark colors suddenly inviting to her, she took a sigh of relief.

"All clear."

As they started to walk into the showroom for Back to the Future, Kate realized it was the Fourth of July: she and Steve had been planning to see it whenever he had gotten off of work with her friends. She wanted to laugh as she watched him pull out a, for the most part, full bag of popcorn that hung out of a trash can, almost as if it was purposefully waiting for a stoned kid to take it.

Dustin opened the doors to find Christopher Lloyd and Michael J. Fox on the movie screen, messing with some type of flaming tire marks. "What did I tell you!" the old man shouted. "Eighty-eight miles per hour!"

"Come on," Dustin said, and they started to look for some seats to sit in.

Kate immediately found two on the front row and looked at Robin and Steve. "You two. Sit."

"No, no, no! These seats are too close!" Robin said, parking her butt in the seat anyway.

"Dude, these seats blow," Steve said, sitting next to her.

"Then don't watch the movie," Kate replied bitterly.

"We wanna watch it," Robin countered.

"Then watch it!" Kate was immediately shushed by the people sitting in the row behind Steve and Robin. "Sorry," she replied to them before turning to Steve and Robin again. "Just, whatever you do, don't... go... anywhere. Got it?"

"Fine, Mom," he replied. Robin snickered as Kate pressed her lips together—she assumed that was his subconscious way of punishing her considering she and the kids made fun of him for being such a mom friend all the time.

Kate shook her head as she joined Dustin and Erica at the other end of the row where there have been three more seats. She sat in the seat on the end next to Dustin, sighing as she looked at them.

Dustin sighed. "Okay, it's official. I'm never having kids."

"What are we doing here?" Erica asked.

"We're laying low. Cooling off," Dustin replied. "Like Oswald."

"Oswald was found in a theater and shot to death."

Dustin gave her an unreadable expression. "A week later."

"The point is, his plan didn't work."

"Only because it was a setup," Kate said without thinking.

"What?"

She sighed—she knew she shouldn't be explaining her theories about the JFK Assassination to a ten-year-old, but Erica was a political junkie. She would learn about it for herself eventually. "He was a patsy. A scapegoat—"

"Tell me you're joking."

"Shh!" a lady behind them said.

"Shh!" the three replied.

"We need to get outta here," Erica said.

Kate sighed. "Yeah, it sucks. Steve and I were supposed to see this tonight with some people, but that's obviously not gonna happen." It hadn't taken long for an idea to strike her. She looked around the movie theater, then stood up and looked at the kids. "All right, you two watch Tweedledee and Tweedledumbass. Make sure they don't go anywhere."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm pretty sure I can find some change in that fountain and use one of the payphones to call my dad. I mean, he's probably sitting at home watching a Western or something. He can come to get us and we can get the hell out of here."

"Erica, you stay here," Dustin said, also getting up. "I'm gonna try to contact the party, just in case, you know?"

"Good luck, comrades," Kate said, nodding before they ran up the stairs of the theater, off to do their respective duties.

When Kate left, she was extremely careful to avoid contact with the Russians, as well as avoid her friends that were presumably somewhere in the theater. The last thing they needed was the only adult in this situation to be kidnapped, too. As she fished for nickels, she knew any child under the age of ten would slap her if they saw her digging in the fountain—she was glad she was the only one in sight. Once she found the nearest payphone, she dumped the coins into the machine, dialing her home phone number.

Of course, it only rang.

"Hey, you've reached Jim, I'm probably doing something incredible right now—"

"Shit," she whispered, hanging up the phone. She sighed as she headed back to the movie theater—now they were really screwed.

When she had finally found her way back, she found Steve and Robin drinking from the water fountain outside the theater. "What are you guys doing!"

Of course, the two hadn't heard her.

"It's amazing," Steve said, only coming up for a second before he went back in. He sounded like he'd seen the most wonderful thing imaginable or something.

"So, like, I wasn't totally focused in there or anything, but I'm pretty sure that mom was trying to bang her son."

"Wait, wait, the hot chick was Alex P. Keaton's mom?"

Kate stifled a chuckle, shaking her head. She couldn't really follow, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the movie wasn't like that in the slightest.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"But they're the same age!"

"No, but he went back in time."

Steve snickered as he continued to drink the water from the fountain. "Then why is it called Back to the Future?"

"He has to go back to the future because he's in the past," Robin explained. "So, the future is actually the present, which is his time."

Steve looked up like he'd understood everything that she'd said, but all he said was, "Wh... What?"

"No, no, it's my turn. You've had enough," Robin said, pushing him out of the way so she could drink some of the water from the fountain, too.

Whenever he had noticed Kate, he stumbled over to Kate with a, quite literally, dopey smile, wrapping his arms around her. "Hey, beautiful."

"God, you smell gross," she said, scrunching her nose up in disgust. "That and you're covered in your own blood. We gotta clean your face off soon."

"I love you so much, you know that?" he said, blowing off her rambling.

She raised her eyebrows, almost like she didn't believe him. "Really?"

Before she could say anything else, his mouth dropped open as he stared at the ceiling. "Wow."

Kate furrowed her eyebrows and looked up to see what he was staring at. She had no idea what he could have been looking at: the only thing above them was the glass ceiling panels that were separated by beams decorated in blue lights.

"Do you see that?" he asked, pointing to the ceiling. She only watched him as he continued to stare. "Hey, Robin, you gotta check this out."

She stumbled over to where Steve and Kate stood, her head also tilted up to look at the ceiling. Kate watched as her bloodshot eyes lit up, as whatever Steve saw, she saw too. Kate pulled away from Steve, but he hadn't seemed to notice because of how focused he was on the ceiling. She could only stare at them—whatever drug this was, it truly had astounding effects. She watched as the two began to spin around in circles. She let them do it for only a few seconds before putting a hand on their shoulders to stop them. "Hey, maybe we shouldn't do that."

She had been too late in stopping them. Robin grunted and Steve coughed, and not a moment later, the two of them were running to the nearest bathroom and Kate followed quickly behind them.

next chapter

taglist:

@thatsonezesty13 @cece5298  @thepowerstoner  @alovelytardis  @coolchick333 @stand-tall-pineapple @littlet-holmes  @guichu  @cinderellacauseshebroke @blackbirddaredevil23 @mads-weasley  @ilovemarauders @pearlstiare @liableperfections @khaylin27 @girlwiththerubyslippers @cyarikaaa

[gingersnaaps]

untouchable

keishin just can't stand the thought of anyone else being your first.

wc: ~2.5k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): noncon, explicit n*fw, alcohol, corruption of innocence, virgin!reader, mild misogyny, possessive ukai, masturbation, fingering, teasing, friends to lovers but fucked up, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @seita and their collab! also i probably fucked up the characterization but oh well

i don't want minors interacting with my content

To Keishin, you’ve always been untouchable.

He’d grown up alongside you - seen you go from your pretty pigtails to your grown-up bob, watched you turn from a schoolgirl into a woman. And through all those years, he’d always thought you were beautiful in the way that spring flowers are, all soft and sweet and dewy, your expression dripping innocence.

You’re pure. Unblemished. Perfect.

But that doesn’t mean he’s never admired from afar.

He almost hates it, these urges he gets. Keishin sees your stupid Instagram posts, your Facebook updates - in fact, he’s practically inundated with photos of you. He can’t escape the pictures of you in your summer skirts, grinning cheekily and holding up a peace sign, or the ones of you in your sundresses, the fabric lightweight and loose, cascading over your body in ripples.

And sometimes, after spending a few hours with you in person - maybe at a concert, maybe just catching up with you as friends - these urges he gets are too much for him to control, too much for just a cold shower to tamp down. He’ll lay his head back against his pillow, groaning in relief as he palms him cock, guilt gnawing him raw as he strokes himself to thoughts of the soft swell of your breasts, the barest brush of your hand - every exposed bit of your skin that he can conjure from his memory.

He always gets this empty feeling in the pit of his stomach after.

Keishin will reprimand himself, muttering about how creepy it is, how wrong it feels, how he’ll never do it again, but soon enough, he’s seeing your pictures all over his feed again, and you’re inviting him to some new outing.

He knows it’s not right, but he can’t really stop himself, either.

So when you call him up just days later, giggling and chatting his ear off about some new amazing discount at this local bar - look, Keishin, I promise it’s not far - going on and on about how he should join you in celebrating your latest raise at work, a wave of nausea sweeps over him. He should say no. He should make up some vague excuse, awkwardly laughing, brushing off your invitation while promising to make it up to you.

But it’s just been so long since he’s seen you.

He clears his throat, and his voice comes out dry and a little unsure on the other end. “Yeah. Yeah - I can go. See you there, [y/n], okay? Take care.”

Keishin hangs up the phone with a click before you even get a chance to respond, his hand unsteady and trembling.

-

He gets there before you do.

His fingers drum nervously against the tabletops, eyes scanning above the sea of overdressed, garish bargoers, looking around for any sign of you. It’s hard to make out faces among the crowd, all finer features clouded by the smoke and mirrors that dim lighting creates, but he’s looked at you enough times to be able to tell you apart with his eyes closed.

“Hey,” your voice greets, pressed close to his left side. “Never been to a bar before or what? Just relax, Keishin. We’re here to have a good time, right?”

He startles at your sudden appearance, flinching slightly. “Right,” he responds, a smile tugging at his lips.

He beckons the bartender over, ordering a few drinks, and you get settled into a routine of easy conversation. It doesn’t take long for you to get woozy, alcohol flooding your system as your cheeks flush and vision blurs. It loosens your tongue, loosens your wallet, and before long, you start losing track of the time of the drinks you order. All you know is that it feels good to let go, to lose yourself in the light-headed headspace you’ve found yourself in, the kaleidoscope of people around you dissolving until indistinguishable, walling off the rest of the world from just the two of you.

If Keishin’s going to be completely honest, though, he’s not really paying attention to what you're saying.

He’s paying attention to the men around you.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he could swear that half the bar is leering at you, eyes following every movement of your body in ways that are absolutely unacceptable. He’s not an idiot. He knows what those other guys are thinking about; he knows how their dicks are straining in their fucking pants, how their thoughts must be wandering, he knows because he’s been there before.

Because even in the middle of a bar, surrounded by debauchery and alcohol and sluts, you look absolutely angelic. The halo of hair around your head looks so, so soft - he wants to stroke it, kiss it, use it as a handle to maneuver you around for him - and suddenly he’s consumed by thoughts of how much he wants to be the one to force you down around his cock, choking and sobbing, how much he wants to smear his cum on your gorgeous face and ruin you before anyone else can get to it. He can’t tear his gaze away from you as you shift closer, wobbling on your stool, completely oblivious to the way everyone else’s eyes are undressing you.

He knows you’re not doing this on purpose. You can’t be, no matter how many times you wiggle your ass on the bar stool, no matter how far up your thigh the hem of your skirt rides up. You wouldn’t tempt others like that. You’re just not that type of girl - you’re innocent, so open and guileless - you would never.

Keishin isn’t going to let anyone else fuck that up for him.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before some sleazy man comes along, his hands groping at your body, mouth whispering sinful words into your ear, and the mere thought makes him shudder with revulsion.

No, if anyone is going to wreck you, it’s going to be him.

When you eventually get too drunk, words slurring and half delirious, he catches you in his arms and leads you stumbling back to his own car. He revels in how peaceful you look with your eyes lidded with fatigue, clinging onto his arm as he drives back to his apartment.

He takes you inside with him.

“K-Keishin..” you mutter. “Where are we?”

He shushes you softly, carrying you to his off-white bedroom of popcorn ceilings and peeling wallpaper, of warm lights dimmed low and an eerie silence that suspends your surroundings in stillness. Laying you down on his half-made bed, he tenderly brushes aside the hair that frames your face as he crawls on top of you.

“I’m taking care of you, baby.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion at his pet name, but your mind is still too woozy to fully comprehend the meaning behind his words.

But even a drunk girl like you knows that something’s not right when warm, calloused fingertips reach beneath your skirt and slip under the hem of your panties. You instinctively flinch away from his touch, trying to close your legs back up, but he brings a knee up between your thighs to rest at your cunt.

“Please,” you whisper, sobered from the rush of dread that runs tingling down your spine. “Please, Keishin. We’re friends.”

He ignores you, pressing down on your cunt until you’re squirming beneath him, his gaze softening as your breath hitches with desperation. “You don’t have to worry. I’m gonna make this virgin cunt feel so good,” he breathes. “Gonna show you just what real sex is supposed to feel like.”

He presses his lips to yours, his kiss gentle yet insistent, lips and wet tongue probing your mouth as if he’s trying to pry you apart and open you up. You can taste the alcohol on his hot breath, puffing lightly along your jaw as he trails his mouth further down, dragging his kisses sloppily down the crook of neck to where it meets your collarbone.

You tell yourself that it’s gross, that it’s overwhelming, but it’s impossible to hide the way your clit throbs against him as he flicks his tongue out to tease at your sensitive nipples, a moan almost involuntarily slipping from your lips. His mouth curls into a playful grin, teeth scraping roughly against your tits, and brings up the palm of his hand to cup your pussy.

“See?” he says. “This feels good.”

You cringe at his words, desperately bucking away from his touch, but there’s nowhere left for you to go - one arm cages in your small, frail body, the other strokes at your clit through the fabric of your panties, his mouth is sucking and nipping at the soft flesh of your tits - he’s everywhere, drawing patterns across your skin with lips and tongue, tracing feather-light circles on your pussy until you feel that desire in your cunt pulsing with need. “No,” you whimper quietly, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. “No, it doesn’t.”

Keishin ignores your weak protests, because he’s much too fixated on the way you look spread out beneath him. He didn’t think he’d ever get to see you this debauched, a flush riding high on your cheeks as you turn your head away in embarrassment, your hips bucking needily into his waiting hand, hair mussed and pupils blown out with lust.

You’re not the same girl he used to idolize, now that he’s seen you like this.

“I wonder how tight your pussy is,” he muses. “It hasn’t been tainted, right? Except for when you’ve touched yourself.”

Now there’s a sight he wants to see.

He withdraws from between your legs, but he moves his large hands to pry at your thighs and hold you in place. “I want you to do it for me,” he orders. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

You feel so fucking vulnerable in this position, legs forced apart and your glistening cunt bared to his hungry gaze, completely at the mercy of his whims and fancies, your body gone almost limp with fear at the thought of what he could do.

So you follow his directions like a good little girl.

You reach a finger to the entrance of your cunt, but the angle is awkward, and when you shove it inside, you’re barely able to feel even an inch of stretch. It’s frustrating, embarrassing, humiliating to be so helpless in front of Keishin, but you swallow the shame and begin to roughly thrust a finger in and out of your dry hole, even when the ache in your cunt is screaming for something much bigger - much more satisfying - to fill you up and satiate the need throbbing in your pussy.

He clicks his tongue mockingly. “Not good enough?” he asks. Keishin can tell from the pained expression on your face, from the slight twitching of your hips every time your stubby fingers brush against your g-spot, even though your face is turned away from him, and he knows what you’re really asking for with your panting and whining.

You’re asking for him.

Sweetheart, he’s more than okay with teaching you how to do it properly.

He moves your cramped hand away from its pathetic attempt at satisfying you, bringing a thumb up to rest at your clit, relishing at the way it pulses with need after just a few light circles. “More?” he asks.

Guilt is written all over your features, your eyes darting away, fingertips curling to grip at his sheets as he presses down more firmly. The twinge of stimulation sends white-hot arousal rushing to your cunt, your brain becoming hazy and unfocused, and the only thing you can think about is wanting more, more stimulation, more of his soothing words whispered in your ear, more of his deft touches and long, thick fingers.

“Mhm,” you whimper quietly. “Yes.”

Keishin stops the movement of his thumb, the warm palm of his hand resting against your throbbing clit. “More of what?”

You shake your head, embarrassment seeping into your veins. You don’t want to say it. You can’t say it.

He dips a finger into your cunt, teasing at the entrance before trailing light, soft touches up and down your folds. “Use your words, baby. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Please,” you beg, desperation written across your face. “Touch me.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks, malice glinting in his eyes. He wants to hear you say those filthy words, wants his precious, innocent best friend to beg him to do the things he’d only ever dreamed of.

“My…” you trail off, eyes now hazy and unfocused as you blink back tears. “My pussy. Want your fingers inside my pussy.”

What a good girl.

“Knew you could do it for me,” he growls, slipping his finger deeper into your twitching hole. “When you want something, you have to learn to ask for it.”

He doesn’t hold back now, adding another thick finger inside to stroke and pet at your sensitive walls, pressing up against your g-spot firmly as his thumb rubs steady, even circles on your clit. The stimulation comes crashing down like a wave of relief for your sore, aching hole, his fingers playing with your cunt better than you ever could, reaching deeper inside you, stretching you out further, making you cream around his skilled digits until your hole is left fluttering and fucked out.

You barely have the energy to resist when he pulls out his cock, painfully hard and leaking, and fits it to the entrance of your pussy. He pushes in slowly, gently, his deliberate movement a facade of tenderness, stretching you out until the pleasure pulsing in your core becomes almost unbearable from how unhurried he’s fucking you.

“Holy shit,” he says, swearing under his breath. Keishin wishes all the other undeserving men at the bar could see you now, sprawled out on his bed like his own personal fuckdoll, your eyes rolled back into your head, gasping and moaning as he breaks in your virgin cunt. He knows he’s fucking you better than any other man ever could, wrecking you in ways you’ll think about years in future when you close the blinds and dim the lights and slip a hand between your legs.

And as he finishes, groaning in pleasure as the waves of an orgasm wash over him, he pulls out of your slippery cunt and watches as his thick spurts of cum land all over the soft, smooth skin of your chest and stomach, marking you as his.

You look so beautiful painted white.

No, maybe beautiful is the wrong word. You’d always been so pure in his eyes, so clean and untouchable, but looking down at your quivering form, he begins to finally see what he’d been to blind to all along. For the first time, he sees how slutty your tits are covered in his cum, how they’re almost pushed up to your chin when you’re lying on your back. When he squeezes at your thighs, your ass, your waist, the excess flesh spills over in all the places that make you perfect for fucking.

You’re not innocent anymore, he realizes with a sense of twisted satisfaction. Not after this.

You’ve been ruined, haven’t you?

if you enjoyed this, please reblog or just drop by my inbox to say hi!

[smallrainclouds]

It's not easy having yourself a good time

we're on a double-date with other people... why are we kissing? you're not my date

Credit for prompt to

Hypnos x reader (modern!College!au)

Word count: 2.7

Warning: some dating violence on OC's side. Wrist grabbing, slurs and controlling behavior.

Summary: this was the worst date of your life. Thankfully it's also Hypnos' worst date ever.

A/N: here have this fic. I had yandere! Hypnos I was working on but it's giving me issues (it was supposed be under 1k but it keeps growing).

Also, I am open to requests but will rejected any I don't feel comfortable doing.

No beta.

Thank and I hope you enjoy.

💤☁️💤

You regret everything.

You stared at the plate of food you didn't order, some sad little salad that somehow smelled greasy.

Why did you let yourself get talked into a group date? You know why, you thought your friend was going to try to set up with your lab partner, Hypnos.

You looked at the bubbles in your sparkling water, another thing you didn't order and wondered if the person you were with would ever stop talking.

You glanced up at the group at the table. Across from you with his own date next to him, was Hypnos who was frowning at your date.

At least you had one sane classmate with you. Hypnos had been your lab partner since the first day in senior year and honestly you had thought at first your friend was setting you up with Hypnos. If you had known it was with someone else, you would have bail.

Charlie was a nice person you told yourself and your friends thought they would be great for you. Charlie was just… maybe they didn't know you don't order people's food for them.

"Look what I'm saying, Hypnos, is that maybe that YouTuber guy shouldn't be called out as much. Not his fault people can't take jokes anymore." Your date, Charlie, said loudly across the table to Hypnos who just raised a brow.

You rolled your eyes, You weren't going to let your friends pick a date for you ever again.

"Alright buddy. Whatever you say." Hypnos shrugged.

Hypnos' date and fellow classmate leaned across Hypnos, her breasts pressed against his arm. You looked away, poking at your food. You certainly were not jealous, you told yourself.

"Come on, guys. Let's talk about something else." she whined. The other two couples that came along echoed their agreement.

Hypnos grimaced and sat up taller, making the girl sit up as well. You felt kinda bad for both you and Hypnos. Clearly neither one of you guys were getting on with your dates.

You looked toward your friend, hoping she would notice how poorly everything was going. You rolled your eyes when she was clearly lost in her own world, feeding her partner french fries.

Too bad your date wasn't with Hypnos. You thought he was actually cute back when You first saw him, if not a little odd looking with white curls and heavy lidded eyes. Now, you couldn't imagine a more handsome person.

You found your eyes kept going back to him throughout dinner. Especially when he pushed his hoodie sleeves up, showing off his forearms.

The table moved on to some marvel movie or something but you were drifting in and out. You kept checking your watch in hopes that you could end the night soon without being rude.

You could feel someone was watching you and you looked up to Hypnos' golden eyes looking at you. He glanced at the group, back at you and rolled his eyes. You smiled in agreement but quickly covered it up with your hand.

Hypnos pointed toward your plate with the uneaten food, eyebrows rised in a questioning way.

You tilted your head toward your date who was loudly having another argument over some tv show with one of the guys there.

Hypnos looked at your date for a second before he sneaked you his untouched plate of pancakes.

You mouthed, 'Are you sure?' and he nodded, pointing at a plate of mostly eaten omelet.

You mouthed a quick thank you and dug in. You were half though the plate of pancakes when your date noticed.

"Wait, where did you get the pancakes?" Charlie asked, "You know how fattening all that carbs and sugar are? I like my dates to be healthy."

"What?" You asked flatly. Did you really hear what you just did? Hypnos and his date were both staring at Charlie. Hypnos looked furious and You saw the girl send you a pitying look.

"Oh. come on, you know I don't mean it like that."

You suddenly lost any appetite you had and pushed the plate of food away. You looked toward your friend who remained blissfully unaware of your pain.

Your date swung an arm on your shoulders, you sighed annoyed at the causal possiveness. You only knew them for like two hours but they were already acting like you were going steady.

"Ready to hit the club, Y/N?" Your date asked.

You almost groaned, you had forgotten about the stupid club.

"Uh, sure. Yeah." You tried to wiggle your date's arm off but no dice. You thought you saw Hypnos send a disapproving look at your date but you weren't sure. No point getting your hopes up.

As you exited the diner, Hypnos tripped; knocking into your date and their arms off your shoulders.

Grateful for the excuse, you took a few steps out of their reach.

"Oops, my bad." Hypnos smiled widely, and gave a shoulder pat to your date who glared at him. "Just watch it alright?" Your date snapped as they made it to the carpool.

In the car, you peeked at Hypnos who just winked at you. You didn't hide your smile this time.

The club did nothing to improve your date or your mood. The loud bassy music was almost too loud to hear anyone and your date kept trying to get you to stay on the dance floor.

You were able to duck out of their hold and pointed to the table. They tried to tell you something but You didn't stick around.

You almost fell into the booth, your feet were throbbing and you just wanted to go home. You could just see your homework growing by the hour.

"Need water?" Hypnos asked. You looked up, "Oh I didn't know you were at the table. Yes please."

He handed you an icy cold bottle and you moaned at how good it tasted. He laughed and you blushed, feeling foolish.

"Sorry, thank you." You took a slip, without moaning this time thankfully.

Hypnos went back to his phone, fingers moving quickly. "No problem."

"Where is… um what was her name?" You asked, trying not to look at Hypnos too much. How dare he look this good in the club' dim lighting.

"Oh I forgot her name. But she is doing fine. Told me she was going home with her ex." He pointed to the dance floor where the girl was dancing against another guy, their mouths glued together.

You looked back at him, but he already was back to texting on his phone. He didn't seem upset at all.

"I'm sorry, Hypnos." You said awkwardly, not sure of what to make of this whole night.

"Don't be. I'm not." He shrugged. You couldn't help but notice how nicely the red hoodie fit him.

"I will admit though I don't think I will be trusting our friend's matchmaking skills after tonight." Hypnos looked at you, his amused smile made you smile in return.

"You and I both." You murmured your agreement.

You finished off your drink, eyeing him.

After a few more minutes, your willpower broke.

"Okay I gotta know. It has been months since I met you and it is bugging the crap out of me." You leaned forward to him.

He looked up from his phone, a white eyebrow raised.

"Is Hypnos your real name?" You asked him, not quite able to look away from him. You were being a silly school girl and you knew it.

He laughed, "Yeah, it is." He moved closer, his eyes bright. "Wanna know why?"

At your nod, he spoke. "When my mom was pregnant with me and my brother. She got kinda crunchy, got into healing crystals and tarot cards, stuff like that."

Hypnos waved a hand. "So when she couldn't pick names for us, she went to a psychic, who told her that she was a reincarnation of the goddess Nyx. And apparently she was pregnant again with the reincarnated gods of sleep and death."

You couldn't help the small laugh and Hypnos chuckled as he took a sip of his beer.

"Mom believed the guy." He pointed to himself, " So ta-da I got named Hypnos. And my brother is Thanatos."

"Your mom sounds like a fun lady." You played with your hair, enjoying the warmth in your stomach. You couldn't remember the last time someone made you feel such things.

"Oh definitely. I never know what I'm going to get when I see her." Hypnos said fondly.

When You shifted your seat, your leg brushed against his. You almost pulled away but Hypnos pressed his leg against yours. You could feel the heat of his body and it just made you want more.

His golden eyes searched yours, silently asking if he could do this. You returned the gentle pressure and flushed at his soft smile.

"How does your brother handle the whole Thanos name thing?" You asked, desperately trying to calm your racing heart.

A devious glint lit Hypnos' eyes, "Oh he hates it so much. He already hated the whole super hero thing. Last year for his birthday, I got him a cardboard cutout of the big guy. I thought he was going to shove it down my throat. I got his boyfriend Zagreus and their girlfriend Meg in on it this year, we going to -"

"Hey Y/N. Are you coming back to the floor?" Charlie's eyes narrowed, "Hypnos, I think your actual date is looking for you."

You pulled away, you had forgotten about Charlie and you couldn't help but feel some guilt, even if you didn't like them that much or at all.

Hypnos stayed in place, amusement on his face. You saw Charlie's fists clenched and knew they were about to start a fight and stood up.

You were definitely going to block Charlie's number after tonight was over.

"Come on, let's get some drinks for everyone. They should be coming back soon." You motioned for Charlie to follow you. They glared at Hypnos before following you.

You couldn't resist a quick glance back to Hypnos, who raised his beer at you in a 'cheers' motion.

💤☁️💤

Charlie was sullen and quiet as you ordered more drinks for the group. You couldn't blame them really, anyone would be put out when their dates are clearly having a better time with someone else.

Well, not Hypnos but Hypnos wasn't exactly normal, you thought fondly.

You tapped the bar, guilt gnawed at your guts as your thoughts went back to Hypnos.

"So what were you guys talking about?" Charlie slurred, his tone icy.

You took a breath, just a few more hours you reminded yourself. "Nothing much. Just about his brothers and stuff."

Charlie crowded into your space. You can smell the booze and sweat on them.

"You guys seemed like you were sitting pretty close considering you were talking about 'brothers'." They did a finger quote.

You rolled your eyes, unable to stand being near them any longer. You stepped away to head back to let your friends you were bailing for the night.

"Tell me what he said to you." Charlie demanded as they grabbed your wrist harshly.

"Ow, let go of me! You are hurting me, Charlie." You hissed, trying not to draw any attention.

"Tell me." They hisses back.

"I did. Buy your own drink, I'm going home." You tried to yank your hand away but they didn't let go.

"Look I've been nothing but nice to you and you're cuddling up to another guy on our date like some slut." They changed their tone, trying to sound more upset than controlling but it just made your stomach twisted in disgust.

You opened your mouth to defend yourself but after a moment you shut it, "You're right. Clearly this isn't going to work out so let me go."

"No, you own me something, Y/N." Charlie leaned toward you. "And I'm not leaving empty handed."

"Fuck off." You snapped, fear rising in your chest.

"Hey, man." Hypnos grabbed Charlie's wrist and squeezed tightly enough that they were forced to let go of your wrist. His normal light-hearted tone was hard. "I think Y/N had enough of your company tonight."

You took some steps back, shaking a little. Without looking at you, Hypnos asked. "Y/N, do you need to go get anything?"

"N-no. I have everything. I want to leave." You hated how weak you sounded and you wished that you never came out at all.

Hypnos held on to Charlie's wrist and yanked them toward him. You heard Hypnos murmur something to them.

Fear flashed over Charlie's face and they stumbled backward. "Fine. Whatever asshole."

Hypnos turned to you, his eyes darkened by his anger. "Come on, I can get you a ride home."

You just nodded, feeling very exhausted and close to tears.

💤☁️💤

The cold wind felt like heaven after the heat of the overflowing club. At least for the first two minutes.

You just walked, not quite sure where to go. Hypnos walked next to you, easily keeping up with your pace.

Neither one of you said anything as you tried to process the horrible night.

After walking for ten more minutes, Hypnos spoke up. "There is a park nearby, we should be able to find a park bench."

You just nodded, Hypnos offered an arm and after a moment you took it. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, soaking in his body heat.

The park was empty, lit by warm path lights.

"Thank you." You said. "You didn't have to do anything for me."

"It's all good. How about the wrist?" Hypnos asked softly.

"It doesn't hurt. Thank you since you stepped in." You patted his forearm.

Hypnos sighed, "No. Not thanks to me actually. Its kinda my fault, I've been pushing their buttons for most of the night."

You looked up at Hypnos, your brow furrowed. "What? No, they have been pretty rude since the start of the date. I mean, you heard the salad thing. They ordered it for me!"

Hypnos shook his head. His breath coming out in white puffs. "Yeah and because I was jealous, I made a bad date into a nightmare. I knew I was making them feel all threatened, it wasn't hard honestly. I didn't think they would grab you like that. I just thought they would be a bad date you could laugh about later."

It took you a moment to process his words. You stopped on the park path, staring off at the lake.

"You were jealous?" You asked, not quite believing what you were hearing.

"Very." Hypnos chuckled bitterly.

"Hypnos, you are an idiot." You said blankly.

He opened his mouth to say something but you pulled him down by his collar to kiss him.

At first, Hypnos doesn't return your kiss and you pull away, an apology already on your lips.

But he cupped your face and met you again in a sweet, slow kiss. He kept pulling away to press chaste kisses against your lips and cheeks.

"Damnit, I was planning on asking out you after our last class assignment. I had a plan for everything. I was going to take you to your favorite coffee shop and buy you that dumb drink you like. Take you the park by our dorms and ask you by the duck pond." Hypnos said between kisses and pressing one last long kiss against your lips.

You hummed, unable to think straight. "Our friend ruined that, huh." You laughed when you could feel him growled against your lips. "You have no idea, I had a speech and everything."

After another long and soft kiss, both of you pulled away only to met again in a forehead press. Your white puffs of breath mingled together and your heart felt so full.

"You could still do the coffee and the speech. And the ducks." You whispered.

"Yeah?" Hypnos asked softly, his thumb caressed your cheek.

"I have to do a lab with a very cute classmate tomorrow but I'm free after that." You flushed, pleased at the fond smile Hypnos had.

"That's funny, so am I." Hypnos replied.

Unable to hold off any longer, you pulled him into another kiss, one of the many yet to come.

[cocosstories]

Bucky Barnes One Shot

hi can you make a bucky x pregnant reader where she gets kidnapped and than tortured and injected with the super soldier serum in front of bucky, you can imagine everything else, why she got kidnapped, by who, how is bucky gonna react, how is gonna end. can’t wait!

Yay so I have a request for Bucky. The reader is a medic for the avengers. Her and Bucky have been friends with benefits for more than a year now. Tony throws a party and one drink leads to another and they hooked up. Then she gets pregnant.

You had been recruited to join the Avengers after a chance encounter with Black Widow.

She had been injured pretty badly on a mission and you just happened to be near the scene and jumped into action, using your extensive medical knowledge to patch her up quickly while making sure neither of you got hit from the battle that was still happening.

When everything was said and done, Tony offered you a job as the Avengers official field medic and you jumped at the chance. 

You hit it off with the team almost immediately and soon it was like you had always been there. 

One particular Avenger you had become close to was Bucky. 

Many people had noticed the two of you shamelessly flirting and knew it was just a matter of time before thing escalated to more than friendship. 

One night you and Bucky were working out on opposite sides of the training room, both unable to keep your eyes off the other.

You caught a glimpse of the fire burning in his eyes and couldn't help yourself, you walked over and kissed him.

After the initial first kiss, he took control of the situation and this began your friends with benefits arrangement.

You had decided to keep it a secret from the team for the time being and Bucky fully agreed. 

It was a few months into your arrangement when Tony decided to throw a party after another successful mission. 

You spent most of the night with Natasha and Wanda who you had become very close with but felt Bucky's eyes on you the whole night. 

"I thought I would never get you alone, doll."

He says with slurred words as the two of you find yourself in his bedroom as the party dies down. 

"Well, here I am Sargent Barnes. What are you going to do?"

You ask, a smirk on your face.

With that, Bucky takes you to the bed and the two of you spend the night entangled together. 

Weeks later and you were on yet another mission feeling like death.

"Y/N, are you sure you're alright? You don't look so good."

Steve says, pointing out the green tint to your face coupled with the sweat on your brow.

"I'm fine. Just a bug or som-"

Before you can even finish your sentence, you lean over and vomit in the seat next to you, getting the attention of the rest of the team. 

"You are not alright. When we get back to the compound we are getting you checked out."

Natasha says, worry on her face. 

You reluctantly agree and true to her word, Nat immediately takes you to the compound infirmary once the jet lands. 

"Bucky, can we talk?"

It was a few hours later and you were finally feeling better.

You head down to Bucky's room and knock on the open door.

"Of course, doll. How are you feeling?"

He asks, getting up and walking over to you. 

"I'm alright. Dr. Cho gave me something for the nausea."

You reply with a small smile.

"Did she figure out why you were so sick?"

You nod. 

"Bucky, I'm pregnant."

His eyes go wide as he takes in your confession before a huge smile crosses his face. 

"We're having a baby?"

He asks quietly.

"Are you alright with that?"

Bucky reaches out for your hand.

"Doll, that is the best news I have ever heard."

Tears form in his eyes as he speaks and you realize that he never thought he would ever have a family again and your baby was a second chance for him.

"I love you, Y/N."

He finally admits the feeling s he had been hiding for so long, no longer having a reason to keep them to himself. 

"I love you too Bucky."

You say, matching tears form in your eyes just as he kisses you.

"I guess we have to tell everyone now, huh?"

He chuckles and you nod.

"Yeah, but I think everyone will be alright with it."

As you had expected, the team was extremely happy and excited for you and Bucky.

The weeks flew by and before you knew it, you were over halfway through your pregnancy.

You and Bucky were going strong and had even started talking about the possibility of marriage in the future. 

Life was good and you couldn't be happier. 

One day, the team was on a mission, leaving you alone in the compound.

Late afternoon and you were craving something that you could only get from the store and decide to head out for a nice walk to get it.

As you take in the scenery, everything suddenly goes black and you crumple to the ground.

You wake up hours later, strapped to a table with Hydra agents around you.

"Ah, you're awake. Good."

"What are you doing? Let me go!"

You try and fight the straps holding you down.

"Now, now, just relax. We don't want to hurt you but you are carrying a child of the Winter Soldier and that child belongs to us."

The agent lightly touches you stomach as he speaks.

"You are not going to take my baby! Bucky and the Avengers will find me and save us!"

You scream, trashing against the hold again.

Meanwhile at the compound, the team had come home to find you gone and Bucky went into immediate panic mode. 

Everyone went off in separate directions, looking for any sign as to what could have happened. 

"Mr. Stark, I found blood."

Vision calls over the coms.

"Is it hers?"

Bucky asks frantically.

"I have analyzed it and yes, it belongs to Y/N. It seems she was ambushed and taken."

The team meets back at the compound as Steve and Sam do their best to calm Bucky.

"She is hurt! What if the baby is hurt! What if they kill her? I can't lose them Steve!"

Bucky cries as everyone watches helplessly.

"Barnes, we will find her. We will bring her and your child home."

Tony says, placing a hand on Bucky's shoulder.

"It has to be Hydra. Who else would want a pregnant medic?"

Natasha says, doing her best to keep her own emotions in check.

"But why would they want her?"

Rhodey asks.

"Because she is carrying my child. The Winter Soldier's child."

Bucky replies, pure hatred in his eyes as everyone else realizes what he means. 

"Where do you think the would take her, Buck?"

"Where I was kept. Siberia."

Bucky gets up without another word and walks to the jet, the rest of the team following behind him.

The flight to Siberia was a quiet one, the whole team focused on getting to you as quickly as possible.

"Bucky, you need to keep your cool. Your only focus should be finding Y/N and getting her and your child put of there. Do you understand?"

Steve says just as the jet lands and Bucky nods. 

You are in and out of consciousness with what seems like dozens of needles going into your arm when Bucky finally finds you.

"Doll, oh god what the hell are they doing to you?"

He says as he begins carefully pulling the needles out of your arms.

"Bu-bucky?"

You breathe out, your vision blurred from the trauma. 

"Yeah, its me. I'm going to get you out of here. Just try and stay awake for me."

He says, breaking the straps holding you down and then helping you to your feet.

"Do you have her?"

Steve calls out.

"I've got her. She's barely conscious."

Bucky replies, picking you up and carrying you. 

He carefully gets you through the fighting Avengers and Hyrda agents and back to the jet. 

"What the hell did they do to her?"

Natasha asks once the team was back on the jet and you were headed home.

"I think they were trying to give her the serum. Or a version of it at least."

Bucky says.

"Trying? They didn't do it?"

"Looks like they didn't have time before we showed up."

As soon as the jet had landed, you were taken to the infirmary, every test possible performed to make sure you and the baby were both ok.

"They're alright?"

Bucky asks Dr. Cho when she comes to tell him he can see you.

"Both perfectly healthy. You saved them. You saved your family, Sargent Barnes."

She smiles and leaves him alone with you.

"Tell daddy thank you, baby girl."

You smile, taking Bucky's hand and placing it on your belly where your baby was kicking.

"Baby girl?"

He asks once he realizes what you had said.

"Yes, we are having a girl and she says thank you for saving her."

You nod, laughing a bit as the baby kicks under Bucky's hand.

"I will always do everything I possibly can to save you and protect you."

Bucky leans down and says to the baby, kissing your belly lightly before looking up to you.

"And you too."

He smiles and kisses you, so thankful to have both of his girls home and safe.

[nicanario]

this post is a product of its time

tw: discussion of racism, homophobia, misogyny and a short mention of sexual abuse.

ok, this is basically gonna be a very long rambling post about my not fully developed thoughts on the justification many people give to bigotry when talking about the past: "it was a product of its time"

it would be fair to say, with me being a raging SJW socialist scumbag, that I don't think this is a very good argument and is most of the time actually an excuse to not think about the problems inherent to our society, historical or not, and, by extension, the problems with ourselves. but I do think that sometimes, just sometimes, this can be a valid point, or at least one that raises some interesting questions.

I'm going to cite examples from several pieces of media, but fear not, I'll try to make this as accesible as I can.

so, let's take Star Trek: The Original Series (TOS) as our first case study. this show has, correctly, been called progressive by everyone except for clueless people who don't know much about Star Trek's history, Star Trek's crew, Star Trek's cast, or, frankly, Star Trek. because if you ignore the clear, sometimes in-your-face political history and present of the franchise, I don't think you know much about it at all. I do think you can call yourself a fan if you like it, you may have watched every single episode for all I know. but lots of mental gymnastics are needed to ignore the political progressiveness Star Trek has had since its very beginning.

episodes like Let That Be Your Last Battlefield are obviously anti-racist, at least in their intention. but the episode in question really is "a product of its time," and at the very end fails to uphold its ideals. the episode ends with the two aliens (who are LITERALLY. BLACK ON ONE SIDE. AND WHITE ON THE OTHER. BUT IN THE OPPOSITE SIDES.) fighting each other on their devastated planet, and the crew is like, "oh yeah if they both would give up on their hatred that they both share both of them equally" when it has been firmly established that one is the oppressor and the other one is the oppressed.

and that's a lot of Star Trek, not just TOS. even Discovery, one of the most recent series, has done Bury Your Gays (and Trans) TWICE (though both times literally rectified it, which is cool). there are episodes of the franchise that are overtly racist, or misogynistic, etc. TOS is lauded, mostly justifiably, as very progressive, especially for the standards of the time. they put a woman of colour as one of the senior staff, for fuck's sake. of course, when you analyse that same character, as with most of their intentions at being progressive, you'll see that she was relegated and sometimes even outright mistreated when she had the potential to be much more. but, at that time, it was a lot.

I had a friend (emphasis on "had") who, after I told him about TOS's both progressiveness and constant misogyny, told me something like "imagine feminists trying to complain about a show from the 60s." so, with unearned spite, he was, in some way, trying to make the argument that it was a product of its time.

you could say Star Trek, all of Star Trek, is "a product of its time" in the sense that it's not always perfect. uh, yes, I would agree. but that doesn't mean people have to accept it. well, I mean, the show is kinda over, you have to accept it's that way. but you don't have to accept that it's not wrong just because it was a product of its time.

H. P. Lovecraft, as another example, was a greatly influential writer whose works still shape a lot of people's ideas to this day. I have only ever read like one of his stories, so don't expect me to have an opinion on his works. but I can have an opinion on what I know about him as a person (he did have a life outside his writing, after all). and, yeah, he was a huge asshole. if you want to know more in depth about the subject, please watch Hbomberguy's video on him: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l8u8wZ0WvxI

but basically, he was incredibly racist & homophobic. some people might even say, "he was a product of his time." well, there are two possible rebuttals to that. the surface level one, and the one that examines why that argument is wrong to the core.

The Surface Level Response to "it was a product of its time": um, no it wasn't. Lovecraft was more racist than a lot of people even in his time. he wasn't just a guy who carried the racist beliefs of his society like everyone else, he was a reactionary who actively thought and discussed how racist he was, and how right he was for being that way. but that's only applicable to Lovecraft. one can't argue the same for Star Trek: TOS, because TOS did try to be more progressive and more anti-racist than the rest of its society. that leads us to the next response.

The Response that Actually Deals with the Fact that No Matter How Progressive You're Trying to Be, Your Failings Can Still be Criticized: the thing is, trying to excuse Lovecraft's or Star Trek's bigotry because they were "products of their times" misses the fact that racism is still wrong, and some people knew that in those times as well. people from these times weren't all naive or stupid or whatever. they had the capacity for rational thinking. they could stop and think, "hey, maybe what we're doing is wrong." and the fact is, some people did. not perfectly, not to our standars, but they did. everyone could have stopped and think. but most of them didn't, and we can criticize them for it. racism, homophobia, sexism, etc. HURT PEOPLE. horribly. massively.

also, even if you agree with the "it's a product of its time" argument, some people aren't criticising people's or work's bigotry: they're explaining why they don't want to experience it.

The Talons of Weng-Chiang is a 1977 Doctor Who serial, and it's one of the show's more racist stories. almost all the villains are Chinese, every single Chinese person is a villain. there's yellowface, slurs, stereotypes, the Doctor speaking nonsense words instead of actual Chinese, and a general belittling of Chinese culture.

note that I'm neither Chinese nor of Chinese descent. I have been searching for hours for a few posts I've read a while ago (some by people who are of Asian descent) about this episode and I can't find them. sorry.

suffice it to say, even though I love Jago & Litefoot (the audio series and the characters), it's not an acceptable episode at all. but it's also important to remark that, because of it, some people aren't going to want to watch it. sometimes, people aren't saying "the episode shouldn't be this way," which causes others to answer that it was "a product of its time." sometimes, people are just saying, "this is an episode that attacks real people. I don't want to see it. I don't care if it was common in that era to be racist, i don't want to experience it."

however, there is an interesting point to the "it's a product of its time" argument. after all, everything is influenced by its society, for better or worse. and we can't change it anymore. TOS sometimes didn't quite understand the political themes it wanted to explore. Lovecraft was a horrible bigot. Talons was racist towards Chinese folks. and that's that. I don't think we should change the episodes/stories or anything. edit them in any way. that would be, in a sense, changing history. and we wouldn't learn anything from it, about how we can do better.

I think there are two solutions to this:

1. warnings before starting the text: this was done with The Talons of Weng-Chiang. on Britbox, where you can watch Classic Who, this serial has a content warning before the start. that's good.

2. the removal as a whole of the text from some places: I think before applying this one, there should be a lot of thought put into each case. I don't think removing a whole serial of Doctor Who or Lovecraft's stories from anything would be, well, fair. especially on tv episodes a lot more people worked on those, not just the writers and the directors. Lovecraft's writing influenced thousands. we shouldn't erase them or anything. but sometimes, for some cases, we should.

those in the US might seen a Confederate statue being taken down. that is, in a way, a form of removal of a piece of history.

but that is a good removal. statues glorify. one sees a statue and probably thinks "this was a person worthy of admiration." they should be taken down, maybe even with a permanent mark of why this was done (a plaque that reads "a statue of X was here, but he didn't deserve it because of Y" could be put in place of the statues, for example).

another example is the removal from DVDs of the short episode A Fix with Sontarans, a Sixth Doctor minisode that featured Jimmy Savile, a presenter who was later found out to be sexually abusing children.

the removal of that minisode is good, actually. it's not a full episode (it's not even Doctor Who). some might say that's "erasing history" but, like, you can still find it online or information about it if you want. this minisode deserves removal from DVDs and Blu-Rays and whatever more than content warnings. it's not an important part of the show and it prominently features a horrible person who did horrible things during that time.

so, after all that, I have explained why I don't like the "it's a product of its time" argument. it is an interesting point that deserves to be examined, but it's not very good.

I have had this in Drafts for so long I've probably forgot some of the points I was going to make, but eh, what can you do? hope you enjoyed reading this.

bye

[hot-wiings]

The One Where Prohero!Deku Says He Won't Be Home The Night Before Christmas, But Suddenly Santa Claus Shows Up At The Door, Flirting With His Wife And Frightening His Daughter.

Edited: 12-16-2020

You folded one leg over the other as you sat on your couch in front of the TV. With a glass of pinot wine in one hand and the remote in your other, you flipped through the channels, looking for a better news outlet that was able to get closer to the current ongoing fight. The fight of a villain versus Pro-Hero Deku. Tragically, this was a nightly ritual for you. Every night after dinner, after dessert, after you'd gotten your daughter settled in the bath or bed, you would pour a glass of wine and watch your husband on national television. With a pinched heart and high nerves, you would watch him duel it out with some new villains, all the while hoping like crazy he was okay. All the whole praying to God he made it out alive. 

This was the life of being the wife to the number one hero. You knew what you were getting into when you began dating. You knew it would be hard being quirkless and helplessly watching from the sidelines as he rose to fame, close to being more needed and out in more danger. You the costs, you knew the risk, and while you wouldn't change any of it, it didn't make it any less hard to see him go, it didn't make it any less hard seeing him on the television, fighting for citizens. Fighting to make the world a safer place, for you and your daughter.

"Mommy, is daddy gonna be okay?"

Your daughter clutched onto your arm, pulling on your shirt to try and get your attention desperately as she watched her father battle live. She had a scared expression on her face, the expression you hid every time your husband walked out the door each morning. You sat your wine down on the lounge table in front of you before turning to her with a smile.

"Oh, sweetheart... Your father is always gonna be okay, he's the number one hero! He's good at what he does, and you know why he does it?"

"Why?"

"He does it for you, and he does it for me. He does it so we have a safe world to live in. He goes out there because he loves us, he's gonna come home every night because he loves us. Don't worry your pretty little head, alright?"

Your daughter turns her attention back to the TV, a smile on her face making the scared look disappear. You hated letting her watch Izuku's fights with you. While you did it to see him, to make sure he's okay, you didn't want her seeing that violent aspect in his life. You didn't want her seeing her father beat the living shit out of a villain, but how could you tell her no? You could remember watching All Might on TV as a child along side your brother Katuki. Watching the symbol of peace keeping the world safe installed you with a sense of hope as a quirkless child. He inspired you to be a hero despite being quirkless, he inspired you to be a hero support device inventor. It was your support items that your husband wore, and that kind of inspiration and hope was not something you could prevent your daughter from. Especially not when her father was the current symbol of peace.

You watched fondly as your daughter smiled up at the TV, as she smiled at her father fighting the villain. She was so immersed in the fight, such a fan like her father. Punch after punch, and swing after swing, using his shoot style, Izuku took the villain down. The heavyweight in your chest was lifted as he got to work on helping any civilians that got injured. Your daughter turned to you with a huge smile present as she started yawning through her words.

"Mommy, I wanna be just like daddy when I grow up. He's so awesome, he could defeat anybody."

"If that's what you want, then you can be a great hero when you grow up, just like daddy is."

You turned the TV off before lifting your daughter into your arms with a hefty sigh. She was getting older every year, older and heavier. While she wasn't extremely heavy, she wasn't a baby anymore. Soon the years of youth would fly by and you wouldn't be able to lift her. Your husband would have no problem, but you weren't built like that. It wasn't good to put so much stress on yourself. Desperately fighting off sleep, she rested her head on your shoulder as she tried to keep her eyes open. 

"Mommy, will daddy be home to tuck me in bed?"

"Not tonight honey. He's still got some stuff to do, probably won't be back for another hour or so, and you're already falling asleep as it is."

"Awe. I wanted to tell him that I wanna be him when I grow up. I miss him."

You placed your daughter on her bed and wrapped the blankets around her, tucking the covers under her body and feet, cocooning her in and prepping her for a chilly night. You turned around and grabbed her favorite stuffed animals off the shelf as you bit your lip. You missed him just as much as she did. Sometimes it was hard when he was gone for days on end fighting a villain and tracking them down. Though he always made up for it to you both, it always hurt when he was gone. You felt so emotional tonight. You wiped away a few stray tears and turned around with a smile so you could tuck her stuffed bunny under the blanket next to her. 

"I know baby, I miss him too, and he misses us just as much. But you know what? Tomorrow it'll be Christmas, so you, and Mister Bun-Bun need to go to sleep so Santa can come."

You booped her nose then proceeded to boop the stuffed bunnies nose so she wouldn't think he was disincluded before tucking them both in under the blankets again to make sure she was extra warm. The heater in the house broke so you were currently living off of heat from the fireplace until Izuku or the repair people could come, but that wasn't until after Christmas, and you weren't sure Izuku knew how. You knew sometime in the night your daughter would climb out of bed and come to your room to try and snuggle with you and Izuku, not that either of you minded. 

"And when you wake up daddy will be here, and he'll give you all the attention you want."

"Okay... Can he still come in and give me a goodnight even if I'm asleep?"

"Absolutely, Mister Bun-Bun too."

You pecked a kiss against your daughter's forehead, then you turned her night light on and shut her closet door, knowing that she would get scared. You made way to her bedroom door and looked over your shoulder to check on her. She was still fighting off inevitable sleep, nodding off and jerking her head up, trying to be awake, undoubtedly trying to stay awake until her father came home. 

"Mommy, can Mister Bun-Bun have a kiss too? He also wants the bedroom door left open... He gets scared."  

"If it makes Mister Bun-Bun feel safer I'll leave it open, but Mister Bun-Bun needs to know that I and daddy will always keep him safe just like we keep you safe."

You walked back over to her bed and placed a chaste kiss on the stuffed bunnies head before moving over to her head and giving her another one. You pulled back and smiled at her. 

"I love you, [D/N], never forget that."

"I love you too momma, good night."

You chuckled at her slurred words, sleep overtaking her body as you walked to her door and left it open just enough for the right amount of light to flood in and make 'Mister Bun-Bun' feel safe, but not enough to prevent her from sleeping.

You made your way to the kitchen and placed your phone onto the wireless charger that you kept on the window sill. You opened the notification bar searching for a message or missed call from Izuku to see none, he must still be out at the fight scene. With a pinched heart, you turned your ringtone to high just in case your husband did call. 

The hour slowly started to slip by as you made yourself busy with cleaning up the house. What started as dinner dishes turned into cleaning the oven, which then progressed into dusting all the fans and wall decor. Your mother-in-law and family would be coming over tomorrow anyway, so if you didn't do it now, you would be stressed about it tomorrow. From your spot in the living room, bent over and stripping down the couch cushion seat covers so you could wash them before tomorrow, you hadn't even heard the knob on the front door turn. You hadn't heard a male presence enter the house, much less directly behind you. In your utmost defense, he was trying especially hard to be quiet, and you had soft Christmas music coming from the stereo. 

With one arm swooping down and wrapping around your waist, the other went over your stomach while his head rested in the crook of your neck. You knew the hands, having felt the callused working fingers every day of your life for nearly the past decade, these hands were very familiar. However, despite the familiarity, when you were home alone, had been home alone with no one but your daughter for company, the touch of a male was very startling and scared you. You let out a little shriek as you let your body weight drop, bringing you to the floor with protective hands over your tummy. Your husband came tumbling on top of you due to his arms being wrapped around you. His chuckles resounded in your ear, warming up a pool in your stomach. The sound of his voice would never cease to bring butterflies, no matter how many years of marriage you had under your belt. It almost momentarily made you forget and set aside the anger of him scaring you. Almost.

"You jerk."

"Merry Christmas to you too."

Izuku adjusted your bodies so that he was no longer crushing you, but rather so you were both on your sides holding each other. After a week apart he wanted nothing more than to hold you, he wanted nothing more than to make up for the lost time. 

"You know I hate when you do that."

"Well, you know I hate when you stay up for me so I guess we're even."

"We both know you love it. You love coming home to me, love getting to kiss me, hug me, and cuddle me."

You let your head roll against Izuku's chest as he pulled his arms around you tighter. The feel of being together again in your cold home, warming you both and riding those sad feelings that haunted you both every night apart. 

"I'd still love coming home to find you asleep and well-rested, kisses can wait."

"Mm, I lucked out in the husband department didn't I? [D/N] wants a good night kiss even if she's already asleep."

You detangled yourself from Izuku and used the edge of the sofa to pull yourself up and prop yourself onto the edge of it. It was then that you noticed Izuku was wearing a Santa costume, belt, wig, beard, and all. You nibbled on your lip as you watched him stand up and walk closer to you. Your sexual drive was crazy as of late, leaving you with an insatiable horny hunger and no husband to cure it. This was something you could have fun with. 

"Although, I think I'd rather keep Santa all to myself for a moment."

"Yeah? Do you like it? I was trying to escape the fans and ran into a mall Santa, traded him an autograph, and twenty bucks for his suit." 

"Hmm, lose the beard and wig and you just might be on Mrs. clauses nice list."

Izuku chuckled as he pulled his beard down and made his way over to you. He pulled you up from the couch and wrapped his arms around you, one hand lingering further, wandering to your butt and grabbing. Call it the distance he held from you for so long, but he was feeling frisky. 

"What if I like the naughty list better?"

His voice was warm and desperate as he whispered down your ear, maybe you would've played along with him and gotten him to the bedroom had you not seen [D/N] in the living room entrance, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Santa? Mommy, what are you doing?"

That anger from him scaring you, that anger you put aside for a later date came back. You weren't in a state to be scared like that. A devious smile made way to your face as you pulled away from Izuku and feigned shock. He still had his wig on, and you doubted that two a sleepy five-year wouldn't think he wasn't Santa.

"Ho-Ho-Hold on there one minute Santa. I've got a loving husband and a child. You better mosy on home to Mrs. Claus before she puts you on the naughty list."

Izuku turned around, a smile on his face to finally see his daughter after a week. He frowned as he saw the scowl on her face, no doubt a horrendous trait passed down from you. Though, he expected no less from a Bakugo.

"Sweetheart, it's me, daddy."

"What? No, you're not my daddy. My daddy's big and strong, and he'll hurt you for trying to touch my mommy."

"Yeah, don't fib. Are you are fibber, Santa?"

Your daughter tugged on you and took a hold of your arm. She quickly ran to your room, pulling you along with her. Once inside she slammed your door shut and tried to barricade it, leaving a flustered Izuku standing outside. He knew this was your form of payback, playback for consistently startling you whenever he came home. He couldn't help it, he liked seeing your shocked face, he liked getting a rise out of the Bakugo he knew wouldn't bash his face in.

In this instance, it was the only time he ever partially regretted marrying you. You never fought, and when you did he had to deal with your brother instead of you. As a Bakugo, you took more after your father, but the personality traits from your mother came out when you felt payback was necessary. You would go to great lengths for payback over the littlest things, although this one was mediocre for you. One time he went a week with pink dyed hair and another time you kept moving things from around the house out of their usual places and refused to tell him where. Leave him flustered with a hard on wasn't that terrible.

Behind the closed door, you felt slightly bad for playing along with the whole Izuku is Santa thing. Like most times, you thought it would be funny. Make your husband flustered, it'll be cute. That was before your daughter freaked out thinking it was a villain who could steal identities. Of course, your daughter wouldn't believe that Santa was a sleaze, there had to be some explanation. This was starting to backfire, very fast. It was in your lineage not to back down. Your momma didn't raise a quitter, and it would be bad parenting to raise your daughter to be a quitter. What were you supposed to say anyway? Santas not real, I was just trying to fuck your father? No.

"It's okay mommy, daddy will protect us." 

As if on queue your bedroom door busted open from Izuku using full cowling shoot style with his legs. He no longer wore his wig or Santa suit but a t-shirt and pajama pants. With messy mangled hair, he ran towards your daughter and tried to pull her into his arms, missing her after a week apart but she squirmed and tried to pull away. 

"How do I know your my real daddy and not a copying villain!"

"Would a copy villain save Mister Bun-Bun?"

Izuku placed the stuffed rabbit inside his daughter's arms as she broke into a smile. Throwing the rabbit on the floor in favor of her father, she wrapped her small child arms around her father's neck. 

"Daddy! I knew you'd protect us! You're so strong and cool." 

"I'll always protect you from imposter Santas, always."

"Will you protect mommy too?"

"Hmm..."

Izuku picked up his daughter and carried her back to her bedroom so he could tuck her in for the second time that night. He hummed in response, pretending to think to himself as if saving you was a hard decision. You followed behind him with a slight scowl on your face. He placed his daughter in her bed and wrapped the blanket around her and Mister Bun-Bun before pressing a kiss against her head. 

"I guess even if mommy can be mean sometimes, I'll always protect her too. You, mommy, and Mister Bun-Bun." 

"Daddy?"

"Hm?"

[D/N] was lightly nodding off, content that she got to see her father before she fell asleep, but she fought it off as she grabbed her dad's arm to stop him from going away. 

"I think Mister Bun-Bun wants you to leave the door closed. He's not so scared anymore."

"Okay, darling. If Mister Bun-Bun wants it closed that's okay, but if he gets scared at all, it's okay for him to open it back up. Okay?"

"M'kay. Good night. I love you both."

You and Izuku left her room and he closed the door behind you, both of you had heavy hearts, sad to see your daughter slowly growing up. It felt like just yesterday you gave birth, it felt like just yesterday Izuku was holding your hand, comforting you as you pushed. While it was years away, you felt like time was going by too fast. Plopping down on your bed together, Izuku kept his distance, still bitter you left him out there horny and alone like that.

"She's growing up so fast, I miss her being a baby."

"Yeah, but look at it this way, there are still so many things we get to do and teach her. Right now she wants to be you when she grows up, you can start worrying when she's a teenager and discovers boys." 

"Mmmm, no. She's never getting a boyfriend. Not when she's sixteen, not when she twenty."

"You can't prevent it, babe. She's gonna want a boyfriend, one day when she's fourteen and god, why did you marry me? I never should've procreated, I was a monster at fourteen." 

You scooted closer to Izuku as he pulled the blankets over you both. You smiled at Izuku as he slid one arm under your head letting you use it as a headrest, and let his other arm rest on your side, rubbing little circles in your hip.

"I'm not saying never, I'm just sayin' our daughter isn't going to have male friends, and when [D/N] turns fourteen and decides to bring home a boy, well... Who's to stop someone from giving said boys name to someone like, say, your brother?" 

"Mm, that's evil."

"You call it evil, I call it a genius solution."

"Did you mean it when you said you'd always protect me?"

Izuku presses a long kiss against your lips before pulling back and nodding as if it wasn't even a question. 

"Always. Always and forever."

"Even our baby?"

"Of course I'd protect [D/N]."

He says it like it was unquestionable. Like it was the natural order of how things should be. That wasn't what you meant. You chuckled as you smiled at Izuku and grabbed his hand that rested on your hip. You guided it towards your stomach and pressed his palm against your tummy. Your tummy that would soon be swollen. Your tummy that carried his seed and offspring.

"No, our baby Zu'. Baby number two." 

"[Y/N], you're pregnant again?"

His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree as he peppered your face with kisses. Joy and pure happiness spread in his orbs, delighted at the prospect of having another child with you. Realization dawned on him as he rubbed your stomach with his hand.

"Oh gosh, this is why you were so mad I scared you. I could've crushed him, or her. I've gotta be more careful."

"Mm, I'm eight weeks along and you know the best thing about it?"

"What's that?"

Your hands trailed up Izuku's shirt and ran up his skin as you bit your lip.

"Makes my sex drive go like crazy."

"Did you talk to the doctor?"

"Yup! We're good to go until the end of the second trimester."

Izuku pressed his lips to yours and you felt complete. You never thought you'd marry your brother's enemies, much less carry not one but two of his kids. You wouldn't change it for the world, you wouldn't change your little family for the world.

[lustbile-archive]

Want To Request a Song?

JohnnyxReader

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary/Warning: the third installment of the club x series. Full on public sex and exhibitionism, knife/blood play, and can border on being degrading so read at your own risk. This is also the one best at explaining what tf is going on in club x

Apart of my Club X series: Masterlist

You knew what Club X was way before you even walked through its doors.

A friend of a friend let the details of the gritty part of town spill from her lips when you had gotten together to have drinks and trade gossip in the safety of her apartment. You were equally as guilty of letting your lips loosen from the alcohol swimming in your veins, and you let this girl you knew very little about in on your secret that it had been a while since you had last gotten any. An even longer time since anyone had made you properly come. Why you let her in on such intimate details about your sex life was a mystery, but the advice she shared in response didn’t hurt in the slightest.

“There’s this club you know,” she had said, in a tone that was meant to be a whisper but fell a little short. Her nails that were decorated in chipping polish brushed comfortingly across your shoulder as she wiggled her eyebrows at you, “i’ve only been a few times, but it’s where you need to go if you’re in a desperate need for a fucking.”

You giggled at her choice words, your eyes rolling in disbelief, “so a sex club hm? I don’t know about that.”

“No, no, no,” her words slurred as she returned your laughter, clearly pleased with your doubt, “it’s better than just a sex club. See, you go and it’s like the universe creates the exact person you need right when you walk in.”

“The universe hm?”

“Yeaaaahh. The universe…” her eyes squint as her thoughts drift off momentarily, “like you walk in and they just find you. They find you and it’s like they put this spell on you. It makes you so hot like instantly, and then you’re down to business right then and there.”

“Right then and there?!” you have to admit that you’re humoring her at this point, but you’re still a little scandalized at her words, “like in front of everyone?”

“No! No, no, no,” her hands wave in front of her face like she’s swatting at an invisible bug, “I mean yeah, but it’s like they can’t even see you.”

“What they just ignore the two people just having full on sex in the middle of a club?”

“Yeah, I mean unless you want to be seen,” she explains, her face screwing up in confusion when you don’t seem to understand what she’s saying, “Listen, I can’t explain it the way they do. There’s just something that these people can do that just takes away every worry you have. You’re just there and in the moment. It’s so great you’ll just have to go or you’ll never understand.”

You humor her and let her write the address down in your phone, smiling fondly when she keeps your phone a little longer to add vulgar emojis along side the information.

And for a while that was it. The address remained in your phone, forgotten as it got buried underneath grocery lists and reminders that made little to no sense out of context. All it took for you to finally pay the club a visit was one night.

You found yourself bored out of your mind and far too horny for your own good. You were too frustrated and pissed off at the world to give yourself the satisfaction of masturbating, so instead you just sat on your phone, cleaning out your photos and notepad when you stumbled on the address paired with its mess of emojis.

Without any further thought you were up, getting ready, and calling an uber to take you to the address provided by the bubbly drunk girl. You tried to ignore the wary and judgmental glare from the driver as you pulled up on an old warehouse that was decorated with blaring red neon lights that only read “Club X: Enter at Your Own Risk.”

To say that night was a fluke was an understatement. People approached you of course, but there was no magical hypnosis that you were promised, not that you were really expecting it to actually happen. There were cute people, but no one that cut at your core enough to dull your irritation at the world. Instead you sipped at a drink someone else had graciously paid for, ogled at the pretty man working the DJ booth surrounded by his friends, and then caught another uber home with the personal promise that that would be your first, and last visit to Club X.

Well you told yourself that at least.

It was only about a week later that you found yourself pulling out an outfit and opening your uber app. You chalked it up to needing a good drink, but there was a confused nagging in the back of your mind that told you that you had no good reason for actually returning.

With a different uber driver, but a similar glare, you found yourself back at the dingy club. You sat in the same seat as before, had a new pretty face order you the same drink, as you found your glance being pulled back to the same cute DJ.

You felt some shame finding him so cute. He seemed out of place in the club. Most people here were dressed in party clothes, while he wore neutral toned hoodies, and this time a hat turned backwards. His headphone only left his ears a handful of times so he could laugh and jeer with the men that surrounded him almost like permanent ornaments. Truthfully he was handsome as hell, but other than that what was there to stare at?

You left that night with that thought pulling at your mind, and you returned multiple times after with the same thought nagging you every time.

You were becoming a regular at the club, as embarrassing as it was. Even though you had yet to experience any wild sexual magic like you had been drunkenly promised, it was like the first night your drink was spiked with a magnet that pulled you towards the building almost every weekend at this point. You hadn’t told the girl that had given you the address, and you definitely didn’t tell any of your friends. You just didn’t want them to believe that you were developing an unhealthy dependency on alcohol, even though you would never even finish one glass. And maybe if you were getting shit faced, you would understand why you kept returning, but every time you’d leave so sober that you could convince someone you hadn’t drank at all.

The first few times, you scrambled for an explanation for why you couldn’t stay away, but you always feel short. It was as if your own body was keeping a secret from your mind. It was beginning to be muscle memory they way you’d get dressed and call for an uber every time.

And you’d think with how much time you’d spent at the crowded club, watching random strangers create masses of sexual energy, you’d had seen everything, but you stiffen in confusion when you see it.

A pretty girl hopped up to the dj booth, her wild hair bouncing along with her, as the girl she was making out with only moments before giggled and squirmed in her seat. The look the DJ wears is disinterested, but aware when she leans her hands down on his table to start spilling hiccuped words in his face.

You can only see her mouth moving at a rapid pace, the music and the distance between you making her words impossible to hear. Whatever she asked prompts a gentle nod from the man, and as she prances away he moves his fingers across the knobs and switches until a new song starts to spill out of the speakers tucked into various corners of the room.

Did she request a song change? The questions runs through your mind as your eyes trace her form, your eyes only darting away when she tackles the other girl and shoves her tongue into the space of her mouth.

You had never seen someone request a song from the man, the closest thing maybe being a jab to the back from one of his friends that was a consistent character as he casually suggested something. Realistically, requesting a certain song isn’t incredibly weird, but something about the knowledge that the tall broad man standing on the platform that placed him so highly above the other bodies in the room is actually approachable was frying the nerves in your brain.

A few songs come and go by the time you’re standing up, your legs feeling as if they’re moving on their own. You’re not sure at what point between learning that you were allowed to walk up to him and you actually starting to walk towards him that you decided that you needed to get close, but the time you’re regaining your consciousness, you’re climbing the small set of stairs leading up the stage.

He seems to notice your presence before you reach him, as while you're still a bit away, his head lifts to lock his eyes onto yours. The way he smiles at you makes you stop momentarily and hesitate, one corner of his lips rises higher than the other gives his face a less than good intentioned aura. Instead of making you falter and turn back to return to the drink you had abandoned at the bar, you feel your stomach warm and turn as you pick up your steps.

Your hips bump into the edge of the table as you lean your palms flat on the top, your nails gently digging into the material as you try to form a sentence in your head. Your tongue rolls against your teeth and your lips part before he’s looking down again, but interrupting you with his own words.

“It’s about time you came up here,” he adds a dry laugh when he hears the confused noise that jumps from your chest. He ignores the quiet ‘hm?’ you offer in response before he continues, “I mean I would have made a move first but I can’t really leave my station y’know?”

He shrugs as he returns his eyes to you, clearly entertained by your confusion. Your eyes dart around his face, momentarily moving to glance at the boys that are scattered behind him either holding their own conversations or watching you two in amusement. When you look at him, he looks expectant.

One of the boys jeers at him saying, ‘fuck off John, you know they don’t know what you’re talking about.’ And even though the comment only adds to your confusion, you can’t stop the way your body warms at the spike of embarrassment it puts in you, the man in front of you only responding to the remark by digging his tongue into the inside of his cheek in irritation.

“You came here looking for trouble didn’t you?” it takes you a beat to realize he’s asking you, another moment to realize the question is meant to be suggestive, and one last one to form a response.

“I think I might be,” you feel yourself dumbly nod, as your chest gets fuzzy. Maybe this is when you finally get to experience what that girl had promised so many weeks ago. Could the dj have been your person this whole time?

“Ah ah,” he shakes his head almost disappointedly, “I need a solid yes before I can give you what you need baby. You should know that much at least.”

“I- I mean, okay,” consent you understood, but the way he says it makes your brain swim in confusion. Why wouldn’t you say yes?

“Yes. I’m looking for trouble,” you say, your own confidence finally finding its way into your words, “I’m looking to cause trouble with you.”

The smile he wears is evil, and absolutely giddy with your return of energy. He takes a few steps back from the table and gestures to his side saying, “then please, enter my office.”

You feel a jolt of energy hit you, before you’re rounding the corner of the table. You only have a second to register the sharp pain of where your hip bumped into the corner, before he’s wrapping his large hand around the back of your neck and pulling you to press his mouth against yours.

His warm breath could have been considered an aphrodisiac in the way it fills your mouth and warms your core. His other hand wraps around your waist as he backs you into the table, his hands and lips so suddenly on you is overwhelming, but not enough to distract you from the way his friends begin to start oohing at the spectacle you two put on.

What had that girl said? No one can see you unless you want them to? With the handful of boys surrounding you, you can’t help but to doubt that you can just make yourself vanish from their prying eyes, but even if you could, would you want to? You feel warm in shame, as while his tongue dips behind your teeth and explore the space of your mouth, you start to feel excited at the idea of all his friends watching you get the relief you had been craving for so long.

The moment your subconscious decided you want the boys to see you in such a vulnerable state, one of them lets out a scandalized and excited yelp, before turning to another and exclaiming, “oh shit they want us to see them. Look at that.”

The boys attached to your mouth smiles as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, a warm laugh filling the air between you, “hmm so bad aren’t you? You like to be watched?”

You whine in response, as your hands move to claw at his soft t-shirt. Your hips jump and knock into his when his fingers start to grope and squeeze at your flesh. You’re acutely aware at the way he presses his leg between yours and uses his hand to make you start grinding on his thigh.

“How ‘bout you give them a real show and bend over nice a pretty for us,” it’s not a question, but a demand as he lifts you slightly away from the table, and turns you to push your torso down flat. You try to take deep breaths, as his hands run up and down your sides until the tips of his fingers pinch the hem of your skirt.

“There we go,” he sounds overtly proud, when he flips the fabric up to lay against your back, his friends responding to the newly exposed flesh of your ass with appreciative whistles.

He steps to the side of you, his hands slipping between your hips and the table to lift them up. He uses his grip to move you side to side, shamelessly encouraging you to tauntingly move your hips for the many sets of eyes. If it wasn’t for the way your walls softly clench around nothing, you would be ashamed of the way being watched like this makes you drip.

He begins to drag the thin fabric of your underwear down, to tease not only you, but your engaged viewers. Once the fabric hits the floor, there’s a chorus of hisses and groans at the sight of you wet and excited.

You whimper at the feeling of so many eyes tracing your body, even louder when the man grabs onto the flesh of your ass to spread you for them all to see. You don’t know what comes over you when you petulantly kick the floor and let out a demanding ‘please.’

The only response you get in return is his hand running against you to check the severity of your arousal and the jeers from the boys of how, ‘Johnny got a bratty one.’

If it weren’t for the blaring music, you’d hear the metallic sound of his zipper being pulled down, the only thing you get as a warning that he had pulled himself from the restraints of his underwear, is when the leaking tip of his cock begins to dip into you.

You feel the tense strain on your muscles melt away as he presses into you. The size of him stretching you out makes you feel delirious as you’re thankful for the amount he’s managed to make you wet in such a short amount of time, as if he hadn’t you’re not sure he’d be able to fit so easily.

When his hips finally press tightly against you, he lets out a rumbled groan. His hands hold tightly to your hips as he pauses to give you both time to adjust, and you can only somewhat hear the shuffling of the others as they move in an attempt to get a better angle to watch.

His thrusts are lazy and deep as he moves against you, one hand leaves your skin and the fabric of his shirt moves away telling you he’s lifting it in his own attempt to get a better look at where he fucks into you.

Your legs part farther as you begin to desperately shake, the way he digs into every nerve inside you makes you keen, but you want nothing more than to have him move harder.

“Please John,” you beg, trying to see how his name would taste in your mouth, your own hand moving back to wrap tightly around his wrist.

“Shut the fuck up,” you barely register the pain that burns through your skin from where his open palm meets the sensitive skin of you ass. His tone was harsh, but the satisfied chuckle that not only leaves him, but also his friends, makes a dopey grin fill your face as a moan rolls off your tongue.

“Fuck look at how bad they want it,” the voice from your side tells you it’s someone else, the tone excited and bubbly as if they’re watching something a lot more innocent than a stranger get fucked in the middle of a club.

“So bad huh?” Johnny sounds almost proud at the way you and everyone reacts to the pleasure he’s giving you, “such a good little whore, taking everything I’ll give.”

Pleads and begs roll off your tongue as his harsh words fry your brain. His hips only quicken slightly before he’s grabbing your side to pull you up against him. It feels like a flash of time, when he grabs the hem of your shirt, and pulls it over your head. Once you're bare to the stuffy air of the club and your shirt is thrown carelessly over his shoulder, you're just as quickly shoved back onto the table and he’s pistoning fast and harshly into you.

His hand harshly meets you burning skin again and you squeak in response. His voice is rough as he puts all his strength into fucking you deep and he commands to no one in particular, “someone get it for me.”

His words mean nothing as the way he pulls against you starts pushing to the edge of your orgasm. You can only gasp and claw at the table when one of his friends leans closer and taps at your spine right between your shoulder blades and whatever he holds against you begins to cut into your skin.

Once his friend is moved away, he suddenly pulls out making you clench harshly and whine. You feel the trickle of blood that travels down your skin, but the sting of his warm tongue collecting the dripping red and digging into the new wound on your back. The sting is almost unbearable and makes you squirm against him, but the pain is muffled when he reaches down and begins to roll tight circles onto your neglected clit.

His fingers are unrelenting as he rushes you to your finish. The pleasure between your thighs mixing with the sharp pain against your back makes your vision begin to go fuzzy. You can only somewhat register the boyish laughs of excitement that surround you as you finally start to come.

It feels like there’s a monster inside you that claws at you nerves. Every inch of your body set on fire is so distracting, you can only yell into the air when he moves to push back into you. He thrusts only a few times before he stills against you, the warmth of him filling you making your overstimulated nerves scream.

You can only lie there as he starts to fix your clothes, harsh demands of ‘the show is over, go away’ begin thrown over his shoulder as he drags you away and back to the bar.

You sleepily lean against him as he nods at the stoic man handing out drinks. He brings you a glass of water, that Johnny presses against your chapped lips.

“You can come relax behind the booth while I work once you finish the glass,” he reassures as he pets at your damp skin, “the boys are a lot nicer than what you just witnessed I swear.”

You’re too dopey to truly register what he says as you only nod in response before babbling, “so you’re my person?”

The laugh he lets out is soft, a lot sweeter and warming that any he’d offered before, “yeah I’m your person, and you’re wild ass is mine.”

[pettyvxbes]

Colson Baker x Reader - Ocean Eyes II

Broken Hearts & Restarts

"Y/n, wait!" His hand grabbed your arm firmly, spinning you around. You tried your best to avoid eye contact but failed terribly. What was it about those damn eyes? They were crystal blue like the waters you'd find in the Bahamas, and you were drowning.

The room was dark; the light from the moon outside provided just enough light for you to grab your things. You slipped on your sneakers and grabbed your suitcase about to head for the door when Colson stumbled through. He was visibly inebriated and reeked of stale beer and ashtrays.

Colson looked you up and down, noticing your luggage. A look of regret covered his face as he realized what day it was.

"Tonight was really important to me." You said sternly, sadness dripping from your voice. It was the first night of your art exhibit that you had spent months preparing for. You two had always talked about the day your art would fill up an entire studio, and he missed it.

"Y/n, please let me explain" Colsons' words slurred together as he approached you. The tall blonde man was audibly intoxicated. His disregard for your past cut deeper than any blade ever could. Addiction wreaked havoc on your family growing up. You thought he understood you, having gone through something similar, but it was clear that wasn't the case.

It wasn't like you despised drinking or even abstained from it, for that matter, but there was a big difference between going out on occasion and getting a little drunk versus coming home completely wasted every single night. Which, over the last several months, had become the new norm for Colson. You had honestly become so used to going to sleep alone that you had forgotten what it was even like to lie next to the man you loved.

"Explain what?" you asked him. "how you missed the biggest night of my life to get wasted with people you don't even like?" His silence spoke volumes. "I've supported everything you have ever done. . .I uprooted my life to be with you because I know how important music is to you." tears began forming in your eyes, "and you couldn't even show up one night to support me."

"Y/n, I'm so sorry."

"I will not beg you for your time or try to convince you to choose me." You sobbed. "The world is too big, and I have far too much to offer." You asserted.

"I made a mistake! Please let me make it up to you!" Colson tried to comfort you by wrapping his arms around you. Which would have worked so many times before, but not this time. You pushed him away from you, wiping the tears from your eyes.

"Just do me one favor, Colson." He looked at you, hopefully. "Please don't miss Casie's talent show on Friday. . .don't break her heart too."

"Y/n, wait!" Colson called after you. That was the first time Colson Baker broke your heart.

"Can we talk?" He asked, pulling you from your thoughts. "I owe you an explanation." You shook your head in disbelief. Really? Now? After four and half years, he wants to admit that he owes you an explanation.

"You don't owe me anything. You're not mine anymore." You said matter of factly. Even after all this time, your words still stung.

"Please? Just let me buy you a coffee?" He asked. You nervously played with the thin copper coin that had made its home inside the pocket of your jacket. Your fingers ran over the engraving slowly as you looked at Colson. The sunlight was reflecting off of his blue eyes. They were the kind of blue that astonished you every time they met yours. . .the kind of blue that made you ache for them to look at you again. . .the kind of blue that made you forget about your surroundings, and lucky for you, they were conveniently tied to a long strand of never-ending memories.

It had been three months since you broke up with Colson and a rough three months at that. It wasn't just the break-up that was rough, but the post-trauma that followed it. Waking up in the morning and checking your phone for the message that wasn't there. Starting your life all over again.

The sun peeking through the curtains pulled you from your sleep. You groaned. You had a long night, and your body was sore. You bit your lip, recalling the events that unfolded the evening prior. Running into Colson, having coffee with Colson, catching up with Colson, being naked with Colson. It was like you were stranded in a desert, dehydrated and Colson was the only thing that could quench your thirst. The way his tattooed body looked in the moonlight. . . how his hands felt traveling your curves. . .his lips on your. . .

You felt the bed shift next to you, and his warm arm found its way around your waist like it had so many times before. Instinctively, you rolled over to shield your face from the light and to lean into his warmth. You were met by his sparkling blue eyes reflecting in the morning sunlight. He didn't say a word. Just placed a gentle kiss on your lips and drifted back off to sleep. You studied his peaceful face, admiring it. That was the second time you realized you loved him.

You awoke hours later to an empty bed. It was almost like he was never actually there in the first place. You began to question your memory. Had your mind missed him so much that it conjured the previous night on its own accord? That's when the tiny copper coin sitting on the end table caught your eye. Picking it up, you read the engraving.

Always under the same sky C 🖤 y/f/i

You tried calling and texting him for weeks following your encounter, but he never answered or called back. That was the last time Colson Baker broke your heart.

“One coffee.” The words escaped your lips before you even had a chance to think about it—those damn blue eyes.

I << 💀 >> III

TAG LIST @canyoubuymetoast

[iwalc]

Take me home

Hi people! I hope you are all well! Here is a something I've worked on for a while. Uhm, I realise now that I have never posted anything I've written on here before, so I am a little nervouse, ngl. I've been into a horrible writersblock for over a year now and this is the firt piece I've even been able to finish, which also makes me kind of nervouse. Either way, here it is. I hope you'll like it, and if you do, pls let me know.

Wordcount: around 2500.

I haven't really proofread anything, so if there are anything that's a bit off, then I apologise.

Damn it. I lost. Again. Here I am pissed drunk in a bar, far away from home. Or... what's supposed to be my home. Anger, love, confusion, roads that lead nowhere. As to lately, I don't know what has gotten into me. We all know life's a rollercoaster, ups and downs, downs and ups. This time I wasn't prepared. I've hit the ground. Hard. Everything happened so fast.

Almost a year ago I moved from home. It was sudden but necessary. I got into college in London and saw my opportunity to leave my abusive household. For years the mental abuse had just gradually gotten worse. Although I love my parents to bits, it was not a healthy surrounding and I needed a new perspective. I moved into a small apartment a few minutes from my college. The apartment wasn't really luxurious. But what could I expect with rent that cheap. It was alright. For me at least. Soon after the move classes started. The first few days were rough. A lot of new things, new people, new surroundings and I was all alone. You see, I am not a fan of new things. I'd rather be stuck with everything the same than have the winds of change knock everything I know to pieces. That's what I soon noticed. I didn't recognise anything anymore. Everything was to pieces. I've never felt so lost or scared.

After a while, these strange feelings of insecurity and fear decreased a bit. I started seeing people from my classes. We went to lunches, studied, went out on the weekends. For the first time in a long while it felt like my life was starting to get better. I felt alive, not only like I was just existing. I felt normal. I lived in a large city, in a tiny apartment, barely being able to pay rent, eating fish sticks and whatever else cheap food that Tesco happened to sell out, spending all money on weekends clubbing, listening to bands, laughing, getting shitfaced, having the time of my life.

On one of these nights, I met someone. Someone that would change my life drastically, and thank god it was for the better. It was an ordinary weekend. Me and the girls got ready for a night out, as usual. Only this time we were to meet Angela's boyfriend and his friends. Everyone was crazy excited. I tried to be, but as we have stated before, I'm not doing very well with breaking routines or new things, hence my increasing anxiety. To cut the chase, Angela's boyfriend had nice friends. Especially one of them. Brian. I don't really know what drew me to him. He just seemed so calm and safe. Somewhat on my level. The others, Angela, Jessica and Amanda, were all outgoing girls, finding it easy to talk and meet new people, having no trouble being in the centre of attention. I did not enjoy those types of things. I enjoyed letting others being in the centre of attention and them leading the way. I thrive in the shadows of other people and Brian seemed to be the same way. He was the quiet one, the one in the shadows. But he didn't seem shy. He sat comfortably in the booth, a beer in his hand, listening in to the conversations, taking part in them whenever it was needed. He seemed so calm, safe, secure. Something I craved. He was tall, green, welcoming eyes. Angela sat down beside her boyfriend, Roger, a blonde, seemingly handsome guy. Jessica was called over to Freddie, a dark-haired man, seemingly not afraid to stand in the centre of attention, he was very authentic and expressive. At first, I'd say he'd be a bitch, but he was so nice and welcoming. Such a sweetheart. Amanda sat down between Jessica and John and they got carried away with their conversation pretty quickly.

Me being me, trying to read the room, the new people, anxiously stood there, at the end of the table. My anxiety started to peak at this uncomfortable social situation. I had no idea what to do. I froze. The others seemed engulfed in their conversations and bonding and hadn't noticed my uncomfortable state. But Brian did. He seemed to understand and saw my anxiety. It was amazing how he just knew how to deal with it without scaring me off more. He redirected his attention towards where I stood. He calmly called my name. His voice. I've never ever felt more secure. After a few calls, and his hand gracing mine, I zoned in again and once again became aware of my surroundings. His touch. Warm. Soft. Peaceful. "Hey" he said softly, "would you like to sit down?" he asked as he carefully for a second took a hold of my hand, with me not showing any sign of uncomfort, he carefully guided me to sit down beside him, a soft smile gracing his lips. "I'm so sorry for zoning out like that, thank you" I quietly whispered. He once again took a soft hold of my hand, smiling, "Don't apologise, I understand". Something told me he did understand.

And ever since we met that night, at a pub in Kensington, he has made me feel at home. Safe. Comfortable. My pieces were glued together again. Brian was my everything. He still is. The last few months with him has been filled with such happiness and security I never ever thought I'd experience. I love him to bits. He understands me and my needs like no other. He knows how to take care of my anxiety attacks. He knows how to help me relax. He is my rock in a stormy ocean.

Until today. Earlier today, the pieces he glued together, fell apart, again. Today we moved in together. We figured it would help with our economic situation since we were both students. I mean, we love each other so why not. Well. This is why. I am once again falling apart. My pieces are flying away. I couldn't handle one more change. I've broken up with my family, moved away from home, started college, all in the period of 6 months. It was too much. And now this. I love him. But my world has been picked apart once more.

The whole day I've been feeling my anxiety increasing. Usually, Brian notices or I feel comfortable telling him, but this time I noticed how excited he was, I didn't want to hurt him with my bullshit. It's horrible feeling yourself falling apart but not be able to do anything about it. It was 7 pm and Brian was unpacking things in the living room while I sat on the sofa trying not to lose it. He kept talking about how happy he was and how this was a dream of his. How excited he was to share his life with me, to love me. All the while he was so happy babbling away, I was freaking out. To say the least.

My anxiety kept increasing and now I couldn't handle it anymore. I felt my breathing quickening, my hands and legs started to shake and tears started to stream down my eyes. I couldn't do this. What have I done? "Love? What do you think hanging this here?" Brian asked excitedly holding up a poster on the wall. I couldn't breathe. "Love?" Brian asked before he turned around. My knees were up to my chin, hands holding them in place, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my eyes. Brian was shocked to see me in this state of mind but wasted no time. He hurried up to me on the sofa. He sat down on his knees in front of me, his hands on my cheeks. "Love, look at me" he pleaded with a calm voice. "Love" he said, more firmly this time. "Shh you're okay, love, I got you" he said as I lifted my head to look at him. I was frightened. His beautiful, angelic face that earlier always brought me peace and comfort were now triggering my anxiety. I ran. I ran out of the apartment, down the staircase and out of the building. Before leaving the building I heard Brian calling my name, running after me.

That's where I am right now. I ran to a pub, the pub we met at. I'm drunk. Anger, love, confusion, roads that lead nowhere. As to lately, I don't know what has gotten into me. We all know life's a rollercoaster, ups and downs, downs and ups. This time I wasn't prepared. I've hit the ground. Hard. Everything happened so fast. Wrapped up so consumed by all this confusion. With every thought I down a beer. "Could I get another one pls?" I slurred to the bartender. But no. No way I was going to drink more tonight. I don't know if it was intentional or not to go to the only pub in London where I'm recognisable since we go there all the time. Maybe I wanted to be found. The bartender declined and then went through a doorway to the kitchen. I heard him talking on the phone. He was talking about me. More than that I couldn't recognise and soon after my head hit the table and I was out.

I woke up in a bed. It took some time to locate where I was, but soon I noticed I was in our apartment. My head was killing me along with the anxiety and guilt. What the hell happened. I had no idea.

Soon enough Brian entered the room. I couldn't do anything. I barely dared to look at him. He looked exhausted. And there was something else, it shocked me that I couldn't decipher what it was.

"Hi" he calmly said as he strode to my side of the bed and set down a glass of water and aspirin.

"Hi" I vaguely answered.

The silence took over the room. I barely dared to move but did to take my aspirin and drink some well-needed water. Not letting my eyes of Brian, I watched as his tall body sat down on the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he calmly asked as his hand strode closer to me but he didn't dare to touch me, probably confused by my signals yesterday.

I met him halfway and took a hold of his large and warm hand. As soon as he felt my hand on his he held mine tighter and let out a breath I didn't know he was holding.

"I don't know how to answer that" you answered honestly.

Brian hummed and stroked my hand with his thumb, looking at our locked hands.

"You scared me" he whispered. Tears threatening to leave his eyes.

That hurt.

"I'm so sorry" I panicked and sat up, only to regret it as my head almost pounded you dead. "Ow," I winced as my free hand went to hold my forehead.

"Careful" Brian voiced as calmly as ever. His eyes scanned around the room, trying to muster the courage for what he was to say next. He cleared his throat. "Can we talk about what happened?" he almost whispered, taking my hand in both of his, stroking it with his thumbs.

Of course, he wants to talk about it. There is nothing strange about that. However, I rather not. What am I supposed to say? That I panicked, that his face suddenly made me uneasy? That... I don't know. Suddenly I felt his hand upon my cheek. I must've zoned out.

"hey, it's alright"

I let out a loud sigh, catching Brians attention. "Brian, it is not alright. I'm a mess. What I did wasn't alright." Tears were now streaming down my cheeks. Burning like fire. Brians weight shifted as he crawled onto the bed, laying down behind me, embracing me like never before. His arms around my aching stomach and my arms. His leg over mine. His chin in the crook of my neck, whispering calming sentences while my tears shook my body. His body warming mine. It's always so calming.

How can I be so damn lucky? I ran away from home, from my love, I got piss drunk at a pub, and still, he took me home, taking care of me, holding me, loving me like no other. It's suffocating in the best way.

The tears calmed down. "Brian, I want to come home", I sniffed, crampingly grabbing onto his large, warm hand. "I'm hurting. I'm so lost. Confused. Angry." the tears were now rapidly streaming down my face again as I poured my aching heart out. "I really had to get away from home to live my life, to get better. When I first got here I felt cheated. It was so hard and I've never been worse my whole life. I've never felt more alone, left out, beaten up." I kept rambling on. "I know, love, I know." Brian cooed into my neck, stroking my arm. "But you don't Brian. I can't seem to find my way home. I'm so lost." I said as tears wrecked my body. Brian, holding me, securing me, hushing me, whispering sweet things. "I don't even know how you put up with me. I'm so broken. I came to you with a broken faith, and you gave me more than a hand to hold." The first time I voiced my fear and insecurity about how Brian feel about me. I'm so scared he'll leave me. He's all I've got. "Love, shh, It's ok. Hey, listen to me." he started as he turned me so I could look at him. "I understand that you feel like you're lost, I really do. Everything you've ever known has changed in less than a year. Space will eventually make it better, time will make it heal, and soon enough you won't feel like you're haunted. You won't be lost forever!" He praised as his hand stroked my cheek. Emphasizing the last sentence. I won't be lost forever.

"I'm so scared Brian"

"I know baby" he embraced me, "I know."

"I need you, Brian, don't leave me please, you're all I've got." I cried into his chest.

"Baby I won't. I never could. I love you! I will hold you. I will take you home. I'll be here every step of the way. I'll be your home." He said as my body once more broke down in tears.

I know there must be somewhere better because he always takes me there. Maybe I've found my home. I think he's my home.

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

sleeping on the blacktop

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: angst, descriptions of a car accident, blood, gore, mentions of death, vomiting, medical terminology (that i know absolutely nothing about !! i am not a doctor or an emt—almost all of my knowledge is from an anatomy class or tv so—don’t come for me pls), my ramblings about fate and free will, i also gave the baby a name (sorry if you don’t like it :( i just hate having y/d/n, ya know? too much work)

word count: 8.5k

synopsis: while harry is away on tour, his wife and baby get into a car accident

author’s note: please, be mindful of the warnings and don't read if you're uncomfortable with anything mentioned and sorry for the sort of rushed ending... other than that, i hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

“You don’t need to do that,” Anne says from behind her, and Y/N flinches, nearly dropping a plate. She got lost in her thoughts, staring out the window in Anne’s kitchen.

“You cooked. It’s the least I can do,” she says. Anne grabs a rag and dries some of the dishes. Gemma is keeping Rhiannon occupied in the next room, and from the peals of laughter, it’s the happiest she’s been in days. Y/N sighs, wiping her pruned hands on a paper towel. If she’s being honest, she’s not doing too well; Rhia has had a hard time adjusting to not having Harry around all the time, causing a varied sleep schedule and more bouts of fussiness in general, and Y/N struggles keeping up.

“How’re you doing?”

Y/N hesitates. She contemplates lying. She doesn’t need one more person worrying for her, and she doesn’t want people to think that she can’t take care of her own child by herself. Harry already worries enough, even though she’s assured him many times that he doesn’t need to be.

She knows that he feels guilty for not being there all the time, but she would never force him to stop touring and doing what he loves, partly because she’s afraid he’ll resent her. Despite him being across an entire ocean, she never feels like he is far; he’s always willing to stop anything when she calls, and he tries his hardest to talk with her twice a day. She always keeps him as involved as possible, sending daily updates and photos.

“It’s tough,” she admits, “but it’s getting better, no need to worry about me.” She offers Anne a weak smile.

“Can’t help it,” she says, pinching her cheeks lightly.

Noticing the dimming sky, the sun sinking below the line of trees in the yard, Y/N sighs.

“We should probably go,” she mutters, slipping into the next room. Despite how tired she is, she can’t help the smile that takes over her face when Rhiannon looks up at her, showing her gums.

“Time to go, bug,” she says, light and lilting. Rhia kicks her legs, making her almost lose her balance. She’s too confident for her own good, like her father; she’s only just started sitting up on her own and thinks she can wiggle around without falling.

“You sure you’re okay to drive, love?” Anne asks from behind her. Y/N rolls her eyes, yet smiles fondly at her protectiveness.

“We’ll be fine. It’s only a few minutes away.”

Ever since Harry left for tour, Y/N has been staying in their lake cottage to be closer to Anne. It’s only a quick 20 minute drive away, which has been helpful during the days when Y/N needed to catch up on sleep, and Anne is always happy to help. She didn’t like to do that very often, feeling like she was taking advantage of her mother-in-law.

The cottage was a cute little thing, perfect for just the two of them, and Y/N was glad to get out of their shared home; it was too big and empty for just her and Rhia. Harry was always able to liven up any place they were at, but now that he’s gone, it felt hollow and dismal.

“You know you’re welcome to stay here. I’ve got plenty of room,” Anne tries to convince her one last time. As much as Y/N appreciated her worrying, she didn’t want to impose, and she’s sure that Anne wouldn’t want to listen to a fussy baby, even though she would deny it to the end of her days.

Y/N puts Rhia in her coat with little resistance, which is surprising, but she only had a short little nap that afternoon, and they had a busy day.

“I know, Anne, but I don’t want to intrude,” Y/N says. “Besides, Rhia sleeps better in our bed, and you need all the sleep you can get, don’t ya?” She tickles her daughter’s little bloated belly, making her giggle sweetly. Once she’s strapped in, the baby stretches and tries to put Y/N’s fingers in her mouth.

“You know I worry about you,” Anne sighs, kneeling next to Y/N.

“No need to worry,” Y/N smiles. Anne tucks the woven green blanket under Rhiannon’s legs. It’s the same blanket Harry had when he was a baby, barely held together with a few threads and love. Y/N stands, hoisting the carrier up to her hip.

“Call me when you get home, yeah?”

“Course,” she says, pressing a kiss to Anne’s cheek.

When they’re settled in the car, Anne stays out on the porch, watching them until they’re safely on the road, offering a wide smile and an air kiss. Y/N is so thankful to have her shoulder to lean on.

It’s a clear night, which Y/N is thankful for, no fog or rain, which isn’t an often occurrence. She stops at a sign, brakes squealing slightly. She stays there for a second, feeling the familiar burn of exhaustion behind her eyes. She rests her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Da, da,” Rhiannon mumbles. Y/N reaches behind her, barely able to reach her on the opposite side of the back seat, and she grabs onto her fingers.

“I know, peach,” Y/N sighs, “Miss daddy, too.”

She never considered how fragile life could be until she met Harry, not in the sense that death is an imminent and constant force, more in the sense that everything, her goals, her view on life, and her priorities, shifted when she met him. He became her influence, and she was willing to go through hell or high water just to be with him.

In summation, it takes all but five seconds for your life to completely change, for better or for worse.

There are dozens upon dozens of tiny events that build up and push you toward that one big moment that will change your life. Nothing is set in stone; different choices lead you down different paths, and your paths are constantly changing, either for better or worse, and slowly but surely, you’ll finally reach the top of that mountain. Every choice you questioned, every sacrifice you made, will come together in due time, just know that you’re working toward a greater purpose.

Y/N has never been a big believer in fate, that everything is beyond your control and that everything is already set in stone, but perhaps there is some truth to it. Fate could have pushed her to leave home when she was young. Fate could have put her on a safe and stable path when she went to university that landed her a good job when she was fresh out of her internship, and fate could have brought Harry into her life.

But she will never claim fate as a sole guide to her life. Fate is not responsible for her success nor her mistakes; that was all because of her hard work and integrity, her youth and ignorance. To her, fate is simply an excuse. People want to put blame on something, and when things seem out of their control or when they make bad decisions, they don’t feel quite as guilty. They’re willing to take credit for good things that happen but won’t when it affects them negatively.

Say, perhaps, that fate brought Y/N to that intersection, then maybe it was fate that planted the trees that obscured her vision; perhaps, it was fate that made the lights in the post go out that evening.

If so, fate has a twisted sense of humor.

If not, why wouldn’t fate give her any time to react before the impact?

How could fate be so cruel?

—

Working as an EMT, there are always certain risks you accept when you are on the clock; not only are you surrounded by an unbelievable pressure, there is always the ominous cloud looming overhead, a thin thread between life and death threatening to break at any moment, and it’s your job to keep them stable until they arrive at the hospital.

Not too hard, right?

Being able to save people from the brink of death and reuniting families makes almost everything worth it, but there are always scenes that stick with you for the rest of your life, and for Leslie Greene, this is one of them.

What stands out the most is the sound of a crying baby.

She’s seen some very horrific accidents: cars that have been reduced to nothing more than a ball of cheap scrap metal, with blood coating the shattered glass, to DOA’s, where the impact made them look unrecognizable. She has seen a lot of unspeakable things and had a lot of good people die on her watch.

But never has she ever had a baby present at any accident scene. That’s new.

Those cries will probably haunt her for the rest of her life.

“I didn’ see ‘em,” the man slurs from the police car. He has a bloodied lip and a slight bruise forming around his neck from the seat belt. The stench of rum rolls off him with every breath. He sits back, eyes dull and hooded, like he doesn’t even realize what he’s done.

Another EMT meets with her half-way to the other vehicle, lodged against the ditch across the way.

“Driver side sustained some serious damage. The baby has no discernible injuries, but another ambulance is a minute out to take her.”

From the driver’s side, Leslie can see the baby on the opposite side of the backseat, the car seat still tightly in place. The baby flails about, legs and arms kicking with strength. The car is twisted and mangled, but most of the damage is on the driver’s side, the door latched closed. Shattered glass cracks beneath her boot.

When they’re finally able to get the car door open, the woman, barely even mobile, opens her eyes slightly, but she flinches back at the bright lights. Blood drips down from her hairline, bruises already forming on her eyes from the impact on the steering wheel. Blood pools on the leather seat as she shifts with discomfort.

James, a newbie who has never been to a scene with this much damage, breathes out shakily. Leslie turns to see his lips curling, close to dry heaving.

“Go get the baby, yeah?”

He nods quickly, pale in the face, and scurries to the other side. The baby is soothed only momentarily before her wails continue. The woman’s eyes snap open fully this time, panic clear on her features. She tugs fruitlessly on the seat belt, a pained groan leaving her when she moves too quickly.

“Please, don’t move. My name is Leslie. I’m here to help.�� She presses a hand to her chest, feeling the woman’s racing heart. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she grits out, her eyes fluttering dangerously. From how she reacted to the lights, she probably has a concussion. Leslie cuts the seat belt, and glass falls onto the blacktop, clinking musically until they settle, like they’re sleeping. Through the gloves, she can feel how warm she is, sweat beading down from her forehead. Glass has settled in the divots of her wool sweater, but not before cutting her skin, caking the pearl necklace peeking from the neckline in blood.

“Y/N, I need you to turn a bit. I need to see where the bleeding is coming from,” Leslie says softly, inching her slowly onto her side. She sighs as more blood pools, gushing down her back and soaking her jumper further. It’s from a rib that broke through the skin. She can only hope that they didn’t puncture an organ.

“Does that hurt?” She asks as she puts pressure on the skin.

“No,” Y/N whimpers, eyes fluttering closed. When they get her on the stretcher, with minimal blood loss, she stirs with life again, her trembling hand reaching onto the sleeve of Leslie’s shirt, painting it red.

“Rhiannon—my baby girl—is she…” She swallows back tears.

“She’s fine.” Leslie knows that it’s unwise to lie to a patient; perhaps, she’s not entirely lying, but it’s never a good idea to give a victim a sure diagnosis without actually knowing anything. There may have been no physical signs of trauma to the baby, but internal problems are a very real possibility that they won’t know of until they get to the hospital.

She knows that she shouldn’t lie. It takes seven minutes to get to the nearest hospital, but it’s time that Y/N may not have; despite how quickly they were able to get her into the ambulance, she’s losing a lot of blood.

“Thank you,” Y/N sighs in relief, clutching onto her hand. Her wedding ring nearly cuts through the gloves from the pressure.

“Of course,” Leslie says, easily putting her on an IV.

“My husband,” she gasps suddenly, her arm jerking about. “Harry—he—he’s gonna be worried. ‘M supposed to call. He has to tell her goodnight—“

“Y/N, relax,” Leslie coos. “We will contact your husband. You need to focus on yourself, yeah? Don’t close your eyes, Y/N.”

Leslie can see the fear in her eyes; it’s something she’s grown very familiar with, but it’s not just fear for her own survival. She can see how scared she is for her family. She struggles to keep her eyes open, resilience and weakness fighting for power. Like any mother, she’s fighting for her family. She’s fighting to be able to hold onto and kiss them one more time.

She is trying so hard to fight for her family.

But at the same time, it’s so easy to give in.

“If I don’t make it,” she slurs, breathing quickly out of her nose. The blood from her nose slips down into her mouth, making her cough.

“Don’t say—”

“If I don’t, I need you to tell Harry that I love him, and that…” She lets out a pained whimper, struggling to catch her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault, love.”

Her lip quivers, teeth chattering.

“I’m just sorry for everything.”

Leslie knows exactly what that means. She’s making amends, apologizing for not being able to fight. A lone tear slips from her eye, but Leslie wipes it away.

“I will.” She promises, gripping her hand tighter.

Only two more minutes.

Y/N gives her a thankful nod, and as if she has finally made peace with the world, she falls limp, the light leaving her eyes.

—

Harry has always enjoyed New York, and it’s not very often that he is able to stay for longer than one night. There is just something about it that’s completely different from London or L.A. that he likes about it; He couldn’t imagine actually living there, with the massive crowds and fluctuating weather, but it’s a nice place to visit, very different from what he’s used to.

He’s halfway through the tour for his most recent album, and New York is the last stop before he gets a short break to go home. He has a show tonight at Madison Square, a radio interview in the morning, and then, he’s home free. He’s been looking forward to this break before the tour even began. Don’t get him wrong, he loves performing and meeting fans and traveling the world, but now that he has a family, it gets more and more difficult not being there for the people who need him most.

“So, I heard,” the interviewer begins, smiling widely.

Sadly, Harry has already forgotten his name. The interview was supposed to be a short little thing for social media, only supposed to take 20 minutes, so he could prepare for the concert that evening, but it’s been nearly an hour, and there are no signs of stopping any time soon. Harry holds off yet another yawn, the lack of sleep from the night before washing over him. He’s having trouble focusing.

“You’ve got a baby girl.”

“Yes,” Harry beams. Even though he wants to keep his baby out of the limelight, he can’t help the excitement that fills his chest whenever she's mentioned. He can easily go on and on about how wonderful and sweet and perfect she is. He tugs on his pearl necklace, biting on his lips to keep quiet. He and Y/N agreed that it would be best for Rhia to grow up as normally as possible, which meant only posting about her on his private social media and avoiding busy places so as to not be seen, but some things were simply unavoidable, like interviewers trying to get him to let something about her slip to get their five-minutes-of-fame. It seems rude of him to completely ignore their questions, so he just sticks to very short, vague answers.

“How are you adjusting to fatherhood?”

“Uh,” he laughs, fiddling with his wedding ring. “It was a struggle to begin with. I will admit that, but it’s getting better. We’re still learning how to adjust to everything.”

He says it like he’s actually there, actively helping Y/N, even though he's on the other side of the world. He hasn’t seen his daughter in nearly two months; video chats have absolutely nothing on the real thing. He isn’t helping Y/N put Rhia to sleep when she’s feeling particularly fussy or feeding her at two in the morning, so Y/N can finally get some well-deserved sleep, and he’s not there to play with her or comfort her.

It feels like he’s lying.

He’s a sad excuse of a father. That’s what he really is.

The thought makes the smile fall from his face, but he’s quick to force another one; if there’s anything that he’s learned after years in the public eye, it’s how to fake emotions. The interviewer gives him an understanding smile. He’s older, but not too old, only having a few years on Harry, age wise, but the wrinkles beside his eyes and the nicked ring on his finger suggest years of familial experience.

“I completely understand. I have three boys of my own, and—”

“I am so sorry,” Jeff, Harry’s savior, says suddenly from behind the camera. “D’ya mind if I borrow Harry for a second?”

The interviewer nods.

“No problem. Take 15?”

Harry feels a twinge of guilt as he stands quickly from the chair, happy to finally have a break.

“Thanks,” Harry sighs, brushing past Jeff to the refreshment table. “‘M exhausted. Maybe it’s ‘cause of Rhi, but every little thing wakes me up. Swore I heard her cryin’ last night.” Jeff is quiet, fiddling with his hands nervously. Harry doesn’t notice how quiet the man has gotten, and he opens a bottle of water, rifling through his bag.

“Isn’t it almost 3? Y/N should be callin’ soon.”

“Harry,” Jeff says again, stronger this time. Harry still doesn’t notice how his voice breaks slightly, wobbly and hesitant.

“Yeah?” Harry drinks nearly half of the water, not sparing a glance up. He fishes for his phone, only to remember that he left it in the car. He sighs and turns. That’s when he finally notices how shaken up Jeff is, pale and nervous.

“What’s up? Look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he laughs, downing the rest of his water before tossing it in the bin.

“Harry,” Jeff says again, soft and somber, and it makes Harry stop. Dread settles in his stomach, deep and heavy. Jeff has never been one to be the bearer of bad news, and he tended to beat around the bush. “Why don’t you sit down?” Jeff tries to guide Harry over to the cheap stool in the corner of the room, but he rips his arm from his grasp.

Harry has never been one to let his mind run wild; he’s the calm one, who looks at reason and logic. He's the one to tell everyone that everything’s going to be fine; he’s the one who takes everything in stride, like water rolling down his back. Bumps in the road are nothing. He’s the one that comes up with solutions and executes them with ease, but with the way Jeff is treating him, his heart races.

“What?”

“There’s been an accident,” Jeff says slowly, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

It takes a second for Harry to process his words, but when he does, he stumbles back.

His mind automatically tries to reason with itself, that maybe it has nothing to do with him. Perhaps, something went wrong at the venue, and they would have to postpone, lengthening his stay for only a couple more days. Maybe, Mitch got food poisoning and will be unable to play that evening. There are dozens of reasonable explanations as to why Jeff pulled him aside, but Harry knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t have such a mournful look in his eyes, if it isn’t anything less than very serious.

Okay, fine, there was an accident. That could mean so many different things. An accident doesn’t even necessarily mean that they are in grave danger; they could be walking away unscathed.

“W-what? I-i-is it Gem? Mum?” Endless scenarios flicker in his mind, each one worse than the last. The one thing that he doesn’t even consider is it being Y/N or Rhiannon. His mind refuses to go down that road; if it did, there’s no way of knowing how he would react. He doesn’t even consider the possibility of them being in trouble. He hates how long Jeff is taking to tell him, as if holding off will soften the blow. Irritation starts bubbling below the surface, and he finds it hard to keep calm.

“Harry,” he says, shaking his head. “Anne called me. There was a drunk driver, and they’re headed to the hospital now—”

“They?”

His heart stops for a second, and it feels like his chest collapses in on itself. His body feels like it’s reacting to a stressful situation, with adrenaline and fear and anger, but Harry isn’t thinking with a grieving mind; it’s cloudy and slow, delusional, even. He shakes his head.

“No,” Harry mutters, taking a step forward. He can feel tears burn in his eyes, and he makes no move to wipe them. “It wasn’t…” Harry can’t finish the question. It makes him nauseous. Jeff nods solemnly, which, in any other circumstance, would have been answer enough. “Say it,” Harry snaps.

It’s unreal, like a dream. This didn’t happen to him, not his family.

They’re safe. There’s just been a mistake. That’s the only reasonable explanation to everything. Someone made a mistake. Maybe a fan thought it would be funny to pretend to be his mum, and they somehow got Jeff’s number. It had to be a horrible, awful, repulsive joke to get some attention or something; as implausible as that seems, it’s the only thought that makes sense to him because he can’t possibly understand the weight of the truth. He doesn’t know if he can handle it.

His girls are fine.

They have to be.

“Harry—” Jeff tries to calm him down, seeing a bright red flush to his skin, frustration seeping through every pore. Anger isn’t becoming of Harry; Jeff has only seen him angry a couple of times, but never to this extent: red in the face, words shaky, eyes glassy.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“It was Y/N and Rhiannon.”

That is the absolute last thing that he wanted to hear.

Even though, deep down, he knew that they were in trouble. From the first moment Jeff said his name to how sickly he looked when he told him to sit down, Harry knew, deep in his heart and mind, that his family is in trouble. He just wasn’t willing to accept it or even think about it, as if that could change reality. Until Jeff said those five words that confirmed his worst nightmare.

And he feels his world come crashing down, but he’s stuck, frozen, mind not moving nearly as fast as it should be.

“My—my…” He stutters, throat closing. “My girls?” The ache in his chest increases tenfold, and he holds onto his, feeling the racing of his heart and his quick breathing. “You’re fuckin’ with me,” he scoffs, rage building. He shakes his head with denial. “What kind of fuckin’ prick—”

“I wouldn’t joke about—”

Harry knows that. Y/N and Jeff are close. Hell, they even considered making him their daughter’s godfather. Jeff would never joke about something this serious, and Harry knows that, but he isn’t willing to accept the reality because the reality is nearly too much for him to comprehend, to carry on his already weak shoulders.

“No, they’re not,” Harry closes his eyes, hands slipping through his hair like it normally does when he’s anxious. He tugs on it, but the pain is nothing compared to the sick feeling in his stomach or the crack in his pounding heart. He honestly feels like he’s going to be ill or pass out, feeling his mouth dry up, his hands clamming up, and he begins to feel light-headed.

“Y/N’s just about to call me. It’s Rhi’s bedtime.” He rambles, not listening to Jeff.

They can’t be going to a hospital. He talked to Y/N just this morning when he couldn’t fall asleep. He spoke about his worries and doubts and guilt that he felt for being so far away from them, and Y/N soothed all of his fears and reservations, reminding him why he does what he does. Before she left, she told him that she loved him, and he could hear Rhi babbling away in the background, content and happy and safe.

“There’s a plane leaving in a half an hour—”

“And I sing to her. That's the only way she’ll sleep through the night. She hasn’t been sleepin’ very well these past few days,” he says, lost in his thoughts. His words begin to slur.

“Harry, listen to me,” Jeff says, holding onto his shoulders, trying to keep him grounded, from falling apart. Harry doesn’t get anxious often, but when he does, everything comes to a startling halt; he’s not used to it, and he lets it overwhelm him until he can’t function. That’s the last thing anyone needs.

“No, no, they’re fine. They’re fine. They’re—” He swallows, and like a wave, realization dawns on him, drowning him. His family is in the hospital, and he’s not there with them. “Oh, god,” he cries, feeling bile burn his throat. He sinks to his knees, hand pitifully covering his mouth to keep from vomiting. His vision darkens. It feels like the walls are crumbling down, and he’s stuck, frozen and alone, with no one coming to save him.

Just like his girls.

“Harry, you can’t shut down, not now,” Jeff says, kneeling beside him. “They need you.”

He knows that. He needs to be strong for the both of them, so he wipes away his tears, clenches his jaw, and pushes everything down, even if it feels like he’s choking. He has to be strong for the both of them.

The drive to the airport is a blur. He swallows back his tears until his head feels like it’s going to burst and holds his breath until he can see black spots in his vision, but most of all, he’s numb. A small part of him is still trying to convince himself that this is all just a big misunderstanding, but the larger part, the part that’s screaming the loudest, tells him he’s being irrational and selfish.

It takes 7 hours to get home; he has to travel across an entire ocean to get to his family.

How unfair is that?

He wants to blame the world, God, fate. He wants to curse whatever force existed, but behind all of the hate and accusations and judgement, he is nothing more than a guilty, broken shell of a man.

He’s angry with himself, mostly, with the choices he’s made, with how selfish and greedy he was, and how inconsiderate his actions have been for the past few months. He can’t believe that he could be so self-centered, taking Y/N for granted. She’s his wife; they’re supposed to be partners, equals, and he treated her like she was disposable while he traveled the world, living out a dying dream.

He wishes he was there, to not only prevent it, but also to tell her just one last time how important she was to him and tell her of the pain that would spread in his chest at the possibility of losing her or their child; he wants so badly to show his love for her. In four days, they would have been celebrating six years together, and in that time, he has never doubted his love for her. He knew, from the moment they met, that she was meant to be with him until the very end. They were soulmates.

Now that he might lose her and his baby, he feels like his soul is being ripped out of his chest, leaving nothing but a gaping, painful void.

Jeff sends him a link to Twitter and a message: Harry, take all the time you need.

The post says: Due to a personal emergency, Harry will not be able to make the show at MSG this evening, and all tour dates from this moment forth will be canceled until further notice. Know that he wishes he could be with you all, and please, respect his privacy in these trying times.

He calls his mother shortly after, but she doesn’t answer. When he tries Gem, she picks up after a few rings, shaky and winded. He sighs, trying to quell the tremors in his hands. His lips quiver.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Gemma explains what happened to the best of her ability, that Y/N just left to go back to the cottage after eating dinner And that Anne received a call from the hospital, after he didn’t answer his phone (that part stung to hear).

“Please—” He begins, but his voice teeters and breaks at the end. He can’t help the tears that slip down his cheeks. Exhausted and weak, he finally cries. He cries for his wife, his child, and himself. They’re not heart-wrenching sobs, where he’s keeled over, grief and anxiety spilling out of every pore, but they leave him breathless, chest aching.

“Please, tell me everythin’s gonna be fine.”

Her silence is answer enough. She can’t promise him anything. It’s too early to tell, and she’s not going to lie to him, either, not when his wife and child’s life is in the balance.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Gemma admits, “but I will call you as soon—”

He hangs up before she can finish.

—

Rain thunders onto the broken concrete, a flash of lightning brightening the dull sky. Despite the rain, the earth nearly brimming with life, the hospital is dead. There’s not a soul going in or out. The lights flicker eerily in the corner of his eye. It’s four in the morning, so it’s not much of a surprise, but the sight of it being so lifeless just feels wrong.

His mind is moving quicker than the world can keep up with, it seems, and he feels like it goes against the laws of nature. It’s a strange feeling when you feel like you’re falling apart, but the world continues on; most people on the street wouldn’t bat an eye or even pay any notice to him as he’s deteriorating before their very eyes.

As irrational as it is, it feels wrong. It feels wrong that everyone else is able to go on while his life is crumbling.

He called Gemma when he landed, and there were still no updates on their condition. He broke dozens of traffic laws to get there, and now, he stands outside the entrance, still wearing his wool jumper from the day before, smelling like an airport, with rain soaking his hair. Droplets slip down his cheek and jaw, livening the dried tears from earlier, and they seep into his mouth; he can taste the salt.

He’s just staring at the flickering sign.

He can’t move.

Well, that’s not really it; he can move, he can feel, and he can see, but he doesn’t want to move.

How fucked up is that?

He doesn’t want to go inside. Despite all of his fears, and his longing for answers, and his need to see his family, he can’t move.

Because that would make everything real.

If he goes inside, if he pushes past those doors and sees the doctors, he can’t deny it anymore. When he goes inside, he has to face the very real possibility that he could lose his wife and daughter. He isn’t sure if he’s strong enough to handle it.

He’s being selfish. He knows that. He should be running inside, yelling at doctors and nurses to tell him what they’re doing about his family. He should be trying to do something, anything to see his wife and daughter.

But why is it so hard to move his feet?

And why does he still feel so numb?

He breathes in the cold air, burning his tender throat.

When he finally opens those doors, past the point of no return, he’s welcomed by a blinding light and the scent of antiseptic. The inside is just as lifeless, with dull white walls that leaves his head throbbing and dingy carpet that scrapes against his boots. He follows the signs, leading to the waiting room.

A new round of tears fills his eyes when he sees his mother’s familiar figure. He hasn’t wanted to just completely collapse into her arms, crying, in years, but now, he just wants to be in the comfort of her presence, to forget the world.

But he can’t, just like Jeff told him, he needs to stay strong, for them. He can’t shut down. He breathes out deeply, raises his head, and calls out for his mother.

Anne turns around, and when he sees Rhiannon pressed tightly to her chest, safe and sound, he feels more of his strength return, like he can breathe a little easier. He feels his knees weaken, but he keeps moving. He doesn’t feel quite so empty and broken and numb, a small ray of hope filling him for the first time in hours. He cups the back of her little head, thumb caressing the soft baby hairs. They’ve gotten thicker since the last time he saw her.

“She’s fine, Harry, just a little shaken up,” Anne says, smiling slightly.

His happiness is short lived when Gemma stands from behind Anne.

“Y/N’s in surgery right now. All we can do is wait,” she says, her eyes ringed with red, mirroring his own.

“Da,” Rhia says, and he smiles, a single tear running down his cheek. He wipes it and sniffles.

Y/N pretended to be upset when that was Rhi’s first word. She said it only hours before he had to leave. They were in their home, and Y/N was helping him lug his suitcases out of the bedroom when he heard it. It sounded like another babble, but it became clearer until—

“Da,” she squealed, bouncing in her little jumper chair. “Dada.” She hit a little plastic toy ring on the tray

“Y/N,” he called out for her and knelt down in front of his baby. She rushed out of the bedroom.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“Say it again, peach, show mummy,” he cooed, and Rhi repeated it, again and again, reaching for her father.

“I carry her around for nine months and feed her out of my tit,” Y/N whined, “and this is the thanks I get?”

They laughed, nevertheless. It was a bittersweet moment, as he looks back on it now. He was so happy that Rhiannon was growing and learning, but she was growing up too fast for his liking. He lifted Rhi up out of the chair and pressed a gentle kiss to her chubby cheek, tears stinging behind his eyes.

“She’s just daddy’s little girl. Aren’t ya, peach?”

She left a slobbery kiss, well, her version of a kiss (which was more tongue than lip) on his nose. He scrunched up his face, and her features pinched together in return, mimicking him.

“See, jus’ a little mini-me you are,” he said, tickling under her chin.

And when she called out to him after saying their final farewells in the airport, it made it even more difficult for him to leave.

Maybe it was a sign that he shouldn’t leave.

He should have listened.

He’s knocked back into the present when his baby girl looks up at him, eyes lit up with innocence, completely unaware of the dire situation they’re in. They’re not in their London home, and Y/N’s not there with him. His lips wobble, nose burning. His chest hurts, whether from unshed tears or from the thought of actually losing the love of his life, he doesn’t know.

He cups his baby girl’s cheek.

Rhia has Y/N’s eyes. He loves her eyes. When she first opened them, as he held her for the first time, bundled tightly in his arms, he cried big, fat tears until they were all dried up. He felt nothing but love for this little human because she was a perfect mixture of him and Y/N. He loves Rhiannon’s eyes, but now, they serve as nothing but a deathly reminder of his wife, who could possibly not survive these next few hours.

She gives him a gummy smile, her little tongue slipping out over her lips. There’s some white peeking through her gums, and his heart aches. He wipes some drool from her chin, and she reaches for him, but he backs away.

His stomach sinks, and he wants the ground to swallow him whole. His mother looks at him softly, not a shred of disappointment apparent on her face, as if she knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his own daughter. His throat closes.

How could he be so weak?

Rhia’s smile drips down, but she lays her head back on her Nana’s shoulder. Anne cups the girl’s head, wrapping the thinly woven blanket tighter around her; sadness and pity present in the air.

“‘M gonna check in with the nurse, see how Y/N’s doin’,” he whispers, backing away, and he stumbles down the hallway, following the signs until he sees the nearest nurse, clad in pale blue scrubs. Even though he’s sure the nurse expects him to look nothing less than distraught, he smooths down his clothes and clears his throat, trying to quell the cries building, lips quivering pitifully.

“Do you have any information on Y/N Styles?” His voice is watery and broken.

The nurse looks at him with sad eyes, warm and understanding, like his mother’s. How does everyone else know what he’s feeling besides himself?

“No, I’m sorry, sir,” she says, and he simply nods. He doesn’t have the energy to be upset or press her anymore. The heaviness on his chest building, he doesn’t even try to stop it anymore. He just wants to wallow, curl up and cry until he’s finally able to wake up from this nightmare. He hates the feeling like he’s just given up, accepted that Y/N may not come back from this.

He wants to fight, but all of the fight he has left him as soon as Jeff told him the news.

“Thank you,” he whispers, heading back to the waiting room. He sits down silently on the chairs next to Gemma, the worn wood squealing from the sudden weight. Anne paces in front of them, rocking Rhia back and forth, like she has been for the past few hours; call it a nervous tick or a mother’s instinct, but holding Rhiannon calms her.

Gemma glances at him in the corner of her eye, unsure of how to comfort him in such a situation. He can see her

“I can’t hold her, Gem,” he says weakly, and she looks at him, finding his gaze held on the small little bundle in their mother’s arms. She sighs. “What if—” There’s a bitter taste on his tongue. He covers his mouth with trembling hands, trying to push back the cries swelling in his chest.

“What if Y/N dies?”

It’s one thing to think about it, but saying it aloud breaks his heart in two.

Y/N has been a constant in his life for six years, and in that time, she became his rock, his shoulder to cry on, his stability, who held his heart so close to her. Then, he thinks about his baby girl, who has had her mother for barely seven months, just to have her ripped away so easily because of some drunk who didn’t know when to quit, and he thinks he’s going to be sick again.

It takes only one mistake to set off a series of irreversible events.

Exhausted, he doesn’t fight the sob that comes out, his shoulders shaking as more and more. He heaves for breath, curling into himself. Gemma wraps an arm around him, and he cries into her shoulder. He feels useless, sinking further into the endless pit in his mind. He’s never considered the possibility of Y/N never being there with him, holding his hand through the fire, and now that possibility is very real; he can’t face it.

When he’s run himself dry, he finally looks at her with red-rimmed eyes and swollen cheeks.

“If she dies, I dunno if I could even look at her,” he admits. “To see her eyes...” Gemma just listens. She knows that there’s nothing she could ever say to make the situation any better. She holds her brother’s hands tightly. “I should have been here,” he says, nodding softly.

“Harry, there’s nothing you could have done. It’s that prick’s fault, not yours,” she says angrily. She’s trying to keep calm, for everyone’s sake, but it’s difficult when it feels like her family is being torn apart.

“I would’ve been driving,” Harry insists. “I would be the one in there, not her, and they would’ve been safe.”

“You don’t know that,” Gemma argues softly. She’s never seen him like this before, but that’s to be expected in the situation they’re in. He’s normally such an optimistic person, and to hear him degrade himself is almost too much to handle.

“If she does make it—”

“When she makes it,” Gem snaps.

“She’s gonna hate me. I know it.”

“She has never blamed you for anything, not when fans gave her shit, not when paps would follow her, and especially not when you had to leave. There are some things that are simply out of our control, and she understands. She understands that you can’t be there all the time. She understands that this is your job, and your job has made you who you are today. She won’t blame you for this either, so don’t blame yourself.”

“You don’t understand,” he sighs. It’s true. She does not understand what he’s gone through. She doesn’t know what it feels like, but she knows that the damage is already done. There’s no use in looking back and analyzing everything to see what they could have done differently.

“I should’ve been here.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“Harry?” A shallow, unfamiliar voice speaks from behind him, making everyone raise their heads.

Anxiety spikes in his stomach. He wonders how anyone could have recognized him, since there is absolutely no one else in the hospital, and how insensitive they would have to be to come talk to him while he’s in such a state. Anger bubbles within him, his skin turning hot as he turns to face the woman.

The blood on her uniform makes him pause.

“My name is Leslie. I was one of the first people on the scene.”

“Do you know anything?” She shakes her head sadly.

“But I was with your wife in the ambulance. She wanted me to tell you that she loves you and…” She coughs, hesitation clear on her features. “And not to give up.”

She probably doesn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words because when he stands and tugs her into a hug, she tenses, hesitantly wrapping her arms around him. Again, like when he saw his baby girl, hope warms him, blanketing and strengthening him.

It’s like Y/N is speaking to him through her.

“Thank you,” he whispers, offering her a weak smile. Just as they part, an older woman rounds the corner. Everyone sits up a little straighter, the air becoming a little tenser, when she gets closer to them.

“She’s resting, now, but she should be up in a few hours,” the doctor smiles.

Harry wants to crumple to the ground as a weight lifts from his chest, and he can finally breathe. He’s run ragged, a broken cry slipping out of his blubbering lips. He tugs Gemma into his arms, who returns the embrace wholeheartedly. Such relief and warmth fills him that he can barely hear the doctor as she continues.

“There was some pretty severe internal bleeding, but we got her stabilized. She also had a couple broken ribs, nothing that time and care won’t heal. After we do some more tests, she should be released in about a week. I can show you to her room, if you’d like?”

“Yes,” Harry cries.

When they reach Y/N’s room, Harry pauses outside and turns to his mother. Her eyes, noticing the confliction in his eyes, are soft and understanding. He never thought about seeing her in such a state until now, but least she’s still with him, his little fighter, just like Rhi.

“Mum, can I, uh…” He nibbles on his lip, holding his arms out.

“Course,” Anne says, moving the baby in his open arms.

“Hi, peach,” he says, smiling. She sleeps contentedly, her features relaxed. His heart twinges as she burrows herself into his chest, and he wraps the blanket a little tighter around her.

“We’ll go to the cottage and get some extra clothes for you all,” Gemma says, knowing that Harry needs this time alone. She tugs her mother, who hesitates but soon follows.

He expected her condition to be poor, but that doesn’t stop the burning in his eyes when he sees her, hooked up to what seems like dozens of machines, her face swollen, and stitches along her hairline; she looks so fragile, so broken, but her heart beat is strong, breathing steady. As if sensing her father’s discomfort, Rhi burrows further in his arms, snuffling lightly.

He settles in a chair next to Y/N’s bed, one hand holding hers while the other arm cradles his baby.

“Gave daddy a scare earlier, peach,” he coos. “Daddy’s sorry that he wasn’t there with ya.”

He promises her many things, that she’s safe, that nothing will ever happen to her, and that her mum is safe, too, but most importantly, he promises to be there for her. He cries silently, careful to keep the tears and painful jolts of his chest from waking Rhi. He just can’t help it. After the dust settles and the smoke is cleared, the gravity of the situation weighs on him: he could have lost the two most important people in his life, and he would not have been there.

A nurse stops by to bring a bassinet for Rhiannon and to check on Y/N, who is doing wonderfully, especially after such an invasive surgery.

Y/N wakes after about an hour, just as the sun peaks beyond the horizon. Harry is still up, of course, watching his girls, finding comfort in the heart monitor. He pushes the bassinet back and forth with his foot.

“H?”

He beams when he hears her voice, gravely and worn, but it’s her voice nonetheless, comforting and warm. He wishes that he could hold her and kiss her until his love heals her wounds, but he has to settle for holding her hand and kissing her forehead for the time being.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, tears slipping past her swollen eyes. “It happened so fast.”

“What are you sorry for, lovie? You did absolutely nothin’ wrong,” he says, brushing back her hair.

“You had to leave because I wasn’t being careful enough, and I—”

His heart aches, eyes glazing over. He hates that he made her feel like his job was more important than her.

“No, none of that,” he says, shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter. Listen, this was not your fault, and as far as tour goes, it’s not nearly as important as you two. I would drop everythin’ if you needed me to. There is nothin’ that I wouldn’t do for you. You know that, right? You both are my life, now; I made that promise the day we got married and the day she was born. You both are my number one priority, and I haven’t been treating you like it. For that, I’m so sorry.”

“Harry—”

“It was selfish of me to think that I could live in the past and the present, live the life that I used to while trying to be a father and a husband. It wasn’t fair of me, and I am so, so very sorry, babylove.”

He kisses her, careful of her bruises, and she sinks further into the bed, comforted by his warm words and tender touches. Her eyes, fluttering with exhaustion and filled with tears, refuse to close, as if she’s afraid that he’ll be gone by the time she wakes. He runs his thumb along her cheek, mindful of the swollen areas. For the first time in what feels like years, his mind is calm, basking in the feeling of happiness as he’s finally able to feel and see his family, safe and within his reach. That’s all he’s ever wanted, and as he sees her nodding off, he presses a quick kiss to her knuckles, whispering.

“Rest, lovie, I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”

She falls asleep with a faint smile.

Perhaps, fate isn’t cruel as many think. Just like anything, it can be merciful and loving for those who are worth mercy and love.

—

[tomiokai]

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts || Spencer Reid

Masterlist

A/N: This is a fic I have wanted to write for a long time, and I have read this concept a whole bunch of times from different fandom so it isn’t my original idea. Kudos to whoever made this idea first, I love it, but I did want to write one with my own twist. So yeah, enjoy. I don’t drink so bare with me. Maybe a happy part two, possibly. 

Please don’t copy my works, but if you do want to use it as inspiration please give me credit, at least tag me. I do read a lot and when I see my ideas getting stolen and then turned into new stories it really hurts me.

Summary: After Y/n and Spencer’s one-sided breakup, Y/n gets drunk on their breakup anniversary and calls Spencer and admits that she still loves him and that she is mothering his child. This is after prison Spencer so he isn’t as nice!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Angst. Not a happy ending, I really wanted it to be a happy ending but life sucks so whatever. Alcohol obviously. Have your tissues ready if you are sensitive. Swearing. 

Word Count: 3.2k

_

“I’m sorry Y/n but I don’t love you anymore. Everything about us is just so complicated. We’re always fighting and arguing, and my job is very stressful and time-consuming, our fire burned out a long time ago and we just don’t belong together anymore. I just can’t do this with you, I’m sorry and I hope you’ll find someone else and please forgive me one day” 

Those were the words that ended our 2-year relationship. Spencer didn’t love me anymore. He left me standing there in the rain outside of the BAU, 10 o’clock at night, in the dark, alone. He walked away from me, from our child that he didn’t even know about, I was going to tell him but he left before I could. And I knew that if I told him about our child I would burden him with our child. With me. 

Of course the team was devastated when they were informed that we had broken up.

 Garcia, JJ, Emily, and I still hang out regularly, we would go to nightclubs, and bars and all sorts of fun places together, we never lost our connection with each other. Spencer was a topic that was never brought up when we hung out, but when he was the whole mood would be killed. 

Rossi and I would meet up every second Saturday of the month and we would have a nice dinner together and talk, nothing romantic, only a father-daughter relationship. He was also the godfather to Spencer and I’s child. And of course Penelope was the godmother, it was a tough decision between the girls, but since Penelope had the least dangerous part of the job she was the best choice.  

Henry Y/l/n Reid was the beautiful baby boy I had given birth to on October 31 weighing 7.6 pounds. A coincidence to say the least, it was on Spencer’s favorite holiday. He took up almost all of Spencer’s facial features, only leaving Henry with my y/h/c hair, and plump lips. He looked too much like Spencer, anyone who looked at Henry would immediately assume he was Spencer’s. When I was in labor, practically the whole team came rushing to the hospital leaving Spencer alone at the BAU for a few hours. I had made everyone keep it a secret to not tell Spencer until I decided too and so when they had gone back they all had their own excuses. It has been two years since our breakup, I had raised him myself, along with the girls, and Rossi. It was hard being a single mother, 2-year-old Henry had definitely inherited Spencer’s genius brain and had on multiple occasions asked where his daddy was. Every time the answer would be, “Daddy has a very busy job and doesn’t have time, he travels a lot, but he’s coming back really soon”.  And that was how it went every single day for two years. 

On many occasions JJ would suggest I tell Spencer but every time I would decline and say, “not yet”.  

All this time I was still madly in love with Spencer. Every night I would cry myself to sleep knowing the person I loved the most other than Henry didn’t love me back. He had moved on, on several occasions Emily would come to tell me about the girls she would see Spencer flirting with. It wasn’t something I wanted to know, but I needed to know. A very small part of my heart suggests that if I had told Spencer the night I found out about Henry he would have never left me, but Spencer had stopped loving me long before that and telling him would burden him to me. I loved him, so so much, and it was all my fault he didn’t love me back. Rossi, every time we met up would tell me it wasn’t my fault that Spencer had fallen out of love with me, but deep down inside of me it felt like it was. Maybe it was because of Maeve, maybe not. 

Laying in bed crying, that is exactly what I was doing right this moment. The tears spilling out of my eyes staining the plush white pillow under my head, my body curled in the fetal position. Trembling, shaking, coldness, and the choked sobs from my lips filled the air. Henry completely oblivious of what's happening, was sleeping in the room next door. Whenever Henry saw me cry he would wrap me in a tight long hug, his small arms squeezing me tightly, his cheek on my shoulders, he never said anything, just hugged me. He truly was a smart little boy. 

Tonight's tears were different. They didn’t just come out of my eyes, they poured out. Today marked the official 2 year break up anniversary, two whole years knowing the person you loved the most probably had someone else on their mind. 

‘He never loved you.’

‘He’s too good for you.’

‘He hates you.’

‘He loves someone else.’

‘He wants nothing to do with you.’

‘He left you alone.’

‘YOU WEREN’T GOOD ENOUGH, THAT’S WHY HE LEFT YOU.’

‘YOU'RE A WHORE.’

‘YOU'RE UGLY.’ 

‘YOU DON’T DESERVE LOVE.”

The voices never stopped, slapping at my brain. The pounding just got worse whenever I tried to ignore it. 

That's it. I bolted up from my bed and started walking towards the kitchen. Wine, Vodka, Beer, all those sounded great right now. And you know what that’s exactly what's going to happen. To get wasted. I’m never this reckless, but tonight, tonight was an exception, it hurt too much, the pain jabbing at my heart was too much to handle. 

I stomped quietly down the halls of my apartment and swung the kitchen cabinet door that held the booze open. Nothing. 

Plan b. 

Grabbing the skimpiest dress I owned I threw it on and taped up on some light makeup. The dress I had on looked so slutty I almost decided to just cancel my plans, the dress was a deep dark shade of emerald green, it had almost the thinnest straps, a plunging neckline, and a skirt that stopped at the top of my thighs. For makeup a smokey eye with gold and blood-red lipstick. I grabbed my long y/h/c hair and pulled it into a slick, tight ponytail at the top of my head and turned to the bathroom mirror. I looked like a desperate whore, I had thought to myself as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The jabbing was not going to let me rest so I threw my stupid thoughts about being a whore out of my head and called Rossi. 

David picked up on the third ring.

“Y/n why are you calling me at 10:30pm?” David’s voice came from the other end. 

“I’m so sorry David for waking you up so late but could you please please please come to my apartment and watch Henry for a few hours? He’s asleep already! All you have to do is listen for him.” My voice pleaded, sounding more desperate than the time I begged Spencer to come back. 

“Fine, but you owe me a coffee tomorrow,” David answered shuffling around his apartment for a coat and his keys. “I’ll be there in 3 minutes. 

“Thank you, see you,” I said into the phone and hung up.

Three minutes passed and as Rossi promised he showed up. 

I swung the door open as soon as I heard the knock on the door. 

Rossi just stood there looking at me with a disapproving look on his face. I could tell he already knew what I was up to. After all he is a profiler. 

I stepped aside so David could step in. 

“I’m only doing this because I know you need this,” Rossi said stepping in. 

“Thank you,” I said a small smile on my face. 

“Be safe okay? And don’t do anything you’ll regret.” David said, taking off his coat and sitting down in the armchair by the tv. 

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few hours and the guest room is always open.” I said grabbing my purse and closing the door. 

I called a cab to take me to the most popular night club. The more people the better. The driver kept eyeing me throughout the entire car ride, and I get why, I did dress like a lady that wanted nothing but attention. 

When we stopped in front of the club, I jumped out and threw my money to the driver before he could say anything and walked away and into the club. 

The club was crowded as I had suspected, this was good this way I blended in. 

As I made my way to the bar part of the club, I felt insane amounts of prying eyes on me, but I chose to ignore all of them.

“I’d like the strongest drink you have here,” I said to the bartender as I slapped down a few bucks.

“Break up?” The bartender asked as he picked up the money. 

“You can say that,” I said holding the tears back. 

I waited as the male bartender, Elliot I had read on his tag, prepared my drink. All around me were couples dancing and grinding against each other. Jealousy. that's what I was feeling right now at the moment. 

The bartender brought back my drink and I downed it in a matter of seconds. What came afterward hit strong. The drink made my mind fuzzy and fluffy. That’s good. I wanted to feel the clouds. Right? 

“I’ll take three more of these.”  I slurred already dizzy. 

“I’m sorry miss but you can’t have more than three of these, they are very strong.” The bartender said back. 

“I’ll pay double,” I answered.

“I’m sorry miss, but it's against policy, and I have a good idea how you are feeling, and it may seem like a good idea right now, but it’ll suck later,” Elliot responds back. 

“Fine, two more than,” I said handing him more bills. 

He took the money without any words and walked to the back to prepare the drinks. I may be no profiler but I can sure as hell tell he thinks I’m psychotic.

Elliot brought back my drinks, and I gave him a quick thanks. I grabbed my second glass and stared around me again.  Happy couples everywhere. Ugh. I downed my second glass as an attractive man approached me. 

“Hey pretty lady, mind if I take you home for tonight?” The man asked. 

I thought about it. I really did. But I loved Spencer way too much. “No thank you,” I answered. 

“Come on.” The man said, grabbing my hand roughly. His face dangerously close to mine that I could smell his disgusting breath.

“NO THANKS,” I repeated trying to pull my wrists away.

His hand tightened against my arm. “Come on you whore! You're basically asking for it by the way you're dressed.” The man spat. 

I started struggling and pulling but the man wouldn’t let go one bit. 

“Hey let her go, the lady said no,” Elliot said approaching the counter towards us. 

The man looked at me in disgust and let go of my wrists and walked away stomping his feet. 

“Thanks,” I said as tears started spilling out of my eyes. 

“Yeah no problem, be safe okay?” He asked. 

“Yeah okay,” I answered as I chugged my last glass of alcohol.

I stood up, wobbling, and tried my best to make my way out of the club. 

I could still hear the music as I walked out of the club. It was pouring rain outside. Great. My stupid ass didn’t bring a jacket.  I saw a phone booth a few feet away and I quickly made my way to it, tripping and stumbling a bit. Everything around me was spinning and I felt like I could be flying right now. I closed the door to the phone booth and just clutched to the wall as I tried to sort out all my thoughts. 

Then an idea struck me. Call Spencer Reid. 

If I wasn’t drunk I wouldn’t have done it, but now it was too late, the numbers were already dialed, and the phone was already against my ear. 

On the fifth ring he picked up. He picked up. Picked up. He actually picked up.

“Hello?” Came Spencer's angelic voice, although he sounded pissed. 

“Spencer? Is- Is that you?” I slurred stuttering like crazy. I already knew but I had to make sure.

“Y/n is that you? Why do you sound drunk?” Spencer’s voice came.

“Of course dummy I’m drunk, why else would I be calling.” I laughed, bubbly hiccups erupting my mouth. 

“Why are you calling me y/n, it's one in the morning and I’m kind of busy.” He said, definitely pissed.  “Wait are you outside?”

“Y-yes,” I answered back.

There was a long pause. 

What I said next was not something I would have said if I wasn’t pissed drunk. “I really miss you Spence. And, and I love you so much and I hate that you left m-”

“Stop Y/n I don’t want to hear it. I told you two years ago that I don't love you.” Spencer stopped me.

“Spencer please, please, please. I’m s-s-sorry for whatever i- I did.” I sobbed tears, definitely pouring out of my eyes. 

“I’m sorry Y/n. I told you a million ti-.” Before he could finish, a female voice came on. “Hey babe who is that?”

CRACK. That was my heartbreaking. 

“I’m not your babe Amanda.” I barely hear,  my choked sobs were stopping me from focusing on anything. 

“Is-is that a woman?” I clocked out. 

“Yes it is, I told you I was kinda busy.” Spencer spat. 

That’s it. That’s when I snapped. “THAT’S IT IF YOU’RE GOING TO SLEEP WITH OTHER WOMEN, I WON’T LET YOU MEET HENRY, YOU BASTARD,” I screamed into the poor phone. 

My eyes immediately popped open in horror as I realized what I just yelled. I slapped my hand to my mouth in horror. Tears definitely still pouring out my eyes.

“Who’s Henry?” Spencer asked.

“NO. NO. NO. NO.” I screamed on the phone, still in denial. 

“Get dressed and get out of my house. GO!” I heard Spencer from a distance. “I’m coming to pick you up,” Spencer said to me.

“Why would you fucking do that?” I cried. 

“Because obviously you’re bat shit drunk Y/n. And plus if I left you to die in a random phone box somewhere. Rossi’s going to strangle me. Where are you?” Spencer exclaimed.

“I-I’m on third street in front of the club,” I answered calming down. 

“Okay bye.” He said and hung up. 

“BITCH!” I yelled into the deadline. 

Oh god I’m going to throw up.  I ran out of the phone booth and thankfully my hair is already pulled back. I basically threw up everything I ate for dinner. I rubbed my lips with my arm and saw that my red lipstick was rubbed on my arms which only meant one thing it was rubbed on my cheek too.

I stood by the side of the road both hands in front of me holding my handbag, drenched in rainwater, Mascara running down my soaked cheeks, lipstick smudged. And that’s exactly how I looked when Spencer pulled up on the side of the road. 

Spencer pulled the door open from his seat and motioned me into his car. I climbed into the car and grabbed the seat belt to fasten it but my head was so spiny it was impossible. Spencer grabbed the seat belt from my hands and roughly shoved it in. 

“God you look like a cheap whore,” Spencer stated as he pulled away from the crib.

“I KNOW YOU DON’T HAVE TO RUB IT IN,” I yelled, frustrated. 

“Jesus women calm down I’m just saying,” Spencer said calmly, eyes never leaving the road. 

I sat there in silence frustrated as hell. 

“So who’s Henry? Your new boyfriend?” Spencer sneered.

On any other day when I’m sober I would have played along with it, but no.

“No,” I answered staring straight ahead. 

“Then who is he?” Spencer asked, turning his head to me.

“No one.” I spat, making eye contact with him. 

“You can’t just bring a random guy up and not tell me!” Spencer said, clearly frustrated. 

“YES I CAN,” I yelled.

“JUST TELL ME JESUS CHRIST.” He yelled back.

I bit my lip as I started balling my eyes out. 

“Just tell me.” Spencer urged. 

“HE’S YOUR TWO-YEAR-OLD SON. OKAY NOW DROP IT!” I snapped. 

His eyes widened in surprise. I looked at him in horror, slapping my hand to my mouth. 

“I have a son?” Spencer asked, amazed, but also looking angry. “And you didn’t tell me for two years?” 

I just nodded covering the rest of my face crying into my hands. 

“When were you going to tell me?” He asked.

I didn’t answer.

“WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME?” Spencer yelled. 

I looked up at him and his face was all red and he was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were turning white. 

“I don’t know.” I choked out.

We neared my apartment building and Spencer parked his car. “Get out, I’ll call you when I’m less pissed at you.” Spencer managed between clenched teeth.

I just sat there cause I really didn’t know what to do.

“I SAID GET OUT OF MY CAR NOW!” Spencer yelled, his hands in the air now. 

“OKAY, BYE,” I screamed back and got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Spencer immediately drove away, no hesitation, and never looked back.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, tears still pouring out my eyes, dress still soaked, and makeup all over. 

When I opened my apartment door Rossi stood up and looked at me. With one look Rossi knew and ran towards me to wrap me in a very tight hug

I dropped my bag onto the floor and hugged Rossi back, crying into his shoulder as he patted my wet hair. 

Part two?