#but its physical hurting and i know its from emotion. and over the months the symptoms transform alongside whatever my head and heart think

[lemonsdietcoke]

A Pearl - Player!230

Dark!Choi Su-bong/Thanos x Fem!Reader

Warnings: emotional and physical abuse, NONCON/DUBCON,substance abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, toxic relationships, childhood trauma

Summary: “I fell in love with a war, and nobody told me it ended.” You thought love was supposed to hurt. That it meant holding on when everything burned. Inspired by ‘A Pearl’-Mitski

MINORS DNI

A/n: this story is super heavy so just be prepared going into this. This is probably the darkest thing I’ve written. Also the bold means it’s a flashback. Lmk if yall fw. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!!

……………..

The house is too quiet.

Not the quiet that lulls you to sleep, the kind that hums with the soft rhythm of peace. No. This quiet is suffocating. It weighs down on your chest, fills your throat until you can’t swallow properly, and presses against your ears until every little sound feels magnified. The ticking of the clock is too loud. The hum of the refrigerator rattles through the walls like a warning. And the silence, that awful silence, screams louder than anything else.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning under your weight as though the house itself is protesting your stillness. Your fingers move without thinking, the chain of your necklace twisted between them. You tug it forward, letting the locket fall into your palm. The cool metal feels heavier tonight, like it knows something you don’t. You trace the shape of the rose etched into the surface—a small, intricate carving, its petals curling toward the center where the gold is worn smooth from years of touch.

When you were a child, you’d thought the rose was magic. Your parents had given it to you for your twelfth birthday, saving for months to afford something so fine. Your father had clasped it around your neck with careful fingers, your mother watching with teary eyes, saying it was for the little lady you were becoming. You’d carried it with you everywhere, opening the locket a dozen times a day just to see the tiny, faded photo inside—a family portrait taken before everything went wrong. The three of you, smiling despite the faded edges of your clothes, despite the peeling wallpaper behind you. Your father’s arm was wrapped tightly around your mother, and she was holding you on her lap, her hand tucked over yours. You remember the way her hair smelled like rosemary, the way your father’s laugh used to make your chest flutter.

You hadn’t worn the locket in years, not until him. Not until Su-bong had found it in your drawer, tucked away like a secret. “What’s this?” he’d asked, holding it up in the air between two fingers, his expression teasing but curious. When you’d hesitated, he’d snapped the clasp open before you could stop him, his brows raising slightly at the photo.

“Wow,” he’d said with a lopsided grin, tossing it back into your lap like it didn’t matter. “Didn’t know you were the sentimental type.”

You’d put it on that night, your chest burning with embarrassment. You’ve worn it every day since, the metal resting against your skin like armor.

Now, it feels like a lifeline. You wrap your hand around it tightly, letting the edges dig into your palm. The chain pulls against your neck, but you don’t loosen your grip. It’s the only thing keeping you grounded as your thoughts spiral. He left hours ago—another night, another excuse. He hadn’t even stopped to look at you when you asked him to stay.

“Do you really need to go? It’s already late.”

He’d barely paused to shove his shoes on, his hair falling into his face as he fumbled with the laces. His jacket had hung off one shoulder, sloppily thrown on in his hurry to leave. “Don’t start,” he’d muttered, voice low and clipped.

“I just—Su-bong, please.” Your voice had cracked, small and unsure, the way it always did when you tried to hold him back.

That was when he’d stopped. Just for a moment. He’d looked up at you then, a flash of irritation cutting through the haze in his eyes. “I won’t be long,” he’d said, his tone sharp enough to make you flinch. Then he was gone, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the picture frames rattle against the walls.

He hasn’t come back. You’re not sure if he will.

You glance at the clock on the nightstand. 2:47 AM. The seconds tick by, loud and relentless. You press the locket against your lips, as though the cool metal might soothe the heat rising in your throat. The ache in your chest twists tighter, suffocating and raw, and you force yourself to stand.

The bedroom is dark, lit only by the faint yellow glow of the streetlamp outside. The shadow of the blinds cuts across the walls like a cage. You make your way to the window, each step slow and deliberate. Your legs feel heavy, your bare feet brushing against the cold floor. The night outside is still, the air thick with fog. You half expect to see him stumbling down the street, his head tilted to one side, his steps uneven. But there’s nothing. Just the empty road stretching out into the dark, a void that swallows everything in its path.

Your stomach churns. You don’t even know why you bother looking for him anymore. He never answers your texts when he’s out. He never picks up his phone. He always comes back when he wants to, not a moment before, and when he does, it’s like you’re supposed to forget he ever left. “What are you so worried about?” he always says, brushing you off like you’re a child. “I’m fine. Just let it go, babe.”

He never understands why you can’t let it go.

Your fingers shake as you unlock your phone, scrolling through your empty messages. The last text you’d sent hours ago—“Let me know when you’re on your way home.”—sits unread, untouched. You’d stared at the screen for so long that your eyes had blurred, waiting for the little dots to appear. They never did.

You close the app and toss the phone onto the bed, breathing out shakily. Your chest tightens as you imagine him laughing somewhere, his hand wrapped around a bottle, surrounded by people who don’t care that he’s tearing you apart piece by piece. He’ll come home eventually, his breath hot and sour against your skin, his hands rough and insistent. You’ll let him touch you, because it’s easier than saying no. Because it hurts too much to fight him when he’s like that. Because at least when he’s touching you, you know where he is.

The thought makes your stomach turn. You press your hand to your mouth, your breath shaking against your palm. The metal of the locket digs into your skin again, grounding you, keeping you here, when all you want to do is disappear.

The house is too quiet. The clock ticks louder.

And he’s still not here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The light in the hallway buzzes faintly, flickering every so often. You’re leaning against the bathroom door, your back pressed flat against the wood, knees curled up tight to your chest. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, too fast, too loud, until it feels like your whole body is vibrating with it. You can hear him on the other side—his voice rising, slurring, vibrating with that sharp, manic edge that always makes your stomach churn.

“Open the door!” His fist collides with the wood, hard enough to make the frame rattle. “Don’t fucking ignore me!”

The sound sends a jolt through your body. Your hands grip the locket around your neck so tightly the edges press into your palm, the thin gold chain pulling taut against your skin. You don’t even notice the sting. You’re not thinking about anything except how close he sounds. How loud. How angry.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your breathing shallow, uneven. You tell yourself to be quiet—don’t make a sound, don’t move—but your body isn’t listening. Your knees are shaking so badly they knock against the door, the vibration rattling the hinges.

“I’m not gonna fucking ask again!” The next hit is harder, a sharp, jarring kick that makes the whole door shudder. You gasp before you can stop yourself, slapping a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late.

“Oh, so now you’re scared?” he sneers, his voice dropping low and venomous. You can picture the way his lips curl when he says it, that smug, mocking smile that always makes your stomach turn. “What, you think this door is gonna save you? You think I won’t fucking break it down?”

The door shudders again—another kick, harder this time, and you flinch so violently that your head knocks back against the wood. A crack splinters through the frame, faint but audible, and you can feel the panic crawling up your throat.

You press the locket tighter against your chest, the rose etched into its surface digging into your skin. You focus on the weight of it, the coldness of the gold, the soft click of the clasp when it used to open. Anything to keep your mind from spiraling too far. But it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Earlier That Night~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night had started quietly, the house dimly lit as you waited for him to come home. He’d promised you that morning, “I’m staying in tonight, alright? No bullshit.” You hadn’t believed him—not really—but some part of you had wanted to. Some part of you had clung to that tiny, fragile hope like it meant something.

When the door slammed open hours later, you knew.

You’d smelled the whiskey first. It clung to him like a second skin, sharp and sour, mixing with the faint scent of cigarettes that always seemed to follow him. His steps were uneven, his hand gripping the doorframe for balance before he stumbled further inside. He didn’t look at you, didn’t say anything. He just went straight for the kitchen.

You’d stood in the doorway, your chest tightening as you watched him dig through the drawers, muttering under his breath. When he pulled out the pill bottle, your heart dropped.

“Seriously, Su-bong?” you said, your voice sharp before you could stop yourself. “You’re already drunk.”

He didn’t even look at you. He popped the cap off with a flick of his thumb, dumping two pills into his palm and swallowing them dry. “Relax,” he muttered, like you were the one being unreasonable. “I’m fine.”

Something in you snapped. You crossed the room, grabbing the bottle from his hand and slamming it onto the counter. The sound was loud, jarring, but it didn’t make him flinch. If anything, he looked bored.

“Fine?” you snapped. “You can barely fucking stand, and you think you’re fine?”

That got his attention. He turned to you, his gaze narrowing, sharp and calculating even through the haze. A slow, bitter grin spread across his face.

“Oh, so now you’re the expert, huh?” he said, his voice low and mocking. He stepped closer, the smell of alcohol making your stomach churn. “Since when do you give a shit what I do?”

The casual cruelty of it made your throat tighten, your anger dissolving into something smaller, something more fragile. You tried again, softer this time.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, your voice quiet, careful. “Just… stay home tonight. Please.”

For a second, you thought he might listen. His gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw tightening. He looked tired. Worn out. You could almost see the man you used to know beneath the haze.

But then he shook his head, huffing out a bitter laugh. “I can’t stay here all night listening to your shit.”

You stepped in front of the door before you could stop yourself, your chest tight with something between panic and determination.

“You’re not going anywhere,” you said, your hands trembling as you tried to sound steady.

His head snapped up, his gaze locking on yours. His face twisted into something colder, sharper, and for the first time that night, you felt the first flicker of fear.

“Move,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

You shook your head. “No. I’m serious, Su-bong—”

It happened too fast. One second he was standing there, and the next his hand was wrapped around your arm, gripping so tightly you gasped.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he snarled, dragging you to the side like you weighed nothing.

Your other hand shot out instinctively, pushing against his chest as hard as you could. He barely stumbled, but the movement seemed to snap something in him. His hand jerked, his grip tightening until you felt the sharp pinch of his nails digging into your skin.

“You fucking bitch,” he spat, and that’s when you ran.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your breath is coming too fast, too shallow, making your head spin. The pounding on the door has stopped, but you don’t feel any relief. Not yet.

“You’re so fucking pathetic,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less venomous. “Hiding in there like a fucking child. You think I need this shit? You think anyone else would put up with you?”

The words hit harder than his fists ever could. Your hands tighten around the locket until the rose leaves an imprint in your palm, the edges sharp and unforgiving.

You don’t respond. You don’t move. You just sit there, shaking, waiting for him to leave.

Eventually, he does. The front door slams behind him, and the silence that follows is heavier than the noise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The clock’s ticking feels slower now, like it’s dragging time with it. The minutes stretch and warp until they don’t feel like minutes anymore. Just this endless, dragging ache that lives in the pit of your stomach and refuses to leave.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table now, your phone lying in front of you, facedown like it’s mocking you. There’s a mug of tea in your hands, untouched. It’s lukewarm now, the steam long gone, but you don’t put it down. You hold it tightly, your fingers wrapped around the ceramic, because at least it’s something to hold. At least it gives your hands something to do besides tremble.

The house is dark except for the faint glow of the light over the stove. It casts long shadows across the counters, over the piles of unopened mail and empty bottles that have been gathering there for weeks. You keep meaning to clean, but every time you think about it, your body refuses to move. It’s hard enough to get out of bed most days, let alone scrub the smell of him out of the walls.

You glance at your phone again, your chest tightening as though it might vibrate, might light up with his name. It doesn’t. It never does, not when you’re waiting like this. You should be used to it by now, but the sting of it never dulls.

The worst part is, you don’t know if you want him to come home.

You close your eyes, letting your head drop forward, the heel of your hand pressing against the locket that hangs around your neck. The edges of the rose dig into your skin, sharp enough to leave marks. It grounds you, keeps your thoughts from spinning too far out of control.

But the memories are harder to stop. They come rushing in like they always do, filling the silence with the sound of his voice, his laugh, the way he used to look at you like you were something soft, something beautiful, something breakable. He doesn’t look at you like that anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can still see the first time he smiled at you—really smiled, that kind of stupid grin that made your chest feel too full. You’d been sitting across from him at some shitty little diner, your fork pushing around a plate of cold fries while he talked about some dream he’d had, something ridiculous about a casino and a dog wearing sunglasses. It wasn’t even funny, but the way he told it made you laugh so hard your face hurt. You’d leaned forward, your elbows on the table, and he’d just stopped. Mid-sentence, he’d stopped, like he couldn’t believe you were there.

“You’re cute,” he’d said, simple and easy, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would stick with you for years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You open your eyes and the memory dissolves, slipping away into the dark like it never happened. You feel stupid for thinking about it, for still holding onto those pieces of him like they mean something. Like they haven’t been buried under all the yelling and the slammed doors and the nights you spent wondering if he’d ever come home.

You set the mug down on the table, your hands shaking slightly as you fold them in your lap. The quiet feels heavier now, pressing down on your chest until it’s hard to breathe.

What if he doesn’t come back this time? The thought creeps in before you can stop it, wrapping itself around your throat like a noose. It’s not the first time you’ve wondered, but it’s the first time it’s felt real. Like a possibility instead of a threat.

You try to tell yourself that you’d be fine if he didn’t. You’d figure it out. You’d get up tomorrow, make coffee, go to work, clean the house, move on. But the thought of it—of him not being here, of him leaving without even a word—makes your chest feel like it’s caving in. You clutch the necklace tighter, the chain pulling taut against the back of your neck.

He always comes back. He always does.

But what if this time is different?

The clock ticks louder. The house is too quiet.

And you’re still waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The door slams hard enough to shake the walls. You feel it in your chest, a dull, rattling thud that echoes through the quiet house. Your stomach twists, the dread rising so fast it feels like a sickness. You already know how this night is going to end.

You’re still sitting at the kitchen table, the cold mug of tea in front of you. It’s been hours since he left, and you’d given up hope of him coming home sober somewhere around midnight. But now that he’s here, a part of you wishes he’d stayed gone.

You hear his footsteps before you see him, the uneven shuffle of his boots dragging against the floor. When he stumbles into view, it’s like you’ve summoned him with your thoughts. His hair is messy, sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his jacket is hanging off one shoulder. He looks at you, his eyes glassy, his mouth curling into a sloppy grin that makes your chest ache.

“There you are,” he says, his voice low and hoarse. He sounds almost affectionate, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it, the kind that makes your throat tighten.

You don’t say anything. You can’t. Your hands are clenched in your lap, your nails digging into your palms. You’re trying to stay calm, trying to keep your breathing even, but your heart is already pounding.

He doesn’t seem to notice. He walks toward you, his movements slow and unsteady, and leans against the table with one hand. The other hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“Why are you sitting here all alone?” he murmurs, his tone soft now, almost sweet. The contrast makes you want to scream.

You pull back slightly, your jaw tightening. “Where were you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You hate how small you sound, but it’s all you can manage.

His grin falters, and for a second, something colder flickers across his face. “Don’t start,” he mutters, standing up straight. “I don’t want to hear it right now.”

“I’ve been waiting for hours, Su-bong.” You can hear the edge creeping into your voice now, but you can’t stop it. The anger is bubbling up, sharp and bitter, mixing with the fear in your chest. “You said you’d be home—”

“I said, don’t start,” he snaps, cutting you off. His voice is louder now, the sharpness in it making you flinch. He takes a step closer, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, heavy and sour. “What’s your problem, huh? Why do you always have to make a big fucking deal out of everything?”

Your throat tightens, the words you want to say choking on the way up. You look away, your gaze dropping to the table. You can’t do this tonight. You can’t fight him when he’s like this.

But he doesn’t let it go.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less demanding. He reaches for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Why are you so mad, huh? You missed me?”

You don’t answer. You don’t move. You just stare at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and something that feels too much like fear.

His thumb brushes against your cheek, and his mouth curls into that lopsided grin again. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs, leaning down until his face is inches from yours. “Don’t be like that.”

The kiss is sudden, his lips pressing against yours hard enough to make you pull back instinctively. You turn your head, breaking the contact, but his hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

“Su-bong, stop,” you say, your voice shaking. You try to push him back, but he doesn’t budge. His grip tightens, his other hand sliding down to your waist.

“You’re so tense,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your ear. “Relax.”

You push harder this time, your hands pressing against his chest, but it only seems to annoy him. His movements become rougher, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you to your feet.

“Stop it!” you cry, your voice rising in panic. “I don’t want to—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he snaps, his voice low and sharp. He spins you around, pressing you against the edge of the table, his body trapping yours in place.

Your heart is pounding now, the fear clawing its way up your throat. You keep trying to push him away, but he’s stronger, and he’s not listening.

The locket around your neck catches on the edge of the table, the chain pulling tight against your skin. Your hand shoots up instinctively, clutching it, your fingers trembling as you press it against your chest.

“Su-bong, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

He doesn’t answer. His hands are on your hips now, his grip bruising as he pulls you closer. The tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. You don’t move. You don’t fight. You just stare at the wall, your breathing shallow, your fingers clutching the locket like it’s the only thing holding you together.

You can hear him murmuring something under his breath—something about how good you feel, how much he missed you—but the words blur together, lost in the haze of your thoughts. You’re not here anymore. You’re somewhere else. Somewhere quiet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house is still. The only sound is his breathing, slow and heavy as he lies beside you, one arm draped carelessly over your waist. You don’t move. You don’t even blink.

The locket is still in your hand, the imprint of the rose etched into your palm. You stare at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, and try to ignore the ache between your legs.

The tears come later, after he’s asleep. You press your face into the pillow, your shoulders shaking as you cry silently into the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car engine rumbles beneath you, a low, uneven growl that vibrates through the seat and into your chest. Su-bong’s hand is loose on the wheel, his other arm resting on the open window as the wind whips through the car. He’s not driving fast, but the way he keeps drifting too close to the curb, jerking the wheel at the last second, makes your stomach twist.

You press your hand against your thigh, trying to keep it from shaking, and force your gaze to stay on the road. You don’t want to look at him. You don’t want to see the glassy, unfocused look in his eyes or the faint grin that keeps twitching at the corner of his mouth. He hasn’t said much since you left the bar—just a few muttered curses under his breath, his jaw tight and his grip on the wheel tightening every time he takes a turn too sharply.

You want to tell him to stop. To pull over. To let you drive. But the words stick in your throat, thick and heavy, like a stone weighing you down. You know how that conversation will end. He’ll snap at you, tell you to relax, accuse you of trying to control him. And you’re too tired to argue. Too tired to do anything except sit there and hope the car doesn’t drift too far into the wrong lane.

The silence feels heavier than the rumble of the engine.

“You embarrassed me,” he mutters suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet like a crack of thunder.

You flinch, your hands tightening in your lap. “I wasn’t trying to,” you say quietly, your gaze still fixed on the road ahead.

He snorts, shaking his head. “Really? Because, You had to make a fucking scene, didn’t you? In front of everyone.”

The heat rises in your chest, sharp and stifling, but you press it down. You’ve gotten good at that—at swallowing your anger, letting it fester somewhere deep inside where it can’t escape. “I wasn’t trying to make a scene,” you say again, your voice quieter this time. “I just… I didn’t want you to drink anymore.”

“Why do you care?” he snaps, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. His grin is gone now, replaced by that sharp, mocking sneer that makes your stomach churn. “What’s it to you?”

You don’t answer. You don’t trust yourself to.

The car jerks suddenly as he swerves to avoid a parked car, and your heart leaps into your throat. He laughs—a short, bitter sound that makes your skin crawl—and slams his palm against the steering wheel. “Relax,” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation. “Jesus, you’re so fucking tense all the time. It’s not that serious.”

It feels serious. Everything about this feels serious—the car, the road, the weight of his anger pressing down on you like a hand around your throat.

You don’t say anything else for the rest of the drive. You just stare out the window, watching the dark streets blur together, and press your hand against the locket around your neck, the edges of the rose digging into your skin.

~~~~~~~~~

The house looks worse than the last time you saw it, though you’re not sure how that’s even possible. It’s his friend’s place. The place they all went to drink themselves into oblivion, and share drugs.

The porch sags under its own weight, the roof dotted with holes that make it look like it’s caving in. The windows are either boarded up or covered with newspaper, and the light above the door flickers weakly, casting the entire place in a sickly yellow glow.

Su-bong doesn’t wait for you to follow. He slams the car door shut behind him and walks up the steps, his boots heavy against the rotting wood. You hesitate for a moment, your hand still resting on the car door, and try to swallow the lump in your throat. You don’t want to go in there. You don’t want to see his friends, to feel their eyes on you, to sit in that awful, stifling air and pretend you’re okay.

But you don’t have a choice. Not really.

The inside of the house smells worse than you remember—like sweat, beer, and something sharp and chemical that makes your nose burn. The walls are yellowed with smoke, the carpet littered with cigarette butts and broken glass. There’s a coffee table in the middle of the room, its surface covered in ashtrays, empty pill bottles, and the faint glitter of crushed powder.

Su-bong’s friends are sprawled across the couches and chairs, their laughter filling the room like static. One of them glances up as you walk in, his bloodshot eyes narrowing slightly. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

Su-bong shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto the back of a chair, and grabs a beer off the table without a word.

“You’re late,” one of the guys Nam-gyu mutters, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. He’d been friends with Su-bong for a long time. Before you even met him.

“Yeah, well,” Su-bong mutters, twisting the cap off the bottle with his teeth. “Got caught up.”

Nam-gyu glances at you, his gaze lingering a little too long, and something tightens in your chest. Su-bong notices, too. He sets the beer down and shoots the guy a look, his voice sharp as he says, “What the fuck are you staring at?”

Nam-gyu laughs, holding his hands up in mock surrender. His sweaty hair falling around his face, framing it.“Nothing, man. Relax.”

Su-bong doesn’t say anything else. He just takes another sip of his beer, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before turning back to the table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hallway feels narrower than it should. The light from the main room barely reaches back here, leaving everything steeped in shadow, the air growing thicker and harder to breathe the farther you go. You can hear the faint hum of the television from the living room, the muffled sound of laughter and the clinking of bottles. The floor beneath you creaks with every step, the uneven boards sticky against your shoes.

The door to the back room is half-open, the dim yellow light spilling into the hallway. Su-bong pulls you inside without a word, his grip firm around your wrist. The door shuts behind you with a soft thud, sealing the two of you into the suffocating darkness.

Your first instinct is to stop breathing. The smell hits you like a wall—stale sweat, mildew, and the sour, chemical tang of old beer. There’s a mattress on the floor, sagging in the middle, its surface stained with patches of something dark and unrecognizable. The fabric is dotted with cigarette burns, the edges curling up like it’s been sitting here for years.

A single roach skitters across the corner of the mattress, vanishing into a crack in the wall before you can even process what you’ve seen.

Your stomach churns, your body screaming at you to leave, leave, leave, but Su-bong is already pulling you toward the mattress, his hands clumsy and insistent as they find your waist.

“Su-bong,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Stop.”

He doesn’t listen.

His breath is hot and sour against your neck, reeking of alcohol and something sharp and metallic. His hands slide up your sides, rough and impatient, tugging at the fabric of your shirt. You push against him weakly, your palms flat against his chest, but he’s too strong, too stubborn, and you’re too tired to fight.

“Relax,” he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. His fingers grip your shirt harder, pulling it up over your head before you can stop him. “You’re always so fucking tense.”

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in on you as the smell of sweat and mildew grows thicker, coating the back of your throat. You tilt your head away from him, your gaze darting to the ceiling, to the cracks in the plaster and the faint shimmer of cobwebs in the corner.

The locket presses against your chest, its familiar weight grounding you in a way that feels almost cruel. Your fingers brush against it, trembling as you press it harder into your skin.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper, barely audible.

He pauses for a second, his head tilting slightly, and you think—for just a moment—that he might stop. That he might actually hear you. But then he sighs, annoyed, and grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from your chest.

“Don’t start,” he mutters, his grip tightening as he pushes you down onto the mattress. The fabric feels damp beneath you, sticky and rough against your skin, and you can feel something small and hard digging into your back—a piece of broken glass, maybe, or a shard of plastic.

You want to cry. You want to scream. But the lump in your throat won’t let you make a sound.

His hands are on you again, rougher this time, tugging at your waistband and pulling you closer. The mattress groans under his weight, the springs creaking loudly enough to drown out the sound of your shaky breathing.

You stop fighting. It’s always easier that way.

The smell of him overwhelms you—sweat, cigarettes, whiskey—and the sound of his voice blurs into static as your mind starts to drift. You stare at the wall, at the faint shadows moving across its surface, and try to focus on anything else.

Your fingers close around the locket again, the edges of the rose pressing into your palm. You focus on the feel of it, the coolness of the metal, the way it feels against your skin. You roll it between your fingers, clutching it tightly, and let your mind go quiet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room is silent except for the sound of his breathing—heavy and uneven as he collapses beside you, his arm draped carelessly over your waist. The mattress shifts under his weight, the springs creaking one last time before the quiet settles over you like a blanket.

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just lie there, staring at the ceiling, your fingers still curled around the locket.

There’s a roach on the wall above you, its legs moving slowly as it crawls toward the corner of the room. You watch it for a moment, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, before closing your eyes.

The smell lingers—on your skin, in your hair, in the back of your throat. You know you won’t be able to wash it off, not entirely. It’ll stay with you, just like everything else.

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears start to slip down your temples, soaking into the filthy mattress beneath you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The car ride home is silent.

Not the kind of silence that settles naturally, soft and comfortable. This silence is jagged, sharp enough to cut, stretching tight between the two of you like a rubber band about to snap. The sound of the engine hums beneath you, broken only by the occasional crunch of gravel as Su-bong drifts too close to the shoulder.

His hands grip the wheel loosely, his knuckles brushing against the cracked leather as he leans back in the seat. His head tilts slightly to the side, his eyes half-lidded and glassy, and you can smell the whiskey on him even from here.

You press your hand against the locket around your neck, your fingers curling around the metal as your chest tightens. You don’t dare look at him.

The tension in the car is suffocating, pressing against your chest like a weight. Your throat feels tight, your pulse thudding in your ears. You want to say something, anything, to break the silence—but the words stick in your throat, thick and heavy, refusing to come out.

When the house finally comes into view, you feel a flicker of relief. But it’s fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the hollow ache that’s been sitting in your chest all night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door slams behind you as Su-bong stumbles into the living room, tossing his jacket onto the couch without a second glance. You linger near the doorway, your hand still gripping the locket tightly, as though it might anchor you to something real.

The house is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlamp outside. Shadows stretch across the walls, long and jagged, and the air feels heavy, stagnant, like it’s holding its breath.

Su-bong doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look at you. He just collapses onto the couch, his head tilting back against the cushion, his eyes closed.

For a moment, you think he might pass out.

But then he sighs—a long, low sound that seems to echo in the silence—and drags a hand down his face. His fingers rub against his temples, slow and deliberate, and his leg bounces restlessly against the floor.

“You’re mad,” he mutters, his voice slurred but steady.

You don’t respond.

He opens his eyes, tilting his head to look at you. There’s something in his gaze—something searching, something almost vulnerable—that makes your stomach twist.

“Say something,” he says, his voice quieter now.

You stare at him, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a physical force. Your chest aches, the words you want to say bubbling up inside you, but you swallow them down. You don’t trust yourself to speak.

His leg stops bouncing. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together as he looks at the floor.

“I know I fucked up,” he says quietly. “I know that.”

The words hang in the air, brittle and heavy, and you feel your fingers tighten around the locket.

“I shouldn’t have taken you there,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have done any of it.”

He looks up at you then, his eyes glassy and rimmed with exhaustion. “I don’t even know why you put up with me,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m such a fucking mess.”

He stands up slowly, unsteady on his feet, and takes a step toward you. His hands reach for yours, warm and trembling slightly as they close around your wrists.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says, his voice low and desperate. “You’re all I have. You’re the only thing that keeps me together.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your chest tightening as you stare at him. You want to pull away, to put distance between you, but his grip is firm, almost pleading.

“I’ll do better,” he says, his words spilling out in a rush. “I’ll stop drinking, I’ll stop everything. I’ll get clean. I swear to God, I’ll do it for you.”

You close your eyes, the tears stinging at the corners as you shake your head. “You’ve said that before,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“I mean it this time,” he insists, his grip tightening slightly. His voice cracks on the last word, and you can feel the tremor in his hands. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just… please don’t give up on me. Please.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You think anyone else is gonna love you like I do?” he asks, his tone soft but cutting. “You think anyone else is gonna put up with you?”

Your breath hitches, the words cutting deeper than they should.

“Your family doesn’t want you,” he says, his voice cracking slightly, like he’s holding back tears. “They’ve never wanted you. But me? I love you. I need you. You’re the only good thing I’ve got.”

The locket feels heavy in your hand, the edges of the rose digging into your palm. You want to scream, to push him away, to tell him to stop—but the lump in your throat won’t let you speak.

“What if you can’t?” you whisper, your voice breaking. “What if you don’t stop? What if it’s always going to be like this?”

He shakes his head, his expression tightening with something that almost looks like panic. “It won’t be,” he says quickly. “I swear, baby. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything.”

The tears slip down your cheeks, hot and relentless, and you press your free hand to your face, trying to stifle the quiet sob that escapes your lips.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice breaking. He pulls you into his arms, his grip almost crushing as he presses his face against your hair. “Just give me another chance. That’s all I need. One more chance.”

You don’t hug him back.

But you don’t pull away, either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He falls asleep hours later, curled up beside you on the bed, his breathing slow and even. You sit there in the dark, staring at the wall, the locket clutched tightly in your hand.

You want to believe him. You want to believe him so badly it hurts.

But deep down, you already know this isn’t the last time he’ll make this promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first sign is the smell.

It hits you when you walk into the living room one evening, faint at first, like a memory trying to claw its way to the surface. You pause in the doorway, your hand tightening around the frame as you try to place it. It’s familiar. Sharp and acrid, clinging to the air like a ghost.

Cigarettes.

He’d thrown out the pack weeks ago. You’d watched him do it—watched the way his jaw tightened as he flicked the lighter one last time, muttering under his breath about how he didn’t need it, how it was “just a habit” and “no big deal.”

“I’m serious this time, baby,” he’d said, his voice almost convincing. “No more of this shit. I’m done.”

But now, the smell is here again, seeping into the walls, curling in the back of your throat like smoke.

You don’t see him at first. The room is dim, lit only by the faint glow of the TV, the sound muted to a soft hum. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking out the fading daylight, and the air feels heavier than it should.

He’s on the couch, slouched low with one leg thrown over the armrest, the other foot flat on the floor. A cigarette dangles from his fingers, the ash building up dangerously close to the filter, and there’s a bottle of something dark and half-empty on the coffee table.

Your stomach twists.

“Su-bong?”

He doesn’t look up. His eyes are fixed on the TV, the flickering images reflecting in his glassy gaze. The smoke curls up from the cigarette, disappearing into the stale air, and you can see the faint rise and fall of his chest as he exhales slowly.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly.

He blinks, slow and deliberate, like it takes effort to process the sound of your voice. When he finally turns to you, his lips curl into a lazy, lopsided grin that makes your chest ache.

“What’s it look like?” he mutters, holding up the cigarette like it’s some kind of joke.

You take a step closer, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “I thought you quit.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. “Yeah, well.” He takes a drag from the cigarette, the ember flaring bright in the dim room, and exhales the smoke through his nose. “Didn’t stick, I guess.”

Your chest tightens. You can feel the anger bubbling up inside you, sharp and hot, but it’s tangled with something else—something smaller, something that feels too much like disappointment.

“You said you’d stop,” you say, your voice breaking slightly.

He laughs—low and bitter—and takes another drag, the smoke curling around his lips as he exhales. “Yeah, and you said you’d stop nagging me. Guess we’re both full of shit, huh?”

The words hit harder than they should, knocking the air out of your lungs. For a moment, all you can do is stand there, staring at him, the lump in your throat growing tighter with every second that passes.

It doesn’t stop with the cigarettes.

The next day, it’s the pills. You find the bottle on the kitchen counter, the cap loose, a few of the tablets scattered across the surface like they’d been spilled in a rush.

Your heart sinks as you pick it up, the plastic cool against your palm. You stare at the label, your chest tightening as you recognize the name—one you haven’t seen in weeks, not since the last time he swore he was done.

You don’t even notice him standing behind you until his voice cuts through the silence.

“You going through my shit now?”

You spin around, the bottle clutched tightly in your hand. “I found it on the counter,” you say, your voice sharp. “You’re not even trying to hide it anymore?”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing slightly, and you can smell the faint tang of alcohol on his breath. “What’s your problem?” he mutters, snatching the bottle from your hand. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Your voice rises, trembling with anger and something closer to panic. “You promised me, Su-bong. You said you were done with this.”

He laughs again—that same bitter, careless sound that makes your chest ache—and shoves the bottle into his pocket. “Yeah, well, promises can be broken.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It all comes to a head one night when he stumbles in late, his steps uneven and his voice loud enough to wake the neighbors.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, the locket clutched tightly in your hand, when you hear the front door slam. The sound reverberates through the house, rattling the picture frames on the walls, and you feel your chest tighten as the familiar dread settles over you like a weight.

The footsteps are uneven, shuffling, and you can hear the faint clink of glass as he moves through the house. By the time he reaches the bedroom, your hands are trembling, the metal of the locket cool and sharp against your skin.

The door swings open, and he’s there, leaning heavily against the frame. His hair is a mess, sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his jacket is hanging off one shoulder. There’s a bottle in his hand, nearly empty, and his grin is wide and lopsided, his eyes glassy.

“Hey, baby,” he slurs, his voice low and hoarse.

You don’t say anything. You don’t move. You just sit there, staring at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger, sadness, and something that feels too much like fear.

He stumbles into the room, dropping the bottle onto the floor with a dull thud. The smell of whiskey clings to him, heavy and sour, and when he sits down beside you, the mattress dips under his weight.

“Why’re you sitting in here all alone?” he murmurs, his voice soft now, almost affectionate. The contrast makes your stomach turn.

You pull back slightly, your jaw tightening. “Where were you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugs, leaning back on his hands. “Out.”

“You were supposed to be getting clean,” you say, your voice trembling.

He laughs—soft and breathy—and shakes his head. “Clean’s overrated.”

It’s different this time, though. The relapse isn’t just about him anymore. It’s about you—how much you can take, how much you can survive before the cracks in your foundation become too wide to repair.

You sit there in the dark, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, the weight of his relapse pressing down on you like a hand around your throat. The locket is still in your hand, the rose etched into its surface digging into your palm, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

It never feels like enough.

He’s laughing softly now, his voice slurring as he mutters something you can’t quite hear. His head tilts back, his eyes fluttering shut, and you know he won’t remember any of this in the morning.

But you will.

You always do.

The next day, he’ll act like nothing happened. He’ll grin at you over a mug of coffee, his hair still messy from sleep, and he’ll say something stupid, something that would’ve made you laugh once. And you’ll smile back, the same way you always do, because it’s easier than saying what you’re really thinking.

But deep down, you’ll know: this is how it always goes.

This is how it always ends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house is too quiet.

Not the quiet that lulls you to sleep, the kind that hums with the soft rhythm of peace. No. This quiet is suffocating. It’s the kind of quiet that makes you feel like you’re the only person left in the world.

You’re lying in bed when you notice it. The sun is just starting to rise, the pale light slipping through the blinds and stretching across the room in thin, fractured lines. You’ve been awake for hours, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, the locket clutched tightly in your hand.

It takes you a moment to realize what’s different. The absence is subtle at first, just a nagging thought at the back of your mind that you can’t quite place. The blankets beside you are crumpled but empty, the faint imprint of his body still visible in the mattress.

You sit up slowly, the ache in your chest twisting tighter as your gaze darts around the room. His boots aren’t by the door. His jacket isn’t hanging on the chair.

Your stomach drops.

No. He wouldn’t. Not like this.

You stand quickly, the blood rushing to your head as you make your way to the living room. The floor creaks beneath your feet, the sound echoing in the stillness, and you feel your chest tighten with every step.

The living room is empty.

The couch is still rumpled from the night before, the faint smell of cigarettes lingering in the air. The ashtray on the coffee table is full, the edges of the glass stained yellow from use. But he’s not here.

You check the kitchen next, your hands shaking as you push open the door. The counters are cluttered with empty bottles and crumpled receipts, the remnants of another night that you’ve already lost track of. His mug is still on the table, the coffee inside gone cold, but there’s no sign of him.

The panic starts to set in now, creeping up your throat like a sickness. You check the bathroom, the hallway, the spare room that neither of you use, but it’s all the same.

Empty.

You make your way back to the bedroom, your chest heaving with shallow breaths, and grab your phone from the nightstand. Your fingers tremble as you unlock the screen, scrolling through your messages with a growing sense of dread.

Nothing.

No missed calls. No texts. No explanations.

You press the phone to your chest, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through your ribs.

He always comes back.

You tell yourself this over and over, like a mantra. Like a prayer. He always comes back. No matter how far he goes, no matter how bad the fight, he always comes back.

But deep down, you know this time is different.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You find the letter hours later, tucked underneath the ashtray on the coffee table.

It’s written on the back of an old receipt, the ink smudged in places where he’d pressed too hard. The handwriting is rushed, uneven, but you’d recognize it anywhere.

“Sorry.”

That’s all it says.

Just one word, scrawled across the paper in shaky, uneven letters. No explanation. No apology. No promise to come back.

You read it over and over again, your fingers gripping the edge of the receipt so tightly that it crumples under your touch. The word blurs as the tears spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless, but you don’t stop reading it.

It’s the only thing he left behind.

The house feels bigger now, emptier. You wander through the rooms like a ghost, your feet dragging against the floor, your hands brushing against the walls as though you’re trying to anchor yourself to something.

His things are gone. Not everything—just the essentials. His jacket, his boots, the backpack he keeps in the closet. The rest is still here, scattered across the house like he’s planning to come back for it.

But you know he won’t.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the letter still clutched in your hand, and stare at the locket around your neck. The rose etched into its surface feels sharper today, the edges digging into your palm like a warning.

You think about the last time he smiled at you—the kind of smile that made your chest ache, that made you forget, just for a moment, how much he hurt you. You think about the way his hands felt on your skin, the way his voice sounded when he said your name, the way he used to make you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

But that man is gone. Or maybe he was never real to begin with.

You don’t cry at first.

The tears come later, in the middle of the night, when the weight of the silence becomes too much to bear. You lie on the floor of the living room, the receipt still clutched in your hand, and sob into the empty space where he used to be.

The locket feels heavy against your chest, the chain pulling tight against the back of your neck as you curl into yourself.

You think about calling him. About texting him. About driving to every shitty bar and trap house in the city just to find him. But you don’t.

Because deep down, you know it won’t change anything.

He’s gone.

And he’s not coming back this time.

[quarterlifekitty]

Which obsessed! 141 character is most likely to harm their kidnapped partner? Is the harm minor like a smack or broken bones? I'd like to see a most to less likely scale👉👈

cw: kidnapping, dark fic, physical violence, emotional manipulation, serious wound/blood, minor amputation, description of parental abuse (does not occur in writing, just a personal anecdote). Also sorry I did the scale in reverse!

So I'm gonna say Soap is at the bottom tentatively. It depends on how well you can handle pain. I think he's almost overly empathetic-- he's the type who will cry if he sees someone crying, and wince when he sees someone in pain. So if you're easy to reduce to tears, he won't do very much, if anything. However I can also easily imagine a scenario... Stay with me here.

(So there's a style of corporal punishment, which I'm not going to say is good, but I can see Soap subscribing to it. My grandfather used to put his hand on the top of my fathers head and hit that. This is so that whenever he was giving him corporal punishment, my grandfather hurt himself as well, maybe more so, and wasn't able to forget how much force was being used. Again, not gonna say it was a good thing to do, but there's an amount of logic behind it.)

Anyways, I can see Soap doing that. Any injury he inflicts on you, he'll do to himself. It's almost like he's making his own soulmate style bond. It's another effort on his part to build up a connection between you-- a sort of camaraderie.

I think John cares too much about image to be able to hurt you very much. He won't do anything that will leave marks-- I also think he's the one most likely to take you on outings, so he can't exactly have you looking like an abused spouse. Anything he does is open palmed, nothing that leaves cuts or bruises.

Gaz prefers not to resort to violence, but he's not shy, either. He's more likely to put you in scenarios where its up to you not to get hurt, so less of the burden is on him. Things like holding a knife to your skin so you have to stay completely still. Also in situations where he'll grab, and tell you to say what he wants you to say or he'll just keep twisting.

Ghost is fully willing to hobble you. Not in a permanent way, but if you like running, like fiddling with things you shouldn't be fiddling with-- he will break bones and cut tendons. It is not in a way that causes more pain than needed. He isn't cruel, he doesn't want you to hate him and associate him with pain. So he'll dutifully care for the wound, make sure everything is setting correctly and that you have everything you could ever want while you recover. But it's possible he's only making sure it heals well so that he'll be able to do it again later if needed.

Nikolai's physical punishments will come without warning, without gradation. He'll basically let you rack up sins, offenses, bad behavior-- all while you don't know he's keeping a tab and fully intending for you to pay up when he's ready. And he will do permanent damage. Nikolai will have never once laid a hand on you in violence, and suddenly one day one of your tirades of screaming and calling him a monster ends with your pinky wedged in his bolt cutters, right at the middle knuckle, all while the look on his face doesn't change. And he makes you beg for him to help. Tell him you need him, that you always needed him, that you were being stupid and you didn't mean what you said. If you tell him what he wants to hear? Suddenly he's like a big cuddly bear again, doting on you and cooing poor thing while he neatly bandages and cleans everything, feeds you your favorite meal, doses you with plenty of painkillers and cocktails.

If you refuse to beg? Well, he won't let you die of gangrene or anything. He'll pour the nearest bottle of liquor over a kitchen knife and hold it on the stove for a minute before cauterizing the wound.

When all's said and done, months and months from now, he'll probably get you a decorative silver cap for what remains, finely engraved, with you new last name, perhaps?

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: When Noah was left alone to take care of his daughter about two years ago, he never thought he would find someone else he would trust enough to include in his little family. But things can change.

Tw: parent abandoning their child, fluff, angst

Series masterlist

The afternoon sun filtered through the living room window and cast a swath of gold over Noah's house. You were sitting crossed-legged on the couch, watching Luna play silently, her small hands precisely set her favorite toys in a small, neat row, where Mr. Flop, her favorite bunny, had proudly taken the central point, guiding whatever game was in her head.

You smiled at her concentration, something warm blooming in your chest.

She was a perfect blend of Noah's features, a mirror image of him in her own way. She had his warm, deep brown eyes with his same subtle almond shape, dark hair, with a way chubbier face.

Noah leaned against the counter in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee. Some brown locks fell over his eyes as they darted between you and his daughter in quiet contemplation and hesitation.

You could tell something was on his mind. It had been incredible between you and Noah in the past few months, but there was one part of his life he'd held carefully at arm's length: Luna.

That wasn't because he didn't trust you, you knew that. It was deeper than that, more complicated. He was protective of her in a way hard to explain unless you knew the full story, which he had only recently begun sharing with you.

It had been late one night, just the two of you curled up on his couch after Luna had gone to bed, when Noah first opened up about the relationship with his ex. In the beginning, it had been passionate-whirlwind-type love, felt like the kind that could move mountains.

But once Luna was born, everything shifted. She was never ready for the reality of being a mother, and slowly but surely, it dawned on him that with each passing day, she actually resented it. Noah tried to understand her, tried to support her in whatever way he could, but nothing seemed to help. The more he tried, the more she pulled away.

One night, Noah had come home to an empty house. No note, no explanation, just Luna, not even a year old yet, lying in her crib, and complete silence in every room. His ex was gone, had walked out on both of them, and though Noah tried to reach out, tried to get her to come back, she never did.

From that moment on, he'd vowed to protect Luna from anything or anyone that might hurt her. Or perhaps that was his way to protect himself, too.

You both were up late, the only sound in his living room coming from a small lamp in the corner of the room, its dim light.

Noah was sitting next to you on the couch, his back hunched and his elbows to his knees as he stared into the floor for thought collection. You knew he had been carrying something heavy in his head for quite some time.

"I never thought that I'd ever be a single parent," he said gruffly, as though the words hurt him to utter. "But then again, after what happened …I don't really see my life in any other way anymore. She is everything to me."

He stopped, rubbing a hand over his face, and in those eyes you could almost see his tiredness, not physical, but an emotional toll, when one carries so much on his shoulders alone. You said nothing, just let him work through the words at his own pace. You could feel his vulnerability hang between you like some fragile thing he was just willing to show you.

"I didn't have time to process what happened," Noah whispered. "One day I'm in this relationship and we're trying to make it work for Luna, and the next… she's gone. Just like that. I came home and she'd left. No explanation. No good-bye."

Your heart ached with the pain in his tone, even now raw with emotion.

“I didn’t know what the hell I was doing,”, he admitted, shaking his head. Just like that, it was him and Luna against the world.

"I was fucking terrified" he said, the corner of his lip curling up in a self-deprecating smile. "I had to figure out how to be a dad by myself, how to balance that with the band, how to be there for her when I was barely holding it together myself."

He glanced up at you then, his eyes warm with appreciation and a little fear. "She's the reason I'm so careful, you know? With relationships, with people in general. I don't ever want to bring someone into her life unless I am really sure."

He paused, his throat swallowing hard as his eyes drop once again to the floor. You could tell there was more he wanted to say, but it was hard for him to speak.

"I'm scared that…," he started, then had to force himself to continue, his voice faltering. "I'm scared that you're mad at me. Or disappointed, maybe. That I'm taking things too slow with you. That I haven't fully… let you in yet. It's not because I don't care about you, because I do. A lot. It's just—"

"Noah," you said softly, leaning in closer to him. "I'm not mad. I'm not disappointed. I get it, why you want to be careful. It's okay."

His eyes finally met yours, surprise flickering in them. He had been so consumed by his fear of messing things up that it hadn't occurred to him you might actually understand where he was coming from.

"You've been through much," you went on, your voice soft but clear. "And I get why you'd want to protect Luna. I'd be more concerned if you were being anything less than careful, honestly. It says how much you love her, and how much you want to do right by her. And I respect that, Noah. I'm not going anywhere."

He blinked, like he was trying to absorb what you were saying, his shoulders loosening as your words soaked in. You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. His hand closed around yours, clasping at it like he was holding onto something solid for the first time in a long while.

"I can wait," you said with an even voice. "You need more time, I'm waiting. I do care for you, for both of you. And I don't want to make anything if you are not ready yet. What matters to me is that we're moving forward, even if it's slow."

Noah's breath slightly caught, emotion swelling up in his eyes as he continued to carry that weight for such a long time, terrified that by taking things slow, he was pushing you away, when all you wanted was to meet him where he was.

"I don't know how to do that," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I've been so scared of screwing this up, of screwing us up. But you… you've just been there."

You smiled softly and squeezed his hand. "You've been hurt, Noah. And it takes time to heal from that. I'm not here to hurry you or push you into something that you're not ready for. I am here because I care about you. And I care about Luna. I want you only to know that I'm in this for the long haul whenever you're ready."

He breathed shakily, his forehead leaning forward to rest against yours while his hand remained tightly wrapped around yours. You could feel the tension start to seep from him, replaced by a silent sort of relief that he didn't have to bear the burden of his fears alone anymore.

"Thank you." he whispered, his voice full of gratitude. "For understanding. For being… you."

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, silently communicating that he had nothing to thank you for, that this was where you wished to be.

You saw Noah in all his completeness: a good father, a man who had been wounded but kept trying, learning how to trust once more. You were more than ready to wait for him to fully open up that part of his heart.

You sat in that silence, the weight of the past there still, yet lighter now. You knew Noah still had a really long way to go before letting go of all the pain he had been carrying with him, but you knew he was on his way. You would be here every step of the way, to build something real, something lasting, with him and with Luna.

Now, months after you and Noah had started dating, you were sitting in the middle of that guarded space he had created around her.

Now you knew why he was being so careful, why he had not pushed for more interaction between you and Luna.

She meant the world to him, and after all she had been through, he would never risk anything that could disrupt her life. But still, you waited. You had cared for Noah, and by that extension already cared for Luna, too. So you gave him the time he needed to let you in.

Today, though, there was something different in the air, something to let you know Noah was about to take a step forward.

"Hey," Noah finally said, breaking the comfortable silence that had overcome the room. He set his coffee cup down and rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous quirk you'd come to know well. "Can I ask you a favor?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Of course. What's up?"

He turned to Luna, still deep in her toys, and back to you again. He paused a beat, you basically saw the cogs turning as he picked his words with all care.

"The band's got a thing later today, just some planning stuff for the new album. I was supposed to go meet the guys, but…" He trailed off, gesturing toward Luna with a helpless look. "Usually, I ask one of them, but they are all busy today."

You chuckled softly at that, imagining Luna in the hands of Noah’s bandmates. As much as they loved her, you knew they weren’t exactly all equipped for child care even if you were sure they all deeply cared about her.

"So… you want me to stay with her?"

Noah nodded, his expression softening as he met your gaze. "Yeah. If you're okay with it. I mean, I know it's last minute and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, but—"

"Noah," you interrupted softly, standing up and walking over to him. You reached out, resting your hand on his arm. "It's okay. I'd love to stay with her."

He exhaled, the relief washing over his features, but there was still that damned hesitation in his eyes. You knew how big of a deal this was for him, trusting someone with Luna, especially after everything he'd been through.

"Are you sure?" he asked more quietly now. "I mean, she's really shy, with most people and with you too, and I don't want any of you to feel uncomfortable."

You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss against his cheek. "I'll be fine. We'll be fine. She just needs time, that's all. And I think she got her shyness from her dad."

Noah closed his eyes for a second, his head slightly leaned into your touch before pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead. When he pulled back, his eyes were different, warm and a deep well of silent appreciation.

"Thank you," he whispered. "This… this means so much."

Now, you were sitting on the floor, after Noah had gone off to his band meeting. At first, Luna had been quiet, keeping to herself to play with her toys, but bit by bit, she'd started to warm up toward you, like you'd wanted.

You leaned forward for Mr. Flop, the stuffed bunny, and held him out to her with a playing grin. "You think Mr. Flop needs some tea?"

Luna's eyes sparkled, a shy smile overspreading her face as she nodded vigorously. "Yes! He is very thirsty."

You laughed softly, watching her scurry over to her tiny plastic tea set. She first poured an imaginary cup of tea for Mr. Flop and then one for you. As she handed you the pretend tea, your heart swelled with affection for this little girl who was letting you into her world slowly, piece by piece.

"Thanks, Luna," he said, making a big show of taking a sip. "This is the best tea I've ever had."

She giggled, her cheeks blushing with pride. For several moments, the two of you played in comfortable silence, with her showing you through the rules of the tea party.

"You think Mr. Flop would like to go on an adventure?" you asked after some time, breaking the silence as Luna finished pouring more imaginary tea.

With eyes aglow with excitement, she said, "Yes! He loves adventures!"

"Okay, where shall we go?" you asked, leaning in conspiratorially.

Luna tapped her chin, and then a huge grin spread over her face. "The jungle! I love jungle! Dad loves jungle too! We have to find the lost treasure!"

You gasped melodramatically. "The jungle? Wait. Noah made you listen...nevermind. That does sound dangerous! You think we can make it?"

She laughed again, her head bobbing up and down quickly. "We can do it! Mr. Flop is very brave."

And then you both launched into your make-believe jungle adventure. The shyness had left Luna by now, replaced by a bubbly, fearless energy that took your heart soaring.

The front door creaked open a couple of hours later when Noah returned home, but you didn't notice him first, too caught up in the game with Luna sitting next to you on the floor.

Noah stood in the doorway, watching the both of you, and his heart swelled in his chest. He had always known you were special, knew from the moment he met you that there was something different about you, but seeing you now, playing with Luna, made him feel something he hadn't felt in years.

Love, not just for you, but for the idea of you becoming a part of him and Luna's lives in a deeper way.

When you finally saw him standing there, you smiled. "Hey, you're back!" you said. Noah nodded, stepping closer, his eyes soft. "Yeah, I'm back."

Luna ran to him and wrapped her arms around his legs as he scooped her up, holding her close to his chest for a moment before turning back to you. "You two seemed to have fun."

Noah had Luna in his arms, babbly excitedly about some "jungle adventure" and lost treasure. He listened intently, though his eyes never left you. There was something there in his gaze, something so raw and deep, that made your heart go racing. It wasn't the usual softness, the usual affection, it was heavier, like something nestled between you when nothing was said.

"We did," you said, smiling at Luna as she continued her excited recount of the day. "We found the lost treasure, and Mr. Flop was the hero of the day."

Luna giggled, snuggling into Noah's chest as she added her own details. "We were very brave, Daddy! Mr. Flop was so good at being quiet, and we didn't get eaten!"

Noah chuckled, brushing a hand through her hair as he kissed her forehead. "Sounds like you had quite the adventure."

"Yes! We had a lot of fun. And your friend is amazing. I want to play with her again. I think she is my friend too now."

Noah smiled, his brown eyes full of affection for the both of you. "I'm glad you made a new friend. We'll ask her again, okay?"

Luna nodded, her eyelids drooping as the excitement of the day finally started to catch up with her and she rested her head against the soft fabric of his dad's hoodie. Noah glanced at you over her head, a soft smile tugging at his lips once again.

"Would you like to help me get her ready for bed?" he whispered, and with Luna nuzzling her head into the crook of his shoulder, half-asleep.

You nodded, and your heart fluttered with the thought. This felt like some sort of minor but meaningful step in being included in the nighttime routine, part of something as personal and intimate as this.

All three went into Luna's room together. It was not a big room, but it was cozy with soft toys, bookshelves, and a little carpet that glittered from strings of tiny fairy lights.

Noah was soon to gently lay Luna down into her bed, and you sat down beside him, watching as he tucked her in, his hands moving with the sort of practiced ease that came from more than two years of being a single parent. You leaned over, setting Mr. Flop down beside Luna, who smiled sleepily as she cuddled the bunny close.

Noah leaned over her, placing a gentle kiss against her forehead with tenderness that would ache your chest. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered into her hair. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

"Goodnight, daddy," she muttered the tone in her voice drowsy. Then her tiny eyes flickered open just enough to glance at you. "Goodnight Y/N."

You smiled warmly, your heart swelling in the simplest of words. "Goodnight, Luna."

After several minutes of quiet whispers and soothing reassurances, she fell asleep, her breathing evening into the quiet rhythm of her sleep. Noah leaned forward and pressed another soft kiss to her forehead before he eased himself up, motioning you to follow him from the room.

As the door is shut quietly behind you, he let out a very, very long breath, running his hand through his hair, leaning against the wall.

"Thanks," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "For sticking with her. For being so… incredible with her."

You shrugged. "She's a pretty amazing kid. It wasn't hard."

Noah turned fully toward you now, his eyes searching yours with a sort of intensity that hitched your breath. His hand rose and delicately swept a strand of hair back behind your ear, where it lingered on the side of your face. His thumb tracing the line of your jaw sent you leaning into his touch, your heart beating with each passed second a little faster.

"I never knew whether I would find anybody that could fit in this part of my life," he whispered, his voice not a decibel over a whisper. "With Luna, after what happened… I felt I needed to keep her world small, you know? Keep it safe. I didn't want to bring someone in that might hurt her."

His eyes welled with that same vulnerability you had seen before, and you knew how hard this was for him, to open up, to let you into this part of his life he had guarded so much.

"You don't have to worry about that," you said softly, laying your hand over his. "I would never hurt her. Or you."

Noe's thumb stroked over your cheek, his eyes sealing to yours in an tight seriousness, as if you were the only person existing. "I know. That's why I love you."

The words hung between you and him, heavy with tension. You couldn't breathe for a second, heart pounding in your chest as you tried processing what he just said. He loved you.

You hadn't expected it, not so soon, not in that moment, but the way he looked at you, the way he had been with Luna, it made sense. It wasn't just the two of them anymore; it was all three, the small family that had formed.

A soft smile overspreads your face as you looked up at him, your hand clenching a little tighter around his. "I love you too, Noah."

The relief in his expression was genuine, and for him at least, it was as though the weight had finally been pulled off his shoulders. He pulled you into his arms, and you wrapped yours around him, holding close as he buried his face in your hair, breathing you in like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And for a long time, neither of them said anything. They only stood there with each other, wrapped in their own warmth, and the silence just told it all.

Then Noah leaned back, just a little, just enough to look down at you. And then his eyes were deeper and surer.

"I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't met you," he whispered huskily. "I don't think I even knew how much I needed someone like you, not just for me but for Luna, too."

You reached up and brushed a thumb over his cheek. "You're an amazing dad, Noah. You've done everything right for her. But you don't have to do it alone anymore."

He closed his eyes, like almost to let your words sink in. Opening them a second later, there was something soft, something vulnerable, that made you want to pull him closer still.

"I don't want to do it alone anymore," he whispered with his forehead against yours. "I want this. Us. You and me, and Luna. I want a family."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you nodded, your voice barely louder than a whisper. "Me too."

Noah's arms tugged closer, his lips finding yours in a gentle unhurried kiss that felt almost like a vow, like a start, the type of kiss that spoke of love, of trust, of a future that finally was starting to feel real.

He drew back and his eyes shone bright now with a happiness in them that hadn't been there before. He reached down, took your hand in his, and guided you back onto the couch. You sat together in the quiet glow of the livingroom.

You knew you would have one of those movie nights where you definitely fall asleep in his arms on the couch.

Noah for once in a long while felt something he hadn't dared to believe in, peace. Peace in knowing that he didn't have to protect himself and Luna anymore. Peace in knowing he was finally able to let you in, fully without any fear.

You sat there, his arm around you, knowing this was only the beginning of something beautiful: a life no more his or yours, but one which both of you had started building together.

hello friends in my phone! would you like more parts of this? (｡◕‿◕｡)

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @mathfairchild1 @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme

TBAF Tags: @aubrey-melinoe

[mangionebabymama]

That Time of the Month — Luigi Mangione

Summary: It’s that time of the month for you, and it’s an instance like none you’ve ever experienced.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of menstruation (blood) and vomiting, fluff

A/N: Based on this ask, thank you, anon! Fun fact: writing this hits different when it’s that time for you (me) too 🥲

It started as a dull ache, the kind that usually lingered in the background and barely affected you. But this morning was different. When you opened your eyes, the pain surged in waves, radiating from your lower abdomen and clawing its way into your lower back, wrapping around the crest of your pelvis. It wasn’t just discomfort—it was sharp, relentless, like a dagger twisting in your gut. A deep groan escaped your lips as you curled onto your side, your hands instinctively pressing against your belly as if you could physically push the pain away from your body for good.

Luigi was standing by the dresser, already dressed for work. His neatly pressed shirt hugged his broad frame, and he was fastening the last button when he turned to look at you. His expression softened instantly, concern flickering across his dark eyes.

“Hey, bella, you okay?” He asked, his voice warm and gentle, with a hint of worry.

Your hair was a mess, your face pale and drawn, and your eyes held a hint of desperation. It didn’t have to take a mirror, more or less, the innate place of your imagination to visualize how abominable you looked at this moment, inside and out. You wanted to brush it off, to reassure him like you usually did. When it came to this time of the month, your periods were never this bad. Sure, you got cramps, but nothing that a heating pad and some ibuprofen couldn’t fix. But this time, it felt different. Your whole body ached—your muscles felt sore and drained, as if you had run a marathon in your sleep. Your breasts throbbed uncomfortably, sensitive even against the soft fabric of your pajama top, hurting from just hanging and protruding off your chest for their dear life. You could feel the tight swell of bloating in your stomach, pressing against the waistband of your sweatpants, making you feel heavier, indisposed than you actually were. The nausea was a constant companion, threatening to overpower you at any moment.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, forcing yourself to sit up. The moment you did, a stabbing cramp made you gasp and clutch your stomach. In an instant, Luigi was beside you, his hands warm and steady on your shoulders. You tried to keep your voice steady, not allowing the tears welling up in your eyes to spill over. But the pain was too much, and you felt a tear escape, betraying your facade strength.

“That doesn’t look fine,” he said, his frown deepening with genuine empathy. “Talk to me, amore. What’s wrong?”

You exhaled shakily, leaning into his touch. “It just hurts more than usual,” you admitted. “My stomach, my back, everything. I feel like absolute garbage.”

Luigi’s lips pressed into a thin line as he studied your face. Then, without hesitation, he knelt beside the bed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want me to get some medicine? A heating pad? Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”

You appreciated his attentiveness, but even the thought of moving right now felt like too much effort. You felt worn out and depleted even before the day started, frustrating you immensely. Adding to your frustration, you felt unusually irritable, with every minor annoyance getting under your skin for no apparent reason. You found yourself wanting to yell at your uterus for its betrayal, for gripping you like a vice within yourself at the most unexpected yet prolonged moments of time, for making you feel weak despite your pride in handling the pain well with your level of tolerance. The emotional toll was as heavy as the physical pain, if not more.

“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I don’t know what will help. It just sucks.”

Luigi pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Then let me help you figure it out, bella.”

Just as he was about to rise, a creeping sense of nausea took you by surprise, like an unseen wave gathering strength just before it crashed onto the shore. Without warning, your stomach lurched violently, and a cold sweat prickled your skin, leaving you reeling in its sudden grip.

Uh oh.

“Oh God—” you gasped, scrambling off the bed and bolting to the bathroom.

Luigi trailed behind, worry evident on his face as you staggered, crumpling just in time before the toilet. Your stomach churned relentlessly as you heaved, the intensity causing your whole body to shudder. The bitter taste scorched your throat, and when you finally stopped, a wave of disgust washed over you, leaving you feeling utterly weak. However, as the nausea began to fade, a strange sense of relief crept in. You felt lighter, almost like the significant weight of undergoing this episode of menstruation had been lifted from your stomach. The turmoil was over, and while the aftermath left you feeling weak and embarrassed, there was a glimmer of comfort in knowing that the torment had finally ceased. It was a contradiction; relief coexisted with regret, leaving you appreciative of the release yet painfully aware of the ordeal that brought you here.

A warm hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. “Oh, sweetheart,” Luigi murmured, his voice full of sympathy. He reached for a washcloth, running it under cool water before gently wiping your face.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you leaned back against the wall, exhausted beyond words. “I hate this,” you whispered. “I just—this whole cycle has been hell. I feel so fucking disgusting.”

Luigi cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re not disgusting, amore,” he said firmly. “You’re in pain. You’re having a rough time. But I’m here, okay? I’m gonna take care of you.”

You sniffled, feeling overwhelmed—by the pain, the exhaustion, and the way Luigi looked at you as if you were the most important thing in the world. “You need to go to work,” you mumbled, even though you desperately wanted him to stay.

Luigi shook his head. “No way. I’m not leaving you like this.”

“Luigi—”

“I’m not gonna argue about this.” He helped you up carefully, guiding you back to the bed. “Work can wait. You’re more important.” Knowing not to fight against him, you didn’t dare utter another word as he helped you onto the bed, as he began, “I remember growing up, my sisters had the same thing. Some months, it was unbearable for them. They’d have to stay home from school because the pain was too much. I used to bring them water and blankets, just like this. I know how bad it can get.” His voice became even softer as he gently cupped your cheek again, stressing his need to stay home with you, looking you right in the eyes. “So, trust me when I say work doesn’t matter right now; you do.”

And that did it.

That was it. That was when your emotions completely betrayed you. The floodgates opened, and you broke down in tears, hiding your face in your hands as a wave of embarrassment washed over your body. You didn’t even know why you were crying—was it the pain? The exhaustion? The sheer relief of being cared for so tenderly? Because he knew that his sisters also had terrible periods, too, and you could just picture little curly-haired, doe-eyed Luigi bringing and offering a blanket for his eldest sisters when they were in pain?

“Hey, hey,” Luigi soothed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. “Shh, bella, it’s okay. Let it out.”

“I hate this,” you choked out against his shirt. “I feel so stupid for crying.”

“You’re not stupid,” he reassured you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re in pain, you’re overwhelmed, and your body is putting you through hell. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

You clung to him, letting his warmth ground you. He held you like you were fragile but not broken, rubbing soothing circles on your back and whispering sweet nothings in your ear until your sobs subsided into sniffles.

“I got you,” he promised. “Now, let’s get you comfy, yeah?”

You nodded weakly, allowing him to tuck you under the blankets before he disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a heating pad, a glass of water, and a warm cup of tea.

“You’re an angel,” you muttered as he helped you press the heating pad against your stomach.

“No, I’m just a guy who loves his girl,” he replied, the dimples of his smile showing out on his cheeks.

And as you snuggled into the warmth, lulled by Luigi’s presence and the way he gently stroked your hair, you realized that maybe—just maybe—this terrible day wasn’t so unbearable after all.

As the morning passed, Luigi remained at your side, a comforting presence in the soft glow of the sunlit room. His strong yet gentle hands worked their magic as he massaged your lower back in slow, deliberate circles, each movement designed to ease the tension that had knotted your muscles like tight, coiled springs. He was meticulous in his care, ensuring you sipped enough cool, refreshing water throughout the day, his voice soothing and coaxing as he leaned in, planting gentle kisses on your forehead whenever you resisted the urge to drink.

And as the sun's warmth chased away the chill in the air, your stomach finally settled, the discomfort fading. Luigi entered the room with a bowl of hot soup, steam curling invitingly above it. With a smile that lit up his eyes, he sat beside you and offered you small spoonfuls, pausing occasionally to wipe a stray drop from your lips. His touch was tender, conveying nourishment and a deep affection that made your heart swell, wrapping you in a sense of safety and warmth long after each bite.

By the afternoon, just hours after the worst of everything could have happened today, you felt exhausted yet undeniably comforted. Wrapped in his arms, with the warmth of the heating pad against your belly and the soothing weight of his presence grounding you, you finally allowed yourself to relax.

“Thank you,” you murmured sleepily, your fingers curling against his chest.

Luigi smiled, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “Anything for you, amore.”

And with that, you drifted off at long last, safe in the arms of the man who loved you more than anything and would do anything to make you feel better.

Tag List: @daydreamingwithluigi @mailovesreading @wannabenugget @paolavallado @chipsxsalsa @yancii @briarloves

[kaxserlvr]

Sypnosis: Gojo lashes out on you.. the new quiet student who lost their memories

“You don’t understand!” Gojo’s voice was raised, his blue eyes blazing with frustration. “You couldn’t possibly know what it feels like to lose everything. To live with the weight of being the strongest . You don’t know what it’s like to—”

“To what?” Y/n interrupted, your own voice trembling but firm. “To miss something so deeply it consumes you?”

“Yes!” Gojo snapped, turning toward you, his fists clenched. “Geto was my reason to exist. He was my light, and now he’s gone . Don’t act like you can relate to that pain!”

You froze, his words hitting you like a physical blow. Your hands balled into fists at your sides, and you took a shaky breath. “You’re right,” you said, your voice cracking. “I can’t. I’ll never understand what it’s like to lose someone you love like that.”

Gojo’s anger seemed to simmer for a moment, but before he could say anything, you continued. Your tone grew softer but more brittle, like a glass about to shatter.

“But at least you had someone to lose.” Your words hung in the air, piercing through gojo’s anger. “I don’t even remember what my parents looked like. Or if they even cared about me. I’ve spent my whole life wondering what it feels like to be loved, to have something worth missing.”

Your words struck Gojo harder than he expected, but before he could respond, you turned on your heel.

“That’s the difference between us, Gojo. You have a past to hold onto. I… I have nothing.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you quickly started to walk away, your steps heavy with emotion. As you passed the edge of the meadow, Gojo noticed your shoulders trembling.

It wasn’t until the moonlight caught the glint of tears on your face that Gojo realized you were crying.

For a moment, he was frozen. He’d only known you for a few months and in those months hes seen you hurt before,but you would usually pick yourself up right away,this was different. This was a pain he hadn’t expected—a quiet, deep sorrow you had been carrying all along, hidden behind your usual calm demeanor.

“Y/n…” he murmured, his voice softer now.

But you didn’t stop. You kept walking, your head bowed as you tried to stifle your sobs. Gojo took a hesitant step forward, guilt swirling in his chest.

He wasn’t good at apologizing, and he knew words wouldn’t fix what had just happened. But seeing you like this, walking away from him, made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

Without thinking, he reached out. “Wait.”

You stopped, though you didn’t turn around. Your shoulders still shook, and Gojo hesitated, unsure of what to say.

“I… I didn’t mean it,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What I said. I didn’t mean to��”

You glanced over your shoulder, your face streaked with tears. The look in your eyes—hurt, vulnerable, yet still strong—made Gojo’s chest tighten.

“I know you didn’t,” you said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

Gojo lowered his gaze, his fists unclenching. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words feeling heavy but necessary.

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the only sound the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. Finally, you turned fully to face him, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“I just… I just wanted you to know you’re not alone in feeling lost,” you said softly. “Even if we’re lost in different ways.”

Gojo nodded, the weight of your words sinking in. For the first time in a long while, he realized how blind he’d been to the struggles of those around him.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

You give him a faint, sad smile, the tension between them easing slightly. As the moonlight bathed them both in its glow, they stood together in silence, two souls bearing their scars in different ways but finding comfort in the shared quiet of the night.

[rauspberries]

just a friend - s.r.

spencer reid x bau liaison!reader. pt two to still a friend.

summary: you thought love was dead to you, locked away -- until you realized its in all the little things.

tags: afab reader, late seasons reader, mentions of themes present in criminal minds, slight hurt/comfort, fluff, later seasons reid

word count: 2k

notes: part two to still a friend! so much shorter because my brain keeps frying every time i type. not the proudest of it but ohhh well.

hiii @reidswrld

It had been a month since you had gone back to work. One month of countless therapy sessions, one month of reassuring hugs from Penelope and one month of recurring nightmares and panic attacks, much to your dismay.

You thought it would go away with time. That speaking about your experience with friends and a licensed therapist would help release you from the burden your subconscious loved to carry. You wished that you could lock it in a cage, push it to the back of your mind like many members of the BAU had done with their own trauma, but you couldn’t. You had always been too emotional.

Your job required you to look at cases similar to yours on a daily basis. Abductions, tortures, murders, a few done at the hands of spouses, partners. Every time you saw a photo of a victim strapped to a chair, you were reminded of that dreaded night in your kitchen, gun to your head and dread sitting deep in your gut.

While things had surely gotten better, you weren’t at your best. You pasted on a smile at work, fluttering around the desks in the bullpen and trying to hide your feelings from the gaggle of highly-proficient profilers. For the most part, it worked. Despite you knowing that they could see right through your charade, they tended to dial back the amount of concern they showed for it.

Except for Spencer.

Ever since you had finally pulled yourself off of his couch and into a new apartment, he had been watching you like a hawk, and you didn’t mind it. His company had become just as soothing as a warm cup of tea. There was a normalcy about the way he cared for you, so hidden and yet so obvious.

Spencer wasn’t the type to do big displays of affection, nor the largest fan of physical touch. While he had his moments, like his warm thigh pressing into yours on the couch or his hand snaking around the back of your neck for a reassuring squeeze, it was obvious that he preferred small acts of service instead.

He hadn’t stopped giving you annotated books. All of them sat on their own shelf in your new apartment, a shelf he had helped you pick out, carry inside and build. He had insisted on organizing them in some type of order, like alphabetical order or by author, but you refused. You kept them on the shelf in the order you received them. It was like a time capsule, looking at the notes he used to write in the margins and how much more personalized they had become over the weeks you two had spent growing closer.

There were also other things. The vase in your kitchen always had a fresh bouquet of brightly-colored flowers in it, usually centered around your favorite color. He called you at night when he knew you were attempting to sleep, knowing you’d struggle to succumb to your exhaustion, fearing the worst. He had never been a fan of movies that didn’t provoke some type of intellectual discussion, yet watched all of your rom-coms with a furrowed brow and a focused pout of his lips. When you had been particularly upset one day, he had taken you to the nearby animal shelter, watching with a ghost of a smile as you giggled at a puppy licking your face.

For him, it had always been about your happiness. For a while, you thought he was just being friendly. Other than the regulating kiss he had placed on your lips on his couch, Spencer had never shown any interest in pushing you any further, only interested in your well-being and the state of your mental health.

For a while, you would admit that he was right to do so. Calling off dating for years, finally dating just to find out he’s a murderer and then calling off dating due to your trauma was a valid reason to not consider your best friend a viable option for a relationship. But it was hard to ignore his care, his tenderness. The things he said without actually saying them. It wasn’t a question on if Spencer liked you back — the question was when either of you would feel brave enough to act on it.

One night, you slept on his couch. You had spent the evening watching all of the romance movies that made you cry until it exhausted you. Spencer had laughed at your extremely empathetic reactions, causing you to laugh until your stomach hurt, shoving at his shoulder with whiny pleas for him to stop.

Half-conscious yet leaning towards sleep, you recall where you are. Your arm aches slightly from laying on it, a strand of your hair tickles your cheek from where it’s trapped against the pillow, the pant leg of your pajamas is pulled up to the middle of your calf. You’re on Spencer’s couch. You’re safe.

That is until you hear the click of a gun, the cool feeling of metal on your forehead.

You gasp so hard you choke on air as you sit up, blinking rapidly as your heart thuds against your chest. You cough at the sudden intake of oxygen as you look around, taking in your surroundings. Spencer’s apartment. Green walls, dark wood, deadbolt on the door. You’re safe, you’re okay. 

“Hey.” A soft, raspy voice comes from near the foot of the couch. You look up to see Spencer, standing in the doorway of his bedroom with the collar of his t-shirt askew and his long curls a mess atop his head. It’s obvious you’ve woken him, especially with the way the heel of his hand automatically rubs at his eye. “Nightmare?”

You shake your head, guilt eating at you for disturbing him. “No, Spence. Just coughing. Go back to sleep, it’s okay,” you insist, not wanting to be a bother. With your jobs, a full night’s rest was a luxury - you didn’t want to take that from him.

Despite your dismissal, he steps closer, looming over the back of the couch as he looks at you. “You’re cold.” He notices, eyes focused on the slight tremor of your bottom lip and the way your fingers clutched at the thin blanket covering your lap.

Nose wrinkling, he turns to head towards the front door, grabbing a blanket off of the arm chair a foot away from it. He returns to your side just to drape it over your body, his fingertips brushing your shoulders as he pulls it up to your chin. You open your mouth to protest, but Spencer just shakes his head as he taps at your shoulder. “Sit up,” he instructs gently, voice barely above a murmur.

And, of course, you listen, moving your back off of the arm of the couch and giving him enough room to slide behind you. His long legs stretch on either side of you, caging you in, as his hands find your shoulders, guiding you to lean back against his chest. 

You react without thinking. You’re sinking into him like you’ve never felt the touch of another before, knees pressing into his as you lay your cheek upon his chest, letting yourself be soothed by the soft thudding of his heartbeat. His arm wraps around you tightly, one hand lying upon your ribcage while the other slowly traces your spine. 

“You won’t be comfortable lying like this all night.” You mumble, eyes already fluttering shut as you try to commit the feeling of lying against him to memory. “You’re too lanky for this couch.”

Spencer hums as if considering, shoulders raising in a slight shrug. His eyes aren’t focused on your face at the moment, instead watching his hand as his fingernails drag along your spine, goosebumps following in their wake. “I feel pretty comfortable right now, actually.”

Scrunching your nose, you open your eyes, chin tilting up just to look at him. “Liar,” you tease, the corners of your lips pulling up into a soft, sleepy smile. It had taken a while for a smile to appear on your face again after that night. Spencer never wanted to see it go away.

His focus finally moves from his hand to your face, eyebrows raising. “Would I lie to you?” He questions, the same taunting lilt in his tone.

You press your lips together at that, shaking your head the best you could with just how much you had molded into him. There’s an uncomfortable swirling feeling in your stomach at the way he glances down at you, solidifying the fact that was what happening right now was real. It was both a frightening and reassuring thought. “No. You wouldn’t.”

A hum rumbles in his chest in response. The hand on your back creeps up to the back of your neck, slender fingers threading into your hair as his nails brush soothingly against your scalp. You’re not sure if it's the exhaustion that makes him so suddenly touchy, but you don’t mind it. You’re convinced you could lay here forever, just like this.

“Thank you.” You murmur softly, index finger dragging along his skin from his elbow to his wrist. He doesn’t even twitch, just as relaxed as you are. It made warmth spread through your body like wildfire.

“For what?” He responds immediately, although his tone stays just as quiet and calm, a sleepy murmur to it.

The soft material of his shirt scratches against your cheek as you look up at him again, his eyes diverting to catch your gaze. “Being here. Being so nice to me. I know that’s your nature, but I feel like you’ve gone past the requirements for a supportive friend.” You trail off with an amused smile, although Spencer could see the sincerity in your eyes.

His lips tilt up at the corners in a sleepy smile, hand falling back to the middle of your spine. “No problem at all. I’d do it any time, any reason.” 

Looking up at him, you find yourself trying to memorize everything about him. The soft slant of his nose, the stray curl that stuck out like an antenna from his mussed curls, the wrinkle around his mouth from smiling. They’re all features you have found yourself finding comfort in, even before the last few months. He’d always been there, whether you had noticed it or not. Inviting you to movies you had no interest in seeing, even if you really wanted to, or staying late in the office when you did just to spin around in the chair on the other side of your desk while he babbled.

Subconsciously, you’re leaning into him further. Before you can think about it, your chin is tilting up higher, nose brushing against his tentatively. You can hear his sharp intake of breath, feel the heave of his chest underneath you, but there’s nothing that indicates him pulling back. 

So you go for it.

Slowly but surely, you press your lips against his. It’s meant to be quick, fleeting, however his hand is quick to skirt back up your spine, holding you in place with a hand at the nape of your neck. The kiss stays smooth, steady, almost agonizingly slow. It’s stable – you’re not surprised.

It only lasts for a couple moments before you’re pulling away, not wanting to seem like too much. Immediately, you lay your cheek back against his chest, letting a giddy smile twitch at your lips at the sound of his quickened heartbeat against your ear. “You’ll stay right here tonight?”

“Mhm.” He hums in response, fingernails brushing against your scalp again. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here.”

Usually, you’d question a promise like that. Wonder if it was genuine, if you’d wake up to be disappointed. But now, being lured to sleep without a fear that nightmares would follow you, you don’t have the time to question it. 

Frankly, you don’t want to.

[yestrday]

: ̗̀➛  DRUNK ON ECSTASY ! ft. yan! venti, kaeya, diluc, albedo

In a last-ditch effort to subdue your fiery spirit and finally claim you as his, your dear yandere mixes a little something with your food. different emotions arise, but one thing is clear— you’re soooo much cuter when you’re pawing at his sleeves and crying for him.

+ whew finally got this one out of the drafts!! did this instead of the reflection paper lololol

( yandere behavior, drúgging, aphrodisíacs )

venti does it in a last-effort ditch to break down your walls. don’t blame him, okay! he’s been trying sooo hard these past few months to even put a dent in that thick wall you’ve put up between the two of you. he’s confident in his looks and his charm, and has been exploiting the utmost out of them just to seduce you! but you’re sooo hard-headed, and he’s growing really desperate!

he adores your modesty, really! but the shy and reserved smile you put on when he makes a move on you pains him both physically and mentally. he wants to see all of you, the good ones and the bad ones, and he wants to assure you that he’ll love you no matter what! he wants to see you needy and desperate just like he is, but it looks like you’re trying to control yourself. but no worry though, because venti will make it his mission to set you free of such bothersome restraints.

and well~ ♡ venti giggles as he swirls the pink liquid around its heart-shaped vial, brazenly playing with it with your back to your wine. he knows juuust the thing to get you to open up. don’t worry, don’t worry ♡ venti can’t seem to repress the wide grin as he drops just a teensy bit of the potion. this is what friends do, don’t they? help each other out?

and he’s helping you out alright. not like he has much of a choice when you cling and grasp at him so needily. he’s laughing all the time, even when you’re begging for some sort of release. his laughter, bordering on maniacal and full of lust, is muffled by the blood rushing to your head. he loves it— those desperate eyes, the whiny pleas… you’re everything he’s dreamed of and more. isn’t this wayyy better? to be true to yourself instead of hiding what you’re really like?

“venti venti ventiventiventi pleaseee~!” your whines sound absolutely delightful to his ears, and even more so when he watches you cling to him with hearts in your eyes. your hair’s a mess, your cheeks are bright red, and you smile at him like you’re drunk on the attention he’s giving you. “hmm, i don’t know…” venti feigns hesitance, even though he’s kicking his legs in delight. “it’s getting late now… don’t you need to go home at this time already?” you shake your head fervently, clutching even tighter onto him. you stare up at him so desperately and pleadingly that it’s hard to connect you to the straight-laced person you were before. “i– i don’t need to! i’ll stay here for you, venti! just pleasepleaseplease!” you nigh sob, embracing his side as try to indulge in every warmth and touch his body can offer. “please touch me already!” the giggle he lets out is almost maniacal, one that would scare you if you weren’t high on aphrodisiac. he takes a large swig from the wine bottle (more pink than the usual red) and brings your face closer to his. your breaths intermingle, smelling of sweet wine and laced with lust, as venti takes in the prize he’s been coveting for so long. “you’re so precious, my darling,” he whispers, and when he swoops in to kiss you, tongue wrapped around yours, you swear you’ve never been more contented in your entire life.

kaeya believes that he’s not the sort of person to resort to such… disgusting tactics. he tells himself that he can win you over by his charm and hard efforts alone, but the way you smile politely at him or when you take every opportunity to avoid him… it only digs deeper into his insecurities. every witty remark he has is met with an awkward laugh, every time he tries to close the distance, you shy away. it hurts him more than he wants it to. he knows he should be giving up but when he stares at the vial of aphrodisiac he’d unthinkingly buy, he knows he’s far too gone to give up.

he tries to forget about it, tries his best not to think about what horrible thoughts he’s been having of you. but every time you show him even the slightest affection, a genuine smile here or a comforting touch there, he starts caving. how happy he would be if you showed that to him every day! he’d return every affection you gave tenfold, you’d never be starved of it. he wants you so, so bad it’s maddening, and every night he sleeps in his bed alone, his mind becomes a little bit crazier.

but tonight, you were with another. he knows he’s just a friend, that you see them nothing more than a brother, but that’s not how the other party looks at you. yet you lean into their touch so willingly, laugh with them without any restraints, and smile at them so blindingly it stuns kaeya even from across the room. he grasps tightly the bulge in his pocket, heart-shaped and taunting, and bites his lip.

he wants you so, so badly. so when you approach him with your wine glass lifted, greeting him with a drunken smile, he tries to pretend that he is the subject of your affection. tonight, it can be all pretend, but when he refills your cup and watches the pink wisps drown in the red wine, he tells himself that it’ll all be real after this.

“i’ve got you, i’ve got you.” kaeya acts like he’s not the one who made you like this, swaying tipsily from the wine and the drug and clinging onto him for support. well, maybe more than support, because of the way you nuzzle into his side and breathe a sigh of relief, kaeya thinks that maybe you’re longing for something more. “hehe, have i ever told you how handsome you are, mister kaeya~?” you ask him, smiling wobbly up at him as you gaze into his one eye. he gasps in shock when he realizes that your noses are barely touching, and he leans away quickly to save his rapidly beating heart. he wasn’t like this with others, he swears, but something about you makes him so vulnerable and flustered that he doesn’t know what to do. your rented room is barely lit, the candlelights on the side of the wall somehow adding a sensual atmosphere as he guides you to your bed. the feeling of your skin against his is like fire to ice, and the little whimpers you give as the heat tortures you from within sets his head spinning. he can barely handle it, and with the way you’ve been eyeing him… surely it wouldn’t hurt to hope for more. he tries to set you on the bed, but you’re quick to push him down first and straddle him with a triumphant grin. he knows he’s the suspect behind your behavior, yet you’re the one pinning him down and he’s the one blushing and gasping like he’s been caught in your trap. “kaaaeeeyyaaaaa~ ♡” you drawl, nipping lovebites and staring at him with heart eyes and a flirty pout. “keep me company for the night?” his breath hitches in his throat as he takes in your draping clothes and feels the warmth of your body on top of him. mustering up enough bravado, he summons his confident grin to his smile as he wraps his arms around your neck. his heart is beating in his chest, and his eagerness drowns out whatever guilt he may have felt. “anything for you, love.”

when desperate, diluc might not make the most rational of decisions. he had bought the love potion off the black market in a fit of mania after you had once again run off and hurt yourself. his illogical logic reasoned that if you weren’t willing to be under his care, safe, and protected, he might as well force you to want it.

the morning after, diluc’s face contorted with disgust as he looked into the reflection of a man willing to force the person he’d been pining for into something they didn’t want. he locked the crystal bottle under lock and key, swearing that not once would he ever use it. he loved you too much, and admittedly too prideful to resort to such cheap tactics. he needed you to love him of your own volition.

but tonight was another one of those nights, news of another dangerous stunt of yours in dragonspine reaching his ears. you were driving him insane. what archon would care if he kept you under his protection, shackling you to his side even if it meant depriving you of your freedom to explore the world as you wished? hell, he might even get rewarded for it, because you were going to kill yourself at this rate!

there must have been a reason why he didn’t throw away that potion like he had ought to do, a malicious subconscious telling him that he would need it in the future. and it was right, the side of diluc that he had despised so much was right. as he swirls the ominous glowing pink in its bottle, he watches it drop into your wine with a face devoid of any emotion– too sick with love and paranoia to even feel anything for the crime that he was about to do.

the way you’re shivering and reaching for his touch is making him go crazy. he had never expected the potion to be this strong (though he did drop a few too much just to ensure the… effectiveness), so he received your weak embrace with both surprise and a dark delight. your current image was one he thought he despised— babbling incoherently, swaying tipsily, airy giggles, just like the drunks he tended to— but on you, it was nothing short of endearing. especially with the way you whimper at his every caress, shaking in flush pleasure as you lean in for more. you’re pliant on his bed with hazy eyes anticipating his every move, and he gently lifts parts of your clothes to observe the collection of scars you’ve collected. “d– diluc…” you whimper, weakly grabbing at his wrist as he traces another once more. you’re so… small, hands barely wrapping around the width of his wrist. “wha… what are you doing…?” “observing my mistakes,” he replies, pressing a chaste kiss on your temple that has you whining. he sees this with dark eyes but refuses to let go of the leash he’s put upon himself. “all these scars that litter you’re body, it was my mistake for even letting you go out there when you can’t even take care of yourself.” he thumbs another scar and you bite your lip. “now you won’t have to worry anymore. i’ll be the one taking care of you.” “take care of me…?” you’re silent for a few seconds as if the reality of the situation has finally dawned on you. diluc sits in silence too, waiting for you to start screaming and kicking and demanding before a wobbly grin spreads on your face. “take care of me? ♡ then…” wrapping your legs around his neck, you pull him in closer till his chin rests on your tummy, and you smile so lovingly at him that he could almost fool himself. “then take care of me lo~ots tonight, ‘kay? ♡”

albedo doesn’t even bother reserving a love potion for a last resort. he might be a patient man with most things, but he sometimes likes to indulge in his sadistic desires. and there’s no other person than you who seems to rile up those desires more than ever. to have you shivering and weak on his table, moaning weakly as you beg with a bright flush on your cheeks… albedo could not have made the potion any faster.

he’s always been… scientific? when it came to matters of the heart. he’s not the type to chalk the unexplainable thumping of his chest to a mere clash of chemical reactions in his brain. rather, he looks for the fastest and most efficient way to get him results. he could try and be content watching you from afar, dressed in your cute waitress getup as you tended to customers, but archons knew how much he was itching to have his hands on you.

every time you smiled at him from across the street, bounding from good hunter to the little alchemy stall with food that albedo had ordered with ill intentions… it festered something dark within him. albedo’s no idiot, he’s fully aware of what dangerous ideas his mind has been cooking up this entire time. you chat with him with wide and trusting eyes, unaware of how his gaze lingers on your lips and how he purposely brushes your hair back to let his touch linger. 

it drives him insane how naive you are, but it is an alchemist’s duty to break down things and build them up again to truly understand the way they are. and albedo is nothing but curious about you.

albedo is delighted at how much the potion seems to have an effect on you. you could barely think, head empty except for the constant need of albedo’s touch, and you beg for it so~o prettily too. he tucks a messy strand behind your ear, just as he always did, but instead of warm smiles and thank yous he’s met with whines and hazy eyes. “‘bedo, ‘bedo, pleeasseee~” you sob into his palm, hugging his arm in an attempt to keep more of his warmth to yourself. “wh- what’s going onnn? i’m sca-ared…” he shushes you, soft caresses tickling your neck as he presses a kiss on your temple. it’s exhilarating how much you shuddered from a mere peck and wondered that should he have made the effects stronger, it certainly would have sent you right over the edge. “sh sh shhh, it’s okay, darling. you’re fine. your body’s just reacting… accepting… let me indulge in this moment for a little bit longer, ‘kay? then i’ll relieve you of your pain.” you don’t process any of his words, just looking up at him with fearful yet trusting eyes. he chuckles when he sees this stupidly cute expression on you and helps himself to nip on your earlobe. “ngh, nha ♡ n- no! not the ear…! ‘bedo, ‘s too sensitive!” your toes curl at the onslaught of pleasure, and you can’t help but kick your legs as you’re overwhelmed. “y- you can’t…!” “oh dear,” he chuckles, pulling away from your lobe and watching as you lay on his lap, panting and twitching at the sensation of it all. “it’s just the ear, darling. surely, you can’t be that sensitive yet?” he eyes the cup of tea that he had brewed, suspiciously tinged with pink. “you haven’t finished your cup yet, you know.” “c… cup?” you slur, tongue feeling leaden. through half-lidded eyes, you can barely make out the sly smile on albedo’s lips. “wh… whaddya mean…?” huffing a fond laugh, albedo shakes his head and reaches out for the teacup, before tilting it into his mouth. his lips descend on yours, tongue swiping at your lips to be permitted entry. you part them, and the distinct taste of tea enters your mouth as he kisses you even deeper. “that’s what i mean,” he smiles, pulling away with naught but a string of saliva attached. now his cheeks glow pink, as he watches you with lustful eyes as pleasure and unbearable heat shake your body once again. “it’s time to fall even deeper, my love.”

[sometimes-i-write-good]

Handling It

Top Gun: Maverick - Fanboy x f!reader [no use of y/n]

7.2k | Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time he punched someone square in the face. Today seemed as good a day as any. He’d forgotten the way pain blossomed behind his knuckles and webbed its way up his arm. Assault and battery charges were the last thing on his mind. Honestly the only thing on his mind when he threw that punch was you.

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Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

CW: Mentions of Abuse and Stalking, Breaking of Restraining Order, one-sided bar fight, insults and confrontation by a past abuser (there is no mentions or illusions to physical abuse, but please handle anything to do with emotional/mental abuse, stalking, and breaking of restraining orders with care. If this story isn’t for you, that’s okay. Just be safe <3) 

Author’s Note: I’m a sucker for the ‘who did this to you’ style fics or any kind of ‘you came? you called’ - also, sorry to any Brent’s who caught a stray today. || cross-posted on ao3

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===

“I can’t name just one thing.” 

Mickey laughed over the lip of his beer bottle.  A quick sip to, hopefully, mask the pink gracing his cheeks, even though he knew the effort was futile at best.  “You know that.”

Reuben wouldn’t listen.  He never did.  It was one of the many qualities that made him such a great friend at times, and such a frustrating one tonight.  “One thing you like about her,” Payback pushed for an answer.  “It’s not that difficult of a question, Mick.” 

But it was. 

They went through this once a week.  Minimum.  He and Payback skirted off base early - easier to secure a spot at the bar before the crowds rolled in - all to sip a few beers and lament over the fact that they both missed the clause in their kickass fighter pilot careers where it stated relationships wouldn’t fall into their laps.  If anything, their chances at love were as out of reach as the horizon in front of them.  They could speed towards it all they wanted.  The line would still always be there, a hair’s breadth away. 

Reuben often started.  Making sure to take his time in overanalyzing every interaction he had that week with the woman who worked in the control tower.  Fanboy could agree she had the voice of an angel.  Payback’s infatuation was completely warranted.  Even before they found out she also looked like an angel, Mickey could tell she was a good fit for his wingman.  Reuben would flirt relentlessly and she, ever professional, would instruct them with a smile in her voice.  Occasionally she’d joke around, but not enough for a week by week breakdown.  Her clearing them for landing wasn’t the easiest thing to warp into a ‘dude, she likes you. You should totally ask her out.’  

Creating a conversation around you took no effort for Fanboy at all. 

“She’s like no one else I’ve ever met, Reuben.” Once Mickey got started, he couldn’t stop.  His callsign hadn’t exactly spawned into existence because of his cool, detached, and nonchalant approach towards anything he remotely liked.

“I know what you mean,” Payback said.  

He motioned to the bartender for another beer.  Mav and Penny had a date tonight.  Precisely why he and Mickey were sitting belly up to the bar so early on a Thursday afternoon.  No eavesdropping from Penny.  She was known for meddling if any of her regulars were remotely interested in each other.

“Day,” Payback sighed, “she has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.  You know what she did last week?” 

Fanboy arched a brow.  He did know what she did last week.  The past few months of being stationed here sat in his mind, carefully cataloged away.  From the batting eyelashes to the extremely obvious attempts to get Reuben to ask her out on a date.  Mickey knew Day’s entire day all thanks to Payback’s crush.  At this point, he felt like he knew her well enough to consider her a friend despite having never held a conversation with her. 

Payback could easily do the same.  There was one memory in particular Fanboy would break down again and again - Reuben truly had the patience of a saint. 

“Does your mother call you Garcia?”  You asked the first time he took you out for drinks.

The rest of the Dagger Squad milled about the bar.  You all had shown up together, along with some of your fellow TOPGUN instructors, but somehow Mickey paid for everyone’s drinks that night.  The two of you ended up tucked away in a booth by yourselves.  He couldn’t help but to think of it as a date.

“No, she doesn’t.”  He remembered how to form words somewhere between watching you polish off your drink and feeling you lean in closer to show your interest.

“Does she call you Fanboy?”  A sheepish grin and a small shake of his head.  “So what does she call you?” 

He leaned closer to you, stopping just before your noses could touch.  “She calls me Miguel.”

You tested the word out for yourself.  Reuben swears that was the moment Mickey fell in love, and he wasn’t entirely wrong.  Fanboy melted when he heard his name on your lips.  This shift in power felt dangerous.  At any point you could have this man in a puddle at your feet, willing to do anything for you.  Yet, Mickey felt nothing but trust.  You had never been one to abuse power - unless, of course, it was to give Hangman shit or get Payback back for something.

“But I can call you Mickey?”  You smiled one of the most stunning smiles Fanboy ever saw out of you.  How could he say no? 

And that’s how you wormed your way into a first name basis.  On top of becoming a featured subject for their Friday debriefs.  If Payback took a shot every time Fanboy asked “Do you think her asking to call me Mickey was her way of hitting on me?” he’d have alcohol poisoning. 

“Mickey!”  

His head snapped towards the sound of your voice like a moth to a flame.  Icarus to the sun.  Maverick to bad decisions.  Hangman to asshole comments.  Thousands of similes all as timeless as the way his heart ached in your presence.  A romance for the ages.  

He only wished it could get off the ground.  

Reuben slapped him on the shoulder.  He passed Fanboy a tequila shot saying, “You need to make a move tonight.” 

You moved towards the pair, splitting off from your friends.  Surely that was something Mickey could overanalyze later tonight.

“Yeah,” he answered absentmindedly.  “Sounds good.”

“Hi, Reuben.”  You saddled up to the bar.  Payback crushed you in a hug, and Mickey couldn’t ignore the jealousy flickering about in his chest.  When would he build up the courage to greet you with a hug?  Why couldn’t he approach anything that had to do with you with the same surefire confidence he could impart towards flying?

You squirmed in Payback’s grip.  “Too tight,” you playfully choked out.  “I’m dyin’ here.” 

Payback released you, taking care to carefully shove you closer to Mickey, and laughed.  “Good to see you too, Einstein.” 

Both you and Mickey shot him a look.  You’d been through your fair share of shitty callsigns. Mouth, which finally got axed after filing enough harassment claims, started because you’d mouthed off to your superior once during Plebe Summer and had your whole squad in the doghouse for two months.  It took another two months for the disdain to finally drop off whenever someone called you.  By then, though, people had been shifted around, and most at The Academy (those with extreme insecurity) didn’t appreciate having a woman attempting to be a future TOPGUN flier.  

Needless to say, Mouth in the hands of young men with sexism at the forefront of their minds quickly became a problem. So the remainder of your time at The Academy, and sometime after, marked you as IKEA.  I Know Everything Anyway.  Not nearly as cool as Maverick, Slider, or Iceman, but you’d rather be known for your brain than your hotheadedness. Talking over everyone simply had to happen in class.  Otherwise you weren’t going to be heard at all. 

Einstein came later; from Iceman himself.  He came to personally congratulate you on your perfect score.  “You’re a regular Einstein, aren’t you?”  He’d said, and it stuck.  Sometimes spoken in awe, sometimes with disgust, but mostly in a playful manner like Payback always managed. 

“Watch yourself, Payback.”  You plucked the shot from Mickey’s fingertips.  It was gone in a flash.  “Can I have another round, please?”  You asked the bartender, then turned towards Fanboy with a grin.  “You’re having one with me, right?  And one more, probably, to make things even.”

The one thing Reuben asked about earlier came to mind.  Your refusal to take shit.  That would have to be his favorite thing (in this moment because Fanboy knew he truly couldn’t choose a single aspect) about you.

“What’re you starin’ at?”  How you tilted your head to scrutinize him reminded Mickey of his childhood dog.  A stray his mother swore up and down would never come in the house, only to end up sleeping in bed with her each night.  Kind of like you - except you snuck your way into his heart rather than his bed.  “Are you okay?”

Mickey could feel the heat radiating off his face.  In comparing you to his childhood dog, he had gotten the image of you in his bed stuck in his mind.  What a dream, and not even in the typical horny way people used the term ‘in bed.’  Fanboy’s fantasy consisted of being able to hold you, talk to you for hours in the early hours of the morning, and revel in the knowledge that out of anyone in the world you could choose, you chose him.  Anything more that came with a domestic love like that would be a bonus. 

Of course, you weren’t a mind reader.  Thank god for that.  No stumbling apology would ever be enough to save Mickey from the embarrassment of daydreaming about you while you were next to him.  This crush steadily reached towards schoolgirl doodling your joint married name in a notebook levels of delusion.  Whoever said be friends with your crush never mentioned the crushing anxiety of ruining that friendship with any given misstep.  When did Mickey know it was safe to take the next step?

“Hmmm?”  The tips of his ears grew hot as you stared.  Somehow he managed to grasp every chance to make a fool of himself around you.  “Yeah,” he breathed, acutely aware of Payback’s smirk off to the side, “I’m fine.” 

“Are you doing a tequila shot?” 

“I don’t know about Mick here-” Reuben brought a hand down on Mickey’s shoulder- “but I will definitely be having one.”  He turned his attention to the bartender pouring the shots.  “Lime and salt too, please.”

Your eyebrows practically shot to your forehead.  “You can’t handle a tequila shot?  I would not have guessed that about you, Payback.” 

If only she knew how Reuben truly partied.  Fanboy knew him longest out of anyone on The Dagger Squad; they'd been a pair for most of his career.  

Payback brought a hand to his chest.  He gasped dramatically and Mickey rolled his eyes.  “We call him Payback because of all the shots I paid for that he promised to pay me back for.”

“I did pay you back!” 

“When?” 

“How many times have I saved your life?”

You laughed, doing nothing for the heat still trapped in Mickey’s cheeks.  “Isn’t that your job?”

“I could be shit at my job.”  Payback shrugged.  He shifted his position to reach for the salt on the table.  All the confidence of a man who didn’t own this tab - Mickey, unfortunately, would be paying for more of the squad’s drinks tonight.  “The lime and salt,” he explained, “are a part of the experience.  There’s a comradery to a ritual done together.  After this, we’re bonded for life.” 

Long ago Fanboy used to be envious of the way people flocked to Payback.  This simple act transformed into a performance.  Storytelling was an art, and Reuben perfected it.  He even had you succumbing to the supposed weakness of using a chaser.

To not stare you down while you licked your hand, Fanboy busied himself with the salt.  However, his eyes flickered to you for the briefest of seconds.  Right as he dragged his tongue over the fleshy part between his thumb and wrist.  The want must have been apparent.  He had always been the type to wear his emotions on his face.  

But you weren’t.  So when your eyes widened, Mickey paused.  A horrible thing to do considering his current position.   Your chest stilled for a second, eyes trained on him, and time stopped entirely.  The knowledge that you might just want him too sent Fanboy crashing back to reality.  He salted his hand with as steady a hand he could manage.

“A toast!”  You cleared your throat, eyes darting around before settling pointedly not on Fanyboy.  He could see your desperation for control.  “Payback?”

Payback lifted his shot glass.  The two of you followed suit.  “May it always be the other guy who says 'This drink's on me.’”

Between Fanboy’s annoyance and your giggle Reuben licked the salt, threw back the shot, and grabbed a lime wedge to bite down on.  He grinned around the peel.  “I win.” 

The competitive nature of fighter pilots took over.  Mickey completed the sequence with ease.  His bank account wouldn’t appreciate the smooth taste of the liquor but nearly dying those few months ago made him realize two things.  One, he really didn’t want to spend all his time pining over you - he’d rather be with you.  Two, he was getting too old for cheap liquor.

“That’s really- hey!”  You felt around blindly on the counter.  “Mickey, that's so not fair.” 

He brandished your lime slice.  “You’re supposed to do the shot, then complain about Payback.  Everyone knows this.” 

You stuck your bottom lip out in an overdramatic pout.  “I wanted that.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Sure, Fanboy may have deepened his voice slightly.  He might have seized the opportunity to slide forward, closer to you.  What was he supposed to do?  Ignore your blatant attempts at flirting because someone else was standing right there?  He’d been doing that for the entire time he’d known you.  At some point the third wheel needed to read the room.

Placing the lime wedge between your lips helped Payback do precisely that.  His gaze flicked back and forth between Fanboy and his thumb gently pushing the fruit to your mouth.  “I, uh,” Reuben fumbled for words, “I’ll go over there.” 

No one acknowledged his departure.  Fanboy kept his eyes locked on yours.  After all, you were the whole reason he was at the bar in the first place.  You pulled the lime into your mouth, and he let his thumb linger on your bottom lip for a moment before leaning back on the bar stool.

“Done pouting?”  

You popped the lime out of your mouth.  “I wasn’t pouting.”

Being a gentleman became so much harder when you ran your tongue over your lips to lick up all the juice.  The movement killed Fanboy’s ability to speak entirely.  Your smirk confirmed what he already knew.  You were well aware of his weaknesses.

“So, Mickey…”

Like the sound of his name falling from those very lips.

It had been a while since the two of you talked about something other than work.  Hell, Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time you and him were one on one.  A lie.  Payback debriefed that last one on one conversation with Mickey a few days ago.  He couldn’t help it.  Every day you were gentle on his mind. 

“What have you been fanboying over recently?”  You toyed with the citrus peel.  Focused intently on pushing the thing around the counter.  “Anything interesting?”

“You mean other than you?”  

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.  His eyes locked on yours.  Widening by the second with embarrassment.  “I mean-”

A shy smile played on your lips.  You looked pleased with yourself as you said, “Yeah, other than me.  I try not to talk about myself too much.  Don’t want to be Bagman Jr.”

Oh, Mickey could kiss you right now.

“Then what do you want to talk about?”  He asked.  Straightforward in the hopes of appearing more confident than he felt.  Fanboy could face certain death, he could face Cyclone, and he could face Bob in poker.  Your pretty face on the other hand almost always left him flustered.

You tapped a finger against your chin.  Faking a deep concentration to pull a smile out of Mickey.  “What was that TV show you’ve been dying to get everyone to watch, again?”

He instantly perked up.  “You sure you want to open that door?”

“You’re right.  Let’s have one more shot first,” you teased.  Your hand rested on Mickey’s forearm.  He tried hard not to stare at the headliner for flirty behavior and focused on your beautiful smile instead.  The whole time his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.  “I’m sure, Mickey.  I like listening to you talk.” 

And, damn, did Mickey talk.  Somewhere in the midst of laughter, finding excuses to touch one another, and conversation the two limes turned into seven.  The liquor worked any and all tension from Mickey.  Tipsy - maybe leaning more on drunk - confidence coursed through him.  Any flirty freudian slips he took in stride.  

Tequila made a new man out of Fanboy.  A closer version of himself, might be a better way to look at it.  How he normally attempted to pick women up at bars.  You weren’t any woman.  Precisely why so many shots were necessary in the first place.

“Is it Thursday today?”  You slurred your words together ever so slightly.  The drinks brought a warmth to your cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier.  Fanboy resisted the urge to reach out.  Scared the slightest touch would shatter the illusion.  “Thursday is darts day.” 

“Thursday is karaoke day,” Mickey corrected, his sentence also fuzzy around the edges.  “ ‘s why Coyote’s not here.” 

He focused on the concentrated furrow between your brow.  An expression that only ever came out when you were drinking.  Sober you calculated everything immediately.  A beer or two in a loading screen appeared while you clicked the pieces into place.  “But Bob’s here.” 

Bob and Javy often skipped Thursday’s at The Hard Deck.  Karaoke was bad enough with sober people who couldn’t sing.  Adding drunkenness to the equation ended in certain disaster.  Case in point - Javy “Coyote” Machado almost became Javy “Wolf” Machado because of all the drunken howling he did onstage instead of singing.  

He hadn’t shown his face at karaoke since.

“Bob is here at Phoenix’s request.”  That request being he lost a bet, but semantics were lost on the squad.  “My guess is she gets him to sing ‘Sweet Caroline.’”

“All that attention on him?  He’d melt.” 

Fanboy shook his head.  Bob was shy, sure, but he could handle the spotlight with enough time to prepare.  “No, but Rooster is absolutely going to take the next three slots after to prove he’s the better singer.”  

You laughed, and Fanboy could have sworn you used that as an excuse to lean in close and squeeze his bicep.  “Oh, I’m telling him you said that.”  You swung around in your stool, using Mickey’s arm to stabilize yourself, and searched for Rooster in the sea of people.

In your time surveying the crowd, Fanboy traced the rim of his empty shot glass and reveled in being your rock.  Could this be your future together?  Inside jokes over drinks.  Innocent touches with serious potential to transform into something more.

Tonight everything became clear.  All questions would be answered - good or bad - Mickey decided.  You were the brains.  IKEA.  You could tell him if you knew your feelings for him.  If this pipedream had potential or would swirl down the drain.

Nails pricking skin pulled Fanboy from his thoughts.  Your grip went stiff along with the rest of your body.  Any traces of a buzz disappeared entirely in this strange rigid poster.  He carefully pried your hand off him.  “What is it?”

“Brent.”  Your voice escaped you in a panicked whisper.

The name registered with Mickey briefly after wracking his tequila soaked brain for a moment longer than necessary.   A few weeks ago, during downtime between practice hops, everyone traded stories about the worst ex they had.  Payback shared his egregious tale about a girl he dated in high school stealing his dog when he didn’t ask her to prom, Phoenix told everyone how her blind date ended up storming into the kitchen of the restaurant they were at to cook his own meal, and Mickey gave the pared down version of his longest relationship ending when she moved halfway across the country to reunite with her… other boyfriend.

No one had anything nice to say.  Except for you.  

Your most recent ex, it seemed, had boundary issues that couldn’t be solved in a relationship with someone in the military.  The constant reminders and communication simply weren’t compatible with where you were at in your career.  Always moving around from base to base, fully prepared to be whisked away on a secret mission without a word of warning, didn’t bode well for the two of you.  So, you split.

Everyone - Hangman - blatantly accused you of still having feelings for this man.  Mickey couldn’t help but lean forward with interest, waiting for your answer.  He prepared himself for crushing disappointment.  You simply dismissed the notion with a gentle, “He’s not bad people.  I wish him nothing but the best, and I hope that best for him is far, far away from me.” 

But your body language conveyed the opposite.  You stood, swaying on your feet, and shook your head. Mickey was immediately off the barstool.  Buzz be damned.  He let himself assume the worst and boost some adrenaline into his system.  Overpowering the effects of the alcohol with stress always pulled Mickey’s mind back together.  He called a constant state of anxiety home.  Fight or flight was where he performed best.  Fanboy had medals to prove it. 

“Einstein?  Are you okay?”

One arm wrapped around your waist.  The look of shock on your face had Fanboy scared your legs would give out from beneath you at any given moment.  His earlier thought of being your rock solidified in this storm.  He wanted to be your constant, a source of comfort. 

If only he knew how to help you.

For a second you didn’t answer him.  Your eyes were locked on the man who had just passed through the threshold of The Hard Deck.  Then you nodded.  “Yeah.”  You sounded far away.  “Everything’s fine.” 

Fanboy followed your gaze.  He wanted to know exactly which man you side-eyed.  

Smaller and skinnier than a lot of the men in the bar, expected from someone who wasn’t training with the Navy seven days a week.  He appeared unassuming.  Still, you knuckles were turning white from where you were gripping the counter.  Unassuming didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of harm. 

“What do you need from me?”  He asked.

You swallowed, and your eyes finally met his.  Mickey could have cried.  You looked… small.  The feared Naval aviator he knew so well had been replaced with someone else.  Someone hurt, clearly because fear wasn’t an emotion you willingly showed.  In all of a few seconds you’d become human.

“Einstein,” he repeated in a slow, gentle voice.  “What do you need from me?”

“I have a restraining order on that man.”  Shame, which Fanboy couldn’t comprehend why, lit your eyes.  You turned back towards the bar.  Eyes trained on the pile of lime peels.  “For stalking.”  

Boundary issues seemed like a serious downplay.

Mickey slid behind you to shield you from view of anyone approaching.  He brought an arm around to rest against the bar.  To anyone else, this would look flirty, but really Fanboy wanted to give you the ability to whisper to him without anyone else overhearing.  “We should get you out of here.”

You shook your head.  “I don’t know where he is.”  The way your voice broke, broke Mickey’s heart. What did he do to you?  “I don’t want to move if I don’t know where he is.” 

“Okay.”  Mickey nodded.  “If I tell you where he’s at, then we’ll figure out if we’re using the back door or the front door.” 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours, searching your face for any sign that you heard him.  Gears turned behind your eyes.  Emotions clicked away, compartmentalized to deal with later.  You were using your training.  Adrenaline killed if not dealt with effectively.  

“You okay?”  He whispered.

“I don’t want you to look away.”  Selfishly, Mickey nodded.  He didn’t want to look away until he felt confident he wasn’t leaving you to drift about in your anxiety alone.  “I have to… to get myself under control.” 

The bartender passed by without a glance in their direction.  Conversation around them continued loudly.  As far as Mickey could tell, no one paid you two any mind at all.

“You’re doing a great job.”

You closed your eyes.  “Thank you, Mickey.”  When you opened your eyes, any trace of fear vanished.  Einstein, the Navy’s top aviator, would do what everyone else on a particularly traumatic mission did - deal with the emotional shit later, and eliminate the threat now.  “Ready to go?”

Right now?  He shouldn’t be shocked.  When you were in action, you didn’t hesitate. 

Mickey nodded.  Now was as good a time as any.  He held out a hand and helped you step around the barstool.  You clung to him, the only impression that Brent’s appearance still had you rattled.  It didn’t seem like a good time for Fanboy to peel himself away from you.  Having a hand on you might be smart anyway.  You wouldn’t get separated as you made your way through the crowd.

“There you are.”  

Brent stood an uncomfortably close foot away.  His teeth weren’t sharpened fangs, but his smile cut Mickey to the core regardless.  This was worse case scenario - coffin corner.  “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, but my calls go straight to voicemail.” 

Hands still clasped, the two of you turned to face him.  You stared straight past him, right over his shoulder.  Only when it became clear you couldn’t pass by without him being able to lay a hand on you did you acknowledge him.  “Brent.” 

The grin grew.  Mickey straightened to full height.  He wished he had the intimidating extra few inches most of the others on Dagger Squad had.  Brent’s eyes slid Mickey’s way, down to your enjoined hands,  but snapped back up to Einstein quick.  Like you’d vanish given the slightest opportunity.

“Please move.”  Your voice gave no room for further conversation but Brent made an attempt anyway.

“Went by your place, but your windows were dark.”  

A pit of unease grew in Mickey’s stomach.  Einstein had been going through this all on her own.  None of them knew the baggage she carried.  Some squad they were.  He glanced your way, but you had the same blank look on your face.

Brent barreled on.  “Key didn’t work in the lock.  The one you kept under that stupid garden decoration was gone.”  His eyes bore into your face.  Too aggressive to be considered making eye contact.  Fanboy had only ever seen a power display like this in interrogation training.  “Did you move or something?”

You lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.  “If you’d like to contact me, you’ll have to do so through my lawyer.”

The mere implication Brent was breaking his restraining order changed the set of his jaw.  Muscles feathered and he pressed his lips together.  “But,” he said around a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I’m here now.  Look.  This is the last time, I swear. I just need closure.” 

“If you’d like to contact me, you’ll have to do so through my lawyer.”  You gripped Mickey’s hand a bit tighter and moved to step around Brent, but he sidestepped in your way.  “Please move.” 

“It’s a public bar, darling.  I can stand wherever I fucking please.”  All attempts at playing nice slowly started to drip away.  “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Darling.  Mickey’s stomach rolled.  He felt your hand jerk backwards but neither of you could back up without the bar digging into your back.  Brent seemed well aware of such a fact.  He took a lazy step forward.  “Whenever you want to ditch this one-” he spoke about Fanboy without sparing him a glance- “I’d like to talk to you.” 

Enough was enough.  Fanboy stepped forward with intent.  What exactly said intent was he would figure out halfway through the confrontation.  He wasn’t exactly known for his foresight in his personal life.  The only thing that stopped him was you tugging him back.

With one small squeeze, you removed your hand from Mickey’s.

“You can talk to my fucking lawyer.”  You used the same sickly sweet voice Fanboy heard you use on higher up’s that refused to take you seriously.  “Until then, you need to move.  Now.”

“Can we just talk outside?”  Brent asked.  He reached out to grab for your arm, but you dodged his advances.   

“Please, do not touch me.”  Your words were firm and flat.  “I don’t want you touching me.” 

“You owe me the courtesy of a conversation.”

Mickey never wanted to white knight on your behalf, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let this douchebag get anywhere near leaving his sight with you let alone get all the way to the front doors.  He could handle you being mad at him for fighting a battle for you.  He couldn’t handle what would happen if you took on a fight like this by yourself when you didn’t have to. 

“Can we talk outside?  Or are you going to keep letting your friends gaslight you into thinking I’m always the bad guy?”

When you failed to answer, Brent rephrased his question.  It seemed your lack of emotional response wormed its way under his skin in a way he couldn’t hide. 

“Can you stop being such a bitch and answer me?”  He asked, reaching out once again to put his hands on you.  A mistake.

Everyone in the bar fell silent at the dull ‘thack’ of your fist connecting with Brent’s cheek.  Somewhere in the wide arsenal of cinema there was a scene just like this that ends in an all out brawl.  Here Brent’s head snapped to the side thanks to the sheer force you packed in a single punch.  He blinked in disbelief.

Mickey, on the other hand, saw the first forming a while ago. He wasn’t one for violence, but watching you remind everyone you weren’t one to take shit always made his mouth water. And watching you throw a punch may just be the hottest thing he’d seen all week.

Excusing, of course, the fact that your creep of an ex boyfriend still stood there in front of you with a dumbfounded look on his face like he had no clue what he could have done to deserve that.

You cleared your throat.  “I asked you not to touch me, please.” 

Fanboy grew tired of the niceties.  The second you looked towards him for help, he was telling Brent to fuck off and he wouldn’t give him any choice but to listen.

Payback paced behind Brent.  He inched close enough to catch Fanboy’s eye.  Mickey and Reuben could always reasonably assume the other’s thoughts without words.  Half the time they only talked because they liked to hear themselves speak.  One look from Fanboy said everything, though.  His wingman was headed out the front door on the phone with the cops in an instant.

All Fanboy had to do was keep things from escalating. 

Brent straightened, eyes shifting around to all the Navy’s finest, and brought a hand up to where you punched him.  For a second, Mickey foolishly thought he would swallow his pride.  Brent looked ready to tuck his tail, turn on his heel, and run out of the Hard Deck.  

No one said anything while they waited for Brent to respond.  If he left, no one would bother him too badly.  If he didn’t take the warning punch seriously, Mickey could almost bring himself to pity the poor fool.  Almost, but not really. 

Creepy smile devoid of emotion in place, Brent reached out politely once again and, this time, caught ahold of you.  “I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”     

At the sight of Brent gripping your arm, the sound of your first name falling from his lips, Fanboy’s self-control snapped.  This thin string holding himself together split.  

His fist flew up faster than he could process.  Brent’s teeth clacked as his jaw came together.  Fanboy clipped your ex’s chin in the perfect uppercut, and he dropped straight to the floor.

Unconscious.

You, who talked so highly of this ex those few weeks ago that Fanboy convinced himself you were still in love with him, turned to Mickey with panic written across your features.

“You punched him!”  You shouted to Mickey, eyes flickering between your ex on the floor and Fanboy.  The angle wasn’t the slightest bit flattering for the poor guy.  

Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time he punched someone square in the face.  He’d forgotten the way pain blossomed behind his knuckles and webbed its way up his arm.  Assault and battery charges were the last thing on his mind.  Honestly the only thing on his mind when he threw that punch was you.

“You punched him first.”  Mickey shrugged.  He shook his hand out in a gesture he hoped passed as nonchalant.  Pain lingered, though, and he couldn’t help but grimace when he flexed his fingers.

“I had a reason.” 

“So did I.”  You crossed your arms and arched a brow.  Mickey sighed and stepped over Brent’s unconscious body.  “He didn’t respect you clearly stating you didn’t want to be touched.” 

“I was handling it.” 

“I know,” he said, and shrugged.  “I just handled it with you.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but, when your gaze moved from Brent to Fanboy one more time, he could see gratefulness.  “I have to call my lawyer.” 

—

Those bright red knuckles of yours had yet to fade.  From the sound of it, Mickey could guess you’d hit his cheek bone and would be sporting some nasty bruises for a while.  He didn’t bother to look at his own hand.  It throbbed to an annoying degree.  The chances of his knuckle being split was exceptionally high, but your well being in the moment mattered far more. 

Neither of you wanted ice for your hands.  Fanboy hoped it would make him look tough.  You had been more preoccupied with leaving a voicemail explaining Brent had broken his restraining order and the police had been called and “to please call me back as soon as humanly possible.”

Then you both collapsed in a booth in the furthest corner possible of the Hard Deck because you wanted to see when the cops walked through the door rather than tuck yourself in the back.  Fanboy refused to stray far.  You hadn’t asked him to leave, which he took as a good sign.  At least you weren’t too mad at him for stepping in.

“That’s one hell of a right hook you’ve got there.”  

He hoped to ease the tension with a teasing joke.  In classic Fanboy fashion, he misread the timing. 

“My lawyer is not going to like this one bit.”  You dragged a hand over your face.  The one with the angry knuckles.  “She told me, ‘If he breaks his restraining order, you can’t just punch him.  As much as he might deserve it.’”  

Mickey smothered a grin.  He wanted to throw out a joke about you being the only one to find a lawyer who talks like Bob, but instead he motioned for your hand.  

“Here.”  A towel of half-melted ice sat next to him, waiting for the opportune moment for Mickey to refuse to let you suffer any longer.  You extended your hand across the table for him to grab.  He set the ice down gently, muttering a soft “sorry” at your hiss of pain.  “You handled yourself pretty well out there.” 

You made no move to take the ice pack or your hand away from Mickey.  So he sat there, icing your hand, and watched you wrestle with your reaction.  Fear, anger, grief, aggravation.  They all shuffled over your features like Payback trying to pick a song from the jukebox.

Eventually, you settled on a classic.  Humor as deflection.  “I think I’d feel better if my punch was a one and done.” 

He lifted the makeshift ice pack and made a show of inspecting your knuckles.  “I’d say you packed a pretty good punch.” 

That same shy, flirty smile from earlier came back.  “Thanks, Mickey.”

“Of course.”  Any attempt to appear cool shattered the second he saw the gratefulness in your eyes.  “I hope I didn’t overstep.  I’m not really up to date on the laws surrounding restraining orders or stalker exes.” 

You shook your head with a self-deprecating laugh.  “I don’t think you would be.  You don’t strike me as someone who would ever turn out like Brent.” 

“If I do, you have full permission to punch me.  Whether your lawyer advises it or not,” he teased, and relief flooded him when you laughed.

“It isn’t self-defense to punch someone violating their restraining order.  No matter how scared I was seeing how he found me.” 

The tone in the booth shifted towards seriousness.  Any trace of a smile on your face vanished, and you curled your fingers around Mickey’s hand.  “I used to live out in Texas.  Stationed there so often, I rented out an apartment because living on base didn’t feel permanent.  I wanted a place to call my own.” 

Mickey glanced out towards the bar full of the Navy’s best.  Payback stood watch over Brent, who had finally come to and was arguing with the wall that was Rooster, Hangman, and Bob.  

“He followed you from Texas?”  He asked.

You nodded.  Whatever you attempted to say got lost in the tears welling up behind your eyes.  “Sorry.”  You swallowed and blinked rapidly to clear the emotion from your face.  “I saw him around town a few times, but this was the first time I felt like he actually knew where I was.  Like it was more than a coincidence.  When he talked about coming around to my place… there’s this part of me that can’t tell if he was talking about back in Texas or where I live now.  It’s terrifying.” 

Fanboy hoped the cops would hurry up.  The sooner Brent could get out of here, the better.  One punch suddenly didn’t feel like enough, and if Mickey threw another he didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

“And there’s a good chance I’ll be charged for assault.”  Your laughter was ice cold.  “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.  I know better- god, I’m so fucking stupid.” 

Mickey squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him, and shook his head.  “You are not stupid.  He put his hands on you.” 

“That’s not self-defense either,” you sighed.  “He wasn’t attacking.  The cameras are going to show him reaching out with a smile and he’ll, at most, get a slap on his wrist.  I’m screwed.” 

“He was attacking.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?  He wasn’t attacking.” 

“He.  Was.  Attacking.”  Fanboy emphasized every word, then gestured to the bar you were in.  “There’s at least 20 people I can count who will give that same story without needing to be asked.  I’m sure Phoenix and Bob are already out there waiting for the cops so they can be the first to let them know what he did.”

You turned to look at the crowd of people, mouth quirking up into a smile when you spotted the rest of the squad keeping Brent on the other side of The Hard Deck.  Fanboy watched your gaze lock onto the camera capturing the man acting like a saint for the sake of the security camera in the corner of the room.  

The smile faltered.  “You really think so?”

“You’re one of us, Einstein.  We don’t care what base you’re coming in from.  You’re assigned to our squad and we take care of our own.”  

Mickey moved the ice pack and released your hand back to you.  “Don’t worry about the security cam footage, either.  The cops tend to take our word at face value.  Plus, Penny’s got a good reputation for not calling unless it’s warranted.  There hasn’t been a single bar fight she hasn’t sorted out herself..”

“That feels…”

“Like how Maverick would handle something?”  He supplied.

You nodded with a laugh.  “Exactly.”  Your eyes traveled over Mickey’s face.  “I appreciate you handling things with me today.  I’ve been dealing with this on my own for a few years now.  I forgot what it’s like to know someone has my back on the ground instead of only in the sky.”

“I’ve always got your back, Einstein.  Ground, sky, and all areas in between.” 

The opening practically presented itself to him in the way you smiled at him.  

“Look, I know this might not be the best time or anything…” Mickey trailed off.  He cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his nerves at bay.  What kind of moron decided to ask someone out immediately after an incident like this?  “But, after all the statements are taken, would you, maybe, want to take a walk along the beach with me?  Just get out of here, get your mind off everything?” 

You sat up straighter in the booth.  For once, Fanboy wished he wasn’t alone with you.  If Payback were here, he could confirm if your eyes actually lit up at the proposition or if Mickey’s wishful thinking clouded his mind again.  

“Are you asking me out on a date, Mickey?”  You asked.  His name passing over your lips, over the teasing smile spreading across your face, rendered him speechless.  

He cringed.  “I’m an idiot, right?”  Nervous laughter escaped him.  “I mean, I planned on asking you out tonight anyway.  If that changes anything.  I don’t want you to think I’m, like, stepping in to take advantage of a bad situation.  You can tell me no, Einstein.  I know it’s been a… I mean, the past hour has been a lot.

“But I don’t want you to be alone while you’re dealing with all of this.”  He turned in his seat to glance around for Phoenix.  “Should we call Nat over here?  Would you rather talk to her?  I’m serious, this doesn’t have to be a date.  I didn’t mean to overstep… What?  Why are you laughing at me?” 

You sat across the seat, hand smothering the giggles slipping through your smile.  “Am I rambling again?”  He asked, and you nodded.  “Sorry.  I’m usually better at dealing with emotional situations like this.” 

“I’d say you knocked it out of the park today,” you joked.  Fanboy could only groan at the pun.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit.  Mickey hoped the flush on his face appeared to be alcohol induced rather than his lapse of judgement.  Your phone sat between them, screen still black while you waited for your lawyer to get the voicemail and call you back. 

“It took you long enough.”

He tilted his head.  Much like how you did when you first walked in today.  “What?”

“Asking me out,” you clarified, “that took you a while.” 

“Is that a yes?”

You threw your head back and laughed in a way Fanboy never heard you laugh before.  A mix of elation and pure joy.  Maybe the sound of your voice saying his name could be his second favorite sound.  That laugh needed to be bottled away in his memories forever.  “Yes,” you said.  “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“I really like you,” he said, then, after a moment’s consideration, he tacked your first name at the end of the sentence.  It only felt fitting.

[21teapot]

Caitvi rant - "Cupcake" is not as sweet as you think

**SPOILERS FOR S2 ARCANE**

Many see the caitvi reunion in S2E6 as "oh, she called her by her nickname and thats all it took to sway her" but I actually have a different take on Vi calling Caitlyn "cupcake".

In S1 we see Vi first use that nickname when she barely knows Cait and just wants to get under her skin to essentially get rid of her in the brothel. The second time is right after Caitlyn saves Vi from Sevika. In both of these cases Vi not only uses this nickname to emotionally distance herself from Caitlyn, but also to, in a sense, dehumanize her. This is a form of protection from having to engage with someone on a deeper level than surface observations. By calling her "cupcake", Vi basically establishes her view of Caitlyn as just that and nothing more: sweet and pretty. Why would she want to empathize with an enforcer she just met?

This is also contrasted by the fact that Vi calls Caitlyn "Cait" instead of any nickname in S2E3 while they confront Jinx. They have spent more time together, learned to trust and share things with each other and given the gravity of the situation it only make sense that Vi would call her by her name. "Cait" implies seriousness, but also mutual trust that was slowly established over the weeks after the ending of S1.

So, by Vi calling Caitlyn "cupcake" again when they meet after months of absence, after being feeling betrayed and terribly hurt by her, she reverts back to trusting Caitlyn less and having her walls up again and I think the closeup shot of Cait right after conveys that she notices this too. What we see in Caitlyns face isn't (just) yearning, its shock and remorse too.

Even the leadup to this scene is dripping with unspoken anger and hurt feelings from both sides. The manhandling, the namecalling the roughness of it all.

And the subsequent scene in the tent with Ambessa just underlines this chasm between them even more. Caitlyn hitting Vi with her rifle, handcuffing her and putting a bag over her head. Vi snarling and spitting in her face. Of course there's the obvious inuendo of the tension they have going on, which is a whole other point worth discussing, but it especially highlights the emotional (and physical, poor Vi...) wounds they have inflicted on each other. They both feel betrayed and hurt. Caitlyn, because she thinks Vi chose to protect Jinx again (but really only Isha) and thus not backing her up on finally ending her. Vi, because Caitlyn would risk killing a child just to exact her revenge when she specifically asked her not to change (from a compassionate and empathetic detective that shoots for justice and peace to a hateful ghost of vengeance full of prejudice and spite) 10 minutes earlier and leaving her in a ditch after.

In a sense, Vi calling Caitlyn "cupcake", is the catalyst and wake up call for them to start working through their hurt feelings. It is very clear for both of them.

The scene in the tent just emphazises how bad they need to fuck much they have to unpack and talk about before cupcake can become an actual term of endearment without all that baggage.

[milfsloverblog]

Secret Benefits (part 7)

Sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: The long awaited chapter! I struggled so much writing this chapter, I think I started the draft months ago and eventually ended up changing the whole thing. I hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless!

The soft ticking of the clock echoed through the quiet room, its rhythmic pulse somehow failing to soothe your racing thoughts. You were curled up on the couch, the blanket Larissa had draped over you pulled tight against your chest. The warmth from the tea mug in your hands almost felt like a physical weight, grounding you in the moment, but it did little to ease the confusion clouding your mind.

It had been a while since you’d felt this strange mixture of calm and disorientation—the kind where everything in your life seemed to be turned upside down, and yet you couldn’t shake the nagging sense that something was different now.

But what exactly that “something” was, you couldn’t pinpoint.

Larissa sat beside you, her fingers brushing through your damp hair. She was gentle, almost tentative, her touch soothing but cautious. She had been careful with you—her movements tender, like she wasn’t sure how much space you needed, or how much closeness you could bear. Her words had been sparse, but her presence spoke volumes.

You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected her. Here. So gentle, so kind, and so understanding, especially after you had been nothing but cold to her before. Yet here she was, sitting next to you with a quiet warmth that felt too much to process.

“Larissa?” you murmured, your voice thick with emotions you hadn’t dared to voice. The silence between you both had grown so heavy, pulling at you like a tug of war. It felt like the space between you was expanding, and you couldn’t tell if it was drawing you closer or farther apart. “I… I don’t know how to process any of this.”

Larissa’s fingers paused in your hair. You could hear the shift in her breath—slow, measured—as if she were gathering her thoughts before speaking.

“I know,” she said softly, and though her words were simple, there was a weight to them. Her voice, today, was different. It held something deeper—something you hadn’t heard from her before. The usual authority she carried, the sharp, confident edges, had softened. Today, there was something vulnerable in the way she held herself, something you could almost reach out and touch.

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if the admission might make it too real.

Larissa’s hand stopped moving, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Then, her voice broke through the quiet, soft and clear. “You don’t deserve what happened to you, either.”

The words were like a weight on your chest. They settled there, uncomfortably heavy, but somehow grounding. You shifted under the blanket, your thoughts in a fog. The memories of last night were fragmented, pieces that didn’t quite fit together, leaving you with a sick feeling in your stomach. The guilt gnawed at you, threatening to overtake everything.

“I don’t know if I can ever make up for what I did to you,” you murmured, feeling the guilt tighten in your throat. “I hurt you, Larissa. I hurt you in ways that feel unforgivable.”

A long pause followed. Larissa was still, her fingers still resting lightly against your scalp. Then, her voice broke the silence, steady but laced with something more. “Forgiveness isn’t something you earn from someone else. It’s something you find within yourself.”

You didn’t answer right away. The truth of her words hit you hard, and you could feel the tension pulling at your chest. It wasn’t just the guilt. It was everything—the weight of your past mistakes, the confusion over the present, and the fear of what might come next. The clock ticking in the background seemed louder now, as if it was keeping time for something that wasn’t yet ready to be spoken.

The world outside had fallen into a stillness, the fading light filtering through the curtains and casting long shadows across the room. But in the silence, something was unsettling, like the space between you and Larissa was becoming more distant, not less. A heaviness hung between you, thickening, neither of you quite sure how to bridge the gap.

Suddenly, Larissa’s hand withdrew from your hair, and you noticed the shift in the air, as if something had changed, though you couldn’t yet understand what. Her voice cut through the tension.

“I have something to show you,” she said, her tone low but filled with determination.

A chill ran through you. Something in her tone made your heart race, a knot of unease settling in your stomach.

“What do you mean?” you asked, though a sense of dread was already creeping into your mind.

Larissa took a slow breath, her gaze flicking toward you, a hesitation in her eyes. “Trust me,” she said, her words heavy with something unspoken. There was a promise behind them, something you weren’t sure you were ready for, but you nodded anyway, unsure of what else to do.

Larissa stood from the couch, a hand smoothing her hair in a soothing attempt.

And then, without warning, it happened.

It wasn’t visible at first—a small flicker, almost imperceptible—just a slight shift in the air around her. But before you could register it fully, the world around Larissa bent, rippled like a heatwave distorting the space between you. You blinked rapidly, your brain trying to make sense of what was happening.

And then she was gone.

Where once Larissa had stood, now was a man. The transformation had been so quick, so seamless, that it took your mind a moment to catch up. The man who stood in her place was tall, with broad shoulders and a strong frame that radiated strength and confidence. His face was familiar but unfamiliar at once—a stranger’s face, yet those piercing blue eyes, the same eyes you’d seen so many times before, were unmistakable.

You moved back instinctively, your heart hammering in your chest. The man—no, Larissa, you realized—was standing before you in the same clothes from the night before. The dark jacket, the jeans, the boots, all familiar. The man you had seen rescuing you from the alley was now standing in your living room, only this time, the eyes staring back at you held more than just concern. They were full of something deeper.

Your mind reeled, trying to make sense of it. Larissa had… changed. She had shifted into him.

The man who had saved you. The one who had protected you. That man was Larissa.

You stumbled backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you as your breath caught in your throat. You had no words. No comprehension of what was happening.

“What... what are you doing?” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling.

The man—Larissa—stood there, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were filled with an emotion you couldn’t name. His stance was rigid, like he was waiting for you to say something, anything. And then, his voice, the deep gravelly tone of the man you had seen before, broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. But it wasn’t the man’s voice exactly—it had a trembling, vulnerable edge to it. “I had to tell you the truth.”

You blinked, stunned. “You’re... a shapeshifter?” You said, unsure about it being the right word.

Larissa nodded, her expression pained, as if the words themselves had hurt her. “Yes. I am.”

The shock of it hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you couldn’t process anything. Your mind was a mess of confused thoughts, fragmented memories, and the overwhelming realization that everything about Larissa—everything about her—was different from what you’d imagined.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered, barely able to form the question.

Larissa’s expression softened, and a quiet sigh escaped him. “I never wanted you to know,” he said, his voice now softer, almost regretful. “I didn’t want you to think of me differently. I didn’t want you to see me as something... less than human.”

You swallowed hard. The weight of his words was heavier than you had imagined. You had always seen Larissa as someone strong, someone unshakable. To see her so vulnerable, so raw at that moment, was a shock.

“I don’t know what to think right now,” you whispered. “This is... too much.”

“I know,” Larissa said quietly, and her eyes softened as she took a hesitant step forward. “But I couldn’t keep this from you anymore. I need you to understand... I didn’t just help you because I had to. I helped you because I care about you.”

You stared at him, your heart racing as the implications of his words sank in. “But why the man?” you asked, still trying to understand it all. “Why not just tell me as you are?”

Larissa’s gaze faltered for a moment, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple. When I shift, it’s more than just changing my body. It’s... it’s deeper. The man you saw last night, the one who saved you, he’s a persona I’ve used for years. One I adopt when I need to protect someone. I didn’t know how to explain that to you... and I didn’t want to scare you.”

You stared at him, trying to understand. “I wouldn’t have run,” you whispered. “I wouldn’t have thought you were... less human.”

Larissa’s gaze softened, his shoulders relaxing slightly at your words. But before he could respond, the shift began again. It was as if the air itself was twisting, warping around him. The man’s form shimmered and then, in the blink of an eye, the transformation was complete. Larissa stood before you once again, silver hair neatly tied back, eyes the same piercing blue, but something was different. She was still the woman you had known, but now, there was a vulnerability in her that had never been there before.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said softly, stepping toward her.

Larissa looked at you, her eyes filled with something you could no longer name. “I needed you to understand. I needed you to know the truth.”

You took a step forward, your chest tight with something more than confusion. “I understand,” you said softly.

She smiled, a soft, bittersweet expression, and for the first time, you realized that despite everything—despite the secrets, the pain, the shifting realities—you weren’t as alone as you had once felt. The world outside might have been quiet, but in that moment, you finally felt like you were beginning to understand something deeper about yourself, about Larissa, and about what was possible in this strange, uncertain new chapter.

And maybe, just maybe, it was this was the start of something worth fighting for, something more than the simple arrangement you two had made at the beginning.

————————————————————————

Taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @larissaoftarthweems @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @azu-zu @witchesmortuary @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi @i-love-nerdy-stuff @jasperobsidian-blog @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

[witchygagirlwrites]

Baby's First Christmas

Jay Halstead x Reader

You and Jay have a 2 month old and its her first Christmas @allisonargent144

“Jay, baby she’s two months old. She’s not even going to remember it” you couldn’t help but laugh because your boyfriend was nothing shy of adorable. He wore your daughter Lilian across his chest in a baby sling and showed her every bulb and asked where she wanted to put it before placing it on the tree. 

He cut his eyes at you with a small smirk “I know this but we will and she’ll see pictures. I want her to know that we have always gone all out for her. That’s she’s been celebrated” you shook your head but snapped a photo nonetheless. Christmas was a little over a week away and this year was different for you and Jay considering you were parents now.

The most stressful day of your life was finding out you were pregnant. You’d caught two rounds to your vest and med wanted to do an xray to ensure nothing was broken but needed to do a urine test first as a precaution like they did on every woman to ensure they weren’t pregnant. The look on Will’s face when he’d come back into your room was something you would never forget.

“Repeat that one more time Will” you couldn’t believe what he was telling you. “Um you’re about six and a half weeks pregnant Y/N” you nodded slowly, holding your side where it was sore from the blow you’d caught “What about the slugs I caught in the vest? Did that hurt it?” he shook his head “We can do an ultrasound but by now you would be bleeding if anything was wrong besides with how far up you were shot it shouldn’t have affected anything. Am I safe in assuming it’s Jay’s?”

“No shit Halstead!” you hadn’t meant for your voice to get so shrill but between the dull ache in your side and now this you couldn’t help it. He grinned “Well then congrats, want me to go get him?” You nodded “Please”

You’d heard Jay long before he got to your room “If something is wrong with her and you’re out here with me instead of helping her you’re gonna need a doctor” the door to your room burst open and he stormed in, freezing when he saw the look on your face “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard and looked back at Will who nodded “I’ll give you two some privacy” once Will walked out you took a deep breath “Jay um they couldn’t do an xray. Will just had to physically check my ribs” his eyes scrunched up like they always did when he heard something he didn’t quite understand “What? Why?”

You shrugged one shoulder, a small smile on your face “You don’t xray a pregnant woman unless absolutely necessary” his eyes widened and he didn’t say anything for several long heartbeats then he was across the room, pulling you into his arms “You’re pregnant?” “And hurting from my ribs” you reminded and he loosened his grip.

You cut your eyes up at him, feeling the knot in your stomach loosen “You’re happy?” he nodded “Yeah, I mean..aren’t you?” you shrugged “We’ve only been together a little over a year Jay. Do you want a baby with me?” he sat down on the bed next to you, one hand gently cupping your cheek while the other slipped around your waist “It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been together. I know I love you, I know this is it for me. I’d never want another woman to have my baby”

You felt tears spring to your eyes at his words “I love you too Jay” and he pulled you into his lap, being careful of your ribs as he whispered “I’m gonna be a dad,you’re gonna be a mom”

Jay was a dream your entire pregnancy. He was at your side for every appointment. Any time morning sickness got the best of you, he was holding your hair back then there with a warm rag and something to settle your stomach. Weird cravings? Even if it’s two am, you’re getting them.

Emotions getting the best of you? He’s figuring them out before you are and offering what you need. Back hurting? He’s rubbing it. He’s staying up at night just to talk to your growing stomach and draw patterns across it. If any man on earth was meant to be a dad it was Jay.

The day you found out it was a girl, a part of you had worried he’d be disappointed but no, he’d grinned at the ultrasound tech “Explains why she reacts to my voice so much. She’s already a daddy’s girl”

The day Lilian was born was a week before Halloween. Jay supported you so much during labor the nurses joked that he needed to teach other dads how it was done. If you hadn’t already been in love with him you would’ve fallen in love watching him with her. He was a natural at being a dad.

You were talking to Will next to his tree. Him and Nat had thrown a little get together Christmas eve so you and Jay came over. Jay was currently talking to Kim with Lilian secure across his chest in a baby sling, one hand at her tiny head and the other across her body.  

“He really is amazing at that isn’t he?” Will observed and you smiled proudly “He really is. You know he decorated the apartment with all the colors the pediatrician told us babies can see. He’s trying so hard to make sure when she gets older and looks back on photos that she doesn’t doubt for a moment that she’s always been loved” 

He smiled, “Did you take her to see Santa?” Santa this year was played by Mouch and you had indeed taken Lilian to see him. She’d cooed at him and the entire firehouse had fallen in love.  You pulled your phone out and clicked the photos to show him. He swiped through them “Those are too cute. Send them to me” 

You sent him a few then looked back over towards Jay and realized he was already looking at you, a small smile on his face. Where you originally worried your relationship was too new for a baby, if anything it made the love you had for each other grow even more.

Will cleared his throat and when you looked back at him he raised an eyebrow “So when are you getting upgraded to sister in law?” you felt your face warm and shoved playfully at his shoulder “Oh hush Halstead” he laughed “I’m serious! My little brother thinks the sun rises for you and Lilian. He needs to give you both the same last name”

You shook your head “I don’t need a ring to be Jay’s” he nodded “I know but still” you laughed “You sound like a mother hen Will”

You woke up slowly and realized you were alone in the bed. You sat up slowly, stretching as you did. You could hear Jay’s voice drifting in from the open door and knew he was talking to Lilian.

You swung your legs out of the bed and headed towards the living room. When you opened the door, your heart flipped at the sight that met you. Jay was sitting next to the tree, with the blinds open to show Lilian the snow falling. She was wearing her jumper that had rudolph and frosty all over it while Jay was wearing matching PJ pants. You were currently wearing a matching set.

He was talking low to her and while you couldn’t catch most of the words what you did catch was “Your first Christmas” “I love you and your mom more than anything” 

After a moment you stepped further out of the room and cleared your throat “Merry Christmas Lilian” Jay looked over at you, a broad smile slipping onto his face “Look! Mommy’s up!” you walked over to sit down next to them and leaned your head over on his shoulder “How long have you two been awake?”

He shrugged “About an hour. I wanted to let you sleep in” you pressed a kiss to his cheek “I love you” then leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead “And I love you”   

You reached for her so he transferred her into your arms then kissed your temple “I’ll go grab her bottle and start coffee” you nodded, holding her to your chest as you ran a finger across her features. When he came back he sat behind you, pulling you back against his chest before handing you her bottle.

__________________

The two of you sat like this a lot of mornings. Just holding her and enjoying each other. He wrapped his arms around you while you fed her, his chin resting on your shoulder. “This is the best christmas I’ve ever had” you cut your eyes up at him with a grin “You just woke up an hour ago”

He nodded “I woke up to her making little babbling sounds over the monitor with you curled up on my chest. I woke up feeling complete. You and her were missing pieces I never knew I needed” “Jay, don’t make me cry while I’m feeding her” he laughed lightly “I’m sorry baby” and kissed your cheek.

____________

After Lilian was fed and had a diaper change it was time to open presents. You and Jay took turns “helping” her open her presents. Considering how young she was it was mainly new outfits or diapers but watching Jay hold her and show her everything as he unwrapped it like she was going to give her opinion was better than anything you could’ve received.

Once you were fairly certain there were no more presents he pulled Lilian up to his ear and acted like she was saying something “Is that right? Where did he put it?” 

You raised an eyebrow “What are you doing?” he winked at you before standing up with Lilian and heading towards your bedroom. A few minutes later he returned with her and was holding something in his hand but considering it was under her you couldn’t see. You did notice he put another outfit on her.

“Jay?” you asked and he smiled “Wanna see her onesie?” you shrugged and stood up to walk over to him. He transferred her to your arms and you read that her onesie said “Will you marry Daddy?”

You looked back at him and realized he was already on one knee and had a ring in his hand. “Y/N I loved you by the time we were together a couple months,when a year hit I knew this was it for me. Then when you told me you were pregnant? Everything just clicked. You and her are my everything. She’s already a Halstead so do you think you’d like to be one before next Christmas?”

You nodded, fighting back tears “I’d love to marry you Jay” he slipped the ring onto your finger then stood, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips “Merry Christmas Mrs Halstead” you smiled against his lips “Merry Christmas Mr Halstead”

Lilian made a cooing noise so Jay broke away from your lips to kiss her forehead “And Merry Christmas to you little Miss Halstead”

[sleepy-grav3]

Coping Mechanisms

A/n: This was sitting in my oneshots folder for a while, unfinished. I finally finished it so uh, here you go. Enjoy.

Backstory: After taken by the GIW, Danny's core was shattered. The bats found him and took him in. However, he's severely mentally damaged and is starting to stall his healing process.

TW: Mentions of vivisection, mention of organs in jars, mention of Jason's death, flashbacks, hallucinations, mention of injuries

Danny's obsession is Space and Protection; Danny is the Ghost King; Never mentioned what happened to the rest of the Fentons, that's up to speculations; Assumed that the Drs. Fenton had been experimenting on Danny long-term before fully locking him up in the basement; Bruce/Lady Gotham; Alfred is dead or dead-adjacent, making him immortal; child/baby ghosts are referred to as wisps

This is for sign language because there isn't a way to underline the words, which is my preferred style

He didn’t know how long he spent there. All he knew was that the damage done had left scars, something he wasn’t able to gain ever since the accident. He remembered words, cut off sentences from people, that told him why that wasn’t possible.

“Injuries to your emotional state are dangerous”

“You can heal physical wounds, but not those from the heart”

“You can regenerate limbs”

“Your human form is weaker”

“You’re stronger than most ghosts”

“Halfas have extra healing abilities”

“Your core can regenerate as long as your heart keeps beating”

“The subject’s heart is slowing down”

“The subject can live without a heartbeat”

“The Subject can regenerate vital organs”

“Like a human, the spine controls it’s movements, and shuts down the subject similarly to when its brain is removed”

Danny gasped, trembling as he pulled at his hair. No tears came, not even fake green ones to make up for it. His body was still trying to heal the damage done to it, working against his broken core for his sake.

His chest hurt differently. Each time he moved or felt something, his core would cry out in pain. He thought he’d let out a pseudo-wail if it wasn’t broken. If he weren’t broken.

Danny remembered all the jars around him, choking out another gasp as he dragged his hands down his face. He could feel stings from his temples down to his chin before he felt the bandages around his neck.

He couldn’t understand where the stinging came from, only seeing an empty lab with him sitting on a metal table, chains on his wrists and ankles. He blinked a couple times before he saw images of the dark room he was in, but the lab wouldn’t go away.

He stood up, ignoring his body that screamed in protest, and ran out of the room into fake white hallways.

-

The bats were at the table, only Jason, Duke, Damian, and Danny being missing.

Jason was taking advantage of the fact that he had a flexible schedule to work day and night.

Duke was out on patrol, now having an extra job of helping the dead that resided in the city (only recently he became able to see them, though with some practice).

Damian, however, had only left recently, rushing to get to Danny who was having another episode.

They had saved him a month ago, but it took about 3 weeks for him to wake up. Ever since he woke up, he’s been having episodes. The only way to snap him out of it was to have certain family members shake him out of it, the rest being attacked or avoided outright.

Jason and Alfred were the exception, as Danny would try to save them. They avoided having them get Danny to snap out of it as much as possible, as it would lengthen the time it takes to calm him down.

It hurt them each time an episode came around. It hurt to see Danny’s bandaged and practically mummified figure each time he left his room during an episode or to get some fresh air. And even when the latter happened, he would dissociate or end up breaking down with no tears.

It was only a little over a week into the start of the episodes and they were seeing signs of new injuries. They had to do something, but what could they do? They've filed down his nails, removed sharp objects from his vicinity and locked up the ones that belongs to others, they've safety proofed sharp corners of furniture!

But it wasn't enough.

They had to resort to putting visible cameras in his room. It at least made him hesitate or stop when he was fully there.

-

Ding-Dong

Alfred shivered. Of course their only proper visitor was a ghost. They never can have a normal one, can they?

Alfred walked over to the front door, opening it without hesitation. There, he was met with a gray skinned woman with a long black dress with a slit by her left thigh and a V neck. She also wore gold hoop earrings, a black sun hat, held a black and gold smoke pipe, and had black sunglasses to cover her near-black purple eyes.

“Lady Gotham, I was not expecting you. Come in.”

Alfred stepped aside, allowing her into his haunt. She smiled at him, waltzing into the manor as she had long bypassed the gates. Alfred led her to one of the living rooms. The one they’d use for interviews. Alfred started to prepare some tea as she took a seat at the edge of a sofa, taking a breath from her smoke pipe and letting out a purple haze.

Alfred didn’t mind it, as what she was smoking wasn’t harmful. It was for the sake of refueling at least part of her strength. Her eyes glowed a lighter purple, black nail becoming a little lighter. It was hard to see her so corrupted by the curses that resided in her haunt.

“Phantom is beginning to stall his healing process.”

Alfred froze for a moment before picking up the tea pot and pouring the tea.

“It’s already difficult to calm him down when he’s in his episodes. He’s barely able to hold down anything he eats and can’t sleep well. We’ve given him multiple shots and used healing magic from the local witch shop. We don’t know what else to do.”

He served the drinks and sat down. Lady gotham picked up her cup and plate, taking a sip from it. She let out a sigh of satisfaction, remaining silent for a while so the 2 could at least finish their drinks before acting on plans.

“I was thinking about having another rogue run about.”

“Isn’t it difficult enough with the ones we have? And how would another help Master Danny?”

Lady Gotham smiled, looking at the tea left in her cup.

“Obsessions have a tight hold on those like us. Perhaps, if Phantom gives in a little to them, he’d stop trying to punish himself.”

“His obsession is protection. How would he even be a rogue?”

Lady Gotham’s smile widened, showing her sharp teeth behind gold-dusted, violet lips. Alfred hasn’t seen that smile since she elected to make Bruce her official knight through a spirit contract.

“Don’t you know? He absolutely adores space. Wouldn’t it be quite the process to rid this city of its polluted and cursed smog to view it?”

“His core is cracked and small pieces are missing. Not to mention his severe injuries. How would he be able to work? Ancients- how would he be able to avoid fighting your knights?”

“Mm, I’m sure he’d figure something out. Being powerless never stopped any of our other rogues. He might even get inspired by that politician. Lewis, was it?”

“Lex Luthor. At least you got the L right this time.”

“Ah, no matter. He’s not relevant.”

“You brought him up.”

“Oh shush. We have work to do. Finish your tea, let us speak with the wisp of a king.”

Alfred drank the last of his tea and stood up, leading Lady Gotham to Danny’s room. Once there, he found Danny completing a space puzzle on the desk of his room. From the new bandages on his face and hands, Alfred could tell the episode from that morning had resulted in further injury.

“King Phantom,” That title made Danny perk up, turning to them with brighter blue eyes. “Lady Gotham and I wish to speak with you.”

Danny adjusted his chair and body to face them without trouble. Alfred summoned a small table and 2 chairs, allowing the spirits to sit down.

“Phantom, I’ve noticed that you are stalling your healing process.” Danny flinched at Lady Gotham’s words. “My little wisp… you must know that this dimension and those that branch with it will cease to exist if your End comes to be.”

Danny’s eyes widened. Panic seeped into him as he tried to push his healing to go faster, ignoring the strain of his core. Alfred cleared his throat, making Danny jump and stop forcing the healing out of surprise.

“Master Danny, straining your core isn’t necessary. In fact, it may make things worse. Might we suggest another method.”

Danny hesitantly nodded.

“Lady Gotham offered that you indulge in your obsession. And yes, the sky is covered in smog. That’s where our suggestion comes into play.” Alfred smiled at him. “Why not become a rogue?”

Danny’s eyes widened once more as he quickly shook his head. Lady Gotham gave him the stare, making him freeze up.

“Now, now. A wisp like you should be allowed to indulge in their obsessions in peace. Really, it wouldn’t be a problem with how you’ll work. Attack those causing the air pollution, get rid of some curses, free the sky. Maybe steal some space themed objects here and there. I’m not quite sure how you’d move about or what your alias will be, but it’s perfectly fine. You don’t need to hurt people to be a criminal. And fulfilling your obsession will recharge your power.”

Danny was slow to process. And soon, the way he thought through it transitioned to plans. He pursed his lips as he thought of it all, but eventually shook his head.

“Bats”

“We could speak with them.” Alfred insisted. “Go over plans and ideas. Your health is still a concern, but I highly insist that you go through with this. We are all worried for you, Master Danny. It hurts to see you suffer. Please think more about it.”

Danny remained silent. Lady Gotham stood up and the 3 pieces of furniture disappeared, Alfred starting to clean. She went up to Danny and held out her hand. Danny looked at it before reaching out his own and placing it on hers.

“You’re safe here, my wisp. Trust in my knights. You needn’t fight any longer. Only exist. Do not End yourself. You’re worth more than you believe.”

-

Bruce and Damian perked up when they came back to the cave to see Danny sitting by the computer. He was watching clips of Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian fighting. It was a nice change of pace compared to other times they interacted. It was peaceful.

“Daniel, I did not think you were interested in the cave.” Damian hummed as he walked over, taking off his mask.

Danny turned his chair and looked over at them.

“My healing is being stalled.”

They froze. Damian’s breathing had stopped before the boy convinced himself to do the breathing practices taught to him. Bruce, on the other hand, felt his heart drop. His hands trembled. The sight of Jason’s dead body flashing through his mind.

Bruce almost asked for a ‘report’. That tended to be something that calmed him and his children down enough for them to talk. But that wouldn’t work for Danny. That shouldn’t work. He hoped Danny was willing to talk more. He hoped that there was something to fix this.

“Is there anything we could do?” Bruce asked.

Danny pursed his lips, averting his eyes. Damian narrowed his eyes.

“Daniel. If there is something we could do, speak. It is troublesome as long as it is related to you.”

“Damian is right, Danny. Please. Tell us what to do.”

They got closer, practically at arms length. Damian didn’t have his domino mask on, but Bruce kept his cowl. He needed Batman. He wouldn’t be able to stay together as Bruce right now.

Danny looked up at Bruce and over at Damian before sighing.

“Lady Gotham said that I need to indulge in my obsession more. But when ghosts don’t pull back… it gets extreme. It appears unhealthy. I would…” Danny hesitated once more. “Lady Gotham and Alfred thought becoming a rogue would be the best way.”

The vigilante stood silent for a moment, Bruce processing what was told while Damian thought it through.

“Would going to the Watchtower not be enough?” Batman asked.

“He’d only crave more from there.” Damian mentioned. “What he needs is something long-term. We cannot safely allow him to go to other planets as he is now. However, if he steals and tries enough to get rid of the smog, the amount of time should be sufficient, assuming that’s how obsessions could work.”

Danny’s shoulders let go of some tension.

“The harder it is, the more it satisfies the ghost. I was thinking of targeting companies that cause air pollution. But there’s also curses, so I’ll need to work through them with magic practice.”

Bruce and Damian grimaced at the mention of magic.

“You should talk with Tim about this. He’d be able to plan out how you’d go about. Just don’t overdo it. We don’t want you to get hurt. But know that we will try to stop you.” Bruce said, taking off his cowl, smiling at his new son. “Go and design your suit. I’ll have it made. But make sure your identity is hidden, alright?”

Danny nodded and got up, leaving the 2 to clean themselves up before heading off to bed.

————————————————

Everyone in the batfam got into the vigilante business. It was just a thing. Danny broke that trend, but not the way any of them expected him to.

One day, Danny will retire. No capes, no masks. Just a civilian.

But that day will only come when his healing is finished. With how difficult it was to mend a broken core, not to mention the organs his body had put off regenerating, it would be a long time until then. Years, decades maybe.

The backstory was simple.

It was publicly known that he was a lab rat. Though they thought it was his parents had begun it from young like they had with Jazz (which was the reason why she was smart enough to skip a few classes in college, an excuse really). He’ll play into that. I want to see the sky. And he’ll be a crazy brat about it.

Commissioner Gordon had already shared with him that he had legal immunity until the acts and the GIW were fully taken down. Otherwise, he’d have to be executed under the law. In other words, any and all crimes he committed until then was permitted. He was going to use that to his advantage.

The suit was hard to come up with. He had to make it look shaggy and like normal clothing. He needed an easy to follow theme. He visited Selina and Nygma for it all. Jason came around and gave him some pointers. Tim had made him swear that he had to be on his game to not be caught early or at all. He couldn’t ask any of the bats to help, not unless his life was in danger.

Red Hood could help him.

Signal could hang out with him.

Red Robin could banter on a personal level with him.

It was difficult to get there, but the process helped feed his obsession. He was ready. He wanted to get better. He had to. He had people who care about him. He couldn’t hurt them by allowing himself to waste away, no matter how draining and painful it was to continue to heal.

He was going to get better. For them.

[nottivagos]

syn: "Poor, scared little bunny. You'll never stop running."

wc: 2.3k

tw: dark themes, +18 mdni pls and ty, stalkers, kidnapping, drugging food, manipulation, physical harm, stockholm syndrome, unhealthy relationships, obsession, overall really bad & immoral.

an: i don't really know what to put here. i really enjoyed writing this fic despite the dark aspects to it, and i'm v. thankful for the love for stalker!carlos <3

taglist: @orangeblossomsintheair

Run, Rabbit, Run. || CS55

Stillness. The only noise came from the droning ticking of the antique clock that sat on the mantelpiece, collecting dust like a chronic hoarder. Wide eyes glued to the window, hawking over the freshness of the green lawn, flurries of colour the flowers in the bed showed because of the spring bloom. It had been a while since you’d seen a flower out in the wild, you thought.

Bunnies are beautiful creatures. They go silent when they want something, or when they get hurt. Maybe that’s why forced hickeys of red and blue blotched your skin, why your hair was dishevelled and unkempt, why your pupils were dilated whilst eyes wide and lifeless as boney hands subconsciously fidgeted with the empty paper cup, ripping it into smaller pieces, as it kept trembling in your grasp.

You couldn’t remember the feeling of glass on your hands, the coolness of the material in your palms, the sensation of a distant memory. Replaced by the roughness of paper rubbing against your fingertips. Carlos said that you could be only trusted with paper. It was safer, he said. You couldn’t be trusted with glass, he said.

His rules became the norm, the changing subtleties in your routines, embedded into the back of your mind. It was as if you'd been re-wired, happily for his own dark pleasure. You didn’t mind. You’d stopped minding a while ago. He loved you, that’s all that mattered. This life was happy. Not like your one before him.

Hell, you didn’t even know anything anymore.

Brain turned to mush, conditioned to not make decisions on its own, your own life like modelling clay in his hands, this domesticated haven you were living all created by his own desire to keep you. Cherish you. Have you. 

Muddled thoughts swam constantly in your mind, causing yourself to be unable to think properly. Shaky intakes of breath following, the shallow rattling of your lungs could be heard in the lifelessness of your lounge area. Eyes continuously glued to the window, watching the people walk in the warm sun, skin slightly reddened from the rays shining down.

Arms hugged your legs as you sat on the couch, like you usually did every day. Sometimes you’d hear the subtle clang or movement from Carlos in another room, but typically it was silent. Solitary in your own home. The typical homely four walls acting like a cold prison cell, reflecting the psychological confusion simmering in your mind.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎— ⟡ — ‎‎‎‎‎‎

It was hard to pinpoint when it had started. The past fear blurred by this fantasy you were living in now, as if Carlos hadn't done all those fucked up things to you. You were the right girl, the one that came into his life at the right time too. Naive, pretty, let down by past partners— the full package of a victim prone to manipulation. 

Carlos was infatuated. Mesmerised by your presence, your beautiful smile, the giggly laughs you produced when he got you a little too drunk (on purpose of course), the way your body complimented the outfits you wore a little too well. He was a creep, a love-drunk freak. 

It was innocent, you thought. A guy actually had an interest in you! He was such a breath of fresh air to the jerks that you’d been with before. He'd even mentioned that, holding you against your words in a heated argument you’d both shared. Using your drunken, emotional words to his advantage when you'd told him all teary-eyed that someone hadn’t cared about you in this way for a long time all those months beforehand. Yes, he was a little older than you, but why did that matter? He obviously acknowledged you for yourself, and you couldn’t help but cling onto that feeling.

It definitely wasn’t odd that Carlos knew when you needed him most. Or, just affection in general. Your mind just took it as him being a caring neighbour, the gifts or little treats just out of generosity and affection. Definitely not an obsession and the messed up yearning that followed. 

He knew your schedule more than you knew it yourself; work, eat, sleep, repeat. Sometimes on the weekends you’d go for a run, probably a New Year’s Resolution, he’d inferred. You’d meet friends occasionally and host at your house, too. He knew when your face lit up at certain foods you loved as you ate them with such raw joy, the way you played some specific songs louder than others when you heard them on the radio— you gave him an inch of your happiness, and he took the whole mile.

You weren’t sure when it fully changed though, when the kind acts became more intense, more horrifying to your friends when they raised their concerns about your new ‘lover’. If you could even call him a lover, to say the least.

Carlos was charismatic, a true gentleman waiting in the wings ready for his time to pounce. It just took time. Time he didn’t want to take, but he knew he had to console the rabbit and gain their trust before making any abrupt movements. Or they’d run away. A risk not worth taking when you were so close to being in his grasp forever. The lengthy process was like you, an innocent bunny timidly chewing on grass, whilst his wolf hid away, contemplating on when to pounce. 

And when he did, he thought it was beautiful. It was so refreshing that you’d complied with such ease. You’d spent the evening together, Carlos innocently offering to cook a meal for you both as he’d witnessed your fatigued body trudge into your home. The thought was kind — well to you, at least — but the motive behind the action was far from it.

All he had to do was slip a few sleeping pills into your food and you were gone! The sight was beautiful to see. His eyes darkening at the realisation that his plan was working ever so smoothly with no interruptions made a little smirk appear on his lips as he watched you ever so intently. The increased drowsiness added to your already underlying tiredness, and you were even a sweetheart for incoherently mumbling that you “could finish your food” when he asked if you needed to rest.

A broken phone now smashed on his dining room table as you finally fell into a deep slumber, it wasn’t as if you’d need that again, that would be living in the past, not in the present with him. And only him. He’d made sure to get you another one, of course, he’d even gone out of his way to contact your parents that you were “going away on a business trip for a few weeks”! Little did your parents know they’d never see their little girl ever again.

The rest you didn’t know. Your head lulled downwards as soft snores followed. Carlos’s large arms came to cradle you, hands clawing underneath your thighs as he rested your snoozing self to his chest. Watching you sleep in his embrace was angelic, a sight he aspired to remember forever and have burned into his dark mind, the car ride to your new life made him giddy with excitement distorted with the acknowledgement that you’d never be out of his grasp. Always his, forever.

His little bunny, so innocent and fragile, that he was going to provide a better life for. Like the wolf of him should. To guard and protect before fully going in for the kill. He’d taken your aspirations for living in “a little quaint cottage in the middle of nowhere” literally. He wanted anything for his girl, and if that would make her happy, he’d happily make it happen for you.

— ⟡ —

Stockholm Syndrome was the best way to explain your reality from then on. You'd developed a little coping mechanism to help ‘count down’ the days until someone came to save you, but in all, you'd just trauma bonded with Carlos instead. You'd come to sympathise with him, this ‘life’ he'd created for you actually painting itself as heaven. A happiness you couldn't describe as your old life faded into nothing. 

The barrages of “you know I love you, right?” and the desperate “don’t leave me please” burnt into your mind. The empowering guilt behind his pathetic pleads entrapped you more than Carlos physically did, and you couldn’t help but feel ashamed of your selfishness for wanting to run away. So you learnt to stay silent. Just like Carlos wanted.

You were so sucked into your thoughts that you didn’t even acknowledge Carlos coming into the room. Your nails hovered in front of your mouth, the nervousness in your stomach churning into acid in your stomach, your cuticles practically begging to be chewed to alleviate the stress and confusion swallowing your thoughts whole.

”Princesa, you’re thinking again,” the thick accent cooed from beside you, cupping the shredded remnants of your once-used cup from your lap, before discarding them on the wooden coffee table beside him. ”Tell me what’s wrong,” his voice was soft; caring, even, but there was definitely an undertone of a command there.

Your eyes followed the voice, daze-like as you met his doe brown gaze. Blinking, your eyes adjusted to the sight, before mumbling whilst still a little disorientated, “Nothing’s wrong. Just.. preoccupied.”

The sigh that followed was gentle, despite it having a bite of annoyance at your lie. “Come here,” he murmured in response, patting his lap with that wolfish smile, “I don’t bite.”

The first thing you learnt whilst being with Carlos. Do as you were told. If he knew what was best for you, it was the best for you. Bunnies were shy little things, they didn’t know what was right, but your wolf did. It didn’t help that you’d been craving the intimacy, which was Carlos’s initial plan, so you complied, your smaller body crawling over to his larger one, perching on his lap like it was second nature.

“Good girl,” he praised, the rumble of his low voice vibrating as you rested your back against his chest. Large hands came to rest on your thighs, the feeling of his calloused palms trapping you in his caged embrace sent bolts of electricity surging through your body.

You’d become so accustomed to the sweet nothings and gentle words that it was like a spark set off in your brain, you following the words like a moth to a flame. Hooked on his every syllable and low delivery, the fear that if you didn’t that he’d become angry. You hated when he was angry; your bunny forced into conformity, silenced and quivering in fear whilst his wolf barked, ready to eat you whole.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, right? Would you, mi vida?” he murmured again, pressing hot kisses against your jaw, the pecks causing your skin to burn with a bubbling intensity. “You know I don’t like it when you lie,” he continued, his voice holding a warning tone, you could sense that, “I care about you. There’s no need for you to lie, corazón.”

That mutter against your skin made your throat dry with fear. Wide eyes paced around your surroundings, an uncomfortable lump forming in your throat as you just let him touch you. Calloused fingertips trailed down your sides as burning lips attacked your already bruised nape, leaving even more scorching marks after subtle nips of his teeth onto your skin.

“I’m not lying,” you responded, your voice a breathy whisper as your body shivered whilst Carlos’s lips hovered over your reddened neck, hot breath fanning onto the skin. “I’m fine, honestly,” your mumble followed, trembling hands playing with the hem of your dress nervously.

He sighed again, this time more agitated as he pulled your back flush against his burly chest. “You are lying, nena,” his voice took a more harsh tone, biting back, as you watched his jaw tense subtly.

A pit of dread formed in your stomach. A sickening feeling churned and churned, your skin becoming pale at the sight of his angry state. You didn’t want him to become angry. Not again, not after last time. You’d only just healed from last time, you couldn’t go through that again. And what do pathetic little bunnies do when they’re scared and overwhelmed, unable to think for themselves, you may ask?

They cry.

The waterworks followed. Soft sobs turned into wails as your throat burned with fear, tears falling down your reddened cheeks as your hands pathetically came to wipe them away. Carlos’s eyes softened in that moment, looking down at you with a sympathetic look as you shuffled in his lap, now straddling him whilst clinging onto him.

“I’m sorry—” you hiccupped, sobs breaking your voice “—I thought, I just—” you tried to reason, your brain stopping you from comprehending your own thoughts, “I— I don’t— know—” you continued to sniffle into his chest, as a large hand came to cradle the back of your head gently.

“Oh, nena,” Carlos tutted, chin resting on the top of your head ever so slightly. “Hush, it’s okay,” he cooed, pressing a soft peck against your hair, “Shh. You don’t need to explain it right now.”

“B-but I—”

“But nothing,” his voice was stern, though it held some softness to it. “Just let me hold you, princesa. Please.”

You mustered a nod, another sniffle following as Carlos cradled him to your chest. Heart fluttering at the intimacy in that moment, you nuzzled more into him. You were such a confused little bunny, your little mental breakdown explained that even more, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d got you right where he needed you.

Innocent.

Utterly helpless.

And dependent on his every word and action.

like stalker!carlos? consider sending me an ask in my inbox to be added to the notebook! - notti <3

[skelliko]

Baji Keisuke |°- he broke up with you, but it was a mistake -- small, tiny bits of angst.

he didn't know what he was doing at all, he thought he understood but turns out he didn't. he thought he could go on with his day without having that giddy, warm feeling whenever you're mentioned or when Baji gets a vibration from his phone and without even looking to see who it's from he just knows it's you which causes a smile to creep up.

now, whenever he gets a text notification he jumps right into it thinking its you wanting him back but no, it's not you. it's some spam message or a text from one of his buds sending him homework answers that he forgot about. day instantly ruined.

he knows he's the one that ended it but why didn't you chase after him? it's a shit way to think and it doesn't make any sense at all because then what's the point in breaking up if he secretly wanted you to convince him to stay?

he regrets his decision, but also doesn't have the courage to face you again with this humiliation that only Baji, himself, has gained and caused. he didn't see the tears fall over your cheeks but he saw how you brought your hand up to your face when your back was turned. he knows you mourn in silence but looking back in that moment, he wished you to of slapped him for making that stupid statement and told him to take you back.

is that selfish of him? yes. because the only reason he broke up with you is because he was confused on what the feeling of love is supposed to feel like. in the beginning it seemed like a regular teenage romance, but as months went by he started to feel stronger emotions for you and that scared the hell out of him.

Keisuke being scared of love. he's not afraid of 50 men charging at him for a fight and it's him alone, he's not afraid of 100 either. he's not afraid of a knife battle, he's not afraid to speak up what's on his mind nor lead a large group within a gang, he's also not afraid to die for his friends. but he's afraid of love.

what is he supposed to say to get you back? 'hey I change my mind, can we get back together and cuddle? I miss your warmth' fuck no, you deserve an explanation and he's been pondering over it so much to the point where hes started to question if his heart can even beat anymore due to the distance between you both.

but is saving himself from humiliation better than losing you? no of course not. if it means to tell you how scared he was of a sappy emotion and you laugh at him then so be it if it means that he gets to see your smile, and if you don't laugh then he sure hopes you understand and don't stay consistent on being apart. cause this loneliness is becoming unbearable.

he ended up mentioning the situation to draken, why him out of everyone? cause draken has more experience with the feeling of love than anyone else. aside from takemichi but there's no way that hed be of help for Baji. and chifuyu gets all his relationship advice from his shows and books which all showcase high standards. and pah-chin is still in the middle of discovering his own feels for a certain someone.

"what the fuck Baji" are the first words that came out of Draken's mouth. it wasn't disappointed nor anger but rather a small push to get Baji actually thinking things over and becomes aware of not only his own emotions but yours as well. If Baji truly loved you then he wouldn't have waited this long, if he did then he wouldn't have even considered splitting up in the first place even if he was afraid. he could have talked his feelings out with you first but noooo he chose to go the hard way.

what the fuck indeed. he ended up being too focused on the humiliation on his side rather than the hurt on your side. now he feels like a complete douche.

sooner or later Keisuke finally managed to collect his mental strength In contacting you, he may have physical strength but his mentality is constantly going from one place to another, though with a bit of encouragement from draken he finally got over the fear. he was relieved that you hadn't blocked his number otherwise he would have to go up to you in person first and if so then he would have pondered longer.

it was a simple message but half the time simple and straightforward is enough to get the message across "hey, can we meet up? i want to explain a few things" "please" he double texted making sure that you get his notification, also wishing behind the screen that you reply soon.

he was starting to worry that you didn't want to talk things out and you were purposely ignoring him. he paced around his room, tried to listen to music to relax but then songs that you both would listen to came up and that just made him feel a lot worse, so he scraped that and started to tidy up his room. the nervous anticipation for your message kept increasing and decreasing with every little activity that he'd do to distract himself from you, it'd either make him calm for a few moments or make him remember.

but once you finally replied he couldn't have been more relaxed once you agreed, it was like a bubble popping. sure it took a few hours but baji convinced himself that you were just busy or maybe you were thinking though certain scenarios, which is what he'd do if roles were reversed. thought him thinking about it now makes him realise that he'd probably be pissed off if he was you, and the both of you were together for a reason meaning he was gonna have to face you while you're irritated.

he brought this all on himself, but he can handle you in that state, or in any state to be precise. he just wants to finally see you again and hopefully make things right.

a large mix of anxiety and excitement filled him up knowing that you both were gonna see each other face to face and talk without any more lies, he said he lost interest in you but that was far from the truth considering that he's actually gained more, and baji is almost dying to apologise to you and hopefully make things right. who knew he'd go this mad over someone.

even his mom realised the difference in Baji when you came into his life, and to now when you're out of it. she knows what happened and what Baji did since he ended up telling her after he told draken but that was mainly cause he asked about you, though that mainly just caused more confirmation of how much of a big mistake he did and sure enough after his mother's words it clicked that he needs you back more than anything. even his mom misses having you around and that's when you know it's serious.

when the time and day came he chose to walk to the meet up spot so that he can collect himself carefully and prepare his words. however on his way there he realised that he can't come empty handed with no tools to fix your heart. it'd almost make it seem like his job would be done half-assed if he went to fix something but only brought one tool. and his only tool in this scenario would be words that could be either taken lightly or with weight.

he wanted to bring you something, anything to physically show how sincere he is but he couldn't turn back to go to a flower shop and be late, that could just cause you to overthink that he doesn't actually care, plus baji wanted to be a little early to prove to you that he really does mean in wanting to explain everything.

so instead he quickly crossed the road to the opposite pathway and reached over someone's fenced, front garden that had some rose bushes and carefully snapped off the prettiest one he could find, one that he could be sure that you'd be obsessed over by how perfect the petals are. for the rest of the walk his finger tips had small, bleeding punctures from snapping off the thorns to make it safe for you to hold... that's if you accept it.

one is an odd number of roses but it's cutely appreciated either way holding one flower in your hand, two is an odd-even number of roses to have and holding just two flowers next to each other in one hand feels off, three and four are an okay amount to have but baji already spent a few dedicated minutes in trying to eye out the perfect rose. the people that own that bush should really try and take care of the roses more.

and there you are, walking right towards him, he could tell that you seem a little stiff and he doesn't blame you considering how you both last seen each other. though despite the whole reason for being here it feels almost nostalgic, because this spot is the place where you both first met where you apologised for mistaking him as someone else and here he is apologising to you in the same place for mistaking his feelings.

 ♡----

[changbinsboobs]

I have a small request, just curious, according to tarot/astrology, does skz get disgusted by menstruation, I mean, would you have sex with your girlfriend if she was on those days?

Skz stance on periods and would they do it during menstruation?

Chan - Not seeing his stance on it as much as im seeing his treatment. I would say he is caring in the area of providing physical comfort. Like he would make sure u have meds/food/blanket or some physical comforting while ur on it. Tho im not seeing anything over the top. He's just there if u need help - at an arms length distance, but lets u have ur own experience. Also not seeing him being very emotionally there.

As for sex time during it im seeing a strong no, and im seeing it being heavily cuz of something holding him back that he has no control of, my best case being possible ocd.

Lee know - He has a very mature view on menstruation and thinks of it as something feminine and divinely connected to nature. He has respect for it for sure and treats it and women with dignity. As for doing it during im not getting a definitive answer, but its rather leaning towards a no...i don't want to elaborate further but its not really about the period but more about his principles👀

Changbin - also very physical energy, similar to chan. But his is very intense - im seeing him being very protective of menstruating women around him. Im seeing him having respect for it too but not to the mature extent lee know does. For changbin its rather something thats far away from him, something he feels pretty disconnected from and it feels unknown and forreign, but he values the women around him a lot snd wants to do his best to cater to them - tho im seeing him having a tendency to get annoying cuz its visible he öacks knowledge and understanding and his approach is very physical and very...agressive? Persistant? I think he may feel a bit suffocating.

As for sex during it, im seeing him being really iffy about it in general, but if its with a woman he loves he's all in for it! He'd love the intimate, unique shared experience.

Hyunjin - Uh im seeing him being a bit appalled towards it which actually shocked me. I think he's a bit traumatized?😂🥲 idk if he had a woman around him with violent pms or something but he feels really defensive and cautious with that energy. And also i feel like he's disgusted by blood in general, so the thought of bleeding "everywhere" isn't appealing to him either, especially when the bleeding person in question has turned into a monster set on hurting him in whatever way he can (just reading the energy here).

As for sexy time im seeing a no. He probably got asked before, there for aure was some convincing but im seeing him wanting to be far away, from a safe distance while all of that is happening.

Han - He holds lots of respect and deep understanding for menstruation and women who are in that time of the month and i think his treatment is also amazing, very mature, very well educated and contrary to chan and changbin who provide more of physical support/hand - im seeing emotional support with han too. Im actually surprised with how emotionally mature this energy here feels, considering he doesn't have sisters and assumable hasnt grown up around women💗

As for sex time - yes for sure, especially if it can help relieve his girl of some tension or pain, or help her cry (u know sometime when sex is really healing it can make u cry and release trauma ir tension).

Felix - im seeing him being respectful and well mannered about it but not really involved, like i don't see him ever having a close/first hand experience with menstruation. It was always something that has been approached more on a surface level.

As for sex im seeing a strong no. Theres not much elaboration here, i think its just a no no for him cuz "thats bot something people do".

Seungmin - Isn't really all that well versed or educated with menstruation matters but is ready to help when his help is needed and im seeing him being an absolute daddy😂 idk how to explain it but u have a problem - here its fixed babe. 😂 like he doesnt really involve himself with any of that stuff, he doenst know all that much about it anyways. But he can fix ur problems just like that.

As for sex - we all know seungmin by now, he doesn't even make a difference. Sex is sex, doesn't matter if ur bleeding or not. Thats more lube for him.

I.N - He also has a bit of a similar view on it as lee know, one of it being a very divine feminine power and gift for which they deserve recognition and respect. I think he has deep rooted respect for it but nit only type of respect where ur nice and polite, but the type of respect u have for nature and what it can do, like the ocean and its depths and how it can destroy whole cities when disturbed (like a tsunami) etc. And so with that im seeing he has e certain sense of carefulness around him, as to not disturb the bleeding goddess force of nature😂 and bear her rage.

As for sex - yes of course he'd love it. Sex is sex, whats a little blood to him?!

[cinnamon-galaxies]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐢𝐫 - Part 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairings: Alastor x female reader Summary: Although Angel Dust advised you to wait a few days before you talk to Alastor, you still pull together all your strength and confront him. Warnings/Tags: female reader, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, drunk reader, reader is bisexual, jealous Alastor, hurt/comfort, emotional rollercoaster, miscommunication, drunk communication, Alastor being a lil shit, confessions, Alastor is bad at feelings, tears, and other tags that would be spoilers but aren't considered warnings Wordcount: 12k A/N: FINALLY IT’S HERE!!! 🎉🎉🎉 After months of waiting, the grand finale of ‘Caught on Air’ has finally arrived! I already warned you this chapter would be massive, and I wasn’t kidding. Brace yourselves for a 12k-word emotional rollercoaster that took me half a year to complete. (Honestly, my hyperfixation may have wavered a bit along the way… but hey, better late than never, right?) I’ll be honest – I have mixed feelings about the ending. It feels a little forced, and the writing might also be a bit choppy, but despite that, I truly hope it was worth the time waiting. Now, without further ado… enjoy! And don’t forget to leave a comment because I’d really like to know what you think.

Masterlist

   With a deep breath you reentered the club. Your heart pumped against your chest like a jackhammer, the rush of blood vibrating through your veins. To say you felt nauseous was an understatement – your stomach twisted and turned, guts tightening with almost painful pressure. 

   The more you thought about what you were about to do, the more doubts crept into your mind, telling you that this wasn't a good idea. Angel had told you to wait a few more days – to let the embarrassment of the hallway encounter die down and to sober up from your intoxicated, emotional state before you took matters in your hands. The risk of things spiraling out of hand was too high – yet you knew you had to do this. You couldn't postpone this conversation any longer if you wanted to keep your sanity. Your inner turmoil was already gnawing at your insides like a rodent that desperately wanted to escape its cage. And you didn't want that rodent to harm you any longer with its sharp, painful claws.

Angel Dust hit the nail in the head when he said you and Alastor were dancing around each other for far too long. You couldn't even remember when all of this started – when you first perceived his physical proximity not as what it was, a simple lingering touch or a flick to your nose, but as something that send shivers crawling up your spine and put you into a state that almost spiralled you out of control whenever it happened. Alastor has been anchored in your head for months now, taking over your thoughts and dreams and pushing you further into these odd cravings of his attention, his closeness, his fleeting touch… If Angel was right and the subtle signals Alastor sent were something to go by, there really was a chance that, perhaps, he was pining for you too. However, you knew the burden of making the first move rested on your shoulders. Because Alastor, emotionally constipated and guarded as he was, would never willingly put himself into such a vulnerable position. No, that wasn't his style. But you? You'd fall into his arms without hesitation, even knowing the risk of heartbreak. And tonight was the night you'd find out if Alastor truly reciprocated your feelings or if you were destined for yet another painful rejection. It was a gamble – a desperate reckless gamble – but one you were willing to take. Still, the clarity of your decision didn't ease your nerves. On the contrary, it made you feel even more agitated. The beating of your heart increasing, your breath hitching. 

   You'll regret this. You'll definitely regret this, you told yourself repeatedly, thoughts racing like a whirlwind as you approached the main room. But before you could even get close, you froze mid-step and sank against one of the walls in the hallway. Deep, shaky breaths filled your lungs while you tried to count numbers – but your mind always returned to Alastor and complicated situations. You shot a quick glance to the very spot where he had caught you pressed against the wall by Selena and closed your eyes to erase the images that appeared in front of your eyes. Another deep breath, but this time you held it in. Fingers fidgeted restless with each other, while you tried to gain some control over your shaking breaths and the visible tremble of your body. 

   Breathe in…

   Breathe out…

   Breathe in…

   This is going to be terrible.

   Your eyes snapped open almost instantly, then a deep groan of despair escaped your throat. Faces of other demons who passed by fleetingly turned into your direction and they regarded you with cocked eyebrows and disgusted expressions, but you only shot them a glare. Not helping.

   Where had that confidence gone? Only minutes ago, you'd been determined to push through, march up to Alastor, and finally confront him. You'd been lamenting your situation almost the whole evening and now you got the jitters?

   Were you just anxious about his reaction, that he might push you away or worse – laugh in your face? Or was it your intuition warning you to better keep such a sensitive subject to yourself?

   You understood Alastor's complicated personality well enough to be aware of his unpredictability and that pondering about his reaction wasn't helpful. It would only increase your discomfort, your anxiety, the crippling feeling inside your chest that made you want to throw up and just turn around and walk home.

   “He’s been starin’ at ya all night – and not just tonight, but for a while now,” Angel's voice reverberated in your head and you swallowed as you suddenly remembered even more words the spider demon said, “Also, ya never noticed the way he handles ya? Caressin’ ya cheek like silk, toots. That guy’s all over you. And you never noticed?!”

   You took a deep breath. This has been a statement so convincing, it has given you enough strength to at least consider approaching Alastor. Because deep down you knew that Angel was right. He was always right about matters like this. It’s as if he had some kind of a sixth sense for affectionate behavior – even if it was as subtle as Alastor tried to keep all the hints that might give away what he thought or felt. He wore that mask like he was born with it, with such infuriating ease.

   He won’t come at you first, you thought again and swallowed because you knew you were right. He would never approach you first, let alone talk about such an emotional topic that would put him in a vulnerable position and would most probably lead to a lack of control. Would he try to avoid the topic? Would he respond with cryptic and unhelpful responses? Most probably. You had to be prepared for anything that might not be the answer you seeked.

   Wait – didn't you just come to the conclusion that it was unhelpful to ponder his response? Damn. You were a mess. Maybe you should really take your time and wait until the right moment come. But what if it never came?

   Fuck.

   This was too much for what was supposed to be nothing but a simple night out to enjoy with your friends and colleagues. Drinking, laughing, dancing. That was the original plan. Not kissing a stranger, get caught by no other than Alastor himself and have an emotional breakdown over this situation for the rest of the evening just because you were blinded by love and convinced his reaction was out of character.

   With a painful bite into your lip you stifled a scream that was so close to free itself from its confines deep within that hurricane made from desperation and uncertainty. But not even the ache as you pierced your skin did soothe your nerves. Not even the metallic taste of blood on your tongue distracted the whirlwind of thoughts for even a second. Maybe you really, truly, actually were going insane. That’s why you needed to take that step. No matter how dangerous it was, how high the probability was that the evening would end in one of the worst heartbreaks of your whole existence. Because never before had you felt such alarming kinds of feelings for someone – or at least you couldn’t remember.

   You had to do this.

   You really had to do this.

   It was now or never.

   Now or never.

   Now or never…

   Before you could even process your thoughts, you suddenly found yourself standing in front of the lounge area. The lively crowd around you was lost in their own world made of carefree joy that it sharply contrasted the chaos inside your head. The lighthearted chatter and music that filled the space around you seemed so distant, like another world entirely. How in the Hell had you even ended up here? You didn’t know. Everything felt like a blur, as if your feet had moved without your permission, carrying you to this place without any real intention.

   With a deep breath, you scanned the surrounding seats and tables until your eyes fell on a familiar demon with a red pinstripe coat and striking red hair. He sat there with a drink in his hand, his posture almost painfully straight and a toothy grin plastered on his face that was as hard to read as always. Maybe you should get something to drink first. If this conversation really turned out as uncomfortable and embarrassing as you expected, you could at least drown your embarrassment in alcohol. Only a few hours and you’ve sunk so low…

   Without further hesitation you walked over to the very bar that has fulfilled your social need over the course of this whole evening. First, you’ve met Selena as you stood here, a little too alcohol infused, then you spend at least one hour yapping at Angel about that annoying topic you just now decided to call ‘the radio dilemma’.

   “Watcha wanna drink?” the barkeeper suddenly asked, interrupting your train of thoughts and you blinked a few times as you tried to quickly come up with an idea.

   “Uhm…” you hesitated. “Something strong. I don’t really care. Surprise me.”

   The barkeeper nodded as if he’d heard that very same request dozens of times before and turned away. While you waited for him to prepare your mystery drink, you turned around and scanned the surroundings again. You noticed Angel Dust in the distance, caught up in a conversation with Husk who seemed anything but pleased with the way the spider leaned into his personal space, winking and waving his hands in suggestive gestures. You rolled your eyes and continued your survey until you found the other residents. Charlie and Vaggie were seated in a different lounge area, excitedly chatting with an unknown individual who – much like Husk – seemed to be wishing himself far away. Without question another of Charlie’s desperate attempts to hire new guests.

   With a snicker, you watched them for a few more seconds until you moved your gaze away, quickly looking over to Alastor who hasn’t moved an inch since you last looked at him.

   A poke into your shoulder and you got ripped out of your thoughts for the nth time tonight. “Ahm… girl?”

   You spun around, confused, then smiled shyly as you recognized the barkeeper who looked at you with annoyance. 

   “Your drink,” he mumbled, handing you a glass with some colorful creamy contents.

   “Thank you,” you responded. Drinking card held out, sum crossed out. Then, with the new drink in hand, you slipped away to the lounge area Alastor was seated in.

   A glance at him, a deep breath. It was now or never.

   Now.

   Or never.

   Approaching him, you nervously cleared your throat and took a sip from your drink. “Uhm… Alastor?”

   Immediately, his gaze snapped to you, and your heart skipped a beat. His crimson eyes seemed to bore into your soul with a chilling intensity, leaving you frozen under their weight as you fought to keep your fragile composure. You swallowed hard, trying to ease the lump forming in your throat, and unconsciously tightened your grip on your cocktail as if it could somehow lend you the strength you so desperately needed to hold this conversation.

   “Ah, cher, back from your... escapades, are we?” Alastor's sharp voice cut through the ambient music, his grin stretching wider, revealing the dangerous sets of sharp teeth behind his thin lips. Yet it didn’t reach his eyes. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” His words were laced with exaggerated cheer, but the sharp edge beneath his tone betrayed him.

   You bit your lip. The sting of your fangs piercing the delicate skin grounded you for a moment as guilt welled up inside you. So he was upset. Of course he was – you’d been avoiding him all evening, despite being the one to convince him to come to this club in the first place. So your concern from earlier was actually justified…

   Letting out a sigh, you turned your face away, unable to meet his fiery gaze that seemed to pierce through every wall you had carefully built. His crimson eyes burned with an intensity that felt impossible to withstand.  “Look, I’m sorry, Alastor. I didn’t mean to ignore you, I–”

   “Got distracted by your dear friend, hmm?” he interjected with a dry, clipped laugh, his tone hovering between sardonic amusement and something far more cutting.

   Heat surged into your cheeks at his blunt acknowledgment of the obvious, staining your face with a red hue which you hoped he’d attribute to the alcohol coursing through your veins. But even as embarrassment threatened to pin you down, you forced yourself to face him again, meeting his unyielding grin with narrowed eyes. “Don’t do that,” you said, your voice tight with irritation and a faint edge of pleading. The emotional toll of the evening had already pushed your nerves to their limit, leaving little patience for his games.

   Alastor tilted his head, his grin never faltering. You could see the wheels turning in his head as he prepared another witty retort. But before he could speak, you raised a hand sharply to cut him off, a rare assertiveness seeping into your voice, “Don’t you dare guilt-trip me. I can’t… I can’t deal with that right now.”

   Taking a deep, shaky breath, you dropped your gaze to the drink in your hand, the glass suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. Biting down on the straw, you took a long sip of your Piña Colada, letting its sweet, tropical flavor momentarily distract you. But the weight of his gaze quickly dragged you back to reality, and you forced yourself to continue. “I came here to apologize and to–”

   “To what?” he pressed, his tone sharp enough to make your heart skip a beat.

   “Could you please stop interrupting me?!” you snapped, frustration bubbling over, and the sharpness in your voice surprised even yourself. “It’s already hard enough for me to approach you at all! Not that talking to you is hard – it’s just…” You faltered, searching for the right words before your voice grew softer, “I’m sorry. For everything. I didn’t mean to forget about you and… and I didn’t mean for you to see me with Selena…”

   Your voice trailed off into a whisper as shame washed over you. You could feel his gaze burn into you, stripping away every layer of composure you tried to cling to and the silence between you grew heavy, charged with tension. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice whispered that he was enjoying your discomfort. Sadistic prick he was, relishing every second of your vulnerability…

   Suddenly, his chuckle broke the quiet, a sound that was equal parts infuriating and oddly reassuring, yet confirmed your assumption. You turned to him, disbelief etched across your face. “Are you seriously laughing right now?”

   Alastor leaned back in his seat, his expression smug as his shoulders shook with quiet amusement. Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he said, “My dear, I’m just messing with you.”

   You blinked, stunned by his words.

   His grin widened with sadistic glee before softening. Though ‘soft’ for Alastor was still a far cry from genuine kindness. He was a narcissistic asshole after all and while that thought crossed your mind, you questioned for a quick second why it had to be him out of all denizens in Hell who made your heart flutter and heat rise into your cheeks with the mere notion of his proximity. Maybe – just maybe – if this conversation turned out to be an absolute catastrophe, you could hold onto that thought while you fought to get over him and his (most probably) heartless rejection.

   You resisted the urge to shake your head and instead chewed on your lip for the nth time this evening. You were overthinking again.

   The static in Alastor’s voice faded slightly as he raised his glass in a casual toast. “And you seem to forget that I’ve already told you there’s no need to apologize. You’re free to do whatever – or whoever – you please.”

   Despite his jab, his words cut deeper than you expected, leaving a dull ache in your chest. You looked down at your drink, swirling the liquid absently as you tried to gather your thoughts. “It’s not that simple, Alastor…”

   “Oh?” His grin turned curious, a spark of something unreadable flashing in his crimson eyes. “Then, by all means, do enlighten me.”

   You let out a deep sigh and focused your attention again on the glass clutched between your hands. He really had to make this anything but easy for you… Swallowing once, twice, you held your breath for a minute while your thoughts roamed in a chaotic mess you barely managed to sort through. It was so much – so much you wanted and needed to say but didn’t find the courage for because the possibility of messing everything up was so high you felt as if balancing on threads that might rip every second – and your friendship with the other demon apart with them. He was your friend, right…?

   For fucks sake, you couldn’t even be sure about that, could you? You and Alastor were close and distant at the same time. He let you in while pushing you further away with every glimpse he allowed you to take behind his facade, yet there were days he approached you with such softness it made you melt away like ice in a desert.

   ‘Caressin’ ya cheek like silk, toots’, Angel’s words reverberated in your head again, almost mocking you in your insecurity. Why did feelings have to be so complicated? Why was the man in front of you so complicated? Why couldn’t he just let you be sure he cared for you the way you cared for him? And if not with the same intensity you did, then at least in a platonic way? Memories of tender moments between you and Alastor flashed before your eyes. How he smiled at you when he thought no one would see, how he teased you in a way that resembled the playful love between siblings, yet carried a warmth and depth that hinted at something far more intimate in the quietest of moments.

   ‘He’s all over you’. Yet, he pushed you away every time after he allowed you to see a part of him no one else knew existed. He would shove you away, retreating into his familiar mask of indifference and control, leaving you grasping at the fragments of the connection that had felt so real in the fleeting moments before. The distance he placed between you left your heart feeling like an empty shell, hollow and abandoned, drained of all its vital crimson blood.

   “Don’t pretend you don’t care,” you murmured without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them. As soon as they hung in the air, regret struck like a lightning bolt. You kept your gaze locked on your drink, avoiding the weight of his reaction. What has possessed you to say that?

   You didn’t notice how his ears twitched slightly and betrayed the flicker of interest your words sparked. He cocked his head, his brows knitted together just enough to convey confusion without a hint of condescension. “Pardon?” he asked, his tone calm but inquisitive.

   You blinked, mentally kicking yourself for your loose tongue. Sucking in a breath, you bit down on your lower lip, stealing a moment to gather your courage. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his, only to find genuine puzzlement etched across his features. The rare glimpse of unguarded confusion startled you, momentarily breaking the tension tightening your chest.

   “What I mean is…” you began, your voice shaky as you straightened your back in a weak attempt to project confidence. “You seem upset.”

   “Upset?” He laughed, the sound buzzing with static. “Why, whatever gave you that idea?” His already arched brow lifted higher, and the flicker of amusement in his crimson eyes made your heart skip a beat before it increased the speed with which it hammered in your chest. Every instinct screamed for you to retreat, to stand up from your seat and flee the conversation entirely. But you needed answers. So you stayed in your seat despite the battle raging in your head, clutching your drink tighter and holding onto the glass like a lifeline – knuckles white from the pressure. You must’ve looked pathetic – sitting there in front of the Radio Demon, all flustered and fragile, about to spill out your heart to him of all people.

   “Look, Alastor…” you began again, clearing your throat with a forced cough to mask your nerves. “I noticed your discomfort when… well, you know…”

   “When I caught you in the middle of a tryst?” he finished for you, the words rolling off his tongue with unnerving ease, his smile stretching wider again.

   Your mouth opened to object, but the words died before they could form. Closing it again, you lowered your gaze, too embarrassed to respond.

   A soft chuckle broke the silence like static crackling on an old radio. His expression softened, the mask of unbothered amusement sliding effortlessly back into place. Waving a hand as if brushing away your awkwardness, he said, “My dear, you seem to forget that I come from a time when such… frivolities… were considered scandalous. Particularly in public venues.” His tone was light and dismissive, but as he spoke, you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth and a flicker in his ears that betrayed something deeper beneath the surface.

   “Are you sure it’s only that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, unconvinced. You knew he was a master of masking his emotions, but tonight, you were determined to push past his defenses, pull away the mask and expose what lay beneath. Or at least, that’s what you originally had intended because your momentary lack of self-confidence made it anything but easy.

   Alastor tilted his head again, his thick red hair shifting with the motion, and blinked at you as though genuinely surprised. But you weren’t fooled. Something about his reaction only strengthened your resolve, the feeling that told you there was more to his behavior than he let on. For once, you weren’t going to let him sidestep the issue. Not this time.

   “I noticed the way you looked at me in the hallway,” you pressed, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “And I see how you’re looking at me now. That wasn’t just startled… or dismissive…”

   “Oh?” His ears perked up. “Then, pray tell, what is it you're so convinced to be seeing?” he challenged, his tone as smooth as silk as he leaned slightly forward, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers. “You’re a grown woman, free to make your own choices. If anything, I found it… amusing.”

   “You don’t have to act like it didn’t bother you,” you deadpanned, your gaze unrelenting.

   Another dry laugh escaped his throat and his grin broadened to reveal the sharp gleam of his teeth.

   “You were upset,” you pressed, “and now you’re just trying to laugh it off like it didn’t matter.”

   “Because it doesn't.”

   You blinked, unsure how to interpret his words. Was this another one of his typically dismissive retorts, or was there a kernel of truth in what he’d said? Before you could decipher their meaning, he continued, his voice soft but edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

   “If you’re hoping for some dramatic confession, my dear, you’ll find none here,” he said, his crimson gaze boring into yours with dangerous intensity. “Whatever you think you saw was merely a fragment of your imagination. I assure you, I was… mildly inconvenienced at best.”

   You felt every single of his words cut through your chest and right into your heart, sharp and fast like a killer’s knife, and you clenched your jaw. “You don’t mean that.” Your voice was low, almost weak.

   “What would you have me say, my dear?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as his gaze dug through every layer of your (not so) well-maintained facade. “That I was overcome with jealousy? That watching you with her left me boiling with rage? Such melodrama!” He paused for a moment, the silence between you seemingly stretching to eternity even though it didn’t linger longer than just a few meaningless seconds. The sharpness and intensity of his gaze made your blood run cold and you held your breath, anxious about what came next.

   “Jealousy,” he mused, his voice dropping an octave as the dangerous glint in his eyes momentarily faded. “Such a petty emotion. Hardly fitting for someone like me, wouldn’t you agree?”

   “Stop it,” you interjected sharply, but Alastor ignored you, pressing on with his cutting monologue.

   “And you, my dear, are clearly drunk. Intoxicated to the brim and emotional like a–” he paused, letting the insult linger unspoken before continuing, “I care about many things. How dreadfully boring most of this club is, for instance. But I couldn’t care less about your sources of entertainment.”

   “I said, stop it, Alastor!” you snapped, your voice rising with a venom that surprised even yourself.

   Alastor froze, his smile faltering as he raised a brow in that infuriatingly mocking way like ever so often. The sight only stoked the flames of your anger further.

   “Stop deflecting!” you barked, leaning forward as your temper boiled over. “You’re only trying to avoid the topic. But you won’t brush me off so easily this time. I–” You faltered, swallowing hard before regaining your resolve. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of this–” Your hand shot out, gesturing wildly between the two of you. “Whatever this is between us! This… push and pull!”

   Alastor blinked, his expression unreadable as he straightened his posture. He loomed over you now, a threatening figure radiating danger. “Push and pull?” he echoed, his head tilting as if feigning innocence.

   “You know exactly what I mean, Alastor,” you hissed, leaning closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t keep pretending that there’s nothing between us. Not when you – when we…”

   “When we what?” he interjected smoothly, though his tone carried a dangerous edge.

   Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not in the mood for your games. So cut it out and listen to me.”

   “I am listening,” he replied evenly, his grin sharpening.

   “Even if you are, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re not taking this seriously.”

   “Why should I? I fail to see the reason for your… distress.”

   “Because I’m sick of it, Alastor!” Your voice rang out, loud enough to draw the attention of nearby demons. Their heads turned your way before they quickly averted their gazes as soon as they realized just who you were arguing with.

   Alastor’s grin widened, and that unnerving smile of his only pushed you further toward the edge of your fraying patience.

   “You really should pay closer attention to your drinking habits, my dear. You’re completely wasted,” he quipped, his tone light and dismissive, as if the whole situation left him completely unfazed.

   Your eye twitched and you clenched your fists. “God damn it, Alastor, can you please take this conversation seriously for once?!”

   “This is a nightclub,” he drawled, gesturing around with a casual wave of his hand. “Hardly the place for heavy discussions, wouldn’t you agree?”

   “I don’t give a single damn!” you hissed, voice low and dangerous. The tension in the air was so palpable it felt like a string about to snap. At this point you felt like you were dangling at the edge of insanity. One more push and you might actually lose it.

   “Really, darling,” he said with mock concern. “Such passion! But perhaps you should consider calming down before you make a scene.”

   That one's nearly done it. You clenched your jaws together, biting your tongue in the process. The drink in your hand was long forgotten as well as the surrounding ambience of chattering and loud music. It was clear he savored every second of your distress and it unnerved you even further. This clearly had been a horrible idea. And not even your intoxicated state was the reason…

   With that thought in mind, you noticed that not even postponing would’ve prevented this conversation from a similar outcome. It was Alastor who you were confronting here, after all. Probably one of the least empathetic people in Pentagram City.

   “I'm serious, Alastor. This ain't funny. I really need to talk with you about this,” you murmured defeated as your tone shifted from one extreme to another – now weak and desperate. “I need an answer…”

   A moment of silence lingered between you in which you already started to believe this conversation had come to a dead end, when he suddenly countered,  “And what would you do with that answer, hmm? Would it soothe your restless heart? Or would it only complicate things further?”

   “I don’t care…” you muttered under your breath. For a moment, you hesitated as you contemplated the right choice of words or if you should just give up, stand from your seat and walk away. “Alastor.”

   His ears twitched.

   “I really need to figure out where I stand with you. Because–” you swallowed hard, “Because I’m tired of trying to figure it out while you push me away just to pull me close again whenever it suits you best. I…” – A deep breath – “I know who you are… how you are and who you pretend to be… but please, for once, stop deflecting or playing your stupid games and just tell me the truth…”

   Alastor just stared at you with an unreadable expression. He still held his drink in one of his hands, though his knuckles didn’t whiten nor did the slightest change in his expression hint at anything. If you didn’t know it better you would say he behaved like a deer in the headlights. But the headlights were you, weak and all vulnerable in front of one of Hell’s most feared overlords. And maybe you just lost him completely…

   “Why are you so insistent on this, my dear?” he suddenly asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice was smooth like silk, the static giving it a subtle rasp. And, for the first time this evening, his expression was neither dark nor cold nor all mischievous, but filled with sheer curiosity and maybe even a hint of concern. 

   “Because…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Because I think… I think you care about me more than you’re willing to admit.”

   Alastor’s ears twitched again but this time the corners of his lips moved in sync as if struck a nerve. The static grew louder, and Alastor’s grin twisted into something strained. “You presume much, my dear.”

   “Do I?" you challenged, your voice shaking. “Then tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t feel anything for me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

   “Is this a confession? I must say, I’m flattered, though I do hope you’re not expecting me to–.”

   “It is,” you interrupted him sternly, your gaze unrelenting as it bore into his. “It is a confession, Alastor.”

   He blinked.

   Defeated, you decided now was the time to just spill it all out. You let out a sigh and rested your head in the palm of your hand before you stuttered, “I… I see something in you…” Your voice trailed off. “I… I see you as more than just the Radio Demon, or the cruel sociopath you pretend to be… You… you allowed me glimpses behind your facade, to see the man you truly are. And I… I care about him… I… I care about you, Alastor… and I hate to question everyday if you might feel the same about me because whenever we’re alone you behave like a completely different person… Even Angel Dust and the others took notice of your behavior in my presence… You… You give me signs, Alastor. Only to pretend nothing ever happened whenever you notice you might’ve gone too personal… You showed me a side of you that made me feel special…” Your voice trailed off again and you closed your eyes, afraid of the outcome – and afraid to see his reaction. You didn’t want to know what he must’ve thought of you right now. That was probably the turning point where he eventually understood you were more pathetic than you let on… Was he disappointed in you now? Disappointed that you, as his friend, initially fell for his charm as well? That you were nothing better than all those women swooning for that reserved, unavailable and emotionally constipated demon…?

  The silence between you stretched longer and longer, the booming sounds of the club replaced by static buzzing in your ears. Your surroundings became foggy, as if a veil wrapped around your world, shielding you away with your own misery as you blended out everything. Not even Alastor was there – or at least you forgot about his presence for this moment. Only the rapid beating of your heart in your chest reminded you that you were still a living being, yet the pulse itself felt like a mocking sensation that did just so much as to remind you of what you just did. Seconds stretched into minutes and the tension in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Silently, you pleaded. Maybe even prayed – you didn’t know. You didn’t know anything. Only, that you fucked up.

   “You truly are a glutton for punishment, my dear,” Alastor’s voice cut through the silence.

   You snapped your head up, meeting his gaze with a surge of frustration that welled up inside you. His words echoed in your mind, taunting you. “What does that mean?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

   “It means that you are spending far too much time getting hung up on things that are not worth questioning,” he replied smoothly, his tone betraying no emotion.

   His words struck you like a blow that would’ve swept you right off your feet if you weren’t already seated. They hurt, sharp and deliberate, leaving you with even more questions clawing at the edges of your mind. “‘Not worth questioning’...?” you echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

   “Indeed,” Alastor confirmed, his demeanor unflinching. “You presume too much, my dear. What I feel is irrelevant.” His voice was cold, his face set into a stern mask. But his eyes flickered with something that betrayed his mask. Something raw and buried – a truth he fought to suppress. “Feelings are fleeting. They mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

   For a moment you just reflected his words, gnawing at your lip to distract yourself from the stabbing ache in your chest that threatened to leave you breathless.

   You bit your lip, trying to distract yourself from the suffocating ache in your chest, as his words cut through you.

   “You see only what I allow you to see,” he continued, his claws digging into the armrest of his chair. “The charming smile, the witty repartee. But what lies beneath that…” He trailed off, his voice heavy with something unspoken. “It doesn’t matter.”

   For a moment you just stared at him, took in his posture, his expression, the visible fight it took him to keep up with whatever mask he forced onto himself. Then, after a while, you broke the silence, desperation bleeding into your tone, “Why can’t you just be honest with me, Alastor?”

   He chuckled, though it wasn’t even slightly as weightless as it normally sounded. “Because honesty is a luxury I cannot afford,” he replied, the ever-present grin faltering for the briefest of moments. Then, his next words fell like a hammer, crushing whatever fragile hope lingered in your chest, “And you, my dear, seem far too eager to tether yourself to a fantasy. So, tell me, cher, are you truly so desperate for my affection? That you waste your breath on such a pointless discussion and spend an evening out pestering yourself with such insignificant matters? All because of me disrupting some inappropriate public actions of yours?”

   His words struck you like a brick, leaving your chest hollow and aching. Dagger after dagger seemed to pierce through your heart and shatter whatever fragile mess was left during this conversation, the ache radiating through every fiber of your being. “This is just another game for you, isn’t it?” you asked, your voice trembling with frustration and hurt. “You’ve always been toying with me, haven’t you? Pretending to care just to make me squirm, to keep me exactly where you wanted. To make me your goddamn plaything!”

   Alastor’s grin widened unnaturally, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. His sharp teeth glistened, the edges more predatory than ever as the static around him intensified. The sound sent an unnatural chill down your spine, mingling unease with the heartache that threatened to consume you. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Everything’s a game, darling,” he said lowly, his tone both mocking and threatening, a dark amusement laced in every syllable.

   Tears welled up in your eyes and your throat slowly constricted painfully, suffocating you by leaving barely any space to breathe. “So, you’re just toying with me,” you whispered, the tremor in your voice giving way to anger. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you – a pawn in your game. Something to manipulate, something to amuse yourself with when you’re bored!”

   You jumped up from your chair, pushing it back with such a force that it scratched over the floor with an ear-wrecking sound that almost resembled the feeling of your heart crumbling to pieces. The tears you’ve been so forcefully holding back suddenly spilled from your eyes and ran down your cheeks like a mockery of your vulnerability. You just bared your whole heart to him, poured out your deepest hidden feelings, a secret you so carefully hid from him over the course of what felt like an eternity. Just for him to tear it out and shred it to pieces with his bare claws and teeth like an animal feasting on its prey. You told him how you felt about him, told him how much you cared about him, confessed to him… Just to find out that you meant less than nothing to him. That he’s been toying with you all the time, using you for his own sick and sadistic pleasure, his amusement in this afterlife he claimed was oh so boring…

   You shot him a last glare before you whipped around and fled from the scene, past the dancefloor and the crowd of people that enjoyed the very evening that turned into your own personal Hell. Oh, how ironic it was. Everything. The establishment, the circumstances, the random music in the club pounding with a bass and the sound of a woman singing about being hung up on the one she loves… This felt like a joke. A bad, terrible and tasteless joke. As if fate took everything in its force to make you suffer and question everything you felt and experienced. Memories with Alastor played in front of your inner eyes, one clip after another being played in timelapse, the film exchanged quickly after a few seconds:

   You and him laughing, spending time in the privacy of his quarters or going out into the city.

   A long, lingering gaze as he regarded you with affection behind those blood red orbs as he took your hand in his and pulled you into a lively dance. You remembered how focused you used to be at that moment. He was the only person existing in this moment as the both of you swung to the jazzy tunes in Mimzy’s Club.

   Then, the memory disappeared and got exchanged with another in which you sat at Husk’s bar in the lobby, playing with the rim of your glass after a terrible day. Alastor had appeared behind you – as he so often did – and seated himself into the stool right next to you with that toothy grin of his. He was there for you, when you felt the need for distraction. As if he had sensed your unease but instead of taunting you he always just pulled you into a conversation that made you forget about your problems completely.

   There was so much he’d done for you – tiny, meaningful gestures you now knew were nothing but calculated moves to manipulate you into believing you were special to him.

   “Caressin’ ya cheek like silk, toots…” Angel’s words repeated themselves again. What used to be a sentence that gave you the strength to finally pull through and confront him, was now a mockery of your actions, a taunting joke to remind you of how just wrong you were all this time…

   You didn’t even notice how you pushed the door to the hallway open so forcefully for it to crash against the wall and startle loitering demons. Gazes followed as you stomped into the hallway, sniffling and sore, eyes red and burnt from the sheer amount of tears pouring down your cheeks like waterfalls. Your breath hitched and you could barely breathe, though you didn’t care about the suffocation nor how much it hurt to force yourself into taking breaths.

   It was all a lie.

   Everything was a lie.

   He used you.

   He used you like he probably used everyone.

   You meant nothing to him but mere amusement.

   He pretended to care about you, to maybe even reciprocate your hopeless feelings that clung to you for months, maybe even a year. Feelings that made you look at him through heart shaped glasses, with a clouded sense of judgement. You’d believed in the truth of what you were seeing. You’d trusted him and loved him with all your heart. You would’ve burned the world for him if it meant he could be yours. And you’ve fallen for every single of his schemes. Fell for his manipulation, his bad intentions veiled by his charming nature. You were an idiot. A fool. And no better than all those other girls whose hearts he’d broken in the past. The girls he either complained or laughed about. Wasn’t it obvious? You should’ve seen the signs. Yet, you’d deluded yourself into a fantasy that couldn’t be further from reality. With all fiber of your being you felt nothing but utterly betrayed.

   Suddenly you bumped into a firm chest and startled. As you looked up, you met the sneering expression of an unfamiliar demon who scrunched up his nose in disgust of your pathetic appearance. Under different circumstances you would’ve felt insulted. But right now you couldn’t care less.

   “Excuse me…” you mumbled with a trembling voice, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. You were worried he would attack you with a nasty remark. But instead, he just glared at you with raised eyebrows and shook his head while he walked away, leaving you all alone.

   Thrown back into reality, you blinked, trying to figure out where you were. You could still hear the sound of the music in the near distance, so you couldn’t have made it far from the club. In fact, you still were in the club – the hallway to be precise. The very same hallway that brought you into this situation at all.

   You spun around to make out the direction you were walking and your eyes landed on another door that marked the outside area where you had gone to get some fresh air and where you’d said goodbye to Selena.

   Selena. You hoped she arrived at home unharmed. Maybe tomorrow you could send her a message to let her know that – well, not that the evening turned out to be your own personalized purgatory.

   Shaking your head you tried to dismiss the thoughts of her, yet everything that has unfolded this evening repeated itself in your head: The arrival at the club, dancing and drinking with Angel, meeting Selena, the little makeout sesh only a few feet away from where you stood right now, Alastor catching you, your rambling to Angel at the bar and him encouraging you to confront the other man, you going outside, Selena unraveling the truth about your and Alastor’s connection within seconds, you at the bar again to get a drink right before you approached Alastor, the initial fallout…

   You closed your eyes and wiped away your tears in a hurry, a loud sniff sounding through the hallway as you breathed in sharply through your nose. That was enough. You had to get some grip again. You were in the middle of a club, after all. Right in the middle of Hell, with demons ready to use your vulnerability for their own profit lurking everywhere around you.

   The room spun around you as you desperately clung to your breath, trying to control every deep inhale and long exhale. Your body shook and trembled from the emotional chaos while you tried to get rid of your tears – but the flood didn’t stop. The pain was too fresh, too deep. And for a moment you considered returning to the hotel. But you couldn’t go without letting the others know. And you most definitely didn’t want them to see you that way because they’d ask you questions you’d have to answer.

   Damn it, you were fucked.

   You noticed a shadow move in the corner of your eye and held your breath as it morphed into shape and Alastor stepped out. Your heart dropped immediately.

   “You know, my dear, it’s pretty rude to just run away from a conversation. Especially when things were just getting… interesting,” he said, his voice smooth as if he didn’t just tear your whole world into pieces.

   “Fuck off,” you hissed, not even turning to face him. The sound of his voice was enough to make your stomach twist with rage and hurt.

   Alastor clicked his tongue dismissively. “My, my, such a sharp tongue. Rudeness certainly doesn’t suit you.”

   “You’re one to talk,” you shot back through gritted teeth, your voice trembling under the weight of your emotions.

   Alastor tilted his head in confusion but you didn’t see it, still facing away from him. Part of you wanted him to see your tear-streaked face and recognize what he had done to you. But the rational part of you knew better. He’d only use it as ammunition for another tasteless remark – or worse, twist it into an opportunity to manipulate you further. Who knew, maybe he’d even try to strike a deal with you – but that would be pretty tasteless, even for him.

   “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow,” he replied, his voice infuriatingly calm.

   You didn’t say anything and instead wrapped your arms around your chest, fighting against the urge to yell at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you unravel.

   “I said, fuck off, Alastor,” you repeated venomously, each word sharper than the last.

   Alastor raised an eyebrow, entirely unfazed. His voice dropped an octave, laced with cruel amusement. “Why so dramatic, darling? Did this truly mean so much to you that my words have cut this deep?”

   You snapped. Whirling around, your face flushed red almost instantly with a sudden burst of rage, morphing into a slightly more demonic form with your claws growing and hairs standing to all sides. And then, you exploded. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” you shouted, your voice cracking under the sheer force of your anger. The dam broke, and every ounce of hurt and frustration came pouring out in a relentless torrent. “You just told me you’ve been using me this whole time! That you don’t care about me, or anything we’ve shared, and that I’m not even worth knowing the truth! You’ve been pretending all along! Making me believe I mattered! Making me think there was something real between us! I opened up to you, Alastor! I told you how I felt, I confessed my fucking feelings to you! And you?! You twisted it all into some fucked-up game! You didn’t even take me seriously for a second! Do you even understand how much courage it took to open up to you?! Do you even know what it’s like to be fooled by someone you trust? By someone you love?!” Your voice cracked as you continued, tears blurring your vision as they relentlessly streamed down your face. “You meant the world to me, Alastor! I’ve never cared for anyone like this before, and now you’re standing there, acting like I’m some pathetic fool for ever believing you might have cared too. That any of it was real. That you–” You choked on your words, chest heaving as you took in a breath.

   Through it all, Alastor didn’t flinch. His grin remained fixed though it twisted slightly at the edges, betraying a flicker of unease. He leaned casually on his cane, exuding an infuriatingly calm demeanor as he patiently waited for your outburst to end.

   When silence fell, you just glared at him, heart pounding as you waited for some kind of response – or for him to just diossolve into shadow and leave you the fuck alone. But he did none of that. Instead, he merely tilted his head. “I haven’t said any of that,” he countered.

   You blinked. “Are you shitting me?”

   “No, I’m not. But it appears you’re assuming things again,” he continued and straightened his back, spinning his cane in a fluid motion before planting it firmly beside him. “I told you that ‘it doesn’t matter’. That honesty is a luxury I cannot afford. That your time is wasted on such fleeting notions as truth. And, as I said before, the truth changes nothing. It never has, and it never will. But I never – not even once – mentioned that I’m using you.”

   He took a step closer, his expression unwavering, and you instinctively stepped back. The glow in his eyes burned brighter, his presence suffocating as he closed the distance you so desperately wanted to keep.

   “You said it was a game…” you breathed, intimidated by his threatening height looming over you, his dangerous proximity making you feel like an animal in a cage, ready to be fed to an approaching hunter.

   Alastor looked down at you and the sharpness of his facial features appeared even more angular. He widened his grin, baring his teeth – those sharp and deadly canines – but he didn’t move closer. Instead, his voice dropped an octave and took over a deep, sultry rasp as he calmly said, “I’ve said ‘Everything’s a game’. Not that I played you.”

   For a moment there was silence between you as you reconsidered his words, only the bass of the music pounded from the other room, the melody of the song barely recognizable. “What do you mean by that?” you questioned sternly. The amount of tears running down your face came to a stop without you even noticing.

   “What I mean is that the whole world is a stage. And while the stage is a world of entertainment, one has to direct it to keep control.”

   You furrowed your eyebrows, puzzled by his words that were nothing but another cryptic message. Ones of which you already had enough this evening. “Where’s the difference between this and manipulation?”

   Alastor chuckled and tilted his head. His lips were closed, hiding his sharp set of teeth as his grin softened into a warm, almost genuine smile. “Oh, there is one, cher.” he said, his voice laced with static that hummed like a low, sultry vibration. The French term rolled off his tongue with an unsettling intimacy that sent a shiver down your spine.

   You held your breath as he leaned in slightly, his tone dropping further, rich and velvety, yet crackling with faint distortion. “Why burden yourself with such senseless notions,” he murmured, his glowing eyes locked onto yours, “when in the end, the only thing it does is cause unnecessary worries?”

   You furrowed your eyebrows, still puzzled and mad about the fact he continued his charade of twisted sentences instead of giving you a straight answer. So instead, you decided to change direction. “Why did you follow me?” You breathed – tired, and weak, and startled by the tension crackling between you.

   Alastor’s eyebrows shot up at your sudden question but returned to their natural position as quickly.

   “Why are you here?” you added.

   He didn’t respond.

   You let out a defeated sigh. “Listen. If you want to continue to pester me, to make this even worse for me than it already is – stop it. You’ve done enough damage for an evening. Hell, for eternity, even!” You straightened your back and swallowed hard as another flood of tears tried to fight its way from underneath your eyelids. But you blinked it away, not wanting to give him any of his sadistic satisfaction and lose the little composure you barely contained. “So, unless you plan to tell me the truth, I advise you to just leave me alone. And never talk to me again.” You hissed the last words with such contempt that his smile twitched. You loved him. But maybe it would help getting over him if you just learned to despise him.

   The tension dispersed again. You turned around and moved to leave, ready to cut the strings and close the case. But as you stepped towards the door, a firm hand wrapped around your arm, pulling you back. Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden touch and you bit your lip to prevent yourself from flinching. Part of you wanted to scream at him again, but you kept your mouth shut.

   “You don't want to run away in the middle of our conversation again, do you?” Alastor asked, his voice laced with that signature cheerful tone of his.

   You let out a growl. “Well, you didn’t give me enough reason to stay.” Slowly, you turned around and your gaze fell on his long, slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, before you lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. There was something in them, a tiny flicker of an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

   For a while, neither of you said something and you just stood there, almost chest to chest, and looked into each other’s eyes. Slowly, the tension returned, growing even thicker as neither of you moved. The storm of bitter emotions, anger and frustration still raged in your chest but you no longer felt the need to vent and let it all out. Your throat tightened – but this time not out of hurt but out of bewilderment caused by this sudden proximity.

   You tried to free your arm but Alastor's grip stayed firm as if silently pleading you to stay.

   “Could you please listen to me, cher?” He asked.

   “Could you please just give me an answer instead of avoiding my questions with your pointless riddles?!” You snapped back.

   Alastor blinked, caught off guard but said nothing. Instead, another uncomfortable silence lingered between you and the Radio Demon in which your frustration only grew.

   You threw your head back as you let out a frustrated ‘Ugh’. Why the Hell did he even bother to keep you in the same room when he didn't spit it out? Then you saw it. A flicker of an emotion that seemed so out of character that it left you speechless. Your eyes widened slowly, as realization struck and your heart skipped a beat before it continued to hammer relentlessly in your chest, fueled by the new revelation.

   “You're scared…” you whispered, gazing between his eyes which glowed in the dim light of the hallway like blood-red jack-o'-lanterns on Halloween. A moment passed in which you just stared into his eyes until a chuckle escaped your throat and broke the tense silence between you, whispering, “You really are scared…” 

   Alastor blinked and the glimmer in his eyes disappeared as he raised his eyebrows, the expression filled with surprise and a mild mix of disbelief. His ears twitched and with a huff he countered, “Scared? Me? I think you must be quite mistaken!” He exclaimed with a wide grin, his demeanor way too cheerful for the circumstances and raised his hand to his chest in offense – yet his gesture didn't seem genuine. The corners of his grin twitched nervously and the static around him crackled stronger, betraying his sudden nervosity.

   You narrowed your eyes suspiciously and slowly shook your head. “I don't believe you.” Your voice was quiet and barely above a whisper as you stared at him intently, surprised and pleased at the same time. Finally, you had a read of what he so desperately tried to hide. It was still veiled by decades of mastering his mask – but the slight strain in his expression was enough to make clear that there was much more hidden than he wanted to admit.

   Alastor scoffed. “Well, then don't,” he retorted with a dismissive tone and his expression twisted slightly at the edges. But you didn't let his denial get to you. You got this far – now you'll push further to throw him over the edge and finally make his spill. “I want the truth, Alastor.”

   Alastor just blinked and his ears twitched in sync. Yet, he didn't let go of your wrist. His grasp was strong and the touch of his slender fingers wrapped around your arm sent shivers through your body, waking the butterflies in your stomach. Desperately, you tried to ignore the fluttering in your guts. You were supposed to be angry, after all. But this small little touch – his hand resting on your skin and his presence so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating off his body – made all the issues that got you so distraught appear meaningless. Like nothing but a gratuitous overreaction.

   You let out another sigh. “I want the truth Alastor,” you repeated, voice much stronger than before. “Now.”

   Your arm twitched but you didn't pull away.

   Alastor just blinked again, saying nothing – and frustration struck again.

   “This is pathetic,” you hissed, about to pull your arm away but Alastor's grip tightened, keeping you in place.

   “Let me go, Alastor. You had your chance and you dismissed it. So, for fucks sake, let me–”

   “You’re a complication I never accounted for,” he interrupted, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft despite the static that crackled around him.

   “What?” Your breath caught in your throat at his sudden admission but you masked it quickly with a clearing of your throat before you turned around and regarded him with furrowed eyebrows. But the sight only made your heart skip a beat. There he was, looking down at you with a soft, even pleading, expression. His grin was replaced by nothing but a slight curving up of his lips and his eyes – oh his eyes – were filled with a vulnerability you could barely process. Alastor. He, out of all people, stood there, in front of you with a helpless expression on his face that put him into a light you never thought you'd ever witness.

   You took a deep breath in to steady yourself before you asked, “What does that mean?”

   Alastor mirrored your reaction, his chest heaving under the deep breath he took in. You could see that he had to force himself to keep eye contact and his thumb began to trace over your skin as if he was holding himself back from doing something precipitately.

   “It means, cher,” he began, voice raspy but the radio filter barely hearable, “that you've done something no one else has ever managed to do. You've gotten under my skin. You’ve forced your way into my life, into my thoughts, into places I swore no one would ever touch. And I can't seem to get it out.”

   Under different circumstances you would've felt hopeful – even excited at the mention of him… feeling… something for you. Something that might prove you've been right the whole time. That Angel was right when he said Alastor was all over you… But while he hinted at a secret truth, the Radio Demon always did what he could do best – dismiss it.

   Your eyes flickered between his as you tried to read something out of his expression that could give you an answer before you went on to ask him. But there was nothing you could make of it. Despite the vulnerability in his gaze, the deep hidden longing in his eyes, he visibly fought with himself to further mask the truth.

   “Then… then why do you keep running away?” You asked carefully, your voice surprisingly soft and yet laced with a slight edge to it.

   Alastor's thumb kept tracing patterns on your skin as he responded, “Because those are things I've spent a lifetime burying. And I suggest you do the same.”

   Slowly, your heart sank and you pressed your lips tight as his words echoed in your mind. There it was. The rejection.

   “I can't…” you whispered, shaking your head, and lowered your gaze, no longer strong enough to face him. “I… I've tried, but I can’t just bury what I feel for you… I can't just pretend it's not there, Alastor. Don't you understand?” You felt tears well up in your eyes again and swallowed to push them back down, but the proximity and the feeling of his thumb caressing your wrist softly made it impossible for you to ignore the sadness that overcame you. Shit, it hurt. It hurt so much having him this close and yet out of reach because that goddamn deer in front of you couldn't handle facing the truth. Facing the emotions that have accompanied you over the course of too many months. The tension that slowly had grown over time. The love you had developed for him.

   Fuck, it hurt so much…

   You bit your lip to soothe yourself with the pain of your tooth piercing the skin inside your mouth. You wanted to feel that physical pain – just to forget about the ache in your heart that twisted your guts and made you taste the bile of an eternity with ignoring those damn feelings you held for the man in front of you – the man you didn't even dare to look at any longer, afraid of what you might see on his face. Of what seeing his face might do to you…

   “The truth is, cher, that you’re far too precious for someone like me. You deserve someone who can give you the… romantic nonsense you so clearly crave. And that is not, nor will it ever be, me,” Alastor uttered the words with such pained softness that you almost couldn't believe they had come from him. “I’ve built my existence on control, on never letting anyone get too close. And now, here you are, tearing down every wall I’ve ever built.”

   Every word that left his lips cut deep, but instead of surrendering to the ache, you clenched your jaw and forced the hurt aside. This wasn’t something you were willing to accept. Not his stubbornness, not his ignorance, and certainly not his fear of treading unfamiliar ground. It was obvious he was at war with himself. Forcing himself to say these things because he had gaslighted himself into believing that pushing you away was the right choice. The best option. But you weren’t about to let him get away with that. You’d come too far in this confrontation, had managed to slip past his defenses, to chip away at his carefully guarded mask, to glimpse the truth he so desperately wanted to keep buried.

   Oh no.

   You weren’t giving up now.

   He had given you an answer. And now you were going to make him give you more.

   “Then why don’t you just accept it?” you whispered, voice low and husky, cautious yet filled with anticipation and the hope to finally crack his mask completely.

   “Because I don’t deserve it!” he snarled, his voice rising again. His grin dropped almost entirely, leaving his face almost completely bare and raw in a way you’d never seen before. “You think I don’t want this? That I don’t want you? I do! But I can’t–” He cut himself off abruptly, turning away so fast his coat flared behind him. His shoulders were rigid, trembling. His fists clenched tightly, his fingers curling around the microphone on his cane as his ears twitched, betraying the sheer effort it took for him to keep himself together.

   And you just stood there, staring at him with wide eyes, and unable to grasp the situation – both overwhelmed and yet completely aware of what you were witnessing. You had seen Alastor vulnerable before when you had spent long evenings together, locked in moments of raw intensity where he let his guard slip just enough for you to see past the mask. Those moments had been rare, but they were what made you fall for him in the first place.

   But this?

   This was something else entirely.

   “I can’t give in to this. Not when–” Again, he stopped himself. His chest rose and fell with a deep, steadying breath that straightened his posture as if pulling himself together by sheer force of will. Silence returned with just you and him left in the otherwise empty hallway and only the bass of the club pounding through the walls. Your skin prickled and you felt the need to say something, but you knew better that speaking now would be reckless. So you just watched. Your heart pounded against your ribs, blood vibrating in your veins and body trembling under the sheer gravity of what was unfolding. By doing something, saying something, you'd remind him of your presence. Then, he could choose to disappear, sink into the shadows and abandon you in this place. But he could also spin around with those fiery eyes of his darkened to dangerous black and his grin twisted into a grimace, lunging at you with sharp lethal teeth… But he did nothing.

   Seconds passed which felt like eternity and you started to grow impatient, when, suddenly, Alastor’s voice broke the silence, deep and filled with determination, vulnerable and lacking any filter. 

   “Fuck it.”

   He spun around, his cane vanishing into the void with a flick of his wrist. And then, in an instant, his hands were on you, cupping your neck and pulling you forward in one swift motion as his lips crashed onto yours.

   Sparks ignited instantly. The tension shattered as a thousand butterflies burst into fireworks, exploding into a rush of heat that surged through your body like a shockwave. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that stole the air from your lungs – fervently, hungry, craving. He pulled you closer, until your chest pressed flush against his. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the sudden contact catching you off guard. But there was no time to get startled. You didn’t even need to grasp the situation because your body immediately reacted on instinct, returning his kiss with the same passion and arms wrapping tightly around his neck, locking him in your grasp as though he might pull away and vanish into nothing if you let go. This was the moment you had been waiting for. The moment you envisioned in your dreams, certain it would never become reality. But here you were, tangled in Alastor’s embrace with his lips moving against yours in a battle of temptation, ignited by the sheer release of all the emotions he’d kept locked inside. His sharp teeth scratched your lips but you didn’t care. It only fuelled your need to taste him, to feel him, and get even closer.

   But even the most anticipated of moments couldn’t last forever.

   Your lips chased his as he slowly pulled away, desperate to capture his mouth in another kiss, but he straightened his back, making it impossible for you to reach. Your grip around his shoulders loosened slightly but you didn’t let go, unwilling to lose even this kind of contact. Eyes fluttering open, your gaze fell onto his face, sharp features softened and eyes half lidded with a warm smile curling his lips. His hands remained on your neck as he forced you to keep looking at him, and you held your breath, utterly speechless and unable to grasp what just happened. Everything felt like a dream, as if everything was born out of your imagination, and yet the remaining feeling of his lips on yours betrayed the truth. His hands still holding your neck were proof of the moment you just shared. And it felt both unreal and real at the same time.

   “Don’t you dare say this was a mistake,” you muttered under your breath, eyes flicking between his, and despite the seriousness of your tone you couldn’t help but let out a quick laugh that wasn’t quite amused but definitely a subtle plea for him to not tear everything down again. Despite everything you’ve come this far. You’ve confessed your feelings, confronted him about his infuriating behavior, yelled at him and cried your heart out while you revealed your biggest vulnerabilities. You’ve accused him of using you, managed to tear off his mask completely, got him to question his own mindset and give in to finally kiss you. Now, the moment was too fragile, too easy to break, and your heart too easy to shatter. One wrong word and everything could fall apart again in an instant. And your anxiety grew with every second he did not respond – in which he simply stared at you, his expression unchanging.

   You held your breath again and swallowed hard, finally lowering your arms until only his grip around your neck remained. His fingers curled into your hair, playing with the strands while his claws carefully caressed your skin. But still, he did not respond. As if he was pondering his answer, he kept his mouth shut while his gaze roamed over your face, and you closed your eyes, ready to step away.

   Alastor must’ve sensed your intention because his grip around you tightened, preventing you from leaving. Then, his voice broke the silence, low and uncertain. “This… this doesn’t change who I am. I can’t offer you what you crave – not in the way you deserve. I can’t give you the kind of romance people write books about. I’m just not that man…”

   Under different circumstances his words would’ve stung. But now that you were able to look behind his facade and you finally understood the struggles that kept him so locked away, you just met him with a soft, yet slightly anxious smile. “I don’t care about stereotypes, Alastor…” you started, your voice a murmur but not less determined. “I don’t need roses, or candlelight dinners, or great declarations of love…” You shook your head. “I never needed that. Because this… the moments we shared in the past… the moment we shared just now… is already enough. I just want to be yours as much as I want you to be mine.” You raised your hands again and cupped his cheeks, eyes not leaving his, as your voice trailed off, getting quieter with every single word. “This is all I need. To be with you…”

   With that, both of you leaned forward in a silent understanding. And when he pulled you closer and gently locked your lips with his, you knew his answer. Because you didn’t need him to say it out loud. His action alone was enough for you to understand that he was willing to try…

Let me know what you think about the ending or this part in general!

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Taglist:

@diffidentphantom, @notsoaverageguy-1997, @the-autistic-moth, @n0tmentallystable, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @alastorsgirl48, @ratsematary, @night-lol, @divineknightmare, @musiclover059, @bitter-rabbittt, @milkissesx, @florist-of-the-valley, @fantasyhopperhea, @eris-norwega, @godsent69, @minamilinaqueen, @sour-daisies, @thisbipuff-isaswiftie, @circusren, @chibistar45, @fokrilove, @tayraedoll