#and where he wouldn't end up being a shitty dad

[dustymagpie]

[writingouthere]

singlemom!reader x neighbor!sukuna. you miss having a baby and Sukuna is dying from a combination of your sexual tension, his lowkey(highkey) baby fever and the drudgery of attending a child's birthday party

cw: Sukuna's breeding kink, red flags are present and accounted for, no one gets laid tho so sad face. this actually ended up being way more sincere and heartfelt than I intended but honestly very typical of me

"Oh we're not together, Sukuna's just been letting me and Bug crash while we look for an apartment."

"Oh he's not my boyfriend, we're just friends!"

"He's actually not Bug's dad. No, no. But, they get along really well. She enjoys having someone else to hang out with aside from me, I think."

Your laughter after the last one plays on repeat as he goes to grab the two of you some refreshments. Sukuna feels like he's living the world's worst version of groundhog day, except instead of being some sad loser who relives the same day over and over, he's apparently a sad loser who is going to live the same conversation over and over again.

"Fuck this shit."

"Um, excuse me but could you watch your language. This is a kid's birthday party." Sukuna wants to ask the bitch who is correcting a grown man's language if he would mind watching his own fucking business but you seem to care about what these losers think and he won't make life difficult for you.

If he happens to step on the guy's foot as he leaves with two cups and a juice box caught in his elbow, well, his steel toed boots need the exercise.

Sukuna knew that if any of his acquaintances, he didn't have friends after all, could see him now, they would die laughing. Die ,because he would kill them for laughing, but fuck he couldn't even really blame them, even in his hypothetical.

Once upon a time, Sukuna was a feared criminal. People pissed themselves when he cornered them in a dark alley. Other bad guys would look at him and say, "wow that guy's a real piece of shit" and now look at him. Stuck at some three year old's birthday party. One more kidzpop butchering of an already shitty song away from committing another felony.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he knew he was at least getting some pussy out of it, but he had just spent the past two hours hearing you deny him to anyone who asked and it was really starting to get to him.

He knew he was being a little bitch about it, and he wasn't upset just because you weren't fucking him. He was upset that all the things you were telling people, they were technically true. He was just letting you and your daughter crash. He was just your friend, not your boyfriend. Even the comments about him not being Bug's dad, but him being positioned as some kind of really invested babysitter, those might have stung more than the ones about your relationship but you thought that was true too.

Thinking about the kid made him look for her, not that Sukuna ever wasn't aware of where you and your daughter were. It had become instinct before he was even aware of it.

Bug was laughing with some kids he recognized from daycare and others from their regular trips to the park. Her happiness was contagious and Sukuna found his lips twitching up at the ends despite his shitty mood.

Your daughter's eyes found him from across the playground. "kuna!" she called, waving her little hand at him. He waved back with his available hand and made his way towards her. She met him halfway, her little legs unsteady on the wood chips but she didn't seem to notice. She was always like that when she saw him, she ran fearlessly. Maybe she just trusted he'd catch her.

Was it so wrong of him that he didn't like the reminders she wasn't his. That it stung, not just because of his feelings but because it just couldn't be true. He might not have fathered her, but fuck anyone who said this little girl wasn't his.

"I got you a juice, you've been running around so much you gotta be thirsty."

"Not thirsty," Bug argued leaning into him. He held up his hands that were holding the grown up drinks for the two of you, and moved the package still lodged in the crease of his elbow towards the petulant toddler. "Take it, or I'll drink it."

Bug stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed it. She struggled to get the wrapping off the straw and Sukuna didn't even notice what he was doing until she had the straw stretched out towards him and he was pulling the wrapper off with his teeth. He spit it out on the ground as your daughter gave him a polite thank-you and then walked away, sipping her juice as she went to catch up with her friends.

What had become of him?

"Need a hand?" You smile at him and Sukuna hands over your cup before taking a sip of his own. There was unfortunately no alcohol in it but drinking it occupied his mouth before he acted like a pussy and asked you, "what are we?" or "should we get married?" or something equally as pathetic.

"God, I want a baby."

Sukuna almost spit out his drink but he manages to tone it down to just a little cough before turning to look at you. You don't even seem a little embarrassed which is just infuriating. Sukuna's about to make a suggestion on how he can help with that when you sigh and point to where some loser is holding their ugly baby.

"Aren't babies just the cutest, I miss when Bug was that age."

Oh, so this was just you looking at other people's red-faced brats and feeling nostalgic and was not in fact a call to action. Sukuna rolled his eyes and leaned back on the hand closest to you so he didn't touch you as he was so tempted to do these days.

"That baby, like all babies, is hideous. All they do is cry, shit themselves and vomit and I'm not even sure Bug is the exception to that and she's the best kid there is."

You look touched at his affection for your daughter but also fired up on behalf of babies everywhere.

"You can't just say a baby is hideous, Sukuna. Those are the Zenin's. Bug is friends with some of them."

"Well are the older ones cuter, because that baby looks like someone fucked one of those hairless cats."

"Sukuna!" you hiss but he sees you smile, despite yourself. "Okay, maybe that baby isn't like the cutest baby-"

"Hideous."

You continue after smacking his arm. "But Bug was cute, okay. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her mom." You take out your phone and quickly swipe until you get to what you're looking for. "See, cute baby."

Sukuna grabs your phone and looks. It's not the first picture he's seen of a young Bug and he's taken his share of photos of her himself, but he finds himself taken in by it anyway.

It has to be a picture from when Bug was really young, she still had the scrunched up, red face that he associates with newborns. But he thinks you're right, she's still cute. He doesn't know if it's because he knows that baby will grow up to be your daughter, but he finds his thumb caressing her little baby cheeks, the wisps of hair he can see peaking out from where she's wrapped in a baby blanket. It's then he sees she's not alone in the picture and there's a different version of you holding her.

The thing that stands out to him is how tired you look. He thinks this couldn't have been too long after you gave birth but still, he wondered if you'd gotten any rest those first few months. You still didn't like talking about your ex, or the circumstances that had led you to his apartment, but Sukuna knew that chances are you were taking care of Bug single handedly and that couldn't have been easy, cutest kid or not.

"She was beautiful, she still is." He reluctantly hands the phone back to you and you look at the picture again, tears building up in your eyes.

"She is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I-I wish that the circumstances were different in how I got her. Sometimes, I wonder how I'll explain everything to her when she's older. She just deserves so much better than him, you know?"

"You both do." Sukuna reaches over and brushes away one of the tears that had managed to fall down your cheek. He leaves his hand there a moment, holding your cheek in his palm, just appreciating the warmth.

"Do you want any?"

"What?" Sukuna isn't sure what you're talking about anymore. He can only see your lips right in front of him, the way that your eyelashes brush against your cheek as you blink faster and faster.

"Babies, do you want any?"

Something short circuits in Sukuna's brain and he wants to say, fuck yes.

He wants to tell you that he thinks about it every day. Every time you put Bug on your hip or send him youtube videos of hairstyles you want to try on her. Whenever it's late at night, and little feet pad out of your room and Bug asks him in the loudest whisper he's ever heard, if he can get her some water because she's so thirsty.

He thinks about it when the sun streams through the curtains of his apartment in the morning and it lights up your hair as you move throughout the kitchen, a force of nature, a creature from somewhere far too good to have ended up here with him.

He thinks about it when the three of you go out and people just assume you're a family, because of course you're a family. When you and Bug play some made up game, or Bug gets tired even though she denies it and he carries her sleeping form against his chest. When he holds her in his lap on the subway and you lean to rest your head on his shoulder and he feels like this, this is what he's always wanted.

He's not all pure and good though, because he thinks about it late at night in his bedroom too. After a day of your smiles, of seeing your thighs stretch out of those sleep shorts you started wearing when the weather warmed up, whenever he remembers the feel and smell of your panties when he's lucky enough to find a pair in the laundry basket, he thinks about how the two of you would make some really cute fucking babies.

He's imagined it a million ways. He's imagined you telling him you've gone off your birth control and you need him now after he takes you out on an anniversary dinner. Or him crowding you up against the kitchen counter and you begging him to put a baby in you.

His favorite fantasy is currently one where you get so carried away when you finally finally fuck that you don't ask him to wear a condom and he spends the whole night making sure you're nice and good and full of him and when you tell him a few weeks later you missed your period, he'll let you freak out. But then he'll tell you that he'll take good care of you, and Bug, and your soon to be little one and he'll finally have you, all of you and once you have your second, he'll knock you up again, as many times as he can because there could never be too many mini-you's running around.

At this point, Sukuna remembers he's talking to you, the real you and he swallows a few times before he speaks.

"I do," he says simply but something must show on his face because you're looking at him in a way you never have before. He hears your breath hitch and he leans in to kiss you, and you smell so good and his thoughts are consumed by the little family he just knows you're going to have when suddenly he's pelted by a variety of sharp, little objects.

Sukuna immediately holds up his arm to shield you from what he now sees is a barrage of wood chips which are being thrown at you by an army of toddlers, including your daughter.

You immediately get up and start talking to the kids about the danger of throwing what are basically large future splinters at people's faces and Sukuna is contemplating the murder of every child that isn't his own when you turn to look at him.

You're not just looking at him, you're seeing him and oh. Maybe he would be getting laid tonight, after all.

The slow burn is almost done folks.

thank you to the amazing reception to this series and the one-shot I posted(which there will be a prequel of soon!). it's literally so insane. Masterlist will be up tomorrow which I hope helps with accessibility!

edit: masterlist is up!

[reiderwriter]

Hello!I hope you are having a great day!I love LOVE your writing and I would like to request a fanfiction where the reader is Hotch's daughter who works at the bau and is in a secret relationship with spencer without her dad knowing.Spencer wants to tell the team but she is scared about how they'll react so they fight but during a case she gets kidnapped and the feelings are high,so spencer accidentally reveals the relationship.I would love if it ended in smut (possibly dom!spencer who is angry at her for being so reckless and risking her life like that) and maybe a lot of angst??Hotch could potentially be fuming but when they get her back he decides that he will let them be??I would like my emoji to be 🌼!Thank you in advance and if you write this I would absolutely LOVE to read it!🤍🤍

A/N: I love writing for a Hotchner Reader because the Hotch/Spencer parallels are so 😙👌 This was so fun to write!

Warnings: Smut/ Angst with a happy ending, Semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, case details, kidnapping, abuse, strangulation, mentions of child death/ allusions towards pedophilia etc, Hotch is a somewhat shitty/overprotective dad/boss.

Masterlist!

Falling back into a hotel bed that wasn't yours, you wrapped your legs around Spencer Reid as he furiously worked open the buttons of your shirt, his lips locked with yours in a furious exchange. 

“Spencer, Spencer, we can't-” You moaned as his lips fell down to your ear, a small tap to your thigh signalling that he wanted tour legs spread for him. Despite your vocal protests, you complied.

“Need to feel you,” he groaned, nipping and sucking his way down your chest as his big hands began pushing your skirt up and your panties down. 

“Spencer, someone will hear.” 

“I don't care who hears,” he whispered, finally ridding you of the last piece of material covering your wet sex. “I just want to make you feel good.”

His lips fell to your cunt, falling on your cunt as he began his ministrations. You loved this, the feeling of him near, his lips on you, his tongue teasing out whimper, then moan, then a scream of his name as you came undone on his lips. But that wasn't a chance you could take today. 

“He's in the next room, Spencer. Fuck, he's going to hear us.” 

You wouldn't push him off, enjoying too much the feeling of your building pleasure, so appealing to your boyfriend to do the right thing was your last resort as your hips bucked into his face, chasing your orgasm. 

He didn't stop, but held your hips down, thrusting his tongue in and out of you as his fingers came up to tease your clit. 

“Spencer, fuck-” you slapped a hand over your mouth as you shuddered below him, finally reaching your climax. 

Your hands fell limp as he worked you through the end of your orgasm before rising up to lay beside you on the bed. 

“I wish you wouldn't push it, Spencer. You're a dead man if he catches us like this.” 

“Hotch won't kill me just because I'm dating his daughter. I don't understand why you don't want to tell people.” 

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration. It was a conversation you'd been back and forward on a lot in the past six months. 

Dating a coworker was tricky, doubly so when your coworker’s boss - and your boss - was your overprotective father. Things only became more complicated when you factored in a ten year age gap and the fact that your father refused to view you as an adult, even when you were a fully qualified member of his own team. 

You'd had to fight for acceptance into the FBI and go above him to get the job on his team, a decision that he still berated you for to this day. But you'd had enough of him shielding you from reality, and it was a step you needed to take. 

Falling in love with Spencer Reid, though, that was just pure bad luck. 

You weren't sure how it had taken you until joining the team to meet the man, but you sure were glad he hadn't been introduced earlier. You'd joined the team at 24, having been in grad school until your FBI Academy application was approved, and somehow in the 10 years before that Spencer had worked under your father, you'd never crossed paths.

Of course, you knew who he was before that from context and conversations with your father, and of course, he figured out who you were quickly based on the many arguments you'd had in Hotch’s office. But that hadn't stopped you from repeatedly falling into his bed month after month, and then falling in love with him. 

Your relationship was more than the sex, but it was also a lot of sex. From the stories you'd heard, and from the look of him, you'd assumed that Spencer was a delicate little flower, an innocent in the bedroom as much as any 34 year old man could be. 

And then you'd both been offered spiked drinks at a holiday party courtesy of Penelope Garcia, and he'd proved you deliriously wrong. He'd been hooked from then on, and after waking up awkwardly in his bed the next morning to two cups of coffee and a spread of breakfast pastries he'd gone out to specifically pick up for you, you'd been hooked on him as well. 

The only problem was Hotch. 

You certainly weren't winning any daughter of the year awards already with the stunt you pulled to get on the BAU, but you didn't want to be completely and totally disowned just yet. 

“Hotch won't kill you for dating his daughter, you're right,” you mumbled back to Spencer rolling yourself back on top of him and pinning his arms down so his fingers couldn't tease you any further. 

“Thank you, now if you trust me, I've ran like four different scenarios in my head so-” 

“He'd definitely fire us both, though. And that's worse than death.”

“Y/N….” 

“Tell me I'm wrong, please. Back up your findings with empirical evidence. He doesn't want me on the team, Spencer. He doesn't even want me in the FBI. I think he'd be happy enough to ship me out of the country, too, if that helped.”

Spencer sighed and tugged your hair behind your ear as he gestured for you to sit up. 

“I know it's scary. But I love you. I don't care about the consequences because I'll still love you before and after telling him.”

“And during?” 

“I might freak out a bit, but deep down, the love will be there still.”

You hit him with a pillow and climbed off the bed. 

“Okay, get out now. I'll think about it but you really can't stay here tonight.” He nodded, grabbing his things and pulling his clothes back into place. 

“So, like we're totally done for tonight? Nothing else.”

“Spencer! Out!” You whisper-shouted the words and watched him turn your door handle as slowly as possible before he waved his goodbye and left your room. 

12 hours later, you were once again getting frustrated with Spencer Reid. And Aaron Hotchner. They may soon be enemies, but goddamn they were perfect for each other in some ways. 

“Hotch, you can't just give me nothing to do. Send me to the morgue with Rossi, or let me interview family members with Tara. I'm a member of this team, too, so let me do my job.” 

“You'll do well to remember that I'm your boss, Y/N.”

“You're acting more like my dad right now. A boss would utilize his team members.” 

You'd been stuck in this stale mate since the morning, and Reid hadn't helped at all. When giving out assignments that morning, you'd not been notably left out of crime scene investigation, suspect interrogation, and anything helpful. Reid usually asked for your assistance at times like these, but he was finally putting his money where his mouth was and keeping distance from you in the office.

So far, you'd ran coffees back and forth between the kitchen and work room and had been communicating back and forth with JJ and Derek in the field and Garcia back at Quantico. 

You'd been, for lack of better comparison, relegated to receptionist. 

“At least let me work on the geographical profile with Reid-” 

“Absolutely not.” 

You stiffened at the reaction, wondering just exactly why he would react so strongly. Spencer had snuck in a few secret kisses here and there this morning, though you'd been sure that you'd had no witnesses. 

“Why not?” 

“I don't want you to distract him.”

Bile settled in the back of your throat as you tried your best to bite your tongue and keep the bitter words in. 

“You know, sometimes, Dad, it feels like you love everyone on this team more than you love me.” 

He locked eyes with you quickly, but he glance was dismissive and stern, almost as if he was asking you ‘seriously.’ 

You turned on your heels and began to walk out before he called out from behind you again. 

“Y/N,” you stopped despite yourself. 

“Leave the gun and badge on the desk. We'll discuss this after the case is closed.”

You almost laughed. You almost blurted out your relationship with Spencer just to spite him. You followed his order and took yourself out of the office for some fresh air, finally giving him what he wanted. 

An hour of aimlessly wandering down the street, and you turned into a run-down park. 16 missed calls from Spencer and other members of the team, who'd no doubt watched you turn in your badge. 

Garcia had even called a few times, and you felt guilty for not forwarding her calls somewhere else, knowing she'd probably have key case information for someone. 

But you just couldn't handle it anymore, so you switched it off, pushed it back into your pocket, and kept walking. 

It was two more blocks before the man following you pushed a soaked rag over your mouth and nose and pushed your unconscious body into the back of a waiting van. 

×××××

Two hours of near constant complaining to Hotch had gotten Spencer nowhere in his demands to know just where you went. 

He'd called you 36 times since Hotch had told him you'd left, and he hadn't stopped freaking out since. 

“But where did she go?” 

“I sent her back to the motel.” 

“All of our cars, bar the one JJ and Morgan took to the crime scene, are outside and accounted for. The motel is a 34-minute drive away. It'll take her 5 hours on foot through our unsubs hunting grounds, and I'm not sure if you've noticed, but she matches the victim profile we just gave. Where is she?” 

A muscle in Hotch's jaw twitched, but neither of them moved, eyes locked in battle to see who would back down first.

A call from Penelope ended whatever disaster was storming between them. 

“Hotch hey, I can't get in contact with mini-Hotch, so here I am. Morgan called earlier from the crime scene. From the way they're posed, he said they could be possible stand-ins for a lost child  a daughter or a sister, so I cross checked the ownership of the vehicles that run with the tires we found prints of at the scene, and I got a name. Like one.”

“Great work, Penelope, send it over.” 

Hotch dropped the call and looked back up at Spencer, readying himself to give orders and push the issue. 

Again, their standoff was interrupted. 

“Hotch,” JJ rushed in, carrying a radio dispatcher, face white, and filled with worry. “You need to hear this.”

“Witness reported an abduction on East and 7th, patrol surveyed the scene and found a cellphone. Identifying information suggests it belongs to a Y/N Hotchner. We're bringing it into the stat-” 

Hotch stood so fast his chair almost crashed to the floor. He stood so fast that he barely had time to dodge the lunge Spencer took in his direction, fist pulled back. It would connect, given the chance  he knew it would. He'd been the one to teach Spencer to throw a punch in the first place. 

Morgan insinuated himself between the two men before, and blood could be shed, quickly pulling Spencer back as Rossi, too, rushed into the room to diffuse the situation. 

“One hour. I've been asking you for one hour where she went, and you wouldn't answer me. You made her leave her gun behind.” 

It wasn't exactly a shout, but there was something broken in his voice, as of his mouth had filled with blood and he could only spit hate at a man who'd been a mentor to him until seconds before. 

“If she's hurt- fuck, if even a hair on her head is out of place, I'll-” 

“What, Spencer? What will you do? She's my daughter. What could you do that-”

“She's my girlfriend! She's my girlfriend, she's the love of my life. God, I want to marry her, I have the ring, I have the proposal planned, all that was left was telling you and then asking her, but you've been such a dick to her about this job, and about cases, and God knows what else, that she doesn't want to say anything to you, and now you've driven her away and she's fucking gone. And she could be hurt or in danger or d-de…” 

He crumpled to the floor, Morgan still holding him as his legs gave way beneath him. 

Nobody moved for what felt like hours, still in their grief, shock, some just nervous to see what would happen next. 

“You've been in this situation before, Hotch. So have I. It's …. It hasn't ended well for us before.” 

The words were so final, so defeated that they sucked the air out of the room.

“Morgan,” Hotch started quietly, eyes still locked with Reid's, still staring down the reflection of his own despair.

“Get Garcia back on the line, I want confirmation that the vehicle that picked Y/N up is the same one that our unsub has been using to set up crime scenes. See if she can lift a name and an address. Rossi, if he's skilled enough to pick up an FBI Agent unaware, we need a SWAT team, get one on standby.”

Slowly growing in volume, he continued, as the room started moving at his signal. 

“JJ, Tara, take over where Reid left off with the geographical profile. Look at Y/N's last known location and how far a car could've gotten in the last 24 minutes.” 

He paused again, staring Reid down. 

“Reid, you're with me.” 

xxxxx

It took you a few seconds to gain a sense of your surroundings when you came to. Partially because of the drug induced migraine splitting your head, and partially because of the mess of ribbons and stuffed toys you'd woken up in. 

A change of clothes, and hands tied to what seemed to be a children's bed and you felt so grossly vulnerable your body shook with a few harsh sobs before you regained your composure and remembered your training. 

The knots on the rope holding your hands were tight. There wasn't much room to move with them pinned above your head, but you recognised them as naval knots. Your unsub had experience at sea, recreational or professional you'd yet to determine. 

Looking around again, you looked for entries and exits, wanting to know how the unsub would come in again and how you could get out. 

There were no windows, but a set of stairs leading up towards a solid door told you that you'd been locked inside a basement. A basement decorated similarly to a child's bedroom. 

Dimly lit by a mass of fairy lights, the room seemed covered head to toe in teddy bears, dolls, and children's books, a sturdy handmade doll’s house standing in the corner of the room. 

Faintly, you heard the creaking of floorboards above you before the handle of the basement door rattled and more light poured in. 

“I bought you breakfast, cupcake.” 

There was no time to feign unconsciousness again as your captor finally came into view. 

He was older than middle-aged, slightly wider around the midsection than you assumed he'd been in his youth. His hair was closely cropped and laid neatly, leading you to suspect he was former military. 

“Oh, good, you're awake. What do you want to do today, cupcake? Daddy has some time off now, I can play with you all you want.” 

You moved slowly, pushing yourself up to a seated position so you could bend your arms a bit. But you didn't look away, needing to keep him in your line of sight the entire time.

“Where am I?” You asked slowly, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Wow, you must've had a deep sleep cupcake. You're in your bedroom, silly!”

The man's sprightly tone was disconcerting, and you could see a muscle in his forehead twitch slightly as you spoke. 

“O-of course. My mistake. Maybe I'm just still tired.”

He laid the tray on the bedside table and sat on the bed next to you. You tried your best not to shy from his touch as he stroked your hair, but every muscle in your body tensed and pulled from him reflexively. 

A quick glance to the tray and you saw the food he'd brought you was a small cup of pills and a glass of water to rinse them down with. 

If he noticed your flinch, he said nothing, grabbing a hairbrush from the nightstand and beginning to comb through your hair slowly and deliberately, taking care like one would a daughter. 

“Daddy,” you took a chance, recalling the name he'd given himself earlier. “Can we play outside today? I want to go to the park.” 

He stopped moving, and you held your breath as his smile dropped. 

“No, sweetie. You know we don't go to parks.” 

“Why not? I really want to play there, Daddy, please!”

In seconds, his hands wrapped around your throat as he pushed you back down into the bed, holding you there with his tight, suffocating grip. 

“Shut the fuck up you little slut. I said we don't go to parks, you listen. I am your father, you are not being taken by one of those sick freaks again.” 

He released you as quick as he grabbed you and stood up, pacing as he attempted to regain composure. 

“You can draw or we can have a tea party but you know we can't go out. You know that cupcake, I've told you so many times.” 

He grabbed at his hair, pulling it from its carefully styled arrangement into a mess, his fingers leaving red marks against his white skin as he pushed and pulled his head. 

He breathed deeply, and you sat up, trying to regain your composure as you watched him lose his. 

“What was her name?” You whispered, half hoping he would hear you, half praying that he'd ignore you for the sake of his fantasy. 

“W-What?” 

“Your daughter. What was her name?” 

He focused on you again, but his hands - hands that you knew could and would choke the life out of you if you did something wrong again - his hands were shaking. 

You heard the floorboards creaking upstairs and decided to push your questioning, hoping it meant what you thought it did. 

“Why are you saying it like that, ‘was?’ Is. Her name is, your name is Laura, and you're my little cupcake.” 

“What happened to her?” You filled your voice with as much sympathy and understanding as you could muster, one eye on the basement door that was being slowly pushed open. One look at Morgan at the top of the stairs had your heart rate slowing to a calmer speed. You locked eyes with him for a second, halting him, and he nodded, waiting for your signal. 

“You, you're my cupcake, you look just like… She should look just like you.” 

The man sat on the bed again, stroking a hair out of your eye as his filled with tears. 

“Fifteen years. I looked for her for fifteen years, you know. If I hadn't taken her to that park-” 

“That must have been hard.” 

He nodded as he broke down in silent sobs. 

“They said… they said she probably died a day or two after we lost her. When they found her, she was…” he rested his head on your shoulder, let him cling to you as he mourned his daughter. 

“We couldn't identify her, but she had that teddy with her. The teddy with the cupcake in its hands. She never went anywhere without it. So we…we knew.

You looked at Morgan as he slowly made his descent into the room, closely followed by JJ. 

The man looked up into your eyes again, wiping the tears from his face. 

“She was only 8.” He looked defeated, and your heart broke for him, even as you wished to get as far away from him as you could physically muster. 

Morgan pulled him up and away from you as he secured the man with handcuffs, but his eyes remained locked on you. 

JJ untied you and guided you out, but you felt his gaze bite into you ever after you'd left the basement. 

As soon as you were above ground, you let your body divest itself of adrenaline, your legs buckling as JJ tried to catch you. Another set of arms was quicker, though, and you didn't even register Spencer's arrival before burying your head in his chest and letting your sobs escape you. 

He guided you to your feet and walked you out to the ambulance, his arms protectively wrapped around you, his lips peppering kisses along your hairline and forehead, anywhere he could reach. In moments, you were bundled into the ambulance, and three gentle voices were trying to calm you, to pry you away from your comfort doll.

You wondered if you'd die like the unsubs daughter had, if they'd find you clinging to Spencer the way she had to her teddy bear.

“Y/N,” your father's deep voice was clear and smooth, the only thing that was cutting through the wretched moment of pain you were enduring. 

You remembered yourself again, relinquishing your grip on Spencer and wiping the tears from your face as you finally looked towards Aaron Hotchner. 

The paramedics took their chance and began checking your vitals, working around you in a hurry. 

“Dad, I'm sorry, I was walking and didn't notice that he was behind me, I should've been more careful-”

“Y/N, it’s okay. You're okay now.” 

You nodded as he came closer. You ignored the tears in his eyes, trying not to break down again. It had been an age since you'd last witnessed him cry, at another crime scene with another family member and another unsub. You couldn't think about how close you'd come to making him relive his worst nightmare. 

Spencer's hand was still firm in yours, and you held it like a lifeline, though you were sure your nails had to be cutting him by now. It took another moment to register that he was holding onto you just as hard, that he was unmoving, still where he was usually a series of compulsive moments, tapping, hand wringing, fists clenching and releasing. 

You glanced between the men, who had now become quiet as they surveyed you, and noticed the tension. Before you could say anything, though, the paramedics took over. 

“We're going to get you to the hospital now, Agent, one coworker can accompany you in the vehicle, preferably one with knowledge of your medical history.”

Both men immediately moved forward again, as if ready to jump into the van, before turning again to each other. 

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself just as the buzzing in your head from the migraine grew louder. 

“Y/N, it's your choice. Who do you want to come?” Spencer said gently, his body still stiff with worry. 

“I'm her father. This isn't a question of who she likes better.”

“I have her medical records memorized, and I have more knowledge about the drugs the unsub gave her, but Y/N can choose for herself because she is a grown woman.”

You sighed and dropped the man's hand as the medics ushered you into the van fully, but the men were fully absorbed in their fight for dominance that they barely registered it. 

“JJ. JJ is coming with me,” You could see both of them turn back to you to argue, but you continued before they could. “Because I am a grown adult who knows her own medical history, and I don't need my father and my… coworker having territory wars over my wellbeing.” 

And possibly because she'd be the least awkward option to answer the questions about sexual activity and possibility of pregnancy around, but you really did not need to vocalize that. 

“Right now, I'm just a victim you've saved. Go and do your jobs and meet me at the hospital later because I am not doing overtime completing paperwork while on suspension.” 

JJ climbed up into the ambulance and the doors shut, letting you finally get a few moments peace as it began slowly making its way to whatever hospital was closest. 

“He knows, right?” You asked, covering your eyes with your hands as you braved for the answer. 

“Hotch? You could say that he figured it out.” 

“That bad?” 

“Spencer threw a punch at him. He tried to at least.” 

“What?!” Your body shot up, but the paramedic gently forced you back into a laid position, giving you a warning look to stay put as she checked your blood pressure. 

“Don't be too hard on him, Y/N. He thought he was going to lose you. They both did. I don't think either of them would survive it happening again.” 

The guilt hit you right in the chest as you nodded and dropped the conversation. 

“Maybe I should've let Spencer come with me.” 

“Why?” JJ asked, not offended bit curious. 

“Because I'm not entirely sure my father won't throw that punch back at him now he knows I'm okay. It's hard being in a relationship if one of you is dead.” 

The older woman chuckled slightly, and you settled back down, letting the car movements rock you into sleep. 

xxxxx

A few hours later and some quietly bickering voices pulled you from the rest you'd so sorely needed. Without even opening your eyes, you knew they'd both subtly scrambled to your bed to make sure you were comfortable. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked, wiping your eyes carefully as you tried to sit up, arms still aching from being tied up. 

“Oh shit-” you exclaimed after seeing your boyfriends freshly split lip. 

“Dad, what the fuck?” 

“Y/N, it's fine. It doesn't hurt.” 

“Aaron Hotchner, do you have nothing to say for yourself?” You tried to put all of tour anger into the words as you said them, bit he looked at you again with his straight face, and you crumpled under the pressure. 

“I won't…I'm not going to object. I just ask you to keep your private life separate from your work.” 

“And you're going to punch my boyfriend while I'm unconscious, so I can't defend him.” 

“I'm still your father, and he deserved it.” 

You looked back over to Spencer, who was quite notably not meeting your eyes. 

“Do I want to know?” 

“I'm leaving now. Jack will be here soon. He wants to check on you now that school is over. We told him you were hurt trying to save a sick man.” 

“Thank you, dad.” 

He nodded at you and left you alone in your hospital room with Spencer. 

“Why did you deserve it?” You whisper shouted the moment you assumed he was out of earshot. 

“The doctor came in and asked about some old bruises on your upper thighs. And ass. And chest. I had to admit they weren't sustained during the kidnapping, and Hotch wasn't pleased.” 

You huffed out a sound halfway between incredulous and a strangled moan of shame as you curcled yourself up into a ball and tried your best to die. 

“Great. Wonderful.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he thought it was signs of domestic violence and not just rough...sex.” 

“Yes, Spencer, that makes me feel entirely more comfortable with the situation.” 

Registering the sarcasm in your voice, he quieted down again, settling into the chair by your bedside and grabbing your hand. 

You sat silently together for a few minutes before either of you said anything. 

“I'm sorry. I know you didn't want him to find out.” 

“Spencer, you don't have to apologise. All things considered, this is possibly the best way he could've found out.”

“My busted lip suggests otherwise, I think.” 

“And a whole lot more would've been busted if he caught us any other time. Besides, I already lost my job, so there's not much else at stake anymore.” 

The words stung you as you said them, but you did still feel the weight of your dismissal in your chest, spreading miserably through your bones. 

“Does your head still hurt?”

“Not really, why?”

“You're not as perceptive as you usually are.”

You shot him a confused look as he smiled softly down at you, offering a nod towards the small coffee table under the window of your hospital room. 

There on your table sat your creds and your gun. The silent acknowledgement you'd been waiting for from your father. 

Spencer sat by you as you did your best to hold off the tears. He let you pretend there was something in your eye, let you wonder if your eyes had become watery because of dust from the basement. He quietly held your hand as you grinned and grinned until you pulled him in for a kiss and held him close to you. 

His lips were soft as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you even as he tried to hold himself up and off you so he didn't hurt you. 

“You know,” you said, punctuating each word with another sweet kiss. “This means- that- you're- stuck- with- me.” 

He laughed into your final kiss, finally pulling back for more air, studying your face as if he were trying to memorize it. 

“That was never the issue.” 

“Oh really, and what was?”

He kissed your again, slow and deep this time, taking his time working his hands down from your hair to your neck to cup your face so you were opened up to him, letting his lips and tongue explore everything he wanted to. He pulled away eventually and instinctively your lips tried to chase his, even as he pulled out of reach. 

“Making sure you stayed by my side.” 

[il-miele-che-scrive]

Can't get over dj Lando in Bali for new years so can I request a smau where he's partying there with reader aka Max's sister? And she's like a dutch influencer so people are kinda like 🤨what they doin doe

My first fic of 2024 🫶 happy new year and enjoy, hoping you don't mind I made Y/n into an ex-junkie for the ✨drama✨, but I've had this idea on my mind for quite some time now, because it's like she's the opposite of her brother. Also I couldn't not make Y/n be friends with a few other drivers too, and also the caption on the last post is 🤌 I loved making this fanfic

y/n_verstappen A last minute decision to spend the end of the year in Bali

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maxverstappen1 Have fun with your girls, don't get in too much trouble

↳y/n_verstappen Yeah... just me and my girls... me & my girls & I

↳username2 guys I have a feeling she's plotting smth

↳username1 we love to see big brother max being the dad

↳username3 that's cuz Jos did a pretty shitty job

yourfriend1 missed this ❤️ grateful to be ending this year with you @/y/n_verstappen @/yourfriend2

↳y/n_verstappen you don't ever know how grateful I am to be in Bali with my favorite people!

↳yourfriend2 I love you guys 🥹😭

↳username2 SHE SAID PEOPLE I repeat she said PEOPLE instead of GIRLS

landonorris Wow I wonder who took these pics of you, they're very nice

↳y/n_verstappen I hired a professional photographer😼pretty expensive if you ask me, but also worth it

↳maxverstappen1 Please quit flirting with my sister

↳landonorris @/maxverstappen1 I'm flirting with the photographer lmao he's very talented if you didn't notice

charles_leclerc Looking forward to hanging out when you're back ☀

↳y/n_verstappen Charlie I went to Switzerland with you before Xmas 😭 it's been a week

↳charles_leclerc Arthur made me post this comment

↳y/n_verstappen tell him I miss him then 🫶 you? not so much 🖕

↳arthur_leclerc I kiss you too @/y/n_verstappen

↳arthur_leclerc *miss

↳y/n_verstappen phew 😮‍💨 you've almost triggered a particular someone

↳username2 this someone being your brother, right Y/n? RIGHT Y/N?!

↳yourfriend1 sure you can go vroom in circles but can you fight? 🤺

↳yourfriend2 that's not the person you should target this question at and we both know that 👀

↳username2 SOMEONE CRACK THIS CODE PLS 😭

↳username3 i mean, she's definitely hinting at Y/n dating a driver 🤷‍♀️ maybe someone from the current f1 grid even

↳username4 @/username2 @/username3 y'all be jumping into assumptions too quickly

username3 Guys I still can't believe Y/n was with the Leclercs in Switzerland and Alexandra wasn't

↳username4 Shut up, Y/n has been friends with the Leclerc brothers ever since Max and Charles' karting era

↳username3 wtf chill 💀 I'm joking (although I wouldn't complain if she ended up dating Charles or Arthur)

y/n_verstappen Adventures are better together

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landonorris The mask suits you, never take it off ❤️

↳username1 HELP why's he so mean to Max's sister💀

↳y/n_verstappen watch out in Bahrain 2024 🔫 sent a screenshot of your comment to the family groupchat

↳charles_leclerc you sent it to our groupchat with max and carlos

↳y/n_verstappen exactly

↳landonorris excuse me @/y/n_verstappen may I be added to the family groupchat?

↳y/n_verstappen excuse me @/landonorris, are you family?

↳landonorris that's my goal for 2024

username5 Look at Y/n having fun in Bali for her brother's money 😬

↳yourfriend1 more like the secret photographer's money 😇*this comment was deleted*

username3 MISS, DON'T ACT LIKE WE HAVEN'T SEEN YOUR COMMENT

↳username2 AND DON'T ACT LIKE IT WAS AN ACCIDENT

charles_leclerc better than the adventures in Switzerland? 🤔

↳maxverstappen1 cringe

↳carlossainz55 cringe

↳georgerussell63 cringe

↳yourfriend1 cringe

↳yourfriend2 cringe

↳landonorris cringe

↳y/n_verstappen jealous Lando?

↳landonorris wtf 5 other people said cringe and I'm the jealous one?

↳y/n_verstappen well, technically 4 other people since Max is my brother

↳landonorris 4 other people and I'm the jealous one?

↳y/n_verstappen Max is my brother, I only tolerate Carlos, no one likes George and his shirtless pics, and my girls are basically pets

↳yourfriend1 arf!

carlossainz55 I thought you can't swim

↳y/n_verstappen I prefer not to swim, but the selfie was worth it

landonorris I've changed my mind about the mask, it's lovely, where can I get one? 🥰

↳y/n_verstappen wow that was quick, I wonder if @/maxverstappen1 has anything to do with it

↳y/n_verstappen anyway, I got it just down the road on my morning walk

↳landonorris how would I know where that is 🙄

↳y/n_verstappen want me to walk you there? 🙄

↳username2 DOES IT MEAN LANDO IS IN BALI TOO?!

↳username3 @/username2 GIRL THEY MIGHT BE ON VACATION TOGETHER

↳username2 i knew she was plotting something 😭

y/n_verstappen Darling, I fancy you

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username1 WHO IS THAT MAN 🔫 I JUST WANNA TALK

maxverstappen1 Y/n pick up the phone, you can't post and disappear

↳username2 rip to whoever is the mysterious man

↳username3 imagine your brother in law is max verstappen and he hates you before you even meet

↳landonorris ikr, terrible, i could never

↳username3 WTF LANDO

yourfriend1 my fav couple but when will you hard launch?

↳charles_leclerc asking the most important question right there

carlossainz55 I'm tired of knowing who he is and being forced to keep quiet

↳maxverstappen1 what? you found out before me?

↳carlossainz55 in Y/n's defence, the man couldn't keep it a secret

↳username2 alright chat now we know it's someone close to Carlos

↳username1 @/username2 CHARLES?

↳username2 @/username1 no, it can't be him, look a few comments above

↳username3 @/username1 @/username2 I'm being delulu but... Arthur? I'm just manifesting it's him

↳username2 and Charles wouldn't know?

↳username3 well, Max didn't 🤡

↳charles_leclerc don't be shy Carlito tell us

danielricciardo Ki ki ki ra

↳landonorris KI KI AY

↳y/n_verstappen I wanted to say it 😡 why are u so quick??

↳landonorris well, you're trying to compete with an f1 driver, better luck next time

username2 GUYS what if it's LANDO??? Close to Carlos ☑ can vroom circles ☑ possibly also in Bali rn ☑

↳username1 you might have a point plus the caption is Taylor Swift and Lando is a swiftie

↳username5 Is he? I thought it's a British thing to say you have a crush on someone

↳username2 @/username5 well, he's British, so another hint from Y/n I guess

username7 i surely hope her and Lando aren't dating, she's a retired drug addict

↳username1 leave the past in the past, let this girl be happy

arthur_leclerc y/n has a boyfriend y/n has a boyfriend

↳y/n_verstappen don't worry, someday you'll have one too

↳arthur_leclerc let's see if you'll keep this attitude introducing your new bf to Max 😄🖕

y/n_verstappen Als je bitch wil chillen is het geen probleem dan ga ik erheen, ik kom niet alleen want ik heb drank en drugs

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yourfriend1 amazing night!! 💜💜

↳y/n_verstappen we loved the music didn't we 😼

↳landonorris you're welcome 😌

username7 the caption 🥶

↳username2 chill out it's just a song literally!!

↳username3 i can't even remember all the times I've seen Max edited to this song on tiktok lmao

arthur_leclerc You clubbing without me?

↳y/n_verstappen it was a girls night 😇🖕

↳yourfriend2 no it wasn't 🫶

↳yourfriend1 tbh it was, her boyfriend spent more time DJing anyway

username1 why can't they make it official already 🥹

↳username2 I bet Carlos is wondering the same

landonorris I hope you tipped the DJ well for entertaining you half the night

↳y/n_verstappen I guess if you can call entertaining him for the 2nd half of the night in our hotel room a good tip

↳maxverstappen1 WHAT AM I READING

↳charles_leclerc asking myself the same question @/maxverstappen1

↳arthur_leclerc too much information

↳carlossainz55 Does it mean I don't have to keep the secret anymore?

maxverstappen1 Delete this post

↳y/n_verstappen no ❤️

josverstappen7 Gelukkig nieuwjaar maar ik vind deze fotos niet leuk*

↳y/n_verstappen wtf @/maxverstappen1

*happy new year but I don't like these photos

landonorris I fell in love with a careless man's careful daughter, she is the best thing that's ever been mine

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y/n_verstappen *not so* careful, but you get a point for Taylor Swift lyrics

↳landonorris I'm literally in love with you

↳y/n_verstappen surely not more than I am in love with you ❤️

↳charles_leclerc cringe

↳arthur_leclerc cringe

↳oscarpiastri cringe

↳logansargeant cringe

↳yourfriend1 shut up all of you

y/n_verstappen btw just because I'm in love with you doesn't mean I can't kill you for posting the third pic

↳landonorris pls you'd never

↳y/n_verstappen I still have the screenshot that could make Max crash into you 🔫

carlossainz55 Finally, I was starting to worry

↳username2 WAR IS OVER 😭

oscarpiastri So happy for you guys!

↳landonorris double date when?

maxverstappen1 You're the only person I'd accept as my brother in law

↳landonorris thanks champ xx 🙏

↳username3 HE'S SO SASSY I CANT-

↳charles_leclerc what about @/arthur_leclerc? I thought you liked him, I thought we had plans

↳y/n_verstappen YOU HAD PLANS?

↳arthur_leclerc YOU HAD PLANS?

↳landonorris YOU HAD PLANS?

username5 I'd love to see Y/n and Arthur as a couple, but I'm so happy for her and Lando 😭

↳username3 nahhh Y/n and Arthur totally have besties vibe, siblings even, can't imagine them as a couple

username1 okay guys so do you think they speak dutch or english when they're alone?

↳username3 Do you think Lando can speak dutch well enough?

↳username1 well, I don't know, just wondering, but he's half Belgian

↳username5 I imagine their conversations to be mostly english mixed with dutch and french, very chaotic and people around don't get anything they say

↳yourfriend1 I can confirm this, it's very frustrating for a person who knows only english

↳username1 does Y/n know french?

↳y/n_verstappen I was forced to learn both french AND italian hanging out with Charles and Arthur, and with Lando I speak mostly english, but I try to mix some dutch into it, however no french here because I'm traumatized <3

↳username1 aaaaaa we love a multilingual queen 🫶

↳username3 so now Lando learns dutch for both his mother and his girlfriend 🥹

↳y/n_verstappen he has a lot to learn, but at least his flemish accent is kinda cute!!

[ceruleanwhore]

Sariel is also a victim of the late king but no one talks about it

⚠ TW: Talking about grooming plus mentions of rape and suicide ⚠

(Also, heads up that there will be spoilers for Sariel's route in here.)

I haven't seen anyone talk about how Sariel was literally groomed by the late king yet, so I decided to just go ahead and do that. Please skip this post if this topic is something that could hurt you to read about.

First off, let's talk power imbalance. The previous king was, well, a king and, at the time he first met Sariel, Sariel was a poor 10 year old child whose sole source of income was crime. As a king, prev king was always going to have a power imbalance with just about anyone he ever met, but the power imbalance between him and Sariel is literally as skewed as it can get at the time they meet. Then, when you add in the part where one of the few and most important aspects of Sariel's backstory that we get in his route is how his dad just disappeared one day, it gets even worse and more complicated.

When the king met Sariel, the only appropriate thing he could've done would've been to find him a home and get him adopted or fostered or something, not bring him into the palace and give him a job with tons of responsibility at the ripe old age of ten. That choice was bad enough but it's worse because the job in question was to take care of this man's children and also do a shitload of emotional labor for him. The way the king used child!Sariel like a therapist and shared all his mental, emotional, and relationship issues with this child is a textbook example of grooming. Not to mention that this guy also gave Sariel whole identity so, for the rest of his life, Sariel's abuser is entwined with most aspects of his life, including something as simple as his name.

Somehow, this horrible situation got even worse because prev king attempted suicide and Sariel was the one who found him when he did that. I understand very well that suicide is not a choice and I would never blame someone for attempting suicide or dying that way, but when the person in question has already groomed the fuck out of the person who ends up finding them after their suicide attempt, that makes things quite complicated. Because of how the king had already groomed Sariel and, more specifically, dumped his mental and emotional problems on him, I think it's inevitable that Sariel would've felt responsible for that suicide attempt. After however long of being that sole confidant to the king, I can't imagine he wouldn't feel personally responsible for the king's mental and emotional struggles, up to and including suicide.

Another factor here that further complicates things is the complicated (read: shitty) nature of the king and his actions. We all know by now that two of the eight princes were conceived by rape, and Sariel knows that too but, in spite of that, we regularly get to see him defend this horrible king, insisting that he was complicated and that he never would've hurt anyone if it weren't for the one singular loss he suffered in his life. What this means is that we, the audience, have full knowledge of how horrible the previous king was and that he was a literal rapist and, therefore, it's in character for him to also be a groomer, but Sariel is in the thick of it and can't fully perceive or understand what happened to him. Instead, he continues to view the king as his "special friend" who was widely misunderstood and whom only Sariel was able to fully understand, so he continues to defend his abuser.

The other thing is what we see in Sariel's full ending bonus story about the journal that the king gave him on Bloodstained Rose Day. We know from the rest of his route and two endings that, as a child, he somehow ended up on the run/living a vagrant lifestyle with his father until that father disappeared one day but, otherwise, he has no clue who he is, where he comes from, or what the tattoo on his hand even was. This undoubtedly was a source of significant trauma and turmoil for him so, by having a lot of that information and being able to give it to him, the king had yet even more fucking power over Sariel. The worst part is that, when he gives Sariel the diary, the king even outright admits that he had this all along and chose to withhold it from Sariel to deliberately keep him from leaving the palace. He literally tells us directly that he's been abusing his power over this literal fucking child since he was ten fucking years old.

I know Ikemen never intended for us to see prev king's character this way and, like how we were supposed to look at Licht and Nokto's mother being an abusive cunt and instead somehow see a situation where there was no clear bad guy, Sariel is meant to tell us how to feel about the king. However, I think they accidentally set up a very clear case of grooming instead and it's all there in the text. I'm sure it won't happen, but I fucking wish that Sariel's sequel would include him realizing all of this, working through the trauma, and finally denouncing the late king, at least in private. I'd also love to see the sequel take Sariel and Emma to Obsidian and for them to get more info about his identity and family from Gilbert, since the kingdom he comes from was taken over by Obsidian.

[fcthots]

I think Jason can be very spiteful, especially towards people he knows hurt you; You may have forgiven them, but Jason hasn't. Even if they are your parents, I don't think I would forbid you from seeing them, but I wouldn't really want to spend time with them if I found out you had a bad childhood because of them. A little self-indulgent because I recently argued with my parents, my dad threatens to kill himself if I don't do what he wants, I just wanted to leave and be comforted by Jason 🏃‍♀️

💀.-

I'm sorry about your dad being an asshole :(

but yeah my parents have been shitty so ive actually been thinking about this a lot.

"I'm just nervous they're gonna try and pull some bullshit," you sighed, tugging on your shoes. You were about to leave to meet up with your family for a birthday. An entire side of your family. It was about to be a very long day.

"Don't worry. You won't be going alone," Jason spoke up from where he was leaning against the wall, watching you.

That caught your attention. "What? What do you mean?"

"I'm going with you." He said it like it was obvious, like it was a fact that he would end up going. He saw the look on your face and continued, "You've been anxious about this for days. Like hell I'm letting you do this alone."

"Is that why you're dressed up?"

He rose an eyebrow. "I'm literally in a leather jacket and a shirt. I am not 'dressed up'."

You smiled. "That's your 'fancy' leather jacket, and we need to leave."

He stepped out and grabbed the keys for his motorcycle from the bedroom.

"Wait. Why are we taking the motorcycle?"

"Because you don’t say anything about a a girl when her 6'2" boyfriend rides in on a motorcycle, is covered in tattoos, and looks like he can benchpress a tree. By the way, I can bench more than that. Anyway, I'll take the attention off you. They'll focus their aggression at me by the end of the night, don’t you worry."

You smile.

[teatreeoilll]

𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐑𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 (𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐗 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . •

w/c - 9k content - MDNI! 18 + , minors and ageless blogs do not interact! fem!reader, evil!reader, a lot of plot with porn, much hurt, much angst, cussing, mention of drinking and smoking, VERY shitty parenting, child abuse, character death but not one of the mains, manipulative themes, i invented suguru's parents names, did i say much hurt? everyone's in their early twenties, cellist!Geto, saxophonist!Gojo, violinist!reader, shitty!everyone, kinda dark really i guess so please read at your own discretion, I'm sorry, really

a/n - there will probs be a second part based on the ending, if my back will ever stop hurting from being hunched over my laptop for four days straight writing this insanity.

Dedicated to the dear @telvess who read every scene like five times while I wrote and re-wrote this.

• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° .•

Jealousy. As a result of your young age, you couldn't put it into words quite yet, but you felt it - choking up your dry throat as your father held your head steady with his fingers digging deep into your scalp to make sure your head wouldn't move an inch.

"Look, child," he said, "really look."

"M-My head, Dad," you sniffled, "It hurts."

You peered through the tiny crack in the large white doors into an empty rehearsal room. Bare walls, empty chairs - all but one, where a young boy sat in the middle, dragging his bow across the strings of a cello like it would be the last thing he does in his life. He did it fervently, desperately, repeatedly over the strings to rumble the sounds through the room. His brows furrowed. His raven black hair was a cluster of strands jolting up and falling on his face each time he moved. It made him look exactly like what you felt - electrified.

Your jaw slacked, and your heart raced within the confines of your chest.

"You see, child?" Your father's words lingered above your head, "Can you finally hear what beauty sounds like?"

You heard, and it haunted you.

-

When he's playing, anyone would agree that Geto Suguru is breathtaking. Below the cuffs of his white button-down are pale hands, guiding long, strained fingers to move feverishly across the fingerboard. Above them, his face, a marble carving with half-lidded eyes, pointed idly at his cello.

Weary music for weary people, he thinks, lifting his gaze just enough to meet the dull faces with greying hair filling the large hall. Their constipated expressions stare back at him. They're just waiting for the cue to clap, although he doesn't mind - not as long as each note of the concerto* he played was perfect.

And by god, do they clap. A standing ovation, long enough to escort him in his path to the stage exit, loud enough for the echoes to linger as he greets the tall, blue-eyed man waiting for him there and frenzied enough to make your knees buckle under the tight fabric of your tailored evening dress.

"It was a good one," the blue-eyed man says, "as far as alarm clock music goes, that is."

"Funny how you keep calling it that, Satoru," Geto chastises, his fingers undoing the clasps of his cello case, "but you're always on the verge of falling asleep when you hear it."

Oh, you think, fiddling with the violin in your hands, so that's Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew who he was; the Gojo family name was arrogantly plastered on the walls of every concert hall in the city, including the one you were about to play in now.

Your tremble. You can't help it - that standing ovation set the bar so high you fear the bow in your hands might snap from the intensity of your grip. But it doesn't, and someone briefly introduces your name on stage.

You glance at the two men, catching Geto's uninterested expression. Your stomach churns. The dignified way it graces his annoyingly good-looking features makes your muscles tense; it's as if he's exhausted from doing the crowd a favor by allowing them to worship his playing.

Arrogant fucker. You think, and he nods at you stiffly, acknowledging the misfortune of performing after him.

As you drag your feet across the polished floor, you can only hear the sound of your own erratic breathing. "Breathe in, breathe out," you mutter under your breath as your shaking knees give the last of their strength to get you to the center stage.

And then a twitch, a breath hitch, and a loud thud.

The room hums with gasps for an instant before going silent again, and every eye in the vicinity watches you lay splayed across the wooden floor.

The shame burns in your cheeks, rushing through your face down to warm your aching body. As a desperate escape you turn your head away from the crowd, only to catch in the corner of your eye the two men still standing at the stage exit.

Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me.

"Oof," Gojo huffs, wincing at the sight as he turns to his friend, "Come on, we'll be late if we don't head out now."

Like looking at a trainwreck, Geto's unable to turn away. His lips purse; what a pity.

The silence grew, and you knew you must do something - anything to let this moment pass. You push yourself up, throwing a quick glance at your violin, a string snapped, fuck. "I hope -," you grunt, your voice hoarse from disuse, "I hope Rachmaninoff* gets the same gasps." A wave of suppressed chuckles and claps gushes around you. Oh, thank god.

Your cheeks are still hot, and the first stroke of your bow is hesitant, just a soft flick of the wrist to see if the three remaining strings are still in tune. Is this a good idea? But the crowd's anticipating gaze burns through you, rendering you unable to move. You focus on replacing the missing notes and play the piece - with jagged strokes coming from your still shaking hands, some notes cut it, but just barely.

Gojo nudges his friend's shoulder, "Hey, I said we'll be late."

Geto's pursed lips open lightly, his dark eyes fix intently on your bow, "Hmm?" He hums at his friend's words, dragging him back from his thoughts.

a/n - * - Bach's Cello Suite in C Minor, Sarabande. * - Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G minor, originally for piano, transcribed for violin.

-

"A Jazz club?" you furrow your brows at the music and the tang of smoke already reaching you from the narrow entrance hall.

You'd only met Shoko a few short weeks ago when college started, and she quickly became your only friend - as often happens to two people in a room who prefer to be alone.

"Yes, my friend's playing - you'll hate him," she says. Shoko has that thing where she doesn't change her tone when she says something sarcastic, so you're stuck nodding at her words with an uncomfortable grin on your face.

She tugs you by the sleeve of your shirt, guiding you down the stairs and through the prematurely drunken crowd that eagerly awaits what would be the third song of the evening.

"This would never pass in our concerts," you mutter under your breath, although you kind of wish it did as you look at the people laughing, reaching for another drink, huffing smoke from their mouths while making idle chatter as the players take a short break between songs.

A bright, warm note pierces the room, and like an obedient platoon to an officer's 'attention,' all the eyes fall back on stage. The white-haired man under the mellow spotlight makes a swift move to wipe the mouthpiece of his saxophone before returning it to his lips and blowing into it again - this time, a cue for the drummer, who starts a ruthless pace on his cymbals.

"If jazz is a god," Gojo's voice rings through the room, "then the saxophone is its altar."

How could he say that with a straight face? You think, unable to take your eyes off his clearly pretentious demeanor that would be borderline comical if it wasn't redeemed by his outstandingly handsome face, from the rolled-up sleeves and undone button of his blue dress shirt to the round sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he looks like pure sin.

"The Voice of Chunk*," he announces the piece and the room booms with shouts of excitement as the saxophone howls its first long and angelic Mi.

By the time the set ends, Gojo's a mess. A dusty red color flushes his pale cheeks as he pants, a mad gleam in his eyes when he looks at the crowd, which only shouts for another encore. He wipes the sweat off his brow and leaves the stage without a word.

Shoko drags you down to an empty table near the stage, a cigarette propped between her lips as she utters, "Ah," to the sound of a squeaking chair, which Gojo Satoru plops on, splaying his limbs on the wood.

He turns to Shoko, pointing a thumb at you, "Your friend?"

"Mhmm," Shoko confirms, "(Name)." She takes a sip of her cheap beer.

Perpetually assuming everyone already knew him, Satoru Gojo doesn't introduce himself. "What'd you think?" He asks.

"It was very good," you say, and mean it. He wasn't humble, but as far as performances go, he didn't need to be.

"Good?" He turns back to Shoko, looking at her like a wounded puppy, "Shoko.."

"She did say very, Satoru." Shoko sighs, "He hates the word good."

Your breath hitches as Gojo lays a large hand on your thigh, "Calling jazz good is terrible." He says, "It means it did nothing to you. Even calling it horrifying is a much better choice."

Another chair squeaks in your proximity, and Gojo removes the hand from your thigh to place it on the table, "Suguru!" He exclaims. "How was it?"

God, what's he doing here?

"Horrifying," Geto smirks at his friend.

His dark eyes turn to you as he says, "Geto Suguru," and extends a large, calloused palm, which you hesitantly shake. The skin contact makes you shudder. His eyes narrow, "Have we met before?"

The truth is - Geto knows rather well that you have met before. He spent two days after the concert thinking about your figure lying on the wooden floor, and it wasn't for the curve of your ass that pointed towards him, although that didn't escape his thoughts either. His mind raced with thoughts of how quickly you bounced back from your fall, made a joke, and started playing. Could it really be so easy?

"Oh - maybe it's - uh," you babble, your mind already trying to devise an excuse to leave.

"Ah, I know!" Gojo chimes in, "It's our tumbling violinist," he chuckles, "I never forget a girl after I've seen her on all fours."

Geto raises an eyebrow. "We both know that's hardly true."

You stare at Shoko with desperate eyes pleading for a change in topic. She puts down her drink, "Where were you Suguru? I didn't see you the entire gig." Thank god.

"Just there," Geto motions to the side of the bar, where a beautiful light-haired girl sips on a drink, "I've seen him play plenty of times."

I should be polite. "Oh, so you like jazz?" You ask.

Gojo chuckles, removing his sunglasses to reveal clear sky-blue eyes, "Entertain our guest, Suguru."

Geto leans back, arms crossed over his chest, and even his words sound carefully rehearsed - as if he's being interviewed, "It's not that I don't like it. There's just no merit to it." Against your wishes, you meet his gaze, restraining yourself from rolling your eyes at him. "It's mostly improvisation. Not one jazz piece stays the same over time - it blatantly disregards why we value music. Can you imagine someone changing even one note in Rachmaninoff's preludes?"

Is he talking about the ones I played?

Geto leans back, "And that's without mentioning the mistakes."

You furrow your brows, and your chest tightens at his words, "The mistakes?"

"Suguru's just jealous," Gojo smirks, and his arm snakes around your shoulders, "because I've got an ability he doesn't. I like to call it blue." His other hand traces lines across the wooden table, making an invisible note staff, "You see, in jazz, there's no such thing as a mistake. It's considered beautiful even if you play a note a bit too harsh or out of key. They're called blue notes."

"Well, a mistake is just a mistake, isn't it?" You lie, too proud to admit you were ashamed of the embarrassing performance they witnessed, "You shouldn't be proud or overcritical of it - it just is."

"It's a good philosophy," Geto says softly, and a faint smile appears on his lips, it makes sense now, "It works well if you just play for fun."

A decade of rigorous violin practice flashes before your eyes, the callouses on your fingers you were teased for as a child, and he dares to say it's for fun?

Your cheeks heat up, "Well, what do you play for? Suffering?"

"Perfection," he answers. Prick.

"Perfection?" You sneer, clenching your jaw, "Then what about improvisation?"

"Leave that vice for the jazz musicians." He says, and his expression suddenly changes, "I'm sorry, I know you improvised in your Rachmaninoff; you did the best you could - considering." He means it earnestly.

The veins throb in your forehead, Is he pitying me?

Gojo laughs, "If you keep bickering, I won't remain the star of the show tonight," and you notice the not-so-discreet looks of the people at the other tables ogling you.

"It's getting kind of late anyway," Shoko says, smothering her cigarette butt against the ashtray's bottom, "Why don't we go before we miss the train?"

"I'll give you a lift," Geto says, and you stare at Shoko, hoping that your wide, begging eyes will lead her to decline, "Come on," He adds, standing up, "It's raining outside, and our violinist can slip up even on dry flooring."

a/n - * - Voice of Chunk, The Lounge Lizards, 1988

-

"I'll see you in school," You say to Shoko, who exits the back seat of the silver Toyota, leaving nothing but a bitter smell of smoke and a long, strained silence lingering in the car.

"Which way?" Geto points to a fork in the road.

"Left, then straight for a while." And could you be so kind as to crash us into the nearest wall? You chuckle inside your head.

He turns his head as if he heard you, "So, a mistake is just a mistake, is it?"

And your fists clench momentarily, their tension softened only by the quiet, sweet sound of Samuel Barber* playing through the radio, weaving its melody with the heavy pounding of rain on the car roof, "Well, if you dwell on them too much, you're not going to have any time left to fix them." You wish you meant it.

He ponders silently before asking, "How'd you start playing?"

Is he only asking to make a snide remark? You decide to keep your answer curt. "My father gave me his violin when I was young."

The windscreen wipers work full force to make the dark road ahead visible, "My mother never let me touch her cello," he says, his unbothered tone now laced with somber notes, "I hated the thing."

The ache in your chest is almost unbearable, your fingers dig into the fabric of your trousers. He hated it, and he still plays like that?

"Then why play?" You inquire, watching the streetlights' reflections glint in his dark eyes.

Because it matters, it has to matter.

He laughs, and you can't help but notice how his face softens when he does, "It pays for college," a speck of red tint dusts his cheeks, and a strange pull flares in your chest at his defenseless look, "Don't I look like a scholarship boy?"

"Maybe if I squint," you say as he turns to look at you. You narrow your eyes, "Nope, can't see it," and he laughs again, making the remnants of alcohol turn in your stomach.

When you arrive, you step out of the car and he watches you disappear into the building's front, his fingers tapping restlessly on the wheel. A weak, burning sensation plagued the muscles around his jaw; were they really so unaccustomed to laughing?

a/n - * - Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, Op.11

-

15 years ago

The Geto residence was an ever-tastefully decorated one-story house in the rural areas outside Tokyo, always graced by the echoing sounds of an Italian-made cello. Geto Suguru himself was a wide-eyed child, six years old, and already praised for being prematurely intelligent by his parents' arrogant friends; "Your little Suguru is so clever," one of his mother's friends said, leaning over the dinner table to tug mercilessly on his cheek, "I bet he'd skip a grade as soon as he starts school, don't you think, Kieko?"

To which his mother only hummed in response, quickly diverting the subject, "The Bolshoi* is performing in the city next month. Will you come?"

Suguru didn't mind these things much. He wasn't the kind of child to look for praise; he didn't care for it from strangers' mouths and never knew the delight of hearing it come out of his mother's ever-pursed lips.

The next morning, Kieko Geto sat on a sturdy, padded stool and played with unwavering concentration until the midday sun sipped through the windows, blinding her eyes. Only then did she stop, turning back to notice her son's inquisitive gaze peering from the doorway.

"Come," she instructed, and Suguru took a few hesitant steps to the middle of the room. His mother positioned the cello upright, the wooden beast towering over him as she pressed a flat palm to the middle of the fingerboard, measuring his height against it. "One day," she said, "you'll be big enough to play it, Suguru."

A phone rang, and his mother stepped out. Suguru stood a long while staring at the instrument that leaned lazily against the wall. One day - he didn't want to wait for some vague, distant day, and his arm itched with impulse.

Suguru lifted the bow from the stool, ramming it violently across the strings. It made such a horrendous sound that he thought for a moment he hurt it, and now the thing was howling in pain.

"Suguru!" his mother shrieked as she shoved him out of the way, "What did you do?" Her pale fingers grazed the cello, searching for new marks on the wood.

The bow in her hand glinted like a Katana under the sunlight as she swung it at his head.

The next few minutes were a blur. Suguru guessed he screamed since his father stormed into the room, pushing him to stand behind his back. His eyes were fixed on the creases on the back of his father's shirt, changing their shape like sand dunes as the man's arms moved frantically through the air as if he were conducting his own shouts.

The boy placed a hand on his forehead. "Dad," he tugged hesitantly on the creases, leaving red stains on the pale blue shirt, "Dad."

a/n - * - The Bolshoi Ballet

-

A failed poet turned local journalist once described Geto Suguru's playing as having a gut-wrenching elegance, and as you stood at the large doors leading to the conservatory's hall, you couldn't help but hear what he meant. Angelic strokes on the rumbling strings, and each note is -

"Shit," he cusses, dragging the bow harshly along the strings as if it could saw the instrument in half if he tried hard enough. Even as he does so, he can't seem to make it sound bad. The bow drops on the floor with a hollow thud, and he runs a defeated hand through his hair, brushing back a long black strand to reveal a two-inch, pale scar on the side of his forehead.

He lifts his gaze up, noticing you standing by the door. How long has she stood there? "Violinst," he says. "Come to practice?"

Seeing him laugh a few days ago must have been a figment of your imagination. "Yes," you utter.

"It's occupied until six."

You make your way to the low stage through the aisle between the empty rows of seats, "It's ten past six," you remark, and Geto glances at the clock, frowning at it like it broke a long-standing promise.

You reach the stage, putting your violin case on the still-warm seat of the lone chair in the middle. You shudder at the warmth, watching Geto lift the massive cello case as his other hand reaches into his pocket, taking out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, "You want one?" he asks, holding it open.

You shake your head, "Thank you."

He puts one smoke between his lips, patting down his pockets, "Got a light?"

You shake your head again, "Sorry."

He shrugs, his eyes fixing on the violin in your hand, and you notice the slight puffiness under his eyes. "Not my day, I guess." And it's a long gaping silence while he puts the cigarette back in the pack, "Do you mind if I stay?"

"No," Yes. "But if you scrunch your nose at my mistakes, you leave."

"I don't scrunch my nose," he retorts.

"You do."

Geto runs a long finger along the bridge of his nose down to the tip, leaning forward slightly to meet your eyes, "Straight as an arrow," he says without a smile, and you turn red at the sudden proximity, fixing your gaze on the shiny white floor beneath your feet.

"Alright then," you mumble.

Geto sits in the front row, reclining on the backrest of the crimson-colored seat with his hands resting on his spread thighs while his cello case leans on the seat next to him like a second observer. You might as well put on a burlesque show from how naked you feel under his steady gaze.

You drag the bow across the strings, echoing a dissonant tone throughout the room.

"Are you testing me?" He says with a smug smile plastered on his lips, but you hoped for a heartfelt one instead.

"Mhmm," you hum, taking a few steps forward to the verge of the stage, where you take a seat with your legs dangling from the edge, "You passed." and he chuckles, soft and low.

As you begin to play, Geto gets up from his seat to pace back and forth along the aisle, his brows furrowed and his thumb pressed against his lips while he listens to the music.

Your muscles strain, bracing themselves for the suite's climax, now's the hard part, you think, letting out a frustrated huff as your eyes fix on Geto. You miss the first note.

He halts, and your bow leaves the strings as you await his reaction in the irksome silence of the hall.

For a moment, he's desperate. Desperate for you to do what he thought was an almost inhuman feat after such a mistake.

He takes a few steps closer, towering over you while his eyes stare intently into yours, "Keep playing," he demands.

Your breath hitches as you watch him slowly lower himself to his knees beneath you. He places large, calloused palms on your knees, eagerly spreading your legs while his eyes are still honed on your face, relishing in the red flush burning your cheeks. He runs a hand under your skirt, grazing your thigh with long, rough fingers, a hint of a smile on his lips when he hears your breathless gasps, "Keep playing," he repeats.

Smile, god, you hated that smile.

You play a few jagged notes before your arms give in, and you place the violin on the floor with a soft clunk. Your now free hands grasp his hair, freeing it from his neatly tied bun to fall down his shoulders.

"Eager girl," he mutters, tracing his finger along your wet panties, and you tug harder at his hair. I'm the eager one?

"Q-Quit teasing," you stammer as he yanks you closer to the edge of the stage, pulling off your panties with a swift move. You shudder as his warm breath fans over your exposed cunt, panting heavily as his fingers dig deep into your thighs.

"Hmm?" He murmurs, placing soft kisses against your inner thighs, letting his teeth graze the skin but stopping every time right before he reaches your soaked pussy. Just do it, for the love of god, just do it.

You're reduced to a quivering mess, fighting the urge to push his head into your wetness, "Please," you whimper breathlessly, frowning at the loss of your pride under his touch, "p-please stop teasing," and you finally feel his tongue lick a stripe up your clit as he grunts softly at your taste.

"Good girl," he groans out, letting his lips wrap around your bud, burying his face so deep in your cunt you feel his nose rub against your clit while he rasps out a soft "Fuck," that sends shivers up your spine.

He was messy, fervent, eager as his tongue worked on your clit, and you grew dizzy at the sight of the usually calm and collected man disheveled and red-faced between your legs, moaning out his name as you felt yourself clench against his lips, "S-Suguru, fuck -."

He'd never heard his name come out of your lips before, but this was a better first time than he could imagine. He grew unbearably hard in his jeans, rutting against thin air almost instinctively every time you rolled your hips into his face, "Say it again," he demands, and his deep voice sends a rush of heat to your face.

Can he do it? Can he make you even more of a mess on his fingers? Can he watch while you stutter his name, while your face is a beautiful flushed mixture of those blunders he loved seeing you make?

"Suguru," you look at him through glazed eyes, and he frees the hand that grabbed your thigh to slide two skilled fingers into your soaked cunt, "S-Suguru," you whimper out when they sink deeper, pumping into your sweet spot with a harsh pace.

A drunk smile grazes his lips when you clench against his fingers. It takes him all his strength to pull away from your cunt, "You want more, princess?" He teased, fingers pumping lazily into you.

You manage to whine a quiet, "Y-Yes."

"Then ask," he coos, his smile turning into a devilish grin, and you squirm at the loss of his tongue, clutching his hair tighter.

"Please, Suguru," you breathe. How many times will he put me through this? And your muscles contract when he flicks his tongue over your cunt again, "p-please, Suguru - I'm - " you babble as he resumes his harsh pace, your thighs closing on his head, hips rutting desperately for some more sweet friction against his tongue.

"Please, fuck - " you moan, arching your back. His fingers still push into you as he groans at the taste of your wetness gushing on his tongue, licking it hungrily while you pant almost inaudible whispers of his name, and he thinks he might come from the sweet sound of your voice alone.

His lips finally let go of your clit. He pushes himself up from his knees to face you, his mouth wet with your essence as he brushes his lips against yours. Barely a kiss, but you grow dizzy anyhow, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, running your other hand along his T-shirt-clad stomach down to the bulge in his jeans.

"No," he utters. No?

"Huh?" Your brows furrow, "Do you want me to take you out for a cup of coffee first?" It was supposed to be a thought, shit.

He laughs, and you watch the lines form in the corners of his eyes, "Could be nice," he says, "besides, it's your rehearsal hours; don't you want to practice?"

"Not really," you grumble, "You can use them if you like." You reach down to pick up your panties from the floor where he discarded them, only to see him grab them first.

"I could," he muses aloud, "I'm playing the Grand Hall opening in a few weeks," and he catches your gaze for a second, "but I'd rather watch you play." And you blush as he tucks your panties into the front pocket of his jeans, "You'll get them later," he says, "If you're good."

"If I'm good?" You furrow your brows, "If I don't make any mistakes, you mean."

"No," he asserts, his words a bit loud, catching you off-guard as you fumble for your violin, "If you're good."

After you refuse his ride home, it's a long walk of shame back to your apartment. You feel as though your pride was left in his pocket together with your underwear, but maybe, just maybe, you'll make something good come out of it.

-

"Dad put it - " Suguru's arm held his father's in a tight grip across the coffee shop's table, urging it to release the silver spoon in his hand, "Put it back, please."

"They've got plenty," his father barks, his eyes darting around to observe the busy staff of the cafe while he hides the spoon carefully in his bag.

Suguru lets out a weary sigh, focusing on the swirling cream in his coffee mug, "So do you," he says, the taste of stale regret mixing in with his drink when he lifts it to his mouth.

"Eh?" His father's eyebrows knit together, wrinkles forming under his five o'clock shadow when his lips purse, "You here to judge me, boy?"

Suguru takes a sip from his coffee but finds it stuck bitterly in his throat under his father's hostile stare.

"Thought so," the man says, his dirty fingernails tapping on the wooden table as he adds, "Now, will you finally quit fooling around with that thing?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru chokes out.

"She croaked this morning, the bitch. She won't come to see you play now, would she?"

Suguru's eyes widen, his hands quivering, pads of his fingers digging into the scortching coffee mug, threatening to tumble the liquid over the rim, "What?"

"Croaked, gone, dead. She left you that cursed cello of hers," his father eyes the sugar dispenser on the table, brushing his fingertips on it, "So you'll sell it. And give the money to your father," his shoulders draw back, he's proud, "for all the things he did for you, yes?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru mutters.

The man's agitated expression deepens the wrinkles on his forehead, "'I don't know Dad," his father mocked, "I'll tell you what you need to know. I took you away from that vicious whore when she'd done your face in with her bow, and you've never thanked me once, just begged me to buy you a damn cello when you knew that all our money was left in that house." A brute splatter of spit lands on the table as he sneers, "And I did, didn't I? Bought you the damn thing, drove you around with it like some chauffeur. Where's my thanks? Eh, brat? Where's my money?"

The man raises his arm, and a young, blonde waitress appears momentarily by their table, all smiles when she says, "The check, sir?"

"Yes," Suguru's father says, the chair under him screeching as he gets up, "My son will pay."

-

For hours now he'd been contemplating where to go. Who he wanted to see. but when Geto finally gets to your door, his face still flushes with the soft pink of an irredeemable shame while his urgent, stiff knuckles pound on the door. He knew you were home. He wasn't a brute - he texted to check, but he still couldn't calm the restless ache burning in his chest.

When you open the door, there's no hello, just the unyielding feeling of his body flat against yours as he presses sloppy kisses along your jaw, groaning when his teeth graze the tender skin of your neck, "Fuck," his breath fans over you neck as he pants out the words, "you smell sweet."

His face lingers in the crook of your neck, relishing in the warmth like a cold-blooded animal who'd die without the heat. His fingers dig into your thighs so harshly you fear they might bruise them as he lifts you up, "Smell so fucking sweet - " he keeps muttering under his breath as your legs wrap around his waist, your hands clinging to the muscles on his back to keep your balance.

"Suguru," you pant when he drops you on the bed, noticing the unfamiliar ruthless look in his eyes, hardly the same one you saw between your legs a few days ago, "Did something - "

"D'you want to stop and talk?" He chuckles, large, warm hands running across your body to discard your clothes, "Hmm?" He purrs, already confining you under his body, planting soft, teasing kisses on the valley between your breasts.

"N-No," you whimper at the feeling of his teeth against your hardened nipple, and you run a hand through his dark hair to yank him away, while the other hand tugs at his shirt to signal him to fuck, take it off.

He almost doesn't want to break away from your body, not even for the sake of finally feeling your skin rub against his. But he manages to regain his composure long enough to use swift movements to discard his clothes as you watch him, strong and veiny, a body that could be carved in marble if it ever stopped moving with devious intent.

"Suguru," you knew he loved it, the sound of his name coming from your mouth. "Please," you writhe under him, desperate for any kind of touch as he looms over you, holding himself up while deep pants escape his parted lips. He's too far for you to crash your lips against his, no matter how you try. You lift your head from the pillow, and he chuckles at your efforts, pumping his already hard and leaking cock, groaning when he lets the tip brush against your folds.

"So wet already, hmm?" His hand abandons his cock to push a finger inside your cunt, the squelching noises making the blood rush to your head. He's mad with need but can't let your squirming be over so soon, "All for me?"

"Fuck, Sugu - " you cut yourself off to grip his hair, making your lips crash, feeling his tongue swallow your moans as he takes his finger out only to push his cock into you with a deep thrust, "Ah - fuck - " you moaned into his mouth, feeling his tip rub against your sweet spot when he finally bottomed out.

He starts a mean pace, and a hint of pain jolts through you while you adjust to his size, loud moans escaping your lips, "Oh my, ah - God."

"Suguru," he corrects, reaching a hand to adjust your hips, and you moan at the friction against his abdomen, "moan it for me, princess," he groans out against your neck when you pant his name, "louder - fuck - " he pleas, his breath hitches when you clench against him.

He knows he can't hold it much longer, threatening to spill his load at every pant and moan and brush of his lips against your skin, "S- Suguru - " you whine, feeling his fingers draw circles against your clit, digging your nails into his back to leave shallow red scratches along his shoulder blades.

"You close, princess?" He lets out a shaky breath when he feels you clench again, gritting his teeth at the tightness around his cock.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and your eyes shut at the feeling of his messy, erratic thrusts, "Suguru - ," you moan, "Suguru - I - " you pull his head back by the hair.

"Mhmm," he coos, "you what?" he growls, his thrusts feeling almost impossibly deep when the heat pools in your stomach.

"I - I'm - close - " And it's all he needs to hear, locks of black hair falling to brush against your face as he smashes his lips onto yours, savoring the taste of your mouth as your back arches and walls contract around him.

"Good girl," he rasps into your mouth, pounding a few harsh thrusts before his hips stutter. You watch through glazed eyes how muscles tighten as he spills his seed into you with a low groan.

He collapses atop you, pressing his sweat-dampened face against your chest to relish in the sound of the fast, thumping beat of your heart. A few more seconds, and he can measure the tempo.

"Listen," Suguru says, smoking a cigarette out of the open window of your room while he watches you get dressed in the corner, "there's a few things I have to do early tomorrow," his eyes trail out to the street lamps out the window, their blinking lights reflecting on his car outside.

"Suguru," you stand over him, brushing the pads of your fingers against the scratches you left on his back, "did something - "

"Just a few things I have to do," he says, looking around the room for his shirt, "so I'll call you, yeah?"

-

"Uhm, so, did you hear from Su-" You cut yourself off, watching Shoko take a long drag from her smoke with her eyes waiting for you to finish your sentence. "I mean - " you clear your throat, "You know how a guy does something, and then he -" Your face grows red at the memory of Suguru's naked body, "And you think it was nice because you had fun, and then he -"

Shoko watches you babble for a while before saying a confused, "Yes?"

"Suguru didn't call me back," you finally utter. Wasn't it enough for him that I called first?

"Oh," Shoko takes a long drag from her cigarette, "and he needs to call you because..?"

Your face flushes crimson as you bury your face in your hands, "B-Because we fucked and I haven't heard from him since," you mutter through your palms.

Gojo Satoru has a habit of entering places like his presence was eagerly anticipated, swinging the door open with a dramatic expression, "Shoko!" He cuts through the conversation, his height exaggerated by the confines of Shoko's small dorm room as he puts his saxophone on the table, "The key is stuck. I'm going to need you to fix it again -"

"Later," Shoko sounds like a reprimanding mother as she motions toward your sulking face.

Gojo's eyebrows knit together, "Did something happen?"

"Suguru didn't call her after - " Shoko reconsiders her words for a moment, "after they had a nice time together."

"Hmm?" Gojo plops down on the bed in the corner, "Well, he won't call for a while."

You raise your gaze from your palms, tilting your head at the man, "What do you mean?" And your mind races, Oh god. He can't - hate me?

"You didn't hear?" Gojo's smirk fades from his lips, "His mother died last Saturday."

Wait, the same day he came and - ?

You widen your eyes at Shoko, who only shakes her head in response.

"His parents were divorced for quite a while," Gojo continues, "he hasn't seen his mother in over a decade - "

"But she's still his mother," Shoko remarks, huffing a cloud of smoke into the room that lingers stagnant above the table.

Gojo sulks, "I was about to say that. He's been stuck in his room for a week now. My father's pissed."

"Your father?" You puzzle, watching Gojo wipe his sunglasses on the edge of his shirt.

"He was supposed to play the Grand Hall this weekend." And you squint your eyes, waiting for him to continue, "My father pays his tuition for these shows, y'know."

"Your father pays Suguru's tuition?" You repeat.

Gojo chuckles, "Well, I'm not sure for how long, now that Suguru won't even answer his phone. Dad's been planning this grand opening for a year now."

Oh?

"Can't you talk to him?" Shoko was still holding onto the smoking cigarette butt in her hand.

"It's like talking to a - " Gojo cut himself off to knock twice at the white plaster wall beside the bed.

Your muscles tense, and the sound of your own racing pulse deafens your ears.

I should say something. "He's your friend," you croak out.

Gojo's expression changes to a stern one, a terrifying sight on his soft features, "What would have me do? Make him play while he's mourning for his mother? Fight with my father only to have him cut Suguru off anyway?"

You go silent, mulling over his words, but find nothing to say.

Shoko picks up the saxophone from the table, "Which key is broken?" she asks, and there's a hint of defeat in her voice as she waits for Satoru's answer so, at the very least, she can fix something.

-

Suguru had stared at the cello case for days now, hesitant to take the instrument out of its shell. He started staring at it when he took it from his mother's house after the funeral and kept staring at it on the two-hour bus ride and the three-hour train journey, and then, when he leaned it against the wall of his apartment, he still couldn't take his eyes off of it.

It called him. Not in the way you called him - the kind that made his heart flutter when he saw your name pop on his phone screen, which he ignored, simply having no clue as to what to say.

He still ran the imaginary conversations in his head every time you did, letting out sad chuckles into the stale air of his room. How have you been? Oh yes, my mother died, and I'm sitting here with her instrument, which she always loved more than me. Is it nice? Oh, it's more like a successful older brother - you want to hug him just as much as you want to chuck him out the window. Would you like to grab a coffee?

"It's been almost two weeks since you sat there," Geto stands in the little kitchen of his apartment, making a cup of tea he knew would join the others piled up on his bedside table. I'm talking to it now, he thinks, I've finally gone insane. "How about you pay rent?" He chastises the instrument.

For a moment, he thinks it really might pay his rent - for about four years - if he decides to sell it, and keep the money to himself. His hands find themselves opening the case.

He inspects it for a long while, his hands brushing reluctantly over the wood until they find the small scratch in the varnish, the one he'd left there over a decade ago, and he focuses on it. It's small, pale looking, almost too tiny to notice, like the scar on his forehead.

"Maybe it's fair," he mutters at it, "I hurt you, and she hurt me. Balance."

A knock on the door makes his hand falter.

"Suguru," you bang on the door, feeling your leg squash something under it. "Mochi?" you mutter as you pick up a bag from the floor, and the lock clicks.

He looks terrible, you think, with tired eyes and strands sticking out from his usually perfect hair. You hand him the crumpled bag, trying no to smile, "It was just here," you point to the doorway.

"Hmm?" He takes it from your hands, "Satoru's been leaving those here every day. I've got plenty. You can have it if you like."

The air in the room reeks of smoke and coffee grounds, and he steps away, losing your eyes as he moves clothes from a chair to his bed for you to sit on.

"How are you?" you ask.

"Fine," he responds instinctively. Silence. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure." Silence again. A good time to pick up smoking, you think.

Your gaze lands on the cello peaking from its case in the corner. "A new one?" You puzzle as he puts a cup of coffee in front of you.

"My mother's," Geto says, sitting on the chair across from you.

"It's beautiful," you say, and you watch a sullen look settle in his eyes. "Wrong thing to say?" you give him a half-hearted smile, attempting to lift his mood, "Because in that case, it looks terrible."

"I like it when you say the wrong things," He suddenly says, "They don't feel so wrong when you say them."

You take the cup of coffee in your hands, warming your palms against the glass, "You can say them too sometimes, y'know."

He takes a sip from his coffee, only to find he can't stand the taste anymore, wrinkling his nose, "I hate that thing. I've been contemplating whether to sell it or just throw it out the window."

"And what's the verdict?"

"Play it," he says.

"Then play it."

He gets up, pushing the chair back to the middle of the room as he walks to take the instrument out of its case. You're almost startled by how stiff he looks leaning it between his legs, a hold so tight on the bow his knuckles turn white.

He puts the bow to the strings with a feather-light stroke, and halts.

He looks scared of it.

Is that what stage fright feels like? He thinks as he watches you lean forward against the table, eyes honed on his hands.

"You just need to play it, y'know? Like children do, just wiggle the bow a few times." You say.

Like children do. "It'll be dissonant," Geto utters sternly, releasing his grip on the bow.

"That's how they laugh," your lips curl into a soft smile, "That's what my father used to tell me when he heard the horrible screeches I made on his violin when he first gave it to me, 'Don't worry, that's how they laugh.'"

His chest tightened at the words, and he forced the bow onto the strings, making a loud, off-key tone penetrate the room.

It's the first time you've heard him make a mistake, and it made every nerve in your system tingle. Your head went euphorically dizzy. This is much better.

He almost stopped at your wide-eyed look, but you just laughed, "Oh, please, you call that dissonant?" And you watch him push the bow onto the strings again, brows furrowed at the terrible sounds, but his movements unwavering.

It's fine to play it like this, he thinks, as long as it's accompanied by your laughter.

"Suguru," you utter, and he lifts his gaze from the instrument, "Will you play the Grand Hall tonight?"

He ponders for a moment, "I think I will."

"Then you better answer your phone," you motion towards the buzzing cell phone on the counter, "and take a shower," you laugh.

He looks down on his disheveled clothes, "That bad, huh?" He chuckles.

"Just a little."

You hear the shower water running as you fiddle with your phone, still dazed at what just happened. You press the contact and dial.

"Hey, Dad?" You chirp into the cell phone, "Are you still coming to the Grand Hall opening tonight?"

-

The new Grand Hall is a sea of white marble floors and golden framed artworks, crowded by black-suited CEOs and their overly lavish trophy wives.

Geto sits on the lone stool in the middle of the stage, watching them all take their seats, still busy exchanging pleasantries with each other while they wait for the show to start. His eyes drift constantly to the stage exit, where you stand with Gojo, smiling softly, mouthing, "Don't worry," at his stiff figure.

His mother's cello is still unfamiliar to the touch, a beast different than the one he owns which he had already spent years taming.

People fill the seats like ants, and the lights dim above his head. The pianist behind him is a weak-looking man, and he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his thin nose before giving Geto the cue to start.

The first stroke of the bow is a hesitant one across the strings that once earned him a blow to the head, but the second one has more vigor, and his eyes, half-lidded still, find your smiling face again to soothe his nerves. His bow falters; he didn't have time to change the rusty strings; what would Elgar* say?

And you can't help but smile at each terrible pitch echoing around you; each horribly dissonant tone is more beautiful than the next to your ears.

The sounds are low and deep, growling against the marble hall. He almost has it - the feeling - the one that'd let him stop quivering in his seat. His bow jitters. He never knew he could make so many mistakes in a piece that he played hundreds of times, but with your smile at the corner of his eyes, he feels it creep up his fingertips, rushing through his chest - joy.

"My son!" The doors to the concert hall bust open with a bang; it overpowers the soothing sounds of his cello and the melody of the piano, "He's my fucking son. Let me see him!" Suguru's father stumbles drunkenly into the hall, two dark-suited men at his heels.

The hall washes over with whispers, women pressing their carefully manicured hands to their painted mouths in awe while their husbands are already halfway out of their seats with a proud "I'll take care of the bastard, honey" stuck on their lips.

"Fuck off, pig." Suguru's father spews at the guard trying to drag him away, "He owes it all to me, the brat. Play for our guests, Suguru! " He turns to the crowd, "Enjoying the show, money-rolling cunts?"

Suguru stiffens, his eyes two dull, widened orbs staring at the scene as he stops his playing, ignoring the piano player's whispers to just play, kid.

Gojo rushes to the man screaming in the hall, "Mr. Geto, long time no see," he says, one hand gripping him by the edge of his booze-soaked shirt, the other wrapping around the man's neck in an almost affable way, "How about you see your son after the show?" A smile is frozen on his soft lips, his blue eyes staring daggers at the man, "Now be nice, or they'll tase you," he breathes down the man's ear, motioning to the guards whose fingers are already clutching the tasers.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

a/n - * - Edward Elgar, Cello Concerto in E minor, Op.85

-

12 years ago

"You hear that?" Your father stood over you in the rehearsal room of the conservatory, his arms crossed over his chest as he paced back and forth, "That's how they laugh. Every time you make a mistake, they laugh at you, girl."

Your eyes were red as you stopped your playing, "L-Laugh?"

"Instruments make that sound so they can mock you," your father explained, correcting your grip on the bow, "and you have to do everything so they don't do that."

Every day, he'd drive you up to the conservatory and stand over you in that room for hours on end, brows knitted together at each whine the violin screeched out. And when it was finally over, he'd walk you down the long white corridor to the room at the end, where a small, dark-haired boy would play his cello.

"See that, girl?" He'd point through the crack in the door, "Perfection."

Perhaps that was when you started to despise Geto Suguru. Over the years, the feeling only grew, but it hadn't peaked before his smug smile sat next to you in a jazz club, finally uttering the first words he ever directed at you, "Geto Suguru, have we met before?"

And it felt strange because you had - or at least you thought you had, over a decade ago. Not that he'd know that you watched him play almost every day through that time, with the scrutinizing words your father whispered above your head, "Look. Really look," your father held your head steady with his fingers digging into your scalp, "It doesn't laugh at him, see?"

And you did see. And you wished that it laughed at him, too. Why were you the only one supposed to be laughed at?

You didn't mean to at first, really. Something about him just ticked it off, the urge for revenge. How dare he hate his instrument and play it so well, when you loved the violin and it betrayed you with every stroke?

You didn't mind the sex; he was still a handsome man. It made him trust you - and as long as you made him make a mistake - every laugh, every encouraging smile, every word, was worth it.

-

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

Suguru looks for them - your eyes, and that smile that seems to perpetually grace your lips - but when his eyes finally land on you, he finds it gone. You mouth something he doesn't quite catch before disappearing from the stage exit. He can't do it; he can't play anymore. His hand freezes against the strings.

You finally made a fool of yourself, Suguru.

You wait outside the Grand Hall doors, body shivering with anticipation when the crowd finally starts to leave the hall.

"Dad!" You shout when you see him, making your way through the people, heels clacking against the marble until you grab your father's arm, "Dad! It was horrible, wasn't it?"

"Hmm? Who'd you come with dear?" Your father inquires.

"Leave it, Dad. He was horrible, right?"

He looks at you a long time before saying, "It's a shame for that boy, the beginning was perfect."

-

10 years later

When he's conducting, anyone would agree that Suguru Geto is breathtaking. The moment he dropped playing the cello ten years prior, every one of his admirers had almost lost hope - that is, until he picked up the baton. A true genius, they'd say, forgetting his last horrible performance, which graced the headlines for a long time after he ditched it in the middle, and how he disappeared for the next two years after it. Lonley? Gods no, he's a busy man, or perhaps struggling with all his greatness to find a mind akin to his own.

But only the small orchestra that played under him knew that all these words were just flattery - he was cold and unforgiving of any and all mistakes, and he really, truly despised the violinists.

Or he did, until the new violinist ran late to the first rehearsal of the year.

[kentosbabes]

okay so how would nanami comfort reader having a horribly shitty day? very self indulgent ask but its okay we're all a bit delulu here 🥹

Delusional and proud 😫

Nanami would completely drop his tough demeanor and turn into a complete softie when you need comforting.

As soon as you call him crying he's heading straight home no matter what he has planned for the rest of his day, he's too worried about you to focus on anything else. He wouldn't even end the phone call, just talking to your trying to calm you down as he drives home. 'Hey, hey it's okay love just take some deep breaths okay, do it with me'

Once he arrives he's practically jogging to the front door opening it, and rushing towards you as your sat on the couch with your knees to your chest. He's quick to cradle you in his arms kissing your forehead and rubbing soothing circles on your back.

When you've calmed down enough to thank him for coming home he's asking you what happened as he wipes away your tears with his thumbs. Truly it was just one of those shit days where everything was going wrong. 'I don't know Kento first I missed my bus and then it started raining and I got soaked it was just one thing after the other and I just didn't know what to do' He just sits and listens nodding and running his hands through your hair while you talk about how bad your day was.

He understands where your coming from, the days when everything just works against you and you struggle to find a reason to keep going. He used to have a lot of those types of days till he met you, you were like his sunshine always making him smile and making sure he was okay.

He wants to be that for you too. He carries you up to your bathroom sitting you on the counter as he slowly runs a hot bath with scented soap and candles. He would be constantly reassuring you 'It's okay love we all have bad days and good days, you're allowed to feel this way, now we've just got to make you feel a bit better yeah'.

'Join me?' you ask not wanting him to leave your side when you're feeling this vulnerable. Nanami is happy to comply getting in behind you and massaging your shoulders and rubbing the soap into your sin soothingly. 'I'm so proud of you darling' He'd say as he places small pecks on your shoulder 'For what' you ask looking back at him, 'Just for being you'.

He would try to make you laugh with some horrible dad jokes he found online. But his serious expression as he tells them is what makes you giggle. 'What do you call a cow with no legs' he says his hands wrapped around your waist as you lean back against him in the tub. 'hmmm I don't know Kento what?' His expression never changes as he says 'ground beef' making you go into a fit of giggles.

After a hot bath and washing off the day he would order your favorite takeout and binge-watch your favorite shows with you, staring at you as you laugh at the guy on tv who just fell over. He would still be a little worried and keep asking to make sure you were okay and feeling better. Of course, when your kissing him all over his face thanking him for helping you he knows your feeling better.

But just in case he's making sure you feel really good that night from him in between your thighs to him leaving hickeys all over 'God your such a good girl darling, so so special never forget that'

[unclewaynemunson]

Steve's dad was a grade A asshole. At least, that's what Steve thought ever since the first time he got in trouble for drinking beer with Tommy and Carol instead of studying for his Spanish test – which he ended up failing spectacularly.

His dad was strict, kept going on and on about how Steve should work harder, shouldn't expect to get everything handed to him on a silver platter just because they had money, that the world was unfair but that he shouldn't take advantage of that fact.

It was infuriating. They fought a lot, all through high school, but after Steve graduated, it got even worse. He vividly remembered the day he got rejected for Tech, all his chances to actually get into college out of the window. He knew that his dad knew the dean, knew that he was only one phone call away from getting in - a phone call his dad refused to make. Mr. Harrington had been stubborn as ever, with his whole spiel of hard work and honesty and refusing to partake in nepotism.

And the worst thing about all of that? The fact that his father was right. The fact that Steve had indeed prioritized being keg king and getting into Nancy Wheeler's panties over good grades, convinced that his father's connections would be his safety net anyway.

So yeah, Steve hated his father when the man made him get some shitty job at the mall and work for his income like Mr. Harrington himself had done before he got to where he was now. The man was an asshole, obviously.

Until Robin. Until he saw from up-close what it meant to be poor, to have to climb that ladder that he had been on top of only because of the lottery that was birth. So during the months after summer 1985, he and his dad slowly but surely started growing closer again. Mr. Harrington helped him with new college applications, helped him think of good alternatives in case college simply wasn't for Steve anyway. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington welcomed Robin into their house with open arms, along with Steve’s odd gang of middle schoolers, relieved to see that their son had finally stopped caring about status and started valuing true friendship and loyalty instead. And when Robin was worried about telling her parents that she was a lesbian, they told her that she'd always have a place in the Harrington home, if she needed it.

'I'm proud of you, Steve,' Mr. Harrington said when they were reminiscing Steve's old high school days together during the Christmas break. 'And I'm sorry if I was too hard on you sometimes.'

'No, I get it now,' Steve was quick to say.

'I just needed to do everything in my power to make sure you wouldn't take for granted what we have. I told you often enough how things were for me growing up – I worked my ass of to get us where we are. I needed you to grow up kind, and humble. But I always loved you, you know that, right?'

'Yeah, I know that,' Steve answered, quietly. 'Love you too, dad.'

1986 came around and before he knew it, it was March and he was standing pressed against the wall of Reefer Rick's boathouse with a broken bottle to his throat. After the end of the world, his parents rushed over to the hospital as soon as they could and they took turns keeping Steve company at Eddie's bedside while they all waited and waited and waited.

Two months later, he found himself sitting opposite of his parents at the kitchen table, his hands trembling and Robin by his side as he told them that he was in love. And they smiled, told him that they saw this one coming since before Steve was even seeing it himself; that they loved him and that they thought Eddie was a wonderful boy and that they'd love to welcome him in their family.

That same night, Steve thanked his father. Because he knew that if it wasn't for Mr. Harrington trying to steer him towards kindness instead of arrogance time and time again, he would never have grown up to fall in love with Eddie Munson.

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

lmao she ate you up

Again Stolas is an insult to real abuse victims. The show tries to make Stella into this evil harpy while excusing people who have done abuse like Loona because she gets the trauma excuse. Heck, Stolas for all claims of being a victim is actually more of a victimizer than a victim because of how he used his power to trap a guy into a coercive deal to keep his book. People say Blitzo started it when reality he was going to have him in his room and expected him to ravage him even though this was the first time they met in years. The guy has been predatory from the start and I don't care what excuses to try to make him fake sympathetic. Coercing someone into sex for a long time is not a simple mistake it's a crime but since it's hell it wouldn't be punished. Also stfu about him giving his daughter love he will regularly choose Blitzo over his daughter while having the nerve to claim he still loves her.

People claim he wants to give her a normal life while not having two minds of cheating on her mother and obnoxiously still carrying on an affair that broke the family. That is the embodiment of not caring about your daughter. Also coming out of the closet shouldn't be an excuse to hurt people. Again everyone says he's improving but those so-called improvements is still coercing people into a relationship and whining when they rebuff his advances because in the past they treated them like shit and still denies they look do on them. This is the same twit who had the nerve to say Blitzo and Striker sound the same when they told him off for being a privileged asshole he really isn't learning.

There is a difference between being a normal,flawed dad and being a neglectful, selfish asshole who puts his wants before his child. And let me tell you a child shouldn't be forced to sacrifice their stability to make their manchild of a father happy. And even worse he's doing this for a guy he forced into his fantasy and treated like trash. His so-called abuse by Stella is forced and fake. He says he did it to give her a normal life but in reality he just ended up potentially putting her in danger of a unstable mother. Also it's less of an attempt to show males can be abused but the fact that it's a way to make Stolas look artificially better so his abuses on Blitzo are excused. Also Stolas has more power over Stella than he does over him. One thing abusers tend to do is trap their victims. And let's face the fact there is nothing Stella could do to trap him. Stolas was the one who could do that to her with his privilege but he doesn't exercise it because the narrative needs to make him look like a saint compared to her for putting up with everything.

Also not being able to read the room and his microaggressions have been detrimental because it feeds into his flaws and even worse his lack of accountability for his actions. He freaking put a cigarette out on Blitzo and we just expect him to see him as not looking down on him. And again this is the guy who used his own butler as a squeeze toy and Blitzo rightfully points out how he treats his own servants. The way he treats other imps have influenced why Blitzo callled bs because his microagressions aren't actually micro when he has acted like a typical royal who has abused the lower class. And again his obliviousness to read the room has hurt his relationships because people are telling him straight to his face but he ignores them because he'd rather live in his own world where he does nothing wrong. In summary, he's a selfish asshole people are babying and pretending that he's just a traumatized, flawed man when in reality he's worse than that and acting he ain't is just whitewashing.

Also stfu about saying we hate it for no reason. We hate it because it left the og premise for a shitty love drama with an insufferable creator's pet who ends up taking away anything interesting plot and refuses to own up to his mistakes. He always is a hindrance on the story and resent him for it.

[golden-boy-of-the-gazette]

My brain keeps running back to the idea of Danny's first time having sex sooo

Gender neutral reader, nsfw, incredibly brief mention of overstimulation that doesnt even go into detail. Probably has typos and probably isnt formatted too well but I'm just getting thoughts down.

I imagine he wouldnt be too focused on it during school. Seeing as his dad sounded super strict and awful he was probably more focused on school work. Not to mention he was most definitely a loser. Is he pretty? Sure, doesnt change the fact that he was too quiet and got caught staring all the time but once he graduated and was free from the pressures of his father- y'know.

I imagine he would be nervous but wouldnt show it. He wouldn't admit that he's never had sex before so hes sloppy, incredibly sloppy. He doesn't know how to move his hips, where to put his hands- not to mention his doesnt know where the clit is at this point. He is incredibly touchy though, not even in a groping kind of way. In a just barely grazing their skin with his fingertips kind of way. Until it's not. He gets more used to it and starts to get a bit more bold, using his full palm, getting more and more greedy. He starts groping eventually of course but he's starting to want to taste. He uses his mouth. Soft kisses that get hungrier until hes biting, not knowing exactly how to give hickies but hes leaving marks regardless. Hes groping at their thighs, holding them close while he nips at their throat, imagining bitting a chunk out of it. That's what gets him going. Now hes not thinking right. Hes thinking of another design about the person hes with, thinking about killing them and leaving them on display for everyone to see. Thats what's really giving him a hard-on. Not the shitty porn star-ish moans that are reverberating in his ears, no, hes imagining them gurgling, choking on their own blood but- ah. His thoughts are interrupted by the slightest touch on his cock, eliciting a slight grunt of surprise from him.

He tries to take the lead but his movements are so sloppy and poor that he ends up being the bottom, getting ridden instead. He's fussy and loud, scratching at their thighs as he holds back tears from overstimulation. Hes not thinking about his partner during this at all, mind completely blank, only ever thinking about himself. He's muttering useless pleas under his breath that are coming out as incoherent nonsense, tilting his head back and groaning deeply- he doesnt last that long. Maybe 7 or 8 minutes. He doesnt feel bad. Hes ready to go another round but his partner is ultimately left unsatisfied anyway.

[mostsanescarletspiderfan]

When it comes to canon it's often hard to separate what is true and what is bad writing/writer's choice.

For example it's easy to say that batman & robin All-stars is a bad comic but how much of what is "parodying" (Millar shitty excuse for being a mediocre writer) is true?

I'm gonna admit that I haven't had a lot of experience with batman comics (I have read probably around 200 of them? For the affiliated heroes even less I think; 85% of Tim's robin run, Cass Batgirl run, Batgirls, an Azrael mini series, Dick's tenure as batman, Damian year of the blood, batman & robin 2011 I think, red robin and no man's land) but can you actually say that Bruce isn't a an abusive parent? Starting from the 80s up to today the character has had a significant change of personality and story from his earlier incarnations, I wouldn't call him abusive with earth 1-2 Dick Graysons and pre-crisis Jason todd. The characters have some bad habits and issues that they have picked up because of Bruce but they are completely fine, things started to change after the crisis and they have never really gone back have they?

And honestly what does that say on how a character is supposed to be? It's an uncomfortable thought to have about characters that have existed for so long, is the writer wrong for following in the footsteps of those who have done the same before him? Like Gotham war is no different from stories like Tim's 16 birthday or Bruce original parenting plan for Cass.

I can't get mad for how things are today without looking back on how they where, I can't say that batman is a good or bad parent without erasing his actions and the situation at hand (saying he's a "complicated" dad is racist, sexist and ableist because you are trying to justify his actions when he is a grown ass man).

Simply ignoring those stories won't change the fact that they still are there, the fact is that now that's who he is and it's not very fun to read about a superhero who is actually a supervillain.

Also this goes for any character who has existed for decades, writers grow up reading about them different and that's how we end up with stuff like modern day Spider-Man.

[choke-me-joey]

Ch1/Ch2

Summary: As Joe's long-term girlfriend, you reflect on your relationship over the last 4 years.

Content warning: 18+ so minors are not welcome, real person fiction (don't like, don't read, don't bitch), smut, fluff, angst, probably inaccurate timelines and processes but does anyone really care?, alcohol use, smoking...if I've missed anything please let me know!!

Author's note: when I was deep in my Dan and Phil phase I wrote this, published it on AO3 and then took it down so before anyone says "Hey this looks familiar" don't panic, I'm not stealing anyone's work and I can prove it lmao. Thanks to @harrys-four-nipples for reading this first chapter and telling me it wasn't as shit as I thought. Love you girl 🥰 feedback is always appreciated, let me know if you'd like me to continue this!

Paris

December 2022

After the craziest year anyone could ever imagine, exploring and staying in a variety of hotels across the globe, the last convention of 2022 was finally happening. You had been by your boyfriend's side the entire time; your job as a freelance photographer/social media specialist pretty much allowed you to travel anywhere and everywhere and luckily Joe's team were on board with you providing his official con photos and managing his social media. But as ideal as that sounds, it hadnt been easy.

It had been one of the best experiences of your life, watching the man that you love so, so much bring so much joy to the millions of people around the world who adored him. Despite being at every convention, watching all the fan interactions and all the panels, you were never bored. It hadn't all been perfect though, in fact it had been extremely trying at times, what with Joe being so damn exhausted there was barely any 'you' time, or fans getting a little bit too crazy at the meet and greets, but you wouldn't have traded it for the world.

You'd think that being cooped up on planes, in hotel rooms and travelling constatnly for months on end, spending almost every waking minute of the day together would have seriously damaged your relationship, but in all honesty, it brought you and Joe closer together. Sure, there have been times where you’ve wanted to smother each other with the shitty hotel pillows, but what couple doesn't argue? Without the option of slamming the bedroom door shut and sulking, you've learnt to just talk it out, and move on, and things have just gotten better and better. You had just celebrated our 4 year anniversary in Tokyo last month, and Jamie was constantly teasing you, telling you if you didn't get a ring this Christmas, you two could just run away together instead.

Of course, Joe had gotten super salty at the joke, seemingly never being able to escape the never ending question from his family and friends of when he was finally going to pop the question. He didn't need it from Jamie now too. He was going to do it, he just didn't want to rush it after all.

As it was the last con of 2022, Joe's team had given you some time off to just enjoy the convention, acknowledging that you had worked through your anniversary in Japan. This meant you could actually walk around the con and hang out with some of your friends, and enjoy the panels, which you were grateful for. You had some time to chat with Joe's dad too, which was always a good time, you got on so well with him and it was nice to see just how proud he was of his son.

Although you had been together for 4 years now, you and Joe weren't quite comfortable with going public with your relationship just yet. Joe had sky rocketed to fame overnight and his fanbase could be a little...intense. They went into a frenzy if he was spotted within 5 feet of another girl, and said girls were always stalked and harassed online and Joe didn't want that for you. You'd been pretty good at hiding it so far, most fans just thinking you were part of Joe's management team always there to keep him on schedule. It was a bit shit not being able to hold his hand or give him a hug in public but when the time was right, you both agreed you would go public.

You had headed back to the hotel a little before the con was over, Joe would no doubt get waylaid by fans outside the convention centre and you'd said you would order you both some food and run a bath for him so he could just relax now he was done for the Christmas period. New Orleans was a little after New Years so you'd have time to explore Paris, get home for Christmas and see in the New Year together.

Joe practically collapses through the door and you run to hug him, you were both desperate to touch each other after a long day of pretending to be work friends.

"Hi," you mumbled into his neck. "Last one for this year done, babe. I'm so proud of you."

He doesn't respond, he's holding onto you as if someone was threatening to take you away from him. "Babe, what's wrong?"

"I love you so much," he whispers. "Thank you."

"Joe, you don't need to thank-"

"Yeah, I do. I just thought that you've been there from the very start, and you've worked so hard, putting up with all my shit and you've been so supportive. I couldn't have done it without you." He sniffs, looking a little emotional. "Tonight was the first night I've actually been able to see you and not your camera, and knowing you were actually there, right in front of me, like, everything from the past 4 years went through my head and I could see you smiling at me, and the fans and I just..." he trails off, at a loss for words. You kiss his cheek, your own eyes welling up.

"You're such a soppy git, Joe." You tease him, but he knows you're joking.

"Shut up, you're just as soppy. " He laughs, poking you in the side gently. You poke my tongue out at him and he crosses his eyes in response, before my phone buzzes to let me know our food has been delivered to the hotel lobby. You break away from Joe, kissing his cheek and heading downstairs to grab your food.

You both scoff down your food, both of you having been way too busy to really eat a proper meal today, and then Joe gets into the bath. He tries to persuade you to join him, but honestly the bathtub here was smaller than the one at home, and even that could be a struggle to fit the both of you in, so you decline, changing into your pyjamas and watching some random show on TV and scrolling through your phone, replying to messages in the Quinn family group chat and your own family group chat.

You can't help but bite your lip in appreciation as Joe comes back into the bedroom, a towel around his waist and his curls dripping. He makes his way over to his suitcase in search for a pair of clean boxers. Your eyes scan over his bare torso, his broad shoulders, sharp collarbones, toned arms and his perfect stomach with a dusting of dark hair disappearing into the towel. He feels your eyes on him, standing up and turning around.

"What?" He smirks, stifling a yawn. You return his smirk, stretching a little.

"Nothing, just admiring my boyfriend. That alright with you?"

"Depends, can I ogle you like a pervert the next time you come out in just a towel?" Joe jokes, quickly pulling his boxers on under his towel, pulling it off and hanging it back up in the bathroom, before crawling on the bed and collapsing on his stomach, sighing heavily.

"You do anyway, I'm just more subtle about my staring, Quinn."

"You're just as pervy as me, Y/N, dont even try and pretend you're not. " he laughs, turning onto his side, pulling you down and wrapping his arm around you. You cuddle into him, burying your face in his neck.

"Difference is, Joseph, the whole Internet can see what a flirt you are, nobody has dirt on me."

"M'too tired for your smart arse right now."

"You like my smart arse." You grin into his skin, and he chuckles, the sound rumbling in his throat.

"I like your smart everything," he mumbles, kissing the top of your head. You sigh in response, enjoying the feeling of him cuddled up to you. "M'so tired. And my back is killing me."

"Did you twinge it again?"

"Mm. Hurts."

You untangle myself from him and roll off the bed, rummaging through your suitcases until you find the baby oil you always use to keep your skin moisturised after a shower. You shake it up as you walk towards the bed. "On your stomach, babe."

"That is the most terrifying thing you could say to me whilst holding baby oil." He eyes the bottle in your hands suspiciously, but does what you've said anyway.

"I believe that would actually be 'face down, ass up and just relax'." You smirk, climbing back on the bed, straddling his legs. He groans dramatically, making you roll your eyes and laugh. "You're such a drama queen, babe."

"Making a living off of it, aren't I?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up Mr Man of the Year." You quip, opening the bottle and pour some of the oil into your hands, rubbing them together to warm it up before pressing your palms against his shoulder blades. You apply just the amount of pressure that you know he likes, rubbing his flawless skin. "That okay?"

He responds by letting out a quiet moan of approval.

"How did I get so lucky?" Joe groans into the pillow as you continue to rub his shoulders and upper back, trying your best to work out the knots in his muscles. You smile, placing a kiss to the back of his neck that makes him shiver slightly.

"You elbowed me in the tits on the Underground and made me spill my coffee all over myself." You chuckle, adjusting your position on his legs so you could massage further down.

"The one time in my whole life that me being a clumsy twat has actually worked out in my favour." Joe's voice is muffled by the pillow, but you can tell he's smiling. He grunts in pleasure as you knead his lower back gently.

"Meh, you're just lucky I thought you were hot." You teased, gently poking him in the sides. He chuckles softly. "And you were, and still can be, so socially awkward, it was endearing."

"Mm, love you." He mumbles, and you know he's slowly falling asleep by the way his body is relaxing beneath you.

"Love you too, babe." You whisper back, moving off of his back and into bed next to him, pulling the covers over both of you. Ypu push his curls back from over his face. "Always have, always will." You kiss his temple and turn off the bedside lamp, letting him sleep off the post convention exhaustion whilst you take advantage of the good selection of TV channels the hotel has.

A few hours later, you're still awake and on your phone, scrolling through Instagram, the TV long turned off. You're laid on your side facing away from your currently snoring boyfriend. Joe grumbles in his sleep and rolls over, moulding his body around yours and spooning you. You feel something poking you in your bum and smirk to yourself, wiggling your butt back against him.

"Hmm, you still awake?" Joe whispers, his voice rough with sleep and exhaustion, one of his hands running over your thigh.

"Mm, I didn't wake you up, did I?" You reply, shivering in delight as his lips graze your neck. You roll over to face him, and he moves your leg on top of his, moving your bodies closer together as he kisses you hard, his hands wandering around to your ass and squeezing it.

Oh.

You see where this is going.

"Are you sure you're up to this, Joe? You're exhausted." You say quietly, trying your best to control your breathing after you break away. Thanks to your busy schedules, it been at least two weeks since you'd last had sex. You snuck in whatever you could, but mostly it was just heavy make out sessions or occasionally a hand and/or blow job to help with Joe's anxiety levels. You were practically soaked already and he'd barely touched you.

"Never too tired for you," he mumbles, pecking your lips softly, and slowly lifting up the hem of your (his) shirt. "Off?"

You nod, and you both work together to rid you of the oversized shirt. "C'mere," he grunts, rolling you on top of him, his hands on your hips as he looks up at me.

"Lazy," you tease, your skin feeling like it's on fire as he runs his hands up your sides.

"Beautiful." He responds, giving you that little smile that makes your heart melt every time. It's a smile that only you get to see, and it's during your intimate moments like this that he smiles like that, and you fall in love with him all over again. You hum and lean down, kissing him passionately, your tongues dancing around each other. His hands return to your hips, pushing them down against his crotch as he lifts his hips up, and the friction and heat makes you both moan. You nibble on his bottom lip, which you know drives him crazy, before moving to kiss his jawline and neck, a somewhat external G-spot for him. "Fuck..."

"Well, if you want, I mean, I was just gonna suck you off and then take care of myself," you grin against his skin, and he responds by slapping your ass lightly. In return, you bite gently on his collarbone, and he grunts, the noise going straight in between your legs. "What do you want, Joe? Tell me."

"Wanna fuck you," he growls, turning his head and capturing your bottom lip between his teeth and tugging gently. "Wanna be inside you so bad, baby, please."

You whimper, nodding. Foreplay would have to wait for tonight.

You sit up and awkwardly peel off your underwear, throwing it somewhere in the room, deciding you'd find it in the morning. You gently palm Joe's cock through his boxers, making him grunt and moan your name loudly, before pulling them down his legs, and he kicks them off his feet. You take his cock into your hand, squeezing gently and stroking him a few times. "Please, baby, m'not gonna last long..." You'll let him off for that, it really has been forever since you last fucked. You reach across to the bedside table, grabbing a condom from your makeup bag (damn your birth control prescription running out before you'd realised) and tearing it open. He holds his hands out to put it on himself, but you slap them away, rolling it on him as slowly as possible, making him grit his teeth, grunt and buck his hips slightly.

Deciding to be a bit more of a tease, you hover above him for a few seconds, grinding down ever so slightly. He grips your hips so tight there will definitely be bruises in the morning, and he bites his lip, whimpering and cursing. You decide to let him off, because you want this just as much as he does, and you place the head of his cock at your dripping pussy, slowly sinking down onto him. He throws his head back and moans, a little too loudly, as do you. "God, I missed this...missed you."

"I missed you too," you sigh, placing your hands on his chest, giving yourself a bit of leverage before you start to move your hips. "Fuck, Joe, you feel so fucking good..." as much as you want this to last, you know it won't. You can already feel your orgasm growing as you grind down against him. He bucks his hips up, his cock brushing my g-spot. "Oh my god, Joe!"

"Fuck," he growls, his breathing heavy. "Faster, baby, please, I-" he cuts himself off with a moan as you obey. "Shit, fuck!"

"You're so loud," you giggle breathlessly, gasping as he places his thumb on your clit and rubs in time with your thrusts. "We're gonna get noise complai-AH, FUCK, JOE!"

"I'm the loud one, am I?" Fucking asshole.

"Shut up," You gasp, as he sits up, wrapping your legs around him and attaches his lips to your collarbone, sucking and biting as you move together. You can tell he's getting close from the way his breath is coming out in pants, and his moans are getting more desperate sounding. He rests his forehead against your shoulder, and you run your fingers through his curly hair, and he looks up at you.

"Kiss me," he whispers, and of course, you do. "M'getting close."

"Me too," you whisper back, and he reaches between you to stroke your clit. "Joe, I-"

"I know."

The room is filled with your moans, and heavy breathing as you both get closer and closer to the edge. Joe moves his hand and lies you down on the bed, so he's on top. He winks at you, and smirks as he puts your legs around his waist, and his hands either side of your head. He ducks down and kisses you softly before moving his hips, fucking you hard and fast, the way he knows you like it.

"Oh,my god Joe, I'm gonna cum!" You moan, digging your nails into his back.

"Do it, wanna feel you cum for me," he groans, and all it takes is him angling his hips just right, and you're coming, moaning his name probably way too loud, your whole body shaking. Joe curses and stills, pushing his cock inside you one last time as he cums into the condom, hard, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he whispers your name, telling you he loves you. You say it back, stroking his neck gently as he collapses on top of you, his head on your chest. "You're amazing."

"I think you'll find that's you, babe." You say breathlessly, grinning like a fool.

"I am pretty fucking good in bed, aren't I?" Joe grins, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"You always know what to say...so romantic," you roll your eyes, poking him in the tummy.

"Mhmm, you're very lucky. I mean, I even make sure you cum every single time we fuck, if that's not true love, I don't know what is." He pulls off the condom, tying it and throwing it into the bedside bin.

"Be still my beating heart!" You laugh and kiss the top of his head, rolling out from underneath him. He pouts, reaching out for you with grabby hands. "Joe, as much as I'd love to cuddle right now, I seriously need to shower after that. Wanna come with?"

"Depends, you might have to roll me, you've worn me out." he yawns, sitting up on the bed. "Besides, I already had a bath. Can't you just give me a sponge bath or something so I don't have to move?"

"Again, lazy. And I know you already showered, but if you think I'm cuddling with you when you smell like sweat and sex, you can fuck right off." You tease, grinning with your tongue poking between your teeth. You turn around, heading into the bathroom and turning on the shower. After waiting for the water to warm up, you step in, relishing the warmth cascading over you. A few minute later, you feel Joe's arms wrap around your waist and his body pressing up against yours. You stand in silence for a few moments, letting water fall down over you both. He then turns you around in his arms so you're facing him, your arms around his neck.

"Y'know, we could have just done it in here, that way we could be in bed right now." He says, flicking his wet hair out of his eyes. You run your fingers over the short hairs at the back of his neck as he leans his forehead against yours.

"Hey, I'm not the one who fell asleep before we'd even had a chance to do anything."

His face falls a little. "I'm sorry, I've been kind of a shitty boyfriend recently, haven't I?"

"What are you talking about?" You frown up at him, his beautiful brown eyes avoiding yours.

"Well, just with conventions and appearances and everything, and how busy we've been, I haven't had time to just...be with you, y'know?"

"Joe, we live together, we travel together, we're with each other every day almost-"

"That's not what I mean, we haven't been on a date in literally forever, I was at the con in Tokyo the entire day of our anniversary, and my dad was with us all day before that, for fucks sake!"

"Your dad is pretty much with us all the time, babe. It doesnt bother me, you know how much I love him. Turn around." You say, squirting some shampoo into your hand and massaging his scalp. He sighs.

"See, this is what I mean. You do all this nice stuff for me, like the back rubs, the food runs, the surprise blowies-"

"Which I do because I want to, not because I feel like I have to." You take the shower head off the wall and rinse his hair out, before running some conditioner through it. "I love you, and I know exactly what being with you entails. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I got salty about everything?"

"A normal one." Joe retorts, turning back around and gesturing for you to turn your back to him so he can wash your hair for you. "And I'm glad you're not, I just feel bad. You do everything for me and I can't even give you five minutes recently."

You don't respond, revelling in the feel of his fingers on your scalp, massaging in the shampoo. You hum appreciatively. He rinses out the shampoo and runs conditioner through your hair, making sure to cover every inch. "When we get home, I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Joe-"

"Please? We can go out and celebrate our anniversary properly, dinner, drinks, a movie, whatever you want."

You turn back around to face him. "What I want, is to stay in, order Chinese, shag and then fall asleep on the sofa with you. Joe you don't have to take me out, or buy me shit to make me feel like you love me. I know you love me, without all the materialistic crap, okay?"

He said nothing, instead he looked at you his eyes looking a little misty. He was an emotional mess tonight, but you couldn't really blame him. He blinked a couple of times, and kissed you on the nose.

"Turn around, you sap." He mumbled, giving you a small smile. He basically meant 'stop before you make me cry' in fewer words. You laughed softly, before turning back around so he could rinse your hair and his. Once you're clean, you step out and dry yourselves off, and you put on Joe's shirt again, this time pairing it with some pyjama shorts. You quickly dry my hair before getting back into bed, settling down with your head on his chest and his arms around you. "See, isn't this better than standing up and actually moving?"

"Mm," you sigh, already feeling your eyes getting heavy. "I miss our bed though."

"Me too, when we get home we are gonna spoon so fucking hard in bed for like a week." He mumbles into your hair.

"What about food and stuff?" You look up at him, raising an eyebrow. He laughs.

"Of all the things you're worried about, I love how food is at the top of that list. I fucking love you." He kisses the top of your head and switches off the bedside light. "Maybe we can persuade Wes to bring us breakfast in bed."

"Oh yeah, I can totally see him being okay with that," you laugh, my hand resting on Joe's stomach. "If anything, you owe me breakfast in bed after all these bloody photos I've taken of you. Know how hard it is to make you look good mid sentence?"

"Ouch, low blow, babe."

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You know I love looking at you, chocolate button eyes." You tease, laughing as he groans into his pillow.

"I need to learn to think before I divulge all this stuff. I'm never shaking that am I?"

"Never ever."

[lazyneonrabbitt]

The one where feelings are shared.

I really hope I did this one justice!!

Gallzatto boys fluff! Reader is mostly only mentioned in this one as it focuses on the boys!

You had left the boys alone for the first time only two weeks into Lip's stay at Carmy's place. They kind of just hung out as roommates, talking a bit about all kinds of shit.

All of their conversations were about things they had in common, like their smoking habits.

But also you. It was the only thing they had that kept them talking. Their love for you. Lip’s adoration that had never left even after these years, and Carmy’s romantic feelings towards you.

When you came home you found them both smoking out the kitchen window together, laughing about something. They were bonding and you were happy.

Lip had brought home some weed he’d gotten from a guy at his job, thinking maybe Carmy wanted to join him and relax. They sat on the fire escape, the kitchen window behind them pulled ajar. Where a light conversation started, a heavier one was held at the end of their shared smoking session. Carmen had opened up about some of his insecurities when it came to the more intimate parts of his relationship with you, and with Lip’s sharing of old memories of your college get togethers those insecurities got a lot worse. Although he didn’t blame Lip for it, a little part of him still felt threatened. Like he'd never meet up to certain expectations you might have. Luckily Lip understood that he meant no harm, and eventually dared to suggest to show him, as a friend, how to please his girlfriend.

This conversation was the one that led to you three sharing Carmy's bed for a night filled with lessons.

Lip and Carmy were your boyfriends. Not each others' and that's how you lived for a while. Untill that night they both fucked you at the same time.

"Ugh, that fucking asshole." Lip muttered pocketing his phone. Carmen gave him a look, seeing the blush creep onto his face.

"Owed my brother some money. He claimed I'd had to be at least somewhat gay to move in a couple. Like the guy too, you know?" He was beet red by now. Carmen kept quiet and listened to him ramble on, not making much sense and not getting to the point until he ran out of words.

They stood across from each other, so in the moment they didn't even bother so sit down and talk. Perfect for Carmy to put his hands on Lip's shoulders and pull him into a hug. Not a simple friend hug, but one filled with warmth and acceptance. Lip mumbled something against his shoulder, too quiet to make out the words.

"What was that?" Pulling away slightly to look each other in the eyes it was clear there were many words still to be said.

"We both love you. And I'd love for us to give being boyfriends a try." He pulled Lip back in for another hug and kissed his head. "Baby steps, yeah?"

It wasn't long after that when they learned they were gonna be fathers, and in true dad-to-be fashion they wouldn't let you do anything. They cleared out the old spare bedroom that Lip stopped using a while ago and was now more of a dump. They sorted oit every single item and re-painted the walls, built the cribs, new cabinets and changing stations. It was a little paradise when they were finished. The way they worked together so seamlessly made your heart flutter. They really were becoming family now and their behavior towards each other showed it.

"You ready for all of this? Being a dad?" Lip had been outwardly more excited than Carmy, and now in a moment of rest Lip felt like he had to ask. He was willing to take up more of the house tasks if it was getting too much for Carmy. He wasn't only there to support you in this, but also him.

"Am I looking that tired?" A soft laugh leaves his lips as he leans down on the newly assembled cabinet. Lip gave him a once-over and tried to find a kind way to tell him he looked one shitty customer away from a complete breakdown. "If Richie called you a ..what's that thing again? A jagoff? He'd be dead meat."

Carmy full on laughed at the way he delivered his opinion and dropped his head against Lip's with a sigh. "But we did great here. And that's all that matters right now."

Lip put his arm around Carmy's shoulders and squeezed his arm. "We did amazing, the nursery is perfect. But you're pushing yourself with the restaurant and immediately throwing yourself onto whatever we still have to do here without a single break."

Carmy just listened and took everything in. Lip was right, he really needed to take a break. "Let me take care of you both for a bit, yeah? We just found out we're having twins and we're all on edge."

Carmy didn't say anything in response, he just moved over to pull Lip into a hug, rest his forehead against his shoulder and breathe for a moment. He sunk against him and Lip just held him there for as long as he needed.

Lip mumbled a soft "I love you." Into Carmy's hair, quiet enough for only him to hear.

Carmy lifted his head so he could speak moe freely. "Love you too, and thanks."

"Hey dad." "Hey other dad."

Their morning routine was something set in stone these days. Wake up early to share their morning cigarette and get enough coffee into their system to start the day properly.

They spent the first half of their cigarette praising each other for how well they were handling the newborns and everything that came with them.

"You're moody. What's wrong?" There was no hiding anything between them, they both saw straight through each other.

"Ian texted me, asking how the girls are." He paused a moment to down his coffee. The early morning street noises filling the silence in the kitchen window opening. "He joked about us too. Asking if I was all the way gay yet."

Carmen raised a brow at that. "What? Like, if we had sex yet?" He shakes his head at the assumption. "There's more, isn't there?"

Lip opens the conversation on his phone and hands the device over for Carmy to read. "The thing is.. All that stuff he talks about, I want that. I mean we have it in some way, like we take care of the girls together, but I wanna wanna hold hands, cuddle and dance in the livingroom. All that shit we'd do with her I wanna do with you too and it felt weird thinking about it."

Carmy's heart melted at the confession, not even knowing how to properly respond except inching closer and pull Lip in for a kiss, not even caring about the smoke still burning in his lungs. He coughed as they pulled apart, laughing at his impatience and Lip laughed with him.

Their laughter was cut short by Lip leaning in again and happily kissing his boyfriend again. The cigarette butt long burned out and tossed aside as Carmy grabbed Lip by the shirt and pulled his properly agsinst his as he leant back against the windowsill. "Who's business is it anyways that we're not entirely straight. We have a happy, healthy relationship. We love each orher and that's all that matters."

Bonus:

They were so lost in each other they didn't notice you walk into the kitchen and only pulled apart at the sound of your phone's camera shutter going off and your soft sniffles from across the room "I'm really glad you two finally talked."

[brandnewhuman]

Hi dad. I got an angsty one for ya.

How would the slashers (anyone you wanna write for, as many or few as you want) react to a reader who they've kinda fallen for and acts comfortable around them, but is really just putting up an act to stay alive? maybe the reader could fall for them, but they're scared out of their mind and Stockholm syndrome isn't happening. 😈😈😈

Trigger of love

Headcanons

☆STARRING☆

☆Brahms Heelshire☆

☆Michael Audrey Myers☆

☆ Jason Voorhees ☆

☆ Jesse Cromeans ☆

Tw: major character death, description of injuries and bones breaking, canon violence, mature language, toxic relationships, mentions of blood, description of mental illness

A/n: THIS IS THE JUICIEST TASTIEST ANGST REQUEST EVER BRO. so happy to finally have the opportunity to write it, even tho it has taken me ages but I'VE DONE FINALLY. That's my shit right here, really tragic stories with really tragic endings and never ending dramas ANYWAY ENJOY

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BRAHMS HEELSHIRE:

I genuinely think brahms would end up killing you

LET ME EXPLAIN OKAY? DON'T COME AT ME

he wouldn't do it on purpose, it would be something accidental. Your behaviour would bring out the worst tantrum ever in history 

Not your fault bro I know but it is what it is

The fact is that everytime brahms does something bad it has some sort "justification"

Like Idk if it makes sense but take greta for example

He did all those things at the beginning cause she was breaking the rules, and he killed Cole cause he was hurting her 

You're not doing anything wrong but at the same time he's hypersensitive to people's behaviour so he knows you're not really doing it because you love him but more because you fear him

It's like living with his parents and even tho there's some sort of comfort in it because it's all he knows, he still wants to feel truly loved 

You don't try to escape but don't let the Stockholm syndrome kick in either and you don't even give a chance to actually believe he's not going to hurt you

Which again, not your fault cause his tantrums are enough on their own to make someone shit themselves, and he knows it 

We love a self-aware king

So he finds himself in this shitty in between where he can't say he doesn't has what he wants but neither that he's happy

For once in his life, having his own selfish need of you staying ecc it's not enough and he wishes for you to be happy as well

You do everything and beyond to keep him happy 

Never once broke a rule, never once tried to get away, never said no to giving him affection or anything he asks for

You have even taken care of him when he was sad ecc

But he can still see it in your eyes how scare you are of him

You flinch away everytime he just as much as lifts his hand, you always tremble slightly around him, your eyes has never stopped being glossy 

The only time he sees any other emotion in you besides fear is when you're alone and he's not really sure how much better that is cause you look so defeated and sad and overall depressed 

Needless to say the guilt is eating him alive, to know he's the one who has ruined you like that will never leave him a moment of peace 

It's literally driving him crazy

At first he was like 'yeah whatever, fuck you. You'll stay anyway and I'm not going to say sorry' 

Oh boy if he did regretted it

Once again, he feels like he felt while living with his parents all over again and after a while he develops this fear of you killing yourself like they did

My man here is collecting trauma like pokemon cards 

He tries everything like everything for real

He becomes more patient, he tries to take care of you instead of making you take care of him, he treats you like you could break if he's not careful enough

At this point my boy doesn't even fuckin wants you to be in love or for you to get the Stockholm syndrome, he just wants to show you he's sorry and that he has learned his lesson 

It's like living in some sort of loop from hell where he can't fucking make it right even if he really wants to

He has even stopped spying you and invading your privacy without you having to ask for it

Has even considered to let you go but he has found out about this underlying fear of someone telling the police everything and making him end up in a much worse situation than being a prisoner in his own house 

Funnily enough his insecurities about his face ecc are subsided by how much of a monster he feels on the inside

Like you have made very clear you're simply scared of him as a person, not because of his face.

And that's something he will never be able to get over 

After countless months of trying and being in his best behaviour he just kind of snaps 

You haven't seen him all day and you didn't felt observed either which made a very appreciated break from your hypervigilanting and stressing routine 

Just when you thought everything was calm and you decided to head up to go to bed, there he was waiting for you at the top of the stairs 

He seemed calm but you could seem the slight trembling of his body, one you recognise from numerous fits of rage he had in the past

He didn't straight up started to yell but you sensed there were like wrong and right answers to each question he was making 

He kept asking you if you loved him truly, if you were happy or if you wanted to leave 

To everything you always answered what he wanted to hear even tho the feeling that you were saying the wrong thing was only growing more and more

'You're scared of me, aren't you? You'll never want to be here'

At this point he knows you're lying and for a second something seems to switch in you

He has stopped wearing the mask around you so now you can freely see how pained he actually looks

You have never noticed before how tired he looks too

You have spent so much time being scared of him that now that you see it and you like really look at him you can see how defeated and miserable he has been

There's no trace of pretending or lying or trying to manipulate you in any way 

Now you're still scared but not as much and for once you actually decide on your own to try and help him 

You can't stand to look at him crying like that, it looks like he's going to die from a heartbreak anytime soon 

You start to go towards him with your hands up forwards so he knows you mean no harm

It's really like trying to get a stray animal to trust you

He has his hands covering his face and you can see how violent are the sobs, you actually take a minute to let yourself be amazed by the fact that even with such a hard and brutal crying he's able to conceal the noise 

He's used to do it since he was a kid and it shouldn't surprise you that much but in some way it does 

When you finally reach for him that's when he pushes you away screaming

Which scares the shit out of you and makes you lose your balance

It's a cliché but he swears it all happened so fast but at the same time so slow

He saw how you made yourself trip backwards and your face contorted in panic as you felt the void behind you, realising you were about to fall down the stairs

He tried to grab you but you were trying to hold on the rail so you just completely missed his hand 

You basically flew down the really long staircase and all he could do was watch 

He had that paralysing feeling of guilt and fear clawing at his guts as he watched you fall 

But when he heard the disgusting sound of your neck basically snapping against the hardwood floor, that's when he really felt sick 

He almost wanted to run away and pretend nothing has happened cause in his mind, if he got near you now that would make you dead for real

For now as he watches from afar you could still be alive 

BTW baby bro here is not stupid and I'm not talking basic level of knowledge nono

I'm talking he has studied and read about a lot of stuff including books about medical things like injuries ecc 

Basically he's like really smart 

That being said, and I know you know where I'm going with this 

From the moment you fell he knew you wouldn't survive.

Either that or you would end up disabled 

He knows too that when you snap your neck you don't die on the spot but you feel a ridiculous amount of pain until the injure does its course of action

That's yet another thing he feels guilty about your death

He should've put you out of your pain at least but he didn't, he just stared at you while shaking and crying silently 

He didn't even dared to move in case some invisibile and unnoticed force of the universe would notice what he has done and decided to punish him for it

Which thinking about he felt like he was already being punished 

It's kind of sad cause he didn't actually meant it, it was truly an accident but he will always blame himself for it as if he was the one actively pushing you 

Now he knows that no matter what he does or how much he changes he's always destined to be the cause of the death of the people he loves. 

Which he should've seen coming since not even his parents could bear his existence 

MICHAEL MYERS:

Tbh he's not that shocked about it

I mean bro at least acknowledges the fact that he is the fucking boogeyman and everyone will always find him scary

He doesn't even tries to excuse himself because he knows he kills and he's a overall unhinged man and that's something a normal person will never get over 

What bothers him is the acting nice 

When you both met, you really didn't knew who he was

He happened to have been badly injured and was like bleeding the fuck out on your backyard 

yes, you basically just took him inside as if he was some sort of stinky and pitiful ugly cat

That and the fact that you're taking care of him stirred him away from the idea of killing you

No shame in being oblivious to the most juicy gossip in town but bro was really just waiting for you to recognise him

When you did, and you started to act all nice and scared ecc he has to admit he took advantage of it

He knew how to scare you into never running away and never snitching him to the police so he could use you for food ecc

At some point he was impressed by how well you're able to keep up with this 

No lashing out, no crying and you have never broke down 

He could tell tho that you have never been this stressed 

Your hands are always trembling, you don't sleep well at night so you're getting clumsier by the minute 

When you drop stuff, burn food ecc he doesn't mind much but as time goes by it's hard for him to not get attached to you

Which it frustrates him cause he it makes him even more aware of how you see him

He has come to know you by invading your privacy a little bit

He had to since you were not exactly open to let him get to know you

The more he finds the more he likes you

And the more he likes the more he realise he has basically killed you from the inside 

It's hard to think all of those things he has found out are about you cause now you look more like a shell of what you used to be

And he definitely feels the guilt of being responsible of you losing your spirit

You're the first person he really cares about and loves like really truly loves

But that goes against everything he is now cause he can't possibly choose between be with you or killing

He starts to dwell on the past too much and the more he thinks about it the more he gets mad about the situation 

Before you he has never really care too much about the injustices he has suffered 

As a matter of fact he has never really grasped the fact that so many people have failed him and that's why he will never have a normal life

There was a time where he kind of did but that was long ago when he was just a kid 

At some point he just accepted what everyone said he was, that he's only purpose and role in life was to be a monster to everyone

Whether he wanted to or not it wasn't really important 

No one would help him nor he could make people change their minds

Besides, his reasoning is that if so many people is saying it then it must be true

And in his own selfish way he thought that the only one who got the consequences of it was him and the idiots who happened to be killed by him

Now that he sees the result of what everyone and himself has done with him on you he just feels sick

He finds himself spending hours observing you and daydreaming about how a normal version of him would've lived a normal life with you

He tries really hard to show you he can be gentle 

Spends hours observing other couples and what normal people do with their loved ones to understand better how he should act in order to get closer to you

It's so frustrating for him cause he literally doesn't has a choice anymore and he sees in you everything that's wrong with him that he can't change

He feels for the first time as broken as he really is 

At some point he wishes you could just drop the act of being nice, treat him like trash so he can tell to himself you're like everyone else therefore he doesn't need you 

But even if you were to do that he knows he would never be able to kill you

Everytime you touch him even if it's by mistake he gets a bubbly feeling of hope inside that maybe you're starting to see him as something different than what he is 

But then he looks at your eyes and he sees the same glossy and sad scared stare looking right back at him

He knows there's like nothing else he can do and for the first time he just gives up 

He needs to like get used to not be able to see you so he starts with small steps

He starts to staying out for a couple of hours more than usual, then hours turn to days, days into weeks, weeks into months and months into a year 

Everytime he comes back and you see him he can immediately see the shift in your behaviour and how you lose all the already weak sparkle you have gathered from knowing he was far away from you

That's the worst part of it for him

He needs to see you, he wants to spend time with you and looks forward to see you for the last few times before going away fr 

But you on the other part seem to flourish when he's not around, to count the minutes and seconds until he's gone 

It kinda makes him feel like he felt when he was a kid and he wanted to see his parents 

The day he finally came back for the last time after a year you were asleep

He didn't even sit on the bed, nor did he woke you up or did anything that could steer you away from your sleep

He sat on the floor near your bed in complete silence 

He took off his mask knowing that you would never see him and he just stared at you

He wanted to look at you, take in every detail of your face to burn it in his brain so he would never forget you 

He just wanted to look at you not as the shape, but just as Michael. Even if just for one time he wanted to pretend he was just that and that you were being stared by a person and not a monster 

For once his difficulty in expressing his emotions was useful because if he were to let go of all the things he was experiencing he could swear he would just explode or melt away 

The only thing that came out of him was a tear, which he swiped away slowly before getting up and putting on the mask again

After that he never came back, obviously you were over the moon and he was just well going on with it 

He occasionally stalks you but after some time he stops cause it makes him feels sickeningly alone 

Here something to think about if you need to cry: sometimes he thinks back at when he was trying to get closer to you 

One of the things he wanted to do the most was holding hands but you always looked so scared when he tried to do that he just dropped it 

He understands how it might look to you that this tall ass bastard is trying to hold your hand 

That and the fact that he wasn't really good at being careful and gentle didn't help his cause 

So from time to time, when he thinks about it he stares at his hands 

You know when you like pretend to be holding someone's hand while holding yours? 

Well he does that and finds ironic the fact that he has learned to do it gently now that he will never be able to do it with you

JASON VOORHEES:

Listen, LISTEN

I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK, IM A JASON APOLOGIST FIRST AND A HUMAN SECOND

jason my beloved what are this foul gremlins making me do smh

He is one of the few slashers I genuinely think could change for you and try to make things better

Jason doesn't kills just for funsies 

He kills because his sense of duty and to protect himself and his home and all that jazz

I don't really think he genuinely wants anyone fearing him

If anything it's the opposite. He has been treated like a monster his whole life, no one has ever gave him the opportunity to be something else

Like why would he enjoy ending up being what everyone has always thought of him? Doesn't make any fucking sense mate

Like I said he has to, he genuinely thinks there's nothing else for him to do and there's no other place in the whole world for him

IM GONNA CRY BUT LIKE HE'S AT LEAST GRATEFUL OF HAVING A PURPOSE CAUSE HE GENUINELY THINKS HE'S SOME SORT OF SICK JOKE OR MISTAKE 

 So my Wild take of the day for which I'm ready to bet my own ass is that if he could he would very much appreciate to just be left alone and live a normal life, not bothering or harming anyone

The fact is that much more like so many other slashers he can't really communicate to tell you at least his reasons for being a murderer 

That's something that torments him daily, to know that in your eyes he's merciless and overall really evil

Assuming you survive being hunted down by him, he would do near to everything to show he's not a threat for you

You must have been someone who he didn't deem fair to kill 

Like you were respectful, you didn't seem to be a fucking moron messing around and ruining his home 

Once again, I'm gonna assume you just don't know about him and crystal lake ecc

cause otherwise for you to be there is pretty much a death wish from your part

That being said, if you don't know anything about him there's a good chance that the scariest part of Jason (sadly) it's his appearance and behaviour 

JASON BABE YOU'RE HUGE LIKE SCARY BIG, WHAT THE MCFUCK IS ONE SUPPOSED TO FEEL SEEING YOU CHARGING AT THEM LIKE A FUCKING GRIZZLY BEAR 

The whole being chased around like a fucking animal is not a vibe i guess 

LET ME BE DELUSIONAL ABOUT THE FACT THAT WITH ENOUGH TIME HE COULD BE QUITE NICE TO BE AROUND 

I won't let anyone ruin my mental image of him being a sweetheart once you know him

THAT MAN CAN'T BE THAT EVIL. YES, I CAN FIX HIM. IF YOU THINK YOU CAN'T THAT SOUNDS LIKE A YOU PROBLEM

Now, jason may be shy and a gentle giant but he's not stupid

He knows very well how you think of him and how does he looks like to anyone who sees him

He can see through your act, you can't fool him

He can see the same scared look in your eyes he used to see on other people's face when he was a kid

The only person who has always looked at him like he's just well a human being with feelings is his mother

And maybe it doesn't makes sense and It may be controversial but deep down jason appreciates the nice act 

Like he just can't bring himself to care anymore. At least someone is trying to be nice 

Keep in mind this man has known nothing from the world beside humiliation, pain and loneliness 

Idk if anyone ever thinks about it but it torments me a great deal the thought of Jason's miserable life

Being stripped away from your humanity, having to choose a path of violence to protect yourself, having to witness how they kill the only person in the whole universe that could ever love you 

That shit it's just not fair and even if he knows you're scared of him he sees it as the most caring and thoughtful anyone has ever been with him in a long time

Think about it, anyone who has ever seen him has either tried to kill him or has been incredibly cruel 

The fact that, even if out of fear and self-preservation, you try to still reach to his human side and treat him with respect at least it's already enough

I think he could be one of those slasher that could make you fall in love without falling for the Stockholm syndrome type of infatuation 

HE IS, OKAY? I WILL TAKE NO FUCKING CRITICISMS. YOU WILL GENUINELY FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM OR ELSE I'LL STEAL YOUR FUCKING PET

Jason would literally try everything to get you to feel less stressed around him

It breaks his heart to see your eyes glossy or your body shaking because of fear 

In the process he gets clumsier by the minute so at the in of the day you're both stressed 

He is because he's scaring you just by breathing and you bc obvious reasons

You can notice how different he acts tho and somehow, his efforts manage to go through your thick layer of fear 

You could swear he almost tries to make himself look as harmless and gentle as possible

You can see him trying to take as little space as he can or bringing you things that might cheer you up 

He cleans up from blood and gore before getting back home 

He even makes his cabin more homely for you so you feel more at home and less kidnapped 

And at some point it works 

That plus you somehow piecing together what has happened to him it's starting to make it easier for you to not relax but overall feel less terrified around him

He would spend so much time watching you from afar because he knows he will never get to know you or see you without fear 

The days where he can observe you without you noticing anything are his favourite. He gets to see a version of you more relaxed and natural

He would literally spend an eternity being far from you if it means you can feel better 

He would spend his free time improving the cabin and daydreaming about what it would be like to be liked by you

Not even like dating you because he feels it would be wrong for him to even think about it

Please for the love of God, try to be friendly with him

Having the opportunity to know him better is taking away some of the fear

You know very well it's not Stockholm syndrome cause it feels genuine

One day you take a good look at him while he's taking care of his flowers I'm the garden 

You observe every part of his rotting being and you can't exactly explain why but you feel your heart ache and your eyes glossy 

Not for you, but for him

It's almost like some sort of illumination comes to you and makes everything painfully clear

You have obviously noticed he's not alive cause we're stupid but not that much 

You take a really good look at his clothes and body, at his mask and everything you look at to get more details about him

Everything in his appearance screams hurt, wounded and mistreated. A whole life and a afterlife filled with getting hurt and abused by the world 

His bright blue eye has always a layer of sadness in it even when he's doing something that makes him happy

It hits you just now how little human he must feel. 

And that leads you to realise that he has not only changed so much just to please you but has distanced himself as if he's very own existence could be offensive to you

From that day you started with small steps like saying good morning or good night to him, keeping him company when he tended to his garden, trying to get closer to him even if that means just being in silence and standing next to him

That grows into "talking" with him, taking walks around the woods, spending evenings reading inside the cabin 

You insist in eating together, tending his wounds, mending his clothes and overall doing anything that could make him feel less like the shell of a human being 

At first he doesn't really get it but the more you do it the more he silently realises how much he craves those types of things. 

I personally think that with enough patience you both could build a good relationship and you could even talk him out of killing people and settle for just scaring them away

He's favourite thing to do is curling up next to you in bed, his head on your chest so he can listen to your heartbeats while you mindlessly caress his back while telling him about anything you want 

JESSE CROMEANS:

🎶DADDY LET ME KNOW THAT I'M YOUR ONLY GORL🎶

Some funzies before doing some emotional terrorism

Since you all want to be a menace with this requests I'm going to use post accident Jesse

To say this man is on the verge of tears every single day is an understatement

So long story short you were jesse s/o

He was like the love of your fucking life and you were his

His whole world goes around you, you're the only thing that makes him genuinely happy besides his work

You found out about the whole chromeskull thing in the worst way possible

He was scared of coming back after the accident with his face so he just kind of distanced himself

Everytime you would ask when he was coming home he always had an excuse

You both went a long time of just calling each other's, spending time on calls and sometimes even falling asleep with the phone still on

He missed you so much but he couldn't bear the thought of you looking at him like he was monster

It was killing him to know he was so close to you but couldn't reach you

You find out who he really was on accident

Cleaning around to distract yourself you ended up gathering many things that needed to be put in the attic so that you did

Once you were there you found some tapes. You checked them out of curiosity and oh boy you regretted it

You felt so sick you almost threw up

All those girls, there were some many of them in each tape and each one of them different from the other

It was horrifying to watch the love of your life mercilessly torture and kill helpless and innocent people

Now everything made so much more sense and It actually made you feel even worse to know that this whole time, while you were talking with him, Jesse was killing people

What hurts the most is feeling like you've been played, like you were something he has used to entertain himself until he finds a new victim

Needless to say you didn't stayed in your shared apartment a day longer, you didn't even take with half of the things you own

Most of them were gifts Jesse bought you so bringing them with you was only going to make it worse

You were scared out of your mind. So scared that in fact you couldn't even find the courage to go to the police, afraid that maybe that would end up with your being another one of Jesse victims

Obviously no one told Jesse what was going on. They all collectively agreed their boss was dealing with enough shit to keep adding more

They all needed Jesse to focus on work

That didn't worked well cause as soon as you stopped answering the phone he decided enough was enough

He needed to check what was going on so he found the courage to overcome his insecurities and go find you

He was heartbroken when he found you left

He immediately thought that you just got tired of waiting for him, that he has drawn you away

Long story short he went after you to find you and try at the best of his abilities to explain everything and win you back

He did not see the coming all that panic and terror in your face when he knocked at your door

He did think it was bc of his face so he tried to calm you down and explain

Needless to say you didn't calm down and he being the man he is, just kind of kidnapped you

Now onto business here

He knows you have every right to feel like this but it still upsets him deeply to know that he will never get the chance of being with you like before

He thought that you being scared and acting crazy every time you saw him was the worst but now he is kind of rethinking it

You started acting like this after he "snapped" at you

You were panicking and screaming while he tried to tell you something, that lead to you taking his mask off accidently which ended up in him pushing you off too hard

After that things went really fucking downhills

It wasn't like you were still out of your mind but the look in your eyes is unbearable

The first time you started the whole acting nice thing he almost thought you were starting to at least tolerate him but then he saw it

It's the same look some of his victims had while trying to gain his trust, seeing it on you was the worst thing he has ever experienced

He just couldn't stand it anymore, his face, you hating him, his favourite victim who was the one that has damaged him so badly killed by that cunt of Preston and now this? Mate is done

He has tried everything and anything but now he just kind of gives up

You notice the shift in his behaviour, how he comes by just to bring your meals or things you may need, he doesn't even goes near you or talks and his eyes are always anywhere but on you

I gotta be real with you guys, I don't think there's like a way to make this up

HE'S HURT OKAY? BRO'S EMOTIONAL DAMAGE IS BIG AF

He would even start sending his assistant to take care of you so he doesn't has to face you at all

It's just painful cause he already feels like his life is ruined and everything is falling apart with him not being able to fix it

You know what? I'm gonna fix it cause I can't take it anymore

You have probably grown used to be basically trapped at home, it's not like you're suffering with god knows what kind of abuse cause you basically have all you need to distract yourself aside from going out

Jesse comes home very rarely and as much as you hate to admit it you have been feeling less and less scared of him

You still think what he does is horrible but the thing that bothers you it's him lying to you

You do have to admit you miss being with him. Not like when you were scared but like when you didn't knew and he was just Jesse

You wonder from time to time if he's angry at you for how you have reacted since he hasn't shown himself for quite sometimes

As if on clue you hear something break in the bathroom and what seems like someone crying

That would be another of Jesse's mental breakdowns about his face. He thinks he looks so bad he can't even bear the sight of himself in the mirror

You slowly try to approach the bathroom and putting your ear against the door, you try to hear what's going on

You have never heard Jesse crying nor making any sort of noises come out of his mouth so it's actually quite shocking to hear him sob so hard

When you open the door the scene breaks your heart and in that moment you don't see chromeskull or the homicides, you just see your Jesse, the same one you have always loved and that has always helped you when you were down, on his knees bawling his eyes out and shaking

You just do what comes naturally aka you get closer and you just hold him as tight as possible

He tries to hide away, panicking bc he doesn't want you to see what he has become, but you just keep hugging him and saying that it doesn't matter

The moment you hold his face on your hands and look at him with the same understanding gaze you used to have it's the moment he feels his heart beating right again

It's not gonna be easy to accept everything but at least you're coming around it and he makes sure you know how grateful he is for it everyday

[mystic-myrtille]

What did you think of Jagged Rock being revealed to be Luka's father?

Oh I have a lot of thoughts on that. As most things in the show, the execution is shit but the general idea is cool.

I mean, a plot line where the guy with daddy issues finds out that his deadbeat father, who left his mother behind with not one but two little kids and never even trying to reach out to them, is in reality his number one idol with whom he had interacted in the past.

That is fucking juicy.

There is so much potential for angst there. They could've explored Luka's trauma and the effects it has on his life, how he reacts to this reveal and ultimately how he tries to deal with it. Would he act out and cry over how shitty Jagged is?Would he let his friends and family comfort him? Or does he try to keep things to himself to not burden anyone? Does Jagged feel regret? Will he try to redeem himself? How do they move forward? Would Luka want to keep in contact with the man who abandoned his family? How would that affect Jagged's relationship with the rest of the cast? What if, for example, Luka doesn't want contact but Juleka does? The family dynamic is super messy and there's a ton of stuff you can do with that, develop characters further and have them grow.

And canon... yeah. The reveal is shoehorned into the Luka//nette breakup episode. It's not the main plot, not even a b-plot, it's just like a fun fact thrown in to justify Luka's reaction to Marinette keeping secrets.

Jagged then waits before the boat and just goes "Hey we can make dope music together:)" and Luka just fucking forgives him. Instantly. No questions asked. After Jagged has the audacity to say him leaving his family inspired some banger songs, one of which is Luka's favorite. After Luka yells at him with so much hurt in his voice why he abandoned him.

And then the show sets Jagged up as so great and cool that he came back to his family and stepped up as a loving dad who made amends with his ex gf (with whom he randomly flirted pre reveal but then had a bad relationship with her??) in order to have a happy family, completely ignoring that he only did all of that when he was specifically called out for being a deadbeat. Like had Luka not been akumatized into Truth, Jagged wouldn't have come back into their lives.

This whole thing ruined canon Jagged and are pretty clear indicators that the writers don't care about writing complex characters with complex feelings. It's all shook value and plot device.

But if the writers really didn't want Luka and Jagged to have a bad relationship, they could've just left it at "Jagged and Anarka were in a band once". Jagged learns that his old band mate has kids who are into music and have a band, so he decides to invite them to his studio, show them some cool stuff on the guitar, become their mentor. He doesn't have to be their bio dad to take care of them and love them. Of course, the show could've dropped some ambiguous hints that he might be, but then never confirm it because at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. Or if they confirm it, it's also a surprise to Jagged, so he wasn't there as a dad because he didn't even know he was one and now everybody adjusts their life according to this new revelation.

And I like those wholesome plots. I love fanworks about Couffaine family shenanigans, they're chaotic and awesome<3

So yeah, in conclusion, everyone involved deserved better.