#but instead like he was trying to smooth out his bitterness. or so my eyes and brain and heart tell me.

[found--family]

am i the only one who sensed some jilted lover vibes from jensen? 

[tojikai]

Sundered (Alt. Ending): CRUSH

Pairing: Gojo x reader - Toji x reader (this part)

• Part 1  |  Part 2   | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Alt. Ending

Sundered+ (COMMISSION)

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments

word count: 5.8k

a/n: here it is! (it's late, sorry. not proofread too😭) im forever grateful to you all who waited and supported the sundered series and for supporting my other stories too. i cant do much but this means so much. ily.

If you never talk to him again, he will miss you forever.

“Do I not deserve it?” You asked him, almost flinching at your words when you promised yourself you’d never ask anyone that. Toji sighed, taking both of your hands and bringing them to his lips. “Not this. You deserve more than this. You deserve to be genuinely happy without sacrificing anything, without feeling spent.”

Your brows furrowed, trying to contain another flood of tears threatening to overflow from your already swollen eyes. Why does it always have to be so hard when it's you? When it was Satoru who tried to move on, he did with Naomi. You wouldn’t say it was a breeze for them but you just know it was never this hard.

Naomi and Satoru stayed together for a year, being the family you couldn’t give your child. And now you, you couldn’t even make it work with Toji. Why do you always have to feel stuck? Why does he refuse to take your hand and pull you out of this void that is slowly sucking you down?

Along with these thoughts, you felt a squeeze in your hand. “Y/N?” Toji called, “Y/N, it’s gonna be alright.”  No, it’s not, you thought. The roof of your mouth tastes bitter against your tongue; so bitter that it burns. “It’s not. But it’s alright. I just don’t want you to feel burdened with this, alright?” You reached up to his face, eyes wandering.

“I’m sorry.” You felt selfish. You felt so selfish for not thinking about how this void of yours could pull him down with you instead of him pulling you up. You felt so selfish for wanting him to keep hurting just so you could feel safe. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, I didn’t realize it would be this hard on you too.” Your throat feels tight all of a sudden.

You stepped away from him, sniffing as you wiped your tears away. You couldn’t remember what else he said, you couldn't remember how you ended up in that room alone, crying as you clutched your chest, blaming yourself for wearing out such a good man.

You couldn’t remember, or more like you chose not to carve into your memory how that day ended. The only image you can see in your head is how he cuddled you to sleep, woke you up to eat with him and the kids, and went home. You remember him saying that they could always visit. And you hated yourself for doubting him.

Now you smooth out the bed, rearranging the pillows and gaslighting yourself that you’ve been the only one sleeping on it all this time just so it wouldn't feel so unfamiliar. You changed the sheets and prayed you wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for the man you love. 

And the fact that this wouldn’t be the first time that you would do so…

You remembered how you would wake up and break down at midnights during the first few months of your separation from Satoru, weeping as you ran to your daughter’s crib just to remind yourself to be stronger, locking your phone away to not call and embarrass yourself in front of him and his then-new girlfriend again.

You heard the sound of the video your daughter was watching as she sat on the bean bag in the corner of your room. “Mama, look it.” You heard her tiny footsteps tap the floor as she ran to you, holding the phone out. The screen flashed with Toji’s caller ID, “Thank you, baby.” You kissed her cheek as you picked her up to sit her on your lap. 

“Yeah?,” You answered, hearing a sigh from the other end. You pulled your toddler closer to you just as she started to move near the edge of the bed. You that your voice didn’t sound hoarse at all. You didn’t cry as hard as you did with Satoru, but it was painful enough that you had to pause some chores just so you could think of a solution to fix it. 

You doubted there was a fix and if there was, you felt like Toji would only be trying out of pity for you.

You’re tired of that. You don’t want people to feel sorry for you anymore. You feel like you’ve been nothing but pitiful every year of your life. Your dad gave up on you and your mother, your baby daddy gave up on your relationship with him and now you feel like you caused Toji to give up on you too. 

Your brows bumped together at the thoughts and you were quick to shake your head, hoping it would shed off the searing pain in your chest as well. You can't have self-pity when you have a child. You’re determined to be better for her. Your index finger found its place on your lips, listening to your ex’s voice.

“Just wanna know how you’re doing.” You wanted to laugh, not to mock him but because you don’t really know how to explain how you feel to him. You decided to answer it from the surface, “I am okay, surprisingly.” You sniffed, hearing a sigh from the other end of the line and a tiny laugh from Megumi, probably watching something on his iPad. 

You would say it’s too early for him to call you, but this whole breakup isn’t even like the normal ones. You broke up for each other's well-being. Not because you fought, not because one of you cheated, not because you just started to hate each other. You broke up wanting only the best for each other.

“I know this is for the best.” You wanted to help Toji feel better about this decision. You could tell that there was guilt on his part. He probably feels like what he did was just an inch kinder than Satoru’s way of leaving you. That would eat him inside. The last thing Toji wants to do is shatter all your progress.

“I don’t feel the best about it.” There was no hint of amusement in his chuckle, no trace of smile in his words. You don’t even know if he meant to say he feels bad for doing this to you. You don’t want to assume that he’s not doing better away from you because you’re pretty sure he’s more relaxed now that he doesn’t have to worry about his girlfriend thinking of someone even when she’s with him. 

“Please, don’t dwell on it. I, uh, I have thought things through and it’s… it’s just getting kind of lighter for me.” You blinked away each tear that came with the lies that are flowing out of your tongue. It’s not getting any lighter. If anything, the crushing weight is still continuously pressing down on you and you know any time soon, you might break down in this phone call.

“I don’t know if I can trust your words…” Aside from the fact that it has only been a day, Toji thought back on your last conversation before you broke up. He’s well-aware of your tendencies to push all of your feelings aside  because you blame yourself for the fall of your relationship. You would probably shoulder all of this again, like you did with your separation from Satoru.

Toji isn’t all clean here but he doesn’t know how to get that to you. You can be very stubborn when it comes to these things especially when it concerns your past. It’s an unhealed part of you and Toji can’t help but feel like your previous arguments, his words to 

you and how he made you feel contributed to it rather than alleviate it.

“Toji, this isn't good for me. For us,” You’re not talking about your relationship with him but it’s about him contacting you. “I know that we’re still good, we broke up to save each other,” you laughed half-heartedly, “Our kids are friends, of course, we can’t just throw that away, but for now…” You took a deep breath.

“For now, let’s give each other space. I’m not mad at you, I could never hate you but, Toji, this isn’t helping me at all.” The crack in your voice sent a blow to Toji’s heart, “I…I want to be able to talk to you, see you and visit Megumi with Yui without feeling the guilt of letting something so good slip away so, please...” You took a deep, painful breath.

“Let’s just give each other some space. Just until I have picked myself up again.” You covered your mouth, desperate to turn away from your child who’s been starting to glance at you. Toji’s silence felt like it could squeeze you, like a soundless bubble getting smaller and smaller around you. 

“I’m sorry. I…I shouldn’t have called.” Of course, you’re not fine, Is he out of his mind? The voices in Toji’s head knocked sense into him as he realized what he did. How could he be so insensitive? Is it because he knows of his crimes, the source of his guilt and how he didn’t think it would affect him as much as it does now?

Now, even this breakup feels selfish. How could he just decide to leave when you’ve been trying so hard? He’s not different from your baby daddy—running away when they couldn’t handle the pressure, leaving you to clean up after the mess. Toji closed his eyes tight, clearing his head, begging himself to say the right words and make the correct decisions.

“I—I’m still here for you always, alright? Take care, Y/N. Kiss Yui good night for me.” He spoke slowly, fighting the loss in the empty space he’s staring at, absorbing your soft hums and apology as he continued, “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry, baby. It took every fiber in his baby not to say it like that. For your sake. And for him. 

If you never talk to him again, he will miss you forever.

You put the phone down, feeling your daughter’s head on your chest as she stared up at you. Your mother once said that children do not understand these things yet but they feel their parents’ pain when it happens. And just like that, it’s almost as if your baby girl can read you. Her eyes says that she wants to help but doesn’t know how because she doesn’t eve understand it.

“Mama sad?” Her voice was small, it’s amazing that even at her age she knows how to try and soothe you. She knows that this is not the time to be playful without even knowing the situation. All she knows is that her mother is sad and crying. “No, mama’s just tired.” You smiled at her and for the first time she seems hesitant to reciprocate it.

“Mama sleep.” She got suddenly, bouncing her way to the spot next to you as she gets into a curled sleeping position. She’s a smart child. You laid down next to her, cuddling her small frame for as long as she can sit still but it wasn’t long before she was playing again, forgetting about it all. She’s still a baby after all. But this kid right here is the one who will always pull you out of the waters.

You wished that you could forget and get over this as quickly as this baby does, You wished it would all just fly out of your mind, that you could just throw up all of the pain out of your heart. You wished that you could just dust off the broken pieces of your relationship from your clothes, that you could scrub away the pain in the shower and watch it flow down the drain.

—————————-

“Look, I know Yui’s always been our priority but if you need a bit of time for yourself, you know you can leave Yui with me.” Satoru came earlier than expected. You can tell that he’s trying to stay inside the ‘boundaries’ as he struggled to find the right words to say about your breakup with Toji.

“You should take a break from work, if you think that’s what you need, I will-“ You placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. Satoru doesn’t want to seem like he’s taking advantage of the situation, that’s the last thing he wants to do. As painful as it is to admit it, he knows that you love Toji. 

“Thanks. But it’s alright. We’re good, we’re just…not dating anymore.” You forced out a laugh, trying to make it better than how it really is. It’s clear to Satoru that you’re having a hard time. He could see it in your face, your eyes. Satoru remembered those times when he would do anything just to avoid looking at you and seeing how badly he broke you.

He was heartless for letting himself make you feel like that. He was stupid for letting you feel like that. 

“Thanks. But it’s alright. We’re good, we’re just…not dating anymore.” You let out a laugh, retracting your hand away as you reached for the towel to wipe your daughter’s food-stained cheek. “Megumi and Yui still play together, I mean they’re besties now, right?” Yui giggled at the mention of her friend.

As much as Satoru wants to have another chance with you, he just doesn’t think he would deserve it just like that. Also, he doesn’t think he can see you like this everyday. Now he wants to talk to Toji. If it’s because of his interactions with you then Satoru himself would volunteer to give the big guy the assurance he wants. 

It would be painful for Satoru but to see you so dull makes him want to give up his fight. If he even has some. His friends, mostly Shoko, already told him that he already lost all his chances. “You’re not a cat. You don’t get nine lives in this Satoru.” She would say and Suguru would quickly add “You used to have nine lives, actually. But you’re a dead man to her now.” It was playful but depressing talk but valid but…sad.

It was everything but playful to Satoru, no matter how much his friends tried to lighten up the delivery, it still felt like playing darts with his heart. Because he knows how much truth those words hold. He would smile and shake his head. His friends are never the ones to sugarcoat shit. 

After saying goodbye to  Y/N with his baby girl, Satoru can’t help but feel curious about your breakup. He’s almost a hundred percent sure that it’s Toji’s decision because of how you are right now. He doubts that you’d be the one to break it off. You’re a fighter, he knows that. He hates that you have to deal with these cowards of men who only know how to break.

But of course, Toji’s more deserving than him. That’s the bitter truth. Toji left for your good, while Satoru…just gave up on you back then. He will regret it for the rest of his life if he doesn’t get you back. 

Get you back. He felt like a villain, hoping that you were the first to initiate the split. That would give Satoru so much hope. Thinking about why you did it (if you did), taunts him into assuming that maybe you still have something with him. But this isn’t right. No. Satoru should be better than this. Your happiness comes first. Even if it’s not with him.

Satoru swallowed the rushing mix of emotions that fogged his mind as he drives. It felt like swallowing needles, allowing them to go straight to his cracking heart. It’s almost impossible now, huh, to get you back? Even when you’re single again, it still feels impossible. Why is he even imagining it?

Shaking his head, he successfully parked his car, clapping his hands as he looked at Yui through the rearview mirror. “Let’s go now, my heart~” He sing-songed and the toddler eagerly reached up to him. “Tomorrow we go back to Mama, alright? She’s kinda sad, isn’t she? We gotta rescue that!” Yui cheered with him, despite not understanding what her father was saying.

Satoru knows that he can’t meddle with your relationship with Toji, no matter how much it bothers him. The least he can do is try to brighten your mood. Without any ulterior motives, of course. This is a vulnerable time for you. He doesn’t think he can stomach trying to get in through those cracks in your heart because of your failed relationship. 

It’s not the right thing to do and that’s not what a good person who truly cares would do. He can only support you, but he doesn’t plan on taking advantage of this situation. 

—-------------------------------------------------

3 months later

It’s a blessing to be a mother. It’s hard too. Especially, when your daughter won’t allow you to have a break from your ex for more than three months. “Mama!” She screamed at the top of her lungs for the hundredth time that morning. “I just took your bag, let’s go.” You wished you could’ve taken a picture of her, standing as she held the door of her room open.

“You’re so big now, baby.” Her birthday’s in a few months and you feel like crying because it felt like you just gave birth to her yesterday and now she’s turning three. Time is a thief. You wonder if so much has changed with Toji’s life too. You wouldn’t be shocked if he’s got a new girlfriend. After all, Satoru only took a few weeks to find someone new when you broke up.

That fucking stings. You told yourself and if you weren’t holding your daughter’s hand and her bag you would physically clutch your chest. The thought of being so replaceable has been a constant in your mind since Satoru and Naomi. 

And if it happens with Toji again, you’d probably just close the table for love.  You drove to the park, a meeting place you chose for the kids. You don’t want to be in Toji’s house. You don’t think you can handle that yet. 

You wondered if you’d be greeted by some new lady with him, like how Satoru received you with Naomi’s head on his chest. What if they play with the kids instead and leave you out of place during the whole play date? Or what if they leave you to watch the kids while they get some snacks, taking their time to play couple while you wait?

What if— A knock on your window broke off your train of thoughts as you took in your surroundings. That’s right. You’ve been driving and now you’re at the part. And now Toji’s shading his eyes, his hand arched over his brows as he tried to see through your windows. “Gumi!” Yui squealed, kicking in her car seat as Megumi waved from the outside. 

Toji was holding him in one hand as his bag hang loosely on Toji’s shoulder. You rolled the windows down, gulping your anxiety as you thanked the heavens that none of the scenarios in your head came true. 

“You spaced out.” He chuckled a bit awkwardly as he smiled at you. There’s something new about him. Did he really glow up after leaving you? You almost frowned but you gave him a laugh, trying to think of an excuse as to why you’re sitting absentmindedly in your car a few minutes before meeting with your ex and his child.

“I was trying to remember if I locked our door.” You laughed, gathering your things as you stepped out. “Can I hold that for you?” Toji offered as you opened Yui’s door. You thanked him softly, trying your best to seem relaxed. You don’t know if you should be glad or worried that he’s being so cool.

It could be because he doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or because he doesn’t really give two shits about your relationship with him that he doesn’t even feel uneasy meeting for the first time after you broke up. 

Or maybe because he’s already moved on to someone else, he just didn’t bring her with him because he’s a respectful man. You swore you heard a voice say it and it almost convinced you that it’s your brain that wants you dead. “Yui.” Megumi’s neck stretched as he looked over your shoulder for his best friend.

“Chill, man. Your long lost bestie will be free in a minute.” He still doesn’t fail to make you laugh. You put Yui down and watched the two kids adorably and messily hug. Now you’re glad that you taught them the importance of hugs. 

“It’s cute that they’re still comfortable with each other.” You commented, pulling at your clothes as you tried to distract yourself from checking your ex out. You’re thinking hard to figure out what changed with his look. Aside from his forehead showing as the wind played with his dark hair, 

“Let’s sit there, near the seesaw. They love that.” The kids were talking in a language only they understand, pointing at stuff before laughing as if it was the funniest thing they saw while to you, it looked like nothing. You would give everything to be a kid again. Just carefree and happy. But seeing your daughter makes you realize you wouldn’t have this any other way.

“How have you been?” He started as you sat down, hugging yourself as you looked ahead at the children. To be honest, you don’t know how to answer that. Do you tell him first that you miss him? Or do you tell him first that you got a clearer understanding of the holes in your relationship with him?

“I won’t deny that I missed you.” He chuckled leaning back. “But I did some reflecting.” He paused, glancing over to you, eyes traveling across your face. “A lot of reflecting actually.” He nodded, licking his lips. Right. That’s right, you thought, referring to his looks. Aside from his hair being longer, he looked…softer. You blinked away your thoughts, clearing your vision.

“I…I’m okay.” You don’t know how to tell him it could’ve been better if he was still with you. You wondered if your relationship problems would’ve been gone now if you didn’t break up. Would it have been better by now if you kept going? “I missed you, of course. But,” You laughed airily, “I’m getting better.”

You didn’t let your breakup with Toji affect you as a mother to Yui. But if you’re talking about yourself. You’re still trying. You have lived without Toji, of course, you can still keep going now. But your split felt like a crash from cloud nine. You’ve been so soaked with your happiness with him that when he left it felt like you were slowly getting drained and dry.

He walked you into a field of roses and when you returned to your old garden you realized how dull it was. Yui was your sunshine in those days under the dark clouds. She was a sunlight that went out of its way to bring a smile on your face. “It’ll get better.” You sighed, glancing at Toji and seeing the solemn look on his face. Does he feel sorry for you? Does he feel guilty for leaving so abruptly as your baby daddy did? Does he feel—

“It doesn’t feel any better for me at all.” Toji’s not one to hide the reality of his feelings from people he feels comfortable with. It melts your heart when you think about how he loosens up with you. It makes you feel special. Though, not special enough to fight for.

“It will. Soon.” You looked down. You know that it wasn’t his intention to make you feel as if you’re making him feel guilty for choosing his peace. But it still feels like it and you don’t know what to say anymore. I’m sorry? I’m sorry that you feel sorry for me? He nodded, smiling so softly. Charming, you thought. You feel sad for the people who don't get to see this. Yes, his smirk can make one feel things but this smile…

The day went by fast, Toji invited you to dinner since a restaurant was nearby but you politely declined. It’s not that you want to. It’s just that you have to. One thing that you learned from your heartbreak with Satoru is that the more that you see them, the deeper the shards cut. 

“My mom’s coming over for dinner. Maybe next time.” Your genuine smile contradicted the lie flowing out of your lips. It was so tempting when he looked like this, but you have to stand your ground. Next time. The two words reverberated inside Toji’s head and that was enough to push aside the disappointment he felt when you declined. 

“That’s alright. There’s always a next time.” It sounded as if he was reassuring himself, emphasizing that you’re fine with meeting him and Megumi again next time. This is enough for now. After all, he still has to reflect on a couple of things regarding your breakup. But everything always seems to be pointing him back to you. 

—————————

“Just call me when you’re ready to go, and I’ll pick you up.” Satoru’s words before he left you and Yui earlier started to get twisted inside Toji’s head. Now that Toji has let you go, Satoru’s just waiting for your go signal so he can pick you up again. He swallowed dryly, faking a smile when you looked back at him, laughing at whatever the kids did that he didn’t see.

Time flew by fast but that image of you leaning towards Satoru so that he could give his daughter a kiss as he said that to you has been stuck in Toji’s head all day. The kids were drinking juice with small towels around their shoulders. “I can, uh, I can just drive you home, you know? I mean, so that Satoru wouldn’t have to drive all the way here again.” He suggested, wiping off some of the water droplets in his son’s body.

“It’s alright, he’s already on his way anyway and he owes Yui a kitty cake that they didn’t get to buy last time.” You smiled at him, before asking to leave to give Yui a quick warm shower. Toji would’ve wanted to chat a bit more with you. Just spend more time with you. He couldn’t ask for so much of it now. It felt like it would be too much of an imposition for him to do so. 

After a couple of minutes, the doorbell rang and he placed Megumi on one of the rugs, reminding him to stay there so he won’t slip. He sighed, running to his gate, knowing that it would be Satoru and of course, since you’re still getting Yui ready, the polite thing to do is to let him sit and maybe, entertain your baby daddy a bit.

“Oh, come on in. She’s just getting Yui ready.” His voice was almost monotonous, the nod of his head was another way to be a bit more ‘friendly’ to the guy. “You a fan of iced tea?” Toji cleared his throat with Satoru following behind him. Megumi was still on the rug, staring off into space. Toji can’t help but laugh when Satoru waved a hand at his face.

“Yui Dad.” He looked up, waving his small hand despite the blank look on his face. “He really looks like you.” Satoru commented, “Except his hair.” Toji placed a pitcher on the counter, pouring a glass for the man, something he didn’t think he would ever do. “I’m glad you and Y/N are doing better,” Toji spoke after a couple of minutes of silence. 

“Yeah,” Satoru nodded, holding Megumi’s hand as he tried to walk towards Toji. “We’re getting more used to this co-parenting thing. Figured out it was healthier for all of us when we’re not constantly arguing about something.” Toji doesn’t know if it’s right to say it but it already came out of his mouth before he realized it.

“The both of you single made it better, eh?” He didn’t mean it to start something with Satoru again, it’s just that that is the first thing that popped up in his head when he heard him. “Yes and No.” Satoru answered before he could even back it up with something lighthearted. “Me being single, yes. Because Naomi was basically a wedge, one cause of the problems that used to arise between us. And no, because no problem arises directly from you regarding those arguments.” He shrugged, taking a sip before continuing. 

“Actually, I don’t even know why you broke up with her, if I’m going to be frank I trusted you with my family already, why did you even left her?” He’s saying a lot more now than before. Definitely a healthier man. And he seems like he’s back to his real self now. Toji might even assume he’s drunk if only you didn’t mention that he doesn’t handle liquor well.

“I’m not trying to guilt-trip you, alright? I want you to love her because you truly love her, but come on, man, there’s no threat.” Yui definitely takes after her father. Very talkative, Toji thought. Inhaling, he gathered his thoughts and which aspect of what Satoru has said he should focus on, “I don’t know.” Was his short answer. 

“I mean… I was worried. I don’t know if she’s really over you. I don’t want her to keep hurting by my side.” It was quiet. Satoru didn’t speak, allowing Toji to continue. “Plus, I fear that she will forever feel like she just comes second to my wife. To be honest, I feel that with her too. With you being her first.” Toji felt surprised at his honesty. He just hopes that you won’t overhear this.

“You’re the present. I’m her past.” It felt bitter for Satoru to say, “I’m starting to accept that now. I’m just contented that I can be with my daughter and that I take care of them even from the sidelines.” 

But Satoru would forever wish it didn't have to be like that. 

“I’m not playing matchmaker. I just want what’s best for her. Even if it’s not me, Toji.” He stood up, sighing as he heard footsteps coming closer. You came in struggling to carry a barefoot, laughing little girl, a towel and her bag. “Dada!” She screamed with a smile as she tries to get away from you. “You’ll slip!” You warned her and Satoru quickly went closer to take her in his arms. 

Toji sat there for a minute more, processing the man’s words. The best for you. If he’s going to ask Satoru about it, he’d say that if he has to pick someone for Y/N, Toji will be a top candidate. Aside from the fact that he’s a good man who truly cares for her, he also easily understands your situation because he has a child of his own too.

It’s safe to say that right now, you’re the only man that Satoru feels is safe to leave his daughter and baby momma with. His past mistakes and horrible decisions put him in this place and the least that he could do to make it all up to you is support you and whatever makes you happy as long as it’s good for you and his child.

“We’ll be going now, thank you, Toji.” Only then has Toji realize that he’s been staring at the three of you now and his baby boy who’s trying to hug Yui as her father puts on her shoes. “Uh, yeah. Let me walk you guys out.” He licked his lips, blinking fast as he tried to snap himself back to reality. “Come on, Megs. After this, you take a bath, alright?” He picked him up, wrapping a towel around his body.

“Come again. Please.” Satoru laughed as the little boy waved, probably worried that it would take months for his little friend to come over again. “She’ll be back soon, bro. Chill.” That’s wild, Toji thought, He just called my son ‘bro’. Before you could even get on the other side of the car, Toji has made up his mind. “Uhm, Y/N.” You looked up at him, for some reason, eyes shining with what seemed to be…hope.

“Can we come over sometime?” Megumi’s little cheer made your smile wider, nodding at them, “Of course..” You felt like a teen, worried that you answered too quickly, “Anything for that ‘gumi smile.” You played it off cool but kept your eyes on Toji the whole time. 

You didn’t hear anything about what he and Satoru talked about. But it was nice to know that they’re starting to get along. Inside, Satoru was fixing his daughter’s things, somehow glad that he couldn’t hear whatever the of two of you were talking about because no matter how happy he is for you, he’d always break into smaller pieces each time he saw you smile and look at Toji like that.

He knows. Because you used to look at him like that. 

Albeit, crossed with pain and longing, you used to look at him with so much love. Overflowing. And then, along with the tears he caused. It felt like acid in his stomach, threatening to spill out of his mouth whenever he thought of what you went through because of him. But now you’re happy. 

He didn’t know that love would show him that some people are worth being pulverized for.  

The car door opened just as he pretended to find something inside the glove compartment and he swallowed the pang in his chest at the glow on your face. “Gumi, babye! Gumi, babye!” His child screams behind him, waving her hands back at her playmate. “You ready to go?” He asked you and you hummed, glee evident even in the small sound. 

With that, the two of you waved at Toji and Megumi, pulling out of their driveway. You smiled at the shared nods between Toji and Satoru before speeding down the road to the bakery where Satoru usually buy Yui’s cakes. Your mind kept going back to Toji. Maybe you’re being delusional but you can’t help but feel like he had to gather the courage to ask you that very last-minute question. 

He feels like a…high school crush. 

And maybe he’s being a high school crush because a week later, he shows up at your doorstep dressed like a heartthrob with a kid in oversized sunglasses and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

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[kedsandtubesocks]

Mr. Winter

Santa!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: you wrote that letter to Santa as a joke (knowing he obviously wouldn’t answer it) until he does - and he comes with a proposition

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, marriage of convenience, unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but is a drinking aged adult & Joel is older), yearning, fluff with light angst, grumpy but sweetheart!Joel, caregiver!Joel with slight sugar daddy!Joel vibes, brief moments of dealing with toxic family, Joel lifts reader once with his Santa strength, spicy thoughts, heavy making out, fingering, glove & finger sucking, use of “good girl,” Joel’s dirty talk & referring to himself as “old man,” one light ass smack, reader wears lingerie, Santa!kink (?), use of gendered language

word count: 9.1k (I’m sorry)

a/n: yeah… hi lol this is heavily influenced and based off “The Santa Clause” films but you don’t need to know those to read - biggest thank you to my favorite enablers & Santa’s cutest helpers @pedgito & @hauntedhowlett ily…also happy holidays, if you’re reading this I can’t thank you enough & hope a little magic comes your way ♡ divider credit to the ever talented @saradika-graphics

You wrote the dumb letter at the end of the semester class party. You’re thankful everyone decided to write papers instead of having a final, a grad school blessing, which meant class was done by the last week of November. Your professor even had set up the cutest Letters to Santa Station, and your friend begged you to write one with her.

So you did.

And you jokingly asked Santa for one thing - to send you a boyfriend.

Of course you know the big guy isn’t real and wouldn’t ever answer. It’s why you didn’t think much of it.

But now, if there’s any hope Santa could be real, you wonder if maybe he could just grant you one small wish…

You’re happy for your best friend, you truly are. Her wedding reception is beautiful, you just need a moment.

It finally hit you that you’re the last of your friend group not married. And as the cozy colder winter days bring in the couples closer during the slow song, you simply take a moment outside to collect yourself.

The once warmed spiked hot chocolate you’ve been enjoying now sits cold, not so festive.

Someone calls to you, says your name in a thick southern molasses smooth accent you don’t recognize.

Turning to the door, you definitely don’t know who this man is because you would have remembered someone this stunning.

Dressed down in some jeans and a sharp looking blazer, there’s almost a cowboy like air to this man. Rugged, older with lovely streaks of wrinkles and shining grey hair, a gorgeous sharp hawk nose, and dark as the deep earth eyes stare at you - he’s flat out gorgeous.

“Got your letter.” He cryptically announces, and confusion clusters in you.

This handsome stranger lifts up the overly festive candy cane colored envelope, the one you picked at the party a few days ago when you wrote your letter to Santa.

Slightly panicked, now you question who this man is.

The mystery man fidgets, painting him younger. He shifts to put his hands on his hips.

“Alright… there ain’t no easy way to put this, so imma just say it.” He starts. “I got many names… Father Christmas, Ol’ Saint Nick. Shit like that.”

Those dark unearthed eyes stare unflinching at you.

“But you can call me Joel.”

“Wait…What are you saying?” Bewilderment and skepticism bubble in your voice.

He sighs, ancient and tired, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Don’t make me say it.” He grumbles.

“Wait are you saying you’re like, fucking Santa Claus or something?” You can’t even believe it.

His large hand moves away from his face, and the man, Joel, stays silent. The somber stillness makes this feel worse.

A disbelief filled laugh escapes you.

“Yeah okay, nice try.” You lift your drink to him, a slight mock cheers, then take a sip. It’s cold as hell and tastes bitter.

“I know it sounds fucking crazy as shit-”

“The Santa I know wouldn't cuss.” You playfully cut him off deciding to now embrace this joke.

His face grows foul, hard with a frown, not so very Kris Kringle like. With deliberate steps he moves slightly closer to you.

“Two years ago… who d’ya think dropped off that snow globe, huh?” His voice dips low, bordering a deadly seriousness, and you inhale sharp.

Two years ago, you and your mom’s favorite snow globe shattered. It felt silly getting so upset over such a strange object, but you couldn’t find a replacement anywhere.

Then after everyone had opened their gifts and family had left, you spotted a lone gift still tucked away hidden under the tree.

It was the snow globe, new and perfectly wrapped. You know you didn’t get it for your mom and the way she teared up, she didn’t get it for you. None of your other family members knew the significance of it.

“It has to be a Christmas miracle,” your mom had said. You didn’t believe it.

Now you stare a bit horrified and in shock at the man who knows about this.

Silence suffocates the air between you and him.

“Make a reindeer show up.” You blurt out.

The man, Joel, snorts dry and amused.

“Don’t need reindeer. S’a myth.” He replies low.

Your eyes narrow suspicious at him now.

“Can you make it snow?”

“M’not Jack Frost.” He scoffs offended.

“Santa always leaves snow from his boots.” You argue back.

“It’s for the dang effect.” Joel argues back.

“Can’t be Santa then.” You shrug.

He makes a disgruntled sigh of a noise. Glaring hard, he waves his hand out to the wind. Suddenly the wind blows strong, a howling gust rushing against you, so blustery you need to cover your face. When the wind stops you realize you’re lightly covered in snow.

You almost drop your not so hot chocolate.

Joel must sense your shock. He takes your drink from your hand, takes a sip and makes a disgusted face.

“Look… came here for a reason. I think we might be able to help each other out.

He’s here with a proposition.

“I… need a wife.” He declares with a deadpan like energy.

Now you almost laugh again.

“What, did Mrs Claus divorce you?” You joke.

“Never been married.” He frowns.

Oh.

“So why now?” Curiosity peeks up in you fast.

“Legal shit.” His words don’t allow for more prying. “I’ll explain it all later. Just needed to find ya to see if we can get this done.”

“Wait, why me?”

He lifts up that damn letter again, waves it around.

“Y’said you wanted a boyfriend.” He almost sounds bored.

“This isn’t the same.” You squak, indignant.

“Look,” he now returns to that deep somber tone.

“I need this. And you’d be… compensation.” His voice shifts slightly awkwardly.

He mentions your loans, all the debt you have, and how he might be able to help out. Your eyes feel like they’re about to pop out their sockets.

Commotion finally arrives at the door leading back inside.

Joel takes a sip of your drink, then hands it back to you.

“Think it over.” He says low.

The door slides open, and your other friend flings her head out.

“Hey come on! They’re cutting the cake!” She brightly exclaims, but her face scrunches up confused.

“Wait, who were you talking to?” She asks.

Your eyes flicker to the spot where Joel would be.

No one stands next to you. All that’s left is snow and the imprint of boots.

You also notice…your hot chocolate has been warmed.

-

“Santa lives here? In Austin Texas? What happened to the North Pole?” Walking behind him, you sound like a bummed out kid who just found out Santa isn’t real.

“Shit said to throw the FBI off.” Joel Miller replies bluntly, and you don’t know if he’s joking or not.

His house, rustic and cozy, holds a spacious warmth. But it feels vacant, unusually quiet for a man known to bring joy and the personification of Christmas warmth.

“So how does one become Santa?” You ask.

“Long story.” Another curt reply.

“Well, if I’m gonna be your wife shouldn’t I know these things?” Just saying the words aloud didn’t seem real.

You can’t believe you’re doing this.

The new home draws in your full attention trying to soak it all in. So many photos of two girls cover the walls and they grow right before your eyes. Curiously, you ask about them.

“They’re my daughters.” Joel answers simple.

Your eyes go wide.

He had children.

“They’re the reason why we’re here actually.” Joel adds while he moves around his cozy kitchen.

He reveals ‘Santa Claus’ is simply a title for someone to fill. It’s a hefty role. Joel was able to get away without having a spouse with his first daughter, and then again with his second. But now with her about to enter college, Joel was alone.

The stipulation to marry now stood between him and having the title stripped from him.

“Why do you even need to get married?”

“Some shit about needing companionship and other fuckin’ bullshit.” He gruffly explains.

“You could retire.” You offer.

“Don’t wanna.” He roughly replies grabbing papers out of a drawer.

“So your daughters… I’m sure they must’ve been over the moon knowing their dad was Santa.” You try breaking the ice more.

Placing a pen on the table, Joel sighs.

“Look, we don’t gotta do this.” He snaps tight. “This small talk and shit. The sooner we can get this signed and started, the sooner we can get this over with.”

His words sting, becoming sharp barbs that dig in deep.

“Fine.” You grab the pen ready to sign whatever the hell this guy has for you.

A back door opens, and commotion follows. A handsome younger man, with the same dark eyes like Joel that instead sparkle, walks into the kitchen from the garage. Following him are two much older gentleman, one with kind eyes and the other with a glare that could whither a field

“Well now, is this the soon to be Mrs Joel Miller?” The youngest of the bunch says bright and sunny.

Joel introduces you to his brother, Tommy, who is an exact opposite to his sour puss older sibling. Frank, an old family friend, is here to officiate the ceremony. His husband, Bill, would be the other witnesses besides Tommy. Frank and Tommy are thankfully sweet, obviously curious about you.

“Can we get this fuckin’ done with?” Joel snaps.

Now your annoyance triples, and you’re thankful Tommy and Frank chide Joel. Bill snorts amused.

But wanting to leave now too, you’re quick to agree to start the ceremony.

It’s done short and simple in the kitchen - Frank asking you and Joel to take each other as husband and wife. You agree briskly. Joel just nods. There’s not even an exchange of rings, or a kiss to conclude the ceremony.

Joel simply sticks his hand out, a damn handshake becomes your official agreement, your binding wedding vow.

You maybe should have read over the marriage agreement more, could have been smarter and brought a lawyer, even one that might have believed you. But you’re pissed. You simply sign the papers, let Frank go over the documentation, then gather your things.

“Wait, you ain’t gonna stay for lunch?” Joel suddenly questions seeing you get up to leave.

“We got this over with, didn't we, husband? That’s all you wanted right?” Your words are clipped, polite but sharp, that they even sting you.

You apologize to Tommy and Frank for meeting like this. Yet you don’t say another word to your new husband who feels more of a stranger than ever.

-

When you get back to your mom’s place a new sticky note sits on your night stand.

Sorry about today, let me make it up to you.

-J

Underneath is his phone number.

Guess he’s showing off the very classic Santa trick of slipping into houses without anyone noticing he pulled off a breaking and entering.

He answers on the second ring when you call.

“I got Santa’s personal number?” You offer with a gentle treading tone.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel huffs.

It eases the tension. But hesitation still brews thick, an awkwardness of trying to talk to a stranger who just so happens to be your new husband.

“Uh, shit…Sorry about earlier. Didn’t end up eating lunch. You up for a bite to eat? I'll pay?” His voice is open, letting you decide.

Agreeing, he shows up to your door in record timing.

“Is this traveling fast a Santa thing? How can you travel so fast?” Your curiosity gets the best of you.

Joel simply smirks, not answering, but the silence dances playful now.

He takes you to a cozy barbecue spot on the lake. The Texas winter makes the days crisp, almost stuck between autumn and full blown winter. But in the midday sun, it's rather lovely.

“I’m surprised you’re not busy with everything coming up.” You’re trying stepping into the conversation as eased and natural as possible.

“If I’m tryin’ to scramble to get shit done by now, then I ain’t doing my job right.” He says taking a sip of his beer, and his words ignite a burst of heat in you.

It's attractive… he’s attractive. You can’t deny that.

Lunch is surprisingly casual, relaxed. Joel asks about grad school and about your major, asks about your family. It vaguely feels like a regular first date.

However this is treading the waters between you and him and this strange new circumstance.

This situation has been gnawing at you. Anxiously, you wonder if he judges you for agreeing so quickly, for jumping in because of the money.

“Hey,” it's like he senses your quiet already.

“You still don’t gotta do this. I can head back home right now, rip up those papers and start again.” A sincere tone, gilded in understanding, rings in his voice.

He’s giving you a way out. You shake your head.

You want to see this as something good. So raising your drink up, it’s another cheers to him. This time Joel moves to toast you with his beer.

“I’d call this the strangest wedding reception ever but hey, I’ll take it.” Joel nods. His mountainous shoulders drop seemingly relaxed more.

You laugh, and for the first time, it feels like you’re sitting across a new friend now… who just happens to be your husband.

-

You and Joel start texting. It’s still a bit awkward, and he’s a dry texter which doesn’t help. You get tempted to send him Santa memes, but you’re not sure you can joke with him more.

You check your loans. They’re still there looming like a thick unmovable sludge. So he hasn’t paid it off yet.

Reality and acceptance settles in. This man, the embodiment of Christmas joy, is just that busy even though he said he wasn’t.

At least you helped, or maybe unknowingly sold your soul away and just don’t know it yet. Whatever it is, you slip back into your regular routine and head back to your mom’s.

Pulling up an unknown older red truck sits in front of the house, and you wonder who’s its owner.

Walking inside your mom announces she’s in the kitchen. Tools scattered along the table are a reliving sight. So it’s just the plumber she finally called.

“You didn’t tell me the guy you were seeing is a handy man.” Your mom whispers excitedly.

As if on cue Joel struts out from the bathroom looking something straight from a hallmark movie. The green plaid shirt he wears compliments him beautifully, and it’s hard not to stare at him and his delicious broad ass shoulders.

“Hey.” He greets with a half smirk.

“Was in the neighborhood, wanted to stop by and see if ya wanted to get dinner tonight. Then I remembered you telling me about your mom’s sink.”

You mentioned that during your first lunch with him. How did he remember?

Something soft, swirling with longing, fills your chest, and you try swallowing it back. As thanks, your mom happily suggests Joel joining for dinner here, and panic strikes you fast.

Joel grins bigger seeing you scramble to dissuade him. Of course he agrees.

You never would have guessed Joel ‘prickly as a Christmas cactus’ Miller is a charmer. He even pays for takeout much to your mother’s surprise.

“Didn’t know he was so much…older.” She hesitantly comments when he leaves.

“It’s been nice dating someone more mature.” You half lie. You aren’t ready to tell her the guy is your husband.

Later you text him thanks for fixing the sink and for dinner.

What are husbands for? He replies back.

And you really wish you knew.

-

You’ve wanted to go see the trail of lights, but with your mom working late for the holidays and your friends out of town, you consider making the trip alone.

Until your phone rings.

Joel has now started calling you, simply to chat, ask about how your day is, even just to check up on you. It makes your heart jump.

“Whatcha up to?” His voice rumbles deep and wonderful over the phone.

“Wanted to go to the trail of lights but might skip. No one wants to go.” You sigh.

“I’ll go.” He quickly replies, and your head spins.

If you thought Joel in plaid was a deadly force, him in a thick winter brown coat that highlights his strong frame is an utter sight.

The array of candy colored lights coat the world in a beautiful celestial dream. You’re thankful it’s not busy tonight.

“I’ve always loved Christmas lights.” You admit. It’s one of your favorite parts of being back home.

Surprisingly, he curiously asks about you more, what brought you back home. You of course tell him the truth. Out of state college got too expensive in undergrad, and now going to grad school expenses started piling up.

“So I’m back home.” You simply shrug.

“Ain’t no shame in it.”

You beam at his earnest words.

“Y’know, I haven’t been here in so long.” Joel admits. “Used to come here with the girls all the time when they were little.”

Wanting to embrace this tiny step he’s taking, you ask what they’re like. A soft look, one molten and fatherly, blooms over his face. It suits him, like he was born to be a dad in any lifetime.

Sarah is his eldest, a sweetheart going to school to be a journalist. He had her when was young, way too young, and her mother wasn’t big on wanting to raise a kid at that age.

“So it was just the two of you?” You softly ask.

“Yup, until our Ellie came along.” He nods while another soft grin tugs at his lips.

He tells you Ellie is adopted.

“S’actually a wild story.” Joel begins. “Found her during a run.”

A run, you learn quickly, is when he’s out on Christmas Eve.

“Newborn baby crying on the edge of the fire station. It was freezing as shit that night. Couldn’t just leave her there.” He mutters lost in the memory.

You and him have slowed your walk, now almost glued to each other side by side.

“Was a goddamn miracle.” He adds nodding.

“That’s beautiful, Joel.” You admire, meaning your words.

He goes on telling you Ellie’s already working in her last year of high school, ready to move out, be on her own, ready to start college.

“So I bet when they were kids they were thrilled to know their dad was… who you are.” You state with a warm grin.

Joel barks hollow.

“Couldn’t even threaten them with the naughty list deal. To them I’ll always be dad.” His voice twinkles, it’s like peeling away at the rough exterior to realize Joel is just an extra toasty marshmallow.

He’s still so warm and soft on the inside.

“Can I ask… how did it happen?” You’re worried he’s going to shut you out like he did last time.

But a heavy exhale leaves him. And he tells you…

About a night driving home during the bad snow storm that came many years ago. He stopped to help this man on the side of the road, who he assumed was a mall Santa that had gotten into an accident.

“Instead it was the real fucking deal.”

After that, the previous holder of the title passed away, leaving Joel to take up the mantle.

“Had to say yes,” he says with a shrug. “Even at five years old Sarah was bossin’ me around, telling me I had to…. Haven’t regretted it since.”

Iridescent adoration swallows your body whole begging you to embrace Joel Miller wholly.

“It’s wonderful. It’s brought you so many amazing things,” You can’t even hide your admiration anymore, don’t want to. You don’t want to fight this. You’d be his real fake wife for long as he would let you.

Joel’s face turns to you. His eyes glance straight into your very being, the lights dance among his endless earthen eyes. You want to get lost in the twinkle, already hating how badly you feel drawn to this man.

You try taking in every ounce of Joel here under the cloak of lights. He’s a dream, this fake husband of yours, one that feels like you’re simply allowed to admire but never touch.

Being this close to him, your eyes unfortunately drift to his lips. How bad would it be to kiss this man?

There’s plenty of songs about kissing Santa Claus. Would you simply not be embracing the holiday spirit?

A distant car horn honks and causes you to jump, breaking the hypnotic spell Joel has cast on you. Walking out, sadly heading home, you finally notice something.

It could be the shade of the lights, but the greys in Joel’s beard are starting to appear white.

-

The week before Christmas is a chaotic cluster. So much cleaning and shopping, you want to scream. Joel calls you while you’re braving the mall.

“You sound exhausted, honey.” He says, and the pet name isn’t lost on you.

But it is lost on your rant though. You’re exhausted from trying to find these specific dang muffins your grandmother only refuses to eat while also trying to find a gift for your cousins.

“Gift cards are a lifesaver for a reason.” He comments casually.

“You grant Christmas wishes for a living, and that’s your answer.” You snort.

“I’ve delivered my share of ‘em, so hell yeah they are.”

Even in the mess of the mall’s chaos you laugh. In such a short amount of time, Joel’s presence in your life has solidified steady, unwavering, like he’s always been here. Long chats on drives home, him dropping by with groceries to deliver, it all unfolds so natural. You’re even heading over tonight to have dinner with him and his brother Tommy.

Once you’re back in the car, you notice a new bag sitting in the backseat.

Reacting in you discover not only the damn elusive dinner rolls you’ve been searching for, but a pack of gift cards.

A sticky note sits on top of them.

Don’t hate the gift card

-J

You blame the Yuletide spirit in the air, but your heart soars. It’s like you’ve been swept into a Christmas special. But, you’re waiting for the bad ending to come.

These feelings for Joel have only multiplied, taking root deeper in your heart. The sugared admiration for him now grows fangs becoming a dazed lust. You’ve had dreams of him sweaty and golden above you in bed. You ache to know what he sounds like, to know the feeling of him inside you, to get drunk on his taste.

Heading over to Joel’s you kick away those dangerous thoughts you have for your husband.

A sweet woman answers the door, who introduces herself as Maria, Tommy’s wife.

“Nice to finally meet Joel’s not so secret, secret wife.” She grins. Guess that meant she knew the secret too.

She knows more than you even do as she guides you out back. The shed sitting in the corner of the backyard is unassuming. Yet when you step inside, a full workshop, the size of a Costco, stands glimmering before you.

“It never gets old.” Maria whispers, sensing your stunned awe.

Joel finally steps into view, and you’re taken back. The white among his beard sits stronger. He’s in more comfortable clothes and the gray sweatpants are sinful on him. The sight of his strong arms, his tummy through his tight white shirt, all make you think of biting into his skin -

You yank yourself out of the feral thoughts. Especially when Joel spots you. He blinks, just as stunned as you are.

“Hey, sorry. Got shit tied up here. Y’don’t gotta stay, might not be done until... fuck I don’t even know when.” He sighs, running a hand across his face.

“Can I help?” You blurt out.

Joel blinks at you, almost like he didn’t hear what you said and even squints a bit making him as old as he is.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You ask again.

Joel swallows. “You don’t, fuck...Ya don’t have to.”

You want to and determinedly tell him that.

His eyes widened like you just grew two heads. He recovers swiftly, nodding as he calls Tommy over. The younger Miller brother sees you and winks.

“Come on newbie, let’s getcha set up.”

You, Maria and Tommy are in charge of bulk orders making sure each package has the right amount and ready to be delivered.

“Does he… really have a list?” You ask with a whisper.

“Checks it twice too.” Tommy cheekily replies, and you laugh bubbling with disbelief, but apologize quickly.

“S’all good, trust me it took me a while to realize it’s real. But it’s something damn special once you do.”

You fully agree.

The night is long, but you don’t notice it. You get into a grove and get excited when Maria shows you some of the orders, children getting bikes, someone getting a new pair of shoes. It fills you with something luminous you can’t fully describe.

It’s a reward in itself when you finish a large order and high five Maria and Tommy.

“Well now, we finally get to meet the new Mrs. Joel Miller.” A new voice, smooth but curious, breaks the moment.

Behind you stand a small cluster of older men. You don’t know how, but you just know they’re all previous holders of the title of Father Christmas. It’s only confirmed when Tommy whispers it sharp to you. So these retired men were the ones pestering Joel.

“They usually drop by to do audits, checks and things, didn’t know they would be here this late.” Maria adds low.

“We’ve been wanting to stop by and give our congratulations, but Joel has been so keen on keeping you all to himself.” One of the older gentlemen winks.

You politely smile.

“You’re rather young.” Another man comments.

“Way too pretty for a grouch like Miller.” One, with a thick accent, teases with a grin.

Joel suddenly, as if summoned, comes rushing out from the side and immediately slides in front of you, a protective barrier.

“You’re running a bit behind schedule.” The snarkiest of the men comments to Joel. “Guess the new wife really has been keeping you away.”

Your face scrunches up pissed now, until Joel’s hand moves to hold yours, squeezing it tight.

“He even has you helping, dear?” One of the quieter men asks you, concerned.

“I’m happy to help.” You truthfully answer steady and firm.

You want to be a part of this as much as Joel allows. Not just because you’re his paper wife, but because you care for him.

All of the previous Santas now seem to survey you, practically staring straight into your soul.

“If you gentlemen are done harassing my wife I suggest y’all fuckin’ head home.” Joel barks sharp.

One of them scoffs at this reply.

The main leader of the group glances at you then back to Joel.

“You picked a good one, Joel.” He smiles with a chuckle.

“You take care of this grouch now, pretty lady.” The sweetest of the men beams at you, a twinkle in his eye.

“Get out.” Joel snaps cold, holding your hand tighter than ever.

In a blink, they’re before you, and the next, they’re gone, vanished into the wind.

Your legs feel like they’re about to give out, and you have to lean against Joel who sighs with the same relief.

In the rush, you swear you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. Tommy and Maria greet you proud. You return back to your station, back to helping.

Until you realize it’s past 1 in the morning, and you can barely keep your eyes open.

“Hey, crash here for the night.” Joel appears besides you, steadying your arm.

“I’ll be fine, I can drive home.” You reassure him through an unconvincing yawn.

“No. You don’t need to. S’cold as hell out there, just stay here.” He urges, and you don’t want to fight him.

So you’re given the guest room and a spare change of clothes, which include an oversized UT Longhorns shirt and sweats, both obviously Joel’s.

Sliding his shirt on, your heart races. The exhaustion, you blame it on the exhaustion, when you pull his shirt up to inhale deeply. The smell is soft, comforting, a mixture of his cologne and something purely musk, purely Joel.

You wonder how bad it would be to touch yourself in his guest room. Glancing out the door to see if you’re alone, that’s when you catch a glimpse of Joel down the hall.

Busy looking at his phone, he’s shirtless and a decadent sight. You fully take in his solid build, the look of a man. His sweatpants have slung lower, revealing the thick trail of hair leading down to his cock. The pudge of his belly is beautiful.

He’s beautiful, and you want him more than anything.

The next morning he’s gone, already hard at work. You enjoy breakfast with Maria and Tommy who you already adore even more.

“Don’t be a stranger now, it’s nice to have a new face around. Plus Joel can’t stop talking about you.” Maria’s words almost make you spit out your tea.

Tommy snickers at your reaction.

Driving back to your mom’s, you already miss the chaos of the Miller household. Arriving home, your heart sinks seeing your relatives have arrived early.

“Oh, back from staying over at a guy’s house? Maybe you’ll finally get a boyfriend that stays around long enough.” Even though your Aunt is trying to be teasing, you already wish she could leave.

“I think he’s a keeper. He’s older too.” You mom explains with a slow whisper, and you send her a look.

Everyone unfortunately perks up at that.

“Really? Well, you know what they say, you should always question why a man doesn’t date a woman his age.” Your Aunt, with such a judgmental tone, tries to sound sincere but it slices you deep.

“It’s not like that.” You reply feeling a new sense of dread crawl in you.

“Is it a sugar daddy situation?” Your cousin jokes, and it gets too much.

You laugh bitter, fake, then head back to your room. You wish more than ever to crawl back to Joel’s.

Back in your room, something new sits waiting for you on your nightstand.

A flower, your favorite, in full bloom has a note tied to it.

Thanks for all the help

This time Joel signs his name with a little scribbled heart.

You cherish it more than gold.

-

“I…won’t be available these new few days.” Joel reveals, almost sounds guilty.

It’s the first time you’ve finally gotten the chance to talk with him free from curious family members trying to eavesdrop.

Here in the dead of night, your heart aches for him.

“I know, kinda figured.” You grin.

He chuckles.

Suddenly a selfish thought tugs at you.

The image has been plaguing you more and more. Does dress up in full Santa gear? He has to, right?

“So do you…fully wear the whole thing? The red suit? White hat?” You ask, waiting for the answer.

“…if I say yes, are ya gonna divorce me?” Joel replies gruff.

You laugh but rush to quiet down trying not to wake anyone. But you reassure him there's no need for divorce.

“Just… kinda wish I could see it.” You admit, feeling greedy wanting to witness the sight.

Joel stays quiet.

“Maybe one day.” He mutters.

“Yeah…” maybe one day.

“Stay safe out there.” You tell him when you hear him yawning more. “And get all the rest you can.”

“Yes ma’am.” He drawls, and you melt.

You don’t hear from him after that.

You deal with more annoying family members. Enjoy some delicious cozy food. All while missing Joel.

Waking up Christmas Eve morning, you see an email.

All your loans are paid in full. It wasn’t just your loans, but your mother’s. Completely debt free - both of you. She cries. You even get teary eyed.

One of your uncles makes a dumb joke about it maybe being a mistake.

“It’s a blessing,” your mom says, grateful.

“No, it’s a gift from Santa.” You beam, knowing no one would believe you.

However, a new fear starts morphing in you.

What did this mean for you and Joel? Is the contract completed? Is this over? Was it only to say he had a wife on paper, parade you as proof, then… never speak to him again?

The questions pester and haunt you the entire rest of the day.

Then night creeps in.

“You wanna leave cookies out for Santa?” Your mom jokes seeing you grab a plate.

“Maybe, but I think I might leave out a beer too.” You reply and she laughs.

Once everyone heads to bed and leaves back to their hotels, you sneak into the living room.

Never in your life would you have imagined ever needing to wait up to see Santa. Much less as a full adult.

And it proves to be a true test of endurance. You doze off a few times but quickly snap your eyes open, worried you’ll miss him.

Checking the time, it’s almost midnight. Of all the nights you want to stay up, fighting asleep is harder than ever.

You don’t even realize your eyes have closed until the softest graze of fingers against your cheek wakes you.

Panicked, scrambling awake, you snap your eyes open and whisper Joel’s name.

Finally blinking into focus, there’s no sign of anyone here.

“Y’left out a beer for me?”

Until the softest smoothest thick accent floats out into the quiet of your living room. You left the tv on, and the light of it blends with the glow from the Christmas tree. It bathes Joel in something sublime.

No classic Santa hat sits on his head, but the way his hair is scruffy and flat, he must have been wearing it before.

But the sight of him in the crimson suit, the soft white fur lined edges of the coat, how bulky and strong he looks… You’re reminded of a rugged cowboy Santa.

It all ignites a wildfire, and now you’re wide awake scrambling out of the blankets to get to him.

Not thinking, almost possessed by some ghost of Christmas present, you rush forward and embrace him. His body, sturdy and solid, radiates a warmth that encompasses you.

“What are ya doing up?” He whispers low while you clutch onto him. You need to touch him with your own hands, feel he’s real. You also don’t miss the gloved hands against your hips.

“Had to see you.” You croak out.

You pull back to look at him.

Finally, you take him in. It’s Joel, the same grumpy Joel that’s changed the oil for your car, who has a soft spot for the stray cats in his neighborhood, and is an amazing father - but it all collides with the truth of who he really is.

A watery laugh comes out of you and you hate that immediately you’re blinking away tears.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Joel immediately asks worried, letting his hands move to rest on your arms, a comforting presence.

You reassure him it’s nothing, trying to wave this reaction off.

“You gotta tell me what’s wrong or else Christmas stops and it’ll all be your fault.” His tone is somber, but you sense the tease, a classic Joel joke among his words.

Shaking your head, you wipe away more tears frustrated at your reaction. Then his hand, gloved but striking in size, cradles your face, and he gently strokes your cheek. Joel turns your face to him.

“Talk to me, honey please.”

You don’t know how to express everything that’s in your heart. It all feels too much - the conflict of realizing where you stand with him, the doubt that brews wondering if he even holds the same affection for you.

“I don’t wanna lose you.” You admit weakly.

It’s that you can muster out, all that you can do to sum up the bundle of emotions storming in your heart.

Joel’s eyebrows furrow. His mouth drops a bit. In the low light, the shadows on his face deepen like caverns aging him beautifully.

“M’not going anywhere. You won’t lose me.” He reassures, even squeezing your face soft.

Those endless eyes that normally stare so direct and with such a magnetic force, now flicker away almost boyish and shy.

“I’m the one afraid of losin’ you.” He mutters, like he’s admitting it more to himself.

His words unwrap your heart releasing so many emotions.

“Joel.” You whisper, a bit hesitant, and his gaze draws back to you.

He seems closer now, his coal-like eyes brewing something untouchable. Silence, a soft shift settles, you taking him in, and him doing the same for you.

You don’t know who moves first. But in a blink his lips descend onto yours.

His mustache tickles. His lips hold a hint of something sweet sugary, indulgent, or you wonder if that’s just Joel.

Strong gloved hands clutch onto you holding your tighter against his frame. He tilts your head, allowing him to kiss you deeper, and your mouth willingly opens begging for more of him.

It isn’t lost on you that you’re kissing Santa Claus, like a cheesy holiday song. But it’s the fact that you’re kissing Joel Miller that melts everything away.

Your fingers find his hair, running through his soft gray locks you’ve dreamed about. Joel groans, and you already want more.

With ease, he lifts you up with one arm and you squeak into his mouth. His chuckle vibrates against your lips, ticklish, until he starts to kiss your jaw, nibbling on the path of your skin.

You sigh, closing your eyes and drawing him closer when he places you back on the couch. Your legs curl against his waist, locking him in as you try molding into him, with him, as much as you can.

His lips find yours again, this time there’s a fevered edge to them. His tongue is messy, licking into your mouth desperate. You moan when he sucks on your tongue.

A blazing hunger takes over making your hips grind against him. Feeling his gloved hands slide up your legs, you whine digging into him harder.

Until he suddenly rips himself away, leaving you feeling empty missing his warmth and body against you.

“Shit…Really gotta go, honey. I can’t say.” Joel sighs. His heavy breathing, the tightness of his jaw, this is as hard for him as it is for you.

“Can’t you be a little late?” You softly question rising back up to kiss up his scruffy beard.

He groans when you softly kitten lick at his upper lip.

“Fuckin’ naughty little thing.” Joel growls.

You softly kiss his lips again.

“Guess that means I’m on the naughty list huh?” The joke slips out, and you already want to hide after hearing yourself.

Joel groans, but this time it’s ripe with embarrassment. You hide your face while he snickers.

“That was bad.”

“I know,” you agree mortified.

Even in your embarrassment, Joel presses a kiss to the crown of your head, and every worry melts away.

He stands up, pulling you gently up with him. Gathering you into his arms, this time Joel feels larger than life but also closer than ever, like he’s stitched inside your heart now.

“When will I see you again?” You hate how badly you miss him already.

“Soon, I promise.” He reassures rubbing your back softly, and you nod back.

His hand moves to hold your face again, gently, like you’re a precious treasure.

And you think he might be yours.

Joel kisses you, the softest sweetest press of his lips that melts into your bones. And when you open your eyes, he’s gone.

All that’s left are the faintest hints of snow flurries on your living room floor…

And of course he made sure to take his beer.

-

When Joel said he’d see you soon, you didn’t think it would be the next morning, Christmas morning.

Softly a hand brushes against your face, slowly waking you. You find yourself back in your bedroom. The soft glow of the winter morning spreads a gentle light that covers your room.

Joel is here, kneeling beside your bed, and immediately you turn towards him.

In this light, his greys look softer, thicker in their shade, like beautiful white streams run from his temples. And his beard looks as if snow flurries have been peppered in more. The red velvet of his suit looks brighter. Your fingers run across the fabric, across his shoulders.

You whisper his name, yet a sadness creeps in again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he nods.

“Are you okay… with us?” It’s a stumbled way to ask, but it’s all you can get out.

Is he okay that you’re much younger than him?

“Yeah, of course.” He nods.

“Actually, Ellie and Sarah were the ones who told me to go for it.” He admits fondly, sleepily.

“They said I needed to be selfish for once, let myself have this…”

His eyes watch you as you sit up to reach him.

“Is that why you were so cold when we first met?” You ask.

Joel nods, sighing.

“Felt awful knowing I was doing this to you, someone so dang young, so fuckin’ beautiful. Hated that you were stuck with a mess of ‘n old man like me.”

“I’d pick you everytime.” The words escape fast. You can’t even stop them.

Instantly he swoops in kissing you with an unchained passion that makes you dizzy.

Immediately you tug at him, begging him to crawl onto the bed. You sigh in bliss when he does, making your mattress creak ever slightly with his glorious solid frame.

His kisses are drenched in a poison intoxicating you.

Clutching onto Joel’s shoulders, you lift your hips when his gloved hands tug at your pj pants.

That’s when you hear the faint laughter of everyone downstairs awake. You freeze. Joel senses your hesitation. That gorgeous nose of his nuzzles against your jaw breathing in the scent of you.

“Y’gonna be a good girl and keep quiet for me?” His thick low voice is all you need because you’re nodding yanking at his shoulders to kiss him again.

This kiss dances along the edge of something fierce and wild, like you’re trying to contain it, hold it back before it spreads and someone hears.

Until Joel’s gloved fingers slip inside your wet heat, and you slap a hand over your mouth to hold back a moan. Feeling his black leather glove inside you has your eyes roll back. Then when you rest your head against the soft fur lining of his coat, it creates such a dizzying sensation you want to get lost in.

“Oh fuck.” He drawls, hoarse.

His fingers pump in and out of you, and the squelch of your wetness sounds downright obscene now. Joel revels in it.

“Letting this ol’ man winter fuck ya while everyone’s down stairs waiting…Y’like that baby?”

You whimper, nodding, clutching onto him harder trying so hard to keep quiet. Then he removes them from your pussy and you whimper at the loss.

Until he draws his gloved fingers, shining and coat in your arousal, up to your lips.

“Can ya clean ‘em off for me?” He mutters.

Without hesitation you pull them into your mouth and suck, letting your tongue wiggle across the leather. You moan tasting this union of you and the leather.

“Shit,” Joel croaks like he got punched in the gut.

Quickly he yanks his hand out from your mouth, rips his gloves off and kisses you feverish.

“Need to feel ya.” He sounds drunk as you feel, even more when his bare fingers thick and warm slip into you again.

He makes you come so fast it knocks you breathless, feeling hot even with the cooler temperature in the room. You whisper begging him to fuck you, to take you here before he heads home -

“Can’t darlin’, but soon I will. I promise.” He reassures you kissing your lips over and over.

“And Santa always keeps his promises, yeah?”

That shouldn’t be so hot, but it is. You greedily kiss him, trying to devour him even more.

“Jesus,” he growls, his accent thicker than ever. “Makin’ it so fuckin’ hard to leave.”

“Then don’t.” You beg.

But then the voices downstairs get louder, and the smell of food warming up floats in.

Joel sighs deflated. You know this is the end for now.

Rubbing his wonderful nose against yours, you lean to press your forehead to his. He breathes out your name, and it sounds like a blessing.

“Merry Christmas, honey.” He whispers softly to you.

A knock comes at your door, and in a panic you drag your blanket up around you.

“You awake yet?” Your mom jokingly asks.

You definitely are now. Of course Joel has vanished.

But something tickles the top of your head. Bundles of mistletoe, twisted among so many lovely ribbons, bloom all along your bed frame.

-

One Christmas Later

“Did I ever show you the shirt Ellie and Sarah sent me last week?” You ask, and Joel, half paying attention, hums.

He pulls his attention away from the Dallas Cowboys game long enough to glance at your phone.

The shirt reads - Mrs Claus but Married to the Grinch

He rolls his eyes, not finding it as amusing as his daughters did.

“Or what about this one.” You show him the next option.

This one, in bright gold lettering, says - Santa’s Sexy Girlfriend

“No.” He flat out pushes the phone away making you laugh and lean against his strong shoulder.

This would be the last night before he heads out on his run. This will also be the first night you get to see him leave, and the first night you’ll get to wait for him now living at his home.

The memories and days that have brought you here are strung up in your heart, luminous multi colored tinsel you never want to take down.

“It’s actually one of the first years we’re ahead of schedule,” Tommy says when you greet him back at the workshop.

“That wife of yours is really something.” Though Tommy talks directly to his brother he makes sure to wink at you.

You’re grateful you got to help out more this year, even enjoyed having Ellie and Sarah around when they came by to visit. But with Ellie now enjoying time with the girl she desperately has a crush on, and Sarah taking the day to spend time with her new boyfriend, it really would just be you and Joel.

A delicious heat crawls in you knowing what you had waiting for him.

But you almost forget about it when you start helping Joel get dressed.

Your throat dries seeing him buckle up his crimson pants, then helping him slide his thick coat on and how broad it accentuates his shoulders…

“You keep lookin’ at me like we’re gonna get behind schedule.” Joel mutters sinful.

“We’re ahead of schedule. We could…mess around for a bit.” You offer light.

“No, being ahead means I can come home earlier.” He very playfully and lightly smacks your ass.

You hate when he’s right.

With a kiss goodbye you send him off returning to the quiet home. You’ll have a day and a half before Joel officially returns. So you spend your time binging multiple movies.

You’re also thankful for the stash of extra cookies you finally found. Joel ‘I ain’t got a sweet tooth’ Miller isn’t so slick with his hiding spots.

The film your best friend recommended is cheesy. But during the scene where the main love interest comes to interrupt the engagement party to announce he loves the bride, cause you to pause.

In theory, you are Joel’s wife. Your mom even jokes that she practically has the most perfect unofficial son in law, if only if she knew the truth. Yet, you don’t have a ring, don’t even use Miller as your last name.

It’s silly, you tell yourself and try not to think about it too much.

So you instead enjoy more cozy snacks and the rare bits of snow Austin is getting this time of year. It’s magical, paints the world like something straight from a Thomas Kinkade dream.

The morning comes when Joel will be home, and you sit waiting on the bed. Don’t even mind you work up early for this.

Earlier confidence surged in you when you slipped into the gorgeous lingerie set. Now it itches on your skin as you sit worried. The bow sitting on your bra might be too much. You almost bought the cute risqué Santa nightgown, but you hesitated.

You didn’t feel like you could truly even joke about being Mrs Claus when you didn't even fully consider yourself Mrs Miller.

“Honey?” Joel announces stepping into the house, and your heart jumps into your throat.

“In here!” You yell back.

Waiting on the bed feels like an eternity passes before Joel opens the door. There’s still snow on his shoulders. His hair is starting to grow out more so it curls around his ears. He’s never looked more gorgeous.

Then his face falls and his eyes become full moons taking in the sight of you before him.

“Oh baby,” he whispers like he can’t believe his eyes.

You grin sleepy.

With eased measured steps Joel walks forward, and you’re reminded of a hunter trying to approach his prey.

He drags his fingers, ungloved, warm and callous from all the hard work he does, up your exposed skin leaving a trial of heat in their wake.

“Can I unwrap my present?” He mutters, allowing his fingers to drift with. Delicate touch across the top of your breast barely kept in by the lace covered bra.

“Yeah, Joel please.” You sigh, closing your eyes when his large hand suddenly grasps, squeezing your breast.

The poor lingerie doesn’t make it out alive.

Now you drift in and out of sleep, naked in his arms. Joel kisses your forehead promising he’ll buy you as many new sets as you want.

“Merry Christmas to both of us.” You dryly joke.

He laughs, but it sounds a bit weak, more like a cough.

“Uh, speaking of Christmas gift… y’want yours now or later when we wake up?”

That makes you bolt up fast from his arms.

“I told you not to get me anything, Miller.” You protest, glaring at him.

Joel rolls his eyes.

“You’re telling me of all people not to get you something?” He scoffs.

“Then I don’t want it.” You stubbornly pout back.

“Alrighty then, I’ll return it tomorrow.” Sleepily he shrugs and turns on his side giving you full sight of his glorious sun kissed bare back. You try not to linger on the scratch marks you left behind.

Now you persistently tell him to give it to you.

“Sounds like what you were saying a few minutes ago.” He teases with a smirk glancing over to you from his shoulder.

Now you roll your eyes.

“Give me the gift Miller, or else.” You shake his shoulder trying to sound somber like Joel himself, but a smile tugs at your lips.

Dramatically, he groans sitting up.

“Making an old man like me get up after the long ass night I had.” He says reaching over to his nightstand.

“Oh please, if I asked you to go another round you would.” You scoff.

“You wanna?” He asks with a curious mutter, and you shove his shoulder again playful.

“Fine, fine.” Joel grumbles.

After reaching under the bed, he returns back with a box…covered in dinosaur wrapping paper.

“Look, it was the only one I had left over here.” He explains seeing your confusion.

“Joel, you work at a magical workshop where there's an endless supply of cute Christmas wrapping paper. Why didn’t you grab some?!” You laugh.

“Didn’t wanna mess up the inventory.” He huffs, grumpy and classically Joel.

“You gonna open it or am I gonna have to hide it again?”

At his words you greedily rip off the paper.

You guess by the size it looked like a shoe box and it is, a familiar box you thought you threw away. Now you’re confused.

Opening it, inside is an even smaller box. This one is classically wrapped in green and red with a shining bow on top.

But when you pick it up, you discover the tiny box is heavy. There’s also a latch at the back begging for you to lift and open.

Inside sits a ring, dancing with a shimmering sparkle.

You already fight back the tears.

Is this what you think it is?

Whipping your face to Joel he seems hesitant, worried, while he keeps his focus on you.

“I know we might’ve done this backwards but…” he reaches for the ring, gingerly pulling it out.

“Wanna make it official now.”

You inhale sharp.

“Honey I’ll get down on one knee if you want, but might take me a while to get back up…” he jokes, but the edge of his voice is watery, shaky, like he’s the one barely holding on.

“But…will you marry me again-”

You don’t even let him finish before you rush to kiss him. The tears come, fast and free like a wave, but they’re beautiful. You embrace it all.

Joel slides the ring in your finger. The weight of the beautiful metal feels wonderful against your skin, but you don’t notice it. Not when you’re swept up in making love to your Joel, your fiancé.

The love bursting through your heart could swallow you whole and you would let it.

“I love you,” he admits against your skin, breathing out like he’s finally found a moment of rest.

“I love you too.” You rub his back soaking in the bliss among the sweat and heat of his body against yours.

It’s just you and your Mr Claus.

“I’m glad Santa granted my wish.” You mutter dreamy, not caring how embarrassing you sound.

That is until Joel lifts his head up, those wonderful eyes of his shine brighter than any northern star.

“Mine too, honey.” He mutters, kissing you tenderly, a sweet promise of more beautiful Christmas days to come.

[graphedpaper]

Renter Problems 4

yandere!celebrity x fem!reader

Synopsis: Your once childhood nuisance turned celebrity, turned aggressor, is advancing further and further into his delusions, pushing past your boundaries in any way he sees fit. He won't even let you shower by yourself or get a cup of water to quench your dry throat. Just how much of your autonomy is he going to invade, and why is he doing this? Details: Verbal abuse, NSFW, manipulation, fem reader, kidnapping, non-con, masturbation, delusional thinking Warning: NSFW, Non-Con

The warm late morning sunlight glows on your face as you rustle up from your slumber. Your eyelids drudge open, and you blink a couple of times to wake yourself. You slowly sit up using your tied arms, your elbows digging into the biggest mattress you've ever seen. 

The first thought that comes into your hazy mind is the sore hunger pains coming from your empty stomach. You look down at yourself. You're still wearing your top and pants from almost 2 or 3 days ago, and you're not sure what day it is exactly.

And when you hear heavy footsteps nearing the bedroom door you immediately remember what happened yesterday and the tenseness returns, making your whole body sore. You try not to dwell on it, but you remember where you are now fully and completely.

You need to escape. 

As the tall, smooth white panel door opens inwards you slump back down into bed. You don't have the energy to stay on guard, and you're past starving. Everything feels light, especially your limbs, yet they also simultaneously feel tied down by ten ton weights.

"Hey, did you sleep well?" He asks walking towards you with a cup of hot tea. Good, you were parched. 

You manage to croak out a 'yes' and he sits beside you, placing down the beverage to help you up. He strokes your hair as he picks the mug back up with his right hand. You reach for it, bracing for the hot ceramic to touch your palms, but instead, Jacob brings it to his lips, leaving you dumbfounded at his blatant selfishness.

"Oh, you wanted it?" He asks, with a dumbfounded look on his face. 

You stare blankly at him back.

'Oh, no Jacob, it's fine, I don't want something to drink after being starved and kidnapped for days.'  You think, sarcastic and bitter. Yes, you did want the fucking tea after he threw you around, threatened to cut your finger and neck, and came in your mouth. 

"Of course my pretty girl can share with me." He adds sweetly. So sweetly in fact, it makes you question if what happened yesterday truly happened. What was going on? Were you being kidnapped? He hands you the steaming drink and with awkward T-rex arms you manage to lift the cup to your dry lips and take a few sips. The restraints on your wrist... It's awkward, it's janky, it's uncomfortable. The metal cuffs keep cutting into your skin and you can barely do anything.

"Jacob-" You start, attempting to ask him to unlock the handcuffs.

He shoots you a look. A 'don't say it and ruin the mood' look. It sends you a gut-tossing chill, muting whatever you were going to ask him to do.

" Babe, I found this great brunch place for us to try. You must be starving huh?" He quickly jumps to a different subject, before you even have a chance to ask him to take the handcuffs off of you, or let that dangerous stare of his sink in.

Brunch? Like as in a restaurant in public? Somewhere you could get help? Your scheming begins and your heartbeat rises at the chance of being saved.

"I was so worried, because you haven't eaten in a while."

Jacob can see it on your face and he can see it in your eyes. That flash of determination that he hated throughout childhood. The cancer that was infecting this pure love, it had to be cut out and blazed. He could almost hear you plotting your escape from the relationship.

"I ordered it to go, it'll be here soon." He tells He announces to you.

"Oh." You say in crestfallen hopelessness. Your stomach growls.

"I hope this can count as our new start." He adds on.

You try to hide your desperation from his observant eyes as your chance of escaping seems to start withering away. Perhaps focus on something else?

You look into his golden eyes. Today he's wearing a soft-looking grey long-sleeve and loose-fitting cargos. His silver watch on his left hand had been making a ticking sound this whole time, and you hadn't noticed in your narrow-sighted distress. He had clean clothes and a lovely shiny watch, while your hair was a mess, your clothes old.

"What can I wear? Can I take a shower?" You ask him abruptly. You didn't feel like a human anymore, you felt more like an animal. You needed to get away from him, at least temporarily. He scared you, his weird switches in behaviour, from doting to violent.

"I'll give you a bath, and your old clothes are in the other closet." He responds smiling.

Oh god, please, god if you're real don't allow him to give me a bath, please god.

"Jacob, please, just let me shower on my own." You beg. He hadn't seen you naked yet, and it was one of the last dignities you could hold on to. 

"You're too weak, now stop it." He snaps, annoyance flashing his face. 

And you do, you shut up like the helpless prey you are. And now he'll to see you stripped and all, his hands over your bare body-

'You're not a helpless prey,' you think to yourself. 'Don't ever think like that, especially not in a situation like this.' Didn't you know this well enough? For humans, morale was the most important thing in survival, it didn't matter if the heart was beating or not, first and foremost it was mind had to stay alive.

You blink back tears and slide yourself off the bed, following him to the washroom. He sees it, and perhaps he feels pity for your pathetic form, because he tells you to give him your hands. Hesitantly, you place your restrained hands in his, unsure what he'll do. You wait for him to reach into his left pocket, where he brings out a small flat key, which he uses to unlock your handcuffs.

So that's where he keeps the keys to the handcuff.

You shake out your wrists, free from the restraints and you feel- so light. You try not to look too hard at the red cuts and marks around them from the prolonged use, they give you mind-numbingly painful reminders of the terror you're facing.

"I'll put some ointment on it, okay?" He says, gently, while hovering his fingers above the injuries. 

He leads you across his wide bedroom to his bathroom. It's like another room on its own, grand with marble, and a great bathtub overlooking the view of the vast backyard pool. 

He turns the faucet of the sleek bathtub, as the water rushes down and echoes the room with the sound of falling splashes hitting porcelain. 

You stand near him, not daring to move an inch without the weight of your cuffs. He turns back to you and starts to pull your shirt off. You reluctantly lift your arms up to help him and you quickly cover yourself. You cross your arms over your bare chest and avoid Jacob's burning stare at you. To Jacob, you were overreacting. Why were you so insistent on acting innocent and shy in a relationship? What's the big deal seeing his girlfriend's tits? For fuck's sake, you'd already sucked him off, hadn't you?

You try to take yourself out of this experience while he pulls your pants down, leaving you down to your underwear. You knew this was his motive, but you can almost hear his arousal. The hot, buzzing excitement, disguised as a caring gesture revolts you. He wasn't really washing you out of concern of you being 'too weak', he just wanted to control you and see you naked.

"I can do it!" You exclaim, breaking the silent tension. His fingers linger on the waistband of your underwear. You don't dare to push his hands off of you, but you do step away from his touch.

Jacob brushes his loose hair back with his hand and sighs. 

"Babe, please, let's not fight over this, let me take care of you." He says, seemingly exasperated.

He pinches the elastic of your underwear and slowly pulls it down in not very well concealed anticipation. It's a light pink pantie with a small ribbon, you probably got it as a value set from a cheap store. If it was up to you, you wouldn't have to wear this juvenile shit anymore, you'd wear something... tinier. Lacier.

He holds his breath in excitement and when the last piece of your self-preserved dignity on you falls in a pile to your feet he takes a good look. Quick, but a good look nonetheless. That was a mistake though, because now he's harder than steel. He desperately wants to push you against the wall. Hear your heart start to beat faster as your arousal drips between your legs. 

He won't do it now, don't worry, you're too weak at the moment. He may get excited at times, but he's no rapist. Instead, he lifts you up onto the sinktop. Dipping his finger into a small pot, he gathers a dollop of clear gel. As he starts to apply the cool gel on your sore wrists, an herbal smell invades your nose. You try to observe him, see if he feels guilt that these injuries were from him. But he remains seemingly unfazed and without shame, as if these cuts appeared from nowhere.

"Shouldn't you apply it after the wash?" You ask. 

"Oh, right." He says, laughing. 

You force yourself to crack a smile. Jacob wipes the gel off his fingers.

"It's fine, we can apply it before and after, anything for you." Jacob tells you.

Jacob can't help but feel hopeful. It seemed like you were already warming up to him. Of course, right now, maybe you were just faking it, but soon, it would become habit, then it would become a part of you. Then, it would be you, truly you. You would love him, laughing by his side, whether in bed or on the red carpet. No one could deny it, could they? You wanted to drink the tea from the cup he drank from, and you let him help you change out of your clothes, you even smiled at him. Yeah, you were definitely falling for him as well, slowly, but surely. He saw you as a mother of his children, but he could also see you on all fours, being fucked into whenever he wished for. You were so special to him.

The splattering sound of the water quiets down, and the swirling steam rises from the water. 

He uses his right hand to check the temperature, and when he decides it's fine, he comes over to lift you from the waist into bridal position, carefully lowering you into the wide tub, akin to a baptism of a baby. He's gentle and caring, allowing you to adust to the hot water.

 You turn your head to the wide window, and you can see atop the long, large trees, lush green leaves shaking in the gentle breeze. You can almost imagine that warm sunlight smell, the one that saturates the world in richness and sticks on your clothes, the wind blowing your hair. That summer bliss you experienced as a young girl. You didn't deserve this, to be held captive. You deserved to be a teen girl with her friends looking forward to starting college. Jacob's turned his back, reaching into the drawers for soap, or something, and for those few seconds, his distracted self tempts you to escape like honey to an ant. You want so badly to get up and sprint out, but the fear stops you. When he comes back you avert your eyes to the clear water. Jacob smiles. Your bare skin under the slow-moving water ripples, it's distorted but there.

"You like waffles?" He asks suddenly, kneeling down behind your head as he squirts a cool liquid onto your scalp, sending tingles down your spine. He massages it into your hair as a fresh, rosemary scent wafts around you, the aromatic bubbles starting to form into suds. 

"Waffles? They're okay." You reply, uncomfortable at how comfortable you were becoming. Fuck, why was this relaxing? The hot water invaded all your senses and it soothed your tense body.  

"What do you want to eat then?" He asks, his hands working at your wet hair. 

"Anything's fine, I'm starving." You reply

And it's true, you couldn't possibly care if it's a waffle or a pancake. Hell, give the peeled skin of a potato and you just might eat it with the fervor of a child and a chocolate cake.

Jacob bristles at the word 'starving'. It's just how you said it, almost as if you're accusing him of your pain. It's not his fault, it's yours that you couldn't stay up until a few minutes to eat. It's not like he prevented you from eating, so why were you saying it like that? Why were you constantly treating him like that?

"You fell asleep before dinnertime." He states accusively, his voice going from calm to stiff.

"I know." You reply back, sensing his rigid form behind you. 

You don't have to look back to visualize his face, dark twisted eyebrows and a deep, wronged frown. It's best to agree with him in a passive, neutral manner, at least when he's swinging from one emotion to the next. He doesn't feel like a person, he feels like a bomb you must cradle to your chest, one wrong move causing it to detonate and kill you.

There falls a moment of quiet while he rinses the soap from your hair. The only sounds are the gentle splashes of water and scrubbing of soap. He takes a sweet citrus-smelling body wash scrub, washing your arms and torso. He takes his time to wash your legs, and his fingers linger in between your thighs. His fingers brush against your clit and you sit up straighter, alert. 

"You might get an infection if I don't clean it well enough, I've heard about it," He explains.

But it's a lame justification, because you both know what he's actually doing. Infection, my ass. He's at the side of the tub now, still knelt down, and his index finger makes a light circle clockwise on your bud, twice. It may have been a mistake the first time, but now it's intentional. You can't help but gasp in horror. You mentally smack yourself in the face, and pray he doesn't take the gasp as encouragement to continue.

"Jacob," You whisper, turning to his face to look at his expression. 

His eyes stare back at you, a dark greed filling his face.

"Jacob, not right now," You try to tell him again.

"You'll like it, I promise. It'll feel good." He replies, focusing on making tight circles on your clit as you fidget your legs and splash some water over the edge. Your clit swells with a new type of arousal, and you don't know if it's the heat from the water, or something more internal. Jacob enjoys the scene playing out before him, your body contorting to handle the pleasure he's giving to you, while you try to stay still for him. You're so compliant. You contain any sound that might escape, in fear of egging him on to continue further. 

"You wanted this to happen, huh? You asked for a shower? Knowing I wouldn't be able to resist your naked body?" He asks mockingly. He rubs your engorged clit faster, and you clutch the sides of the tub with knuckle-white hands. 

You want to deny his words but a moan slips past your lips as that familiar pressure builds up inside you. You want to scream at him to stop but your mind flashes back to the knife he held to your neck, the needle he used to sedate you. He finds satisfaction in your unravelling, all by him, and he can't help but palm his own arousal underneath his pants. 

"Jacob, too much!" You whimper. 

Oh god, it feels good, but if I come he'll take it as encouragement, oh god, oh no, 

"It's okay, you can come, I know I'm making you feel good, so don't shy away." He tells you sweetly, adoring that flushed look on your face, the warmth that comes from your gratification of his touch. It validates him, to see you lose control like this. All those celebrity bitches were already sluts that were used to sex, but you were simpler to please. He could never let you go, you were the only one he could do this to. He's too distracted by his fantasies of you and him, to notice your orgasm as your legs tremble and your moans become a background as he mindlessly draws more circles on your sensitive clit. How would you react to him proposing? Somewhere public, of course, where everyone could see the love you two shared. What about a sweet baby boy, who could grow up to be another successful actor, just like his dad? After that, a beautiful young girl, that looked just like you and him. She could easily become a model with those looks. 

Your pleas for him to stop over-stimulating your poor self brings him back to ground as he smiles at your exhausted face. 

"Good girl, now let's get you dressed so we can eat." 

-----

You two are sitting down on the sofa to have brunch. Jacob finds it more intimate, and casual, than sitting at the dining table. Besides, the dining table brings back bad memories, don't they? While you're devouring liège waffles with intense speed, Jacob has an egg sandwich. 

"Is it good?" Jacob asks you.

Jacob wishes you'd instigate more conversations. He wants you to thank him for the orgasm, and the food. Throw up some compliments, and smile at him like you did in the washroom. Can't you stop eating for just a minute and talk to him?

"It's good, where'd you get them?" You ask, and you instantly raise an eyebrow at your own tone after you say this. You said it a little too normal for your own liking.

Could you be getting used to this? How could you act so nonchalant in a kidnapping? Was this kidnapping?

"There's this stupid guy I know. He cooks, owns a few restaurants." He responds vaguely.

"Why stupid?" You ask him, noticing the look of distaste on his face.

"He's an heir to the throne of some country, but he put it on pause and now he causes trouble here." Jacob says. He looks agitated just talking about him. 

You're surprised. 

"Really? He turned down the chance to be king?" You prod more, eager for any chance to bring Jacob's guard down. 

"Yeah." He answers curtly.

Jacob sighs and looks back at you enjoying your waffles and he can almost feel a warm happiness filling everything broken inside him, like molten gold. You were the best girlfriend, you made him want to be better.

You can feel his eyes on you.

It's disturbing. 

"Do you have work today?" You ask, avoiding eye contact with him and staring at a painting on the wall.

"No, today's off." He answers, still looking at you, with his arm over the couch in a relaxed manner.

Well, any predator would be relaxed when faced with a puny prey. 

You realize then and there that you've lost track of the date.

"Wait, what's the date today?" You ask him. 

Jacob hesitates to tell you. He doesn't know why, why he wants to with hold this information from you, it simply feels wrong to tell you something that relates to the outside world. It's a strange feeling that he's never sensed before, he's really not sure of the reasoning he has inside for his avoidance to tell you the date. It then irritates him a bit, that you would ask something like that when you two were enjoying a meal together. You weren't eating with the whole world,  you were eating with him. So your attention should be on him.

"Saturday." He finally answers after a few seconds, lying through his playful grin.

You accept his answer, and make a note to not lose track again. You each go back to working at your individual late breakfast when another question forms rapidly in your mind and blurts out from your mouth before you can stop it.

"Where's my laptop and phone?" You ask him.

Jacob pauses eating and turns his body towards you. You can't decipher this look. But it's dangerous, it's dark, it's a warning. You look back at him, not daring to break this twisted version of a staring contest. 

"Maybe you'd like to go outside." He says, ignoring your question. 

And you immediately understand what he means. Perhaps you wouldn't have before, but you're starting to understand his nature. This is not just an aversion of your question, it's a threat, that he will keep you inside for however long he pleases if you don't act the way he wants you to act. That reply serves as a reminder to you that he's in control here. That it's either you do what he wants and gain some freedom, or remain locked up.

"Yes, that would be nice," You reply, meekly. 

"Good, we can go sometime when you're ready." 

Jacob pauses, in thought.

"But for now let's stay inside. We can watch my new movie."

[emilys-bangs]

this is me trying | e.p

Tags: established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, mom!emily, no use of yn, use of petnames

Summary: Emily misses one of Eloise's milestones and tries to deal with it. Requested here.

Word count: 2.7k

A/n: my longest fic is officially a momily fic oops...(gimme more momily thoughts please) also I did the convo with Hotch instead of JJ because he's surprisingly easier to write than her :p

Emily was having an okay day. It was her second night away on a case and it was unraveling quickly, quick enough that she thought she’d be home for dinner.

She wasn’t.

Instead, she gets a call from you around Eloise’s bedtime. With the ring comes a twist of guilt in her stomach; she’d promised herself she’d call this time instead of you, but her reminder to set an alarm slipped from her mind, and soon she got swept up in an endless whirlpool of case files and paper trails. Silencing her phone, she pushes her chair back and stands up, her eyes flitting over Reid and JJ’s forms bent over the conference room table. They can handle a few minutes on their own.

Emily slips into an empty office, shuttering the blinds as she accepts the video call before it rings out. Crackly noise comes through and she smiles at the sight of you and Eloise on the plush carpet of her nursery, the little girl already in her pajamas and sitting in the cradle of your crossed legs. Some of the tightness in her chest loosens.

“Hi there,” Emily smiles softly as you hold the camera away from Eloise’s grabby hands, her eyes tracing your faces through the screen, “how are my favorite people in the world doing?” She asks, perching on the edge of the table.

“Good,” you say, smoothing a hand over Eloise’s damp hair. “Sleepy, but someone won’t—”

“Bye-bye!” Eloise interrupts cheerfully—her favorite word as of late.

Emily chuckles, her shoulders slumping at the bell-like tinkle of her daughter’s voice. “But I just saw you, sweet girl. I don’t wanna say bye so soon, do you?”

“Bye,” she repeats.

“Think I should go,” Emily wrinkles her nose at you, the playful gesture pulling a laugh from your toddler.

“Maybe she’s finally starting to learn it’s bedtime,” you say, kissing the top of her head. “We’re starting to feel sleepy, aren’t we, Eloise?” Your voice softens as you trace your finger down the soft bridge of her nose, a trick you and Emily use to soothe her to sleep.

But Eloise stubbornly shakes her head. “Nnn.” She turns her face away, placing two hands on your knee.

Emily smiles at the domestic image, her heart tugging with a need to be home. To join your daughter in the circle of your legs, feel your arms around her waist as you both worked to lull her to sleep. 

She breathes through the ache, forcing herself to smile. “Well, we both know where that came—”

Her playful jab falls away when she sees Eloise stand, her hands still on your knee to hold herself up. Emily holds her breath, waiting for her to topple, but her daughter steps over your leg and walks to the drawers behind you. Her movements are wobbly but she doesn’t fall, babbling bye, bye, bye under her breath as she fiddles with the handle of the drawer at her level.

You don’t give a reaction apart from a guilty twist of your lips. Still, Emily waits for something; surprise, shock, excited laughter. The only thing that happens is an apologetic shrug of your shoulders, resigned and defeated.

Her heart sinks.

“She—” Emily sucks in a breath, her throat dry. “She started walking? When?” She hates how her voice is croaky, how it breaks as her heart picks up its pace.

You guiltily chew on your lip. “Yesterday morning.”

Yesterday morning. She was on the jet by then. Something bitter coats her tongue, digging into her molars; the inside of her cheeks pucker.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

But it’s obvious why you didn’t.

“Emily…”

“Mmamamama,” Eloise comes over again, her small, onesie-covered feet showing up on the screen. She grabs the phone from your limp fingers, her sweet, clueless face reaching the edges of Emily’s phone. “Ma,” she babbles, and Emily forces a smile.

“Mommy’s here, sweetheart.” She says hoarsely. 

Her voice cracks around the blatant lie.

___

They’re on the jet home less than twenty four hours later. It was as happy an outcome as they can possibly hope for; unsub in cuffs, airtight evidence, families reunited with their loved ones.

And yet everyone notices Emily’s mood. 

They notice it but say nothing about it, letting her churn in silence as she bypasses all the seats in the jet to sit in the back. Her go bag is thrown under her chair, her arms tightly crossed over her chest as she looks out the window and toys with her ring.

Takeoff is a blur. The lights dim and she chances a glance at her watch, hopelessly willing the time to go by faster. As she’s turning her head, she spots movement from the corner of her eye.

Hotch sits down across from her. He’s quiet as he places a mug of tea next to her phone, but when he leans back into his seat, she sees the concern—and the question—in his eyes.

“You’re upset.” He says.

If Emily wasn’t feeling so miserable, she might have scoffed. Maybe she could have deflected, or lashed out and told him to leave her alone and wallow in her self loathing. 

But she’s too tired for that. And Hotch has kind eyes; he understands, what she’s feeling, more than anyone.

So Emily finds herself cracking. 

“Eloise. She, uh…she took her first steps two days ago.” Emily says quietly, staring intensely at the mug he’s placed in front of her. The lump forms yet again, the threatening press of tears just behind her eyes. Her own words only make her gut churn. “...And I wasn’t there.” She adds unnecessarily, her voice lowered to a whisper because any louder and she’s sure it’ll break.

Her daughter crossed off a huge milestone. And instead of cheering her on, taking her into her arms and kissing her little cheeks, Emily was off hundreds of miles away, hunting down a pathetic, homicidal man rather than being there for her own child. Emily had promised herself that she’d always be there—for every dance recital, every parent teacher meeting. But she couldn’t even be there for Eloise’s first steps.

She’s just as bad as her mother, prioritizing a job over her own daughter. The thought makes her bite down on her lip, hard. The metallic taste of blood floods her tongue.

“How do you deal with it?” She asks thickly. Emily doesn’t look up at him as she twists her fingers into her necklace, smoothing her thumb over the engraved E and staring intently at the mug he’s placed on top of a coaster—because of course Hotch got a coaster.

The answer she gets is a low, heavy exhale that she feels in her bones. Emily looks up, chancing a glance at him even though she knows her eyes are probably shining under the low lights of the jet.

Hotch swallows, carefully measuring his words before he speaks. “I try to remind myself that I’m making the world a better place for him. Though most of the time it’s a lousy excuse.” His lips press together in a small, bitter, smile. A hand goes through his hair and a few strands flop back into his face; for the first time, Emily sees a rumpled, exhausted single dad rather than her put together Unit Chief. “I guess I try to deal with it by giving Jack 100% of my attention when I’m home. I shut everything out and focus on him, for however many hours I can get. I’d like to think I’m making a difference, but…” He trails off, shrugs. 

Emily’s stomach sinks then. She presses her lips together, fighting against the shine in her eyes that now reflects in Hotch’s. 

There’s no good answer. No way to make herself feel better about it. She knew that, and yet hearing it from him somehow makes it worse. The chain of her necklace tugs sharply against her throat.

“It helps,” he speaks up again, a tinge of sadness to his voice, “knowing that she’s not alone. She’ll always have someone. And no matter what, she’ll always know you love her.” He says gently. Somewhere in the shadowy corners of her mind, she realizes she’s never heard him talk this softly before, at least not to her.

Emily swallows hard. “What if—” Her voice shakes. She snaps her mouth shut, grabs the mug and takes a scorching sip. The chamomile doesn’t register on her taste buds, neither does the sweetness of two Splenda’s. Emily wraps her cold, trembling hands around the mug, looking into it as she forces herself to say the words. “What if she wants me? And if I’m not there…�� Her voice grows hoarse again.

She swallows again. Drinks her tea, again. Closes her eyes against the tears, digs a thumb into her wedding ring. “What does that tell your child about you, Hotch? When you’re not there and they need you to be?”

Emily pretends not to hear the crack in her own voice. Hotch pretends, too, as he leans forward on the table. “You’re not a bad mom,” he says quietly. His tone is firm, unwavering. “You care and you’re trying and they’ll know that.”

They. Their combined children, victims of their job. He says it like he’s begging for it to be enough. For his sake and for hers.

Emily tries to believe it. She really, truly does, but she can’t stop the whispers that say it’s not enough.

___

When she walks into your home, the living room is empty.

Emily follows the sound of your voice and Eloise’s, her breaths coming easier as her feet lead her to the nursery. She inhales the scent of home; baby powder and your perfume and the detergent all of your clothes are washed with. Before she lets herself caught up in it—in you—Emily stores her gun in the safe, drops her go bag in the laundry room.

Finally, she stops at Eloise’s nursery. You’re sitting on the floor just like you were yesterday, Eloise again sitting between your crossed legs. There’s a book in her hands that she furrows her brows at, intently studying the colored pages as if she’ll be quizzed on them. 

The sight makes Emily smile.

“Knock knock,” she says softly, briefly scaring you. The tension in your shoulders melts when you see it’s her, a small smile curling your lips as she toes off her boots and walks into the nursery.

“Hi,” you whisper. Eloise finally looks up from her book just as Emily settles next to you on the floor, where she wished she would be just last night.

“Mama!” Her baby squeals, and Emily’s heart constricts, and her vision blurs as she reaches her hands out to carry her into her arms.

“Hi, Eloise,” she whispers. She feels the scrape of tears in the back of her throat and swallows, pressing her lips to her daughter’s soft cheek to stifle them. “I missed you.” Another kiss goes to her other cheek, then one to her forehead. 

Your hand falls to her knee and squeezes; Emily takes a hand off of Eloise’s back, places it over your knuckles. She skates her thumb over your skin, squeezes her daughter with her other hand. 

“I heard my sweet girl started walking.” Emily murmurs, letting go of your hand to smooth Eloise’s hair behind her ears. It’s an adorable mess, the way it springs right back in her face bringing a smile to Emily’s lips. “Can you show Mommy, honey?”

Her dark eyes stare into Emily’s; twin pairs. “Hi,” Eloise mumbles.

“Hi, my love. I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she says, her voice cracking on the last word. Her daughter doesn’t notice, too busy with reaching out to fiddle with her necklace. Emily runs her palms over the soft cotton of her onesie, hugging her close and trying to remind herself that she’s here now. “I’m so proud of you, Eloise. Mommy’s always proud of you, you know?” Tears balance on her lashes as she turns her head again to kiss a soft cheek. “You’re my girl.”

Emily didn’t used to be an easy crier. 

Having a child changed that; she cried at Eloise’s ultrasound, cried at her birth. She cried when her daughter said Mama and when she was running a mild fever of 99.5. Tears were easy to come, at bumps and bruises, at small snippets of her personality that start to form with time, at a singular candle blown on her birthday. Undeniably, her daughter is her Achilles heel. Emily is still trying to deal with that, trying to adjust to having her heart walk around unprotected on tiny, wobbly legs that still don’t know where to go.

Emily doesn’t realize she’s been rocking her daughter back and forth until your arm wraps around her shoulders. The weight of it forces her to go still; when she leans back, she leans back into you.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles. Eloise wriggles in her arms and she lets her go, only for the little girl to plop between both of you. Her small hands fiddle with the badge on her hip; Emily’s eyes dart down to her, a wobbly smile pulling on her lips.

“Em,” you whisper, cupping her chin in your hand. Her gaze meets yours again. “You have nothing to apologize for.” You say quietly. With more tenderness than she deserves, you wipe the wetness under her eye.

Emily shakes her head. “I wasn’t there.” She says, her lip trembling as more of her tears drip onto your palm.

An adamant frown pulls your brows together. “Look at her.” You murmur, both firm and soft as you catch a tear before it falls onto Eloise’s head. Emily does, her heart clenching when she finds Eloise’s chin already tipped up, their eyes clashing in identical shades of brown. “She’s just happy you’re home, baby. We both are.”

“But—”

“Mama cry?” Eloise’s sweet voice pipes up.

The palpable sadness in it breaks Emily’s heart. Eloise frowns fiercely as she shoves her small palms into Emily’s knee, steadying herself before standing on her own and taking two steps to reach her mother. 

Pride flares in her chest. Eloise stands on her tiptoes, her small hands falling on her mother’s face; Emily’s hands go to her waist, steadying her. “Mama cry?” Her baby asks again, her eyes far too serious for a just turned one-year-old.

Emily smiles and this time it’s more genuine. “I’m okay, sweet girl.” She lifts a small fist off her cheek and brings it to her lips. “I love you.”

“Wuv.”

“You tell her, Ellie.” You lean against Emily’s side, your hand going to her cheek to wipe the remaining tears. Eloise’s hand joins yours and Emily laughs, shaky and wet even though your daughter is being none too careful. “That’s what we like to hear,” you murmur, tucking Emily’s hair behind her ear. Eloise falls into her lap and she instinctively holds her, her hands secure around her body even though she doesn’t break eye contact with you.

“Listen to me. You’re here now. That’s what matters, okay? It could’ve happened at any time—hell, I could’ve been at work when it happened. This is not on you.” You say firmly, your voice almost scolding. But your hands on her face are soft, cradling her cheeks with gentle care; the pad of your thumb skims absently over her jaw.

Emily’s lips twitch. Your words go through one ear and out the other; nothing against you, but she’s never relied on them for comfort. Instead she leans forward and presses her forehead to yours, closing her eyes as your noses bump together. Her shoulders slump, her body relaxing when Eloise presses her cheek to her chest.

“I love you.” She says, soft, pressing the statement into your lips.

“I love you too.”

“Wuv.” Eloise joins in.

You and Emily both laugh as you look down at her, a familiar warmth returning to Emily’s chest at being home, with her family. She lifts her daughter back into her arms and kisses her until she giggles, until the sound of her laughter drowns out Emily’s thoughts. She’s not sure if she trusts your words, trusts that your love and Eloise’s won’t simmer to resentment when this situation is inevitably repeated in an endless cycle.

But for now, she’ll believe them. Believe you.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi

[felassan]

The Wake

By Mary Kirby | Art by Matt Rhodes

Synopsis: "Members of the Crows grieve the loss of a friend."

“We were ten years old. Lucanis had just read some book about wyverns, and suddenly that’s all he’d talk about. Wyverns, all the time, wyverns.” Illario told the story with fond amusement and an impressive amount of confidence considering that he was slung over Viago’s shoulder and couldn’t find the ground with both feet. Viago sighed and shifted Illario’s weight on his shoulder as they reached the foot of the stairs to the casino guest rooms. The casino belonged to House Cantori. Teia had sent the staff home. The windows and mirrors were all temporarily covered with heavy black velveteen to prevent any wandering souls from getting lost on their way. The tables for cards and dice games had been cleared and set instead with lavish floral arrangements of crystal grace for parting and embrium to ease a sorrowful heart. Their perfume clung to skin and clothing, but still wasn’t sweet enough to cover the stench of liquor wafting off Illario Dellamorte. Maker, Teia owed him for this. “There I was, so covered in prickle-burrs I stuck to everything I touched. Lucanis was nothing but mud from the ears down. Catarina just stared speechless.” Illario laughed.  His knees buckled, or he just stopped trying to walk entirely, and he collapsed onto the stairs, taking Viago with him. Viago cursed under his breath and tried to pry the larger man off the stairs, the smooth dark samite of Illario’s jacket slipping out of his grasp. Viago wished he’d gone with Plan A: drugging Illario to sleep in the lounge and throwing a sheet over him. But Teia’s deep, dark eyes had pleaded with him to take care of the reeking drunkard, and… Viago sighed and cursed again. For a moment, he had a clear, perfect vision of leaving Illario snoring in the middle of the staircase. Except Teia would kill him. Maybe even personally. “He was my cousin, but we were more like brothers, really. Always getting himself into every sort of trouble. And I was always right behind him, you know? Always.” Illario’s voice suddenly grew thick with emotion. “Now there’s nobody for me to follow.” Viago let out a sigh, then crouched down and levered Illario off the steps with a slightly pained grunt. “It should have been me.” Illario sounded bitter now. The rant was approaching the end. He’d repeated this speech like an actor rehearsing for a particularly infuriating play for hours downstairs as his composure crumbled and he looked more and more like he’d fought a herd of druffalo and lost. Viago lurched up the last of the stairs and fumbled with the door to the closest guestroom. For one hellish moment, he feared he’d have to pick the lock, but it opened. He dragged Illario to the bed and dumped him like a corpse. “Did I tell you about the time Lucanis took me wyvern-hunting?” Illario asked as Viago wet a handkerchief with a few drops from one of his vials. Before he could start into yet another rendition, Viago covered Illario’s nose and mouth with the cloth, knocking him out. “Another time.” Viago replied. And he left the room. 

[source]

[tetzoro]

how do you think roommate!kuroo would react if he promised himself he’d try to keep your relationship strictly platonic but then he quickly realizes he can’t help but get jealous whenever you mention your guy friends?? 😼

oh i’ve been giggling over this and had to write a tiny blurb for this, thank you for asking me this & i hope you don’t mind i ran with it a bit ! dividers by cafekitsune ෆ

roommate!kuroo can act indifferent all he wants, but whenever you bring up your guy friends around him, he can practically feel the little green monster invade his thoughts. he doesn’t get why he feels so jealous, it’s not like the two of you had ever been anything more than friends. but whenever you bring one of the guys over to hang out, his mind wanders as soon as you close the door.

even going out for a run doesn’t slow down his racing thoughts, busting back into the apartment to see you sitting prettily on the couch all cozied up in your loungewear.

“where’d you go off to?” you ask, tilting your head at him. “i thought you were a strictly morning jog kind of guy.”

“keeping track of my routines, are we?” the tease falls from his lips too easily, but the bitterness on his tongue remains. despite it, he tries to keep his voice light. “had a lot on my mind, nothing a little run can’t help with.”

the moment he says it, he regrets it. instantly, you’re on high alert. your brows furrow, concern etching itself into all your features in a way that makes him feel like a spotlight is directly shining over him.

“what’s wrong?” you pause whatever movie you were watching and suddenly his mouth goes dry. because how could he explain it? he’s still trying to wrap his mind around it himself.

“nothing, just stress at work.” kuroo waves his hand dismissively, walking toward the fridge to grab his after run shake. there was only one lone premade drink left so he’d just have to make another one for tomorrow morning instead. mentally, he adds it to his to do list.

distinctly, he can hear your slippers move across the floor behind him. he almost doesn’t want to face you but it’s too late as soon as he turns around and you’re right there.

in the cramped space of the kitchen and under your intensive stare, he feels like he’s being cornered and for once, his height is not benefiting him in the slightest.

“you’ve been acting off the last few days, though.” the gears in your mind are working overdrive and he can’t help but sigh, reaching out to smooth the scrunched up spot between your brows in hopes of easing the tension away.

“it’s nothing.” his hand drops to his side all too soon as his other squeezes around the bottle. getting kuroo’s true emotions out of him was like pulling teeth. a job that very few people would have the tolerance for, most just accepting his words at face value. but not you. never you. the only way to shake you off his trail was to give you a little honesty and luckily, he trusted you enough for that. “seriously, don’t worry. i uh, don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“okay.” your shoulders slump a bit, respecting his wishes. for now. he knows you’ll try again later, ever the worrier. but at least this buys him some time. “why don’t we just order some take out and watch a movie tonight? take it easy.”

“yeah.” he perks up a little. a night on the couch with you sounded great and chased off the little green monster that was lurking inside of him. feeling somewhat victorious, he takes a sip of his drink before saying, “should probably shower first though.”

“yeah, you stink.” as if to prove your point, you wrinkle your nose in disgust. but the smile on your face told him it was never serious.

“way to kick a man while he’s down.” his hand goes to his chest in faux offense as if he was tragically wounded. your eyes widen and he can’t help but smile a little. chuckling, kuroo’s hand finds the top of your head, giving it a pat before making his way to the bathroom. “that little comment just cost you your vote on where we are getting take out, by the way. hope you like fish!”

he didn’t need to turn around to see your scowling face. kuroo knows your favorite place, your go to order, and everything else in between. as much as he would like to order from his usual spot — he knew he was wrapped around your little finger as he started typing the number of your go to place.

[leighsartworks216]

... Oops

Harvey x gn!Farmer

Had this thought when I remembered I had to take my meds tonight. I just think it would be nice to have someone who takes care of you when you're a bit stupid and forget to take very important meds 👉👈

Also, Baja Blast is the actual name of my blue chicken lmao

Also also, this is written in third person POV instead of my usual second person POV

Warnings: swearing, dizziness, anxiety, possibly OOC Harvey

Word Count: 1,592

Masterlist

AO3

Harvey rubbed at his eyes as he slipped out of bed, glancing absentmindedly at the empty space beside him. The farmer was already up, of course. He worried for them when he realized how early they woke up each day, but it couldn't be helped if they wanted to take care of their farm all in one day.

He adjusted his glasses on his face as he shuffled to the kitchen. A cup of hot coffee sat on the counter waiting for him, as it always was. He smiled to himself. Fresh coffee from beans they grew themselves always tasted better than anything Gus could ever dream of making. It was perfectly bitter and smooth as he gulped it down.

He looked out the window of the cabin that overlooked the field left to the farmer by their grandfather. There weren't any unwanted stumps, logs or boulders anymore. Fences penned in the animals as they meandered about, munching on fresh grass. The crops were already watered. The scarecrows teetered slightly in the breeze, the fabric of their gloves almost appearing to wave back at him. He always enjoyed the one that resembled an animated movie character - the farmer had been so proud of it when they stuck it into the ground.

His eyes scanned the paths and fences, searching for his partner.

Hm, they must be in one of the barns.

He stared out a while longer, hoping to catch a glimpse as they came out. A concerned frown etched its way onto his face, but he tried writing off the anxiety swarming in his gut. They're probably just refilling the feeders or refilling their kegs or... Really, it's nothing to get worried about. They knew what they were doing! As long as they stayed out of those damn mines, he had nothing to worry about.

He sighed, shaking his head to remove the flood of worried thoughts in his head. Downing the last of the coffee and placing the mug in the sink, he went off to the bathroom to get ready for a day in the clinic.

He peeked out the window again after he got out of the shower. A blue chicken - a gift from Shane the farmer had named Baja Blast - clucked cheerily as it walked out of the open gate. The farmer usually kept the gates closed, always worrying about coyotes or foxes coming to eat their precious hens. It was unusual for them to keep it open, even if they were inside the coop.

He bustled about in a slight rush to get dressed and gather his things for work, namely a giant thermos of coffee and a lunch prepared for him waiting in the fridge, before slipping out of the cabin. He set it all down on a rocking chair sitting on the porch, creaking in the wind.

Baja Blast clucked up at him as he scooped her into his arms. “C’mon, you shouldn’t be out here. All your food is in here,” he says to the chicken as he steps through the gate and closes it behind him. With a cursory glance back, it didn’t seem like any other chickens got out. He couldn’t remember how many his partner had anymore. He had no idea how in the world they kept up with chickens, ducks, goats, sheep, cows, and pigs on one farm alone. It made his head spin trying to guess how they kept their head on straight with so much to do.

He set Baja Blast down with a white chicken, Madame Clucks. She went back right to pecking away at the grass.

Harvey set his hands on his hips as he looked around. Even out here, he couldn’t see the farmer. Okay, how he was worried. His hands fidgeted anxiously as he stumbled in his loafers through the soft dirt to the coop door. If they weren’t in here, he’d have to check the other barns. And if they weren’t in the barns, he’d have to call Marnie or Shane, or, Yoba forbid, Marlon at the Adventurer’s Guild, just in case they really had slipped off to the mines without telling him. But what if they weren’t in the mines? He’d have to call- Yoba, who could he call? Everyone? Ask if they’ve seen the farmer around today? It wasn’t even 8am, nobody would be up and about to know if they’d gone through town.

He pushed open the door, a bit harder than he meant to as some chickens lingering inside bawk’d and spooked away, leaving feathers in their wake. He couldn’t even focus on that. His eyes immediately landed on the figure sitting on the chest by the mayonnaise machine. They were hunched over and holding their head.

“Farmer!” Harvey rushed forward, all the old anxiety quickly replaced with a thousand more fears. He knelt down by them and rested a hand on their shoulder, looking at them with wide eyes. From this angle he could see their eyes were closed, face pinched in discomfort. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

They shook their head. “‘M just lightheaded. I bent down to grab the eggs and I got really dizzy.”

He pressed the back of his hand to their forehead, brushing back some hair as he pulled away. “You’re not running a fever.” He let out a hesitant breath of relief. “Do you think you can stand?”

After a moment, they nodded. Harvey stood up and supported them as they stood. They wobbled on their feet, but he wrapped an arm around their waist to steady them.

“Easy now. Let’s get you back inside.”

“What about-”

“Don’t you dare put your farm over your own wellbeing,” he warned. “I can call Shane and see if he’ll take over for the day.”

The farmer sighed, relenting. He knew how much peace they found tending to everything themselves, despite how overwhelming it seemed on the outside. They had a whole process for everything, and they’d explained before just how much of the simpler tasks they’d automated with sprinklers and some of Maru’s machines. Still, he was absolutely not about to let them go right back to work when they can barely stand up without a light breeze threatening to knock them over.

Harvey opened the gate and helped them through, shooing Baja Blast back inside as he shut the gate again. His partner gave an undignified snort at the offended squawk she let out. “At least you feel well enough to laugh.”

“Like I said, Harv, I’m just dizzy.” They leaned heavily into him as he led them along the paths to the cabin. Their feet hung up on uneven stones and the stairs leading to the door more than once.

“Dizziness is a symptom of something else. I just want to make sure it really is nothing serious.”

“I know you do.” They offered him a slight smile, but it quickly soured to a frown as they shut their eyes again with a frown. “Yoba, it feels like the whole world is spinning.”

“We’re almost there.” The line would have been less out of place if this wasn’t their home that they knew as well as they knew the names of all their animals, but they were too out of it to point it out and Harvey was too in his own head to notice it. So they stumbled together through the house to the large two-person bed.

The farmer laid down with a whine, pressing the balls of their hands to their eyes. “How is this worse somehow?” they groaned.

Harvey pressed a comforting hand to their shoulder. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” They hummed affirmatively with a nod. “When did you get back home last night?”

“Like… 1? 1:40?”

He sighed, scratching his brow with his thumb. That was a conversation for later. “Did you take your meds?”

The silence was deafening. They covered their whole face with their hands with a muffled, “Fuck, I’m stupid.”

“So you didn’t take your iron?”

They shook their head but regretted it immediately after, uncovering their face with a grimace. Their hands plopped pathetically to the bed beside them. “No, I completely forgot. I was trying to run back from the beach after fishing all night - I must have been so tired it just slipped my mind.”

He let out a long sigh. “At least it’s nothing serious. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“‘M sorry, Harvey.”

“It’s…” He frowned at the idea of saying ‘okay’. As a doctor, he really couldn’t brush off not taking prescribed medication, especially with a partner with such a severe case of anemia. He’d protest against them running a farm at all if they weren’t so determined. “We’ll figure out a better system, okay? We can put them in a pill-minder and keep them on your nightstand.”

They nodded. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

That shocked a laugh out of him. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to their forehead, his mustache scratching their skin in a familiar way. “Of course - that is my job after all. Now sit tight, I’ll grab your supplements and call Shane. Anything he needs to know about?”

“Just make sure he pets all of the animals. They deserve daily pats.”

“I’ll make sure he knows,” he chuckled fondly as his footsteps began their retreat from the bedroom to the house beyond.

“I love you!”

His warm laugh rang out again, echoed against the wood Robin nailed together and the photos on the walls. “I love you, too!”

[strawberriesoup]

you are my sunshine٠࣪⭑

── .✦ awakened by a nightmare, you seek Jisung for comfort.

word count: .7k

genre: angst/fluff, jisung x female reader, established relationship, comfort

warnings: nightmares, jisung is a green flag, lots of comfort and fluff

taglist: @jisunggy @holly-here

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Wake up. Wake up.

A cold sweat trickles down your back as you jolt upright in bed, breath coming in gasps. What time is it? You rub your chilled arms, striving both to draw some warmth back into them and to persuade your unwilling mind to blip back into reality as the ghost of the nightmare threatens to breach the delicate wall at the back of your mind.

Your eyes, unfocused and groggy due to being prematurely yanked from your slumber, search the room for your clock. 3:30. What a ripe time to be up.

You’re safe. It wasn’t real. You’re okay. But no matter how hard you try to convince yourself, the roaring blood in your ears and the bitter taste of adrenaline in your jaw beg to differ.

Uncomfortable and sweaty, you untangle yourself from the snare of blankets and sheets and head to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of hot cocoa will bring you back to a good headspace.

Nightmares are a common reoccurrence for you. Of course, that doesn’t make it any easier when they do happen though. Every night, you settle down in fear of the horrors you might face. The horrors that only feel more real each time.

Rubbing the crust from your eyes, you squint as you emerge into the bright kitchen. You could have sworn you turned the lights off before going to bed. Maybe Jisung is up. You hope he is. It would be really great to hear his voice right now.

Mission hot cocoa abandoned, you peek into the darkened living room, expecting to see Jisung scrolling on his phone or scribbling down lyrics on some spare paper.

To your delight, you find Jisung sat on the couch, lamp on, illuminating his form in the darkness of the room. By the gentle sound of his snores paired with his awkward position on the couch, you can tell he’s fallen asleep. He looks so peaceful like this, eyes shut and lips slightly parted. a pillow is fit snugly in his lap, and his socked feet are tucked up on the couch.

Waking him up feels like a crime. He finds solace in sleeping, letting dreams sweep him up and take him far away from the stress and worries of life.

Well, You’re willing to be a felon.

Kneeling on the couch next to him, you rub his shoulder gently, slowly coaxing him to consciousness. With a sudden intake of breath, he awakes, blinking groggily at you.

“Mmf… g’morning…” His words slur together as he squints at you, managing a small smile.

“It’s not morning yet, Ji,” You brush the hair from his face, “Can I sleep here with you?”

You don’t mention anything about the nightmare, chickening out at the last second. It feels silly to disturb him just because you had a bad dream.

Instead of answering, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you to his chest. Snuggling into him, you let out a wavering, pent in sigh. You’re safe.

“You’re shaking.” Jisung rubs his hand up and down your arm, gazing down at you with brows furrowed in concern.

“I- yeah. I can’t really sleep.”

“Nightmare?”

You nod, turning to bury your face in the warm folds of his hoodie. Cradled in his lap like this, it feels as if nothing can hurt you.

Jisung smoothes his hand rhythmically over your back, soothing you. He doesn’t say anything else, just holds you tight and steady until the trembles leave your body.

Eventually, his hand stills. He probably fell back asleep. You wish you could do the same, but your mind is running this way and that, trying to keep the dark memories at bay. Jisung’s presence helps exponentially, but your body is still unwilling to succumb to the grips of sleep.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

Jisung’s soft voice penetrates the silence, quiet and husky from sleep.

You make me happy, when skies are grey

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

It’s embarrassing to admit, but this song always put you right to sleep as a kid, and the same is true now. Your breathing steadies out underneath the blanket of his mellow voice, your mind finally drifting into the realms of unconsciousness.

Please don’t take my sunshine away

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- proposal

It’s been three days since he’s shown up at your doorstep. Three days of sparse interactions, and every single one of them you loathed. These interactions mostly consisted of sniping comments, bitter teasing, and an overall unpleasant atmosphere. Your parents were pushing you to at least try to speak with him. After all, he is the one you’ll be marrying soon. 

On the fourth day, you couldn’t find your parents anywhere, and you haven't seen Ghost all day. Which could only mean one thing. Your heart feels like it's caught in your chest as you bolt to your father’s study. You already know what was happening, but you couldn’t do anything to stop it. You were powerless. 

The voices grew louder as you ran down the hall, the door to your father’s study slightly cracked open. You slow to a stop, catching your breath as you peer through the crack.

King Ghost on his knees before your parents. His back was to you. Instead of his normal iron armor, he was bedecked in pitch black armor, his helmet clutched in his hands, his balaclava ripped off his face. A long cape starting at his shoulders pools onto the ground. You noticed his sandy hair was a bit messy, presumably from the mask. 

A display of a monster in knight’s armor. 

Your hand shakily grabs the door handle for support. The reality of the situation is settling in, deep in your stomach as you hear your father speaking. 

“You do realize that this is all just…formalities…to finalize the deal?” your father stated, hands settled in front of him. 

“I do.”

Ghost is quiet for a moment. He takes a breath. You can tell by the way his armor shifts ever so slightly. 

“Please,” he says firmly. “I…” he trails off for a moment. “I would be good to her. Give her a prosperous future.” 

Yes, the marriage was already planned, but Ghost asking for your hand was just part of the facade. To make it look like you were going willingly. 

Your mother smooths her hands over the front of her dress. 

“Your daughter would be safe in my hands.”

At that, your father nods once, granting him permission. 

You fled down the corridor, the notion of the man you'd be marrying overwhelming you with indescribable panic, pleading to god he wouldn't find you that evening. 

But he did.

When he knocked on your room door that night, you realized you couldn't hide any longer. 

The hourglass had expired. This was your reality. You couldn't run any longer.

“Come in,” you called out dejectedly, watching from your desk as Ghost stepped into the room. He was still wearing the black armor, the regalia giving him an air of power. His helmet is nowhere to be seen, but he put his balaclava back on. His eyes pierce you. 

He scanned your room, as if he was genuinely interested in the space. You knew what he was doing. Working up the nerve to finally ask the oh so awaited the question as if it was never the plan all along. 

He reached from a pocket on his side, pulling out a small box. 

You rolled your eyes, standing from your desk now.  

“Your majesty—” you mutter, but he speaks over you.

“I know you abhor me. You’ve made it quite obvious the past few days. I don’t appreciate your attitude. It’s unbecoming, to be frank.” He toys with the box in his hand.

You find yourself taken aback by his candidness. His acknowledgment of your feelings catches you off guard, especially after the initial tension between you two. 

“But, I digress, that is an issue we can work out…together.”

You scoff at his words.

“I—,” you start, but you’re at a loss for words. Defeat bubbles in your chest, you know what he’s about to do. 

“Listen, I can see how you're feeling, I'll admit that,” he adds, his tone becoming fierce as he takes a step closer, bridging the gap you've made. “But there's something about you that has me...intrigued. It's difficult to ignore the way you stand your ground. And your...determination.”

He bends down on one knee in front of you, broad shoulders hunched as he grasps the box. His eyes are boring into you, causing you to shift under his gaze. You cross your arms in front of you, the feeling of your skin keeping you grounded. Suddenly, he bows his head, as if in reverence. He flips the lid of the box, extending an ornate silver engagement ring towards you.

 “It would be my privilege to have you as my bride.”

You took one look at the ring, eyes flitting between him and the ring. His head is still bowed, eyes trained on the floor. 

You let out a single laugh, but there's no humor to it. You want to yell, scream, hit him, anything. But you know there's no escaping. What, like you can say no? You can’t. You knew the true reasons behind this whole betrothal other than the fact that your parents wanted to keep your bloodline pure. King Ghost’s advisors wanted, no, needed, him to find a wife to secure their own kingdom’s royal bloodline. In exchange for protection and materials for both of your kingdoms, King Ghost was given you.

You stare at him, and he finally lifts his head up towards you.

“Fine.” You said, your voice trembling for a moment.

He pushes himself up to standing, immediately taking your hand to slide the ring on your finger. His free hand pushes up the edge of his balaclava, ever so slightly, just enough to reveal his mouth. Ghost pulls your hand up to his lips, pressing a fleeting kiss against the back of your hand. 

You take a step back, yanking your hand from his, unable to meet his eyes. You cradle your hand, thumbing over the gem that rests on your ring finger now. 

“We leave at dawn,” is all he says before turning and leaving your bedroom. 

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[himbocoups]

˗ˋˏ multitasking ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

synopsis: multitasking only saves time when it's done right.

pairing: mingyu x reader (gn)

genre: smut

tags: college party, mention of drunk people, extremely conceited mingyu | big! dick! mingyu!, choking, crying, c*m eating, degradation, dirty talk, facesitting, handjob, mirror sex, oral (m receiving), pet names

wc: 1.1k

beta reader reviews: "i can't believe cocky gyu gave me butterflies in my pussy im so mad" - @bitchlessdino // "gonna have to take some deep breaths after that god damn" - @heartkyeom // "do you think if u put it in oatmeal it would taste good" - @onlyhuis // "...this fic made me clench the shit out of void and emptiness" - @multi-kpop-fanfics

message from nu: happy mingyu day!! this fic x concept has been sitting in my drafts for months now. what better day to release it than today? - nu ♡

himbocoups's masterlist

The sound of a plastic ping-pong ball bouncing click, clack, clonk against the wooden floorboards, and a couple of groans from the living room downstairs escape through the tiny aperture underneath the closed bedroom door. Still, the liveliness of the party downstairs, the rhythmic thumping of the EDM song playing from the speaker, and the screams and shouts of drunk college students envelope his bedroom door like a protective barrier - a natural sound-proofer for the noise coming from inside the bedroom. 

“Fuck you look so good today,” he grunts from above you. 

Even now, in this bedroom, everything in the world arrives in your ears in a muffled manner - muted, with little substance left to decipher. 

Kim Mingyu, who is a little too conventionally handsome for his own good, sits above your face. Thick muscular thighs crush both sides of your head as he leans his upper half over your naked body, planting himself firmly against his mattress, and pushing himself deeper into your mouth.  

“So, so good,” he moans into the open. 

An automatic reply attempts to escape your mouth as your hands fling onto his knees for support, “Thunfk yth.” But he peels your sweaty hands off his knees, plucking them between his thumb and pointer finger, and plops them to the side despite your feeble response. 

Tongue swirls around his round and smooth tip, licking a long stripe down his shaft. You moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you feel his veins against your tongue, the minuscule grooves created from veins underneath the soft epidermis, and the salty-musky taste mixed with your saliva. You swallow his taste like the sweet lukewarm soda in a red plastic cup to cut any bit of bitterness that coats your mouth and throat. 

He doesn’t care about you. You know he doesn’t care about you. You’re just a random stranger at a party who is remotely good enough to even be considered a candidate for Mingyu. 

Now, even when you’re sucking his dick from below him, he’s not staring at you. Instead, he stares at his naked torso reflected in the mirror, flexing his biceps - watching them contract and relax - and smiling at how handsome he looks tonight. 

To him, you’re more or less an afterthought. There is nothing in this bedroom that intrigues him more than himself. And when he finally sees you between his thick and glistening thighs, he can only think of one thing to say: “Take me in deeper and I’ll let you be seen near me when we go back downstairs.” 

Incomprehensible is the thought of how you can take him even further down your throat; you somehow open your mouth wider and dig the back of your head further into the mattress. But it’s huge. It’s fucking huge. From the base of his cock to his ego, Kim Mingyu is fucking massive in every aspect of his body. And he assails your throat from above, pushing in, pulling out, angling in, and angling out. 

The fact that you’re gagging against his cock, struggling under his touch actually annoys him severely. He knows that he is Kim Mingyu. And if anything, you’re the one who should be trying to accommodate him. If it weren’t for the fact that he could see the shape of his organ outlined against the inside of your throat, he would already be out the door. And seeing himself move inside your throat only fuels his ego and makes him hornier than ever. 

Purring, he takes time to trace his right finger pointer along the outline of his cock, mumbling about how gorgeous he looks. Lauding his size, he only stops when he feels the pressure against his fingertip. The way his lips stretch thin, eyes open widely, and pearly whites show is diabolical. And he has to stop himself from orgasming when he realizes he can feel his cock through your stretched throat and on the pad of his fingertip. Because the only thing Mingyu loves more than sex is himself. 

This new discovery causes him to twitch in your throat. And moaning in response, your throat vibrates around his cock like an electronic toy. This chain reaction leads him to grab onto your throat, covering his embossed outline. To him, it feels like he’s holding himself in the shower - the warmth and silkiness of your inside like the hot water that cascades over his Adonis. Brazen with the ache between his thighs, he takes matters into his own hands, rubbing and pumping himself along your throat. 

Deep and open moans protrude from him like a beautiful low vibrato note on a double bass. Thighs feeling weak from his arousal, he sits on your face to ease his trembling thighs. The newfound action feels so good that his entire body tightens like a coil ready to spring. High building with each calculated yet languid stroke along your vibrating throat, Mingyu’s eyes squeeze shut as his breath hitches and staggers. 

Salty tears roll down your face, and the feeling of him getting himself off via your throat causes you to scream and tremble as you convulse without his touch. You’re trying your best to accommodate his size and the fact that he is currently facesitting and using your throat to masturbate. Yet your climax comes out of nowhere, forcing him out of your mouth while you finish as you get off on the fact that you’re being used as his toy. He seems to pay you no mind as he quickly pumps himself over your body, hissing as he spills his milky honey over your chest - pumping himself empty while using his other hand to massage his balls. 

Purposely, he taps his throbbing and dripping organ against your forehead as if to tell you he isn’t finished with you. But he isn’t a complete asshole. He sees how you’re struggling to recover, so he lets go of his balls so that he can dip his thumb into the pool on your chest and offer his nectar to your lips. And you suck the salty liquid off his thumb, taking his digit in your mouth and swirling your tongue as if you are searching for sustenance to satiate your thirst. 

He plucks his thumb from your wet lips when he feels like it, gloating at how loudly you whine for him. Vainglorious as he is, he knows a single gesture, the twirling of his pointer finger, would immediately get you to go on your knees. Once his organ casts a shadow over your face, he tells you to suck. This time, he requests you to spell his name as you bob your head. And if you’re good enough, then just maybe, he’ll forgive you for spitting him out while you came.

Copyright © 2023 Himbocoups. All rights reserved.

[i-luvsang]

bitter(but mostly)sweet — kim hongjoong

1.2K MILESTONE EVENT ☆ OPEN gn!reader , hurt/lots of comfort , cw : pet names (baby, love), crying, reader has an anxiety attack, reader is lowkey nonverbal for a little bit (disclaimer! all this is based off my personal experience with anxiety, just remember we all experience it differently and that we are all valid in those experiences <3) , wc : (almost) 1K , eee tysm for requesting sweetest ❄️ anon hope you find some warmth in this winkwink

the moment hongjoong lays eyes on you, he knows something is off. the sight of you sitting at the desk in his room, hunched over school work isn’t anything uncommon, but the far-away look in your eyes and the sharp furrow of your eyebrows sparks worry in his mind. his eyes drift down to see the nervous fiddling of your hands and bouncing of your leg. 

he sets his bag down on the floor, gently, as to not startle you, but the sound still pulls an almost imperceptible flinch from your body that he doesn’t fail to notice. you turn your head to look at him, trying to smooth the rough, telling features on your face to cover up your anxious heart. but you can already see the worried crease between his brows as he walks over to you, footsteps falling softly across the room and you wonder if you’ll be able to keep your tears at bay if he keeps looking at you like this.

casting your eyes down, you sigh and begin to chew at your bottom lip. even when he crouches beside you and turns the chair away from your computer to face him, you do what you can to avoid his gaze.

“baby…” he starts softly. “what’s wrong?”

you just shake your head, not wanting to voice your anxieties out loud. his eyes are drawn to the incessant rubbing of your hands against one another, your nervous energy clearly building along with the tears in your eyes.

he says your name with all the gentleness that he can muster. “can i touch you? is that okay?” your only immediate reaction is a sharp inhale, so he keeps his hands on the chair rather than grasping your hands the way he wants to. he can tell you’re debating in your already crowded mind. “you can say no, my love” he reminds you. “just wanna hold your hands if that could help you.” at that you nod. “that’s alright then?” you nod again. “baby… can i hear it? if not, that’s okay, i just wanna be sure.”

you bite the inside of your cheek and take a deep breath. your voice is barely a whisper when you affirm, “yeah.. that’s okay.”

“good job, baby,” he whispers under his breath, then lets his hands make their way towards yours. first, he gently pulls them apart from each other, worried about you scratching or hurting yourself accidentally. when his hands wrap around yours, he immediately feels the way you tighten your fingers around his, as if grounding yourself in his touch. that’s when he hears your sniffle, your eyes still avoiding his gaze.

“i’m here now, baby. it’s alright, okay?”

you nod again, finally letting a tear fall. “i just– i can’t–” you cut yourself off with your own uneven breathing. you feel like you’re gasping for air as you attempt to explain to hongjoong your frustration and fears due to how overwhelming school has been lately, but that breathlessness is making it difficult. hongjoong, as always, is quick to notice, and slowly, as if silently asking permission stands and begins to pull you into his arms. hastily, you wrap your arms around him and bury your head in his torso. his hands reach your back and the back of your head, providing calming strokes as you allow yourself to cry into his embrace.

he comforts you softly with his words too, "sh, sh, you're okay now. we’ll figure it out, okay? it’s alright.” he repeats many sweet words like a mantra, his voice as grounding as his loving touch. when your tears subside, he gently moves your arms from around his waist, crouching down again to be face to face with you. you let your arms fall over his shoulders instead, and finally let your gaze wander to meet his. “there you are,” he offers you a soft smile, and you do your best to return one of your own.

“thank you, joongie,” you whisper, voice hoarse from crying.

“of course, my love.” he pulls you into one more hug, your head tucked into his shoulder this time. “let’s get you some water and something to eat, yeah?” he suggests, noting the empty granola bar wrapper on the desk.

“okay,” you nod, still anxious to do anything but your work, but aware that a small break and sustenance will certainly help you. hongjoong pulls you up with him, keeping your hand in his as he leads you to the kitchen. he lets you stick close to his side as he prepares a quick meal of leftovers for you, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead when you sit down at the table. it’s mostly quiet as you eat, but his presence is more than enough comfort for you.

as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he clears and washes your dishes for you without a word. you hesitate by his side once he’s done, aware you won’t be able to sleep well without getting more work done, but desperately wanting to just go to bed in his arms.

and he proves once again how well he knows you when he pulls you into another hug, right there in the middle of the kitchen.

“let’s go finish one assignment for tonight, and we’ll make you a plan for tomorrow, okay?” he says into your hair. you nod into his embrace, ever grateful for each ounce of care and love he pours out for you.

“love you, joongie,” you mumble, hoping that smile you’re imagining is sitting softly on his lips.

by the way he replies with “i love you too,” you can hear the bittersweet smile in his voice, the one that means he’s glad you’re alright now but wishes you never had to cry in the first place.

[jadoue1999]

The monsters in the shadows

Part 1 Part 2

Note: Hey guys!! Here is the first part of my fae!Steve and Vampire Eddie story! I had to split it in two parts because of how long the story is but the next part should be posted on Tuesday. I hope you enjoy it!

Summary:

“Hey there, big boy,” he says, trying to coax a reaction out of his prisoner.

“Hi,” simply answers Harrington. There’s something weird with the teen. His voice sounds different from what he remembers it to be; less pitchy, more authoritative. Kas feels obligated to listen. Moreover, Harrington looks… Different, taller, his features are sharper than usual. His eyes feel like they're piercing whatever soul he has left. He doesn’t focus on that, charting the changes to his recent transformation.

Somewhere far within himself, he notices Harrington’s neck, it’s smooth and unblemished, and yet something tells him that the strangulation scar should still be there.

Or: Eddie wakes up as a monster, but it seems like he may not be the only one.

Words: 3635

Part 1

The day Eddie Munson dies, it’s not the end. Well, it is for Eddie, but not for what now resides in his body.

He calls himself Kas.

Kas is Creel’s loyal soldier. He starts out without a name, and one cause: killing anyone that ventures too close to the gates. This task is easily completed, thanks to his now increased strength, speed, and agility. He does so well in fact that he is promoted in no time to be Creel’s right-hand man, and in the process, a deep part of him whispers his new name: Kas. He gains new abilities with his new rank, namely the ability to control the vines, the bats, and all the creatures connected to the hive mind.

The first time he sees someone from the gang Eddie used to consider his friend, he freezes. It’s Robin, the clumsy one, and she freezes too when they lock eyes. She eyes him up and down and notices his scarlet red eyes and his darkened fingers. There’s no mirror in the Upside Down, but Kas knows he looks like a corpse. 

“Eddie?” Breathes out the girl. “Is that really you?”

He grins, showing his fangs and delights when she steps back in fear. “It’s Kas now, actually.”

Buckley takes a moment to gather her thoughts, but then, it’s all spilling out. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you survived! You have no idea how everyone’s been since you died. Dustin is a mess; he barely leaves his house and doesn’t talk to anyone. And Steve! He's bad too but you know him, he doesn’t show it. But not being able to save you, or Max is really taking a toll on him. I can see it in his eyes. And—”

“Buckley,” he interrupts, he’s heard enough. “Let me make something clear.”

He slams her against the tree, and she gasps out his name, his old name, like a plea. 

“I told you, it’s Kas now, sweetheart.” He clasps a cold hand around her neck and squeezes slightly.  Instead, he glares at her. “And I’m not coming back. I’m loyal to Lord Creel now. Loyal,” he insists, his voice surprisingly bitter. “As in: I would never abandon him to a painful and lonely death.”

He stares into her eyes and revels in the pain. It’s only now that he’s actually paying attention to her that he notices that there’s something strange about Robin. But no matter how hard he looks, he can’t quite put his finger on it. It’s like a form of energy, something far more dangerous than Creel, but he doesn’t know what it could be.

 He’s still lost in his contemplations when she whispers. “We didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he counters, his voice dripping with venom. His own anger surprises him but he’s quick to brush it off. “I’m letting you go, but I want you to give a message to Supergirl. Creel is giving her three days to surrender. If she doesn’t, he will make sure she watches as everyone she loves dies, starting with that boy she considers her brother.”

Robin is terrified, so terrified in fact that it takes her a few seconds for her to realize that he is not choking her anymore. Then, she wordlessly leaves, never taking her eyes off of him until she’s out of sight. 

***

Nothing happens on the first day which infuriates Creel. You’d think that a guy in his late 30s, monstrous or not, would be able to control his temper, but he’s practically boiling with anger, which puts the whole hive mind into a snappy mood, Kas included. He patrols the gates to pass the time and kills a person or two who are stupid enough to get close. Nothing really happens on the first day; the second day though it’s different. On the second day, the vines alert him of a trespasser. Kas heads there, without hesitation, Creel’s anger still lingers in his mind and he’s looking forward to sinking his claws into something. 

This “something” turns out to be none other than Steve Harrington himself. 

He’s trapped in the vines; they have been pinned against a tree and Kas takes a moment to drink in the sight in front of him. Eddie Munson once had… maybe ‘crush’ is too strong of a word, but he certainly had a fascination for the young man. A little flame that could have become more had they given it the time and attention. Eddie Munson had trusted that Steve Harrington was good, but Kas knew better. Creel had shown him how many of his fellow soldiers had died by Harrington’s hands, showed him the murderous glint in his eyes whenever he threw himself in the line of fire to protect his kids, Kas had felt the swings of the nail bat, the hit of the fireworks, and the oar, and the way the Molotov cocktail had burned Creel’s flesh. Steve Harrington was not to be underestimated. 

But right now, weaponless and restrained, the teen isn’t dangerous.

For the entire time, Kas has been staring. Harrington has stared right back. He seems… Curiously nonchalant about his situation. Even now that he stands in front of him, a predator, looking at its prey, Harrington isn’t even struggling. How peculiar.

“Hey there, big boy,” he says, trying to coax a reaction out of his prisoner.

“Hi,” simply answers Harrington. There’s something weird with the teen. His voice sounds different from what he remembers it to be; less pitchy, more authoritative. Kas feels obligated to listen. Moreover, Harrington looks… Different, taller, his features are sharper than usual. His eyes feel like they're piercing whatever soul he has left. He doesn’t focus on that, charting the changes to his recent transformation.

Somewhere far within himself, he notices Harrington’s neck, it’s smooth and unblemished, and yet something tells him that the strangulation scar should still be there.

“You’re not the one that's supposed to surrender,” he grins, making sure to flash his fangs. Maybe he’d get to see Harrington scared.

The young man stares at him unimpressed. “I’m not surrendering, I want to make a deal with Creel.”

A deal? How interesting. “And what could you possibly offer that’s worth more than what Lord Creel has wanted for years?”

Despite the tightness of the vines, Harrington manages to straighten up. “That’s between Creel and I.”

Anger boils in his veins, more than just his master’s. “Whatever you want to tell him, you can tell me.”

“I need his word.”

“I am Creel’s right-hand man,” he spits out. “Speaking to me is like speaking to him.”

Harrington narrows his eyes at him and Kas can feel the sudden tension. “Is that so?”

Something about his demeanor screams ‘trap’ but it’s impossible, he’s the prisoner here, not him. “It is.”

“Give me your name,” orders the teen in a tone he’s never heard coming from him before. “Robin said you didn’t use Eddie anymore, so give me your true name.”

The air around them is vibrating with an indescribable intensity, similar to the energy before a particularly powerful storm. Every instinct in his body is screaming at him to be careful, but he doesn’t care. “Kas.”

Harrington grins, and his pupils shrink to slits. For less than a second, his whole face shifts. His mouth is filled with pointy teeth, his eyes are bigger, and his ears are pointier. Kas blinks, and Steve is back to normal, leaving him to wonder if he hallucinated the whole thing.

“Then you can accept a deal on Creel’s behalf, and it being as valid as if he made it himself?”

“Yes,” he answers sharply.

The teen looks satisfied. “Good,” he grins. “I want to settle this petty fight once and for all. So, here’s my deal: I fight against Creel’s champion, no weapons. A fight until someone bleeds. One drop, no need for more bloodshed.”

Kas considers the deal before pouting. “And what does the winner get?”

“If I win, Creel has to leave Hawkins, the world, and, most importantly, Eleven alone. He cannot send any of his monsters in his place to do his bidding either. And I want him to free Maxine Mayfield’s mind. If Creel wins, he gets Hawkins, but the children, namely, Maxine Mayfield, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Erica Sinclair, Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, and Eleven are under my protection.”

Kas scoffs. “And what makes you think you could protect them? You couldn’t protect poor little Eddie.”

He sees the dark glint in Harrington’s eyes, warning him to back off. “I’m not worried about appearances anymore.”

There’s a weight attached to these words. Kas can’t shake the feeling that the game has shifted. He knows that should make him at least fearful, but he can’t figure out why.

“Do we have a deal?” Asks Harrington. He looks smug and Kas wants nothing more than to wipe his smirk off his face. He decides to humor him, for old time's sake. Harrington probably doesn’t know that he’s Creel’s champion and even if he did, the guy couldn’t put up a decent fight against the bats, he’s not going to last against the newly improved him.

“Sure,” he grins, showing his fangs for good measure. “You have a deal.”

Harrington’s face cracks into that uncanny smile again, and Kas has trouble connecting this face with the worry-filled teenager dotting over the children that had charmed Eddie a lifetime ago.

“Good. Take me to Creel.”

It sounds a hell of a lot like an order, so he decides to be petty. He orders the vines to retreat, and he barely gives the teen enough time to take a few steps on his own before he orders a smaller vine to coil around his wrists. The plant is small enough that Kas can cut it off, and the hive mind feels no pain. Even dead, though, it’s still wrapped tight enough to keep the teen moderately restrained.

Harrington raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his predicament. “Seriously?”

Now, it’s his turn to smile smugly. “Prisoners don't get a choice on how we get there.” Then he invades his space, like Eddie had in the stolen RV, and says in the same tone. “Plus, bondage looks good on you, big boy.”

As expected, Harrington flushes red, but there’s also anger in his eyes. “You don’t get to call me that. Only he could.”

“Aw,” he pouts mockingly. “Did I hit a sensitive subject?”

The brunette doesn’t meet his eyes, and it’s all he needs to realize something else. He lets out a dramatic gasp. “Don’t tell me that King Steve actually had a crush on Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson?” Steve is fuming, but Kas sees right through it. “You did!”

“Doesn’t matter,” grumbles the teen. Kas delights in the frustration he feels coming off of him in waves.

“If it makes it any better, he did too,” he adds, knowing I'll only add fuel to the fire. He sighs exaggeratingly. “Then again, he didn’t think he could be loved. And it never would’ve worked out between the two of you. Especially since the… You know the ‘leaving him for dead’ part.”

“Back off,” snaps Harrington, and strangely enough, he doesn’t mind changing the subject. 

Instead, he grabs the brunette by his shoulder and shoves him forward. “Walk.”

They walk in silence for a while, neither of them wants to be the one to break the peace. If he used his powers, they’d be there in less than five minutes, but he wants Steve to imagine what’s going to happen, he wants him to simmer in his own fears until they get there. He doesn’t seem very scared, though. In fact, he even looks annoyed. They pass through a clearing full of Demobats, some snarl at the trapped teen, but most either stay back or plainly fly away.

“They remember you,” he realizes, as he feels the anger and fear of the flock.

“Ozzy, right?” answers Harrington, with no amusement in his voice. There’s a few seconds of tension before he speaks again. “We came back for you. Just three days later, you weren’t there.”

Some deep part of him melts at the confession, overjoyed to know that he hadn’t been forgotten about. His friends had come back for him. But Kas quickly shoves that feeling as far as he can, instead, choosing to turn the knife in the wound. “You were too late, again.”

Harrington quickly shoots him a dirty look. “When did you get so mean? Dustin would be really sad to see you like this.”

He doesn’t like how guilty that remark makes him feel. An echo of Eddie and Dustin’s last conversation echoes through his mind.

“I love you, man,” Eddie chokes through blood and tears.

Dustin’s voice trembles. “I love you too.”

Kas snarls as he chases the memory away. He’s tired of the mind games Harrington is trying to pull on him. “That little shit abandoned me just like the rest of you did.” He shoves his prisoner forward, delighting in the way that he stumbles, even if it looks forced. “Keep annoying me like that, and I’m gagging you.”

“Geez, sensitive much?” counters the teen, but there’s a noticeable triumph in his voice.

They keep walking, in silence this time, and Kas can’t help the feeling that he’s playing right into Harrington’s hand.

***

Harrington still isn’t scared when the imposing house gradually appears on the horizon. He keeps his cool and walks straight ahead. It almost feels like the teen is leading Kas to the house. Suddenly overcome with anger, he grabs the brunette’s shoulder, keeping a tight hold on his shirt.

“I lead the way,” he hisses.

Harrington doesn’t answer, but he does roll his eyes. They walk up the stairs that lead to the attic, and he can see the teen trying to avoid the vines that slowly extend towards him, curious at the new visitor. His helplessness gives him great satisfaction. When they finally reach Lord Creel, the creature is already waiting for him.

And he’s angry.

“Kas,” he says, his voice dripping with venom. “Why did you bring that thing here?”

Creel’s disgust toward humans is something he’s well aware of, but never had he referred to them as ‘things’ before. As he approaches his master, he knows he’s done something wrong. In a last ditch effort to save himself, he kicks Harrington behind the knees to make him kneel. The impact of his bone on wood resonates loudly around them, and Kas is relieved when the brunette doesn’t try to get up. An unruly prisoner is the last thing he needs right now.

“I found him close to the East gate.”

“Your orders were clear,” growls Creel. “So why is he not dead?

That’s a good question actually. He should’ve gotten rid of the team's protector. So why didn’t he? “I… I thought he’d make a good hostage.”

“I do not need a hostage; I need Eleven’s head on a stick.”

Kas’ stomach drops when Harrington speaks up, a chuckle in his voice. “You’ll never have her.”

Creel's head snaps down, his face slowly turning into an expression of annoyance. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Because we made a deal,” smugly answers the teen. He quickly explains the terms they’ve agreed to, and Creel’s face darkens.

“I did not agree to this deal, it is not valid.”

He may be kneeling, but Steve speaks with the confidence of someone who’s already won. “No, but your right-hand man did. And he, like everything else linked through the hive mind, is an extension of you. Therefore, the deal is valid.”

Creel’s burning rage is suddenly on him, and his dead heart jumps in his chest. “M— Master, it’s just a deal, why is it so important?” he continues to try to justify himself, barely registering when Harrington slowly gets to his feet. Kas does notice how quickly Creel is losing whatever cool he has left.

“It matters because he’s a fae!” His master explodes. 

A deep part of him demands attention at the mention of fae. It whispers of how dangerous they are, that he needs to be careful with his words because faes are tricksters. But most importantly, it warns him to never make a deal with them because the price will always be higher than expected. And Kas just made a deal with Harrington. He looks at the teen, he’s staring right back at him. He’s got that twisted face again, except it’s so much worse than before because now he knows that he’s not hallucinating. His teeth look even pointier, and his eyes glint with what seems to be malice. One of his long nails slices right through the vines keeping his wrists bound and he exaggeratingly rolls his shoulders. 

“Cat’s out of the bag.” His face morphs back to the more human-looking one, but Kas can still see the small details that don’t quite add up. “Let’s get this over with. The kids are waiting for me.” Steve turns to him and winks, but all Kas can see are the not-quite-round pupils. “Ready, champion?”

Uh. So, Harrington knew about him. No big deal he’s still stronger than him… Right?

Creel doesn’t say anything, but Kas can still feel his threat linger in the air. Win, or die. He swipes first, trying to catch the teen off guard, but he simply moves out of the way. Kas tries again, and again, but Harrington dodges him every time. It looks all too easy for him, almost like he’s playing a game. It’s at that moment that he remembers his earlier words.

“I’m not worried about appearances anymore.”

Was this what he meant? Was this the shift he felt?

Suddenly a long nail slices his cheek open, making thick, black blood drip down his face. Kas looks at Harrington, whose face hides in no way his satisfaction at his victory. “I win.”

The house shakes with Creel's anger. He towers over Harrington, who doesn’t even seem worried. “You may have won this fight, but who says I’ll let you leave? Maybe the deal is broken if you die.”

Anger flashes across Steve’s features and the illusion of humanity breaks for a split second. “Would you really risk breaking a deal with a fae? He spits out his tone firm and unwavering. “Not even you would be that stupid.”

Kas is surprised to see actual fear in Creel's eyes. It lasts barely a second, but it’s enough to know that everyone has seen it. His master tries to hold onto his powerful façade and stares down Harrington in an attempt to intimidate him. But if Kas remembered one thing from when he was alive, it’s that Steve Harrington doesn’t get intimidated easily.

As expected, Creel loses the battle and lets out a deep sigh. “Go,” he orders.

Steve smiles and starts to head out, Kas following behind him. He’s not sure why he’s doing it, it’s just something he feels like he’s supposed to do.

“Not you, Kas,” Creel sneers, and he knows he’s fucked. Because he didn’t just lose a fight, he’d also inadvertently foiled all of his master’s plans for revenge. And now he’s going to pay for his mistake. Kas is sure that he’s not going to kill him, but he’s going to make him wish he did. He walks to his master with his head down, he’s terrified, but he knows there’s nothing he can do.

“Kas will be coming with me,” interrupts Harrington. He places himself between him and Creel and the creature stares at him with eyes full of fury.

“And why would he do that? I made him who he is, he belongs to me.”

The teen is not deterred. “Does he?” He challenges. “Reach into the hive mind, he may be a part of you, but is he still yours?”

Lord Creel doesn’t say anything and Kas fears that he might call Harrington’s bluff. He has to be bluffing, right? His master eventually closes his eyes and concentrates. It takes barely 10 seconds before he reopens them with burning anger.

“What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing,” dismisses the brunette before gesturing towards Kas. “But your loyal soldier gave me his name. Willingly. That means you no longer have any claims to him.”

Creel roars in anger and lunges at Harrington. Vines goes to grab at him, but Steve doesn’t even flinch. However, his face darkens, and the temperature around them drops colder than Kas has ever felt it to be in this place.

“Attack me and see what happens,” hisses Harrington, his voice sharp and cutting. “This place has existed longer than you have, and it will exist long after you’re gone. Don’t make me speed up the process.”

Everything stills around them, and Creel seems to ponder on the words. He’s never seen him this powerless before. He’s not sure he likes it.

“You wouldn’t dare,” taunts Creel.

“Try me.” Harrington doesn’t move. “You have hurt people I love; you have killed innocents by the dozen. I am giving you the chance to walk away and leave us alone. Do not waste it.”

“I will spend the rest of my life, trying to find loopholes,” threatens the creature, his former master.

Steve simply smiles at him but there’s no amusement in his face. “I’ll be waiting.” He then turns to him and nods his head to the side. “Come on, time to go home.”

Harrington starts walking and that familiar feeling, that one that made him follow in the first place is back, except this time he knows what it is: ownership. He is not Creel’s anymore, but he is not free, because he gave his name to Harrington. 

And Harrington kills monsters.

[whereireid]

𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 | masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

Summary: Drinking with Spencer turns out to be more eventful than you thought.

— warnings: fluff, alcohol

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making you feel warm and gooey, or the fact that Spencer’s hand hasn’t left your thigh since he slumped next to you on the sofa.

He’s drunk, that’s for sure. You both are. It’s been a rough day — for him more than you. It’s been a day so bad that when Spencer had come back to your apartment, mopey and dull, you’d taken the tequila out of your fridge and offered him a shot.

And another. And another.

“Do you think I’ll ever manage to save up and get my own apartment?” Spencer grumbles from next to you, his fingers trailing shapes on the skin of your thigh, his head lulling tiredly against your chest. 

“One day,” you answer honestly, your heart pitter-pattering in your chest as Spencer hums. He’s so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating off of him, and you take the chance to snuggle closer, your leg brushing against his. “But I don’t want you to.”

“Why not?” 

You bite your lip, focusing on the half-empty bottle of tequila as you speak. “I don’t know. I guess I’d miss you, Spence,” you mumble, your skin exploding with goosebumps as his fingers run up and down your skin. “Besides, it’s much safer with a literal member of the FBI living with me.”

Spencer snorts, the frame of his glasses rubbing uncomfortably against your shoulder, but you don’t comment on it. You’re afraid that if you do, he’ll move away, and that’s the last thing you want. No, you like Spencer being close to you, because it makes you feel good and warm and gooey.

“I failed my firearms qualification,” he mopes, sighing as you smooth his hair down gently in an attempt to reassure him. The touch makes his cheeks flush a wild red, and he hopes you don’t notice — and, if you do notice, he hopes that you think it’s because of the alcohol. “It’s hardly any safer with me around.”

“You’ll pass next time,” you offer, shooting him a gentle smile, and you try to ignore the way that your heart twists when his hazel eyes bore into yours. “I believe in you.”

“I’ve never failed at anything before,” Spencer slurs out, the dragging motion of his fingers stilling, his open palm resting on your thigh. There’s something intimate about the way he’s touching you and the fact that you’re allowing him. “It’s embarrassing.”

You grin, trying to ignore the way Spencer’s pitiful whining makes you yearn for him even more. “There’s a first time for everything, Spence,” you say, watching as his tongue comes out to wet his pink, plush lips, trying to ignore the way your stomach pools with warmth as he does so. “C’mon. Let’s stop the moping, and let’s celebrate instead.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Your first failure.”

Spencer tries to ignore the way his heart races in his chest when you lean in towards him, your hands planted on either side of his face when you speak. His senses are so dulled, and he’s not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the fact that he’s obsessed with how good you smell. He assumes it’s the Cantu coconut curling cream that you use — he’s smelt it on you many times before, but tonight, it’s making you insatiable and it’s making him dangerously unfocused.

And you’re thinking the exact same thing, because in your drunken state, the cologne he’s wearing seems to have become much more delicious. Spencer smells so good that it drives you crazy, and you beam at him sheepishly as he takes the shot you offer him, his face contorting into a grimace as he swallows the bitter liquid.

“Did you really mean it?” He asks, his hands now cupping your cheeks, his breath fanning against your face, flooding you with the smell of tequila. “When you said you’d miss me if I left?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie to you, Spence. You know that.” You shoot him a smile, your face flooding with warmth as his thumb grazes over your lips. “Besides, you’d be able to tell.”

Spencer grins, sheepishly, his cheeks flushing a pastel pink as he gazes at you. “I’m going to ask you something and I need for you to tell me the truth.”

“Okay. Ask.”

His brows knit together, his tongue coming out to wet his lips again, and you curse yourself for getting so distracted by how adorable he looks. Spencer is so fixated on you that he doesn’t even realising how teasing he is, how being this close to you is only amplifying your attraction to him.

“Do you — do you like me?” He finally manages to stammer out, his ears flushing a twinge of pink as he speaks. “As in, like-like me? Because I think that I like-like you.”

You blink at him, drunken and confused, trying to piece together the words in your head. What they mean. And you’re pretty sure that you know — he couldn’t have been more obvious, but your heart is racing in your chest nonetheless because, holy shit, did Spencer Reid just confess he had a crush on you?

“I do,” you whisper, and Spencer’s grin widens, his entire face now a beet red. You’ve never seen him like this, so flustered and so intense. “I like-like you, Spencer.”

“Good. Because I feel more for you than a like-like, and it would have been really awkward if you said you didn’t feel the same just then.”

You didn’t think you’d confess to Spencer. Ever. And, now that you have, you’ve no idea what to do, blinking confusedly as the alcohol pulses through your bloodstream. Your body is warm and Spencer’s hands are insatiably hot as they press against your face, his close proximity clouding your thoughts. “Spencer,” you whisper, your eyes boring into his, your stomach tight with nerves as he gazes at you with pure, drunken adoration, “can I kiss you?”

“Please,” he breathes, his nose smudging against yours as you press your face to his, your lips intertwining, goosebumps prickling up and down your skin as he kisses you back, with the same feverish intensity. 

When you finally pull away, you feel hot, like an inferno. Your skin blazes wildly, and your eyes scan Spencer’s, whose so fixated on you that it makes you flush even hotter. Spencer’s lips are painted red, smudged with your lipstick, and you laugh, your thumb wiping away the mark that you left behind.

Spencer hesitates, his eyes scanning yours before he stutters out, “can you do that again? Please?”

You giggle, nodding your head. “I’ll do anything for you, Spence,” you say honestly, brushing the hair from his eyes as you lean in again, your stomach fluttering with butterflies as you kiss him, softly, your lips moulding with his.

You’re unsure of how you’re going to get any sleep tonight, because Spencer’s mouth on yours is more god-damn intoxicating than the alcohol you drank to get yourself in this position.

tags: @junieswrlds

[charliedawn]

Hello! How would Eddie Gluskin react to finding out that he has a daughter in her 20s who is dating Kevin Hannibal?

Thank you so much for your writing. It makes my day.

The day Eddie Gluskin found out about you—his daughter—everything in his world shifted. He’d always imagined the perfect family, but it had been nothing more than a twisted fantasy, shattered over and over by failed attempts to create it. Now, he had a second chance. You—his daughter—fully grown, in your twenties, standing before him. He had missed everything, but he saw this as his opportunity to fix it, to finally have what he had always wanted: a family to cherish, protect, and mold into perfection.

But then came the next shock: you were dating someone. Kevin Hannibal.

Eddie hadn’t heard the name before, but the weight of it hit him the moment you said it. His expression didn’t change much—he was always careful about that—but his mind was already racing. Who was this Kevin Hannibal ? A man close to you, someone who had taken the spot Eddie believed was his by right.

That wouldn’t do.

When Kevin Hannibal met Eddie Gluskin, he walked into the room with the same easygoing confidence that had drawn you to him in the first place. With his dark hair slightly disheveled and his casual, almost careless posture, Kevin radiated a kind of laid-back energy that usually made everyone around him feel at ease. He flashed a grin as he held out his hand.

"So, you must be the dad, huh ? Heard a lot about you," Kevin said, his Australian accent rolling off his tongue in a way that made his tone sound playful.

Eddie didn’t return the smile. His cold, blue eyes met Kevin’s with an intensity that seemed to cut through the room. He didn’t shake Kevin’s hand, instead letting it hang there awkwardly in the air for a moment before Kevin withdrew it, unbothered. Eddie’s face was calm, calculated, but his eyes…His eyes were piercing, the kind of gaze that made you feel like you were being dissected.

"Kevin Hannibal," Eddie repeated slowly, the name like a bitter taste in his mouth. He studied Kevin for a moment longer, then his lips curled into a thin, almost patronizing smile. "And what exactly is it that you do, Kevin ?"

Kevin shrugged, leaning against the back of a chair. "I’m an artist, mate. Bit of painting, sculpting…y’know, whatever strikes me. Pretty good at it too, if I say so myself." He shot you a wink, trying to lighten the tension that was thick in the room.

Eddie’s gaze flickered to you, then back to Kevin, as if weighing his words carefully. "An artist," he murmured. "I see." His voice was smooth, but there was something behind it, something unnerving. "And what exactly do you think you can offer my daughter ? Surely, it’s not just...paint and clay."

Kevin chuckled, leaning back with a smirk. "Mate, I’m not trying to sell you on anything. Your daughter and I ? We’re happy. She doesn’t need anything more than that."

The casual nature of Kevin’s response didn’t sit well with Eddie. Not at all. Eddie was a man who believed in control, in devotion—complete devotion. And the way Kevin spoke, the way he carried himself, was far too relaxed. Far too easygoing for Eddie’s taste. His smile faded as he took a step forward, his voice lowering, though no less calm.

"Happiness is fleeting, young man," Eddie said softly. "It’s a fragile thing. And people like us… we know how easily it can be destroyed." He let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "You see, I believe in something far more permanent. Something stronger than happiness. Family."

Kevin’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but he kept his smirk in place. "Yeah, I get that. Family’s important. But don’t worry about us, mate. We’re doing just fine."

Eddie tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving Kevin’s. "Are you, really ? You know, family requires more than just a few laughs and smiles. It requires sacrifice. It requires understanding. And protection." His voice grew quieter, more dangerous. "Are you truly capable of protecting her ? Of doing what needs to be done to keep her safe ?"

Kevin’s smile faltered for the first time, and the room grew colder. He crossed his arms, his playful tone replaced with something more serious. "I’m not sure what kind of protection you’re talking about, but I’m not going anywhere. She’s safe with me. You don’t need to worry about that."

Eddie’s lips twitched into a humorless smile. "I don’t think you understand, Kevin. People like us—you and me—we know how the world works. The things it can take from us. I just wonder if you have the stomach for it."

There was a pause, and Kevin’s eyes darkened as he finally understood the deeper meaning behind Eddie’s words. "If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about,"Kevin said slowly, "then yeah. I can handle it." He leaned in slightly, his tone turning more defensive. "Look, mate, I know what’s out there. I know what we do—what my family does. And I ain’t gonna force her into anything. I’m not afraid to do what needs to be done for her. But she’s happy with me, and I’m not letting anything happen to her. So why don’t we cut this whole ‘overprotective dad’ thing and call it what it is ? A pissing contest. You’re just pissed that your daughter has another man in her life. Makes her less easy to manipulate and control. But, let me remind you…Father of the year. You were absent for more than 20 years. Me and her ? We go way back. I have known her for even longer than you have. I have protected her. I have watched over her. Heck, at this point, she might as well start calling me Daddy."

Kevin smirked boyishly at the playful jab he had thrown back and Eddie’s eyes sharpened, and for a moment, his smile turned into something more sinister. "Oh, Kevin," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "This is no contest. I’m simply reminding you that no matter how much you think you care for her, I will always protect her in ways you can’t imagine. You may think you’re enough, but family…real family…is more than just protection. It’s control. It’s sacrifice. And it’s about knowing how far you’re willing to go."

Kevin’s jaw tightened. "I’d do anything for her."

Eddie suddenly took Kevin by the collar and yanked him so close that their eyes were inches apart. He wanted to see fear in that boy’s eyes. Maybe then, he’d understand. But when his blue eyes met Kevin’s dark ones, he only saw that same infuriating amusement…hiding his true feelings and emotions from sight…

"Dad !" You screamed in alarm and tried to get him off Kevin—but Eddie didn’t spare you a glance as he kept staring at the boy. Barely a man. Pretending to love his daughter better than he could…That weak pale and sickly-looking boy. That nothing. That nothing dared challenge him ? Eddie’s gaze lingered on Kevin for a long moment, as if testing the truth of his earlier words. Would that boy be capable of handling his daughter and protecting her from the world ? Their eyes stayed wide open as they observed each other closely. Then Eddie smiled—a smile that sent a chill down your spine. "Good," he whispered. "Because you’ll have to. One day, you’ll see."

He then released Kevin who took a step back. Eddie looked down on him with nothing but pure disdain. That weakling…

"You say you can protect her, young man ? How could you ever protect her when you are so weak you can’t even stay on your own two feet ?" He spat. He then walked away without saying another word. The conversation ended, Eddie had said what he needed to say, and Kevin gritted his teeth. That asshole !

After Eddie left, the air in the room felt heavy, the tension clinging like a thick fog. You glanced at Kevin, unsure of what to say. He was standing where Eddie had left him, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The playful smirk was gone, replaced by a hardened expression you didn’t see often.

"Kevin…" You started, taking a tentative step toward him.

He blinked, seeming to come out of his thoughts, and turned his gaze to you. He gave a strained chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well…that went better than I thought."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "Better than you thought ? He just threatened you."

"Yeah, I noticed that, princess." Kevin’s lips twitched, the Aussie humor kicking in as he tried to brush off what had just happened. But you could see it—the tension still simmering beneath the surface. "Your old man’s got a bit of a temper, doesn’t he ?"

You sighed, stepping closer and resting a hand on his arm. "You didn’t have to provoke him like that."

Kevin let out a sharp breath through his nose. "I wasn’t gonna stand there and let him destroy whatever good thing we got going on." His dark eyes met yours, the humor slipping away again. "I know he’s your father, but he doesn’t get to waltz in here after twenty-something years and think he owns you."

You knew Kevin had a point. Eddie had barely been a part of your life, and now he showed up, acting like he could dictate your relationships. But still…there was something unsettling about the way Eddie had looked at Kevin, the cold calculation in his eyes. You knew Eddie was protective in a twisted, possessive way, and it made you uneasy.

"He’s…" You trailed off, unsure of how to explain your father to Kevin. How could you ? Eddie wasn’t someone you could easily describe. He was obsessive, controlling, and yes, dangerous. But he was also your father.

Kevin sighed and offered you a weak smile.

"Hey. I get it,” Kevin said, softer now. He placed a hand over yours. "Family, right ? It’s complicated. Trust me, my family’s no walk in the park either." He chuckled bitterly. "You’ve met Hannibal Sr. You know what I mean."

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. Kevin’s family—the Hannibals—were just as twisted, just as complicated. Hannibal Sr, the father figure to Kevin, was cold and calculated, much like Eddie, but in a different way. Where Eddie’s protectiveness came from a place of obsessive love, Hannibal Sr’s protectiveness came from control, logic, and detachment. It was almost eerie how similar they were, though they didn’t even know each other.

"Eddie and Hannibal Sr." you muttered, shaking your head—a small smile playing on your lips. "They’d get along disturbingly well."

Kevin snorted. "Yeah, well, that’s the last thing we need. Two control freaks plotting over our relationship. I’d never hear the end of it."

You both shared a brief laugh, but it didn’t quite erase the lingering tension. Kevin’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his hand moving to cup your cheek.

"I meant what I said," he murmured, his tone serious now. "I’d do anything for you. I don’t care what your dad thinks, or what he threatens. You’re mine. And I’m not letting him take that from us."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned into his touch. "I know. And I’m not letting him take you from me either."

Kevin’s lips brushed your forehead, lingering there for a moment before he pulled back. His expression was still tense, but there was a fire in his eyes now, a determination that reassured you.

"I don’t care how many ‘fathers’ come out of the woodwork, princess," Kevin said, his voice firm. "I’m not scared of him. Not of anyone. He’ll learn that real quick."

You gave him a small, grateful smile. But deep down, you couldn’t help but worry. Eddie Gluskin wasn’t someone to underestimate. And now that he knew about Kevin, you knew he wouldn’t just sit back and let this go.

"I’ll talk to him," you said softly, almost more to yourself than to Kevin. "I’ll make him understand."

Kevin nodded, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t convinced. "Just be careful. That bastard knows how to play fiddle all too well. Don’t let him get into your head."

You sighed, knowing Kevin was right. "I will."

But as you stood there in Kevin’s arms, the weight of the situation pressed down on you. You weren’t sure how you were going to handle Eddie. You weren’t sure if you could make him understand. But one thing was clear—you weren’t going to let him tear you and Kevin apart.

[wexhappyxfew]

From Prompt List #3, can I please request [ TO THE THREAT ]: " is there a problem over here? " for Judy and Rosie OR [ TO THE THREAT ]: " right, either you leave or i kick you out. your choice" for Carrie and Douglass?

Thank you! I always enjoy reading your Silver Bullets stories!

-lestweforget5

HI AND HELLO MY FRIEND @lestweforget5 !!!!!!!!! thank you SO MUCH for sending this in!!! and thank you so so much for the love for Silver Bullets! they are truly my pride and joy to write and knowing they were just as enjoyed just makes me <333333 for this, i decided to write the carrie x dougie piece and prompt because someone requested the judy x rosie piece with the SAME prompt and so that will be coming out eventually!!! i wanted to write it either way and so i was very happy sent that in, too! be on the lookout for that soon! ANYWAY! please enjoy this carrie x dougie piece that cracked open the energy of carrie of being the eldest sibling + daughter, overachiever, stubborn, and emotionally bottled-up person she is <3 carrie achterberg you will always be famous (and loved)!!!

it's in the jar

(a/n): carrie achterberg, forever my stubborn, sweet pea who just wants to be cared for and loved! please enjoy this piece that focuses in a bit more on carrie and her character, alongside james douglass who clearly and evidently cares for carrie achterberg more than anything :) carrie x dougie u will always be famous! plz enjoy! and thank you again! <333

"And if you'da seen it," Carrie whispered to herself, her mind suddenly a hundred miles up in the sky, Silver Bullets swinging side to side, bullets and ammo ricocheting off the side, smearing up through the bitter cold against the metal, "you would've thought that I'da been dead." Carrie threw a small pebble, hearing the quick pattering sound it made into the jar she had placed at the base of the chair where she sat when she was Bombardier; Lieutenant Achterberg.

Now, instead, she was just Carrie.

"Then," Carrie whispered quietly, aiming the next small pebble in her hand carefully, "Krauts going right by. Boom, boom, BOOM. One after the next. Never did I see my life flash faster than I did in those 10 seconds." She aimed and watched as the pebble landed again in the jar.

That's what you get training to shoot and score with nothing but a Norden bombsight for months.

"10 seconds," Carrie whispered, holding up the next pebble, "all it took for Margie Harlowe to take the hit, knocked unconscious." The screams filled her mind as she sat there frozen, pebble in hand, her voice echoing off the walls of the inside of the nose of Silver Bullets like a paralyzing echo, a hollow one.

A shiver ran down her spine as she sat there, before aiming and harshly smacking the pebble into the jar, the patter-patter of the pebble making its way inside. Carrie picked up another, the texture smooth between her fingers as she adjusted and took aim.

"She's in the Med-Bay, unconscious," Carrie whispered, trying to maintain composure of herself, "almost reminded me of Birdie Faulkner. Almost." Almost, Carrie thought quietly. Except Margie's alive, Birdie's not. She aimed, fired and BOOM. The pebble was inside the jar again.

"But we were still in the air, ya know? Even with Margie hit above, knocked flat-out unconscious, we still had a mission to complete. The bullet sprays - like a sheet of ice hitting fire. Splaying out across the wide berth of Silver Bullets," Carrie said quietly, holding up another pebble, "you'da thought that we were going to di-"

"You thought what?" Carrie froze, whipping her head around, eyes narrowed, ablaze with light to find James Douglass there. She anxiously thumbed the pebble in between her fingers before clenching her jaw, turning and launching the pebble, which sailed right inside the jar. Then she glanced back at Dougie.

"What are you doing here?"

"This where you hide out after missions?" he asked her, ignoring her obvious question she had posed in the first place.

"Hide out?" she managed out with a scoff, turning in her crossed-legged form to pick up another pebble, "I don't hide out. I escape the chatter, Dougie. The noise, if you will." She glanced over her shoulder, glanced at him up and down, hands on his hips, smirk on his face, eyes softly staring at her own. A right sight if you were to ask her.

"How the hell did you know I was here?"

"Carlisle." Carrie raised a brow and Dougie chuckled.

Oh Bessie Carlisle, what the hell.

"Oh." Carrie said quietly, picking up another pebble and launching it forward, watching it knock inside the jar with a clink. The air was tense, almost like Dougie expected her to say something - but she didn't want to say anything. Trying to calm down from that was already enough. She didn't have any reason to perturb Dougie. Not like she tried to in the first place anyway.

Carrie slowly glanced back over her shoulder. Dougie was still standing there, quiet look on his face, like processing her words wasn't enough. Like he had to find out more. She didn't want him to find out more.

"Uh….something you need?" she asked awkwardly, feeling bad at the flash of guilt in his gaze, "Help with something or…..to talk-"

"No." Dougie said with a shake of the head and a nod, "Just…..wondering what you were up to."

"Yeah." Carrie said, her mood dimming as she sat there, equally remembering what she was doing, too. The screams, the blank stares, the blood. Carrie blinked. She looked at him again.

"Also was wondering if you wanted to come hang with some of the guys. Get your mind off Harlowe for a minute and well….outta this bucket of bolts." Carrie's lip quirked upwards the slightest bit. Inclusion was one of the things that would warm her heart every time, someone realizing that obviously she wasn't okay, but wanting to make the effort to make sure she was okay or could get her half-way there.

"I'm afraid I won't be much fun tonight, Dougie, but," Carrie offered a slight smile and a nod, "I appreciate the offer." Dougie put on a smile and nodded before sticking his hands in his pockets and nodding at her.

"It's all good, I get it," he said quietly, "shit like that sticks with you." Carrie nodded. It fell quiet and suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be consumed by the silence herself. She cleared her throat.

"Right," Carrie said quietly, eyeing him up and down there in the doorway to the nose of the plane, "well, either you leave or I kick you out." She met his gaze before turning it back towards the nose. "Your choice." Dougie let out a low whistle.

"My choice, huh?" he said, slowly making his way into the nose of the plane, knocking gentle on the metal bolts inside of her that Ken had screwed in that one time before a mission, "What are friends for then?" Carrie sent him a look, before slowly turning her head forward again.

"Care to explain the whole jar thing?" Carrie glanced at him quickly again. "And why you're alone in here?" Carrie fell quiet for a few moments, considering his words and her own thoughts. She let out a quiet sigh, thumbing the pebble over in between her fingers again.

"Well," Carrie started, "usually I get through about 10 pebbles before I realize I can process what happened. Each pebble that goes by, I talk about something that happened, something that jumped out at me. Margie's injury, for example. I speak about it. Let myself hear it, see it. Then, I throw the pebble away. Into the jar. And I don't take it out… ever. And then that memory is gone. Shoved away in a jar, covered by all those pebbles, all those memories. All gone."

There was something in Dougie's eye as he looked to her and she suddenly felt much more self-conscious then ever under his gaze. Her cheeks warmed and she brushed a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear before looking at him.

"Don't act like it's a dumb way to cope, I know how fast liquor and beer seem to disappear around here." she said quietly. But Dougie let out a quiet chuckle and for once there was no jeer, or teasing comment or anything of the sort. Just an acknowledgment, a chuckle, a nod and a look.

"And it seems to work?" Dougie asked her and she glanced over her shoulder at him and nodded. She watched as he took in her words and stepped closer, before settling down on the metal ground beside her, criss-crossed, their upbent knees nearly touching as he sat there next to her. He looked at her and she offered him a quiet, reserved look.

Carrie figured she had to look a sight. After interrogation, she hadn't gone anywhere except straight back to Silver Bullets, hiding up in the nose of the plane to try and forget. Her B3 looked nearly charred in a few places, her blonde hair greasy, possibly tangled and in a poor looking bun, smoke and grease stains on her face, near her eyes and along her forehead - her entire body ached, with exhaustion and hunger - and her mind hurt to even conjure a coherent thought. She sighed.

"It's hard," Carrie said quietly, watching as she tossed the pebble forward, hearing it clatter into the jar, "watching Margie like that. Seeing the other girl's faces. It sucked." Carrie sent another pebble forward, the clank satisfying enough for her to breathe. She looked at Dougie, who watched quietly - rather invested at that.

"Yeah," Dougie said softly, looking down and glancing at the jar set beneath her chair, "no one wants to talk about it either. But it hurts everyone. Ya know?" Carrie stiffly nodded before glancing over at him.

"Here," she said, offering him a pebble, "have a go." He watched her as she offered him a small smile. "You are a bombardier after all. Helps to have some aim." Dougie grinned at her words and looked at the jar. He aimed it for a moment, staring at the jar intensely before glancing over at her.

"I thought we were going to die up there today." he said quietly, before aiming the pebble again, more confidently and letting it sail into the jar a clink following. Carrie watched him for a moment, his eyes staring off forward towards the jar in a distant way she couldn't describe. And she felt her heart sag a bit at the sight. She felt bad. Instead, she picked up a pebble, quickly took aim and launched it forward.

"Me too." she said as a tiny clink followed. She glanced over as Dougie met her gaze and offered a small smile his way. He managed a small one back. For a second, they just watched one another's eyes - and Dougie did have a tender enough gaze to make the ice melt it seemed. Carrie let a small laugh escape past her lips as she looked away and down at the pile of stones at her feet.

"What?" she heard Dougie ask with a small chuckle as she picked up a few stones, wordlessly handing him a few before holding a few herself.

"A few of the stones in various jars were because of you." she said with a smirk, glancing his way, watching as awe seemed to fall upon his features. And she couldn't help but laugh a bit more."Don't act so surprised, Dougie, there were plenty of reasons to throw some pebbles in the jar," she said sending him a grin, "be lucky you never have to hear 'em."

"I never get to hear them? Oh, c'mon, Bergie, give me a laugh," he said, "what could I have said to earn a pebble in the jar?" Carrie raised a brow.

"Please tell me you're joking." she said.

"What?"

"Exhibit A," Carrie said, taking a pebble, making quite the show of holding it up in front of her before taking aim at the jar, "today Dougie sat beside and man, you should've seen his face when I told him a few of the reasons some pebbles are in the jar are because of him. I told, you must be joking and he just proceeded to stare." Then, she took aim and let the pebble sail into the jar, a tiny clink following.

Then, she looked over at Dougie, whose face was a mixture of something she couldn't quite make out - surprise, awe, maybe slightly dazed? Carrie chuckled as she uncurled her legs from their stiff, crisscross position and stood to her feet, removing the tiny pebble and turning to him.

"Wanna have another go?" she asked him, looking down at him as the setting sunbathed the front of his face in a honey-gold, shining through the nose of Silver Bullets in quite a glorious way, "Feel free to have a go at whatever you want." Dougie watched her.

"Why the hell you remove the pebble?" he asked her, smiling a bit, "Thought that sorta stuff went in the jar and never came out. Ya know, things you wanted to forget." Carrie smirked and shook her head.

"Nah, I don't want to forget that." she said laughing at the slightly surprised face he wore as she settled down next to him again, bumping her knee against his own, before turning to him, "Seriously, even if it's something stupid, it relieves some stress. It could be anything." Dougie just watched her and she took the moment to reach forward, uncurl his hand and put the pebble in his palm. Then, she nodded.

"Have at it." she said, quirking out a grin. Dougie watched her for a moment before looking towards the jar.

The silence, accompanied by their breathing, filled with tiny front nose of Silver Bullets, and it was enough to possibly have driven her crazy - but there was something comforting about sitting here, beside Dougie, in the silence. In what was to be after a day like that. He took aim and then let out a breath.

"Hearing Silver Bullets got hit scared the shit outta me." he said quietly and Carrie's smile slowly fell - she could feel the corners of her lips slowly drop, her heart beginning to pound faster, and her palms growing sweaty. Suddenly, sitting next to Dougie made her eyes water.

"Blakely had come running, threw open the doors, mentioned something or other about a plane being hit pretty badly, some wounded on board and that it was Silver Bullets. Couldn't help the fact that my mind went to the worst." Dougie said quietly, licking his lips before adjusting his shoulders and looking at the jar again, "Thought she was dead."

And with that, he launched the pebble forward and it landed perfectly inside the jar.

Then, it was silent.

This was the first time in ages where she was sat with Dougie and it was dead silent.

Slowly, Carrie pulled her eyes from the jar and glanced over at Dougie who sat there, jaw clenched, fists balled at the curves of his knees.

"Dougie-"

"It's in the jar." Dougie said, pushing himself rather suddenly to his feet and wiping off his pants, "Just….glad everyone else is okay." Carrie looked up at him, watching as he adjusted his crusher cap to his head and then grabbed the white scarf he'd placed by Bessie's navigator chair.

"Wait. Dougie, wait-" Carrie said, pulling herself to her feet as he wrapped the scarf around, "I…..I thought…."

"We didn't know who had gotten hit, just that someone was wounded," Dougie said, glancing her way, "so hearing it was Margie, it was a lot. That's all. Especially after Faulkner. That shit stays with you." Then, Dougie fixed his cap and looked at her deeply.

"I thought it was you." he said, and then turned and jumped down right out of the plane. Carrie stood still, completely frozen for a moment, before shaking her head.

No, no, no.

He didn't get to just leave while saying that. To her. Carrie grabbed her crusher cap, shoving it on her head and jumped down out of the plane, feet landing on the tarmac. The wind had picked up since she had holed up inside the plane nose.

Turning her head, she watched Dougie walking away back towards the nissen huts and stood up, righting herself before hurrying after him.

"Dougie!" she called after him, "Dougie!" He didn't stop at her words and with the flurry of emotion in her body right now, everything inside her wanted to scream at him to stop and turn around and look at her. But that small child inside of her told he'd walk away. Everyone always walked away. Her eyes welled with tears that she tried to blink away.

"James!" she yelled and it seemed that caused him to stop, back straightening as he turned towards her, face set as he looked at her - where she was rapidly approaching him, casting her to gaze upwards at him as she stopped in front of him.

Breathing a bit heavier than she had wanted, she looked at him, his eyes narrowed, gaze darkened and anxiety swirling. She sucked in a breath.

"What the hell was that?" she managed out, watching him intently, trying to untangle and undo him in anyway, "You thought-"

"It's in the jar." Dougie said again, firmer this time, "It's over."

"No." Carrie said quickly, hanging onto every word from that second in the nose of Silver Bullets, "You thought…it was me? Why?" Her words were left out in the open, lingering in the air between them, the question unwrapped, awaiting an answer.

Dougie just watched her, his eyes searching hers as they flicked back and forth in her gaze, his head tilted, that crusher cap crooked on top his head again.

James Douglass had never openly voiced any sort of emotion towards her that didn't start with a joke and end with a smirk. And to be fair, neither had she. She had never thought of anything more than what their bickering and teasing was - something good natured, something to get you through the war. Carrie blinked.

"Dougie…." she started quietly, but instead he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at her fully.

"Can I ask you something?" he said quietly, catching her completely off-guard. Carrie watched him, her heart continuing to pound - Dougie's eyes continuing to watch her - and she nodded.

"What is it?"

"Do you think I don't care about you?"

Now it was her turn to be silent.

Carrie stared at him.

Something inside of her wanted to cry.

"I…" Carrie started quietly, her throat choking up as she shut her mouth and cleared her throat, "I'm not…." She couldn't get her words out. Between him staring at her like that, her mind playing tricks on her, and her thoughts running wild, she couldn't even get herself to speak. He watched her as she cleared her throat.

"Not like that." she managed out, looking up at him as her eyes watered, letting out a shaky breath. There was so much said in the unsaid and with each passing second, the more her emotions were taking hold of her.

She thought of Margie in that moment - not only a crew member, and someone who had been there from the beginning, but a friend. Someone who was like a sister. Almost and nearly dead.

She thought of Birdie Faulkner, who had gotten this whole crew together in the first place - the whole reason she was here now - who was now dead and gone.

She thought of her family - back home in New York - her parents constantly gone, her siblings constantly asking for her, the long nights spent studying late at night, making up for lost time during the day. The times she had to skip school, get out of work early just to help her siblings - all the mouths that needed to be fed, the time that needed to be spent with to make sure they wouldn't end up like her, like Carrie.

How much she had put out and no one had cared.

Until she came to the Silver Bullets crew.

Until she'd been with other women who had felt pain just like she had.

Carrie's eyes welled with tears and she couldn't help but feel her chin shake and her lip wobble as Dougie watched her. She let out a weak whimper before sniffling and putting down her head to shake away the emotion.

"I'm sorry." she managed out, voice high-pitched.

"You don't have to apologize for anything." Dougie said quietly as she shook her head.

"I shouldn't be crying like this-"

"It's okay, Carrie."

"I'm sorry-"

"Carrie." Dougie said quietly, looking down at her with a tender look, "You don't have to say sorry." She looked at him, a few stray tears crawling down her cheeks as she nodded.

"Here." Dougie said, pulling the white scarf from his neck and handing it to her as she wiped at her eyes.

"Thanks." she managed out, sniffling as she took in the soft scent of the scarf - God, it smelled like him. So much like him. Even if he was standing right here. Him, that cologne he always wore - him.

"I'm serious though." Dougie said, nodding, before chuckling slightly - whether it was his nerves or how close they were standing, "I thought it was you. Couldn't help it. I hear the words Silver Bullets and there you are in my mind." Carrie looked up at him, managing the tiniest hint of a smile and laughed slightly, a stray tear falling down her cheek.

"It's just been a lot, that's all," she managed out, her voice struggling to break again, "especially after Birdie. And now Margie." Carrie squeezed her eyes shut, and wiped at her eyes, sniffling. Dougie placed a hand on her shoulder, softly rubbing his thumb against the exposed part of her neck, before looking to her.

"It's in the jar, Carrie." he said quietly, "Right?" She looked up at him. Then, she broke out in a smile, before a small, watery laugh escaped her lips. Lightly, she smacked the feather-light scarf at him before chuckling again.

"What?" he said with a chuckle, "It got you laughing, didn't it?" She looked up at him and managed to hold the smile for a bit longer.

"Yeah," she said quietly, "thanks for that." They grew quiet and he watched her, nodding.

"Come get some dinner, alright?" he said and she nodded. Slowly, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she glanced up at him with a small smile. Pulling her into his side, he grinned at her.

"C'mon, Bergie, who else would I be able to crack a joke with and get my own balls broken with at the same time?"

"Oh shut the fuck up." Carrie said with a chuckle as Dougie grinned.

"Nah, nah, I'm being serious, who else, huh? Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

"She'd only break your balls and then some." Dougie laughed, before looking at her with a small grin.

"C'mon," he said as they began walking towards the mess hall, "I'll buy you a drink after." Carrie smirked.

"What a gentleman." she whispered with a snicker.

"Remind me about the last time I bought you a drink-"

"Oh don't you even DARE start with that, Dougie-"

"I have every opportunity to take it back-"

"Dougie!" He looked at her with a grin. Her eyes softened.

"Thanks again." she said quietly, for caring.

Softly, without much of a word, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the side of her head underneath her lopsided crusher cap, before continuing to walk forward beside her.

"Thank you." she whispered under her breath, side of her head warm where his lips had just pressed - small, hardly even a peck, but enough for her body to go hot, her mind to scramble. Thank you for caring, she wanted to say, for me, about me, with me.

Thank you for caring for me.