#also this was a little late I'm sorry but I was sick and wanted to give this proper attention | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

celestie0 · 3 months ago

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

in holy matriphony ch4. 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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chaoticwriting · 18 days ago

Text

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

#danny phantom #danny x cass #dead silent #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #batfam #cassandra cain #dc x dp #cass x danny

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figmentforms · 1 year ago

Text

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.

#The irony of the dog and bird and such looking down on vaati for being a mouse is not lost on me XD #A Tale of Two Rulers #Zelda #Ganondorf #Vaati #Midna #turns out it's hard to draw mice #Duskar Bidna

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ellecdc · 5 months ago

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okay then consider this a request!! for poly!marauders or just remus/james/sirius, whatever you prefer, for a reader with excruciating period cramps (self-indulgent because mine are horrible, but whatever!!) if you could do it that would be awesome ily!

ok I'm sorry I really made this very much self indulgent in maybe the worst way ever lol. I've been having a lot of fun with chef!Sirius lately, and had briefly discussed this idea with @maladaptiveescapism a while back so it felt fitting. I've also gotten a lot of period fic requests before and have never been all that interested in them which is so strange seeing as I'm a person who experiences period's and they're really popular? WOW sorry, what a tangent. TL;DR, thanks for your request, sorry if I ruined it a little, I probably won't ever write a period fic again lol

chef!sirius x mixologist!reader who calls in sick to work because of her period [2.9k words]

CW: period fic, reader has PCOS, brief allusion to Sirius' shitty childhood, trans!Reggie agenda 'cause I can, Sirius worried reader won't be accepting of his trans brother (spoiler alert, we are because we love our trans homies), Sirius being the worst (positive & affectionate)

Sirius was on his best behaviour today.

Honest to god, hand to his heart, best behaviour.

But there was truly only so much one bloke could do when they had a Jeffery to deal with.

“I’m going to need one of your staff for the evening.” Jeffery said without preamble; standing half-in the kitchen with the swinging door to the floor propped open as if he wanted to ensure there were witnesses to this conversation should it go sideways.

“Jeffery, do you wake up every morning and smoke a bunch of crack before you come to work, or are you really just this dense?” Sirius spat as he dropped his pan in front of him and fought the urge to turn and give the floor manager a withering glare.

Jeffery, well seasoned to Sirius’ theatrics, bit back an eye roll as he carried on. “We need someone to cover the bar.”

Sirius did turn at that, but his withering glare fell somewhere between aghast and bemused. “The bar?”

“The bar.”

“Why?”

“I need coverage for Y/N.” Jeffery explained with a sigh, clearly growing tired of Sirius’ line of questioning.

“Where is she?”

“She has called in sick, chef.”

“Sick with what?” Sirius continued, causing Jeffery’s brows to furrow as he stared at Sirius bemusedly.

“I’m not exactly privy to those details, chef.” He explained slowly as if Sirius were some fussy toddler.

“I just find it hard to believe that the same woman who left the hospital after getting her shoulder reset to come work a full eight hour shift would call in sick.”

Jeffery offered him a shoulder shrug (and a concerned look up and down that Sirius pretended he didn’t notice) before pilfering one of the kitchen staff for the evening.

Sirius would worry about hating Jeffery later; he was more focused on figuring out what the hell was wrong with you and why you weren’t coming to see him to work.

Sirius had his phone wedged between the side of his face and his shoulder whilst he juggled the many go-bags he had in his hands as he stood awkwardly outside of the door to your flat.

He admittedly knew where you lived only because he had driven you home after numerous closing shifts.

Fortunately, the intercom system in the anteroom of your building gave away your unit number.

Unfortunately, Sirius still had his hands full with the various go-bags.

Fortunately, an elderly lady was coming in at the same time and let Sirius into the building.

Unfortunately, she insisted on chatting his ear off the whole lift ride up and actually held the door open to continue conversing even after they had arrived at her floor.

Sirius’ saving grace came in the form of the lift alarm buzzing for having kept the door ajar too long, and she was forced to bid him farewell.

Which brought him here; standing outside of your flat like some kind of stalker as he waited for you to pick up your phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, open your door.”

“Well hello to you too, chef.” You snarked at him again.

“Yes, yes. I said hey, didn’t I? Open your door.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m standing on the other side of it.”

There was the sound of a quick exhale and rummaging. “Why?”

“Listen, I’d love to play 20 questions, but do you think you could let me in first?”

You muttered something that sounded an awful lot like a swear before the line ended.

He allowed his phone to slip out of its place and into his awaiting hand when you flung the door open unceremoniously.

Now, Sirius could tell you’d not been expecting any company today; you were in the same clothes you’d likely slept in, your hair was perfectly rumpled from whatever position Sirius had just disturbed you from, and you looked more than a tad embarrassed to see him standing here.

He had sort of hoped you would look like a troll; make this raging flame he carried for you burn a little softer.

But no.

You just had to look ethereal and perfect and lovely and kissable.

Damn woman.

“What are you doing here?” You finally asked, interrupting the both of you from staring at one another.

“Helping?”

You made a breathy W sound - as if you were going to ask “what” or “why” but the words died on your lips as you took in Sirius’ many bags.

“What did you bring?”

“I’ll show you everything if you just let me in.” He muttered as he motioned towards one of your nosey neighbours who had shoved her head out of her door when she first heard Sirius in the hall.

You peered around your doorframe and narrowed your eyes at her before allowing Sirius entry.

“Finally.” Sirius teased as he moved to place his bags on your kitchen island.

Sirius had never seen the inside of your flat, but if he had simply stumbled into your space by accident he would have known it was yours immediately.

There was something so intrinsically you about your space that Sirius immediately felt at home too, even just for having stepped inside.

“Sorry.” You chuckled somewhat awkwardly; bringing one of your hands to the back of your neck as you considered Sirius and all of his bags. “We’d just been watching some shows.”

Sirius immediately felt his heart fall out of his arse.

We?

Had he read this completely wrong? Were you seeing someone? Was your home not simply yours, but one that you shared?

He found himself suddenly feeling quite defensive over your flat; it was too lovely, too wonderful, too comfortable for simply just anyone to enjoy.

“We?” He asked suddenly; tone taking on a bit of an edge he didn’t intend or consent to.

You cocked an eyebrow at him and pointed behind you with your thumb; Sirius followed your gesture to a little tabby cat perched on the back of your sofa, tilting its head at the two of you as if it, too, was confused by Sirius’ sudden intonation.

“You were watching shows with your cat?” He clarified; his voice now breathy in relief.

“Birdie loves shows.” You countered defensively.

“You named a cat bird?”

“No.” You argued. “I named my kitten Birdie. Do you not like cats?” You asked then, a teasing smirk growing on your face.

“I like cats fine; where can I put this?” He asked instead; hoping to god you didn’t notice the blush heating up his face.

He started unloading the many take-away boxes he’d prepared for you at the restaurant before skiving off the rest of his shift.

“What is this?”

“Food.”

“Sirius, why did you-”

“I asked what helped.” Sirius explained. “You said food; I brought food. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet dollface, but food is kind of my thing.”

“Smartass.”

“That too.” He replied with a wink, moving to put the desserts in your fridge.

“Did you seriously come all the way over here just to bring me food?” You asked disbelievingly as you joined Sirius at the counter and peered into the bags.

Sirius had to tamp down the giddiness that threatened to consume him at how sweet and domestic this felt; you clad in your comfies as you helped him unload groceries.

“I didn’t come all the way over here just to bring you food…I brought other stuff too.”

“‘Course you did.” You muttered quietly, looking at Sirius with a look in your eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Go lay down.” He ordered instead as he went about plating your food - opening cabinets at random until he found what he was looking for. “I don’t hear laying down!” He sing-songed when he saw you still standing in his periphery.

You harrumphed before acquiescing; picking up your cat who made a little brrp sound as if to second Sirius’ directions.

Finally content with his efforts, he moved to stand in front of you with a glass of water and some pasta he brought from work.

You made an appreciative hum and sat up, which seemed to displease Birdie greatly. “God, maybe I need to find myself a personal chef.”

“Oi! Don’t go replacing me now.” Sirius scolded as he perched himself on your coffee table - perhaps a little casual for being a first time (uninvited) guest in someone’s home - but you didn’t seem to mind.

“Oh the job is so yours chef; you’re welcome here anytime.” You said around a mouthful of food. And even though Sirius knew you were joking, he couldn’t help the giddy fluttering of his heart at the sentiment.

“This is really good, Sirius, and super thoughtful; thank you.” You offered earnestly.

“So I guess you don’t have any room for dessert, then?” He asked teasingly; his taunting smirk melting away immediately at the excitement that took over your face before he ran to retrieve it for you.

“Why is she doing that?” Sirius asked after a while, gesturing towards Birdie with his chin who was rubbing her head against the leg of his pants.

“Why’s she doing what?” You asked bemusedly as Sirius fought every urge to wipe the little bit of chocolate from your upper lip. Unfortunately thankfully for him, you licked it out of his sight.

“Head butting me; seems quite rude.” Sirius murmured as he watched the cat in bemusement.

“That’s basically a cat hug, Sirius; she’s hugging you, or saying hello.” You chuckled at him.

“Get out.” He scoffed in disbelief.

“Cats have little scent markers in their cheeks; when they rub against something, they’re affectionately claiming it as their own.”

“So like a dog pissing on trees?” He deadpanned.

“Affectionately claiming you as their own; offer her your hand, Sirius.”

“But what if she-”

“Chef, offer her your hand.” You barked at him with no heat.

Sirius narrowed his eyes challengingly at you but did as he was told; pleasantly surprised when the cat moved the rubbing from his trousers to his hand.

“Have you never met a cat before?” You asked as you considered him.

“No…I have.” Sirius offered slowly, admittedly enjoying the velvety soft fur of your little companion.

“Could’ve fooled me.” You teased as you placed your now empty dish on the side table.

“My family had a cat growing up; a horrid thing. I swear to god my mum taught him how to attack me. Loved my brother though, but was nasty as all get out to anyone else.”

“Really? Was he a stray before he lived with you?”

“Nope.” Sirius offered with a pop of the p. “Raised that fucker from kittenhood. Lived a god awful long time too, just to spite me; I wished every year on my birthday that it would die.”

“Sirius!”

“I’m not joking! My brother and I would sneak cupcakes up to my room and he’d light a candle for me and tell me to make a wish. One of them was always ‘please for the love of god let Kreacher die before me’.” He didn’t think now was the time to admit that his other wish was always ‘please for the love of god let us make it out of here alive’.

“That’s awful; you’re awful.” You laughed.

“No, Kreacher was awful; I was but a boy.”

“I can’t believe you got after me for naming my cat Birdie when you had a cat named Kreacher.”

“I didn’t have a cat named Kreacher, my brother did.” He responded haughtily.

“Who named him?”

“I did.”

“Why?” You laughed again.

“‘Cause he was a tiny, awful, hateful little gremlin and needed a name that said as much!”

The two of you laughed until your hands migrated to your abdomen and you began massaging into your skin; a small divot appearing between your brows.

“What is it?” Sirius asked quietly then.

You tried to shake your head and offered him a tight smile. “S’okay.”

“Is it cramps?”

“Yeah.”

“Lie back.” He instructed as he stood from his seat on the coffee table - his mother would be rolling in her grave if she’d seen him with such a lack of manners.

Good.

“Sirius, really, you’ve-”

“Lie back.” He whispered again, one hand on your shoulder as he gently guided you so that you were lying along your sofa with your head propped up on the armrest.

Stealing himself for perhaps embarrassing himself completely and making this whole precarious situation between the two of you go tits up, he finally shucked off his jacket and boots before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and lowering himself onto the bottom half of your couch.

You watched silently as Sirius situated himself between your legs so that his shoulders and head rested on your abdomen as he weaselled his arms under your back, placing both of his palms up against your lower back.

“Relax.”

“What?”

“You’re tense as shit, doll; relax.” He murmured as he rested his cheek against your stomach.

You let out a breath and sank further into the couch as the two of you fell into comfortable silence.

“Thank you.” You whispered after a few moments.

“You already thanked me.” He whispered back.

“No, I-” You cut yourself off as you gathered your thoughts; a tentative hand absentmindedly making itself at home in his hair as you found your words. “Thank you.” You settled on.

“You’re welcome.” Sirius offered.

“Where’d you learn this?”

Sirius propped his chin up so he could at you; your hand pausing as your eyes flit to it as if you were only now realising what you’d been doing. “Learn what?”

“The pressure? The body heat. The…helping, with cramps?” You asked tentatively, and if Sirius didn’t know better, he’d think you perhaps looked a touch bashful at your questions - your eyes seemingly incapable of meeting his.

And once again, Sirius found himself taking another jump, or rather, a complete leap of faith that could very well have this thing the two of you had been building crumble and fall before it even had a chance to start.

“Uhm, it was my brother, actually.” He admitted quietly.

Your eyes did finally meet his at that, where they narrowed a touch in confusion.

“You learned this….from your brother?”

Sirius nodded as he swallowed nervously. “Right. He uhm, well, it often helped him with his cramps and such, so…yeah.”

It was apparently his turn to be incapable of meeting your eyes as he moved his head so that it was resting against your stomach again.

“You’re a good brother.” You finally offered.

“Well of course I am.” Sirius offered through a breath of relief. “I’m good at everything I do.”

“You’re a git.”

“I’m good at that too.”

You gave a disciplinary tug at Sirius’ hair which made him think of several sinful things he’d like to be doing with you whilst you did that next time, but he simply chuckled and sank further into you.

“I didn’t exactly sit like this with him, mind you.”

“No? What does that make me, then?”

“Special.”

“I guess so.” You breathed out through a chuckle. “Coming over on your day off just to spoil me.”

“It wasn’t my day off.” He responded without thinking, tensing when he felt you suck in a breath.

“Sirius.”

“Mhm?” He offered in faux nonchalance.

“You left work for this!?”

“For you?” He asked as he considered you. “Absolutely.”

“For gods sake, Sirius. I bet Jeffery-”

But he never got to hear what you thought of Jeffery as he let out a very petulant and dramatic groan and lowered his forehead to your stomach.

“Babe, I know this isn’t exactly the same thing, but generally a man does not want to hear the name of another bloke when he’s in between your legs, yeah?”

You barked out a laugh and swatted at his shoulder. “You’re awful.”

“Terrible.”

“The worst.”

“Absolutely horrid.”

“Giving Kreacher a run for his money.”

Sirius’ head shot up at that as he levelled you with a warning glare. “Too far.”

“I’m sorry.” You laughed, not sounding particularly sorry at all.

“You better be.” Sirius grumbled as he lowered himself back down. “Now be a doll and play with my hair again; it’s nap time.”

And there was an equal chance that you were going to laugh, swat at him, or downright tell him to get his arse back to work.

But Sirius was admittedly overjoyed when you simply placed your fingers back into his hair and began to massage until you fell asleep; him not much longer after you.

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allpiesforourown · 3 months ago

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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 😭😭

#asshole roommate bingge au #bingyuan #shen yuan #luo binghe #svsss #long post

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emchant3d · 1 year ago

Text

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

#steddie #steve/eddie #stevexeddie #eddie/steve #eddiexsteve #steddie fic #my fic #listen i was in the mood for steve whump and i won't apologize for it #don't worry there's plenty of eddie whump coming in part 2 i promise

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mxstly-melancholy · 3 months ago

Note

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..”

#logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman #wolverine #wolverine x reader smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett/reader #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader

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lyak12 · 8 months ago

Text

Just friends

Lucy Bronze x Reader

Summary: Lucy has been your girlfriend for three years already, but lately, she's spending more time with Ona than with you. Is she falling out of love with you?

Word count: almost 4.2k

A/N: I'm back with another Lucy fic:) Thanks to @helen-with-an-a for the inspiration:) I still have a few requests that I want to finish soon, but I'm currently swamped with uni stuff... so be patient with me. Also, there is a happy end cause my heart can't take pure Angst hahaha. I hope you enjoyy

Warnings: Anxiety, struggling with self-worth, concussion, vomiting, angsty in general, if I missed something lmk:)

Living in sunny Barcelona, playing for one of the best clubs in the world and all of that with the love of your life. A pretty perfect life one would say. Well, currently, you are feeling none of that.

You are insecure. You always have been, but normally, Lucy is quick to pull you out of that mindset. You’ve struggled with self-worth your whole life. Always thinking everyone is better than you. It has gotten better since you started dating Lucy over three years ago, but one of your biggest insecurities is still that she’ll get sick of you and leave you for someone better.

You know Ona is just a friend. She’s Spanish and they’re really close, so of course there will be lots of physical contact. You don’t mind that. You’re not jealous. You’re just scared Lucy will fall out of love with you and in love with Ona.

All the edits on Tiktok and insta were not helping. It got so bad that Lucy tried to block the hashtags on your accounts. It worked for a while but not long.

As Lucy spends the third afternoon in a row with Ona, you start to get even more insecure and a bit pissed to be honest. “Again? I thought we wanted to go to the beach today”, You ask a bit annoyed. “Am I not allowed to spend time with my friends anymore?”, Lucy asks defensive, not liking your tone. You just sigh and say, “Never mind, have fun”, you say and go into the bedroom.

Lucy doesn’t bother to come after you. You have been having the same discussion for days already. Lucy completely oblivious to the fact that your anxiety is bad at the moment, instead thinking you’re jealous. You change into some shorts and a crop top before going back into the living room, ready to take Narla to the beach instead. However, Narla is gone, too. Lucy must’ve taken her with her to Ona.

Great, you don’t even have your cuddle buddy now. Sighing again, you dry the tears that have escaped your eyes. You grab a hat and sunglasses and go to the beach on your own. Needing to spend your time somehow and the beach and ocean help clear your head.

You get home late, just needing the time to think. “Where have you been?”, is the first thing you hear when you get in before you come face to face with an angry Lucy and an excited Narla. “The beach”, you just say as you squat down to greet the dog. “Until now? You couldn’t look at your phone? I was worried out of my mind!”, Lucy asks loudly.

“I haven’t looked at my phone since I left the house”, you just say without looking at the brunette. “Y/N I’m talking to you! I was worried”, She says angrily. You flinch slightly at her tone. The tears you worked so hard to fight back threatening to escape. You look up and say “I’m sorry. I needed to think. I didn’t realize how late it was getting “, you say quietly, trying to stay busy with scratching Narla’s little belly.

“Next time, look at your phone”, Lucy just says and turns around before getting back to the couch. You cuddle Narla a bit longer, the Westie noticing the inner turmoil in you.

Eventually, you stand up and head into the living room as well. “How was your time with Ona?”, you ask quietly. “You gonna get jealous again if I say good?”, Lucy grumbles. “Lucy, I’m not jealous!”, you say defensively.

“Oh really? Then why are we having this same fight over and over again?”, she asks, looking at you. “Because you’re spending every free minute with her. It’s like you’re attached at the hip. I’m sorry I want to spend time with you too”, you argue.

“Yeah sure, that’s the reason. I’m sorry I’m spending time with my friends. Damnit, Y/N! It’s obvious you’re jealous, at least own up to it!”, Lucy yells, and that cuts deep. That sentence just lets something snap in you. “You want me to own up to it? Fine! I’m NOT fucking jealous Lucy! I’m scared. I’m scared you’re falling in love with Ona! I’m scared you’ll drop me as soon as she says yes”, you yell with tears streaming down your cheeks, letting yourself be vulnerable in front of Lucy.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous! Ona and I are friends, and that’s it! You should hear yourself. It’s absurd. Stop making a big deal out of nothing”, Lucy dismisses your fear. She has never done that before. She knows how your mind works and what she just said will make you spiral. Apparently, though, she doesn’t care.

You just look at her and dry your tears roughly. Giving her a nod before you head away from her. “Where are you going?”, Lucy asks, confused. She can see you’re still angry. “Why do you care? I thought I’m just being dramatic”, you snarl as she notices that her choice of words maybe were not the smartest.

“Y/N”, Lucy tries half-heartedly. “No. Not once have you treated me like this. You act like I’m not even here! You don’t pay attention unless I’m saying something about Ona. You know how much that hurts?”, you yell tearfully. “Now you’re exaggerating…”, Lucy says with an eye roll. You just look at her in disbelief and give her a nod. You swallow hard and say “I’m going to bed.”

With that, you leave her alone in the living room and head to the bedroom. Normally, you never go to bed angry. That is one rule that’s important to both of you. Well, tonight, the rule will be broken. By the time she comes to bed, you act like you’re asleep already. She still kisses your head, but you just pull away from her slightly.

You hear her sigh softly, but she doesn’t say anything. Eventually, you fall into a restless sleep.

As the alarm goes off the next morning, Lucy turns it off, and you just sigh. “Good morning”, Lucy says gently. “Morning”, you just grumble before you sit up with your back to her. “Seriously? You’re still pissed? Come on, it’s getting ridiculous”, Lucy says with an eye roll. You turn to her and say “Even if I wouldn’t be pissed anymore, I would be again after this comment. But yeah, of course I’m the ridiculous one. Because God forbid your stubborn brain could acknowledge that maybe you’re not as innocent as you tell yourself you are.”

You just get up and get into the bathroom. Lucy doesn’t say anything and just sighs. She really does not understand what your problem is. You get ready separately, but you’re not hungry, so you just grab a protein bar and gel to eat before practice.

The drive to the training grounds is quiet. You don’t say a word. Once in the locker room, you quickly change, but your teammates notice the tension between the two of you.

Mapi comes in just as you’re almost done changing. “Oh trouble in paradise?”, she asks with a slight tease. As an answer, you just grab your boots and drinks before walking out of the locker room.

Mapi just looks concerned at Lucy, the teasing smile wiped from her face. You normally enjoy Mapi’s teasing or at least chuckle slightly. “She’s been like that since we fought last night”, Lucy says with a soft sigh. “Last night?”, Alexia asks. Most of your team knew your rule to never go to bed angry. So as Lucy nods, most of them look concerned at each other. This has to be a bad fight.

Everyone can tell you’re not in the mood during practice. You play a lot more aggressively than usual. But not the type of aggressive that would hurt another.

You’re pushing yourself hard today, just needing to get out the frustration somehow. As you do a quick round of scrimmage halfway through practice, you run into the box to be on the end of a nice cross from Frido. However you’re a bit late, so you jump in at full speed, trying to find the ball and head it in. One of those flying headers Lucy is known for. Ona, however, is there to defend you, and since she’s running backwards, she doesn’t see you throwing yourself in for the ball.

You crash together, and the collision makes you hit the ball with your temple, unable to get it into the goal. You both land on the ground roughly, you a few feet away from Ona because of the speed you had come with.

You both groan for a moment, stars appearing in front of your eyes momentarily, your head throbbing. You close your eyes for a second, but as you hear Lucy’s voice, you open your eyes. However, her question, if you’re okay, is not directed at you. She is squatting next to Ona. That was it. Yes, Ona was lying closer to Lucy, but still.

“You okay?”, Frido asks you softly, and you just mumble “I’m fine.” You get up as Lucy walks up to you, resting a hand on your shoulder, but you immediately shrug it off and say “Don’t touch me. Don’t act like you care now.” The team has never seen you so angry. You just walk away from the brunette and make your way back to your position.

You high five Ona, not angry at her for the tackle. You squeeze the bridge of your nose slightly as you walk back. God, your head is throbbing. Your world is spinning, and you’re not feeling good at all. You try to shake it off, but Alexia can tell, so she rests a hand on your shoulder and asks “You okay, y/n/n?”

You don’t answer her trying to gather yourself. However, you only drop to all fours a few steps later as the dizziness becomes too overwhelming. “Y/N!”, Alexia yells and quickly waves the physios over.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”, the Physio asks, and you can only mumble “Dizzy, head throbbing.” Your ears were ringing slightly as you struggle to keep your composure. They look into your eyes and can see that they are unfocused. “Where did you hit the ball?”, he asks softly, having an idea what might be going on.

Your hand moves to your temple and the spot right next to your ear as you almost lose balance and face plant the grass. The physios steady you, and he says, “Yeah, that might be a concussion, let’s get you off the field and checked out.”

“Let me help”, Lucy says, wanting to help you up. “No, please just leave me alone”, you shrug off her hands with tears in your eyes. Alexia steps in and pulls you to your feet before guiding you to the physio room.

“What happened between you? Talk to me”, Alexia asks on the way, knowing the tears are from the emotional pain, not the physical. “We fought badly. She’s been spending a lot of time with Ona lately and ditches our plans for her. You know I’m not jealous. I know they’re just friends, but I’m scared Lucy is starting to fall in love with her and just waits to drop me. However, she completely dismisses my concern, telling me I’m ridiculous and dramatic. I don’t want her here. It’s like I’m not even there anymore. It's always just Ona”, you tell her tearfully, she wraps you in her arms for a second while you sob.

After a minute, you get it together, and Alexia presses a kiss to your head. “I know me saying this won’t help, but Lucy only has eyes for you, but I understand. I tell her not to come in here, but you gotta promise me you’ll talk to each other, okay?”, She says seriously. You just nod before you lie back on the physio bed.

Alexia leaves, and the physio checks you for a concussion. “So you said you’re head hurts and you’re dizzy, any other symptoms?”, he asks softly, shining a light into your eyes. “Nausea, sensitivity to light. I feel a bit out of it”, you answer, and he just nods. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is a mild concussion. The ball really hit you on an unfortunate spot. You should feel better after a few days, but for now let’s get you home and get some rest. No straining activities, keep yourself hydrated, and get some sleep, alright?”, he asks, and you nod.

He helps you get changed before driving you home. The motion of the car makes the nausea so much worse that you throw up as soon as you're home. You try to rest and sleep, but your head won’t let you. The thoughts just crashing on each other making you restless, so you pull on your sunglasses and a hat, grab your headphones to dampen the sounds and make your way to one of your favorite spots at the beach. It’s not a long walk, so you’re fine. The area is usually not filled with many people, so you just lean against the railing and look out on the sea as you sink into your thoughts.

Meanwhile, Alexia walks back out to see everyone have a small water break. Lucy is standing with Keira and Ona, nibbling on the bottle nervously. “How is she?”, she asks Alexia, concerned. “She’s hurt, not just physically. Lucy, what the hell is going on with you? You know how Y/N is, you can’t tell her she’s dramatic and ridiculous, thinking she won’t spiral”, Alexia says a bit angry. Everyone on the team knows that you need reassurance, especially when those thoughts in your head get too loud. And they all could see that was the case lately. “What?”, Keira and Ona ask at the same time as they look at Lucy disappointed. “She was going on and on about how I keep spending time with you and never with her. I just figured she was jealous, and it isn’t a big deal. And as she told me she’s scared I will fall in love with you just something in me snapped, I couldn’t stop it”, Lucy tries to argue quietly as she looks at Ona, but she knows she’s in the wrong here.

Alexia just smacks her hard in the back of the head and grumbles “Estúpida!” “Lucy, her logical brain knows that there is just friendship between us. But you know how insecure she can get, and it’s been getting worse again lately. You should’ve been more attentive”, Ona says, disappointed. “Yeah you better fix this before it's too late”, Keira says seriously, and Lucy just sighs, realizing that she really messed up. “Right now she doesn’t want to see you, I think she has a mild concussion so give her some space, but you guys gotta talk tonight”, Alexia says and gives the brunette a little shove back onto the field.

At the end of practice, Lucy immediately runs to the physio room, but you’re gone. „Where is she?“, Lucy asks the physio as he comes in. „I drove her home. She needs rest“, he says, and she just looks worried at him. „Lucy, relax. It’s just a mild concussion. The ball just hit her at the wrong spot. She’ll be okay in a few days“, he says reassuringly, but it does little to calm her worries. She pushes her hair out of her face and takes a deep breath. „I know, I just really messed up. Thank you for driving her home. I gotta go“, Lucy says and jogs into the locker room. Changing with the speed of light before grabbing her bag and running out again. She doesn’t have time for a shower. She needs to get to you.

Speeding home, she runs in and looks around for you, but the apartment is empty. Grabbing her phone, she calls Alexia. „She’s not here“, Lucy says as soon as Alexia picks up. „Lucy, calm down. What?“, Alexia says, still in the locker room with most of the girls. Ona and Keira look up as Lucy‘s name falls, coming a bit closer so they can hear too. „She’s not here. Y/N is not here. She was told to rest, where is she? What if something happened?“, Lucy asks, worried. Rechecking all the rooms. „Hey Luce, calm down. Come on, take a deep breath“, Ona says, and Lucy rubs a hand over her face before taking a deep breath. „Think. Is there any place Y/N could be? Any place she likes to go to think?“, Keira asks gently but worried about you as well.

The line is silent for a moment as Lucy tries to think. „Isn’t there a spot at the beach close to your apartment that she likes?“, Alexia asks as she remembers you telling her about something like that. „Yeah, I think I know where she is. I‘ll keep you updated, thank you“, Lucy says and hangs up before she grabs her keys and phone and is out the door again. Leaving a completely confused Narla behind.

She sends a quick text to Ona and asks her if she could take Narla out while she was looking for you, which she, of course, does. She runs almost the whole way to the beach. As she gets to the part where it is quiet and especially during this time empty, she sees you leaning at the railing. She sends a quick „I found her“, message to the three girls and packs her phone away. Catching her breath, she slowly approaches you.

„What are you doing here?“, you just ask without looking at the brunette. You know exactly who it is without having to take a look. „I wanted to make sure you’re okay“, Lucy says softly, taking your headphones from your ears carefully. You look at her, your eyes hiding behind your sunglasses. „As you can see I’m fine“, you just say.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. Can we please talk?”, Lucy asks softly. “What? You just wanna tell me I’m ridiculous again? I can deal without, thank you”, You just say and turn to look out to the sea again. “Hey, no”, Lucy says and guides your chin back to look at her. She pushes your sunglasses up to look into your eyes and says honestly “I messed up badly, and I’ve been an ass. I didn’t pay attention and did not treat you like you deserve. I’m sorry. I know a simple I’m sorry won’t do it, but I need you to know that.”

“You know how disgusting it feels to be treated like you make a big deal out of nothing, when it’s all you can think about? When your insecurities and anxiety get dismissed with a simple, you’re being ridiculous? You know how I am Lucy. My logical brain knows that Ona and you are just friends. A simple reassurance and afternoon spend together would’ve fixed everything, but instead, you had to treat me like a piece of shit. Like I’m just this jealous clingy girlfriend. Do you know how much that hurt? To feel like you’re throwing three years away just like that? I’m not asking you to stop spending time with her or not checking on her when she goes down during practice, but, for fucks sake, don’t take me for granted. I don’t need much, but if you want this relationship, you gotta treat me with the respect and love I deserve. Because I can’t take whatever this is much longer. Love me or leave me, that simple”, you tell her as tears start to fall from your eyes. The more words leave your mouth the more tears fall.

She knows how fast you can spiral, but she hasn’t expected it to be this bad. She gently dries your tears as she starts to tear up a bit herself. “Y/N I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I acted like that. I should’ve seen how much my behavior hurt you. Instead, I just kept going and didn’t pay attention. I was wrong, and you didn’t deserve that. I never wanted you to even think about doubting that my love for you is still there. I messed up, and yes, I took you for granted without noticing, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. Y/N, I love you. I love you so much, and I don’t know how my head got so messed up that I stopped trying to show that to you. I’m truly sorry, I promise to make it up to you if you let me. I promise, I love you like you deserve because you deserve the world, my love”, Lucy says honestly, and you just hiccup slightly, trying not to sob. This is all you needed to hear, but you spiraled so deep you’re not sure if you can trust her words.

“Are you just saying this, or is this the truth?”, you ask tearfully. “It’s the truth, please let me make it up to you and love you like you deserve”, Lucy says softly, scared that she really messed up so bad that she’s past the point of a second chance. “Okay”, you mumble quietly, praying you won’t regret trusting her. You’re just in a bad place mentally, and it’s hard to even trust Lucy.

As she hears the okay, she’s quick to pull you into her arms and kisses your forehead. She holds you close, and you cling to her, crying into her chest. Tears are falling down her cheeks as well, but her focus is on you. She needs to take care of you now, treating you like you deserve.

It takes you a few minutes to calm down, Lucy’s heartbeat being able to pull you out of those dark clouds in your head and into a more relaxed state. But that also makes you feel the symptoms of the concussion again. It’s a blessing and a curse. You squeeze your eyes shut as your world spins.

Lucy can tell how unsteady you’re getting, so she just tightens her grip on you and says “Shh, I got you, my love. Let me take care of you.” You just clutch her shirt tightly, leaning on her heavily. Your head pounding. “Let’s get you home. You want me to call a cab to get us home?”, Lucy asks softly as she kisses your head. “No, the motion makes me throw up. I’ll be okay, just give me a minute”, you mumble and try to breathe through the pain and dizziness.

“Take your time, I’ll carry you if you need me too”, Lucy says, and you know she will, but it’s a 15-minute walk to your shared apartment. “Yeah and then you won’t be able to walk for the next three days because of your knee”, You tease weakly. Lucy can’t help but smile at this slight return of banter. “It’s worth it for you”, Lucy just says with a soft shrug and smiles before she kisses your forehead.

You just smile softly and rest against her for a moment longer, taking a few deep breaths. “Okay, I’m ready”, you mumble, and Lucy wraps an arm around your waist to steady you while you make your way home slowly. “When you need a break, tell me”, Lucy says and kisses your temple gently, and you nod.

To be fair, by the time you’re almost home, she is half carrying you. You’re exhausted and definitely pushed yourself too hard today after your concussion. The nausea gets worse the more you walk, so barely five minutes away you stop Lucy and start to throw up again into the grass without much of a warning. “Okay, I got you, love. Deep breaths”, Lucy says, gathering your hair and rubbing your back while keeping you steady. There is not much for you to throw up, so you calm down quickly, but your legs are threatening to give out.

“Do you want me to carry you on my back or bridal style? What do you think will make you less dizzy?”, Lucy asks, it’s not a question of if. It’s how you want to be carried. “Bridal”, you just mumble quietly. Being able to hide your face in Lucy’s neck sounds amazing. She picks you up immediately and carries you the rest of the way home. Did her knee protest a bit? Yes, but she’d do it all over again without a thought.

Once home, she carries you to bed, and you’re greeted by Narla, who jumps on the bed and showers you in kisses. Lucy sets up a bucket and enough water before tucking you in. “Get some sleep. Rest that pretty head of yours. I’ll be here when you wake up”, Lucy says, running her fingers through your hair. “Promise?”, “Promise. I love you”, Lucy says softly.

“I love you too, I missed you”, you just mumble before you doze off. The last thing you feel is a kiss on your forehead.

#lucy bronze x reader #woso fanfics #lucy bronze #woso angst #ona batlle #alexia putellas #keira walsh #woso community #woso fic #woso x reader #barça femeni

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michelle-is-writing · 6 months ago

Text

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~"

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #bau team #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagines #matthew gray gubler imagine #Matthew gray gubler

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munsonsmixtapes · 1 month ago

Note

Eddie requests, you ask? 🧐

What about something where the reader pines for Eddie from afar (maybe she’s not super close with him but share mutual friends) and over time has to stand aside as Eddie hooks up with other girls. Perhaps Eddie is in a bit of a fuckboy era and is a little teasing (or at times harsh) to the reader. Something happens where the reader’s feelings are put on blast (oof, embarrassing) and choices have to be made on how things move forward.

It could be an angst —> fluff or pure angst depending on where you see it going!

cw: hurt/comfort, mention of vomit and throwing up

You see him flirting with yet another girl as you stand behind the counter at Family Video. You hate how pathetic you feel pining for someone who will never feel the same way about you. You know he won't because you're not his type. You know you're not because you've seen the girls he goes out with. They're nothing like you and you've come close to changing your entire look just to make him notice you, but Robin and Steve convinced you not to.

They're laughing now and you have to turn away because you want so badly for it to be you. So badly that it makes you feel sick to your stomach. You hate the way it makes you feel and you hate how you're so hung up on someone who doesn't even know you exist.

Steve sees you turn away and his heart aches for you. You're one of his best friends and he just wishes that Eddie would finally see you for the wonderful woman you are.

And he wants the two of you to get together. He wants it so bad. Not only because he wants you to be happy, but also because he thinks you'll be good for Eddie. The one he settles down with and maybe even eventually marries. He's rooting for the two of you and he really hopes it works out.

But the thing was, Eddie had no fucking clue. And it wasn't that he didn't like you, he barely knew you. He actually thought you were sweet and was no stranger to waving at you or even greeting you when he sees you around town.

Eventually, they break apart and head to the counter where the girl puts a DVD on the counter as you scan it while Steve is behind you typing some stuff into the computer as he enters the returns into it.

The girl, Molly, maybe? Or was it Martha? Definitely something with an M, hands you what she owes you while staring at you with her eyes narrowed, trying to figure out where she knows you from. As you hand her back her change, it hits her and her face lights up as she gets the realization.

"Now I know where I know you from," she says like it's been killing her not knowing. You wonder what she's talking about and nothing can prepare you for the words that leave her mouth. "You're the girl who has a crush on Eddie here," she laughs, jerking her thumb over her shoulder as the man behind her. The way she says it doesn't sound like he's making fun of you, but you still feel your cheeks heating up.

"All the girls are talking about it. We think it's really cute, by the way. I um, I saw your notebook when you let me borrow it one time. It had his name scribbled all over it with hearts. So adorable."

Your expression matches Eddie's as your eyes widen in unison. His cheeks are bright red and you feel yours getting hot. You don't even know what to do or say. Your mouth is dry and now you feel like you're going to throw up.

And before you can stop yourself, you're running out of the store, your stomach churning as you hurry to your car. You unlock the door and Eddie's racing after you, hurrying to where you're opening the door and pushing it closed so you can't leave. You whip around and stare at him, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you looked at him.

"What do you want, Eddie?" You ask, wiping your tears from your eyes and his hands move to rest on your shoulders, leaning closer to you, his lips capturing yours. You gasp into his mouth, but eventually melt into him, not able to resist the exact thing you've been wanting for months.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart," he says as he pulls away but only for a second before he's kissing you again.

"It's okay," you reply, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

"It's you," he mumbles against your lips. "It's always been you."

"It's always been you too," you tell him as he pushes you against the car gently, wanting to do this exact thing for hours. And if he gets his way, he will.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff

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11cupids-tarot11 · 7 months ago

Text

A Letter From Your Future Spouse

➽───────────────❥

1 -> 4

Cupid's Services Cupid's Master List Socials

Tips appreciated!

C@sh app and P@ypal only!

$minnieplant3

@janellec03

LOVE U

- Cupid 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪.

︻デ═一 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Pile 1- Four of Wands, The Fool, Page of Swords, Nine of Cups, Page of Wands, The Wheel of Fortune.

"Hi you! I've been sleeping a lot, can't seem to do anything else lately because of how tired I've been. Finally. I can sleep as much as I want to now because of a situation that just so happened to end recently. Death.

What now? See, I've been wondering the same thing. But let's not even worry about it, let's just sleep as much as we want to because we finally can, even if it's only a little nap time out of your day do it because I gotta see you one last time later, I've got a message for you in your dreams. Spirit will tell you, don't worry about missing it or when <3

Resting so much so when I do have to work, you know, find that balance again between work and fun, I can focus on what's so important to me a lot better, I mean really give it my all... You know? Lol

Sorry, I dream a lot, you might notice my head is always in the clouds. I have very air energy like a Gemini.

Things are finally clearing up for me! I feel at peace, maybe we mirror each other and things are also getting better for you too? You have to let me know, okay? I feel like I can finally breathe again, be optimistic without being scared the rug is going to get snatched from underneath.

I've been working so so hard on my craft, putting in so much love and effort into my work and I feel really hopeful that all of my productivity will pay off soon, consistency is key, right?

I really like the color yellow, 😄 talk again soon!"

Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to do the poll below 👇🏾 ✨

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Pile 2- Knight of Wands, I forgot to write down the rest of the cards I'm so sorry 😞

"I have no problem with putting in hard work for anything I want, even you, you know? If you don't want me the moment we catch eyes I'll make you ;)

The moment I catch you I'm going to make sure I never stop loving you, I'll make sure every day is beautiful, even on our bad days we'll kiss each other good night before bed still. I love you!

Why do you keep worrying yourself? All of that doubt in that pretty little head of yours isn't good, you should lay it all to rest before you make yourself sick baby. Sleep more, practice some self care before you run yourself crazy, okay?

I'm so proud of you, you know, for whatever amazing things you've accomplished lately. I believe in you, I'll always be your #1 cheerleader!

You should go out and celebrate! Enjoy the sun, you deserve it my angel! Promise me you won't let this go by like it's just not that big and you'll go out and do something? Pinky promise?

Stay focused! You're on the right path, you're doing amazing! I promise you, all of this will be worth it, it's worth our future 💓 keep going, I know you can do it! 🎉"

Hope you enjoy!!☺️ Don't forget to do the poll below!!

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Pile 3- Queen of Cups, Justice, Four of Cups, The Moon, Three of Swords, The Star.

" Hi my love, you know I don't talk a lot haha, so I'll make this quick as usual and get out of your hair so you can go on.

I just want to remind you, you're my queen, my favorite, my whole world ❤️ I think red looks really pretty on you btw but anyway, I love and miss you like crazy at times like these.

I am going through something right now, a legal situation, a situation I wish would come to an end right now because it's so heavy on me, it's hurting me but I know at the same time it's happening to me because it's part of my karma, something that's forcing me to look so closely at myself, at every shadow because I think it leads me to you. My everything. We're going to get married, I'm so sure of it.

I'm keeping hope alive, I'm hanging on to every thread of it I've got. I'm working on everything right now, I'll catch up with you soon sweetheart 💋 I'm going to kiss you when I do, you won't be able to get rid of me. ;) "

Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to do the poll below!!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Pile 4- Ace of Cups, The Hanged Man, King of Wands, Nine of Cups, Knight of Cups, Nine of Wands.

"I want to come to you with amazing news but I can't, I'm sorry to say, I've taken a turn for the worst right now. Don't worry, it's temporary.

I am slowly building myself back up, that's what I'm doing right now if you're wondering what I've been doing all this time. I'm healing day by day and I hope you are too sweetheart. I might be a bit stuck and tangled up right now, but I'm clearing through it!

I'm the kind of guy who will pursue you with nothing but kindness until I make you fall for me with your charm, I'm cute, I know I am, you'll love me, I have curly light hair, and a really cute smile. You'll think I'm so adorable.

I want to offer my heart to you, fully, 100%. You have me, all of me as long as you give me you in return, I hope you do, I can't be without you once I know you.

Take care my love ❤️."

Hope you enjoyed ❤️ Don't forget to do the poll below!!

#pac love reading #pac tarot #pick a card #spirituality #tarot #tarot cards #tarot reading #tarot love reading #tarot messages

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theereina · 3 months ago

Text

The End

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +2.8K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut, heavily dialogue-centered, adultery/infidelity, angst, heartbreak

A/N¹: This is a single one-shot with no planned sequels.

A/N²: I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

“So, we're still on for dinner right?” Terry asked kissing Athena's cheek. “Of course, I just don't want you to cancel this time,” she said kissing his forehead.

They were in their bed facing each other. This was unfortunately becoming a recurring conversation for them. They would plan to have dinner together, and somehow, he would always have to cancel. Athena had spent so many nights on unplanned solo dates and was tired of it.

She understood Terry's work life, but he had yet to find a balance. “I'm sorry, baby. Forgive me. After all of this, I swear we’re takin’ a break. We can go wherever you want,” he said pulling her closer to him. His arms wrapped tightly around her body. This is what she wanted. This is what she was fighting so hard for.

They had been married six years, and she knew this man like the back of her hand. Athena knew when work got stressful for him. She knew when he was getting sick. She knew when his anxiety was about to flare. She knew everything, so why wouldn't he consider that she would know this, too? The secret he was hiding wasn't work-related. Those late nights weren't for business reports and last-minute contracts, unfortunately.

Athena had known for almost four months now. She kept her mouth shut thinking her husband would tell her, but he didn't. She loved him too much to let this come between them, but this was getting hard. All she wanted was for him to be honest, but now it felt too late.

“Alright, mister. I'm holding you to that,” Athena said snuggling into his chest. She was honestly taking it all in, committing things to memory— his smell, the way his breathing sounded, the patchiness of his beard, the strength of his calloused hands, and the sound of his voice in the morning. This couldn't be Athena's life. There was no way that this was the marriage she prayed so hard for. She wasn't asking for the perfect husband. Her bare minimum was honesty and communication, but Terry wasn't giving her either.

Athena began to doze off in Terry's embrace. The comfort he brought her would be something she would miss—. Why? “Terry, if something was wrong would you tell me?” she said moving to look up at him. “Hmm… What do you mean, baby?” Terry said looking down at her, loosening his embrace. “You’d tell me if you didn't love me anymore?” she asked as her face turned somber and flooded with sadness. “Oh, baby. I'll always love…,” Terry began.

ring ring

And, there it goes— that fucking phone. The one that goes off during every moment they have together. She could never have Terry to herself. He leaned back and picked up the phone. He stared at the screen, looking back at Athena. “Go ahead. I'll just go get ready,” Athena said with tears brimming in her eyes. She threw the covers back and rose from the bed. She knew this was one or two things— work or his other…

Athena walked into their bathroom and began her morning routine. She turned on the shower and stood at the sink. Clenching her fists against the counter, Athena let it out. Months of tears came flooding out. Every emotion had boiled over, and she couldn't take it anymore.

Today was the day. It was already planned out. In the next coming 12 hours, Athena's life would change.

*7 hours later

Terry was in his office waiting for the day to end. He had been on edge all day because of what Athena asked. Did she know? She couldn't know. He had covered his tracks. There was no way she could know.

knock knock

“Yes, come in!” Terry announced, sitting up in his office chair. “Sup, you still going to the party, tonight?” asked Terry's best friend Corbin. “Nah, I promised Athena a date. Can't miss this one,” Terry said twirling a pen between his fingers. “Never stopped you before,” Corbin mumbled under his breath. Terry's eyes shot up to meet Corbin's face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Terry snapped.

Corbin took a deep breath. “You know exactly what I mean, T. Don't act stupid!” Corbin spat back. “Don't worry about what the fuck I got going on. Remember, we both have situations going on. I ain't the only one,” Terry said standing up from his desk. “You're right, but only one of us is married!” Corbin said squaring his shoulders. “So, fiancé means nothing to you? I wonder how Miranda would feel?” Terry taunted walking around his desk. “Let’s not compare situations. I definitely can't compete with the new add-ons you got,” Corbin said, tapping Terry in the chest. Terry slapped his hand away. Corbin raised his hands and backed away. “Fuck you!” Terry said leaning on the desk. “Whatever!” Corbin said backing out and leaving the office.

As Terry began to sink into his thoughts, his office phone rang. “Terry speaking,” he said. “Mr. Richmond, there is a woman here looking for you. I tried to tell her she needed an appointment, but…,” said Terry's receptionist. “Name?” Terry asked walking back to his office chair. “She said you'll know, and something about a little issue,” his receptionist replied. Terry froze. This was against their agreement. She was never supposed to show up at his home or office. What if Athena was here?

Terry clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders. “Send her in. Hold all calls until further notice,” he said, hanging up the phone.

*3 hours later

Athena was in her car, heading to her parent's home in Georgia. She had been crying the whole ride. She had packed up all of her stuff and was going back home. Her brother was driving behind her in the Uhaul she rented. She couldn't believe that this was her life right now. Athena pulled over into the gas station and pulled up to the pump. She sat in the car, waiting. Waiting for something. Anything.

Someone to wake her up.

Someone to pinch her.

Someone to tell her this wasn't real.

Something.

Athena was startled by her brother knocking on the window. She rolled down the window and looked at her brother. “Sis, you should've gotten someone else to drive,” he said reaching in to wipe her tears. “I'm okay. It gives me something to focus on,” she said dropping her head. “Nah, I'm calling one of my friends. He'll meet us here. He doesn't stay that far away. He'll drive the Uhaul while I drive you. Okay?” he lulled. “I'm okay,” she said. “No, ‘Thena. I'm calling him, and that's final. I don't trust you driving like this,” he said walking away and entering the gas station.

*1 hour later

Terry was rushing to get to the restaurant. Of course, he was late. He had stopped at a local store and picked up two bouquets. One was sunflowers while the other was red roses. He wanted to sweeten things over with Athena. He was aware that he had been fucking up lately.

As he pulled into the restaurant, he searched the parking lot for Athena's car. He couldn't see it anywhere. He circled the parking lot to be sure. He parked near the front and checked his phone before getting out. She hadn't called or texted. “Maybe she took an Uber or Lyft,” he said aloud to himself. He straightened the collar of his shirt and adjusted his tie. He reached over and grabbed the flowers before exiting.

As he approached the restaurant doors, he did one final scan of the parking lot. No Athena. He entered the oyster bar and approached the hostess's desk. “Table for two under Terry,” he said to the middle-aged black woman. “Yes, ouuu… almost missed our grace period. Cutting it kind of close there, darling,” she laughed. “Is the other guest not here? I mean, did someone not check in under the reservation, yet?” Terry asked pulling out his phone. “Uh, no. No one checked in under that reservation, sir,” she replied.

Terry was confused. Where the hell was Athena? She had texted him confirming that she was on the way to the restaurant, so where was she? He followed the woman to a booth in the rear of the restaurant. “Someone will be with you shortly,” she said after seating him. Terry sat down and immediately pulled his phone out again.

He immediately began to text Athena.

Message not delivered

Terry stared at the screen. How? He checked his service and made sure everything was on. He tried again.

Message not delivered

What the fuck was going on? He quickly tried to call Athena. It instantly went to voicemail. He tried again and got the same result. Terry called Miranda, Athena’s best friend and Corbin's fiancé.

Miranda answered, “Yes, Terry?” “Have you talked to to Athena?” he asked shifting in his seat. He was growing worried. Did something happen to her on the way here? “Of course, I did. She is my best friend after all,” she responded snidely. Terry immediately heard the tone of her voice. “Miranda, where is she?” he asked holding the bridge of his nose. “Gone!” Miranda blurted. “What do you mean gone?” Terry said. He was becoming visibly upset. The waiter began to approach the table, but Terry waved her away. “Exactly what the fuck I said,” Miranda snapped. “Miranda, don't fucking play with me right now!” Terry grunted into the phone. “Why don't you go home and check since you don't believe me,” Miranda said hanging up.

Terry pushed his chair back and grabbed the flowers from the table. Terry rushed out of the restaurant. He threw the flowers onto the passenger seat and climbed into his car. He needed to get home immediately.

*45 minutes later

Terry flung the front door of their home open. Athena's car wasn't in the driveway or the garage. This was starting to piss him off. He searched the entire first floor. Hearing what he thought were footsteps, he ran up the stairs and practically kicked open their bedroom door. It wasn't. Athena had left their bedroom window open and the heavy curtains were thudding against the wall. He rushed to the window and slammed it shut.

“Fuck! Athena! Where are you?” he yelled. As he turned around, he noticed a note on the bed. On top of the note was Athena's wedding ring. He sat on the bed prepared to read the note but stopped when he saw that their closet door was open. Athena's side was empty. Scanning the room, he realized that ALL of Athena's things were gone.

Terry pulled out his phone and tried to text and call Athena over and over again. Nothing had changed. He was still getting sent to her voicemail, and his messages were undelivered. Terry's heart sank for the first time that night— Athena had blocked him. He went to her social media accounts to be met with user not found. She had blocked him on everything.

Terry stood up from the bed furious and full of rage. There was no way Athena had just left him. Terry called Corbin, but he sent him to voicemail, too. Immediately, Terry's phone vibrated from a message notification.

Corbin: THEY KNOW!!!

That means Miranda knew and that ATHENA KNEW, TOO!

This couldn't be how everything played out. There was no way. Yes, his shit had gotten sloppy in the last few months, but how? Terry leaned on the bedroom dresser, letting his head fall into his hands.

He knew it was coming he just thought he had more time. More time to figure this shit out.

Terry looked up into the mirror attached to the dresser. He couldn't stand to look at himself. How could he let this happen? He slammed his fists onto the dresser, and the force cracked the glass. Terry looked up to see his reflection in the broken glass. His eyes lingered over himself before he punched the glass. Throwing his arms across the dresser, he sent everything to the floor. Glass began flying everywhere.

Terry threw himself onto the bed. Lying on his back, he could feel the heat coursing through his body. He felt his eyes growing heavy with tears. He looked over on the other side of the bed to see the note still resting there.

He picked it up and unfolded it. Pictures fell out and hit his chest. They were all pictures of him and— Eliza, his mistress. The woman he had been seeing for over two years. Terry flipped through the photos. He realized that the photos had to have been taken over a few months. How had she known this long?

Terry finally realized that Athena was asking questions because she already knew the answers. Terry's heart stopped at the last photo. It was him holding— TJ, him and Eliza’s 6-month-old son. Shit! She knew about the baby, too. That explains why she kept asking him why they were still waiting to start a family. He thought she was nagging, but in reality, she was hurt.

She knew he had a mistress and an outside child. He hadn't meant for this to happen. Eliza was only supposed to be a one-night stand, but it just kept happening. They kept seeing each other because she was friends with Corbin's mistress. They kept ending up at the same parties and clubs. He tried to break it off with her on more than one occasion. Then, something would happen with Athena and he would just go running back. This wasn't Athena's fault, but he felt it wasn't entirely his either— he thought. Athena kept having to travel back and forth to Georgia while her father was going through chemo. She was starting to work more hours. She was always tired. She never had time for him, on the other hand, Eliza was always right there— one call away and easy to access.

Terry held the letter in his hands and began to read.

Dear Terry,

I don't know what to say or how to start this, so here it goes.

To my love, I gave you my all for 9 years. I planned my life to sync with yours— as your wife and best friend. I wanted nothing more than to fulfill all of the promises we made each other throughout this lifetime.

I asked and asked, sometimes I maybe even begged for you to see it. I wanted you to care enough to see through my nagging and realize I was hurting. I was dying on the inside for months. I had to watch you be a lover to someone else while all I wanted was your comfort. I had to watch you be a father while you refused to allow me to even be a mother. You chose to postpone all of my dreams of having a family to work on your career. I let you do that because I loved you. All while you were standing in my face and sleeping in our bed knowing that you had one all along. It just wasn't with me.

Was I the problem? Was I not good enough? There wasn't a thing that you asked that I didn't do. I've been questioning my worth for months trying to see where I went wrong. Chasing you and begging you to love me like you once did. A love I know you're capable of, but I just haven't felt from you in a long time.

My heart was breaking every day with every question. I wanted you to tell me the truth. Be honest and give me hope that maybe this was a simple mistake. A mistake that we could work through together. But mistakes are made once. You were making a choice. A choice to love another woman and become a father outside of us.

With that being said, I can't hold anger in my heart for you we both know that. That’s something I'm not capable of. All I can offer you is forgiveness and peace. Peace to do whatever you want. I'm no longer in your way. Be free. This is the end. Our end.

P.S. After reading this letter, I hope you become a better man for the family you created. He's beautiful, by the way. He has his father’s eyes.

Love always,

Thena

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