#also this was a little late I'm sorry but I was sick and wanted to give this proper attention

[in-silver-lake]

everything's different now.

warnings: sa (not actually described, but there's flashbacks), angst, hurt/comfort, could be read as bsf!billie, no clearly happy ending bc i'm sorry but absolutely not. a/n: okay slight switch up - i actually wrote this for myself a long time ago when i just really needed a billie, it's also not really proofread. please please please do not read if you think it's gonna trigger you in any way.

3.5k

what do I do? what the fuck do I do now?

i’m outside the house, surrounded completely by white-walled mansions and rounded hedges and sickening ornate front gates feeling like an absolute fool. the late hour turned the night air cold, and i watched each puff of white air fade in front of me with every gasp I drew in, feeling strangely detached from myself. i looked behind me at the house - before, it seemed elegant, but now, its pointed roof seemed menacing, the concrete exterior entirely too cold and impersonal, and all i wanted to do was put as much distance between it and me.

i had been so excited for tonight, to celebrate my friend’s birthday, to see old friends from school i hadn’t seen in forever, to just relax and drink and get out of my head. i had rambled uncontrollably about it all day, worn my favourite little red dress - the one that’s almost too short in the back, that hugs my waist just right. i listened to tupac and dr. dre with my friends as i did my makeup, layering on highlighter like i was going to a concert, giggling with them like we were sixteen again with nothing to loose. we had practically run out of the house to the Uber with an enthusiasm that now felt so overwhelming foolish i wanted to throw up. 

i could still feel his breath on my lips, the bruising ache of my shoulder blades pressing into the tiled walls, the searing burn of his hands sliding low and his mouth on my neck.

i couldn’t go home yet, it’s still hours from when i was supposed to be back and the thought of facing my parents made me feel sick to my stomach and my face burn with shame and sickening stupidity. no, home was definitely not an option right now. i reached into my pocket to check the time: 1:36am. my phone screen looked blurry in front of me, reminding me of the shake in my hands and the tears in my eyes as i desperately tried to compose myself. step one, i thought, was to get the fuck away from this place. so i started walking down the street, my bare legs chaffing through the rip in my tights as i passed rows and rows of identical houses, letting them all blur in my peripheral until i saw redbrick instead of white and grey, neon CLOSED signs instead of flawlessly manicured front gardens. 

i had no idea how long i had been walking for, but the blare of car horns woke me out of my stupor. i looked around to see strips of lit-up take-away shops, groups of drunken strangers swarming as they sought out a late night meal, car lights so bright they turned by vision blurry, and i realised i had no clue where i was. with rips in my tights, tangles in my hair, surrounded by strangers on a street i didn’t know, in a body i no longer felt comfortable in, i had never felt more deeply, dizzyingly vulnerable.

i opened my phone, trying to find someone i could call who wasn’t my parents or still at that party. before i knew what i was doing, i clicked billie’s contact, craving something familiar and safe. i lifted my phone to my ear hearing it ring once, twice, belatedly remembering the time and that she could be asleep, but before i could hang up the line connected.

“hey baby girl, you ok?” she asked, her voice light with a slight laugh, but i couldn’t hear any loud noise in the background, so at least I wasn’t interrupting a night out. i struggled to keep my composure, my voice wavering as i replied, “I don’t know?”

“baby?” her voice got lower, tighter. there’s no trace of the amusement from her initial greeting. “are you good? what the hell’s going on?”

“i, um, i was at this party, and then i left, and now i don’t know where the fuck i am and i can’t go home and i don’t know what to do-”

“hey, hey, calm down, calm down, it’s okay. send me your location, i’m coming to get you.” in the background of her call i hear the low voice of finneas asking if it was me on the phone.

panicking now, realising i’d interrupted them, that she was probably comfortable at home, i quickly responded, “no, no, you don’t need to do that, i promise, i’m so sorry for interrupting you, i didn’t think about how late it was-”

“baby, stop. send me your location.” she said firmly, no hesitation. “finneas, get up, you’re coming with me-”

“no! wait, um-” i cut her off, rudely, not knowing how to say that the thought of being in such a small space with another man right now made my heart jump to my throat, “um, it’s all good, finneas you really don’t need to come.”

“baby girl, it’s all good, he doesn’t mind, he wants to make sure you’re okay just like i do-”

“no, please, just, finneas just please don’t come,” i plead. there’s a moment of silence before i hear billie’s soft, but somewhat confused, response of, “okay, alright, it’s all good, he’s not coming with me.”

“okay, okay, thank you,” i breathe before i brought my phone away from my ear to share my location with her. when i brought it back up to my ear, the static had intensified, and i knew she had connected to her car.

“I just sent it.”

“alright, i’m on my way, i won’t be long, okay? are you by yourself?”

“uh, yes.” 

i hear her draw in a breath, “okay, okay, i’m coming soon, okay? but love, what made you want to roam the streets at two in the morning by yourself? i don’t want nothin’ to happen to you, baby.”

my breath hitched as i tried to figure out what to say, the irony of that statement hitting me hard. i knew, logically, that i shouldn’t be embarrassed, but my shame still shut me up, and so instead i tried to play it off, but Ii couldn’t keep the waver from my voice as i responded, “ah, well, y’know, i didn’t really, um, plan on it…”

“love? what happened?” i could hear the concern in her voice, and it made me want to cry.

“i just don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? please?”

all i heard was silence for a moment, and i worried that i had offended her, but instead she just said “okay, that’s okay. i’m fifteen minutes away, alright? hold on.”

and so i stood there, listening to the slight static through the phone and the occasional muffled thump of billie changing gears as she drove.

eventually i see her car pull over, and i briefly catch a glimpse of myself in her tinted windows - my frizzy hair, the faint runs of mascara down my cheeks - before i opened the door and was immediately engulfed in the familiar scent of her cologne. i turned to her, mustering up what i hoped was a normal-ish sounding hey, watching as her sharp blue eyes took in my dishevelled appearance, as they flickered down to my ripped tights and settled back on my face. my face went red as i pulled at my dress, desperately willing the material to cover them.

“baby,” she whispered brokenly, the combination of her soft tone and the knowledge that i was finally somewhere safe overwhelming me, grounding me, as if my body had finally been given a chance to recognise what had happened. i tried not to sob as i drew in shaky breath after shaky breath, and i brought my hand up to cover my mouth, as if i could somehow force the emotion back down. i caught her eye, and she was looking at me with an overwhelming sadness that didn’t make keeping my composure any easier. 

“what can i do?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper, eyes glassy.

“take me back to yours, please, i don’t want to go home,” i mumble, looking away, unable to meet her eyes and instead focusing on the mud on my boots - when did they get so dirty?

she simply replied with an okay, and i was so grateful she didn’t question me or fight me on it, i didn’t think i had it in me to talk or argue right then. she pulled out from the curb and started driving back the way i had walked. i focused on my hands in my lap, fiddling with the rings on my fingers and picking at the skin around my nails. she kept glancing over at me, her sharp blue eyes taking in every detail, subtly looking me over, checking for any cuts or scrapes or outward signs of injury. i didn’t tell her that i don’t think i’d be able to feel any of it, anyways.

she offered her hand to me, palm up, and without hesitation i grasped it, squeezing hard, and she squeezed back, not saying anything about the discomfort my tight grip had to be causing.

instead, she simply whispers, “i love you, baby,” and i only hear the slightest waver in her voice. we sat in silence all the way back to her house, and i concentrated all my energy on her hand in mine, a hand that was so reassuringly different from his, memorising the curve of her wrist, her short, clipped nails, examining her tattoo and tracing the thin black lines with my eyes.

“we’re here,” she said softly, slowly untangling her hand from mine before she got out. i looked up, dazed, trying to orientate myself, not even realising that she had walked over to my side before she was opening the car door. she crouched down, offering her hand as she spoke quietly, “come on, love, let’s go inside.” i immediately grasped it again, even though i knew i was in her home, that i was safe place, i needed something to ground me.

i barely noticed what was around me as i walked through the garage door and through her house, looking up to see we were in her kitchen, with finneas sitting at the island on his phone.

“hey, billie, you’ve got to see this, it’s so fucking stupid, someone edited this photo, they swapped me and claudia-” finneas turned around, laughter on his lips, before he abruptly stopped when he saw me. i watched him take me in, not dissimilar to the way billie did, and saw how he stiffened, saw the realisation dawn on his face.

hefore he could say anything, i started rambling nervously, “i’m so sorry for this, for imposing, and i was so rude to you on the phone, i feel stupid, and i know it’s so late…” billie squeezed my hand, cutting me off, but before she could say anything, finneas cut in, “nah, nah, please don’t worry about it, you’re not imposing…is everything okay?” his eyes flickered between me and billie, trying to gauge the situation.

“i just, i really needed help, so i called billie.” i reply quietly, and an uncomfortable silence settled around the three of us.

“finneas, do you reckon you could give us a second?” billie asked, shifting and stepping forward slightly, placing herself as a physical barrier between me and finneas.

“yeah, yes of course. holler if you need anything, okay?” and just like that, finneas left the room, no questions asked, and headed upstairs. billie walked me over to a stool at the bench, and as i sat i stared at the shiny white marble in front of me, following the lines and swirls, wondering how the fuck they make marble, anyways?

she pushed a glass of water in front of me, and i brought it up to my mouth with shaky hands.

“baby girl, i love you, okay? you don’t gotta tell me what happened if you don’t want to, i just wanna know, do you need to go to the hospital?”

i shook my head, “no, no, i’m…no, i don’t need to, it’s okay.” upon hearing my words, billie let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, before she continued, “okay, that’s so fine. do you need anything then? do you have any cuts or anything?”

although i hadn’t really felt much of anything since i left that house, at least until i got into her car, in the warm, safe glow of her kitchen, i realised my wrist was throbbing.

“um…do you have any ice?”

“yeah, yeah, of course, hang on.”

i watched as she reached into her freezer, pulling out an ice pack and grabbing a tea towel from the counter, laying it out flat on the bench. i watched as she folded it over the ice pack, carefully, almost reverently, before handing it to me. i pulled up the right sleeve of my dress, revealing a ring of red around my wrist that would turn purple the next morning, wincing as i pressed the ice pack to it to try dull the low, thumping pain radiating from it. billie drew in a sharp breath as she caught a glimpse, her head dropping between her shoulders as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“baby…”

“i just feel so stupid,” i started, staring at this one spot on the bench where the marble thickens, “so stupid.”

“baby girl, no, you’re not stupid, you’re so incredibly smart and brave. i don’t know what happened, but i don’t believe for a second that you’re stupid,” she insisted, locking her eyes with mine as she tried to get her point across, a furrow in her brow and frown on her lips. i drew in a heavy breath, focusing on smoothing over every word i said in an attempt to stop my voice from breaking, “i was at this party, and it was great - i was chatting to people i hadn’t seen in ages, everything felt so…light. i was sitting in the living room, and someone tripped and spilled their drink on me, so i went to the bathroom with one of my friends to try and dry my dress a little.”

billie swallowed, seemingly steeling herself, but she didn’t break eye contact, and reached over to grip my hand, so i kept talking.

“and he was talking to me as i was trying to dab at my dress, and i was only half listening, y’know? but then he starts telling me how pretty i am, how good my body looks in my dress, and i didn’t know what to say, i even laughed at him a little - i mean, i’ve known this guy for so long…”

my breath hitched, and i couldn’t keep the tears from rolling down my face, but i needed to keep talking, and billie was so steady, her gaze never faltering and as her hand maintained its pressure on mine.

“i didn’t see him when he came up behind me, but he put his hands on my waist, telling me he’s wanted this for so long, and i didn’t believe what was happening, i thought - i thought he was joking or something, but then i was against the wall, and i was trying to push him off, but he - his hands were on me, everywhere, and he wouldn’t stop, he - he was kissing me, pulling at my tights and he -i felt -” 

i started to get worked up, my breathing speeding up and all of a sudden it was all too much, and i could feel him on me again, feel the sting of his nails digging into my skin and the claustrophobic press of his body against mine, smell the beer and cigarettes on his breath and hear the drunken slurring of his words, c’mon, you know you want to…

i felt the frantic thump of my heart, i could feel it in my throat. as if from very far away, i heard billie’s voice, barely making out what she was saying, trying desperately to focus on the tangible sensation of her hand gripping mine, of that firm pressure. 

“baby, you’re not there anymore, you’re with me, you’re with billie, at my house. you’re sitting at my kitchen bench, finneas is upstairs, and you’re safe here, you’re so safe, alright?” faintly, i heard the muffled clunk of her freezer door opening, and then i felt something wet in my other hand. i focused on that burning cold, trying to hear what she was saying, on the tangible feeling of her hand grasping mine, and eventually i calmed down enough that my vision cleared, and i could hear again, though i didn’t let go of the ice cube, the burn of the cold on my hand providing a clarity that i wasn’t ready to give up.

“are you okay?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper as her eyes followed mine.

“yeah, i - god, i’m so sorry, i don’t know why i’m freaking out so bad, he didn’t - he didn’t actually - i got out before he went all the way,” i breathed, feeling the slight tremor that still lingered in my hands.

“nah, nah, you can’t be minimising this shit, what you just went through was traumatic, it doesn’t matter how far it did or didn’t go, alright? being in that situation is terrifying.” her voice was low and her eyes serious as she spoke to me, her dark hair falling forward as she leant over the bench. 

“i’ve known him for so long, y’know? i’ve - i’ve called him my friend for years, he’s been there for me and i’ve been there for him, i just - how could he do this?” i plea, searching her eyes as if she could give me an answer that made any sort of sense. she just sighed, overcome with a defeated expression, asking “baby, is it ok if i give you a hug?”

i thought about it for a second, took stock of my body and how fast my heart was beating and how fast I was breathing before i nodded. without hesitation, she walked around the bench, held her arms out and drew me into her chest, my face against the soft cotton of her shirt as her arms came around me. with one hand on my back and the other softly stroking my hair, i started bawling, the overwhelming feeling of safety ripping down all of my emotional barriers - and she just stood there and held me, absorbing it all, softly kissing the top of my head. 

“baby girl, you’re so strong and smart and talented. i know this might mean nothing to you now, but i believe in you. i’m so proud of the person you are, and i’m so proud of you for telling me everything tonight,” she whispered into my hair. I let her words linger in the air for a few minutes, let them wrap around me, willing myself to internalise what she was saying. Eventually, i spoke up, and, not knowing how to say thank you, i instead teased, “wow, when did you get so sappy?”

“shut up,” she giggled, but her arms tightened around me and she was serious again for a moment as she said softly, “i’m here for you always, baby, no matter what, you hear me?”

after a moment, i whispered back. “yeah, i hear you.” 

we stood in silence for a while, and i felt my racing thoughts slowly settle. eventually, billie spoke up. 

“do you wanna stay here the night? or do you wanna go back home?”

“Ddo you reckon - would you mind if i stayed here?”

“no, of course you can stay here. you wanna get changed?”

“i really, really want a shower, if that’s okay?” i asked, desperately needing to wash the night off my skin.

“c’mon, let’s go upstairs.” 

she kept my hand in hers as she lead me up dark wooden stairs and opened the second door on the right, showing me into her bathroom before she ducked out quickly to grab me some sweatpants and a big shirt, the spare pajamas that i always kept here.

“just call out if you need anything, okay? i’m only a shout away, i’ll just be in finneas’ room.”

i don’t know how long I was in the shower for, but at some point i realised the water was running cold, and that i should probably get out. i walked down the stairs into the living room to see billie settled into the couch, blanket over her lap as she scrolled on her phone. she looked up and put her phone to the side as I walked around and sat next to her, sinking into the couch. too tired to think or talk anymore, i reached for the remote and flicked onto some random sitcom re-run before i leant back into the couch, billie mirroring my actions unquestioningly. 

for the rest of the night, we watched episode after episode, sitting mostly in silence, occasionally poking fun at the characters as i let my mind relax into the comfort of billie’s presence. nothing was okay, yet, but for now i had this moment of peace.

[verysunnyscheme]

🌤️ — okay, hear me out-

🌤️ — can I ask for romantic Yandere!Plain Yogurt Cookie (older brother of Yogurt Cream, y'know) x Fem!Reader hcs please? [CRO] like, reader is friend of Yogurt Cream Cookie so they often visit the Opulent Mansion.

🌤️ — you can skip this request if you are not interested or will find it difficult :)

Yandere!Plain Yogurt Cookie Headcanons

~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes; It's been a while since I've heard that name, but I believe that this would be a fun request to do. Once again, please bear in mind that everything I write may not be accurate and that he could act very ooc. I also need more practice in writing for male cookies. The reader here is seen mostly as female, but I did write 'you' a lot of that's better. C:

(Also I think I wrote more than intended, so I'm sorry.)

- Blood and violence warning. These are yandere headcanons, in which I do not condone any of these types of unhealthy behaviours.

~~~~~~~~~~~

) I feel as if he would be a bit curious about you, that he'd see you with his younger brother often. You've managed to catch his eye, and it seems that you've also become fairly acquainted with his brother. Friends perhaps? Maybe. 

) He starts off by introducing himself, Plain Yogurt Cookie sees no need in hiding himself from you, as you've entered and come here as you pleased. Ignoring his own greed and secret hatred for his brother- he gives you a chance. After all, why was someone as beautiful of a cookie, like you, more acquainted with his younger brother rather than him?

) At this point in time, I like to think he would just simply observe you, that the would just follow you around the mansion, as you gawk or gaze at all the fine treasures present. He wants to know what you like, what you dislike, and what you want. Plain Yogurt Cookie wants to set himself apart from your friend, his brother, he wants to be better, to be above him and to be the closest to you. ) Soon, you see changes, in how he acts towards you, and around you. Everything manages to fit your preferences, from clothes to what is being displaced all around. You find it strange yet are grateful that he was listening. ) Overtime, he starts to think more about himself, he starts to think more of what he desires, not just from having you close, but what he could gain. His jealousy and greed has lead him to hiring several assassins to kill his brother, Plain Yogurt Cookie, quickly thinks of multiple ways to play this little plan out. ) At first, he wonders just how much he could take you away from his younger brother, you two were such close friends, so it would be better for him to slowly make his way into your daily life. And so, that's what Plain Yogurt Cookie did. He pushed his greediness and hatred aside, letting his focus stay solely on you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He seemed like such a charming and responsible cookie, you couldn't help but feel like Plain Yogurt Cookie was a good friend to rely on, much like his brother. He seemed like such a responsible cookie, always there when you needed him, as well as polite. You remembered when you first met him, how nice he was to you. Lately, you've felt as if something was off... come to think of it, it feels like forever since you've hung out with your friend, Yogurt Cream Cookie. Lately it seems as if that cookie is always busy, unable to hang out. But I guess you shouldn't worry- he had Lilac Cookie to protect him after all. Luckily, Plain Yogurt Cookie was always around whenever you'd visit, he always seemed to have a schedule cleared up, or some activity planned for the two of you. How thoughtful of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~ ) He was getting sick of this repeat. Plain Yogurt Cookie was upset- angry even, ..and you weren't helping. There was a lot of failed attempts at assassins on his brother. It only gets worse as Lilac Cookie manages to actually be a 'bodyguard' to his younger brother. ...Still, he won't stop trying. ) Now, on to the topic of you. His behaviour has only gotten more obsessive, Plain Yogurt Cookie's anger with you only flared up. What do you mean you rarely see his brother here anymore? What do you mean you'd like to go with him more? ) Now, is he not enough? Does the topic of your other friends.. or even his brother factor into the fact that you were getting distracted? Drifting away from him? No. He has power here, he has the options here, not you!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Overtime, you've noticed a lot of people around you disappear. You know it's strange, you know something was wrong, and you know that Plain Yogurt Cookie had something to do with it. So, you wanted to leave. You were not stupid, you knew better than to stay here and met your doom. A part of you however, could not leave without saying goodbye to your friend, Yogurt Cream Cookie. You knew it was stupid, but you still went back there. While you returned you overheard a conversation between your friend, Plain Yogurt Cookie and someone else, it was less than savoury. Hearing a plan about crumbling your dear friend Yogurt Cream Cookie. But, weren't they brothers? You didn't know why Plain Yogurt Cookie wanted to see his younger brother dead, to see the strawberry jam within him bleed out and go cold. Weren't they close? ...Unfortunately for you, you are standing within his territory and you are quite literally within hearing distance with him and trained assassins. ~~~~~~~~~~~ ) Now you are trapped. Plain Yogurt Cookie doesn't understand you, in fact, he never did. Why were you so difficult, he tried, he really did, but he's just the type of person who lets his emotions get the better of him. While he wasn't the type to do the work himself, he was more than happy to pay for some other cookie to do it. ) He keeps you locked away, just until his brother and Lilac Cookie were gone. But until then, you are forced to stay in a secure room, no exits and people watching you. Now, Plain Yogurt Cookie doesn't want to do this, but if you run, he will allow the cookies he hired to bring you back- however they deem necessary. This includes violence or hurting you. ) You are stuck with him, he will watch you and make sure you wouldn't leave his side. He has no problem with harming you if you try to escape. He is purely moulded by his greed and obsession over you, his younger brother also playing into that factor.

) He does see you regularly, but not for long anyway. He tries his best, he really does, but it's all hopeless in the end, the damage had been done. Yet he continues to make advances, in his mind, he sees you as someone he loves, but you know that he's just obsessed. ) ...So, I guess he doesn't want to lose you to his younger brother, or to anyone. You see, ...no one has ever caught his eye in such a way before! And-- and you were special!

So, I guess he does love you, he just let's other emotions get in the way of showing it properly. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Notes;

I think I went to heavy on the story type of part, but I really hoped you enjoyed! This was really new to me and I really hope I did well on this. Please let me know if you see any mistakes. And yes, I know this is seriously out of character, but then again, it was yandere headcanons. Anyway, feel free to request! :)

[chaoticwriting]

Fenton Crime Family

-Wayne Manor, Gotham-

Stephanie: So no one is gonna ask why Cass has been out so much lately? Alone too.

Duke: Didn't she say she is going out to meet a friend?

Stephanie: Yeah, but no one knows where she goes. We don't know who she goes out with nor do we know where she goes.

Tim: Just say that you are jealous that Cass is going out without you. No will make fun of you.

Jason & Duke: That's a lie.

Tim: Yeah, that's a lie. I would totally make fun of you.

Stephanie: Shut up nerd. Don't pretend you are not jealous when Bernard or Conner says that they are hanging out with someone else.

Tim: Woah there. Jason is the nerd one. If you want to insult me, at least use the correct one.

Jason: I want to be mad but you're not wrong.

Damian: Tt, why should we bother who Cain goes out with? It is her choice who she wishes to be her companion.

Stephanie: But aren't you curious even a little bit? Who is the person? Where do they go? Are they friends or something more? There are so many questions and yet so little answer.

Bruce: We should give Cass some room for herself. Letting her form a relationship outside of this household is also good.

Everyone: *Stares at Bruce*

Jason: I think the old man is being mind controlled. Let me punch him to wake him up.

Dick: Are you sick, B? Do you want to go to Dr. Leslie? I can take over your patrol tonight if you are not feeling well.

Damian: I also agree with Todd. Father might be compromised right now. Let's take him down.

Tim: Wait wait. Do you have anything to say before we jump you Bruce?

Bruce: *Grunts* I went to meet the therapist that Jason recommended to me. Dr. Fenton says that I should give my children room to grow independently so that I can take the first step in treating my paranoia.

Jason: *Gasp* You actually went to meet the therapist. Fuck.

Stephanie: He he he, where is my 50 bucks? I told you he would go if you recommend it.

Jason: *Grumble while handing out 50 bucks*

Duke: So that's where you are going. I thought you were going on a date.

Bruce: I am too old for dating anymore.

Dick: Yeah, right. Tell that to me when you go meet Selina later tonight.

Bruce: *Grunts*

Alfred: *Walks in* I am here to inform that Miss Cassandra has returned.

Dick: She's not gonna eat lunch?

Alfred: Miss Cassandra has informed me that she has eaten outside with her friend.

Jason: Did you see who her friend is? Is it a boy or a girl? Please tell me it's a boy.

Alfred: I'm afraid I cannot tell you anything as per my agreement with Miss Cassandra. What I can tell you though is that she is very happy to meet her friend. I suggest all of you don't disturb her happiness.

Stephanie: What? Boooo. I want answers. Timothy I choose you. Go find the answer using your stalker skills.

Tim: I would rather not anger her after what she did last time. All of my coffee mugs are still stuck on the table.

Duke: *Scoffs* You would probably go behind her back to find this friend anyway. You're just saying it in case Cass heard us.

Tim: I shall not confirm nor deny the accusation.

-Upstairs-

Cass lays on her bed after changing her clothes. It's been so long since she saw Danny. If not for the coincidental encounter at the stores, she wouldn't have known that Danny is in Gotham. After the first encounter, they exchanged phone numbers and talks and even met up often. Today is their first official date as a girlfriend/boyfriend.

Cass takes her phone to text Danny that she has reached home safely when she suddenly remembers something. She opens her gallery and puts the photos of her and Danny in a secure secret folder so that no one can find it.

While doing that, a text comes through.

Danny 💕💓💕

Danny: Hey Cass, are you home yet?

Cass: Yes. I just got home.

Danny: Thanks for the date today

Cass: 💖💖

Cass: Are you home yet?

Danny: Almost

Danny: Sorry gotta go. My sister is calling.

Cass: Get home fast. Love you 😘

Danny: I love you too 💖

Cass puts the phone on the bed and closes her eyes. Soon, she falls asleep and dreams of living in a large house with a lot of children running around.

-The Bowery, Gotham-

A young skinny man with black hair and blue eyes is walking down the quite alley slowly. He looks around him as the people of the Bowery look almost respectful but certainly fearful to him.

He sighs and leaves the sprawled bodies on the ground. They wouldn't die. He makes sure of that. A huge man comes within his proximity when suddenly the man bows down to him.

????: We are sorry, sir. These people are a new gang in the rise from the east. We get the news too late to send people to dispose of them.

Danny: Chill out, Jeff. Just take them to Dani and let her handle it. Also, tell her to return before dinner or else Jazz will come for her.

Jeff: Yes, sir.

The man along with a few of his henchmen pick the bodies and move them to somewhere else. To be honest, Jazz and Danny still don't know how to feel that their little sister is officially a crime lord.

All of them moved last month since Jazz gets her job at Arkham Asylum and Danny gets his internship at Wayne Enterprise. Dani tags along since she has explored all the places she wants to visit and she doesn't know what else to do.

Well that also didn't last long, as the first day they arrived at Gotham, Dani goes to beat up all the gang and goons in The Bowery and round them up into one single group. It's certainly easier that all the rouges are in Arkham right now.

One time the Falcon crime family tried to threaten Dani by taking Danny and Jazz hostage. In the end, Falcon and other crime families agree to stay out of The Bowery after Danny freezes all of their building and Dani strikes them with lightning multiple times.

Danny arrives home and sits on the couch. He scrolls Twitter while waiting for his sisters to return when the news catches his eyes.

Breakout at Arkham Asylum

All the people of Gotham are suggested to stay inside tonight.

Danny looks at the news with concern. Usually a breakout at Arkham happens a lot later in the day. He stands up, picks a leather jacket and a mask and then transforms into Phantom. He wears the mask and the jacket and flies towards Arkham Asylum to check out what happened. Today is Saturday so Jazz isn't working so he doesn't worry that much about Jazz.

On his way to Arkham, he encounters some rouge like The Riddler and Scarecrow. He knocks them out and hangs them on a poll and continues flying towards it. He's not a hero anymore but if the rogues are to enter and cause havoc in The Bowery, neither him, Jazz nor Ellie will be happy.

Suddenly, he sees a clown car speeding through the road at a very fast speed. Danny looks at it and sees the Joker along with his few goons are making a getaway while being chased down by a few cop cars. Danny flies down towards the clown car, and slowly unscrews the tyres of the car.

Danny flies back a little bit to the back and the clown car starts to wiggle and waggle and suddenly all of the tyres come off the car. Danny can hear the clown cursing heavily until finally they crash into a poll.He flies back down and just to make sure he is permanently down or at least down for some time, snap his back bone to incapacitate him.

Danny, still invisible, flies back up and continues on his way to Arkham. He meets a few more escapees like Mr. Freeze, Firefly and Killer Croc. Except for Killer Croc, all the other rouges are beaten up and sent back to Arkham. Killer Croc or Waylon is not thinking of causing trouble. He just wants to return to the sewer cause it is his home. Danny plans to maybe offer Waylon employment in their gang if he feels like Waylon is stable enough to work. Meanwhile, he will go around the city and beat up rogues that he is pretty sure is not going out to have a tea party.

When Danny lands on the roof, he opens his phone to see Cass is warning him to stay at home and not go outside. He smiles wryly since he is already outside and is beating up the rouges. Danny replies with a thumbs up and is about to continue flying when a shadow jumps out from behind him.

Danny: Uh, hello? How are you?

???: *Stares*

Danny: I'm no trouble. Just on the lookout just in case there is a rouge nearby. I see some guy beat up Scarecrow and The Riddler on my way here. They are not so scary when they don't have anything to use you know.

???: Where?

Danny: Errr, I think it is right over there. I was coming from that direction so you would probably see them if you go this way.

???: Thank you.

The shadow then vanishes and Danny is left standing there. The shadow really reminded him of Cass for some reason. Looking up online, apparently that one is called Black Bat.

Danny: Huh, they are out early today then. I guess they can work during the day.

Danny then turns invisible and returns back to the Bowery because most of the notorious rogues have been captured and Danny isn't worried about the rest.

Part 2

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch.4 in a mother’s eyes

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 4/x

ᰔ words. 10k (omg a whole number...very sexy)

a/n. hellooo my ihm friends! hope you're all doing well. ahh i'm glad to finally be posting this chapter lolol. it's a littleee off tangent from what happens in ch3, but still has some important plot developments. it does dive into feelings of depression & anxiety, so just wanted to give a warning on that! but yea other than that i hope you enjoy and see you at the bottom!! :) also so sorry if there are errors i only had time to skim through it once :((

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“Just go ahead and sign right here for me.”

You take the pen from the hospice nurse’s hand. It’s cheap black plastic with a pink fuzzy pom pom attached to the end of it with peeling glue. 

Your eyes briefly flit across the paragraphs detailed in printed ink until your gaze lands on the highlighted lines at the bottom of the page. Your signature. Spouse’s signature.

“We’ll need to have your husband come here to sign the paperwork as well, since he’ll have to add your mother on his list of dependents, but we can certainly get started on expediting this process for you since the insurance has already been pre-approved,” the nurse tells you as she accepts your signed paperwork and then neatly tucks it into one of the compartment holders. 

The afternoon goes by smoothly, with your mother surprisingly patient as she sits in the waiting room while you wait for the nurses to formally show you to her new room.

You thought that you could put off putting her in hospice for a little longer, because in all honesty, you weren’t prepared to let her go just yet. You weren’t prepared to not have her in the house anymore. But lately, she’s been putting herself in lots of danger, like attempting to take her own medications when she does not know the correct dosing, and forgetting things on the stove when she attempts to cook.

But the last straw was when you came home from a very brief run to the grocery store at night a couple days ago to see a handful of your neighbors out on the front lawn with your mother at their side. She had apparently gotten out of the house and walked down the neighborhood, then fallen on the sidewalk but was unable to get up. When your neighbors had found her, a miracle as they were just coming home from dinner and caught sight of her in the illumination of their headlights, they tried to help her get up but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell the firefighters that came by to help her what her name was, or what year it was, or where she lived.

It was when you realized you couldn’t even keep her safe anymore that you had to let go.

“Is that a wedding ring?” your mother asks, pointing a trembling finger to it as she lays tucked inside her new hospice bed, “are you married?”

You glance down at the ring Gojo gave you in the courthouse, almost surprised to find that you were still wearing it in good faith. “Yes, mom. I am.”

“Why am I here?” she asks you, “I don’t want to be here.”

You stiffen a little. Although you were mentally preparing yourself to answer these questions, the preparation didn’t make it any easier. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just for a little short while, okay? The doctors want to run some tests on you.”

“Who are you married to?” she asks.

“To Satoru,” you tell her, “our neighbor.”

She lets out a small gasp. “The sweet boy who fixed our A/C?”

You roll your eyes. not sure why your mother has hyper fixated on that memory with Gojo when most days she’ll look at you like you’re a stranger. “Yes mom.”

“Oh, I like him,” she tells you with an affectionate nod. She hesitates slightly, wearisome of some other thought that flashes through her mind. “How long have you been married?”

You let out a small sigh. This is already a conversation you had with her a couple days ago, and it doesn’t feel good to lie to her. It was hard enough to do once, but to have to constantly lie to her over and over again over all the smallest things just so that she stays calm and safe and happy seems to drain you of all your energy and happiness you had left in your bones.

Little white lies, that’s what they are. Harmless ones. That’s what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of the guilt.

“I’ll come back soon, okay? I’ll tell you more about him some other day,” you say to her, speaking gently in the way an adult would speak to a child. The way she used to speak to you. You could never exactly pinpoint when those roles became reversed.

You finish discussing some more insurance matters with the front-desk nurse as she puts together a small folder of documents for you. While she works, you glance at the little counter shelf that includes a plethora of pamphlets on how to deal with the complicated feelings that arise from putting a loved one in hospice care, and dealing with the emotions of having a relative with advanced stage dementia. They are pretty brochures, lovingly creased at the folds as if looked through multiple times by people who walk in and out of this facility, but seemingly only few take them home. You slip one of each into your folder when the nurse hands it to you, manage the best smile possible, and then turn on your heel to head out the hospice doors.

The sun is setting outside as you take the walk back to your car, which was purposefully parked a half mile away to afford you the luxury of a melancholic stroll. Somehow, you feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself back at the hospice. A feeling you can’t quite shake from your bones.

Your feet stop walking somewhere along the sidewalk on their own, the street lights above you flickering brighter into life as the sky is now a dusty gray with only streaks of purple. There’s a liquor store you spot across a small parking lot to your right, and you’re guided towards it, but not without a sickening feeling in your chest.

When you open the door, the bell at the top jingles, and you glance to the right where you see a lanky young man playing some sort of shooter game on his phone by the cash register. You grab a bottle of vodka, a bottle of white wine, some packs of skittles, one of the mini pizza boxes at the hot food station, and then dump it all onto the counter.

The young man scans all your items without even so much as sparing you a glance, but does take a look at your ID, then says, “Total’s $68.65, cash or card?”

“Card.”

Just before you tap your card, something displayed behind the cashier counter catches your eye. Something familiar, something tempting, something you weigh in your head about twenty times within one millisecond all due to the cortisol coursing through your veins and you eventually say, “Uh, and could I get one of those, too?”

The cashier looks behind himself to what you’re pointing at before turning around. “Sure.”

The same jingle is heard on top of your head as you leave the store, now with a burning hot mini pizza box in your hand as well as a plastic bag that carries your candy and the two clinking bottles of alcohol.

“Oh!! omg, y/n,” you hear a feminine voice call out and you’re instantly wincing. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered right now. You just wanted to go home and get drunk and then pass out on the floor of your living room. But alas, the world is small.

You turn around to see Hana come running across the sidewalk lot towards you, and when she’s about a few feet away, she glances down at your hands and all the things you were carrying. You quickly shove your last-minute purchase into your jacket pocket with a shameful conscience, and try to hide the plastic bag of liquor behind your calves. There was no hiding the pizza box, but at least that was the least incriminating.

“Oh, Hana, wow! What a coincidence seeing you here,” you say to her, pressing your lips into a small smile.

“Yeah, I um,” she points over her shoulder towards the hospice that’s standing tall in the darkness of night, cells with windows illuminated with light. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was a prison. “Remember I told you my friend’s mom is sick and she’s at this hospice?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“I was just visiting her mom with her,” she tells you.

“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”

You adore Hana, you really do. She was there for you when the whole Yuna and Choso thing went down, picking your shifts up for a good week when you couldn’t stomach going into work when your ex-best friend’s stupid face was gloating in the halls over how she stole your boyfriend. Hana was there for you when you were a new hire and all the doctors were being bitchy about a “newbie in the ED”, but she stood up for you, even cussed the fuck out of one of attendings for the whole hall to hear when you were being disrespected by one of them. She’s someone you can beam about how hot the EMT and Firefighter men that stroll into the ED are, too. A priceless companion.

And even though you two have hung out after hours sometimes, it was still always a little awkward to see a coworker outside of work.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I actually, um, was going to tell you at our shift tomorrow, but I just admitted my mom to the hospice too,” you say, “and…thanks a lot for telling me about it. I really appreciate it. It seems like a wonderful facility.”

Her eyes briefly widen with surprise before they soften once again. “Oh, that’s wonderful, love. I hope all goes well. And your little insurance scam worked! Good for you!”

“Shhh,” you hiss at her, looking around yourself with paranoia, “the feds are everywhere.”

She laughs, sweet in the air, before the sound settles and she looks at you with something reminiscent of well-intentioned concern. Her eyes flit to the plastic bag you were still holding behind your legs. “Hey…um, if…if you ever want some company when you come to visit your mom, just let me know. I hope you know you don’t have to do everything alone.”

You blink at her, sucking in a short breath to respond, but it only leaves you as a slight puff of air. There’s a silent gratitude that you give her, because it’s hard for you to express any feelings with words, but you’ve found that the people in your life who know you best can always read you without them. 

“Thank you, Hana,” you manage to say with a slight croak to your voice because you were fighting back tears.

She smiles at you. “Take care, okay? And see ya tomorroooowwwwww,” she coos at you, coming up to you to give you a small hug, a squeeze of your upper arm, and then she heads back towards the direction of the hospice.

You watch her walk away until you can’t see her anymore. And then you head towards your car.

When you arrive at your neighborhood, you park in front of Gojo’s house. You have a feeling that you won’t be able to bear the vast emptiness of your home now that your mother is elsewhere, and so you drag your feet up the stone stairs of his house with a heavy heart instead.

The spare key that he gave you weakly pushes into the keyhole with about as much force as your fingers can manage, and you realize they almost feel atrophied. 

The house is dark when you step inside, spare for the ambient street lights shining through cracked open blinds on the windows, and the curtains rustle gently from the draft of the AC, a chill that reaches you too by the time you make it to the staircase.

It doesn’t seem like Gojo’s home. A glance at the clock tells you it’s close to 8pm. You briefly consider texting him to ask where he’s at, why he’s out so late, when he’ll be home, and what’s for dinner, but you can’t even bring yourself to pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

Weak legs manage to take you upstairs and you’re about to pass through to your room when the slightly open door to the master bedroom taunts you, like a peephole into some other wordly dimension. Like the wardrobe in the chronicles of Narnia. A portal into your fake husband’s life.

With a palm pushing on the door, you slowly crack it open, and you know the anxious voices in your head are getting worse by the day when the creaking of the door hinges sounds like a lullaby to you. 

Was this an invasion of privacy? And did you really care if it was?

The room is big, with a king sized bed off to the left, sheets neatly made and duvet primly tucked under, like the way hotel beds are set up. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment when you remember you haven’t been making your bed in the mornings for the past couple days you’ve been living here so far, and you wonder if Gojo would judge you for something like that. If he’d think you were a messy or undisciplined person. If he would think less of you.

Truthfully, in a lot of ways, you still felt like a child. You barely weathered a lot of your formative adolescent years when dealing with your parents’ divorce, and you’ve had to put so much of your life on pause to take care of your mom ever since she got diagnosed. So here you were, in the body of a 29-year-old woman, yet still feeling so painfully juvenile. One that forgets to make her bed in the mornings, and on most nights can’t seem to stomach anything other than cereal for dinner. It was like you were still at a party that everyone else had left, except all it ever was is hell. Your life was such a stark contrast to the lives of other adults you’ve come across. The ones that wake up at six to go on runs, the ones that have paid off mortgages with five figures in their retirement accounts, oh god, the ones that meal prep, and the ones that, all things considered, have their lives together. The ones that don’t spend at least an hour of every day, in fetal position on their bed, sobbing until tears soak through the sheets of the pillow down to the feathers like bone, because you’re so overwhelmed with stress and preparing yourself for the grief of losing your mother which you know that, no matter how hard you try to save her from, will inevitably one day come. 

You used to cook dinner every night, make your bed every morning, and go to pilates on the weekends. Back when you were a little younger and healed and excited to live life. But now, you barely get by. Your priorities are with your mother. You can’t remember the last time you did anything nice for yourself, including something as simple as the luxury of getting to come home to a clean house because you hardly ever had time to clean it, not with all the doctor’s appointments you were driving your mother to, not with all the extra shifts you were picking up at the hospital to pay off your debt, not with all the times you felt too depressed to even get out of bed. 

But your mother is in hospice now, so you’ve made time, right? You’ve made the decision that everyone in your life has been begging you to finally do. So why do you still feel so empty inside?

By a quick survey of the room, you notice Gojo doesn’t really have many framed photos hung up on the walls or perched up on surfaces. None, actually. Only a contemporary painting above his bed frame and then a faded vintage horror movie poster plastered up near his desk. Not terribly odd, since in your experience most men don’t really do the whole “cluttering the house with millions of photos of their family” thing until they at least have a couple of kids and some purebred dog. The thought of Gojo someday setting up a little portrait photo at his desk with his wife’s—his eventual real forever wife’s, pretty face in it, posing with their two beautiful kids, makes an oddly melancholic feeling waft through you. You wonder if he would keep a two-by-two in his wallet, too.

Your feet move one in front of the other as your finger traces the surface wood of a dresser cabinet, something that looks a little vintage and oaky, in stark contrast to the modern minimalist vibe Gojo has set up in the rest of the room. A family heirloom, maybe? There’s no dust that coats your finger, which surprises you. If you were to run your finger across your dresser at home you’d have collected enough dust to snort down your windpipes like a recreational drug. But Gojo’s a real estate agent, making a living off of dressing houses up in perfect cosplay so that monetarily stable middle class families feel inclined to buy them. So you’re not exactly surprised he’s invested in keeping his own house in pristine condition too. 

There is a little bit of chaos, though. Like the shirt he has haphazardly hung over his chair at his office space over to the right. There’s a coffee mug sitting there too, porcelain and reflecting the moon light off, but upon peering inside you see that it’s half empty with stale coffee. He’s got pens sprawled across the desk, in a fashion that suggests he accidentally knocked them over in a rush, and slowly, like some grounding exercise, you place them one by one back into the paper mache pencil holder. It briefly occurs to you that he has a lot of paper mache containers of sorts around the house. You lift up the pencil cup, turning it in your hand until your eyes catch something written on it with glittery pink gel pen.

i luv u unkle toru! -yur BEST FREND 4EVUR juno!!! :D

A small smile makes it onto your face. The handwriting was messy, more like scratches than smooth lines, and nothing less than what you would expect of a child. You remember making paper mache and clay trinkets at preschool for your mom and dad when you were younger. And you’re sure if you were brave enough to open the box of memorabilia that sits in your attic some day, you’d see your own scratchy scribbled handwriting on them. An innocence that is long gone and buried, never again to be delicately placed on desks or counters for all the living.

The draft from the AC reaches you once again, brushing over your skin and causing a chill to shiver down your spine. It kicks at the curtains as well, causing them to ruffle up towards you, baring the dark outside world into the streets. And you notice in that momentary glance that there’s a roof just outside the window that overlooks the backyard. A roof? Spotted by a depressed woman going through a quarter life crisis? There was nothing more tempting than that. 

The window was easy to open, which only caused unease over the revelation of how easy it would be for someone to rob this house. You make a mental note to tell Gojo to get a ring camera or security system of some sort since he doesn’t seem to have one, but you can already picture him telling you something about how statistically low the crime rates are in this neighborhood compared to all the other neighborhoods, and then you’d tell him that it’s just for your peace of mind. But whether he’d compromise or not after that, you’re really not sure.

You take a seat on the roof, a little scared as you sit because of the slight slope, but it’s comfortable once you’re settled. You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, staring out into the neighborhood of perfectly lined up suburban houses. You’ve got a better view into some neighbors' backyards, noticing that a couple of them had pools while some of them have big gardens. There's a cat resting up on a fence in the distance. A car drives by with headlights illuminating everything in its proximity briefly before zooming off. You glance up at the sky, and notice the full moon, but it’s too cloudy to see any stars. Or perhaps it was just the light pollution from the lamps making it difficult to see.

On instinct, your hand reaches inside your coat pocket for your phone, but your knuckles hit something else instead. A moment of brief confusion flickers through your head, but then you immediately recall the last-minute purchase you made at the gas station.

Your hand pulls out the object, and then you stare down at it. Squinting your eyes a little, because it’s a sight that feels familiar but also one you haven’t seen in so long: a pack of twenty Marlboro red cigarettes. 

You’ve tried a lot of things to manage your stress over the years. Excessively working out, eating a lot of sugar, going on six hour hikes to touch grass, flirting with random men at bars, fucking Choso until he was rendered speechless, multiple types of antidepressants, you almost tried smoking weed once with your roommate in college but you wimped out last second. But the habit that had gotten you through the years of 21 to 24 is held loosely in your hand right now. It’s been five years since you quit, but resolve was often a fickle thing. As the saying goes, once an addict, always an addict. 

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you slowly peel the plastic off of the back, but then it all comes back to you like a reflex you’ll never forget up to where you slide a cigar up out and then pinch it between your two fingers. Forgetting to buy a lighter with the cigarettes is definitely something you would do, but because you remembered it was something that you would do, you remembered not to do it. The flick of the flame coming to life is ASMR you didn’t know you were painfully nostalgic for, and you balance the cigarette between your lips in that sort of movie-star way people used to obsess over back in the day. But just as you bring the lighter up to the end of the cigarette, and just before you can light it—

A hand shoots out in your periphery, grabbing your wrist and entirely stalling the movement.

You gasp, lips parting enough for the cigarette to fall from them and into your lap. The hand wrapped around your wrist is large and masculine, and you briefly consider screaming, but when you snap your neck to look at the perpetrator, you see Gojo crouched down next to you on this roof. You notice he’s wearing a black suit, a tie that was loosely secure hanging from his neck into the space between his spread thighs as he’s crouched, and whatever gel he had in his hair from earlier only barely remains as strands fall over his forehead haphazardly. He looks like he’s on the other end of a long work day. 

You blink at him, expression plastered with surprise, but his is only earnest. With breathtaking blue eyes that you realize he could easily use to surrender a person just by looking at them, like the way he’s looking at you right now. His lips are pressed together into a firm line, as if to suppress some emotion, but the slight crease to his brow makes you feel like you’re in trouble somehow. Like he was silently scolding you for something.

“I—” you stutter.

He lets go of your wrist and discreetly pulls the lighter out of your hand. And then his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes you were balancing on your knee, but on some reflex that you don’t even think about, you try to snatch them away from him, and now you’re both tugging at the same pack of cigarettes.

“y/n,” he says, “let go.”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

He sighs and tugs a little harder. “Give them to me.”

“But—” you stammer, voice becoming softer to see if that’d work on him, “I’m…” Your grip on them tightens. “I’m stressed.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, then finally loses his patience and snatches them right out of your hand. He stands up from his crouched down position to toss the pack off to the side onto the roof somewhere. You’re surprised when he lets out a sigh and sits down next to you on the roof, as if he felt the obligation to. His legs stretch out in front of him, but still bent slightly at the knees, and he leans backwards with his body weight braced on his palms laid flat on wood paneling behind him. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” he tells you candidly. 

“Like what?” you ask, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you clarify, “and don’t say sex.”

He shuts his mouth and his eyes flit up to the sky for a brief second. “Damn. I didn’t have a back-up answer.” 

You roll your eyes, releasing a deep breath, then draw your knees to your chest before resting your chin on top of them. 

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says after a century-long minute. 

You wince a little, because you were half hoping he was going to just drop the subject all together. 

You bite your lip nervously and hug your knees to your chest tighter as if to hide yourself from him. “I don’t. Well, I haven’t. Um, not for a while.”

“Huh. I see,” he says.

Another silence passes, and as he shuffles next to you, the fabric of his suit brushes against the fabric of your coat, and you’ve become entirely too aware of the feeling.

“So,” he says, breaking the awkward silence, “your mom’s in hospice now?”

You nod, enthusiastic enough to where you won’t look like you’re entirely depressed about it.

“That’s good,” he says, “no issues with the insurance?”

You shake your head. “They need you to sign some papers by the end of the week though,” you tell him. “We’ll have to go in person.”

He nods slowly to affirm he’ll make time for it. “I really hope things get better for your mom,” he says, voice soft as he stares off into neighbors homes like you had been doing ten minutes ago. You see the cat that was resting on the fence get up, do a big stretch, and start walking along the length of the fence. Your eyes briefly glance at Gojo, and you notice his gaze is tracing the cat’s path. 

“My—” you start, hesitant all of a sudden by the vulnerability you already feel swelling within you, most definitely due to sitting with someone on a rooftop late at night, but you decide that you’ll be nice to him for once, “…my mom seems to remember you a lot. More than she remembers me.” You let out a small humoring laugh, as if that fact doesn’t completely destroy you. “She was blabbering to me again for the seventh time about how you apparently fixed our AC.” You try to bite your tongue, but can’t help it when you say, “although I’m pretty sure you just pressed a bunch of buttons until it started working again.”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

Another awkward silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say.

“Sure.” His voice sounds deeper, like he’s sleepy. 

“Why did you agree to marry me? That’s not something people just do out of nowhere.”

He glances over at you, and you flicker your eyes to him. “Why? Having regrets?” he teases, with a slight nudge of his elbow to your side. 

“Just answer me.”

He lifts his palms up from behind him and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees instead. “I don’t know. If something I could do would help someone out that much, I wasn’t going to say no.”

You hum quietly, still confused by his intentions. But you’re too jaded to question them.

“It costs nothing to be nice,” he adds. 

You run soothing circles over your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. For some reason, your mind wanders to Choso. Thinking of all the years you wasted staying with him even though you knew his affections were long gone, just because you didn’t want to break his heart. Only to realize that you never had that privilege in the first place. 

“I think,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you draw your knees closer to your chest, “that sometimes it does.”

A gust of autumn wind breezes by, ruffling the trees that the two of you are at eye-level with at the moment. You're pretty sure you’ve completely lost Gojo’s interest at this point, where he’s finally too tired to deal with your oddly cryptic attitudes and overall generally displeasing vibe, assuming this based solely on his prolonged silence beside you. You’re ready for him to get up and abandon you here on this roof, left to ponder every single thing you’ve done wrong in your life. It was any second now.

“Sometimes,” he instead speaks up, and it’s so surprising to you that you jolt a little bit, “you can do everything right, and people will still find a way to fuck you over. But I don’t think that’s any reason to stop being nice to others.”

You glance over at him, your eyes widening slightly, but he just continues to peer off straight into the night. His blinks are slow, lingering on being closed for a moment before he opens them again, and you’re mesmerized by the sight. The skin under his eyes is slightly dark from exhaustion, heavy with character that makes you aware that he’s just a person too. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, you realize that he’s—…handsome. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, your heart flutters in your chest.

He scoffs suddenly and dusts his hands off. “I sound like a fucking youth pastor.” He lets out an exhale before suddenly standing up onto his feet before you can think more on it. He looks off into the night again and lets out another exhale that sounds more like a sigh this time. “God, it’s getting a lot colder these days. Might have to start running the heater.”

You blink up at him with no commentary to add. 

He looks down at you. His face is relaxed, but you can tell those eyes are distracted. A shimmering blue ocean in its own world while he attempts to stay present in this one. 

He holds his hand out to you, and you stare at it blankly like you’ve got no clue what he intends for you to do with it. But you finally take the hint and curl your hand around his palm so that he can pull you up onto your feet too.

You stumble a little, falling forward from the sudden blood flow to your brain, but he holds you steady by the strong grip of his hands on your elbows. He’s close to you, close enough to where you can smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne. Something different than that expensive one he wore to the courthouse, but it’s comforting somehow. A fragrance that’s more him. And you feel nervous as you look up at him underneath pale moonlight. 

He lets go of your elbows. You feel cold from the loss of his touch. But his right hand moves to gently hold your left hand in his palm, holding it curled as his thumb barely grazes the stone you wear on your ring finger; the one he gave you.

The way his thumb prods at the silver band is like he’s inspecting its quality, as if it has to pass some test to be worthy of sitting on your finger. Or maybe just any finger, if you were to quell the delusion. You’re not sure if he’s satisfied with his inspection.

“Where did you get it—” you blurt out.

His gaze flickers up to your face briefly before he’s back to examining the ring. “It was my mom’s.”

Your mouth gapes slightly in shock, heart dropping a little in your chest, and all of a sudden you feel guilty. Guilty that he put his mother’s ring on your finger for something that was fake, something that was essentially a business deal, something exchanged to you out of fraud when it was a precious family heirloom that should be exchanged with love. And maybe he didn’t care about it much, some people don’t care about the sentiments of objects. But your mind thinks of the oaky vintage dresser in his room, so out of place in the aesthetic of its surroundings, a decision you can only imagine him of all people, mr. “everything in this house has to look like an IKEA catalog”, would do if the dresser held some importance to him that was more than meets the eye. And so you’re compelled to think that maybe this ring did, too. 

“Why would you give me this?! You could’ve just gotten a cheap fake diamond ring from a pawn shop and called it a day,” you ask him, suddenly feeling burdened by it.

“Well I wasn’t exactly given much time to think of other options.”

“But—” you start, only to realize you have no counter arguments for that.

He lets out a huh noise, like the sound someone makes when they’re pleasantly surprised by something, as he looks down at your hand that he still held in his. “It’s kinda crazy that it fits you perfectly. I wasn’t sure.”

Your mind wanders to when he slipped the ring onto your finger in the courtroom, followed by the kiss. Soft, sweet, the lingering warm sensation of his palm on your cheek as he cupped your face, the same way those heartthrob actors do in all those romance movies and kdramas that you watch on Friday nights while snuggled up in a blanket, wondering when anyone will ever kiss you like that. You remember the ghost sensation of his hand hovering over the small of your back, fingers lightly grazing the nape of your neck, his frame blocking out everything around you as he kissed you, just to pull away and for the two of you to then pretend like it never happened, as if it wasn’t one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever known.

You slowly pull your hand out of his, the moment feeling too tender for your liking, and you clear your throat before flitting your eyes up to his. 

“Rule #1,” you remind him with a soft whisper, “no touching.”

You purse your lips, watching his round eyes blink once, then twice, before he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, nodding slowly in submission, and then he turns on them to head back to the house. You’re standing a little stunned from the abrupt ending to this trance of a moment on the roof, and you’re also a little surprised with how your chest is heaving a little bit with fast breaths, but you eventually snap out of it to follow him inside too. 

You two make it back inside the house, with little words exchanged. You pretend to not notice the way Gojo tilts his head at his desk, like he’s confused about why it looks tidier than when he left it. You’re prepared to feign innocence or ignorance, but he doesn’t press you about it. 

“Y’know,” he says from behind you, his chest briefly brushing against the back of your head as he pushes the bedroom door in front of you open so that you can head out into the loft, “those oversized 1800s-esque nightgowns you’ve been wearing around the house kinda make you look like a less-hot version of Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sign right here for me, sir.”

You watch as the nurse slides the papers across the high-raised counter of the hospice nursing desk towards Gojo, his eyebrows narrowing as his eyes skim the words on the paper and land at the highlighted lines where he’s been intended to sign. You feel nervous for some reason, as if he’d suddenly find something disagreeable and refuse to sign, then take you to the courthouse first thing to finalize a divorce and send you off to prison while claiming he was blackmailed into the whole marriage in the first place.

Instead, he pulls a pen from the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clicking the end of it and scribbling his signature onto the paper with some jet black ink that looks like it takes a second to dry. How pretentious of him. The pink pom-pom pen was right there.

The nurse behind the counter continues to chat with him about something, blah blah dependents, blah blah tax claims, blah blah you’ll receive an itemized bill in the mail. You’re trying your best to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but most of your senses are being occupied by examining all your surroundings. When you dropped your mother off at the hospice, your feelings were at the forefront of conscience, but now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from that overwhelming emotional high, you’re here to scope out the quality of this place you’ve just dumped your mom at.

The facility is clean and sleek, with a color theme of red and an ocean blue across the signs, the furniture, even with the paperwork they hand out. All the workers had color-coded scrubs based on their occupation or specialty, and none of them had stains on the fabric. You take a glance down at the modest leather pumps you were wearing past the creases of the long skirt, and notice that the floor was shimmering off their reflection in a perfect polish. It wasn’t bad, this place.

“Thanks, you too,” you hear Gojo say to the nurse behind the counter. He has a professional smile on his face, but still kind and genuine, which makes the woman at the computer something bashful and unable to make eye contact. He folds something that looks like a receipt into his chest pocket before tucking his pen back in there too and then turns to face you. You make a mental note to pay him back for whatever he just paid for, at least once you move some money around. 

Your eyebrows lift, feeling a little dazed as you blink at him blankly.

“Alright,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes on the polished hospital floors satisfactorily tapping in your ears as he took a couple steps towards you, “where’s your mom’s room?”

“Huh?”

“What’s her room number?” he asks you.

“Y-You wanna go see her??”

“Of course I want to,” he says, “she’s my mother-in-law.”

You roll your eyes and pet the fabric of your skirt to smooth the wrinkles out. “You’re getting a little too invested in this role of fake husband.”

“I get to annoy you all day and ride the adrenaline rush of committing a federal crime,” he says, “of fucking course I’d get invested.”

You sigh, tossing some of your hair to behind your shoulder before glancing up at the signs, squinting slightly to locate the ward where your mother’s room is, before you hear an extremely high-pitched and somewhat catty feminine voice call out from behind you. You glance at Gojo’s face as he peers off to whoever’s behind you, and you see him visibly stiffen a little.

“Is that Dayton county’s sexiest realtooorrr???” the voice purrs, and you turn on your heel to see a blonde bombshell of a woman clacking her kitten heels down the glistening floors of the hospice, with another brunette bombshell just a few paces behind her. Bombshell #2 sighs something like “it issss” before they walk right up to your fake husband and take turns at giving him a playful squeeze of his bicep. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping at the sight. 

“Wow! Ladies, so–...so great to see you two,” he says out of polite obligation, and you immediately clock the fact that he doesn’t address them by name.

Bombshell #1 turns to look at you, all of her hair moving as one solid entity with the motion from all the hair spray that’s probably holding it up, and she points at you with a long slender finger that narrows into a french-tip. “Oh who’s this?? Another one of your clients??”

“Oh, no, she’s my–”

“I’m his wife,” you interrupt him, irritated for some reason. 

Both the women chirp something out like oh! before their faces twist with confusion. 

“I didn’t know you were married,” Bombshell #2 says in a thick New Jersey accent.

Gojo lifts his left hand up, the silver band on his hand glimmering under fluorescent hospice lighting. “Very happily,” he says, as if someone was holding a gun to his head.

Bombshell #1 crosses her arms, and you try not to stare at how nice her boobs look in the low scoop-neck jaguar print top she was wearing. You were no better than a man. And now you’re pissed off at the idea of Gojo glancing down too, but a flick of your gaze up to his face tells you he’s safe. For now. 

“You weren’t married when I asked you if you were a month ago,” Bombshell #1 sneers at him. It’s true, the math wouldn’t make sense, but in his defense, this marriage was a fraud.

“Or when you took me out for dinner last week after I bought my house,” Bombshell #2 snarls with an undertone of hurt. 

Gojo clears his throat beside you before pointing at Bombshell #2. “How is that, by the way?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject, “the half acre down on Maple Ave, right? You, uh, enjoying the pool?”

The woman let out an offended scoff and–were her eyes sheening with tears?? She puts her hands on her hips. “No. Mine is the three bedroom house with the cedar gazebo on 14th street.”

Her friend next to her rolls her eyes and smacks her gum between her cheek. “I’m the one that bought the half acre down on Maple Ave, jerk. Ugh!” She grabs her friend’s arm with a high-pitched hmph noise leaving her throat, and you can hear the other one sniffling subtly as she wobbles on her heels with her friend’s pull of her arm. 

Right before leaving the two of you alone, Bombshell #1 turns to you and says, “I hope you find someone who treats you better,” and then they storm off together down the hallway, their perfectly blow-dried hair bouncing in sync with each stomp.

You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face. 

“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.

“I’m not a manwhor–”

“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”

He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”

“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”

You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”

“What? I’m not always rude to you.”

“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.

“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.” 

“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.

“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.

“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat. 

You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.

“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.

“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.

“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”

Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”

The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”

You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”

The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”

Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”

The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.

You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.

“What?” you snap at him.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”

His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you. 

“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.

You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”

You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.

Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.

“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”

Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.

“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.

You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”

You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.

She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”

Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”

Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”

Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”

“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some…oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”

“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”

“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”

Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”

“With the lemon tree!”

“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”

“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.

There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.

“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.

He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.

“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.

“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.

And it knocks the wind out of you.

It drops your heart to the center of the earth.

The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.

Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days. 

“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”

A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.

It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.

Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world. 

That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore. 

No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.

In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.

And that’s why it hurts.

Because it’s all fake.

It’s phony.

It’s not real.

This arrangement you have with Gojo.

And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.

Not in the way she believes there will be.

Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.

You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.

Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.

“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”

You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.

With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.

It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.

He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet. 

A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry. 

He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”

You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”

“y/n,” he tried to convince you.

You finally look up at him. “Please.”

He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,

“Okay.”

.

.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 4]

a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0

➸ take me to chapter five!

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[emmyrosee]

Osamu has to stay with Suna for a few days.

It’s barely anything serious, a game from when they were kids is getting revamped and naturally, they want to spend the entire weekend reliving those memories as best as they can with the material they’ve got.

Osamu bounces like a little kid at the prospect of seeing his friend and playing his games, excitedly explaining the game’s lore and story line to you; you listen fully, of course you do, it’s precious to see him get so zealous about something so dear to him (it's also funny to hear him tease his brother for not being able to come indulge too).

The meetup was simple enough, dropping Osamu off in front of Suna's house early Friday morning, pick him up Sunday afternoon.

What you hadn't expected, was Suna standing outside of his home, arms crossed over his chest and tapping his foot impatiently. You quirk your brow, "is... he okay?"

"I haven't heard anything from him," Osamu shrugs. "Pull up, I'll ask him."

You do as you're told, rolling up next to the angry looking Suna and rolling down the window. Osamu leans out slightly, "everything alright man?"

Suna looks past him and directly at you, his green pools intense in their glare. “You’re late,” he hisses.

You snicker and shake your head, secretly relieved he's playing an act and not destroying your boyfriend's excitement, “I'm sorry, I was just-“

“You were just nothing,” he barks, and Osamu laughs as he gets out of the car. “Do you know how worried I was? How sick I was, waiting for you to show up! I thought something had happened to my sweet boy!”

You roll your eyes, “he’s fine, I like him too much. You, however…”

“Bring it on, bestie,” Suna snickers.

“Alright, alright,” Osamu chuckles, resting a hand on Suna’s shoulder to pull him back just slightly. “Thank the nice chauffer for getting me here safe.” Then, he smirks slightly, “and then take me to get breakfast, they didn’t feed me.”

“YOU DIDNT FEED HIM? MY GROWING BOY?”

“You were just complaining how late we were being!” You’re laughing, and it give Suna the go ahead to continue.

“Oh. Oh,” Suna begins, raising his hands in disbelief. “Oh, I cannot believe you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” he hisses playfully, face scrunched in annoyance, but his grin is telling you otherwise. “Count your days. Clearly, my lovely, perfect, sweet osamu isn’t having fun with you.”

“Oh we have fun,” osamu interrupts. Suna’s face contorts into one of disapproval, all while you laugh in embarrassment.

Suna points at the front door, “osamu, get in the house.”

“Yessir,” the chef chuckles. He makes his way to the entrance, and with his back turned, Suna directs his index and middle finger at his eyes before flicking them out at you, making you gasp at his audacity before he spins on his heel to leave, smirking at himself.

When Osamu blows you a kiss from the threshold of the door, Suna leaps in the air in a dramatic catch, and you honk at him while Osamu laughs.

"This isn't over!" You call after him.

"He's mine now, no givesies backsies!"

"SUNA!"

——

HEHEHEEHEHEHE

[mrs-weasley-reid]

JULY REC FICS

Hello, my sweets!! I wanted to try something out to provide my full and utter support to all the amazing writers I've come across in the form of monthly rec fics (starting this month). Join me in giving them love through comments and reblogs. It really is a joy to hear how you're doing as a writer. It makes up for all the angst we write lol

I will be going based on what I've read recently and not by the date the fic was posted. And the number of fics will depend on how much I've read the entire month. Also, please respect these writers. Some contents are 18+, so MINORS should not be interacting in any way, especially when the authors themselves specify it.

— ✿ — ✿ ✿ — ✿ ✿ ✿

Spencer Reid

✿ a question unasked by @easy-there-leftovers ↳ SOOOO ADORABLE. I'm a workaholic craze gal, so it speaks to me on a silly level.

✿ missing the happy hormone by @lavenderspence ↳ I'm a sucker for Spencer fluff this month, what can I say? This fic Tina made had my waterworks going on for about a minute because it's so sweet

✿ desk duty by @reiderwriter ↳ All you have to know is the amount of evil laugh I made while reading this

✿ the theory of love by @ophelia-is-complex ↳ Genuine intimacy is quite a challenge to write, but THIS ONE, this one had me in a sappy mood

✿ like nothing matters by @cerisereids ↳ gagged and had to pause the reading so many times because HELLO— had me spiraling at work

✿ the devils disguise by @qlossytbh ↳ I said I sobbed a little bit, but I actually cried so much I ended up taking a nap and felt better afterward. It's all fluff, though, don't get me wrong. I'm just very dramatic when the red devil's on the clock

✿ not so funny by @reidmania ↳ Angsty, that made me wanna start a fight with some random twiggy tall guy. Sooooo good!

✿ cloaked in passions touch by @raekensluver ↳ If you don't like Spencer's hands, you're fucking lying to yourself!!!!!

✿ language of devotion by @gghostwriter ↳ I'm in love with reid, and this fic just had me stumbling back onto his lap like a good gal

✿ this req response by @mandarinmoons ↳ Sorry, I'm not sure what the title is, but it's so adorable and got me to go to work, so kind of a lifesaver tbh

✿ hallucinate by @gghostwriter ↳ Oooo, this one was so cute, hehe. Honestly, I lean towards Spencer fluff lately just because I've been too overstimulated with work this past month, so READ THIS ONE ITS CUTE

✿ it's golden, like daylight by @dudeitiskarev ↳ I actually felt like I was reader the entire time I read this. It's well-written and so adorable and something that should be framed in a museum

✿ much ado about nothing series by @incognit0slut ↳ binged it all morning, and I was whipped !!! It's ongoing, so if I have to wait, so does everybody else

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Aaron Hotchner

✦ choiceless hope series by @hotchfiles ↳ This series had me rolling over my bed on a Saturday. A lot of feelings getting played (mostly mine)

✦ beanstalk by @solardrop ↳ I kid you not; I was giggling like a weirdo when I read it. And that itself deserves the recommendation.

✦ too busy being yours by @hotchfiles ↳ Lari knows how to get a sick gal to giggle. I love bau!rossi!reader. I love Rossi as reader's dad, so I enjoyed it more than I thought I would

✦ ignorance by infatuation by @boneblushed ↳ Oh, this one was a nice snack while on my break at work. LOVED IT SO MUCH

✦ hungover by @basketonthedoorstepofthefbi ↳ Mmmm, such a good read! Plus Jemily is there sooooo

✦ from across the bar by @hotchscoffeecup ↳ Evil laugh ensues. A nice cuppa of some good ole kinky stuff

✦ doomed by @hotchfiles ↳ guys, I stopped my car in the middle of driving home just to read it, so it's THAT good. Honestly, I strongly encourage everyone to read all of Lari's works! She's my writer crush, if none of you realized it by now

✦ a bunch of cuties in love by @lavenderspence ↳ hehehehehehe this definitely did not remind me of that one older guy I used to flirt with who had an adorable younger brother that I babysat🤭

✦ schrodinger's cat by @none-of-your-bullshit ↳ angst on a Saturday morning is like taking a shot of soju before 11 am, and this one felt like it <3

how about you also comment your top 3 fave fics for this month to spread more love to our great writers?

[figmentforms]

Part 246 of  “A Tale of Two Rulers” (Oct 26, 2023)

THIS IS SO LATE!!! My brain finally kicked back on. I'm sorry, but thank you so much for understanding and being patient as always.

Thanks so much to all my amazing supporters that help make this comic happen! ♥

Also special thanks to loud-monotone-screaming for the great name suggestion for Duskar! Much appreciated! That's his name now.

And also thanks to biggaymatt for suggesting Bidna for "Boy Midna". Simple. Powerful. Good middle name for him.

★ Webtoon-  https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/a-tale-of-two-rulers/list?title_no=292453 ★ - I’m still building up this archive.

★Patreon- https://www.patreon.com/LorIllustration ★

★Store - www.etsy.com/shop/FigmentForms

for those that wonder how the medical stuff is going, I'll put that below the cut so anyone who doesn't want to see it can skip it easier:

Three of the 12 eggs made it to blastocysts and are now frozen! One is a boy, one is a girl, and one is a ninja who's test results came back 'unknown'. Unknown is a excellent gender. Very proud of all my little frozen snow babies. I really hope they live. Hopefully I will only have to do one more surgery before I can see if my body is fit to give these kids life. If you happen to pray, please send prayers to make these kids powerful. I really really really want them to live. I'm kinda worried sick.

[pinkgy]

idk if u take requests but is it possible for u to write whb x reader that often wears revealing clothes? if u dont take requests then u can ignore this 💗 hope u have a good day!!

Hi ! Thank u so much for requesting !!

Sorry if it's too short :( Since it lacks a scenario I don't have much to write about this, so it ended up this way, also I read your other ask where you said something about this post being with a Fem Reader a bit late ... Like 5 minutes ago by the time I'm writing this, but I tried fixing it a little, sorry about that too.

Since you didn't ask for any specific characters for this post I took some creative liberties and did the kings and added 2 little bonuses with two of my fave nobles ;)

"𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗦 𝗢𝗡 𝗬𝗢𝗨"

𝗖𝗪: Kinda suggestive (Asmo's fault), tried my best to not make them red flags, bare with me, Fem Reader coded but only in some parts, Kings being kinda possessive, wear whatever you want queen don't let any man disrespect your style.

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗡

He won't complain, but you can see in his face that he's not thaaat into your fashion choices.

It's not that you look bad, the opposite, you look too good, way too good actually, but he knows other devils that have two eyes and functioning brains think the same, and that's what infuriates him.

Satan trusts you and knows that your eyes and your heart are placed on him and only him, but still, other devils lusting over you is something that gets on his nerves to the point where he wishes he had thousands of legs to kick all of them.

But since that's impossible and he wouldn't dare to vocally manifest his disagreement, then you'll have to settle for reassuring him constantly that he has nothing to worry about, until your words eventually get to his head and he makes a switch in his mindset.

He'll leave you to do as you please, and in case anyone dares to give you any nasty looks, he has two fists and very strong legs to beat up anyone who dares to disrespect you.

𝗠𝗔𝗠𝗠𝗢𝗡

Doesn't give a fuck, it's your body at the end of the day, you are even free to walk around naked if you want to.

He buys you tons clothes, and if you don't like them he'll give you his card so you can buy them yourself, he's your biggest supporter, and he'll even get you your personal seamstress so you can get the best quality and original clothes that suit your style and your likes perfectly.

Mammon doesn't get bothered by others staring at you, they're his too so why should he care? Their greed to have you fuels him, but knowing that he's the one that owns you and that gets to be as greedy as he wants with you gets him going like nothing else.

He might get worried that you may catch a cold by wearing your preferred style during low temperatures, but Tartaros is a country with outstanding technological advances, he'll find a way to make you heated clothes or anything else so you can still wear what makes you comfortable without getting sick.

Or he could just share his natural body heat with you by carrying you everywhere in his arms, you choose ;)

𝗕𝗘𝗘𝗟𝗭𝗘𝗕𝗨𝗕

Loves everything about you, EVERYTHING, there's no reason why your clothing decisions should be any of his business, and he probably wouldn't even notice, until he does and just tells you how hot you look.

Beelzebub might not notice what you're wearing, but he does notice others looking at you (sometimes), but he couldn't care less until the looks turn into something else, that's when he bothers, but it's nothing that his flies can't solve.

Since a big part of his fashion choices lean towards the more revealing side, he would let you borrow some of his clothes, but make sure to return them unwashed tho, though Beelzebub insisted that if they didn't fit you you could get them fixed by a seamstress, but they wouldn't fit him anymore so why does he want them back?

Beelzebub thinks it's an amazing deal, you get to have his clothes that fit your style perfectly, and in exchange, he gets to have them back but drenched in your scent, what a great businessman he is.

He also likes to get you both matching clothes, take it as one of his love languages, he might forget about a lot of things, but he'll NEVER forget to get you something cute that he thinks you'll love on one of his trips.

𝗟𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡

You would have to give him some time.

He tries, he really tries, you would have to explain to him a thousand times that you dress the way you prefer because you want and not because of others until he finally understands that he doesn't have to hang every devil that steals a glance at you.

Eventually Leviathan will begrudgingly understand, if 100 devils stare at you, he won't hang all of them, maybe 20 if he's in a good mood.

He'll also stop telling you to take off your clothes or to cover up, and he'll just give you dirty looks and shut up, be patient okay? Be grateful he's trying.

Eventually (And after reassuring him for god knows how long) Leviathan will realize that at the end of the day, you're his, and no one will take that title away from you, and the ones who should be feeling jealous are them and not him, so he'll just let them envy you both, he's still gonna hang those who's stare lingers at you for too long tho, you don't have a say in that, good luck.

𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗣𝗛𝗘𝗚𝗢𝗥

If that's what you like, go on, he pays no mind to such a thing, that's your body and he has no right to complain about it, and even if he did, that's too much of a hassle anyways.

It's not like he goes outside that much to notice others lusting at you, but he knows, it's just that he's too lazy to do something about it, he trusts you tho so he knows that he has nothing to worry about because, in the end, he knows you would rather cuddle for hours with him that pay attention to some lowly devil.

If your normal body temperature tends to lean towards the warmer side Belphegor won't leave you alone, because more skin showing= More skin to lay on to sleep.

He'll have Beleth buy you some clothes that maybe are too revealing to wear outside so you can model them to him in private, Belphegor may get a bit annoyed at first because Beleth seems to know your style too well, but that feeling goes away once he sees you, thank god Beleth knows you so well.

Bonus points if you manage to get your hands on a very bold cosplay of one of his favorite characters of an anime or Hentai and wear it around him, you'll have the king of sloth wrapped around your finder as you step into his room.

𝗟𝗨𝗖𝗜𝗙𝗘𝗥

Way more into it than what you would expect, it's your body and there's no reason to hide it, God created humans to not be ashamed of themselves, and Lucifer was proud that you were following his word.

Lucifer enjoys staring at you from a considerable distance as others stare at you and your revealed skin, maybe he does that just to feed his pride, poor lowly devils as they look at something they will never get to have, something that only he owns.

Contrary to others, Lucifer will give you his honest opinion if you ask for it, he would enjoy dressing you up in cute clothes, and he'll even get you some himself and feel like the proudest demon in hell when you wear them.

Just because he enjoys the boost of pride that others staring at you gives him doesn't mean he won't get possessive towards you, there's a limit to everything, and there's a difference between just staring and giving lusty looks and touching (or trying to touch) he draws the line there and those devils will face ruthless consequences.

His main worry is that you may catch a cold if you wear such revealing clothes in cold weather, that's the only time when he'll encourage you to cover yourself, and maybe he'll even try to force you to do it if you refuse, but he's worried okay? There's no ill intentions behind that.

𝗔𝗦𝗠𝗢𝗗𝗘𝗨𝗦

You could wear a sack of potatoes and he would still get turned on.

Lust is like fuel to him, so he doesn't mind others staring at you, that would just turn him on more, and to think that they can't have you because all of your lusty self is reserved for him and only him? Damn, he must stop thinking about that or he'll get hard.

If you were thinking that Asmodeus would behave normally around you when you have such "pleasing to the eye" clothing preferences you are terribly wrong, and covering yourself more won't make it any better, the damage was already done once his eyes landed on you

Also, more revealing clothes>more skin showing>less clothing>easier to take off.

We all know that he would rather have you naked, but since you may be against that then this works too.

𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗨𝗦

𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗔𝗦

Foras wouldn't take his eyes off you, ever, but he's a bit too shy to stare at you, so he often turns invisible so he can look at you all he wants without getting embarrassed.

He would LOVE to go shopping with you, if what you want is a partner who gives you a critical opinion about what you try on then Foras isn't for you because he would just tell you how beautiful everything looks on you and say that you look stunning in every singly synonym of that word that exists.

𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗡

It would take some time until Gamigin is finally used to your clothing preferences, in fact, he won't get fully used to it ever, but seeing you happy with your body makes him happy too, so he doesn't care.

Loves it when you model your outfits to him as he sits on your bed staring at you completely lovestruck, eventually he won't even pay attention to what you're wearing, and his gaze is only focused on you.

[deadlychansaw]

— hope

pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x reader

warnings: vomiting, no use of y/n, bit angst, pregnancy, it happens during ep 2 s2

a/n: omg first time writing something like this, i hope someone enjoy this 🫣

00:30 was the number sparkling in neon red in her bedside watch. She couldn't stop looking at it. She couldn't sleep. How could she? The bed too big and cold for her to be alone, she missed her husband. Where was he?

She thought that after the coma he would retire and live peacefully with her, maybe in some cabin in the woods with two kids and a dog. this thought alone made her want to tear up.

She knew being a police officer was dangerous, so every time he wasn't home she feared that something had happened. This made her want to throw up, and she did.

That was unusual for her, maybe... no. It couldn't be. But when was the last time she had her period again? It was nine days late, this was also unusual. How haven't she noticed it?

00:45. She couldn't wait until morning so she picked up her car and went to a 24h open drugstore

"Do you need any help, miss?"

"I want a pregnancy test"

"Are you alright, dear?"

She hadn't noticed that small tears started to run down her face.

"I will be"

As the old lady gave her the test she smiled sympathetically and said:

"I'm sure you will. You don't need to be afraid"

" My husband is a cop" She felt the need to reply

"Oh, I see. But you will be fine, dear. I felt the same when my husband fought in war."

This time, she didn't reply.

She got home after speeding the car a little more than necessary and running a few red lights and went straight to the bathroom to do the goddamn test.

Palms sweaty, hands shaking and feet stomping in circles. It hasn't even passed the three minutes the test needed to be ready, just a few more seconds and...

oh.

Positive. p-o-s-i-t-i-v-e.

She was pregnant and wasn't even sure her husband would return home. Where are you Jun-ho?

"Babe, why are you sleeping on the couch?"

His voice reached her ears like the light in the end of a dark tunnel.

"I was waiting for you"

"My love, you know you don't need to"

"But I wanted to. Where were you?"

"I was in some kind of a car chase, but they shot in my tires"

That made her eyes open wide. "What? Chasing who? Are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt. I wish I could tell you everything but i don't wanna put you at risk"

"I accepted the risk the day i accepted to be your wife. Please tell me. I'd rather know what i'm scared of"

"I guess you're right"

So he tells her everything. The games, his brother, his plan with Gi-hun. Everything.

"That is awful. Unbelievably awful. How can some people be so disgusting and evil? Gosh, that makes me sick"

She ran to the bathroom and started to vomit in the toilet, he ran after her and held her hair.

"Are you okay? I know it's s lot to process"

"Oh my God, I'm sorry for this, now you'll never want to kiss me again."

"There's not a world where i wouldn't want to kiss you" He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "But let's brush those teeth, shall we?"

Jun-ho gets up to put toothpaste in her toothbrush and give it to her.

"I don't know what i did to deserve you, Jun-ho"

"I am the lucky one here, babe. You're still here with me after everything i told you."

"i'm not leaving your side. Never."

He picks her up in bridal style.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting my wife to bed, as i should"

He really was the sweetest thing in her life, she needed to tell him already. All the what-ifs started coming to head again what if he doesn't want a child? what if he doesn't have time to form a family? what if he never come back home anymore?

"Babe, are you crying?"

"Do you really need to search for that island?"

"I do. These games need to stop."

"I don't want anything bad happening to you"

"I promise it won't. I will always come back home to you" He seals the promise by joining their lips in a long, slow and passionate kiss.

"Jun-ho, I need to tell you something but i'm so afraid of how you're gonna react."

"You don't need to be afraid, my love. I'm always here for you no matter what"

"I- I am pregnant" She doesn't wait for him to answer. " I know it's not the right time, and maybe you don't even want to be a dad and-"

She sees that he opened his characteristically big and warm smile, one that lights up her whole world.

"Are you... happy?"

"Are you kidding? Babe i feel like the luckiest guy of all South Korea. I'm so happy. Oh my god, i'm gonna have a daughter "

That made her chuckle.

"We don't know if it's a girl"

"Oh i'm sure of that. We need to celebrate"

"Celebrate? At this time? How?

"Hmm, i can think of a few ways..."

And she had a feeling she haven't felt in a while. relief. Hope.

[michelle-is-writing]

Unsuspecting Suspect, Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.2k~

In movies, the "pregnant women always have to go to the bathroom" is a popular joke to use. However, what most people don't realize is that the joke is highly played down. What you see in movies is nothing compared to what really occurs.

What really occurs is getting up from bed after only five minutes of getting comfortable to go to the bathroom for the fiftieth time that day. Not to mention you've become so used to the bathroom that you don't even have to turn the lights on or anything - you already know where everything is. Plus, if you're me, then that also means picking up your husbands lazily discarded pants that are crumpled up on the floor with his gun and all of his badges still hooked on there just so you can wash your hands.

"Spencer, I know you've worked long and hard," I start, picking up his wrinkled slacks from the bathroom floor. "But if your pregnant wife has to continue bending over and picking up your pants every time she has to use the bathroom because your daughter seems to think my bladder is a punching bag," I begin taking everything off of his belt. "Then I might just have to use you as a punching bag."

"I'm sorry!" I hear him apologize from the bedroom, an ounce of laughter behind his voice. "I forget and just leave them there - I'm sorry!" Spencer repeats himself, making me bite my lip from laughter. He has eidetic memory, and yet, he still 'forgets' his pants when he takes them off everyday he comes home from work.

Taking his badge off his belt and placing it on the counter, I begin dismantling everything else as well. The last thing to remove is his gun and holster, and with this clunky thing, I try as hard as I can to not let it make a sound as I put it on the countertop. Spencer has been very quiet for the past few minutes, and if he's fallen asleep, I don't want to accidentally wake him up.

I just hope he's not quiet because he's worrying himself sick. As of lately, he's had a stalker that the BAU can't seem to figure out who they are. They know they're male, going by the style of handwriting, and they know he has a pattern. Every Tuesday, a letter is sent to Spencer's desk at the BAU, and yet, there's never a return address or fingerprints to go off of. Today was Tuesday, and for some reason, Spencer didn't receive anything. It worried Spencer a lot, but I'm just hoping the stalker has given up; however, his previous letters show no sign of him doing this which makes this all more worrisome.

"No, no, please," I hear Spencer's voice from the bedroom once more, making my eyes go wide as I quickly catch onto the fright and panic in his tone. Who is he talking to? Especially when I've been in this bathroom no longer than five minutes, and I didn't hear a phone ring or anything.

"You are Spencer Reid," My ears catch a very unfamiliar voice, causing me to fully come to a halt with Spencer's revolver still in my hand. Who the hell is in my house? And how the hell did they get in?

Silently padding over to the bathroom doorway, I try as hard as I can to crack open the door enough to see who's in our house. As I do so, I feel my heart beat a mile a minute, and the little girl in my stomach still hasn't given up on her kicking assault. "Your birthday is October of nineteen-eighty-one. Your mother,"

The man pauses to laugh, appearing as if he were trying to mock Spencer; I take this chance to open the doorway as much as I can without alerting the man, and thankfully, it seems to be a success. "The poor old broad can't decipher through her own mind - never has been able to," The man continues. "Finally, you turn eighteen, you send her away, and you go on to live your own life in college and, soon enough, the BAU,"

Slowly peeking around the corner, I see the man talking to a very wide-awake Spencer with his gun raised at him, no mask concealing his face. Instead, his entire body is covered in black material spanning from a dark turtleneck all the way down to pitch black slacks and charcoal boots. Yet, his head and face are completely visible to anyone who sees him, and going by the fact that he's doing such a thing, he thinks he's going to get away with it and not get caught. Not on my watch.

"You've spent- no, wasted! Wasted nearly eleven years of your life on a job that prevents you from actually having a life!" At the mans words, I squint my eyes while readying Spencer's gun in my hands. "Face it, doctor Reid - you are nothing! I am smart - we are smart! But you have married yourself to your job that doesn't need you; it needs me," with that, the man pauses once again, but this time, he begins to pant, obviously worked up over what he's been saying. This guy has to be one of the most conceited guys to walk the earth.

"Now," The man states, leveling his eyesight with the gun once again. "Was there anything I missed?"

At this point, I come around the bathroom corner with Spencer's gun raised at the man. Through the sights, I see the two small pieces of metal lining up with the mans head, and in my peripherals, I see Spencer warily nod his head as he glances over me with extreme and utter nervousness.

"Uh, y-yes, actually," my husband answers, swallowing down his worry as the fate of his life rests at the tip of my fingers. Now that I think about it, if it weren't for Spencer's bad habit of leaving his pants in the middle of the bathroom floor, I wouldn't have the ability to save him right now.

Just as the man turns around, I line up the sights with his head once again as I pull the hammer back, the trigger following soon after. Watching as the man quickly goes down with no life left in him, only slight convulsions surging through him now, I slowly let my hands fall back to my side as the realization of what just occurred passes through me. I just shot someone... someone who was threatening my husband's life, but still! I've never done that before, and I never want to have to do it ever again!

Within a few moments of my eyes widening in shock, I feel Spencer take me into his arms while slowly taking the gun out of my hand and tossing it onto our bed. "You did so well, love," Spencer assures me in my ear, making me slowly sit on the ground with him as shock runs through me. I'm so stunned by what just happened that I can barely breathe. "You did good, baby, you did so good. I'm so proud of you."

Despite Spencer's words running through my head, I find myself suddenly gasping as I realize something. "Baby! The baby!" I almost shout, turning my head toward Spencer as my now free hand falls to my thirty-week old bump. "Spence, the-the noise, the noise! Could the noise have hurt her ears?"

Immediately, Spencer shakes his head before moving to place his hand on top of mine, his other hand raising at the same time to wipe away the sudden rush of tears falling down my face. "No, no, she's fine, (Y/n), she's fine," Spencer assures me, gently rubbing his thumb against my clothed belly. "The muscles and amniotic fluid protect her, so when the noise does reach her ears, it's extremely muffled," he further explains, gently taking my face into his hands to turn me toward him. "But I am going to have a medic look over you and the baby when they get here, okay?"

Keeping my eyes on his, I nod before laying my head against his chest, a small sigh falling from my lips. "He was the stalker, right?" I ask Spencer, my eyes flickering up to his face as his hand reaches down to gently card through my hair.

Spencer simply nods. "Yeah, he was," he tells me, making me shake my head. "The way he spoke, it's how he wrote his letters," Spencer further explains, "He was an obvious narcissist with a superiority complex - just like his letters."

That would explain the man's words from earlier and how selfish they all were. Although, what if the cops don't believe us and arrest me in spite of what's been going on? I know Spencer wouldn't have gotten in trouble shooting him as a BAU agent, but what about me?

"Spencer, am I going to jail?" I immediately ask, my eyes growing wide as panic sets in my chest.

"No, no, you aren't, and you need to calm down," Spencer tells me, holding my head to his chest as he kisses my temple. He's trying to comfort me while also preventing me from looking over at the dead man currently lying on our bedroom floor. "You did nothing wrong, that was self-defense, and you protected me as well as save me from the man who was going to kill me, no doubt," he points out, his voice growing softer with every word. "You're awesome, love."

In response to his comment, I find myself lightly laughing with tears rising to my eyes again. That's what I usually tell Spencer when he gets back from a case and they successfully stopped a killer. Even if the case goes awry and Spencer returns home sad or disappointed in himself, I still remind him of my usual compliment. Now, much to my disbelief, the roles have reversed and now it is me who has stopped the bad guy.

Once my breathing is slowed and my panic has settled down, Spencer helps me go back to our bathroom where he makes me stay. Without wasting anymore time, Spencer grabs his phone from his side table and dials the police before walking through the house with his gun in hand to make sure there are no other intruders. Thankfully, there isn't, and Spencer soon returns to the bathroom to take me out to the living room, getting me as far away from the dead body as he can all the while making sure I remain comfortable.

Sitting behind me on the couch, Spencer makes me lie between his legs as I rest my back against his chest, his right hand rubbing soothing circles against my bump while he uses his other to dial up his team. Thankfully, soon of them are still at the office working late when Spencer calls.

"(Y/n) shot the stalker?" I hear Derek's familiar tone over the phone as Spencer explains the situation. As he goes on, the sound of sirens in the distance slowly grow closer, and the only thing I can do is hold a hand to my swollen tummy as our little girl gives the occasional kick to my ribs.

"Yes, directly in the head," Spencer answers Derek with a quick glance over to our bedroom where the dead body remains, the spilled blood from his wound no doubt soaking into floor. I never would have listed 'blood is easier to clean up' as a pro when choosing hardwood over carpet. "She shot like a trained officer."

Spencer's comment warrants a rare chuckle from their boss. "Too bad she wasn't able to help you when you failed your shooting test and needed to retake it," Hotch's voice pipes up from the background, causing Spencer to let out a little 'hey!' in response. In light of the situation, I laugh a little at that. I can remember him calling me after failing it and I had to tell him it was okay. Of course, in his mind, it wasn't.

"I don't fail tests." I remember him telling me, making me laugh. No matter what I said, he still continued on about failing the test, unable to let it go.

"The team will be here in a few minutes, okay?" I hear him tell me, bringing me out of my thoughts and back to the moment. I hadn't even realized he ended the call with his team.

Still, I nod back at him, only a few seconds passing before he's leaning over and pressing his lips against my cheek. "It'll all be okay," He assures me, making me slightly nod with another small shuddered breath. "I promise," He further assures me, sensing my anxiety. "I'd never let anything happen to my hero~"

[allpiesforourown]

Roommate Binghe would absolutely make the most insanely hilarious Reddit thread that’s so out of touch with reality. I can just hear the comments begging him to give the woman he dates a break and just bend over and fuck his roommate already

That thought is literally what inspired this au for me in my head I had this idea of binghe saying "am I the asshole for not picking my BEST FRIEND OF TEN YEARS over a woman I've been dating for two weeks?" And it's one of those aita posts that have a deceptive title because everyone reads that and goes of course not! Then the actual post is this:

"I (21M) met my best friend (22M) when I was 11 and he was 12. I used to be really weak and scrawny back then, and he saw me getting bullied at the playground and became the first person who ever stood up for me. After that he asked his parents to hire my mom and we could finally move out of poverty. She was really sick at the time and getting a better paying job really helped her get better. I'm saying all this to show how important he is to me and why anyone should understand that he'll always be the most important person in the world to me.

He's also a bit sickly. Nothing severe but he has asthma and picks up illnesses way easier than most people, so I often take care of him.

Recently he said he wanted to meet my girlfriend, so I agreed the three of us should have dinner together at a nice restaurant. She was weirdly quiet the whole time, staring at the two of us talk. When we left it was late, and the night air was making him shiver, so I gave gege my jacket. I thought we'd all head our separate ways from there but my girlfriend got super moody and said it was my job to drive her back too?? I said "I'm not making gege walk back because you want me to drive you home" and she was about to yell at me when gege stepped between us and said I can drop her off and then take us home. It was annoying because she lives in the opposite direction but I agreed.

When we got to her apartment, instead of saying thanks and leaving, she said she wants to talk to me. Obviously I didn't want to leave my friend alone in the car, but he just smiled and said I should say goodnight to my girlfriend. He's always very sweet and indulgent to the people I date, to the point it's a little frustrating.

Once we were alone, she blew up at me, claiming I ignored her all evening. She got mad at me, saying that gege was wearing jeans and a full sleeve shirt while she was wearing a short dress and I gave my jacket to him instead. I explained to her that his immune system is weak so if he caught a chill he'd be sick way longer than if she got a cold.

That was our first argument. She got over it in a few days. but I didn't want her around gege anymore lest she said something about me "picking him over her" and made him feel guilty for no reason.

Afterwards she invited me to be her plus one at her cousin's wedding. I said I'd go but just two days before gege got really sick. I said I'd stay with him, but he insisted I go to the wedding and he'd get someone else to look after him. He mentioned this guy who I absolutely hate and that's when I knew I couldn't leave him in anyone else's care.

Gege's friend is a terrible influence on him. He's an idiot with no brain and a creep who clearly wants to take advantage of him. I absolutely could not leave the two of them alone when he was so vulnerable so I refused to leave him alone even for a few hours. Gege was too feverish to remember the wedding after the first day so he didn't say anything about it.

I was so busy taking care of him, I forgot to tell her I wouldn't be able to come to the wedding. I didn't bother picking up my phone until gege was back on his feet and saw about 50 missed calls all from her. When I called her back she was screaming so loud, gege could hear her even though she wasn't on speaker. After I hung up on her, he looked so sad and said he was sorry for being the reason I couldn't go. I told him I didn't even want to go and it was just her cousin, but for the last week he's had a perpetual frown on his usually smiling face. I feel so terrible. I want to tell him it's not his fault, of course I'd choose his HEALTH over a date, but he's really beating himself up about it... I hate that I made him feel that way.

Top comment: THAT'S THE PART YOU FEEL GUILTY FOR???? THAT YOUR GEGE FEELS BAD????????? NOT HOW YOU MISTREATED YOUR POOR GIRLFRIEND?????

Second comment: just fuck your best friend instead of making her suffer bro 😭😭

[jo-harrington]

Saganaki (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: First Date, Blind Date, Awkwardness, Fluff, Food/Eating

Note: I feel like I've already written something with a traditional Chicagoland greek diner in Magnificum et Horribilis but while that one has more of an air of "together despite it all, in order to overcome it all" I also wanted to feel a little more fluffy about it. A love letter, if you will. I've been feeling a little bit of a "romanticize your life" vibe lately about all of the stupidest places you could think of and this was one of them.

Tagging @bettyfrommars because she got a 10 minute voice note about this a few weeks ago. I'm going Friday morning and I will be getting my bowl of cream of chicken and rice soup. AND MY CHEESE. And @deathbecomesthem because I know you need a little bit of simple and light. (No pressure to read on either of you. Love you both.)

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

You wouldn't say you hated much in life but you hated blind dates. Hated them with a passion.

You didn't know anyone who specifically liked the concept of a blind date, but it always seemed that the people who said they disliked them as much as you did were always the first people to try to set you up with someone they knew.

"My husband's mechanic. You'll love him."

"This guy who works at the mail room at work. He's a hoot."

"The neighbor's nephew. He works at the post office."

And you were kind about it, always went through the motions and attempted to set these dates up. But they always fell short without fail. They were obnoxious or selfish or rude. Most importantly, none of them ever made you laugh. Then, after the night was over and you vowed never to see the guy again, you'd get the "I'm so sorry it didn't work. You know, I always hated blind dates."

So you didn't know why they kept trying. Actually, you didn't know why you kept graciously agreeing, and you eventually put your foot down.

Well, you tried to.

Your friend, Jen, made one last ditch effort. One final blind date and then you would never need to do it ever again. According to her, at least.

"How do you even know this guy?" you had asked over the phone. "I know everyone you know."

"Friend of a friend of a friend," she simply dismissed. "And you would've known him already if you had come to the last Garage Beer Friday last summer."

You wondered for a moment if she had tried to set you up with this Eddie guy back then. Had your unseasonable cold saved you from disaster? You couldn't bring yourself to lick a doorknob to contract another disease to avoid this again. You hated being sick more than you hated being set up.

"He'll be great!" Jen promised when you didn't respond. "Besides, you need a date for Stef's wedding, and he's already invited!"

"So he's John's friend?"

"I think they work together."

"You think?!" You sat upright. "That's it, I'm not going."

Jen proceeded to yell at you through the phone until you finally relented. Which was the reason why you were sitting in a booth at the local greek diner. It was right before the post-church rush on a Sunday morning, and you were impatiently waiting for the final blind date of your life to show up.

The blue-haired waitress was kind enough to refill your coffee twice, and did not pressure you to touch the enticing bread basket at the center of the table or to order. But you knew that kindness was running out. Along with your patience.

Where the fuck was this guy?

It was at the exact moment that you'd slammed your coffee cup on the table, ready to call it, that a body slid into the other side of the booth.

"I'm sorry I'm late. In my defense, Jen shouldn’t have suggested the morning after daylight savings." The words were blurted out, out of breath, and all in one messy string of sound. Like he'd been practicing it on the drive here and was so eager to get the words out, it didn't matter if they were coherent or not.

Rosy-cheeked, wide-eyed, and with a bashful grin, Eddie was the grown man equivalent of an eager puppy. A mutt of a man, at that. His long, frizzy hair was still a little damp at the ends, and he had a worn leather jacket over a flannel shirt with some fraying on the collar, with ringed fingers that nervously tapped on the top of the table as soon as he had a second to breathe.

Of course, you weren’t judging him for what he wore. It looked comfy, worn like a second skin, unlike other dates who were stiff and clearly out of their depth. You’d done the same; worn something tried and true that you wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable in. But still cute. Just like him.

No, what really spoke to you was that he seemed exactly the kind of guy who would fit in at Garage Beer Fridays. A little weird, a little unruly. The kind of person with a personality already baked in who looked like they had stories to tell. The type of stray that naturally gravitated towards your ragtag group of friends. If he was already in good with your friends, he was good people.

"Daylight savings was last week, actually," you announced after a beat. Said lightheartedly, you were signaling that this diner, this booth, and you were safe from further judgement. Well, as far as blind dates went, that is.

The record-scratch moment that occurred in his head was immediately evident on his face. Cute confusion.

"No it wasn't," he muttered with a chuckle. Then his brow furrowed slightly. "No...was that why I was late to...oh shit. I'm so sorry I'm an idiot."

He shook his head and chuckled, and then reached into his jacket and produced one, slightly crumpled, tulip for you.

"My uncle always said never to show up to a date empty handed," he explained as you took the flower from him. You ignored the electricity that tickled your fingers as they brushed against his. "Figured a rose would be too much."

"It's perfect, thank you." You grinned as you felt your impatience evaporating. "Unfortunately I don't have anything for you. But maybe we just start with a cup of coffee."

You reached across the table to flip Eddie's cup over and then waved the waitress over for a top off.

---

You'd gotten the typical "getting to know you's" out of the way fairly quickly. Names, what you did for work, how you both knew Jen. Then, once you had a chance to look at the menus, you got to the real meat of the conversation.

Because Eddie, it seemed, was a regular at Omega Family Restaurant.

You'd been clued in as he schmoozed your waitress for an extra bowl of little creamer packets, and although she had expertly brushed off his charms, she had returned with the creamer and referred to him by name.

Only for you, Ed.

"I'm her favorite," he explained as he dumped an absurd number of sugar packets into his coffee. Shake, shake, rip, dump, toss. Shake, shake, rip, dump, toss. It was a comical rhythm and you wondered if all that sugar made him sweet too. "But, uh, I'm usually not around in the mornings. I'm in a band. We play a few regular gigs in the area. Jen said you like metal?"

"I've been known to attempt to deafen myself in the car before work," you replied.

"Hell yeah, baby. You should come see us sometimes. Anyway, all of our gigs are usually late. We needed a 24 hour place to call terra firma. With pancakes, of course." His spoon went into his cup and it clinked against the sides as coffee sloshed over the lip and onto the paper placemat.

"Of course." You smiled into your own coffee cup.

"And," he abruptly pulled his spoon out to point right at you, "a free bread basket. Which I notice you haven't touched yet."

"I was trying to be considerate and not eat the croissants before you got here," you explained. "But you were late, so..." You reached over and grabbed the flaky pastry with an exaggerated gesture.

He hummed judgmentally and you shot him a questioning look. "No, I just think it's interesting you went for the croissant and not...I dunno, the poppy seed muffin."

"I mean, if we're here long enough, all of those pastries are getting eaten," you announced unabashedly. "What is this bread basket psychoanalysis?"

He reached over, letting his hand undulate in the air until he chose the chocolate muffin. You didn't know it then, but it would become the first of many thesis-level Munson philosophies that you would hear about in your life.

"There are few things more sacred in life than the bread basket at a greek diner," he began with the air of a scholar. He slowly peeled the liner off the muffin as he spoke. "Not even the bread basket at a steakhouse! At a steakhouse, you're paying for good bread and butter. At a diner, this is a gift. Welcome, we're about to treat you like a part of the family. We're happy to see you. Have a pastry, an old family recipe made with love.

"You chose a croissant, which means you appreciate the craftsmanship of laminated pastry. You like nice things, you like butter. Poppyseed muffin? You don't care what people think of you. You also don't work in a job where they drug test. But most importantly? If you decided not to have a pastry altogether? That would be a cardinal sin. That means you don't appreciate the bread basket, you don't enjoy the mundanity of the every day, and that would've been the end of our date, in my humble opinion."

Your brows jumped in shock at his closing statement. "You're awfully judgy for someone who doesn't want to be single."

"Judgy? Sure." He narrowed his eyes at you and popped a piece of the muffin in his mouth. "But not weird? Not a freak?"

"It's not the worst way to gauge the quality of person you've been set up with," you admitted after some contemplation.

Eddie beamed. Not the easy smiles and smirks he'd been giving you so far during your time together. It was a smile that morphed his face into something of sheer beauty. And your heart skipped a beat as you desired to see that smile more.

"As long as you don't judge anything else I order," you added as an afterthought.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."

---

Unfortunately, that plan went to shit immediately because judgement seemed to be the theme for the rest of your date.

Good natured judgement, sure. But judgement nonetheless.

As it turned out, you were both incredibly opinionated when it came to food.

It wasn't something you'd ever consciously considered yourself to be, seeing as you were the furthest from a picky eater possible. You ate everything. But you had preferences that came to light when it was time to place your orders. Eddie's hawklike gaze caught every twitch of your brow and scrunch of your nose. And you had done the same in return.

"What's that look?"

"What's what look?"

"That one?"

"Excuse me, but you've got a look too."

This led to you bickering across the table as you continued to consume the bread basket.

"Who puts mozzarella in their omelet? It's swiss or cheddar or nothing."

"Mozzarella is the reason there's a cheese stretch. And you're one to talk. Who orders ranch on their caesar sirloin sandwich instead of caesar? It's in the name."

"I don't like the anchovies."

"You can't even taste them."

"No, but I know they're there."

At some point, Eddie had reached across the table and flicked at the tips of your fingers lightly.

It tickled. You giggled. You were not a giggler.

What the hell was wrong with you?

Back and forth you went as you scanned over the menu and went over your preferences. Waffles verus pancakes versus french toast. Minestrone versus cream of chicken and rice. Rice pudding versus spumoni.

It seemed that every time you compared preferences, you were at odds with one another. But that was the best thing about them being preferences, you didn't explicitly dislike what the other person liked. Just preferred your own. So it didn't stop either of your utensils from sneaking across the table to steal bites from each other's plates once the food had arrived.

"You put too much syrup on your pancakes," you cajoled.

"Well they're my pancakes, sweetheart," Eddie joked before flipping the short stack over so you could access the pancake that wasn't absolutely doused in butter and syrup. "You put too much hot sauce on your eggs."

"They needed something," you defended and he pointedly hit his fork against the glass Heinz bottle that sat between you. "Don't tell me you can't handle spice." You pointedly cut a particularly bland looking portion for him to take.

There was one item on the menu you had yet to discuss, and Eddie was the one to cross the metaphorical line in the sand.

"How do you feel..." Eddie paused as he swirled a fry through a pool of ketchup. He avoided your gaze, either through fear or shame, you couldn’t be sure. “About saganaki?"

You twirled your fork thoughtfully and asked "versus what?"

"Versus nothing." He shrugged. "Just...wanna know what you think of it." He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms over the back of the booth, the complete opposite of the defensive, avoidant body language he had just moments ago. He was open, welcoming your response. Even if it was one that he wasn't going to like.

Flaming Saganaki was in a league of its own, and Eddie was right not to put it against something else. Briney cheese doused in brandy and then set aflame at your table in a brilliant spectacle. Squirt a bit of lemon on it once the fire had burned out--or to put the fire out altogether--and it turned gooey and a little roasty and a little funky.

It was a divisive dish and you'd sat through plenty of arguments with friends and family alike over ordering it for the table to share, and you're sure Eddie had experienced the same.

Even though you'd had the lowest of hopes for this date, it was actually going well and you really liked him. His humor, his smile, his je ne sais qois. You didn't want this whole thing to derail over saganaki of all things. Should you tell him the truth? Or not?

"I love it," you said confidently, shoulders pulled back.

"Bullshit," he hissed at you and leaned forward, elbows placed on the table as he tented his hands in front of his face. "Nobody likes saganaki."

"I do," you insisted with a scoff. "I like the corner pieces, actually, because they get the best crust."

"But it's stinky."

"Sometimes the best food is stinky food."

"It's not even greek!"

"Yes it is! It's greek cheese! Halloumi. Kasseri!"

"It's weird."

"It's a tradition," you insisted, getting a little hot under the collar.

You mirrored him, leaning forward to meet his challenge. But instead of tenting your hands, you fisted the cloth napkin in your lap. Wringing it. It was your turn, now, to wax poetic about a food; you knew this date was over anyway if this was anything to go by, just as you feared. Who knew cheese would be your undoing. Another anecdote never to tell your nonexistent grandchildren.

"It's a Chicago diner staple," you spat at him. "It's a spectacle, and you don't have to eat it if you don't like it, but you have to respect it. You have to clap when it comes out of the kitchen. You have to say opa when they light it on fire.

"And it's my favorite part of coming to places like this," you said with finality. "So if you can't deal with that...I guess this date is over."

You stared at him, stared him right in the eye, and he stared right back at you unblinkingly. That warm brown gaze that might as well have been made of molten fire the way it glinted in the incandescent light of the fixture overhead.

Finally, he blinked. And the serious facade fell away as he grinned. "Well good!"

"Good?" you asked, confused.

"Yeah, good." He nodded. "You passed my final test."

"Oh you son of a b--" He cut you off before you could get the expletive out.

"Listen, I don't like liars and I don't like people who pretend to be something they're not. I like real people. And sometimes, that's the last thing you get from someone when you go on one of these blind dates. I took a chance, and it was worth it. You're worth it."

You were at a loss for words.

He had a point. Blind dates...any dates really...were full of pitfalls and fake personalities and best behaviors. And sometimes you got to see authenticity peeking through, and sometimes that was a bad thing. So you couldn't fault him for this...because it was working out. For both of you.

But did it have to be over cheese of all things?

"It's also really good," Eddie continued after a few seconds. Your attention snapped back to him. "Because I placed an order for us to share while you were in the bathroom and if you didn't like it, this was gonna be really awkward."

And you couldn't help but through your head back in the biggest laugh, before you threw your napkin right at his face.

---

By the end of the date, you were so full of good food and good spirits from each other's company. Eddie had insisted on getting you a slice of their cherry cheesecake to go.

"It's a staple," he said as you waited in the line along the bakery case to pay. He leaned down and practically had his entire face pressed to the glass to ogle the beautifully lit cheesecake with shiny glazed cherries atop it. "I'm getting a slice to eat for breakfast tomorrow. So you in? Or no?"

He was also a sweetheart who paid for the absolute mountains of food you both had consumed, even though you insisted that you could pay for your portion.

"My uncle would roll in his grave," he said, elbowing you as he pulled bills out of his wallet. "He's not dead, by the way. But I think he would drop dead, let us bury him, roll over in it just to make a point."

"Nice to know where you get your flair for the dramatics from," you teased.

He smiled that big, bright smile again that made your heart flutter.

After he paid, you walked outside and hesitated to part ways, awkwardly figuring out how to say goodbye after such a perfect final blind date of your lives.

Eddie, once again, was the one to finally cross the line. No tricks this time, though. No tests.

"So, next Sunday?" he asked as you fiddled with your keys. "Pancakes and chicken and rice soup and saganaki?"

And you didn't hesitate to say yes.

[emchant3d]

It’s the fourth time this week Eddie’s been late without a phone call.

Sure, his job has him working weird hours - Steve gets it. But he also knows his schedule and he knows the days Eddie works at the bar til close and he knows the days he’s supposed to be home before dark, and he hasn’t had a closing shift once this week. 

Yet he came home near ten tonight, and Steve had been worried and nervous and yes, sure, a little - a lot - insecure about it, and maybe he’d lashed out first, or maybe Eddie had, Steve doesn’t know, but he knows they’re standing in the living room shouting at one another and it’s all coming to a head and he can’t stop himself, can’t keep from getting loud and angry and–

"Do you even want to fucking be here?" he yells.

"Not when you're acting like this!" Eddie says, and Steve's throat goes tight like there's a fist wrapped around it. 

Not when he's acting like this, he thinks. Not when he's being too needy. Too pushy. Too demanding.

Something in his brain feels like it rewires. Their relationship flips on its head, and suddenly fear is coiling in Steve's stomach, not anger. 

He'll lose Eddie if he keeps pushing like this. If he demands too much of his time, pulls him away from what he'd rather be doing, makes himself too much work, he'll lose him. Eddie always said he wasn't going anywhere. That he loves Steve, wants to be with him, will never get tired of him. Steve was a fucking idiot to take that at face value.

He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize, wants to tell Eddie to forget all about what he said, wants to show how sorry he is, but between one moment and the next he's feeling like a guest in his own home, and he's very familiar with how it feels to be unwelcome.

So instead he shakes his head. Eddie wants to be left alone, probably. Doesn't want to see Steve when he's mad at him. Doesn't want to deal with him. He'll make himself scarce.

"I'm staying in the guest room tonight," he says stiffly, and turns away, only faltering a little when Eddie mumbles 'what the fuck ever' behind him. He flinches when Eddie slams the front door and closes the spare room so quietly it barely even clicks.

– Eddie gets home late.

Like, late-late. Steve hears the front door open as he's staring at the clock on the bedside table, the bright red numbers burning into his vision. Why did they even put a fucking clock in here, he thinks. It's the guest room. Why did he insist on furnishing this room like someone might live in it? Like this was a home people would be in and out of, like their family would come and stay with them long enough to need an alarm clock on the bedside table?

Desperate, a voice in his head hisses at him, desperate and needy and full of wishful thinking that someone would want to stay around sad little Steve Harrington long enough to need anything--

Eddie's coming down the hallway. He's trying to be quiet, but he forgot to take his shoes off at the door and his Reeboks squeak a little against the hardwood. It's a familiar sound. Comforting, usually. It's how he knows his honey's made it home safe when he's out late, that tell-tale squeak and the little stumbles when he's tipsy and making his way through their home after a long gig.

There was no gig tonight, though, and Eddie's footsteps are steady and even despite the soft sound of rubber on wood. He isn't drunk, Steve doesn't think - and is that better or worse? That he left after a fight and didn't even go somewhere to drink it off. Where has he been, if not their usual bar to think about what they'd spat at one another, trying to think of solutions, of apologies?

And is Steve really owed an apology? He was overbearing. He was pushy. He was demanding and authoritative and too fucking much all over again, and Eddie lashed out in response, and does Steve deserve an apology after all that? He's been going around in circles with himself all evening about it, arguing in his own head, saying yes I deserve one because my feelings were hurt and no I don't deserve one because I lashed out first and how does he answer this for himself? He doesn't know.

He knows he'd do just about anything to make the empty feeling in his chest go away, though. Knows that he'd shove his hurt away and eat his words and apologize to Eddie and never, ever push again if it meant he knew where they stood. If it meant Eddie would forgive him and never storm out like that again, if it meant Steve knew he wouldn't be left alone like this to wonder if Eddie was coming back.

And he feels so dramatic - he can hear Robin's voice already, telling him it was just a fight, that there's no reason to get this worked up about it, but Steve can't help it. Slammed doors and loneliness are the soundtrack to his childhood and he can't help the panic he feels when someone he loves leaves.

"Do you want to be here?" he'd asked, like a fucking idiot, and Eddie hadn't said yes. Steve swallows around the lump that's taken up permanent residence in his throat. Reaches to swipe a hand over his face, rubbed raw, eyes burning with tears he won't let fall because what right does he have to cry? He brought this on himself. He always brings it on himself.

Eddie's feet are still squeaking their way slowly down the hallway, he's trying not to wake Steve - or is he just trying not to be noticed? Impossible, if Eddie Munson is in a room Steve is going to notice, how can he not? He's been yanked into that gravitational pull and there's no escape for him, not anymore, he's a moon circling around the solar system and Eddie is the sun, burning bright and pulling focus and what is Steve to do in the face of that?

He keeps his eyes fixed on the clock. Watches the display change when a minute's passed. Feels his heartbeat stutter when Eddie's shuffling, squeaking steps pause outside the guest room.

They keep a hall light on at night. It's on a dimmer, turned down way low, but neither of them do well with complete darkness. Too many nightmares, too many shadows haunting and hunting the both of them. Steve can see the muted glow of it from beneath the door.

He can also see when Eddie comes to a stop because his feet block that light. Two shadows in the doorframe, obscuring the soft haze of warm orange that creeps in a half-moon over the carpet, and Steve stops breathing. There's a soft shifting noise, fabric over wood, a gentle thunk when Eddie leans against the guest room door, and Steve almost calls out to him. Almost says I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't leave again, please don't leave me, but the words stick in his throat. Ball's in Eddie's court, as it should be when Steve fucked up so bad, when he tried to ruin it all, when he made Eddie so mad that he left when he promised Steve he would never do that. Eddie's a good man. Keeps his word. Steve's the problem, Steve is always the goddamn problem, always will be, ruins and stains everything he fucking touches–

The shadow disappears. Steve squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees lights popping behind his lids. Those shuffling squeaking steps continue their way down the hall. Steve feels like he's going to throw up but he didn't have dinner so there's nothing in his belly but bile and nothing comes up even though his throat is tight and his stomach is fucking rolling.

The bedroom door - their bedroom door - creaks on its hinges. Steve keeps meaning to put some WD-40 on it but he kind of likes that it makes a noise, that when he's asleep it's just loud enough to wake him halfway and tell him to anticipate the warm wash of tobacco and sandalwood that will cloud him when Eddie slips beneath the covers. Lets him know he's about to be grabbed and groped a little bit, sweet little kisses pressed to his shoulder and neck and jawline until he's got a face tucked into the curve of his throat, until he's giving a sleepy smile and winding his arms around a trim waist and dragging Eddie in close, sputtering and laughing tiredly as wild hair gets in his face and mouth before he falls asleep again, wrapped tight around the love of his life.

None of that tonight, apparently - and he doesn't blame him. No, he hears the bedroom door creak and it feels like a punishment that he deserves and his eyes burn and burn and burn and his face is wet now, he can't help it, and he wipes at it again angrily, takes the soft blanket to his face and why is it so soft why does Steve try so hard when he knows he won't get anything back why does he try to build a home when he's never had one and never will and is going to lose the one he's clawed onto so desperately and tried so hard to keep–

The door creaks again. Steve takes a stuttering breath. Eddie's steps are soft now as they come down the hallway, bare feet on the floor, almost silent as he creeps his way closer. Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, anything to hold back the sounds he wants to make - he can't let Eddie hear him. He can't let Eddie know he's crying. That's manipulative, isn't it? Crying in front of the person he hurt? He won't do it, won't be that selfish, but that shadow appears at the base of the door again. Steve can't help the shaky inhale he takes, and it sounds so fucking loud in the quiet of the guest room, choked and echoing. 

"Baby?" Eddie says, voice low and quiet, rapping so gently against the door with one knuckle. "You in there, Stevie?" 

Just the sound of him is enough to send his heart crashing around in his ribcage, fluttering and jumping and making Steve tense. He wants to answer but he can’t get the words to form, his throat feels sealed shut, and he wonders if he should answer even if he were able because what could Eddie possibly have to say right now? It can’t be anything good and Steve doesn’t know if he can take it right now, in this room that makes him feel like a guest in his own home - but isn’t he always a guest? Isn’t that what he’s made to be, a temporary stop in everyone else’s story?

But he’s not ready for Eddie to move past him yet. Not tonight. Let it happen in the morning if it has to happen, let him put this off just a little longer. Just please, not tonight. Not yet.

But Eddie’s never been known for his patience, and the click of the latch has Steve slamming his eyes closed. Too late to roll over and hide his face, but he’s got enough time to duck down and tuck most of his features into a pillow. He tries to let his body relax, to let the tense lines of his muscles uncoil and his shoulders drop and his fists unclench, but he can’t tell if he’s managed it and the ache in his palms from his blunt nails tells him maybe he did, but it won’t help much.

Eddie makes his way across the carpet in silent steps, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of it. Steve’s fingers twitch to reach for him, but he just curls them into the sheets instead and hopes the motion looks absent enough to have happened in his sleep. 

He smells sandalwood and tobacco and feels the warmth from Eddie being so near but it feels like there’s a wall between them, one he can’t cross even if he tries, one he’s barred from so much as touching. 

He works hard to keep his breathing even but it’s hitching now and then despite his best efforts, shaky and too loud in the silent room, but he keeps up the charade even though the end of it all is perched right in front of him. And it’s Eddie who puts an end to it. It was always Eddie who was going to put an end to it.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve squeezes his eyes tighter like that’ll make it untrue, like he can just drift off in a second if he wills it hard enough. Eddie shifts on the mattress, and Steve curls tighter into himself. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” Steve bites his tongue so hard he thinks he might taste blood. It’s that simple for Eddie - but it’s always simple, isn’t it? Cut and dry, plain as day, Steve is the only one who can never see it coming, it’s written on the goddamn walls for everyone else.

He risks peeking through his lashes but Eddie’s got his back to him so it doesn’t even matter, not really. Eddie isn’t looking at him and so Steve allows himself to look, takes in the hunch of Eddie’s shoulders, the curve of his spine beneath his thin pajama shirt - he’d changed, when he’d made his way through their creaky bedroom door, took off his clothes and put his pajamas on and kicked off those tennis shoes, they’re probably in a pile at the foot of the bed for Steve to trip over and he will miss tripping over them, he’ll miss it terribly.

He wonders if he’ll need to move. If he’ll have to find a new place and separate out all of their things into his things, if SteveAndEddie’sStuff will become Steve’s stuff and Eddie’s stuff. Or maybe he’ll just start staying in this guest room, maybe that’s why he furnished this room so completely, because somehow he knew he’d end up alone in it.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and Steve inhales sharply.

“Don’t,” he says, and somehow he keeps his voice steady.

“So you are awake,” Eddie says, and he tries to sound teasing, sound playful, but it drops like a stone in this space between them. No room for levity in the dark cloud Steve’s filled this room with. He wishes he could be easygoing and let go gently, but it’s Eddie - in what world could he take losing him graciously?

“Yeah,” he says, and he stares at Eddie’s back as the other raises his head, but he still doesn’t turn to look at Steve, and he wishes he could at least look him in the face when he rips his heart out of his chest.

part 2

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Part 20

Summary: Will Wanda get to propose first?

A/N: Hello everyone! This is the last chapter I'll be posting before a little break. I'm low on ideas for this little world, but I definitely don't rule out coming back to it in the future.

Big thanks to @esposadejoyhuerta because I posted the very first part as a little fic for her. To @a-cat-on-titan for sharing ideas that inspired me and to everyone that read and commented. I honestly think I managed to write so much because you all liked this series so much.

Everyone at Stark Hospital seems to be cheerful after the wedding. There’s still talk about who wore what, how amazing the food was and how lucky Carol and Maria got as nothing interrupted their day.

You’d appreciate the atmosphere. Except it’s Sunday. And still a day off for you, with the kids staying over at the Barton farm for the rest of the long weekend.

And yet, Kate paged you over one single case.

“I’m really sorry, they asked for an adult”

“Kate, you are an adult”

You’re in the break room, putting a lab coat over your clothes as you don’t plan on staying longer than necessary. Yelena’s sitting in the couch, scrolling down her phone.

“An older one. Not that you’re old” she hurries to say as she walks beside you. You can hear Yelena chuckling.

“Hey, you could have helped your girlfriend. Or did I teach you nothing, Belova?”

“Well, I…” 

“We…”

They both blush at the term girlfriend and you almost want to laugh. But you need at least one competent doctor to assist you, so you sigh, pulling Kate along.

“Hello, I’m doctor Y/L/N” you greet a young woman with a baby. “Doctor Bishop told me you requested a specialist”

“I’m really sorry” the woman says, bags under her eyes. The baby whines a bit as she sways them. “I’m just very worried and I want to make sure nothing’s wrong with him”

“What’s his name? And yours?” you ask calmly, as you try to examine him. You pretend to hide and watch as he follows you with his eyes. A nice way to get him comfortable and check if he’s ok.

“His name is Chuck. And I’m Ana”

“Alright, Ana, tell me what happened” you ask, allowing her to sit.

Something very common, the baby rolled over and fell from the bed. After crying, he fell back asleep but is now moody, taking longer naps and refusing to eat.

“He has a fever” Kate mentions as you examine him, making sure there are no broken bones or any other visible injuries.

“Has he been sick lately? Flu or anything of the sort?” you check his eyes with a light and he complains.

“Yes, a week or so ago. But he was better already. Oh, he also threw up this morning” the woman says, her voice shaking. She’s looking anxiously as you keep examining everything.

“Everything looks fine in his physical exam. Just a small aversion to light, but no broken bones or discomfort in his abdomen. But we should really do a CT scan just to rule out anything else. Would you be ok with that?”

“Yes, anything he needs”

“Doctor Bishop, let’s give him some ibuprofen for that fever and once he settles we can do the scan”

As you walk up to inform the technician, you run into Darcy.

“I thought you had a day off”

“Right back at you”

“Bishop paged me. What’s your excuse?”

“Oh, nothing…” Darcy looks away, but you catch her peaking around the ER.

“Oh, my God! You’re here to see Bucky!”

“Wanna shout it louder? I think even the dead bodies at the morgue heard you” she hits your side while you laugh.

“I knew you liked him back!”

“Shut up, lesbian”

You’re ready to keep arguing when someone clears their throat. You both turn, finding Bucky swaying back and forth.

“I was wondering if you…” he’s looking at Darcy, but then panicks, turning to you. “You need any help with that patient”

“I’m good. Darcy, do you need help with anything?”

The brunette glares at you, but turns to Bucky a second later.

“I’m good”

“Yeah. Ok” he nods, walking away.

“You scared him!”

“I just stood here! Didn’t even say anything” she protests.

“Yeah but all these months you kept talking about how you hated him and now he’s not sure you actually like him. Help him out”

“Don’t you have anything else to do?”

“Yes, I’m cooking dinner for Wanda”

“Proposing at last?”

“No” you clear your throat. “I don’t think”

“I’m kidding” Darcy says, remembering Wanda has everything ready. “You’re not seriously thinking about it, right?”

“Maybe. Look, we have the house to ourselves, I’m making dinner. If the conversation goes that way… I already have the ring. If not, that’s fine”

“Well… crap. I gotta go” someone pages Darcy. “Will you maybe consider hitting pause on that proposal?”

“You’ve been nagging me for weeks to do it”

“Yeah, well… I’m just making sure you’re not doing it because you’re too emotional from Carol’s weddding” Darcy lies. She hates getting involved and now she’ll have to let Wanda know you’re planning on doing this.

“Gotta go, they’re ready for the scan” you smile, thinking Darcy’s just concerned over you.

When you go back to the baby, you notice his mother is still struggling to get him to sleep. Since the scan won’t take more than a minute, you don’t want to sedate him or anything else.

“May I?”

“Yes, of course. It’s really hard to get him to na…”

A minute after he’s in your arms, the baby is fast asleep.

“Can you teach me that?” the woman says and you laugh.

“Sure can”

As Maria is not around, you decide to ask Tony for his input. He’s been cold towards you since you came back, and you know it’s an issue with his ego more than anything. Still, you try to play nice.

“Ten month old?” he checks the scan. “No bleeding or skull fracture. All good”

“Great, thanks Doctor Stark”

“Very formal. Are we not friends anymore?”

“You tell me”

“Well, don’t work with the enemy again and we’re all good” he winks at you.

Luckily, you’re able to discharge the baby, happy that it’s nothing serious. You’re about to say goodbye to Darcy when you notice she’s approaching Bucky.

“I like Italian food” she says without preamble. “So, if you want to go ask me out, that’s a good choice”

“Oh. Ok. How about tomorrow?”

“Fine. You’re buying” Darcy adjusts her glasses, leaving before Bucky can say anything else.

Well, hopefully that’s a start.

—

Wanda is pacing around the living room. It’s not just that you’re all alone in the kitchen making dinner for her. It’s Darcy’s call.

“She might propose tonight”

“What do you mean?” Wanda said.

“Well, she said she’d see where the night took her…”

“I have to distract her”

“How?”

“Boobs”

“I regret asking. Bye” Darcy hung up, while Wanda changed into a lighter shirt and threw away her bra.

It was a sweet gesture. But Wanda really wanted to be the one proposing first.

So what if she was competitive over this? It’s silly. You’d laugh it off.

Either way, she can’t let you do it, not tonight.

“Ok, food’s ready” you announce with a smile.

Since it’s a bit warmer, you decide to have dinner in the backyard, enjoying the weather and the nice lights.

“Everything ok at work?” she asks as you serve some lasagna and pour her wine.

“Yeah. Just a nervous mom that wanted reassurance. I don’t mind it, though. Can’t imagine how scary it must be to take your child to the ER” you smile at your girlfriend, observing her reaction to the food.

“It’s good” she nods and you tilt your head, knowing there’s more. Wanda rolls her eyes. “It’s good. That’s it”

“Fine”

“It’s too cheesy. But that’s just a personal preference” she says once you stop staring and you laugh.

“I like cheesy”

“I know, detka” Wanda reaches for your hand.

You keep talking about work, Wanda’s book release on Friday (thank God you have no idea it’s actually not related to the book at all), and you tell Wanda all about Darcy and Bucky’s date.

“Unlikely pair, those two” she marvels, laughing.

“I’ll say. You done? I’ll load the dishwasher considering your mom’s not around to curse at it”

“Yeah, but hurry back. Let’s stay out a little longer” she kisses you softly and you love how the taste of wine lingers on her lips.

When you’re done cleaning and go back out, the ring box is in your front pocket. The sight of Wanda sitting in the patio swing while she browses through a picture book takes your breath away.

Her hair is down, the fading light of day reflecting on her; you can tell she’s a bit cold, wearing nothing but a light shirt. You approach with a blanket, watching curiously at the pages.

“I promised I’d tell you about the twins” she reminds you, and you sit next to her, covering your laps with the blanket.

You’re moved by the pictures of the kids you love so much, admiring how small they once were. It’s also amazing how much Pietro resembles his father. Now more than ever you wish you could have been there to meet him and be with Wanda.

“Dad was with me the day they were born. Pietro had a college event, being on a sports scholarship and everything. Mom went with him to make sure he kept focused instead of flirting away”

“Mama Maximoff, professional cockblocker” you mumble, getting elbowed by Wanda. “Ok, go on”

“So I started feeling weird but thought it was nothing. My dad insisted we go to the ER. And sure enough, he was right. Mama and Pietro had just boarded their flight so we couldn’t contact them until they landed. And then it all happened so fast, so my dad went in and held Billy and Tommy before anyone else”

“You’re so brave, Wands. I could never do it alone. I’ve seen how hard it is, not just giving birth, it changes your life completely. And yet you did it, while being so patient and loving and a wonderful mother” you say, going through photos of the kids.

Birthdays, first days of school, Halloween.

“I always had my family. And now I have you too. We make a good team, detka” Wanda leans against you, showing you some of the last pages of the album. There are pictures of you and the kids, with Sparky or playing soccer.

You reach for the ring box, getting ready to say those words, but Wanda jumps on your lap, looking suddenly flustered.

“You’re so hot” she says, taking your hands and placing them on her breasts. Your eyes widen when you notice she’s not wearing a bra.

“I… uh” you stutter, trying to remember that you were proposing.

“We didn’t have dessert, detka”

“No, I guess not… oh, god” you sigh when she leans forward, biting down your earlobe.

“I have something really sweet for you” Wanda teases and your brain stops functioning. The only thing you can think about is her, naked and screaming your name.

“Well, good thing I’m starving”

Wanda laughs, but it turns into a moan when you lift her shirt and suck on one of her nipples.

Pretty soon you both forget about rings and proposals.

—

It was all so strange. You didn’t drink that much wine.

But when you wake up, alone and disoriented, it feels like you had a whole bottle of the cheapest alcohol to yourself.

“Hey, you’re up” Wanda says, too cheerful for your liking.

“Hey. Isn’t it early? And didn’t we fuck like animals until early morning” you joke, making her blush.

“Yes, detka” she leans forward, kissing you. “But Pietro stopped by for breakfast. And I have laundry to do, plus the kids are coming back today after lunch”

“And I have work tonight” you yawn. As you get up, stretching your arms, Wanda’s eyes linger and you smile. “Wanna have round… seven? I don’t know, I lost count”

“Would love to, but like I said, Pietro’s downstairs”

“Even better” you pull Wanda by the waist, smiling. “I get to make you come and scar him. Win-win”

“Evil” she laughs, pecking your lips.

As you get ready to go downstairs, there’s something in the back of your mind that’s bothering you.

Something you had or were supposed to do?

“Fuck” you remember when you can’t find your jeans.

The ring.

If Wanda’s doing laundry…

Did she find it?

“Morning” Pietro says when you go downstairs, looking worried. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, man. Cool. Never better. Hey, Wands? Did you find anything in my jeans before throwing them in the washing machine?”

“No, detka” she lies.

“You sure”

“Yeah”

Again, total bullshit.

“Uh.. ok”

Maybe the ring was somewhere else, considering you were both in a rush to get naked.

“Gotta take out Sparky. Be right back”

Pietro waits until you’re gone to ask.

“What was that about?”

“I hid her engagement ring. The one she was going to propose with, I mean”

“But, why?”

“Because” Wanda sips from her cup of tea, hoping Pietro gives up. Except he’s still waiting for an answer and she sighs. “Because I want to propose first!”

“Wow” he laughs, knowing his sister is super competitive. “And yet I’m the evil twin”

—

It’s a bad day to have a busy ER. You’re freaking out about the lost ring but you barely had time to look without making Wanda suspicious.

What if Sparky ate it?

“Everything ok?” Kamala asks when you’re checking over a patient.

“Yeah, fine”

“It’s just, your stethoscope is backwards” she points out and you curse under your breath. Once you’re done with the proper examination, you follow Kamala to the cafeteria.

“Hey, would you be able to do me a favor?” you say.

“Yeah, sure”

“Can we get an X-ray of Sparky?”

“Sparky… is that the man you were examining?” she says, confused.

“No, that’s our dog. I’m trying to figure out if he ate the engagement ring I lost”

“Engagement? Congratulations!” Kamala says, completely forgetting the part about how you lost the ring.

“So, can you help me?”

“Uh… sure. I mean, we need to sneak him in and I…”

“Perfect, I’ll page you when he’s here” you say, going back to work. Maybe you’ll have to ask Pietro’s help, but so be it. You’re so busy dialing his number that you don’t hear someone shout a warning until it’s too late.

The last thing you see before passing out is a stretcher rolling down your way.

—

Pain.

The only pain I want in my life is pain au chocolat.

That makes you laugh.

“Hey, pal. You awake?”

“Darcy?” you open your eyes, feeling like throwing up. “What the fuck happened?”

“So, one of the new paramedics didn’t lock the empty stretcher and it rolled down all the way to you” she explains.

“Fucking moron” you try to sit up, but your sides hurt. “Anything broken?”

“Nope, just a concussion and bruised ribs” she says, and as you open your eyes again, you notice her outfit.

“Were you out on a date?”

“Yes, and it was terrible. We have nothing to talk about when we’re not fighting” she complains.

Honestly, right now you’re struggling to form a coherent thought, so nothing comes to mind to help your friend.

“Detka, you’re awake, how are you feeling?” Wanda joins a moment later and you smile lazily at her.

“Mkay, could use some cuddles”

“Right, I’m out” Darcy complains and you laugh.

“Wait, Darcy. I need your help” you mumble, half asleep and forgetting Wanda’s there. “Find if Sparky ate the ring. Or I’ll have to propose with nothing”

Darcy gives Wanda a strange look, and your girlfriend gestures for her to join her outside.

“I hid the ring”

“Why?!”

“Because she was proposing”

“What happened to just using your boobs?” Darcy points at Wanda’s chest.

“Well, that was part of the plan but I still have four more days to go before she tries again! There's only so much my boobs can do”

“Lucky for you, this little incident gave you some time. She’ll be out of it for another day” Darcy comments, watching as you snore loudly. “Or maybe two”

—

It’s become a whole thing, the stretcher incident. Fury had to organize a staff meeting about safety and how to prevent stupid accidents.

Even if it wasn’t your fault, you feel like an idiot. The idiot that got a concussion from a stretcher that wasn’t even going that fast.

At least you get a day off, and you’re making the most of it, waking up later than usual. You’re busy answering to Darcy’s memes about your unfortunate accident when Wanda walks in, smiling.

“How are you feeling, detka?”

“Like a total loser”

“Aww, come on. I bet some cuddles will make it better” she says, laying next to you in bed. You let her settle with your arm as pillow, feeling her delicate hands lift your shirt. “How is the bruising?”

“It’s fine. Just have to avoid breathing too hard” you try to joke, but notice her frown. Kissing her temple, you wait until she looks up at you. “Hey, I’m fine. It was a stupid thing that happened”

“I know, but… sometimes your job is dangerous. I guess I always worry” she sighs, hiding her face in your chest. You kiss her again, smiling.

“I won’t say no to you kissing it better” you tease, feeling happy when she straddles your lap. Except one second later you’re breathing too hard and your side hurts. “Ok, maybe for now let’s just watch tv”

—

Word spreads fast. Not even when you almost died trying to help other people did you get so many pats on the back.

Hell, you almost drowned once. But apparently a stretcher can hit anyone, so you have the entire hospital's sympathy.

“Hey, careful, a stretcher!” Darcy shouts the minute she sees you. You yelp, turning around to find the hallway empty.

“Fuck you, Lewis”

“Shouldn’t you be at Wanda’s party or something tonight?” she says after she’s done laughing.

“Yeah, I have a change of clothes. Don’t think I’ll need much more for a small bookstore downtown” you say, confused.

Before leaving for work Wanda had also reminded you to be there on time, insisting you didn’t have to pick the kids up or anything like that.

“Are you showering? Doing your hair? Makeup?”

“Do I smell?” you say, pulling your scrubs to your nose. Why does she care so damn much?

“Oh, my God. Just because you’re in a relationship you shouldn’t let yourself go! Now I have to fix this too” she begins to rant, dragging you to the break room.

Pretty soon, Kamala and Kate stop by to help with your hair and makeup.

“What is going on? Don’t you have work to do? Kate, who’s working the ER?”

“I have Barnes on it” Darcy answers and you smirk at her. “What?”

“So, are you still trying to date or not?”

“We found some middle ground to talk” she says cryptically.

“Which is…”

“Lord of the Rings”

“Oh my God! Is he a huge nerd like you? I was so not expecting that!” you laugh, kicking your feet when you notice her blushing.

“Laugh all you want! Turns out he is a nerd and has perfect hair and blue eyes and abs which means I’ll just have to date him. I hate you. And before you say anything, shut your mouth because I’m applying lipstick”

You know Darcy doesn’t like to talk about feelings. And she’s had the same amount of luck in relationships that you have. So, you keep your thoughts to yourself, but when you look in her eyes, her expression softens and she smiles back.

“You look good, pal”

“Thanks”

“Am I interrupting treat your self time?” Fury says when he walks in on all of you.

“Sir, I would have invited you but we’re braiding each other’s hairs and well, you…” Darcy trails off, and you smack her in the arm.

“You’re talking to your boss”

“Just get back to work” Fury says, smiling.

Well, Darcy’s always getting away with shit.

For the rest of the evening, she circles around the ER, but you think it’s because she wants to be around Bucky.

Except when it’s exactly 8 and she sprints towards you.

“Time to go”

“I have some charts to…”

“I wasn’t asking. Bishop will do it. Get changed, chop chop”

Darcy walks you to your car, and you roll your eyes as you get in. The car won’t start, though.

“I’m not in the mood for jokes, Y/N” she threatens as if it’s your fault that it’s not working.

“Be my guest! Battery’s dead, Darcy. Why are you being so damn weird today?”

Still, the car won’t start when she tries, but she doesn’t give you time to say “I told you so”.

“I’ll call a cab. Or ask Wanda to pick me up” you say, thinking it won’t be a big deal if you’re a few minutes late.

“Damn it, I can’t push my surgery again” she mutters, checking her pager. Your friend looks around the parking lot, eyes meeting the EMT from the other day. “Hey, you!”

The man tries to hide in the ambulance, but Darcy’s quick to catch him.

“My friend’s gonna be late for a very important thing. Why don’t you drive her there?”

“I can’t use an ambulance as an Uber, are you mad?”

“It’s either that or I run you over with a stretcher as payback, how about that?” Darcy says, nodding when he stays quiet. “Thought so. Now, you get in. And you, better turn those sirens way up”

“You’re acting very strangely, Lewis. I’ll tell Bucky to keep an eye on you” you say when she pushes you inside.

The ride is incredibly awkward, especially when the guy does turn on the sirens. You wait until you’re out of the hospital’s parking lot to turn them off.

“Just let me out and I’ll take a taxi, man”

“No way, your friend scares me too much. Plus, I really am sorry for almost killing you the other day”

“You hardly did that. Trust me, I’ve been through worse” you smile at him.

Admittedly, you do arrive faster when it’s in an ambulance, and you thank him before getting off. To your surprise, Wanda’s at the door of the bookstore, looking around the sidewalk nervously.

“Y/N? Why are you in an ambulance? Are you ok?” she rushes to you, hands going over every inch of your body.

“Babe, I’m fine. My car wouldn’t start and Darcy was being weird about this, saying I couldn’t be late and all… I hope I’m right on time, though it looks empty. I didn’t get the time wrong, did I?”

“No, it’s fine” she smiles, standing on her toes to peck your lips. “Come on”

The place is really small and cozy, and you look around, trying to figure out if anyone’s already there.

“I wanted to give you this” Wanda says. You take the small package and rip the wrapping paper, smiling.

“An English-Sokovian dictionary?”

“Figured it might be useful for when you’re working” she smiles and you want to thank her for the gift, but you can’t help but frown. “What’s wrong, detka?”

“I was hoping you’d help me translate. I guess this means you won’t be coming with me, huh?”

“No, that’s not what I meant… here” she takes your hand, making you sit on the floor. There are cushions and a carpet, all arranged for children to sit through a reading. You tilt your head when Wanda hands you a second gift.

“I feel awful. This is your party and I didn’t even bring flowers”

“It’s actually not… until tomorrow. You didn’t really think we’d host a reading for children right around bed time, did you?” Wanda chuckles and you nod.

“Right, but then…”

“Just open it. It will make sense, I promise”

You nod, discovering two books inside. Of them is the one releasing today -or technically, tomorrow-, the other one seems like a collection of illustrations.

Those are drawings of you and Wanda, some of them with you and the kids. Sparky’s there too. It’s everything, from your first dates, to soccer games and trips, including your time in Boston.

“Wanda, I love it. Thank you” you say, trying hard not to cry at all the love and dedication she poured into this. “And your new book, it’s so amazing as well…”

Wanda waits for you to read the dedication inside, and you smile wide when you spot your name.

“To the love of my life, Y/N. Thank you for showing me how special life can be when you share it with someone else” you read out loud, a tear rolling down your face. “Wow, I’ve never had someone dedicate a book to me before. I feel…”

“There’s one illustration I didn’t get to include, though” she says, taking your hand. You examine it, realising it’s from the bookstore where you are right now. The set up is the same, and you’re sitting next to Wanda, like you’re doing right now.

There’s a small text written at the bottom, though.

Ty vyydesh' za menya?

“Wait, that’s in Sokovian” you say, trying hard to figure out the words.

“Good thing you have a dictionary” Wanda teases and you sigh, opening the pages. “Why don’t you start with popular phrases?”

“Fine. Wish I knew I was getting homework assigned” you joke, frowning as you read over every phrase listed. Once you think you found it, you compare it to the one written in the drawing.

Once. Twice.

After the third time, you look up to see Wanda staring back at you. She’s holding a ring.

“Oh, my God!”

“Is that a yes?” she says, her heart beating out of her chest.

“Wanda, of course it is!” you move forward, hugging her until you’re both on the floor, laughing. “Is this why Darcy was acting strange, wanting me to be here on time?”

“Maybe” Wanda smiles, taking your hand and sliding the ring. You admire it, still finding it hard to believe she asked you to marry her. “It’s my mom’s engagement ring. Insisted we should have it”

“I love it” you say, smiling and wiping the tears that keep on coming. “And I love you”

“I love you too” Wanda says, smiling at you. You lean forward, kissing her and smiling against her lips. “I can’t believe I managed to propose first”

“Wait, what?”

[mxstly-melancholy]

Logan request!!

Logan finally had enough and fucks you the way he’s always wanted putting you in your place then you have to deal with the mansion over hearing him

Everyone’s just happy you guys don’t argue anymore instead your loud in a different way

Logan X FemReader SMUT!!

Warnings: No y/n, fem reader (she/her) , pet names, sub/dom if you squint, arguments, embarrassment, breeding. squirting.. lmk if there is more.

Logan has been super cranky lately, but to be fair, so have you. And this has caused a lot of tension and arguments between you two. You aren’t sure why it’s been this way, it probably ranges from the constant stress of missions to the lack of sleep. Who knows at this point, but everyone including yourself is getting sick of the arguments.

And they’re not even real arguments either, they’re just loud disagreements about stupid small things.

And it seems like today you were the one to start a disagreement..

You and Logan were in the mansion's kitchen, talking about a mission you both came back from. It was exhausting, and the last thing either of you should be doing is having a beer, but here you are..

“I just really don’t think we did the right thing, that’s all I’m saying.” You put your hands up in defense. Logan’s eyebrows drew together annoyed.

“What do you mean? We did the only thing we could do. There was no other option.” He huffs.

You sigh, “Look, all I’m trying to say is we did have other options, they just didn’t come to mind until we literally had no other option but to act on what we did.”

You watched as Logan downed the rest of his beer, annoyance on his face as he sat at the table across from you.

“What’s your deal?” He asks seriously, crossing his arms.

The sudden change in demeanor made your heart race.

“What?”

“You heard me, what’s your deal?” He repeats.

You anxiously shrug and awkwardly laugh. “I don’t understand what you mean. I'm just sharing my-“

“Why have you been so wound tight? Everything has to be an argument with you lately.” He huffs.

Your eyes widen at the comment, feeling attacked almost.

“I'm sorry? You’re putting the blame all on me? What about the ones you caused? Just gonna forget about that now?” You stand up angrily.

Logan stands up and walks around the table, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the kitchen wordlessly.

“Wh- Logan where are we going?” You nervously ask.

He was tense, his jaw clenched as he speed walked to their shared room.

He didn’t reply. Just continued on until they reached their room. He opened the door, almost running inside & locking the door. He picks you up and places his hands under your ass, catching you by surprise.

“Logan-“ you whisper breathlessly. He walks over to the bed and places you down on it, crawling on top of you.

“I’m gonna fuck that attitude out of you.” He mumbles, not letting you reply before smashing your lips together. His hands roam over your body, teasing and seducing. You give in, wrapping yourself around him. With His free hand, his claws come out and rips your pants down the middle in one motion. You gasp from fear but also excitement.

He throws the ripped pants off of you, then before you know it his hand is at your heat, rubbing slow circles on your clit. He smirks, watching your face contort to pleasure and desperation.

“Logan… fuck.” You moan. He kisses and sucks at your neck, leaving deep purple marks along it. Your hips buck up into his hand, his pace too slow.

“You want more, huh bub? You gonna stop being a little brat if I give it to you good?” He whispers in your ear. You nod rapidly, your hands clawing at his shoulders.

“Please Logan. Please.”

And with that he sits up, quickly removing his own pants. He pulls his briefs down and his cock springs out, head red and leaking pre already.

Your mouth waters as he grabs your ankles, pushing your legs towards your head, putting you in the mating press position.

From past experiences, this position means he’s not going to hold back.

He rubs his cock against your folds, gathering your slick on him.

“Fuck baby. So fuckin’ wet fu’me.” He nearly growls.

You whimper as he starts to push his way in, tingles shooting up your body. He goans, white knuckling while holding you down by the back of your knees.

He starts to thrust slowly, the wet noises your pussy makes as he thrusts into you makes his cock twitch. He can’t help but have his eyes flutter, gaining a faster pace every minute.

“Logan- please. Fuck- more!”

And with that his hips snap into you and he’s going to pound town. He growls, teeth showing as he looks down at you with possession.

“Mine, all mine.” He grunts, leaning down and biting into your shoulder. You moan loudly, and unfortunately Logan isn’t being too quiet either, you already know everyone can hear you two but at this very moment in time, you don’t care.

“Y-yours-“ you moan back. Your body shivers as you squirt on his cock unexpectedly, adding even more slick to the mix.

“Fuuuck yes, that’s right baby.” He smiles, bringing a hand down and rubbing at your clit while he fucks you.

Your legs shake, eyes closing.

“Uh uh- look at me.” He grabs your face with his free hand. “You better be a good girl after this. After I’ve been so nice and fucked you senseless.” He says with short breaths. You can barely even understand him, the white noise in your ears and the static in your eyes only getting louder as you’re about to cum.

“Y-yes sir- yes- I’m gonna- I need to cum!” You whimper loudly.

With one final slap to your clit you’re cumming hard, clenching around his cock so tightly that his claws retract and push right through the headboard of the bed. He cums hard right after you, a deep guttural growl leaving his throat as he paints your walls white. You hold onto him tightly as he fucks his cum into you, your legs shaking from overstimulation with every thrust.

“Fuuuckk.” He groans.

The morning after, you two leave your room after a shower & getting dressed for the day. You notice Scott smirking as he walks by.

And as you’re walking down the hall, you see people whispering. Logan looks smug as could be, and you were completely oblivious.

“What’s going on Logan?” You whisper to him,

He smiles, “Really?” He wraps his arm around you.

“You have no idea?”

Your face heats up with embarrassment once you realize.

“Oh.. damn it..” you mumble.

Then Ororo walks by you two. “Glad to see you two aren’t arguing anymore!” She smiles.

You stop and hide your face in your hands.

“This is so embarrassing.”

Logan laughs, “Hey, it’s not so bad. At least they’re happy for us.” He clears his throat. “Oh, don’t let me forget, I have to get us a new headboard..”

[at4-raxia]

Mark Grayson x Ladybug!reader part3

(If you haven't read them yet I suggest you go check part 1 and part 2 to understand part 3 better)

(part 4)

Before you read: protective Mark, him and the reader are whipped for each other (more like obsessed to some degree), they are also really dumb, the variants want that cookie, suggestive, smut, dubious consent, dry humping, the reader is not okay, kidnapping, threatening, angst (because why not?), and lastly but not least, violence and blood. By the way, this is my first time writing smut so I really hope it came out okay at least, if not, I'm really sorry.

Synopsis: Running, escaping, evading. You do that better than anyone else. It's also the only thing you can do right now when distorted versions of Mark are trying to catch you with the goal to have you for themselves after their version of you bit the dust under different circumstances. While on the battlefield you don't only fight broken men, but yourself as you resist from crumbling under the weight of their words and acts.

("If I were that girl I would dump that guy on the spot" William scoffs while sitting on the counter.

"Did you hear what he just said to her? Like, I could not take that level of disrespect, no matter the guy" he adds before slurping his chocolate milkshake. It's late, the sun is setting and the warm orange hues make the bakery the perfect setting for a date.

Or an evening with your friends.

You're working overtime since your co-worker is sick, but you don't mind, especially when it's not rushing hour and your friends are here.

"The guy is not even that hot." Is your only remark as you rest your weight on the counter, your hand on your face being your only support as you look across the room towards the couple.

Mark—the most subtle out of the three of you—almost snaps his head around to look at the them, now suddenly interested in the conversation.

Because of this, the man notices you and whispers in the woman's ear, now both of them are laughing and you feel the embarrassment creep up.

"Great job Mark, now they think we're weirdos"

"I didn't mean to! I mean—you were also looking! And I was curious."

"Yeah, but turning your head around like an owl was not the way dude" says William, who's now savouring the chocolate cake, with chocolate cream, covered in chocolate and with chocolate sprinkles.

"But back to the topic, he is not bad looking [name], it's just his personality that's garbage"

"well he is not really my type" you answer, not really focused on Will as you clean around a bit.

"Oh, oh! Then what is your type then? What about french men?" There's a teasing tone, and a brow wiggle you don't see.

"I wouldn't know honestly." The response comes out of your mouth like water out of a pitcher, you weren't thinking about the consequences of your slip up when you said the words.

Well, at least until you turned around and saw both of your friends slightly shocked.

"What?" Your brows are furrowed, your confusion is evident.

"You were in the city of love and you didn't, I don't know, date anyone? Fuck anybody? Like girl, why did you even go to Paris at this point". You don't mean to blush, there's nothing to be embarrassed about when you have had your reasons to not make any kind of romantic experience, unlike the men in front of you.

It's meant to be a joke, but you can't help but feel a little ashamed.

"I was busy!" Is the only thing that you can come up with as you raise your voice slightly. Will just laughs as if this was the funniest thing in the world, news flash it's really not.

Especially when Mark is present and is staring at you with an expression you can't decipher.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with being a virgin".

This time Mark is the one that speaks, he is not really looking at you but William can see his half lidded eyes, his downturned eyebrows. At that he can't help but laugh even harder for your dismay. (Of course he is the one who says this, of course there's nothing wrong if you are a virgin. It's not like he deeply cares about whether or not you have had any kind of experience with other men, but the possibility of being your first makes him giddy.)

"Mark is right, the concept of virginity is misogynist anyway". With William's wheezes and Mark's unfocused gaze the conversation comes to an end.

You don't even want to know what that couple is even thinking of the three of you after this)

-

Your arms are tired, your body is aching. For the last few hours you have been straining yourself to try and keep up with this version of Mark, who's not exactly holding back.

"Babe really, I can't believe that you're better than half the guys I've faced. But you don't really need to do all this you know." He is floating in the air with a smirk forever plastered on his face, there are some cuts here and there and some of your blood along with his drips on the ground as he stands with his arms crossed.

"Have I told you already how hot you are in this costume? In my world you wanted to be a superhero too, a shame you didn't have these powers". You have swung him around all day with your yo-yo and you have conjured too many lucky charms to count as you've tried to lose him while on the run, but nothing, this cat and mouse game seemed neverending.

"I'm not your girlfriend or the version of me you know about, so don't call me babe", your voice is firm as you speak, it's tired too but you can't just give up now.

"Of course you're not her, she's dead. You're the upgrade."

You're horrified by the statement that's said so lightly, did this man even love your alternative version in his world?

"What—"

"Hey, hey. Before you say it, of course I loved her, that's why I love you." The words are like some sort of tautology, a statement that's always true no matter what. He says everything with so much confidence because he truly believes in his words.

"Because at the end of the day, no matter what universe, it's still you". He is quick as he reaches out to grab you, you manage to evade him but only by an inch as his hand grazes your skin.

As you conjure your lucky charm a weird device falls on your hands, but when you look at Mark you don't get how this could work against him.

It's not like he is giving you the time to think either.

"In every universe you're the kind hearted girl that sticks with a guy like me", he doesn't stop and you need to jump as he launches himself towards you. This time you're late and before your yo-yo can wrap itself around the last lamppost standing, he grabs your leg and slams you on the ground with enough force to leave you breathless.

"You're [name], you're the girl who loves to bake, the girl who is too nice for her own good". You don't have time to get up as he is immediately on top of you, you try to crawl away from him but it's useless as he just grabs your leg and pulls you back in his possessive embrace.

"The girl that in each universe falls in love with me, there's no exception out there, we're meant to be", the words are whispered in your ear and you suppress a shiver. Your hips are flush against his and you can't even move without bringing yourself closer to him, his eyes are clouded with anticipation and no more self restraints as one hand bruises your hips and the other rests besides your nearly concussed head.

He moves, slowly, tentatively, because he wants to savour this, to unravel you with care after not having you for so long. And you whimper as a jolt of pleasure hits your body, because what could you do if not that?

And he keeps doing this, content for now to just roll his hips against yours.

Your costume is barely any protection as you can feel every inch of him rub against you.

Your ponytails are undone and your hair is let loose creating a halo around you, you don't feel like an angel as you wrap your arms around his back, one of your hands clawing on the material of his suit.

The squelch of the two fibers against each other fills the empty street along with your suppressed moans and his audible ragged groans.

Late at night, in the dark of your room, in the privacy of your walls, you had imagined how Mark would sound, how he would feel as he makes his way inside you.

And this was wrong, tantalising, but wrong.

But you can't do anything about it, or maybe you don't want to do anything about it as your legs lock around his narrow waist almost on autopilot.

You feel dizzy, your cheeks warm and rosy as the hand that was gripping your hip moves to knead your butt. The thread that's keeping you together almost snaps as he keeps his rocking steady, with your little sounds, whimpers, moans and shudders as his only fuel.

He audibly swallows at your blissed out face and then he kisses you. It's messy, it's rough, it's all teeth and tongue, it's him sucking the air out of you like he'd die if he doesn't and it's you—inexperienced—trying to follow his lead. But it's loving, it's passionate, it's everything you had desired from Mark, your Mark.

Like in the romantic novels that you used to read (and that Mark bullied you for), the kiss leaves a string of saliva to connect your mouths.

"I'm so lucky that I got to you first" his breath hitches as he tries to remove your suit, not really knowing where to start since you would need to detransform to actually remove it

"Losers, all of them, fucking hate those assholes, especially your version of myself. All whiny and pathetic, a coward through and through". His inebriated gaze travels your whole body until it reaches your flushed face.

"But he's not here, the coward didn't even check on you personally". There's no one in this little evacuated area, not a civilian, not Eve, not Mark. You're just for his consumption now as he momentarily spits vitriol against your Mark, your dear Mark that is fighting tooth and nail right now.

You hadn't even texted him to reassure him you were okay.

Guilt seeps in as a few tears run down your face and your lip trembles, you don't let a sob run out of you but the face of the man in front of you changes.

(It was late, Mark's parents were already sound asleep but the both of you were still wide awake on the couch. Two blankets were wrapped around you as you're curled against your personal heater.

The movie you had chosen was tragic, not in the "oh no, doomed lovers!" sense, but more in the "I'm gonna make you cry every liquid inside of your body" type of movie.

There was only so much suffering your hormonal fifteen year old self could handle and eventually the dam broke.

.

.

.

"hey, are you crying?"

"Of course I'm crying, didn't you see how that little kid died? And his little friend was there, oh god" you sob as the snot fills your nostrils.

"It's just a movie...it's not even inspired by a real life event, don't cry.." he had never cried easily, probably something viltrumite.

You sniff, more like snort at his attempt to comfort you.

Before you can use your sleeve to wipe your tears, he is using his hands to remove them for you.

"I don't like seeing you cry, even if it's for a stupid movie", he almost cringes at how cliché he sounds. It's not like he can help it anyway when this is the truth, he just hates seeing you cry.

Thinking that maybe this was enough for one night, you rest your head on his chest and mutter something almost inaudible.

"Your movies are stupid".)

"Hey, don't cry, I'm here" it's awkward, it's guilty. His reaction is confused as he doesn't know what ignited your sadness.

Your arms are still wrapped around him as he kisses the tears of sorrow away, in a way that's too sweet for a merciless mass murderer.

The longer you cry, the longer you feel yourself coming back from that haze, because the guilt overpowers your desire, and suddenly you realise that you're still holding tightly your lucky charm.

And you see them, you see the possibilities.

You remember his weakness, the weakness all viltrumites had due to their constitution.

So you press the button on the little device and a sound comes out of it. Sharp, lethal, quick.

The man gasps and the sound he makes is terrifying. Blood oozes out of his nose and ears, it ends on your face and you don't care as you press the device against his ear.

He is trying to move, to choke you, to push your arm away, but he's too weak and with a deranged look that screams vengeance, he passes out on top of you.

Your head falls on the ground since the adrenaline is running out, you rest there with his body on top of you just like lovers would after a night well spent.

The sob that you were holding back before is finally free. You are relieved as you slowly use your last remaining forces to push him away from you, then with shaking legs you search for your yo-yo before making your way to your apartment.

You need to tell others you're okay, you need to tell Mark, you need to help others.

As soon as you enter inside your home through the window you collapse on the ground, your costume vanishes in a puff of pink and sparkles as Tikki gasps and flies towards you.

"[name]!" She's tired too, you've used your miraculous far more than usual. You didn't have a time limit like teenagers, but overusing it is still tiring both on the user and the kwami.

"I'm fine, I'm fine", you reassure her and yourself, "I just need to rest for a few seconds" you breathe through your mouth as your sweaty and hot body is pleased by the coldness of the floor.

"You should eat" you breathe out, "I need you to be in your best shape, or else we're not making it out alive". Tikki frowns at your answer, but gets to work as she thinks about how much time you have left before the man with the mohawk comes back for you.

Feeling a little bit better, a little less dead, you also get to work and you reach for your phone.

You answer various texts even if they're not online right now: Mark's, Eve's, William's. Even Debbie has tried to reach out to you as you look at the notifications on the phone.

Your parents have tried to call you.

Your face becomes as white as a sheet as you suddenly remember about your parents. You almost feel like puking at the possibility of them being hurt, or even worse, dead. Before you can tell Tikki to transform, you receive a call that makes your fear disappear for a second:

Mom is calling

You have never answered a phone call so fast.

"Mom! Mom.. oh my god" you choke out as tears of relief run down your face. "Are you okay? Where are you?" There's breathing at the other end of the line, your mother doesn't answer as you plead for everything to be alright.

"Mom? Mom, are you okay? Please, tell me something", your fear comes back tenfold, since once again you don't hear either of your parents' voices. Instead you're met with muffled sounds, distorted, but not too far away from the person that is holding the phone. There's rustling, a muffled cry and then finally a chuckle.

It's dark, twisted, but it's Mark's.

"[nameee]", the variant drags your name out of his tongue, almost tasting it, as if he hasn't said in a long time. "Where are you, [name]? You weren't home when I checked. But I got a little surprise for you, you can call it a little gift", he laughs as he moves the phone closer towards your parents. They are gagged, tied up on a chair and a bit roughed up, not too much, but enough to make them alert about his every move.

And they are afraid, so afraid. Because this psycho version of Invincible wants you, their little girl, and you can feel them trembling throughout the call as the both of them choke on the gag.

"See? They are fine, just peachy. But they would be even better if you just told me where you are", there's a hint of frustration in his voice, because why were you not at home waiting for him when he had arrived at your house? He had found your worried parents instead. But he doesn't need to worry, because you always give in to him, especially when it's about your parents.

(And he knows better than anyone how much you love them.)

Your teeth almost shatter, anger consumes you as the bastard on the other side of the call keeps your parents hostage, and for what? So he could have his way with you just like the other passed out viltrumite?

"You bastard!" You scream as your fist clenches tightly enough to draw blood with your nails. "I'll kill you, I swear I'll kill you when I see you".

There's silence on the other line, and then a loud boisterous laugh that makes you seethe, you bite your lip as a way to dissipate some of the rage, but it's useless and now the taste of iron feels your mouth.

"Oh come on dear, don't make me laugh, just tell me where you are right now and I'll come and get you".

"What if you just tell me where you are instead". Tikki has stopped eating, instead she is listening carefully.

"[name]", now he sounds cold, icy, like a man that wants control and demands respect, "I'm not playing around, if you don't tell me where you are right now I will murder your parents, and trust me I've been hitching to do it a second time".

Then you beg, because you need more time, more time to think about something.

"Please, just, just let me come to you, don't hurt them, please". Even if you're pissed, you can't play around with the lives of your parents. It's almost impossible to stay still after this piece of shit has just said that he would gladly kill them again.

From the other line you hear a disturbing sigh, one of pleasure, a sigh that belongs to a beast that is appeased.

"I just love when you beg, you do it so nicely too. A shame I can't see your face". Making a decision is difficult, you could tell him where you are but you're not sure after his revelation that he wouldn't kill them just to see your reaction.

"Do you remember that abandoned factory? The one we always went to when we needed some time away from everyone else?" You do remember it, but that wasn't the purpose of the building for the both of you. You and Mark had found the place after a whole day of exploring the outskirts of the city, but you rarely ever went there.

"I—I thought you were closer to where I am now" you mutter.

You can almost feel the way the expression on the other Mark's face changes, you can view the way the fabric of his mask creases due to his eyebrows furrowing from confusion.

"Where are you [name]?" You can taste the desperation rolling out of him in waves. You don't know if he will buy this, but Mark was never the sharpest tool in the shed compared to you.

"I am sorry, I just—I forgot that I'm not in the USA right now. I just panicked when you said you would kill my parents." You say everything fast, trying to fake being panicked in the best possible way.

"I'm in Paris right now" you say the address of your aunt's old apartment, now empty as she has moved out of it a while ago.

"You need to come get me..".

A beat, a shaky breath as your parents are almost screaming as they understand that you have given up your location.

"You're really lucky that I'm in a good mood today", the phrase almost feels like deja vu as you remember the Mark with the mohawk saying something similar.

"Ah, and wear something nice" he adds, before hanging up.

As soon as the call ends you're in the air suited up and running as fast as you can. You zap from building to building as you hope, no, as you pray, that by some miracle you were going to be faster than him.

Hello! This was fun to write, honestly a roller coaster since I've never written smut before but there's a first time for everything I guess. This was shorter than the other parts since my Easter break is almost over and I need to prepare for a big exam. Anyways thank you for reading and see you next time <3