#big apologies it's this nonsense again

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: ish-bullying, loser reader, popular gojo and geto, player gojo, mean-ish gojo

fem reader

Satoru didn’t get it at first.

You weren’t the typical bombshell he’d usually go for. To the naked eye, you were just any other girl he’d pass on the street, with neither a face nor a body worth doing a double take. You were average, perhaps a little above at best, but nothing sensational. Your wardrobe was drab, and so was your makeup—if you wore any—he couldn’t really tell—maybe chapstick with a dull tint and some mascara, but nothing flashy. No one would envy him if he had you on his arm—or in his bed. In fact, you were so invisible that looking at you for too long became an eyesore.

He truly didn’t understand it. Why Suguru’s dour gaze always settled on you. What could it possibly be that he saw in you that his six eyes couldn’t? 

He was desperate to figure it out. When he’d asked his raven-haired friend, he’d only spoken a bunch of nonsense that went straight over his head. And so he’d taken matters into his own hands and gone and gotten himself a good look at you up close. And by look, he means bumping straight into you and making you drop all your books onto the floor—scattered papers and everything. 

You’d landed on your butt with a wince—he’d even snuck a peak at your panties in the fall, and still, he didn’t really get what the hype was about. You were just another run-of-the-mill girl—an utter nobody.

He looks down at you with a disappointed grimace, almost frustrated with how utterly mediocre you are. Fully bored with his findings, he’s about ready to give up, ignore you, and walk away without a word, leaving you there in the puddle of your own dismal banality—almost afraid it would rub off on him like a disease.

He’s very nearly convinced he finds your presence utterly disgusting until your voice slips out and stops him dead in his tracks.

���I’m so sorry—are you okay?”

Sweetly nervous and earnestly apologetic, you call out as if he’d not been the one at fault, as if he hadn’t just committed a plain hit-and-run, as if you weren’t the one on the floor and he wasn’t standing there fully unscathed with his hands down his pockets, staring down at you like you were a filthy thing at a zoo.

You look up at him while singing your sorries—big round eyes full of something he wished he could drink—that’s how suddenly parched he felt—breathless. No, hungry. Starving, actually—as if his inner animal had just found the perfect prey.

This is it, he thinks—that thing Suguru has been admiring all this time, that something that makes the otherwise grim line of his lips softly quirk upward. And oh, it’s such a simple thing, but truly priceless all at the same time—makes him want to eat you up and lick the plate.

“I’m the one who should apologize.” His grimace smoothens into a smile as he crouches down and reaches his hand out to you like a gentleman. He’s never done so before, but it comes naturally now.

His chest swarms with warmth and noise at the pretty blush of your face as you gingerly accept his gesture—bowing your head shyly once he’s helped you back on your feet, nodding so prettily with an ever-sweet and soft-spoken “Thank you—”

He can’t believe he didn’t see it before—you’re absolutely adorable.

You even try insisting he needn’t help you gather your wayward books and belongings, but he just tuts at you—determined to observe you a little while longer as he tells you it’s no big deal, it's the least he could do after being reckless and walking right into you. 

He carries it all for you to your classroom, where you once again bow your head and sing his praises. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were trying to get rid of him with the way you apologize for taking up his time. How cute—he’s making you really nervous, isn’t he? Of course, he is—you’re a complete mess, unable to look at him for any longer than a second before looking away.

It’s funny. To think he’d been dining with his own kind for so long—all sharp-tongued vixen with claws curling themselves into him, each sinking their teeth in for a piece—when he could have instead been feasting on you.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[theliving-radio]

Big Brother Malleus notices that something is wrong the moment he sees you walking in the hallway.

You look tired, your eyes were having a hard time staying open. Grim was hanging off your shoulder and kept pawing at your face to stay awake. A few times you would bump into a student and immediately started apologizing. Were you trying to rest your eyes while walking?

That wont do.

“My Baby Sibling, is something the matter?” Malleus walked straight into your direction to check up on you.

“Oh? Morning Horton, I’m doing alright! Nothing is wrong.” A lie. It was clearly a lie

Malleus raises a brow and looks over at Grim.

“They had a nightmare last night.”

“Grim!”

“What?! I’m not gonna lie to him! Plus you need rest! You weren’t able to fall back asleep! How is my Hench-human suppose to help me be the most powerful mage, if they can’t sleep well!”

Malleus made a mental note to gift Grim a treat for his honesty later.

“You lost sleep because of a nightmare? That won’t do, come my dear Baby Sibling. I shall help you rest.”

“Oh, Horton that’s all right-,” Malleus ignored you and took your hand in his as he carefully dragged you off with him.

Grim grabbed his notebook and hopped off your shoulder, heading to class now while the dragon fae whisked you away. “Mraaa! You better get some sleep this time!”

You kept protesting against Malleus, saying that you were fine and everything is ok with you. Did he listen? Nope. Not even for a second.

You’re his Baby Sibling who needs their sleep. And as the Big Brother, he’s gonna help you sleep.

Malleus took you all the way to his dorm room, guiding you over to his bed.

“Horton, I promise I’m fine! I need to get to class! Grim will have a hard time without me.”

“Nonsense, you clearly need rest.”

“A day without sleep wouldn’t kill me…”

“No, but it would kill me seeing my own Baby Sibling suffering throughout the day because of a nightmare that haunted them.”

Malleus gently guides you to sit on his bed, you just sit there and stare up at him while he looked down at you expectingly.

“… what?”

“Climb into bed”

“What- no!”

“Why not?”

“Horton, I can survive the day just fine, let me go to class.”

“Ah I see, you need to be in more comfortable clothes.”

With a flick of his wrist, your school uniform turned into a pair of cozy pajamas.

Is he serious right now?!

You were too baffled to say anything as Malleus begins to move you up his bed. He pulled the blankets all the way to your chin when he got you under the covers, making sure to tuck you in comfortably.

He stood back and puffed out his chest, clearly proud of his work.

You just looked like a head on a pillow in a sea of blankets.

“There, now you shall be able to sleep properly.”

You blinked up at the dragon fae and try to sit up, Malleus just flicks his wrist again to use magic to make you lay back down.

“Oof! Really?!”

“My Baby Sibling needs to sleep.”

“I can’t just automatically fall asleep!”

“Hm, you’re right.” Malleus began to think for a bit, he then smiles as he pulls a chair from his work desk and sits beside the bed. “Then I shall keep you company while you sleep”

“Horton, that’s sweet and all, but I think this is just a bit too much.”

“I would say it’s not enough. As your Big Brother, it’s my responsibility that my Baby Sibling is well taken care of. And that includes your sleep”

You stare at Malleus for a long time. He wasn’t gonna let you go until you get some sleep in your system.

… and you were very comfortable…

But there was a a darkness creeping in the back of your mind, telling you to not close your eyes. That the events of the nightmare would happen again…

“… I’m scared to fall asleep.”

Malleus eyes widen at your confession, but his expression softens and smiles at you.

“You do not have to fear a nightmare to ever haunt your dreams. I will protect you from them.”

“Because you’re my Big Brother?”

“Exactly.”

You let out a small giggle as you shuffle under the covers, getting yourself comfortable and ready to accept sleep.

“Will you be here when I wake up.”

“Yes, now stop stalling and close your eyes.”

“Hehe, ok. I love you, Big Brother.”

Malleus broke out in a wide smile as he sits up from his chair and places a gentle kiss upon your forehead. “And I love you too, my sweet Baby Sibling.”

The Fae began to hum a soft tune as he watched over you. Once Malleus knew you were fully sleep, he moved a few strands of hair out of your face and placed two fingers on your forehead. He whispers a few words, blessing you with sweet dreams. Malleus goes back to sit down in the chair and picks up a book from his nightstand.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Big Brother is going to stay right here where you need him.

————————————————————————

This was out of the blue, but I had the WORST Nightmare ever! It was too much of a real scenario too, and I’m not gonna get into it. But I love the idea of Big Brother Malleus kidnapping us to just put us to bed because he said so. Lol

[pyrodolls]

SUPERFAN! AND STALKER! YANDERE BOYS X READER HCS

WARNINGS: obsessiveness, sfw, murder, mentions of corpses, just overall unhealthy behavior cuz they're yanderes. (i do not condone yanderes irl and this is for writing purposes) gender neutral reader, no use of y/n.

A/N: guys idk why i havent updated in so long. ig i just havent had much motivation?? anyways ummm i'm still super busy right now and i have 400 assignments due in 3 days but i don't wanna do them soooooo how about i write some short and cute headcanons for y'all? 😁

if bayani was a puppy hybrid...

clingy clingy CLINGY

bros going wherever you go. even if u gotta take a piss he's gonna hold your hand. wait, you don't want him in the bathroom with you? at least let him sit outside!

he is very easy to distract, though. if you ever want to be alone for a while but he just won't leave your side, throw a tennis ball somewhere and it should keep him busy for a solid 10 minutes.

loves snuggling with you. he literally distracts you and takes up at LEAST one hour every morning trying to keep you in bed with him. if you leave him alone in bed, he'll be whining until you come back.

he's also very talkative, and always yapping your ear off about random nonsense, until you tell him to shut up. problem is, if you tell him to shut up, he isn't going to open his mouth again for a few days. he'll be very sulky about it and look up at you with those big puppy dog eyes of his, silently hoping you'll allow him to speak again. as much as he loves hearing you yell at him, he still doesn't want you to be mad at him for long periods of time.

he'll eat anything you cook. you could be the worst cook in the world and burn your dish to a crisp, and he'd still eat it up like it's nobody's business. he doesn't even notice if it's well cooked or not, he sees anything you create as a masterpiece.

but this also means he's like a guard dog! even though he is quite small and his face isn't very intimidating, he tries! he goes to the gym frequently so he can be stronger for you. he wants to be able to defend you if anything goes wrong.

he is very patient. if you have any work or assignments you need to get done, he'll sit and wait however long you need him to. he'll even bring you beverages and snacks so you can keep working without getting up.

overall, he has some similar traits to a puppy, but he's still the same optimistic (and obsessive) bayani.

if victor was a cat hybrid...

LMFAOOO good luck getting away from him.

bros a silent killer. he watches from afar. if you happen to feel his eyes staring at the back of your head, and you look to see if your feeling is correct, he'll snap his head the other direction so you don't suspect a thing.

he follows you around, but unlike bayani, he wouldn't stop if you asked him to. and he isn't in your personal space, he is much farther away so it's harder to tell when he's tailing after you.

and like a cat, he proudly brings you dead things and is convinced that you would like it. usually he kills anyone that seems to be too close to you, and shows it off like a trophy of his affection and strength.

victor would kill someone and be like: "this week's new corpse looks awesome. they'll totally love this, i gotta show them!" (you did not, in fact, love seeing the rotting corpse of your friend on your doorstep.)

he guards your house as if he's a soldier at war. if he sees anyone break in, or if it's an insect that happened to fly in through your vents, he'll eliminate the threat before you even notice it.

he's also quite moody. sometimes he's affectionate and kind to you, then the next minute he'll act like a brat and expect you to cook and clean for him.

and if you called him out on his behavior, he'll act all pouty and mutter: "i don't do that.." then he'd get up and silently do some chores around the house as an apology. if you brought up his acts of service, he'll get flustered and say you were "too lazy to do it yourself" or something along those lines.

overall, he's quiet, moody, and does things his own way. unlike bayani, victor doesn't do anything you ask him to do, but he still shows his affection for you in his own subtle ways.

[joeyfranchise]

got me thinkin’ nonsense

justin herbert x fem!reader

warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content. 18+ only. oral (f. receiving), dumbification ;)

word count: 2.3k.

note: hello i am once again having brainrot about justin 😋 and so is maja because this is another idea we’ve talked about extensively. love youuuu @joeyburrrow 😮‍💨

to put it plainly - you were having a horrible day.

it started unexpectedly after you’d taken nearly an hour in the morning to curl your hair perfectly, only to be met with a downpour of rain outside that left it limp and wet.

when you got to the office the strap of your bag broke and it dropped off your arm, leaving the contents to skitter across the floor of the lobby. your coworker— and quite possibly the bane of your existence— katherine helped you pick up your things before scurrying off to her desk a little too cheerily.

you sat through meeting after boring meeting, listening to your bosses babble on and to katherine’s incessant interruptions, adding her two cents to everything they said.

as you left your last meeting your foot caught the door frame on the way out and you toppled over into the hall, falling right into your bosses back. your weight crashing into him sent him straight into the wall on the other side of the hallway and you began to apologize profusely.

you stood and extended your hand to help him, sheepishly gazing down at him. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he declined your hand, standing up and wiping his hands on his pants.

“be more careful,” he sneered, before walking briskly down the hall.

you headed back to your desk and gathered your things, beyond ready to get home and spend the evening underneath your duvet without any other care in the world, just waiting for justin to get home.

you grabbed your things and headed to the parking lot, and since your bag was broken you ended up just throwing all your belongings in the passenger seat before driving home, eager to strip your clothes and lie in bed.

unfortunately, your bad luck didn’t end when you left the office. you hit every red light on the way home and only narrowly avoided being rear-ended by some teenager who was too focused on texting, which left you feeling like you could rip your hair out.

finally though, you made it home. you didn’t bother to grab anything from your car to bring inside other than your keys and phone. you trudged up the steps as the weight of the day continued bearing down on you, but you were shocked when the door swung open before you could get your key anywhere near the lock.

you weren’t expecting justin to be home so soon.

he stood there with open arms, inviting you into his much larger frame for a much needed hug. you stepped forward and let him wrap you in his embrace, inhaling his scent as he squeezed you.

“welcome home!” he cheerfully greeted, and you looked up at him with a half-smile. justin immediately sensed your unease and ushered you into the house, leading you to the couch before helping you to sit back. he placed your phone and keys on the coffee table as you settled into the pillows and propped your head up. justin knelt on the floor to take off your shoes for you.

you weren’t sure why he always did that as soon as he knew you had a bad day, because you both hated feet and the idea of touching them or anything of that sort, but it was most likely just his way of trying to comfort you. he wanted you to see he was there for anything and everything you needed.

“tough day?” he questioned, sliding himself a bit closer to your frame. he sat on the floor and leaned over so his elbows rested on your thighs as he propped his head in his hands. “mhm,” you answered, closing your eyes and leaning your head back. you hadn’t noticed until now that he still had his hair pushed back with the thin headband he often wore at practice. you found it slightly suspicious… but you were unsure why.

“want me to help you feel better?” he asked softly, his big hands now smoothing over your legs. you opened your eyes and looked down at him, a mischievous glint twinkled in his eye.

“what idea do you have cooking up?” you ask him, curious to hear what he has to say.

“well,” he starts, sitting up straighter so he can lean over you properly, “practice was long and boring today, but i was thinking about you the whole time. i missed you a lot… and knowing you had a bad day, i think i know what might help…” he teases, and then presses a sweet kiss to your lips.

your lips follow his as he deepens the kiss, and you shudder as his hands slide underneath your shirt, his warm touch leaving goosebumps behind. he breaks away from the kiss to speak to you, but not before peppering gentle kisses to the corners of your mouth and your cheeks.

“here’s the plan,” he says, as his fingers begin working the button of your jeans, “you’re gonna tell me all about your bad day, and while you talk i’m gonna eat you out, sound good?”

your eyes widen at his forwardness. justin usually isn’t one to lay it out so plainly and you’re a bit taken aback by his suddenness. “….okay,” you agree, and justin laughs at your reluctance. “i told you i missed you today,” he smirks. you let him undo your pants and pull them down your legs along with your panties, tossing both to the side.

you stifle back a giggle as they wrap around a lamp you have standing in the corner, the force of justin’s throw leaving it wobbling.

you look down at him in amusement and he laughs too before quickly switching his mood, suddenly turning serious. “okay, start talking. and if you stop, i stop.”

his arms hook around your thighs and he pulls you down the couch a little farther so that you’ll both be in a comfortable position as he moves back to his knees on the floor.

he leans into you and holds your legs open before blowing a cool stream of air onto your already wet core. his nose rubs against your clit softly before he licks a long, languid stripe up your center. when he makes no further move you remember you’re supposed to be talking, but you aren’t sure if you’ll be able to even form words… you still try anyway.

“i… i woke up super early to c-curl my hair, and… the rain made it fall immediately,” you whine, arching forward as he rolls his tongue lazily over your clit. he makes a sound against your core that you can only assume is sympathetic, and the vibration sends shockwaves through you. your fingers tangle through his hair as you hold him close to you, afraid to let this moment end so soon.

“and then… when i got to work my bag broke and… all m-my shit fell all over the - fuck - all over the lobby,” you manage to squeak out. he shakes his head from side to side as you talk before slowly pressing two fingers into your dripping center and curling them upward. a drawn out moan falls from your lips as he uses his hand and his mouth in tandem, pulling you close to the edge in such a short time.

his other hand smooths over the flesh of your leg before he draws it back and places a sharp smack against the meat of your thigh. you barely notice the stinging pain as your body lurches forward, your back arches, and you continue pressing your core to his eager tongue and lips.

he lifts his head to look at you and the sight of him almost has your eyes rolling back. his hair is messy from the grip you’ve had on it but the thin white headband stays in place, holding his hair away from his eyes. the bottom half of his face is coated with spit and your slick, his mischievous eyes find yours and he winks at you. “i didn’t tell you to stop talking, baby. keep telling me about your day, or i’ll stop, too.”

“fuck, okay… katherine was annoying me all day, she wouldn’t shut the fuck up in any of the meetings,” you tell him, and he looks up at you again to mutter a soft “fuck katherine,” before he’s diving into your folds again. you giggle at his words, he’s being unusually crude today.

his fingers are pumping in and out of you twice as fast now and you’re scrambling to gather your thoughts, but god you didn’t want him to stop. he hooks his fingers and presses them upward, hitting you in just the right spot as he continues sucking on your clit, bobbing his head back and forth.

it’s getting harder and harder to formulate your thoughts, you still have to tell him about running into your boss, but you can’t make the words come out. instead, all you manage to squeak out is a weak moan of his name as you tug at his hair again.

“justinnnnnn,” you whine, the pleasure now seeping through your body, you can feel it in your thighs, calves and toes. he laughs against you, and all you can think is what a cheeky fucker.

he looks up again at you, hair and eyes wild. “that can’t be all, baby,” he teases. his pupils are blown wide and you know he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. you shake your head in response and place your palms flat on the couch so you can use them to push your body forward, fucking yourself on his now still fingers.

“was that it? or am i just fucking you stupid?”

and there it was.

his admission that he missed you may have been true, but something happened on that field today that triggered this side of justin, one you rarely got to see. he was always ready and willing to take care of you, and he wasn’t being malicious at the moment, but something had to have happened today to make him talk to you with a bit of bite - not that you were complaining.

“keep talking,” he commanded, and although it wasn’t the angriest you’ve ever heard him, it was enough to make you listen. “i- i tripped on the - fuck - the fucking door frame and fell straight into my boss. and he wouldn’t even let m-me…” you hiccup, another whine falling from your lips as he curls his digits into your g-spot again.

“justin, please,” you beg, continuing to grind on his face and fingers. you lift your head to look down and him and you find him focused, eyes closed as he works on bringing you pleasure. for a moment you think you’re in the clear until his big hand brings down another harsh smack on your thigh. it takes everything in you to start talking again.

“he wouldn’t even let me help him up. and th-then all the lights on the way home were red and - jesus christ - some teenager almost rear-ended me. and that’s all justin, please,” you finally manage, the rasp of your voice even shocks you. you sound completely fucked out yet full of lust, and for some reason you like it. justin does too.

he continues working you closer and closer to the edge as your repeat his name like a mantra, followed by moans and curses and any other sound that claws its way from your throat. justin can feel you tightening around his fingers and he loves it, he loves knowing he can bring you to your peak so quickly like this.

he pulls away from your core one final time, looking you in the eyes as he speaks. “don’t you love it when you’re getting fucked so good you can only remember my name? you sound a little dumb, baby.”

his tongue is on you again in an instant and your brain feels like it’s being scrambled in your head. you’d admitted to justin one night during a drunken romp that you wanted him to be rougher with you, to sling you around sometimes, to call you names.

usually he was a gentle giant, and god, he always got you there. the sex was never boring, but this really took the cake. before you knew it you were cumming all over his fingers unabashedly, not caring whether the couch would be stained from your remnants or not. all that mattered in this moment was justin, which you knew was exactly what he wanted.

he helped you ride out your high before pulling his fingers out of you, and without thinking, he wiped them off on the leg of his pants. his eyes met yours again and you could tell he was feeling nervous, he wanted to know how he did.

“you’ll have to give me three to five business days to recover from that one,” you giggle, your chest heaving as you catch your breath.

“i hoped that helped you some,” he said, leaning across your body and wrapping his arms around your torso. “it did, but what got into you?” you questioned, his boldness something you weren’t so used to seeing.

“got pissed off at practice, it was stupid. we can talk about it later,” he sighs, leaning his head against your neck. “i think i know a way i can get you to talk,” you tease, and both of you laugh. justin squeezes you into a hug before pulling off you and standing up, extending an arm to gesture toward the hall.

“sounds like a fine treat, m’lady,” he jokes, pretending to tip a hat to you. “but first, hit the showers!”

you giggle as you stand on gelatin legs and try to walk past him, only to be met with weak knees as he smacks your ass harshly. he scoops you up bridal style and rushes down the hall, both of you eager to get to the story of justin’s bad day.

photos and dividers are not mine, cred to owners.

taglist: @joeyburrrow @starsinthesky5 @joeyb1989 @slimshiesty @fourburrow @wheresdylansoscar @heartforherbert @joe9cool @itsjustjackie55 @emsdev @a-whiterose @aliyamustafeena @joemamabob0

[pollyanna-nana]

Imagine you’re Delgal. Imagine you were raised from birth alongside the court jester. You do everything together. You look up to him, being so much older. He seems wise and responsible, and always encouraging you and caring for you, more than your own busy parents are able to. In every sense of the word, he is your brother, despite how different you look and the distance of your station. The people around you tell you that he is an elf, the tone of their voice implying that’s something scary or even dangerous. But you disagree. That’s Thistle, your big brother.

But… as you age, things become confusing. You get taller, smarter, stronger, and Thistle is there for you through it all. Only… he never seems to change. In your entire journey to adulthood, he hardly seems to have aged a few years, if that. It’s amusing when you first grow taller than him, then grow facial hair, while Thistle’s short stature and youthful face remains the same. Still, you love him, love his music and his wit and even the bold-faced honesty that gets him in trouble if you’re not around to diffuse the situation. You wonder why such a person has been relegated to the inglorious job of jester, and your father tells you very simply that the magic elves wield is too powerful and dangerous to belong to any other position. But you think that’s nonsense, you’ve trusted Thistle from the day you were born and would do so until the day you die.

It isn’t until what should’ve been the happiest day of your life that you truly start to understand just how different Thistle is from you. Kneeling over your father’s cooling corpse, you take in the elf’s panicked face. He’s so young, so unchanged, and in that moment he seems nearly immortal to you. You’ve heard the stories of elf magic, how their spells could be used to heal wounds and raise the dead, but Thistle can’t do any of that. He hasn’t been allowed to. There’s nothing that either of you can do but watch your father slowly die in front of you.

You never want this to happen again, not when there’s something that can stop it. You make Thistle the court sorcerer, even as your advisors warn against it. But you’re the king, goddamn it, and you trust him. But more than that, you want what he can give to you. A power greater than any tallman could achieve. You become busier and busier, only checking up occasionally on his studies. He’s become incredibly proficient in a short amount of time, but your thoughts are elsewhere. Enemies knock on your door, famine chokes the population, and worst of all your beloved son has fallen ill. It’s just like the day of your wedding, but this time, you have something that can defy that fate. Thistle.

But still, it’s not enough. It seems that even elf magic has its limits, and you can’t help but become angry with him. He reacts like a scorned child— is a scorned child, as you’ve come to realize— and you apologize. But he tells you he has something secret to show you, something he’s been searching for, researching for these past few years. The idea unsettles you, but you’ve become desperate, and you can see that he has, too. So you follow him into the dungeon, watch him smash the statue of your kingdom’s guardian and pull the book from the rubble that would decide your and your people’s fate.

Your son is healed, your enemies repelled, and your people fed and taken care of. You’re happy, and so Thistle is, too. You recognize, vaguely, that despite this achievement the familial bonds between the two of you have never been thinner. But you don’t dwell on it. He did what you needed him to do, and now you no longer had to fear the indignity of death or strife.

But of course, things do not remain sweet forever. Thistle has only grown more attached to you, more loyal, and his behavior has become erratic and strange. He keeps you all cooped up in the dungeon, insisting that the outside world is too dangerous. There’s a hardness to his still-youthful features that you never saw throughout all those years growing up alongside him. Slowly but surely the person in your memory is replaced by something frightening, almost repulsive, after he strips your own son’s soul from his body. He seems so unaffected by it all, so… inhuman.

Eventually he decides to give you what you said you wanted all those years ago: to no longer fear death. To become immortal. But it is not what you had hoped for— every day seems to drag into infinity, with joy and mirth seeping rapidly from the unsettled townsfolk as decades, then centuries pass. Thistle has become entirely unapproachable, spending all his time fortifying the dungeon and watching obsessively for any signs of traitors that might challenge the throne. You feel hopeless in it all. No matter how you beg, he never seems to hear you. His power is overwhelming and you fear how he might react to more direct commands. The guilt is intense… you know you pushed him into this, pushed him to find a way to achieve everlasting peace at any cost. But this cost is too much. How could he not see that?

1000 years. 1000 years of this torture, and the population of your kingdom has dwindled to almost nothing. In your dreams you see the vision of a golden lion in chains, its wings pinned as it pleads with you to save it. To save your kingdom, to put the remaining souls to rest. You know what needs to be done, it’s told you the best way. You tell the mad mage that you wish to have dinner together with the whole ‘family’— just like the olden days— and the way his face lights up is almost enough to make you reconsider. Almost.

It was a lie, of course. While he’s distracted you take your son’s empty body, making your way to the surface as fast as your legs can carry you. You know what’s about to happen. You’ll become nothing but dust, but you’ll be free. And with any luck, soon everyone else will be, too. Breaching the surface you get the first rays of sun on your face in a millennium, take your last breaths of fresh air as you tell the story that will free your kingdom.

As you crumble away to nothing, a last thought enters your mind. Perhaps they were all right. Perhaps it was a mistake to trust an elf.

[nonranghaes]

"hey, jisung?" minho looks over from where he's almost done applying his own stage makeup. "don't do the thing again."

jisung blinks in utter confusion. "what thing?"

"the thing." minho glances around, and then continues to speak freely. "when they put your mic on, don't do it."

he opens his mouth to respond, but he hears you as you approaching their dressing room. chris is on your heels, carrying the big heavy case of mics for you (ever the gentleman), his own already taped securely onto his face. you unravel the first one, already reaching down the shirt of an actress to hook it into place.

it's while you're tearing off mic tape that chris looks at jisung and mouths the same thing: don't do the thing again.

he doesn't even get to question it this time. you come over to him, no-nonsense and just trying to get through your job as quickly as you can so that you can go ahead and make that long walk upstairs and to the booth. you do hesitate with him in a way you don't with others: just long enough to quietly apologize for the awkwardness again before you immediately shove one of your hands up his shirt to catch the mic after you drop it down the back of his neck, hooking it onto the back of his pants.

your hands graze his skin a little too much, and he can feel his face heating up. he's not like this with everyone, and he knows it. just with you. you make sure its secure before taping it into place, and then you move on to the next person while jisung watches you with the sappiest expression on his face. the only reason he catches it this time is because there's a mirror directly in front of him, giving him the full view of how soft his expression goes. he practically has little hearts floating around him.

the moment you're gone after handing out all of the mics, minho lets out a loud sigh and goes back to finishing his eye makeup. "i'm asking them out for you during mic check."

[butchreg]

cg ! ambessa medarda with an infant regressor headcanons !!

requested by anon ! i don't tend to have cg ambessa thoughts like i said in my last ambessa post but i've gotten a bunch of requests for her so i will be giving the people what they want ! (*-`ω´- )人 again i did my best to write her in character but apologies if she strays ooc. anon brought up an infant regressor as a chance for her to heal and redo motherhood and i found that a touching thought. thanks for the idea nonnie , i hope these are satisfactory ! (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) ack i got a bit carried away , once i got going the thoughts overflowed. arcane masterlist here , upcoming masterlist here

mentioned it in my last ambessa post but ambessa calls you "my kit" or "my cub" to your face and refers to you simply as "the kit / cub" to her servants. "be a dear and get the kit a bottle" versus , "ah ah , drink slowly , my cub."

ambessa who holds you very gently in her lap while you drink your bottles , patting your tummy when you get full. one large hand guides the bottle while the other arm keeps your head upright what with you being so tiny.

she often tickles your tummy , kissing it and blowing raspberries. she chuckles , a deep rich chortle of delight as you blush and giggle , kicking your feet happily.

she always dresses you up nicely in the colors of the medarda crest so everybody will know you're her baby. she'll coo at you in your little outfits , quite satisfied with herself for dressing you up so well. she'll carry you over to a mirror , pointing at your reflection. "that's you , my kit. don't you look dashing , i've done quite the job , don't you think ?" she'll chuck your chin as you giggle and clap enthusiastically.

your regression is healing not only for you but also for ambessa. she freezes the first time you call her "mama" or something in that vein , thoroughly shocked and not quite sure how to feel at first. the ever stoic ambessa finds herself tearing up for the first time in God knows how long , a smile pulling at her full lips as tears of joy and of pride threaten to fall.

ambessa finds herself comforted by how clingy you are , how much you need her. it's a big job to take care of an infant yet she welcomes your regression , scooping you into her big strong arms and cradling you ever so gently , hugging you tightly as if to reassure herself that you're really there.

ambessa takes no nonsense , holding you to her high standards. of course with your being so tiny she doesn't have too many rules in place but she does not take kindly to tantrums or needless fussing.

ambessa practices her tone when she's alone , careful to be sure never to snap or speak too sharply to you. it takes work and rehearsal ; admittedly she's a bit rough around the edges in the early stages of your regression.

ambessa loves to hold you whenever possible. she's strong enough to pick you up with little effort , keeping you on her hip as she tends to her smaller duties , bouncing you when you start to fuss. "oh hush now pet ," she'll soothe , reaching into a pocket before coming up with a red and black teether.

ambessa spoils her baby rotten , often pretending to be shocked when more parcels with your name on them arrive. she has them addressed to "the kit" as mentioned in the last post , picking up the tag on an item and tutting approvingly. she has to help you open the items with your being just so itty bitty. she'll brandish that plushie you were eyeing , a wide smile spreading across her face as your eyes widen and you babble excitedly , squirming on her hip as you reach for it.

ambessa who is initially a bit squeamish at the thought of changing diapers , something she often left for the servants when her biological children were small. although she's anxious in the beginning she is so very gentle with you , using just enough powder and kissing your tummy when you wriggle or squirm. "ah ," she'll sigh with satisfaction when you're all finished. "there we go , nice and clean." she'll nod approvingly. "you did well , my darling ," she'll add , kissing you softly on the head.

ambessa who will sing to you to get you to sleep , holding you in her arms , rocking you gently. her singing voice is a bit rusty , hasn't had much use since mel was small , but she sings you soft lullabies , spinning the mobile above your crib for you to watch.

ambessa who can be a bit of a snob , only buying the best for her baby. she will only buy items of the utmost quality , saying no if she feels something you want is cheaply or shoddily made. she often has toys or other items commissioned to be specially made so that they will be just perfect.

[utahimeow]

cw — reader and gojo have a daughter, established marriage, gojo is sad but reader comforts him

satoru gojo is not a man of many fears. heights, spiders, needles, death—fearing these is alien to a man who’s looked death itself in the eye and refused to let it touch him. however the words that his five-almost-six year-old daughter just uttered send shivers down his spine.

he’s frozen, eyes wide, face pale. he thinks his lungs stop working and his heart stops beating.

big, blue eyes round as a bug’s stare up at him, oblivious to the implications of it all.

the sentence echoes in his head like a taunt. he thinks he’ll hear it in his nightmares tonight.

then, her little hand as she tugs on his pant leg yanks him back to reality.

“daddy, i said my tooth fell out!”

satoru gulps, gaze falling to the crumb of bone in her hand, then to the tiny gap that’s now in the front of her mouth.

he didn’t think it would happen so soon.

you’re home from work not long later and the girl rushes to greet you at the door, screeching with delight to announce the loss of her tooth to you.

you’re gasping dramatically, gathering her up in your arms as she gives you a gummy smile so wide her eyes scrunch shut. staring at her is like looking in a mirror, a perpetually perfect reflection of you and your love combined into one small being.

“it didn’t hurt, did it?” you ask her.

“nope! i didn’t even cry,” she tells you, beaming with pride.

“oh, how brave you are,” you tell her, kissing her soft cheeks, grinning as her giggles bubble throughout the entire foyer.

she wriggles out of your grasp and then she’s off again, bounding back upstairs to her room to the pile of plushies upon her bed so she can continue to brew up tales and backstories for each of them. now that both her mother and father have heard her big news, she’s satisfied enough for it to no longer need to be on her mind.

you’re not surprised to find satoru in the kitchen, rummaging through the snack cupboard. you are surprised at the fact that he doesn’t turn to greet you like he always does. with a pout, you stride over to his towering frame and snake your arms around his slender waist, pressing yourself flush to him.

“hi, lover,” you hum.

in your embrace, satoru becomes lighter. the tension in his hard muscles lifts, his shoulders dropping, his back shedding the weight of the world.

“hi, pretty,” he replies, uncharacteristically quiet, yet somehow his voice still drips with affection for you.

“what’s the matter?” you ask him. you’re well aware of your husband’s melodramatic nature, and it’s because of that that you don’t find yourself worrying over his state of despair. still, you’re rather filled with a curiosity—what minuscule nonsensical issue has him down today? did they discontinue his favourite kitkat flavour?

hands migrating up his torso and finding his chest, you squeeze your fingers into the fat of his pectorals. in the blink of an eye, satoru is facing you and his cold hands have grabbed hold of your wrists. he grins down at you softly, amused by your antics as always, but you blink again and his face drops, growing almost grave.

“talk to me,” you urge, prying. his soft grasp leaves your wrists, moving to envelop your hands which drown in his. he brings them to his lips, kissing at your fingertips, making your heart beat in your ears and your face grow hot. it’s strange to think he once shrivelled away from your affection, convinced he was not worthy of it.

“how was work?” he asks.

“fine. good. same as always,” you tell him. “but you’re avoiding my question. and your feelings.”

he shakes his head, a child through and through. “tell me about your day.”

“satoru,” you say, stern, and it feels like you’re scolding your daughter for not listening to you. “i hate it when you’re… off like this.”

his eyes pierce through yours then, filled with unspoken apology. then, he exhales, long and hard, a sigh that’s heavy with weariness. for you, he’s learned to surrender.

“our daughter losing her tooth today made me realise that she’s getting older and i can’t stop it,” he admits.

you sigh along with him, half relieved that your conscience had been right in believing that it wasn’t anything serious. well, in the sense that no one had died. the rest of you knows he’s not being irrational. since becoming a father, and even before that, when having children was just a distant fantasy for him, an anxiety had lived inside of him. an anxiety of fucking up, of being inherently unsuited to fatherhood, of the idea that she may suffer the consequences of him being her father.

and now, a new anxiety sprouts.

“true, but we get to watch her grow, satoru. don’t you think that’s amazing?”

he stays silent, mouth forming an absentminded pout.

“i just keep thinking about when she was a baby… how tiny she was, how she would waddle around, and drool on my chest. soon she won’t be my little girl anymore, you know?”

“satoru,” you say firmly. your hands curl around the back of his neck, scratching at the snowy hairs of his undercut. “she’ll always be your little girl. i know that because she’s your whole world, and you’re hers. she may never be that little baby again, but she’ll never be as little as she is now either, so love and cherish her now instead of moping about the inevitable passage of time.”

satoru smiles a dopey smile at you, the same one his daughter has.

“i’m so glad i married you,” he says. his hands are warm now as they settle on your lower back, dipping down, down, down.

you roll your eyes at him, opening your mouth to reply with something witty, but he beats you to it.

“i’m being serious now, baby. you always know what to say when i’m being stupid.”

“when you’re being overdramatic, you mean,” you say, grinning playfully.

“hey, it just shows that i care, doesn’t it?”

you pull him down to your face by his neck and kiss him, moulding your lips against his, tender and warm and home. it’s not just his thoughts that melt away when he kisses you, it’s his entire head, until all that’s left is a man with nothing but his wife on his mind, heart beating for no reason other than to keep him alive so that he can keep thinking about you.

briefly, you pull away, in spite of how he chases your lips with his, because he could kiss you until the end of time and you could do the very same, but there’s something weighing on your mind suddenly.

“if you want a second baby i can make that happen, by the way,” you tell him, your hips pressing against his.

“oh, now you want another one? but every time i ask for one i get an earful? heh,” he says, quirking a brow, but unfortunately for him he’s hard in his pants in an instant.

“yeah, but now i feel bad for you.”

“babe, i don’t want a kid out of pity!”

[siasthoughts]

⍣ ೋ roses 'n golden apologies.

nanami kento x gn!reader

PREVIEW;

your dear ol' husband who's always passively loved you, has always been pretty distant. but for some reason, these past 2 years, he's become unbearably neglectful.

CONTENTS; has plot . sex is used as an apology . gojo is a homewrecker . lowk angst at start . i actually write the sex this time no way! . long kinda??

💿 JEALOU$Y - THE NEIGHBOURHOOD ♫

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ��� ⋅ ──╮

nanami sighed, finally shutting off the computer that burned his eyes for hours on end. he checked his watch, nine-thirty. shit. he promised to finally take you out for dinner tonight, he should at least buy you something, no? he stood from his leather office chair, the movement creaking under his weight as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat.

the space was now dark, he was the only one to stay once again. the sight made him groan to himself as he stepped into the elevator. recently, his home was growing quieter, the warmth was fading. no– you, you were growing quieter, your warmth was airing out.

ding. the elevator opens to reveal a similar view, empty and dark. he walks through the lobby, his oxfords echoing through the empty space as he finally makes his way to his car, bringing the engine to life. you still like roses, right? maybe he should get you some donuts too. he quietly grips around the wheel, swerving it out into the road and making his way to your favorite bakery.

he arrives at the bakery, you introduced this place to him and it quickly became one of his favorite places too. he recalls the ways you hoard the puffs and strawberry-filled donuts, the memory forming a small smile on his lips as he enters, a familiar chime greeting him.

a nostalgic scent of bread and cinnamon permeates the air, almost thick enough to taste as he calmly walks straight for the donut corner. he frowns, his eyes scanning the labels to land on the strawberry ones—

empty.

“good evening! is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” a kind, chocolate-haired girl asks as she clasps her hands together.

“ah,” he speaks in thought, “cream puffs?” he asks in monotone.

“yes, right this way!” she leads him to the cream puffs, a hand out to showcase the shelf.

the place has changed a bit since they last been here, which is… a year and a half ago.

he takes two, and heads to the counter without wasting a second. roses, yes, roses. he thinks as his feet quickly find themselves in the floral shop conveniently placed next to the bakery.

he quickly buys a bouquet of roses, and hurried back to his car, carefully stashing the gifts onto the passenger seat. his eyes linger on the seat for a second too long—recalling when it was you sitting there. alright time to go home.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

at some mcdonalds.

you sat comfortably against the cushioned seats, a white-haired man in front of you, blabbering all sorts of nonsense, pulling out hearty giggles from you. god, when was the last time you've laughed like this?

"and then, i swear, i saw a vein in utahime's forehead burst!" he laughed out, taking a big bite out of his quarter-pounder.

you laugh, taking a sip of your drink. luckily enough, the story he's telling doesn't include kento. and for the past hour, you've completely forgotten about him.

"yeah? what happened next?" you entertained, keeping your eyes intently on him as he enthusiastically continued on.

"then nanami walks in and sees the mess in the classroom!" he chuckles, leading to a few stares.

your face drops as your phone coincidentally receives a notification, your eyes flickering to the screen.

nanami kento

honey? where are you?

your silence doesn't go unnoticed. "what's wrong?" satoru asks cautiously, tilting his head down to try get a peek at you, then at your phone.

"na... na..." he begins to slowly read, "oh-" he blurts out, "do you have to go now?" he thoughtfully asks, recognizing the situation.

you've opened up to him about the situation, not fully, but just a quick summary that's enough for anyone to understand.

"well..." you huff, staring at the screen hesitantly for a few moments, then shutting your phone off. "i guess." you sigh, stuffing your phone into your bag.

"aww, c'mon..." satoru pouts playfully, watching you stand. "thanks though," you smile softly, "this really helped." you thanked as he stood, following you over to the exit.

"want me to drive you home?" he asks cockily, clear with intent. it'll save money, you think. "sure." you accept.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

nanami sat at your couch, the silence of the empty apartment defeaning. a warm, dim light of the floor lamps illuminated his features as his gifts sat untouched next to him. he stared at the blank phone screen, waiting for a response. anything, anything will do.

creak.

his head snaps toward the door, to see you stepping inside. a soft yet almost aching smile paints his face, "dear, you're home." he greets, standing to his feet and gently grabbing the gifts.

you look up at him, your eyes devoid of amusement at the sight. he picks this up, his own smile quickly falling away as his grip on the flowers tighten.

"hi..." you reply flatly, your jaw as tense as the air. "oh, uh- here, i got these for you." he still persuades, handing the bouquet and puffs over to you. your gaze drifts to the offerings, forcing a smile as you take them from him.

"thanks."

"so... uh-" nanami rubs the back of his neck as he stuffs a hand into his pocket, "what were you... doing?" he asks, watching as you walk past him, setting the bouquet down onto the center island of the kitchen, and storing the puffs almost carelessly into the fridge.

he swallows his words, feeling his heart sink at the scene. "oh, i was just with..." you hesitate for a moment, "satoru." as the name falls from your lips, nanami feels his heart fall even further.

"satoru?" he repeats, not sure if he believes it, "well... what did you guys do?" he asks, walking towards you. "we just had a good simple time at mcdonald's." you respond, shrugging casually.

he recalls the lavish presents he gives you, and upon hearing your 'simple' indulgences, it makes him feel like a stranger.

"really..." he hums bitterly, his arm falling to his side as his hand balls into a fist, "well," he clears his throat, "i'm sorry i didn't get to take you out." he forces the words out as he tries to keep the eye contact.

"it's fine." you respond shortly, "i had a good night anyway."

were you doing this on purpose? your words rubbed salt further into the wounds, your steps scatter across the floor as you head towards your shared room.

"sweetheart," he calls out, his voice bordering on either a demand or threat, "i'm... i'm really sorry." he walks up behind you as he realizes you weren't gonna even stop in your tracks.

"i said it's fine."

"please-"

"kento," you interrupt, "it's okay."

he frowns down at you as you turn to him, your eyes looking as if they were challenging him. and as you turn back, he speaks before even realizing, "please, i know it's my fault," he starts, "but how do you think i'll react if you just mention another man? especially someone like gojo? an old friend?"

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. "and how do you think i'll react if my husband just decides to act like a single man for two years?" you shot the question back, "goodnight, kento." you groan, turning back to continue towards the bedroom—

a hand finds your wrist, and before you realize it, you feel a pair of lips against yours. you grunt against him, your back hits the bedroom door, his mouth greedily, desperately invades yours.

"i'm sorry."

kiss.

"i'm so damn sorry."

"let me-" you stammer before yet another kiss.

his hands work swiftly to open the door, you stumble back until you hit the bed, your hands gripping onto his shoulders. you don't know if you want your breath back, because one thing's for sure, you miss him taking it away.

finally, he pulls away only to quickly move down to your neck, "kento- wait..." you breathe out, almost a gasp as you grip onto his hair, "hey..."

"for my peace of mind, please let me pay back for all the nights i made you sleep alone," kiss, "the forgotten dates," kiss, "the cold love," kiss, "sorry for leaving you empty."

you feel his warm hands burn down across your sides, trailing down to your aching hole, making you yelp. his legs were in between yours, "kento!" you gasp as he pushes his hands into your sweats and into your underwear.

"i want you to hear it before i get drunk on you," he rasps out, his middle finger circling your entrance, "i love you," he murmurs, "i love you so much."

he slowly pushes his fingers into you, stretching you out. he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck as he shuts his eyes tight, feeling you tight around his digits. god, he just wants to bury himself inside you.

but he'd be too greedy, no? hold yourself together, kento. he hisses against your skin, curling his fingers inside you. "you're so tight..." he grumbles out, "do you want me to stop?" he asks lowly, his fingers stopping.

"are you serious?" you mutter, breathless though feeling as if the tension now cracked, "i'm just... loosening up, we haven't done this in a while." you frown.

a slight red flushes against his ears at your words, "i'm sorry." he huffs out before slowly picking up the pace once more. "i just... wanted to make sure."

you roll your eyes at his words, though truly appreciating the sentiment, "just keep going." you groan, circling your hips eagerly.

his pride beams at this. at the fact you're still eachothers. he pulls his hand out of the fabric momentarily, and a small mewl escapes you as he pulls back.

he raises his arm to take off his watch, then rolling up his sleeves to his elbows before getting back down to work. he knows you love it when he does that.

you lay, aching desperately for him as he inches off your bottoms, sliding them from your legs and throwing them aside. you eye the growing bulge in his pants, a mischievous grin creeping onto your lips.

"i think it's okay now," you announce abruptly as his fingers hover over your entrance, "what?" he asks in a stammer, "—i mean, you can put it in now."

"but it'll hurt." he quietly fights back as he rests his hands on your hips. "aren't you desperate?" you teased, reaching down to his hardened arousal, eliciting a low groan from him.

"see? you'll do good for the both of us if you just put it in."

he hisses, his fingers fisting the sheets. he's struggling. really struggling.

"my love- please-"

you continue to grind your filthy little fingers against him.

"c'mon kento, you know we both want it."

your fingers slowly inch towards his belt, unbuckling it, then pulling it off teasingly. next, you slowly unzip his pants and he makes no move to stop you.

"you can do it on your own now can't you?" you grin, pulling your hand away. his jaw tenses, staying silent before he begins to slowly pull the fabric down.

you chuckle, watching as he let it hang below his hips, just enough to reveal his desperate cock. he feels your stare, "do you want to touch it?" he laughs lowly.

it sinks even deeper, he finally realizes how much his own body has been craving you. you reach out, wrapping your hands around his length, pumping slowly.

he throws his head back, deep growls reverberating from his throat as his dick twitches under your touch. your thumb slides across the tip to spread the beading precum, using it as lube.

"haah..." he breathes out, his chest heaving, "that must be enough..." he murmurs impatiently as he brings his head back down to look at you, pulling your hand away from his arousal.

"oh so you're getting bold." you giggle as he positions himself against you, feeling the tip of his dick nudge against your entrance.

"didn't you want that?" he shoots back, holding your hips firmly as he slowly, gently pushes into you. his jaw and muscles tense at the sensation, fuck.

"hng!" you whine softly, feeling the size invade your long untouched hole, your legs shivering before you realize he's been still for too long, "hey, why aren't you moving?" you frown, observing him.

you notice his torso twitching, you look up to see his creased beows and small beads of sweat forming at his forehead, you can't help but let out a cut laugh. "kento... are you already going to..." you laugh, clenching around him, making him sigh.

"st-stop that..." he huffs out, trying to compose himself, "it's just- been long okay?" he excuses as you wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, "ngh- shit! don't-" he stammers, his dick twitching around your tight muscle.

"okay- okay, i'll move..." he speaks with halfhearted confidence as he begins to slowly pull out before slamming back inside, "so... tight..." he mutters under his breath.

"uff..." you watch as his cock slides in and out of you, your fingers clawing at his forearms as you feel each and every inch of him, "have you... ever considered the fact you're just big?" you wittily reply, throwing your head back.

"it's alright though isn't it? you've always been able to take me." he groans, nuzzling his head against the crook of your neck once more as he begins picking up the face.

"ah- ah-" your moans slip out in time with his thrusts. "and... you always practically suck me in, such a greedy little thing." he rasps out as he feels your heat grip him, the resistance of your muscle driving him crazy.

you slowly feel a familiar feeling building in your stomach, and in sync, his fingers tighten on your hips, he's close too. his pace slowly falls out of a pattern, becoming more erratic than controlled.

"k-kento..." you moan, "i-i'm close..." your voice breaks in the words as his teeth nip at your neck. "i know, i know, me too." his warm breath trickling down your neck as he leaves light marks on the tender skin.

closer, closer... just a bit more. his hips drive into you, with the only goal of hitting that sweet spot. he moans quietly against you as he pumps himself, "i'm gonna cum- take it all for me, okay? take it all-" he growls as he buries himself to the hilt.

a whine escapes your mouth as your body writhes under him, that knot in your stomach finally snapping as you feel his warm seed fill you up. he keeps you close, basking in the afterglow.

"you did so good, so good." he whispers, kissing your cheek as he caresses your face tenderly, his cock subtly twitching inside you as you feel bits of cum drip down your ass.

god how you missed him whispering in your ear like this. how you missed all of this.

"again..." you murmur.

have to make up for lost time, no?

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

this is obviously self indulgent 🤤🤤🤤 nanami fics r going extinct so i had to take matters into my own hands, first time fully writing the sex hope i did good 😈😈

[willowcried]

being quinnie’s little lapdog.

the auditorium.

the only place she allowed you to talk to her at school. anywhere else was completely prohibited. she told you that on day one.

if you tried to talk to her in the hallways, she wouldn’t even acknowledge you. you learned that the hard way, when she left you there like an wet puppy while she walked past, barely sparing you a glance. you didn’t think she was actually serious.

she would apologize later, sure—murmuring quiet sorry, baby’s while kissing your stupid face, as she usually called it, curling her fingers around the collar of your sweater before making you lose it. that’s when she’d let herself be soft, let her nails drag gently along your jaw, let her voice drop into something warm, something just for you. she’d kiss you slow, teasing, until your head spun, until your hands trembled where they held onto her waist.

and then, just when you thought she might actually mean it—just when you thought maybe she felt something real—she’d pull away with that knowing smirk, dragging her thumb across your kiss-dazed lips harshly before fixing her cardigan like nothing happened.

you understood, though.

she was hurt after puckerman, obviously. she needed control back in her life. she needed this—you—on her terms. not because she liked having you as a pet.

that’s what you told yourself, anyway.

today, she’s late. your fingers nervously drum on the random seat you chose in the big auditorium. glancing at your cellphone for the third time, your leg bounces up and down but you hate skipping class. even though she was the reason why you did it, your mind was stressed, thinking about the missing lessons just for quinn.

of course it had its perks, though. depending on your luck, sometimes she was nice, running her fingers through your hair the way you liked, teasing you about your sweater choices, calling you cute in that whispery voice that made your brain short-circuit.

other times, she was mean. distant. late on purpose, like she wanted to see how long you’d wait before you gave up.

this seems to be the case today as she flings the door open, storming towards you with that look on her face that pretty much terrifies you. she stops in front of you, and you barely have time to open your mouth before— “what the hell is wrong with you?”

you blink. “i—what?”

she exhales sharply, rolling her eyes, like you’re exhausting her. like she doesn’t have you completely lost, going through your folder of memories to figure out what you did wrong.

“you know what, nerd.”

except you don’t.

quinn sighs, tilting her head back like she’s trying to rein herself in, and when she looks at you again, her eyes are sharp, expectant. “why were you looking at me in class?”

your lips part in realization. that’s what this was about? the stupid rules? “i wasn’t trying to—”

her eyes narrow. “so you admit it.”

shit.

“i’m sorry. i won’t do that again.” you swallow, voice quieter now. “i just liked the way you did your hair today.” you point with your index finger, suddenly hyperaware of how warm your face feels. “with the yellow— the little flower.”

“stupid. they could’ve found out.”

she always said that. you still didn’t understand how could a person connect so many dots by just one look. the no-talking- in-the-halls rule was understandable, but not being able to look at her?

you don’t say a thing about your thoughts, though. you know better.

“i’m really sorry, q.” you tug on her hand, pulling her closer to you until she’s standing between your legs.

you stare up at her, squeezing her hand when she doesn’t say anything after a beat—two beats, trying to get her to talk to you. it’s nonsense. you know it. she knows it, but that doesn’t stop her from remaining silent for another moment, just so she can look down at you some more, to make you impatient.

and you do. but then, just as you’re about to apologize again, quinn huffs, shaking her head. “idiot.”

before you can react, she’s on you. it’s sudden, the way she slants her mouth over yours, her hands gripping the back of your neck to pull you into her. you barely have time to adjust to the heat of her lips before she’s straddling you, sliding into your lap with ease, her body pressing against yours, drawing out of your throat the tiniest, most embarrassing sound against her lips while your fingers curl around her hips instinctively.

your glasses fog up from the rush of your breaths, but she’s quick enough to pull them on top of your head effortlessly the second they start getting in the way without breaking the kiss. her hands cradle your face, fingers threading into your hair as she deepens it.

[dyns33]

Family's fever

I have so many, sooo many, Alfie and his wife stories waiting to be posted.

It was only pain.

For a moment, Alfie wondered if he had died and gone to hell, where his body burned and caused him a martyrdom such as he had never known.

The first time was during the war. Between the trenches, the bombs, the fighting, it had completely destroyed his back, and it had never healed. As if he had stayed there. Maybe it would have been better.

A panting breath was heard on his right, but fatigue was stronger than his survival instinct. So Alfie remained motionless, waiting for the intruder to strike.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed, until a light made him wince, immediately soothed by a cold, damp cloth placed on his forehead and eyes.

"My poor darling, you are even hotter than yesterday."

The soft voice and the hand caressing his cheek almost made him forget the torture he had been living for several hours, at least enough for him to find the strength to move his eyelids enough to see what was around him.

First, he discovered that the danger blowing was a dog, which barked happily at seeing him awake, resting its big head on his hand.

The animal seemed familiar, like the room, but Alfie's foggy mind forgot his questions when he laid his eyes on the woman who was now sponging his sweaty neck.

"… I'm dead."

"Not yet, Alfie. But if this continues I'll call the doctor, no matter what you say."

"Doctors are quacks."

"Like you've been telling me since you caught that cold. And yet you did send one to my house when I was sick."

"I couldn't leave such a beautiful angel to die."

"Ah, maybe you're feeling a little better, you're talking nonsense again." she joked, massaging his shoulder.

However, Alfie wasn't joking, and he didn't understand why his angelic vision didn't take him seriously. He was very serious.

Never in his entire life had he seen such a beautiful woman. If he could have gotten up without crying out in pain, he would have taken her hand to kiss it reverently, before apologizing for having the impudence to touch her without permission.

Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong about his fever, because he laughed, repeating that he really was saying ridiculous things.

Obviously he was mumbling his thoughts without even realizing it. Or maybe it was madness. Alfie had always been a bit crazy, and being stuck with his brigade in the middle of the bombs hadn't helped matters.

His mind was still lucid enough to see the wedding ring on his angel's hand, though, and to know what it meant. Of course, such a woman was married. All the men had to grovel at her feet, begging her to be their wife, and one of them had been given the privilege of being chosen.

"Lucky bastard."

"If I make some soup, will you try to eat it ?"

"Anything for you, видение рая."

"Good. Thanks for finally being reasonable."

"I'll need strength to question your husband." he sighed, patting the dog on the head as it came closer to lick his face.

"…Excuse me ?"

"I wouldn't kill him, I wouldn't want to hurt your tender heart, but I have to check that he deserves you. And if he's not worthy, I should train him until he is."

"… Okay, I'll call the doctor. Cyril, stay here."

Obeying his mistress, the dog guarded the sick man despite his protests and pleas. Alfie would have liked her to stay by his side a little longer. There was no hope that he would see her again.

He frowned when a small man in his lab coat entered the room, putting his briefcase on a table and asking him a lot of questions. Damn doctor.

The man only got his attention when he turned to the angel and called her "Mrs. Solomons.", which made him frown even more.

Hmm.

Alfie knew only three "Mrs Solomons", his grandmother, may she rest in peace, who had always hated being called that, his poor mother who was no longer of this world either, and his sister who had long since taken the name of her stupid husband.

Even if he was not well, he could still recognize these three people, he was certain of it.

"He talked about having a discussion with my husband."

"Mr Solomons often speaks about himself in the third person… As he often speaks to himself."

"I agree, but could the fever be playing on his memory ?"

"You are me wife ?"

The sad smile she gave him as she came back to sit next to him seemed like a sufficient answer, but Alfie couldn't believe it.

Him, married to this perfect being ? Impossible, there had to be a mistake. Someone was playing a joke on him, there was no other explanation, or the devil had decided to punish him for all his sins by torturing him with a twisted scenario, mixing pain, sweetness and vain hope.

But Alfie didn't really believe in this bullshit, and he didn't see anyone suicidal enough to play such a trick on him.

"But why are you married to me, love ? Did I threaten you ? Did your father have debts ? Would I have become rich ? No, an angel like you doesn't marry an old fool like me even if he is rich."

"Maybe I fell in love." she sneered, capturing his attention enough for him to let the doctor take his pulse on his other arm.

"Ah ! I tricked you, my poor treacle ! I blinded you and made you sink into madness to have you. Damn me ! I mean, I am honored that you love me, even if using such subterfuge to have you is terrible."

"I knew exactly where I was going, don't worry. Doctor ?"

"He is simply exhausted by the fever and his back, which makes him delirious. But he will be better soon, I will write you a prescription."

Still not convinced that he could have married the one who was called Y/N, Alfie stared at her with wide eyes in silence, captivated by her every move and accepting everything she asked of him, wisely eating his soup, taking his medicine and letting her change his soaked shirt.

He thought he was going to have a heart attack when she entered the room in her nightgown, lying against him, her head on his shoulder.

"Try to sleep, okay ?"

"But if I sleep, you might disappear." he whispered like a child.

"My sweet idiot. I promise to be here tomorrow morning, sleep now."

As promised, Y/N was still there when he woke up, noticing that his fever had gone down and his memories had returned.

She gently mocked the event when he had fully recovered, and even though he claimed not to see what she was talking about, unable to not make the pout that always betrayed him whenever he tried to hide something from his wife.

Alfie was not ashamed of having been sick. He was still human. He wasn't ashamed of saying strange things either, because it wasn't a change from his usual behavior, nor of falling madly in love with Y/N ​​again, which was perfectly normal.

What he didn't like was the expression on her face when she realized he wasn't joking when he said he didn't know who she was.

"I was worried, you know."

"I know, love. Sorry."

"You really need to stop covering up all over London when it rains."

"Tell your brothers to stop making trouble all over London and I can stay in my office."

"At least this time you were a decent patient. All the other times, you were impossible to hold, refusing to stay in bed and not scare the doctor away. Do you have to take me for someone else's wife to listen to me ?"

"Of course not." he mumbled, pulling her closer. "Other times, I was only able to handle myself, you didn't need to waste your time on me."

"I never waste my time on you, Alfie."

Ah, Y/N. His sweet love. Of course he had taken her for an angel fallen from the sky. That was kind of what she was, even if it wasn't God but Thomas fucking Shelby who had put her on his path.

No doubt her brother was still as shocked as he was that she could have fallen for the idiot he was.

Even in good health, Alfie sometimes wondered how he had done it, how fate had been able to give him such a gift.

"Stop mumbling nonsense, Ollie is waiting for us outside."

"Yes, мой ангел."

Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile, guessing what he had said and taking his hand to urge him to leave their house, because she knew very well that if she gave him time, he would have pulled her even further onto the couch, and they would have been very late.

[scriptedinkbyxim]

Past the Finish Line: Into the Chicane [MV1]

Amidst the glitz and chaos of the F1 world and a very tense 2024 season, Max Verstappen and (Y/N) Sainz relationship faces a pivotal challenge. As racing pressures mount and emotions run wild, a moment of heartbreak leaves them questioning if love and ambition can coexist.

Pairings: Max Verstappen x Sainz! Female Reader

Warnings: Angst, So much Angst. Commitment Issues. Allusions to sex but nothing explicit. No happy ending.

A/N: Hi, Xim here. This is my first published fic and I hope you enjoy it. English is not my first language so apologies in advance for any mistake. This is pt. 1 of a three part mini series but can be read as a standalone.

Part 2. | Part 3.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

How did we end up here?

It was a question without an answer, one that lingered in the silence between them, thick and suffocating like the humid Budapest air pressing against the hotel windows. The suite was bathed in golden light from the city outside, reflecting the neon glow of the Hungarian Grand Prix weekend, but inside, the atmosphere was anything but warm.

Max stood with his hands on his hips, his jaw clenched so tightly that the veins in his neck were visible. (Y/N), across from him, arms crossed over her chest, blinking back the sting of tears that she refused to let fall.

Love was supposed to be a partnership.

It was supposed to be about growing together, supporting each other, facing life’s uncertainties as a unit. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough. Sometimes, no matter how much history two people shared, no matter how deeply they had intertwined their lives, love alone couldn’t bridge the gaps that formed between them.

It had started with something small. It always did.

A simple question, an offhand comment.

She had been scrolling through her phone at the hotel, the post-race adrenaline still pulsing through her veins. The results had been disappointing, and she knew Max was frustrated—knew the weight of the season was pressing down on him more than ever.

But then she saw the article.

Verstappen Focused on Career, No Interest in Settling Down Yet.

She laughed. Not because it was funny, but because of how absurd it was. The media speculated all the time, twisting words, exaggerating things—but this? This wasn’t an exaggeration. This was him, in his own words, saying everything she had feared.

“You could’ve at least warned me before telling the world you have ‘no interest’ in a future with me,” she had said, tossing her phone onto the coffee table.

Max had barely looked up from where he was unlacing his shoes. “What are you talking about?”

She grabbed her phone again, shoving it toward him. “This.”

He skimmed the article, expression unreadable. “It’s just media nonsense.”

“Max.” She crossed her arms, pressing her lips together. “It’s your quote.”

He exhaled sharply, tossing his shoes aside before leaning back against the couch. “I told them what I’ve been saying for years. My focus is on racing. Everything else can wait.”

Her stomach twisted. “Everything else?”

He looked at her then, brows furrowed. “You know what I mean.”

Did she?

Because standing here, listening to him say it like that—like their future was something to be indefinitely postponed, something unimportant—it didn’t feel like she knew anything at all.

“Do I?” she asked, voice sharp. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like I’m just supposed to keep waiting while you decide if I fit into your perfect little plan.”

Max ran a hand down his face, already exasperated. “Why are you making this a big deal? You know how important this season is.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “I know how important racing is to you, Max. I’ve always known.”

It was the unspoken part that stung.

But do you know how important I am?

His silence answered that question for her.

φ

AUSTRALIA, 2015

The first time she met Max, he was just a boy with sharp blue eyes and a cocky grin, standing next to her older brother in the paddock. She had been fifteen, barely old enough to understand the world she had grown up in, but something about him had intrigued her.

Carlos had been the one to introduce them, laughing when Max—seventeen and already making a name for himself—had barely glanced at her before shaking her hand with a distracted nod.

She had rolled her eyes, unimpressed, and muttered something in Spanish under her breath. Whatever it was, it had caught Max’s attention, and for the first time, he had really looked at her.

“You speak Spanish?” he had asked.

“She’s my sister,” Carlos deadpanned. “Of course she does.”

Max now had a flirty smirk. Carlos had groaned, but (Y/N) just laughed, not knowing then that this arrogant Dutch boy would become the love of her life.

φ

They had fought before. God, they had fought. Stubbornness was ingrained in both of them, but this wasn’t like before. This wasn’t an argument that would end in tangled limbs and whispered apologies in the dark. This was something breaking—cracking apart at the seams, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hold it together.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Max’s voice was sharp, edged with frustration, exhaustion, and something deeper—something that made her stomach twist painfully. “You think now is the time for this? Right now, when everything is going to shit?”

(Y/N) inhaled sharply, nails digging into her palms. “I think now is the time because I can’t keep waiting for a ‘right’ moment that never comes.”

Max scoffed, running a hand through his disheveled hair, already damp from the heat. “So what? You want me to deflect from the championship with this? With fucking marriage and kids?”

The words were a slap.

She staggered under the weight of them, blinking as if that would somehow make them disappear. He didn’t mean it, she told herself. He was angry. Stressed. But the way he was looking at her—like she was asking for something outrageous, something unreasonable—made her chest ache in a way she hadn’t felt before.

“I’ve been with you for eight years,” she whispered, voice shaking despite herself. “Through everything. I have given you everything, Max. And you act like I’m some… inconvenience?”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He just stared at her, expression unreadable, and suddenly she was drowning in memories.

φ

SILVERSTONE, 2019

The energy at Silverstone was electric, the summer air thick with heat and anticipation. The race had been brutal—wheel-to-wheel battles, aggressive overtakes, and tensions running high.

(Y/N) had been in the paddock, watching the post-race interviews, still grinning from the chaos on track. Max had fought like hell against Charles, the two nearly colliding more times than she could count.

Carlos, standing beside her, let out a low whistle. “That was some proper racing.”

“Some proper reckless racing,” Lando chimed in, shaking his head with a smirk. “I swear, those two act like they have a personal vendetta.”

(Y/N) laughed, arms crossed as she watched Max approach from the media pen, Charles a few steps behind him. The Monegasque caught her eye first, giving her a knowing look. “You should keep your boyfriend in check. He drives like a lunatic.”

Max, overhearing, scoffed. “And you don’t?”

She stepped between them, rolling her eyes. “Are you two seriously arguing again? You just got out of the car.”

Charles smirked. “It’s called passion, Dolcezza.”

She shook her head but smiled, glancing at Lando, who was already pulling out his phone to film whatever chaos was about to unfold.

Then she felt Max’s arm loop around her waist, pulling her into his side. It was natural, instinctive—like muscle memory.

She looked up at him, arching a brow. “What are you doing?”

“Reminding Charles that you’re mine,” he said, smirking.

She rolled her eyes, but her heart fluttered anyway.

Lando, never missing an opportunity, pointed his phone at them. “Aww, look at you two. So cute.”

Carlos clapped Max on the back. “Alright, lover boy. Let’s go debrief before you and Charles start throwing punches.”

As the group walked off, she stayed behind for a second, looking back at the track. The adrenaline, the heat, the pure joy of racing—it was everything Max loved.

And she loved him.

Back then, she had believed that was enough.

φ

“Do you remember Silverstone?” she asked suddenly, voice thick with emotion breaking the silence.

Max blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“2019. After the race.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

She let out a shaky breath. “Because back then, you wanted me by your side. You wanted a future with me. And now…” She gestured helplessly between them. “Now I don’t even know if I fit into your life anymore.”

Max stepped forward, frustration flashing in his eyes. “That’s not fair, Schatje. You know I want you with me.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Do I? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is a man who only prioritizes me when it’s convenient.”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Her voice cracked. “You’ve built your entire life around racing, Max. And I’ve let you. I’ve supported you through everything, sacrificed parts of myself just to be what you needed. But when do I get to be a priority? Do you even think about a future with me anymore?”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Max exhaled, shaking his head. “I can’t do this right now.”

She flinched.

Not I don’t want to lose you.

Not We can figure this out.

Just I can’t do this right now.

And that was all she needed to hear.

She looked out the window as the sun set, trying to hold on to the remaining pieces of their relationship.

φ

BARCELONA, 2016

It happened in Barcelona, after the race. It wasn’t anything grand or cinematic. No fireworks, no dramatic declarations of love—just two teenagers who had spent months circling each other, neither willing to admit what had been obvious to everyone around them.

They had been walking through the Red Bull hospitality area late at night, the paddock nearly empty. (Y/N) had teased him about his race start, and he had nudged her shoulder in response, grumbling about how she and Carlos always ganged up on him.

Then, suddenly, the air shifted.

She had looked up at him, at those sharp blue eyes, and for the first time, there had been no hesitation. No fear.

He had kissed her like he had been waiting to do it forever.

And maybe he had.

φ

Max exhaled harshly, shaking his head as if trying to take back his last words.

She let out a bitter laugh, stepping away from him, away from the suffocating weight of this argument. Her hands trembled as she wiped at her face, furious with herself for letting the tears slip free.

“I was there when you won your first race,” she said, voice quiet now, laced with pain. “I was there for your first pole, your first championship. I put my career—my life—on hold for you because I believed in us. I believed in you.”

Max flinched, just barely, but it was enough. Enough for her to see that he knew—deep down—she was right.

And yet, when he spoke again, his voice was cold. “I can’t afford distractions right now. Not with the way this season is going.”

φ

ABU DHABI, 2021

She had been in the garage, hands clasped together so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. The final lap. The final chance.

And then—Max had done it. He was an F1 World Champion.

She had barely had time to react before he was running toward her, before she was in his arms, laughter and tears mixing as he spun her around.

“You did it,” she whispered against his shoulder.

He had pulled back just enough to press his forehead against hers, grinning like a madman. “We did it Schatje.”

At that moment (Y/N) felt as if they were in heaven, as if with Max everything was possible. Nothing indicated otherwise, she was in heaven and nothing could have prepared her for the fall.

φ

Now she felt like a fool. 

His words echoed in his head like torment.

Distraction.

That was all she was to him.

She had loved Max since she was sixteen. Supported him through every win, every loss, every moment of doubt. And now, when she was finally asking for something in return, he was acting like she was asking for the impossible.

“I’m not saying we have to get married and start having kids tomorrow,” she said, voice tight. “I’m saying that after eight years, I need to know if there’s a future here. If I even matter to you beyond being someone who follows you around from race to race.”

Max exhaled harshly, shaking his head. “You know you matter to me.”

“Do I?” she challenged. “Because it doesn’t feel like it, Max. It feels like I’m just another part of your career, like I exist to be there for you but never the other way around.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

(Y/N) stared at him, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, and suddenly it was so clear. There was no answer to the question that had haunted her since the fight started.

How did we end up here?

She took a step back, then another, and Max didn’t move. Didn’t reach for her.

And that was it. That was all she needed to know.

“I hope you win,” she said, her voice hollow. “I really do. Because if you don’t, then you’ve lost everything for nothing.”

Then she turned and walked away, leaving behind the man she had loved for eight years and the life she had built around him.

As the door clicked shut behind her, leaving nothing but the ghost of her presence and the sharp scent of her perfume in its wake, Max remained motionless. The silence in the hotel room felt suffocating now, pressing against his ribs with the weight of unsaid things. I hope you win. The words rang in his ears, curling around his thoughts like a vice, and for the first time in his life, victory felt like a consolation prize rather than a triumph. 

He exhaled, slow and measured, running a hand through his hair as if to steady himself, but the ache in his chest remained—something raw, something unresolved. He should have stopped her. He should have said something. But all that remained was the quiet hum of the city outside and the space where she had stood, her absence louder than any of the words they had spoken. What had he just done?

φ

MONACO, 2024 – ONE WEEK LATER.

(Y/N) moved through their apartment with practiced efficiency, collecting the last of her things. The space was eerily silent without Max’s presence—no sound of him pacing while on the phone with his agent, no distant hum of the simulator running late into the night.

She had always loved this apartment. It had been their home together, the place where they had grown from teenagers in love to adults navigating life side by side. Every corner held a memory—a lazy morning spent tangled in bed, a quiet evening watching the sunset from their balcony, a passionate night lost in each other's bodies, the scent of Max’s cologne lingering in the hallway.

But now, all those memories felt like ghosts.

She moved to the dresser, opening the top drawer. His shirts were still there, neatly folded. She hesitated before picking one up, pressing the fabric between her fingers.

It smelled like him. Like home.

Her breath hitched.

She had fought for them. She had given everything.

And Max… he had let her.

She placed the shirt back, smoothing it down with trembling fingers before shutting the drawer.

There was nothing left for her here.

Her clothes were gone from the closet. The photos of them that had once decorated the walls had been packed away. It was as if she had never been there.

And maybe that was fitting.

Maybe, in the end, she had always been a ghost in his life—something present but never permanent.

She exhaled shakily, picking up her bags. The apartment door loomed before her, the final threshold between the life she had built and the unknown future waiting beyond it.

As (Y/N) stood in the doorway one last time, she hesitated—just for a second.

φ

MONACO, 2020

The apartment smelled of fresh paint and new beginnings. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the living room in golden afternoon light, the Mediterranean stretching endlessly beyond the balcony. (Y/N) stood in the middle of the half-unpacked chaos, a cardboard box in her hands, watching as Max struggled with assembling a bookshelf. His brows were furrowed in frustration, lips pressed into a thin line as he fumbled with the instructions.

"You know, for someone who drives at 300 kilometers per hour, you’re really bad at putting things together," she teased, biting back a laugh.

Max shot her a glare before tossing the manual aside. "I don’t need instructions," he huffed.

(Y/N) arched her brow. "That’s exactly what someone who definitely needs instructions would say."

With a sigh, Max slumped onto the floor, running a hand through his hair. "I hate this already."

She set the box down and moved to sit beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers. "Maybe if you let me help—"

He turned his head slightly, eyes softening as he looked at her. "You’re really here," he murmured, as if the reality of it was only just sinking in.

She tilted her head, amusement fading into something more tender. "Of course, I’m here. I wouldn’t be anywhere else."

The pandemic had changed everything. Racing was postponed, the world had slowed down, and in the stillness of it all, they had found themselves craving something more permanent. She had just finished her literature degree, unsure of what came next, but when Max asked her to move in, the answer had been easy.

"Are you sure about this?" he had asked her a week before, voice hesitant over the phone.

She had smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. "Max, I’ve basically lived in airports and hotel rooms with you for years. At least this way, I finally get a closet of my own. Besides, I can't spend another minute with my brother and Dad while on lockdown." She said with a laugh, Carlos protests could be heard in the Background.

Now, sitting in their new apartment, surrounded by boxes of their intertwined lives, she reached for his hand. "I think we’re going to be really happy here," she said, squeezing his fingers.

Max exhaled, leaning his forehead against hers. "Yeah," he murmured. "Me too Shatje. Me too."

And for a long time, they were.

φ

How did we end up here?

The truth was simple. She already knew.

She had loved him more than she had loved herself.

Love wasn’t always enough.

People grew, evolved, sometimes in different directions. Some fights were worth having, but others—others only proved how much two people had already lost.

Love wasn’t enough for them. No matter how much they had tried, no matter how much she had wanted to fight for them, it wasn’t enough.

And with that final thought and one last breath, she stepped forward, closing the door behind her, and walked away.

[ask-the-pioneer]

do you remember your father?? i mean, if you remember having one as a pup

"My other parent...?"

"I don't remember them... him... at all. I'm sorry." She says as if apologizing to herself. "Mom would never talk about him, and I was too young to even understand you need a mate to have pups, or that slugcats form colonies."

Marbles is lost in her thoughts again. You keep asking questions, and it unearths some of her long forgotten memories.

"There was this one time... me, my sibling, and mom, we got to observe a big noodlefly nest. I saw their delicious eggs hanging from the ceiling for the first time. When I asked mom about it, she explained that when two noots pair up, they lay their eggs in safe places so they could hatch. Little baby noodles attach to the parent's tail for safety. «Like slugcats!», she said. So, of course my tiny child mind pressed on. «Do slugpups hatch from eggs? Can I lay an egg? Can I eat egg? Was I a good egg?». Mom put up with my nonsense, I think she found it funny... until my brilliant child brain connected the dots, and asked «if I'm an egg, then who did she make me with». She hesitated, and the brief silence mixed with the look on her face is what seared that moment into my mind. «...With your father, of course. But, he's gone. Let's go get something to eat now. You want a blue fruit? I think we can get some of them down the pipe over there...», Mom blurted out as she took my hand in hers. I followed with «Why?», but she pretended not to hear it. In the end, my mind was quickly distracted from asking any more awkward questions by the promise of a tasty meal. I can't remember any other time my second parent was brought up again..."

[eightball-chronicles]

Cheering Up Daisuke!

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inspired by some absolutely delicious art by @al1en-invasi0n !!! check em out theyre so yummy :3

this MIGHT be my first time writing a tk fic (it is) so please don't bully me gangalang ,,, criticism is accepted just be nice to me [cry] also was writen on laptop so if the formats weird i apologize oops ...

lee!daisuke, ler!curly (NON SHIP !!!!!)

tw / cw : tks, starts off a wee bit sad, mention of jeopardy (j*mmy)

word count : 3151 under the cut

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"Get it through your goddamn skull! That vent is strictly off limits! Fully fuckin' collapsed inside!" 

It was safe to say that Swansea was pissed. Daisuke, just released from the emergency foam he'd accidentally triggered, was awkwardly shuffling in place as he received yet another earful from his mentor. He messed up, sure, but really? His legs hurt already from being trapped not too long ago, he didn't want his head to follow suit.  

"You looking to get impaled, electrocuted, and cooked?!" Swansea's usual scowl was far more intense than usual; it was obvious to Curly, at least. As captain, he knew he'd have to intervene soon. Before he could, however, Daisuke spoke out: 

"Yeah, but like, you can't fit in there to fix it, right? So I can totally handle it." 

An uncomfortable silence filled the utility room. the three men stood in as the younger's words marinated. Swansea's eye twitched, clearly agitated. Curly really needed to say something - if he doesn't, who knows what Swansea would- 

"Captain." 

He stiffened slightly, worried what the older man was planning.  Swansea extended his hand out to the captain, demanding the axe. Curly saw Daisuke twiddling his fingers from the corner of his eye. Both their heads moved in unison with Swansea's arm. "Swansea," Curly started, handing the mechanic the axe, "this could've damaged the pods. You can't let something like this happen again." 

"Yeah, yeah...I got it." Swansea took the axe and swung it to rest on his shoulder. "Loud and clear." Slightly less tense than before, Curly placed his hand on his hip. "Keep the axe until you've cleaned this all up, yeah?" Swansea nodded with a huff, shifting his attention to his intern. Who was still fidgeting his hands. He looked up shyly as he spoke: "It's ok to be big, boss! "My gramps was super huge! And he lived until, like, 60!" 

Oh shit. 

Curly nervously looked to Swansea, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Daisuke, unaware of the weight of his words, smiled softly. Curly's attention shifted when he noticed Jimmy standing by the utility room door. He saw it as a reason to excuse himself from the heavy tension between the two men before him. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Curly swiftly made his way towards his co-pilot. Daisuke, finally noticing Swansea's mood, silently cursed at his captain for abandoning him. And as soon as he did... 

Swansea went off. Yelling all sorts of nonsense about safety and protocol that Daisuke didn't care to hear for the thirteenth time that week. Instead, trying to focus his attention on the conversation taking place behind his mentor. Unfortunately, he found it to be quite difficult. Something about being sane, psych evals, Anya - what was that about cartoon horses? 

Just as the two men started to walk off, Swansea yelled louder, noticing his intern not listening. This brought a new wave of lecturing, and Daisuke was *not* having it. He didn't even care if Swansea said the winning lottery numbers, he just wanted him to shut up. Much to his dismay, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon... 

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Curly just sent Jimmy away after receiving a letter from the higherups. He reread its contents again, confirming what it said as if he had somehow misread the whole thing. Pony Express is shutting down? How could this happen? How will he tell the crew? Although instructed to not break the news until later, Curly was unsure if he could do that. Sighing heavily, the captain decided to get some fresh air. Well, not exactly - just whatever was breathable outside the weighty air of the cockpit. 

Ready to open the door at the end of the hallway, Curly was stopped by Swansea's presence behind it. He noticed something off immediately; his familiar frown replaced with a more concerned expression. Curly questioned it without a second thought, to which Swansea replied: "It's about Daisuke. After you left, I kind of went off. I...I think I went too hard on him. I've lectured him a bunch of times before, but he seemed more down this time." 

"Oh? How so?" Curly asked, putting a hand to his chin. Swansea shifted his weight before continuing: "After I run my mouth to him, he usually puts on this dramatic act and pouts when I dismiss him to go somewhere else. This time seemed different. I don't know how to explain it, but I think I hurt the kid." 

Swansea ended his explanation with a deep sigh as he lowered his head; he clearly felt guilty, and Curly understood as much. "Have you tried talking to him?" 

"I'm not too sure how thrilled he'd be to see me right now. I don't wanna scare the poor thing any more than I already have.  Plus, I don't know where he's at." 

Curly nodded before Swansea spoke up again. "Do you think you can talk to him?" The captain thought for a brief moment before reaching out to the worried man, patting his shoulder. "Of course I can. I'll go look for him and cheer him up, promise! You can go rest if you'd like, just make sure the foam in utility gets cleared up later, yeah?" 

To this, Swansea relaxed, wearing an uncommon smile. He nodded as he thanked Curly and walked off. The now determined captain headed off with a mission in mind; he was going to get Daisuke to smile, no matter the cost. 

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If you disregard the sobs, the cargo room was quiet. The vast space left a slight echo on Daisuke's cries. He sat on the stairs, head between his knees and arms around his shins. His mind ran as fast as the ship he resided on. Why was Swansea so much angrier than usual? He was just trying to help; he was his intern after all. Then again, he practically called him fat and kinda sorta maybe implied he would die at 60... 

Damn, why would he say that? 

At this point, Daisuke's thoughts were racing a million miles a minute. The grip on his pants tightened as he cried. God, he's a screwup. No wonder his parents sent him away on this internship. He was annoying at home, and he's annoying in space. Will he ever learn to keep his mouth shut? He was so lost in his head that he didn't hear the door open behind him, or the footsteps that followed it. 

"Daisuke?" 

Said boy jumped a foot as he frantically wiped his eyes. He turned to face the source of the voice, trying to put on an act and forced a smile. But that smile shook, and Curly noticed. "Hey, captain! What's up?"  

"I should be asking you that. Are you ok?" 

Daisuke flinched slightly, his fake smile faltered as his shoulders began to tremble again. "I...I-I just...Swansea..." He didn't get anything else out after that, nothing that was intelligible, at least. He broke down again, turning around and placed his head back on his knees. Curly frowned as he made his way to Daisuke. He sat to his left on the stairs, rubbing the boy's back as he tried to soothe him. He let him cry it out until he was left only sniffling. Only then did he decide to speak out. "C'mon Daisuke, talk to me. Swansea found me earlier and said you were down. What's wrong?" 

He let out a small whimper upon hearing his mentor's name. Shakily, he started: "I-I don't know, I should've just listened to him. I just wanted to help! B-but I screwed up...I-I could've gotten myself seriously hurt, o-or killed, or broken the pods! Those are like, s-super important! Even I know that, yet still acted c-carelessly. N-not only that, I totally offended S-Swansea! H-he probably hates m-me, I c-can't believe I said that...I'm a t-total f-failure, I-" He was getting more panicked as he spoke, voice as shaky as ever. Curly cut him off as he stopped rubbing his back and pulled the boy to him by his waist. Daisuke yelped slightly at the sudden change of contact, yet melted into the side hug.  

"Kid," Curly started, "do you know why Swansea talked to me?" He felt a slight head shake on his shoulder. "Because he was worried for you, Daisuke. He told me he went too hard on you; that he feels bad he might have hurt you. I've never seen a more guilty face on him. And trust me when I say that means a lot. I've worked with him for I don't even know how long. He didn't mean to - Daisuke?" 

His speech was cut when he heard small chortles from the boy in his arm. Curly glanced down, seeing his shoulders tremble once more, differently this time. "Did I...say something funny?" he asked, a confused smile on his face. Daisuke shook his head again, a hand over his mouth. "Nohoho, it's just - your hahand-" Curly's gaze shifted to where his hand resided on the intern's side; it had started subconsciously rubbing him there as it was on Daisuke's back. "What about my hand? Are you hurt here? Oh no, I'm so sor-" 

"No! No, it's not that. I'm not hurt." 

"Oh? Then what is it?" 

Daisuke felt his face heat up. Thank god Curly couldn't see his face. He shifted slightly, unsure how to answer. "I just - it's not - you didn't - uh..." He peeked up to the captain as he trailed off, where he was met with a genuinely concerned face. "I'm afraid I don't follow, you know you can tell me anything, ri-" 

"It just tickled is all..." He mumbled. 

"Come again?" 

With a whine, Daisuke buried his face further into his hand, leaning more onto Curly's shoulder. No matter how many times asked, he didn't say more. Curly, in attempt to get his attention, pinched the boy where his hand still laid; on his waist. What he didn't expect, however, was for Daisuke to chirp at the touch. Now it was Cury's turn to get his mind thinking. Which didn't last long, however, as Daisuke's squeaky voice spoke up: 

"IT TICKLED ALRIGHT?!" 

If he wasn't blushing before, he sure was now. Curly saw the back of Daisuke's neck turn bright pink. Realization struck him shortly after, where a mischievous grin appeared. To confirm the suspicion, Curly pinched his side again, earning another bird-like sound. Oh, he struck gold. 

"Daisuke...are you-" 

"Shut up!" 

Daisuke's neck was now a deep red, his face buried deep in his palms while his fingers grabbed at his hair. His captain walked in on him crying, then he continued to cry *on* his captain, and now this?! Could this be any more embarrassing?! Well, yes, it could. Curly pinched his side for a fourth time. Daisuke whipped his head towards him only to be met with a grin covering half of the blonde's face. "Oh, Daisuke...that isn't a very nice way to speak to your captain now, is it?" 

Fuck. He's cooked. 

"W-w-wait, I-I didn't me-EEHEHEAA!" 

Daisuke was interrupted by his own squeal as Curly opted for pinching at his waist repeatedly rather than in intervals. He instinctively curled in on himself; arms wrapped around his torso while he brought his knees to his chest. While trying to twist away from the offending hand, Daisuke unintentionally leaned into Curly, who went in with his other hand to pinch at the giggling boy's other side. 

He squealed again from the tickly assault suddenly appearing elsewhere. Daisuke started jumping left and right, trying to escape from one hand only to be attacked by the other. Curly switched to poking before long, as this made the younger let out soft snorts as he weakly kicked his legs. The captain chuckled under Daisuke's evergrowing laughter, finding his reactions amusing. "I just cannot believe you told me to shut up. I'm wounded, Daisuke, and your words are the blade. How could you say such a thing?!"  

Said boy could only whine in response, "I dihihidn't mehehean toooooo! C'mohohon cahaptahahahain!"  

"Oh really? And how can I be sure of that, hm?" 

"Plehehehease! I prohohomise! I'm sohohorry, I'm sorryyyyy!" 

"Hmmmm...let me think." Curly pondered dramatically *way* longer than needed as he continued to poke at the intern's torso. Daisuke continued to squeak and giggle as he 'spaced out thinking.' Suddenly, the blonde perked up, "Alright, I've thought about it! I'm not stopping~" He then proceeded to move both his hands to Daisuke's hips, massaging the bone tenderly. 

The reaction was instant. The brunette shot his arms down, body spasming on impact. Grabbing Curly's wrists, Daisuke cackled loudly, unable to control the volume of his voice. His legs now fully kicking out as he spoke, "AAAAAHAHAHA! SHIHIHIT! GOHOD DAMN IT CUHUHURLY STAHAHAHAP!" To this, he gasped loudly; he would've acted out clutching his pearls had his hands not been occupied. "And just who do you think you are?! Talking to me like this...you're awfully ballsy for someone in your position." 

Daisuke could only answer in giggly babbles, unable to get any coherent words out as his hip bones got circles drilled into them. Curly only clicked his tongue in mock annoyance and grabbed Daisuke's left arm with his right, lifting it up. In once swift motion, he left the boy more vulnerable than ever. He gave him a break during this - he didn't want to kill the kid. Taking in big gulps of air, Daisuke had yet to notice the position of his arm. Only when he tried to rub his eyes did he glance up. He knew what was coming. 

Panicked, he locked eyes with his captor, smile wide and bright as his face matched his complimentary floral shirt. "C'mohohon captain! Y-you knohow I didn't mean ihit right? Rihight! S-so let's juhuhust forget this ever happehened!" Daisuke tried to reason with him, but Curly was having none of it. On the contrary, he was having too much fun. "Nuh uh, kid. You've gotta learn how to speak to your superiors. Tsk, young ones these days thinking they're all that. Even though you crumble the second I do...*this*." 

As he finished, his free hand quickly snaked behind Daisuke, going straight to his ribs. He pinched, squeezed, poked; anything to get the brunette to squeal. And squeal he did; his bubbly laughter echoed in the ample space of the cargo room. He tried to grab Curly's hand with his free one, but the captain kept dodging, scratching a new rib in the process. He chuckled as he felt weak tugging on the arm he held up. " 

"Plehehehease, I'm sohorry! I sweahahahar! I-I mehehean it!" 

"Oh, are you now? And how can I believe that?" 

Daisuke groaned between giggles before he spoke, "I prohohomise! I promihihise I'm sohorry!" 

Curly lifted an eyebrow at the intern, his bright smile showing off the gap between his front teeth. The sight brought his own smile to grow in size. "Okay, let's say I believe you then. You're forgiven, bud." 

"Thehen why aren't yohohou stohohohoping?!" 

He chuckled at the naivety shown before him, shifting so he faced the boy before he answered, "Did you forget why I came here in the first place?" Daisuke whined in response, brain short circuiting as he felt fingers drilling into his torso, letting out a scream at his uppermost rib was attacked. "Oh c'mohohohohOHAHAH -  CURLY! Quit ihihit! That tickles!" 

Curly shook his head slightly, seeing the intern's blush deepen upon saying the word. "Sorry, Daisuke. Swansea said you were being gloomy earlier. We can't have that now, can we?" Said boy threw his head back as Curly formed a vibrating claw against the space between his highest rib and armpit. He snorted loudly from the sensation, barely able to form coherent words. "OKAHAY, OKAY! I'LL CHEHEHEHER UHUP! PROMISE! I PROHOMIHIHISE!" Daisuke ended his plea with a wheeze, laughter getting more strained. Curly saw this as a sign to wrap things up, slowing his fingers until the tickling came to a full stop. He let go of the boy's hand, where it fell to his side as he curled into himself next to his captain.  

Curly once again rubbed the younger's back, hoping he didn't go too far as he giggled between gasps of air. Daisuke held his sides, still feeling the tingly sensation on his body. Once his breathing calmed down a bit, Curly decided to speak up, "Are you alright? I didn't do too much, right?" He received a head shake in return; the redness on the boy's neck showed he was too flustered to speak. 

"You really shouldn't be too hard on yourself, you know? Swansea cares for you. He doesn't show it much, but he really does. Sure, he gets mad sometimes, but that's just who he is. Like I said earlier, he's the one who came to me about you; he was worried sick!" Daisuke glanced up at Curly's speech, eyes widened slightly with curiosity. "To tell you the truth," the blonde continued, "his own kids moved out a while ago. I think he misses them; not like he'd ever admit that, though. I have a suspicion that you remind him of them. Gets his dad-gears turning. His fatherly instincts probably kicked in earlier when you set off the foam. Do you get what I'm trying to say?" 

Daisuke nodded his head, a tiny nervous smile on his face as he took in the confession. Did Swansea really feel that way? "Do you really think that's true?" Curly's gaze met his, flashing him a proud grin; "I know it's true! Don't tell him I said anything, though. He'd deny it to the moon and back." To this Daisuke breathed a sigh of relief, letting a small chuckle slip. He sat up from his ball-like position to fully face Curly, returning the smile. "Thanks, captain!" 

The captain felt his heart slightly melt at the sight of the joyous boy. Wrapping his arm around him for another side hug, rustling his hair with his other hand. "No worries! I'll always be here. As long as you keep that attitude at bay. Don't think I won't put you in check, young man." Curly poked his side as he finished, earning one last squeak from the previously giggly intern. Daisuke jumped out of the captain's arms before he could try anything again, dramatically taking a defensive stance. He winked in his silly pose. "No promises~" he sang as he walked backwards to the door. It automatically opened, causing him to turn around and jump slightly. Curly stifled a laugh as Daisuke turned around, face slightly dusted pink. He stormed off, grumbling as he left the cargo room for good. Curly giggled to himself, still sat on the stairs, reflecting on his crew and each of their colorful personalities. 

Yup, he was glad to be captain. 

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hai guys ^-^ i hope yall enjoyed !!! i love daisuke sm hes my gf i love my gf ♡

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[unlosts]

two slow dancers, last ones out

Summary: Unrequited love and a wedding are not a good match, but a luckily you have someone there to keep you company.

2k words

The wedding fell into place like a house of cards tumbling down, in a rush and without much fanfare. JJs dress was lovely, because of course it was, a sea of ivory white twinkling almost as bright as her smile against the placid night air. Everyone was able to make it and despite it being planned with just a few hours to spare the night was as beautiful as one would hope. Beginning of spring ushering a new chapter and all that nonsense. 

Not that you were bitter about it. 

At all. 

Or at the very least you were trying really hard not to be, because they were a lovely couple. Will loved JJ, and JJ loved Will. 

The issue was that Spencer also seemed to love JJ. 

Again, not that you were bitter about it. 

After months of quiet pinning and frustrated yet unreciprocated glances you had called it quits, because it seemed like no matter how many 18th century poetry readings you attended with him, no matter how many early morning car rides or late nights spent talking in hushed tones side by side on the plane, you were simply never going to be the one he wanted. 

And you had come to terms with it. 

Really. 

The fresh heartbreak had been ushered out and been replaced by humiliation a long time ago, looking back you were sure everyone could tell how stupidly in love you had been and how utterly un-reciprocated it was. Every time you remembered how optimistic and doe eyed you had been about the whole thing, something bright and hot burned in the back of your eyes. It was all just so painfully juvenile and you swore you had left the doe eyes behind alongside your cheer uniform and locker combination. 

The night had an air of finality to it, you knew that in one way or another nothing would be the same again, and you didn’t want to miss it. Even if it meant swallowing your pride and staying with the wallflowers until closing time. 

It would have been easier to do an irish goodbye to the italian planned wedding and slip quietly out the front door but you saw Emily sharing a last dance with Derek and even spied Rossi watching over his hard word with suspiciously misty eyes and you knew you had to stay. 

With one hand wrapped over your midriff and the other held aloft, nursing a now lukewarm aperol spritz by the side of the dance floor, looking at everyone swaying to some old jazz ballad, the singer's soft crooning voice setting your teeth on edge. The feel of a drop of condensation traveling from  your hand through your forearm sending a chill down your spine. 

The gentle weight of a black jacket being draped over your shoulders snaps you out of your pathetic melancholy, the wedding suddenly snapping into sharp focus as the heady scent of a woody cologne blankets you. Two big hands softly squeeze your shoulders in a silent apology before Aaron Hotchner appears next to you, leaning against one of the white columns with his hands in his pockets. 

He scrutinizes you with clever brown eyes, his gaze softly traveling from your pursed lips to your down-turned brows and you know he’s got your number when he gives you a soft sympathetic smile. Just a quick turn of his lips that few people would catch, but you did, and the knowledge that he knows exactly what’s going on through your head makes you feel exposed all of the sudden, you slip your arms into the jack and clutch it to you like it could keep you hidden. 

But Hotch is … Hotch simply put and you know above all he would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. So he remains quiet next to you, only moving to press his side against you in silent comradery, the comforting heat radiating off of him seeping into you.  

“Want me to get you another one?” He asks, gesturing to your long forgotten drink. “It’s not often we get to free reign of Dave’s stash” You know he’s trying to cheer you up and you both know it’s failing miserably but you still appreciate the effort nonetheless. 

An awkward sort of silence falls between you both until you decide to ruin it, apparently. 

“So, where’s Beth?” Your question catches him off guard, he clears his throat and looks down for a second before catching your eyes. 

“We broke up, last week actually” He states matter of fact. You nod understandingly and don’t ask but he clarifies anyhow. 

“It was mutual, she had a lot going on at work-”

“Huh, go figure”

“and I was” he hesitates “preoccupied” He doesn’t seem to be distraught, telling you like he would the details of a case, objective and to the point. 

“Ahh, so you decided to join the singles corner, welcome we meet every Thursday” You raise your glass in a mock toast before finally putting it down on a nearby table. 

Hotch raises his eyebrows and it’s all it takes for you to deflate. 

“Sorry, you were being nice and I was just bitchy” You sigh, frustrated and maybe a little bit tipsier than you’d like. 

“That’s okay, you’re sad, it happens to the best of us”

“Even you?” 

He just lets out a self deprecating laugh before handing you a glass of scotch from a passing waiter. 

“You saw me after the divorce, I distinctly remember going into a burning house so I would say a couple of drinks more than you’re used to at a wedding of all places isn’t the worst way to go about it” 

“That’s different, you were married this is just…pathetic” There was no point dancing around it anyway, you both knew he was fully aware of what you were talking about. 

“Well someone once told me that as much as we’d like to, sometimes we have to sit in those feelings before they can go away” 

“What a load of new age shit, whoever told you that was a quack” You smile at him anyway, pleased that even after all this time he remembered that. 

“Hmm, I happen to think it was useful,” Hotch replies, taking the scotch from your hand and finishing it off. 

“Any more pearls of wisdom this oh so sage one imparted upon you?”

“Yes, other times the only thing you can do is pretend that everything is alright for a couple of minutes” He says, extending his hand towards you and gesturing towards the dance floor “what do you say?” 

“You should stop listening to her” You reply but still accept, his hand engulfing yours as he expertly leads you through a sea of couples until you’re far enough that you can’t really see anyone else from your team. 

He takes you into his arms, one goes to your back and the other takes you hand into his ,you're still wearing his jacket so you just rest your head against his chest and close your eyes. 

“...so” You say softly, your words muffled against his shirt. With your eyes closed and your head resting against his chest, you’ve given up dancing and are just content to be cocooned in his arms while he gently sways you both to the tune of the music. Whatever is playing now has long faded to the edge of your conscience, sounding far away. 

“Have you ever considered doing all of this again?” 

“Getting married?” This close together his voice reverberates pleasantly through your whole body, it feels as if you’ve both stepped into someone else’s wedding and you know each other here. 

“Yeah”

“What, you had your turn in the hot seat and now it’s my turn?”

“Yeah” 

After a beat he says admits it so softly that you have to strain to hear him properly

“I would have wanted to”

He had long ago decided to settle for the life he had, being a father had to come first, the rest was something he no longer got to want. Or something he wouldn’t admit he still wanted anyway. 

You raise your head briefly to look up at him, his tone sobering you up, because you know him, know what he meant. If you had looked just behind Hotch towards the other edge of the dance floor you would have caught Spencer's inquisitive gaze or Penelopes’ delighted one. But you don’t, you’re laser focused on Hotch searching in his eyes for something you can’t quite grasp, a way to convey that he needs to stop atoning for something he shouldn’t fault himself for in the first place. 

You fist your hands on the front of his shirt briefly before smoothing out the wrinkles with your palms.

“I didn’t ask about before, I’m asking about you now” 

“It’s not that easy” 

“It’s a yes or no question, so yes it actually is” 

He tilts his head back in frustration, looking up at the night sky like he’ll find the exact words he wants to use spelled for him. 

“That’s not something I get to want anymore” “You can’t punish yourself forever” 

He begins to say something but you cut him off before he can, his hands tightening around your waist

“Nor should you try” He gulps and looks away giving in “think whatever you want to think but I know you and I think you deserve to be happy again” 

“I thought you said I shouldn’t listen to you” 

“Momentary lapse in judgment”  You reply with a teasing smile, not wanting to fully fuck up his night “so?” 

“...Yes”   Somehow the admission of desire feels like a betrayal and a confession at the same time. Both freeing and terrifying. 

 You go back to swaying together, in sync with one another and standing out against the livelier rhythm of the couples around you. 

From this vantage point you study his profile, from his strong nose to his thick lashes and back to his jaw. You never really paid attention to him but right now under the tea lights it dawns on you how handsome he is. 

“What about you?” 

“Oh I’m joining a convent” He chuckles and you feel it move through you. It’s a rare sound nowadays. 

“You’ll find someone” Hotch says with a certainty you wished you could have

“That’s just what you say to make people feel better, it’s up there with yes those bangs look great on you or like when you tell little kids that they can be astronauts or whatever” 

“I know you’ll find someone because I don’t think anyone could meet you and not realize how extraordinary you are” He says in an almost whisper. 

“There is someone who, categorically, doesn’t realize it, in this very same room” 

“Could be he didn’t know you as well as you’d think”

“Could be” You concede. 

Some time has passed now, although you can’t pinpoint exactly how long, it feels like the rest of the world went quiet and this is all that’s left. The sweet honeyed lilies, fresh jasmines and heady sweet daffodils of the garden are in full bloom. The night sweetly perfumed as the petals gently swayed to and fro.

From across the garden you can see JJ slow dance with Will, he’s saying something to her and she’s all smiles.  You let your humiliation melt into fondness, the warmth you felt for her pulling you out of your melancholy. New beginnings and all that. 

[koiiiji]

too late

author’s note ; apology for this post (this one gonna be even more angst😈😈)

the bar filled with quiet jazz, the subdued warm light cast long shadows on the red and black walls. you’d almost forgotten why you agreed to be here — until Goo had spun some wild story about needing your help. “it’ll be a small favor,” he’d said, grinning in that easy way that made you drop your guard. “just a few minutes, promise.”

but as you glanced around, you caught sight of someone you hadn’t expected to see. Gitae Kim.

he stood by the bar, lounging as if he owned the place, a drink in one hand and his expression oozing that signature careless confidence. the years hadn’t changed him much, you thought, feeling your chest tighten. he looked a little older, sharper around the edges, but still had that smug, arrogant gleam in his eye.

before you could slip away into the darkness of the bar, Goo spotted you, waving you over with an excited grin. you froze, feeling the air around you thicken as Gitae turned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recognized you.

“what a surprise!” Goo drawled, giving you both an obnoxious wink. “didn’t know you two knew each other.” after a tense, long and silent pause, Goo quickly melted away, coming up with an excuse that he needs to meet someone else leaving you standing alone with the one person you’d hoped to avoid forever.

Gitae’s lips curled into a smirk. “long time no see, huh?” his tone was smooth, playful, but there was something in his gaze, something that stirred up memories you’d buried deep.

you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “yeah. it’s been a while.”

he tilted his head, eyes roving over you in a way that felt too familiar, too intense. “you look good,” he said, leaning in slightly, the smug amusement in his voice unmissable. “almost like you missed me.”

this bastard. “you’re delusional,” you shot back, hating how shaky your voice sounded, hating even more that he seemed to enjoy it.

“come on.” he shrugged, that lazy smile playing on his lips. “admit it. i bet you missed me, just a little.” his hand brushed against your arm, lingering for just a second too long, as if he wanted to keep you there, right within reach.

you recoiled slightly, a flood of memories hitting you hard — the fights, the bitterness, and the last night you’d seen him.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the door crashed open, Gitae storming in well past midnight, his eyes flicking over you with irritation as you stood waiting in the dim light. you’d stayed up, hoping, just hoping he’d actually be home for once, hoping you could talk, but one look at his face told you it wouldn’t be easy.

“you’re still awake?” he muttered, barely sparing you a glance as he tossed his jacket on the couch. did he have this leather jacket before? it reeked of blood.

“of course i’m awake,” you snapped, anger and heartbreak mixing in your voice. “you haven’t been home before three a.m. in weeks, Gitae. you’re shutting me out like i don’t even matter to you anymore.”

he laughed, low and humorless, rolling his eyes. “oh, so this is what you were waiting up for? to nag me about my schedule again?” he sneered, voice dripping with contempt. “don’t you have anything better to do?”

“better than worrying about us?” you threw back, your voice rising with frustration. “you used to care about this, about us, but now you’re never here, never talk to me. it’s like… it’s like you’d rather i just disappear.”

“don't speak nonsense” he chuckled, but his gaze cold and unfeeling. “if i wanted to, i wouldn't be here anymore”

after a small pause he add “why do you even make this a big deal? i don’t need you waiting up, checking in on me like i’m a child. i have my own life outside of you, you know.”

“your own life? Gitae, you used to want to be here!” you shot back, your voice rising in frustration. “you used to be a part of this home, part of us. and now… it’s like you’d rather be anywhere else. you’ve shut me out.”

“god, you’re being so dramatic,” he snapped, his voice cutting. “it’s exhausting. every damn day, as if i owe you every second of my time.”

his words hit you like a slap, and something in you broke. “you know what? you’re not even a fraction of the man i thought you were. you’re turning into everything you hate — you’re becoming exactly like your father, and you don’t even see it!”

you knew what you just said. and you knew there would be consequences of this words. Gitae’s expression darkened, and in an instant, he crossed the room, fury in his eyes as he grabbed you, his hand tightening around your throat. “don’t you ever compare me to him,” he hissed, his voice cold, each word dripping with rage.

“then stop acting like him!” you shot back, even as your voice trembled.

for a moment, he just stared at you, fury and something else flickering in his eyes. then he just turning toward the door without a second glance.

you felt a surge of pain, an ache spreading through your throat, but you refused to let him leave, refused to let this end without answers. you staggered to your feet, getting in his way, your voice rising in desperation. “don’t you dare to walk out on me, Gitae! we have to finish this!”

he glared at you, his patience worn thin. “i’m done talking,” he said coldly, his tone laced with finality. when you didn’t move, he scowled and pushed you back, harder than he meant to.

the force sent you stumbling aside, the shock of it sharp as you bumped into nearby chest of drawer and fell to the floor. a blinding pain flaring in your abdomen. a strangled cry escaped you, and you clutched your stomach. tears streamed down your face, but gitae was already gone, the door slamming behind him, leaving you alone in the silence, the empty ache of loss flooding over you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you snapped back to the present, feeling his eyes on you, a strange glint in his gaze. he leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “you still look at me the same way. bet i’m still the one who gets under your skin, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you said, but it came out weak, unconvincing. his proximity, the warmth of his presence — it was too much, bringing back emotions you’d tried so hard to bury.

“ah, don’t be like that,” he murmured, voice softening as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. his touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the memory that lingered between you. “you know i can’t stay away from you.”

you tensed, feeling the weight of his gaze, of everything unsaid between you. did he really think he could just flirt his way back in, like none of it mattered?

he leaned back, folding his arms, eyes roving over you with a slight smirk. “so… what happened to you after i left? did you finally find some boring guy to settle down with?”

the question hung in the air, and suddenly, the ache in your chest returned, sharper this time. your hand drifted to your stomach instinctively, as if trying to soothe a loss he’d never know.

Gitae’s eyes followed the motion, his expression shifting from amusement to confusion. he tilted his head, “wait… don’t tell me you actually…” his voice trailed off, something cold settling in his eyes. “…a kid?”

you shook your head slowly, feeling the weight of everything you hadn’t said pressing down on you. “no,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “it didn’t… last.”

realization dawned on him, his expression faltering as Gitae pieced it together. he turned pale, something almost like regret was on his face. his eyes flicked back to your hand, lingering there as if he could see the invisible scar you carried.

“you…” his voice was barely a whisper, a strange mix of disbelief and something else, something that almost looked like guilt. he swallowed hard, shifting his weight as if the air around him had grown too heavy. “i didn’t know.”

the words hung between you, empty and hollow. of course he hadn’t known. back then he’d walked out without a second thought, leaving you to face it alone, to deal with the loss and the pain in silence.

for once, he was silent, his usual arrogance muted as he looked at you, really looked at you, as if seeing you for the first time. you could see the faint crack in his facade, the way his jaw tightened, the brief flicker of something like shame in his gaze.

but then, almost as quickly as it had come, Gitae forced a crooked grin, slipping back into that casual arrogance like it was a second skin. “well,” he muttered, grabbing his glass again, “guess we all have our regrets, huh?”

it was a pathetic attempt to cover his own discomfort, and you felt a wave of anger rise in your chest, fierce and unrelenting. he’d always been like this, brushing off everything that didn’t fit his image of himself, refusing to acknowledge the damage he left in his wake.

“yeah,” you replied, voice icy, “but not everyone gets to walk away from them.”

for a moment, his mask faltered, his gaze darkening as he opened his mouth to respond. but no words came. maybe, for once, he was realizing the weight of what he’d done.

“you think you can just act like nothing happened, that it was all just a rough patch?” you said, your voice shaking. “i had to deal with everything alone because of you.”

his mouth opened, but this time, no smug comeback, no deflection. he looked away, the faintest hint of regret in his eyes, like he was grappling with a truth he didn’t want to accept.

“i’m sorry,” he murmured finally, voice barely audible, as if the words were foreign to him. but you could see in his gaze that it wasn’t enough, that he still didn’t understand, not fully.

you shook your head, taking a step back. “it's too late, Gitae. too late for apologies.”

he reached out as if to stop you, his eyes searching yours, maybe looking for something he couldn’t name. but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of another word. turning, you walked away, leaving him alone with the weight of a regret he would never fully admit.

MASTERLIST