#but now i suppose it's just something painfully constant. but not really too

[noxtivagus]

i shld sleep oh my god

[alsofoundinpeas]

A Gift of Belonging

Summary: Y/N often avoids family holidays due to her strained relationship with her family, who favors her brother. When Spencer Reid invites her to spend Christmas in New York with him and his mother, she discovers a new sense of warmth and belonging, making it the best holiday she’s ever had.

Requested fic!! 🥳: I was wondering if I could ask for a Spence and Y/N in which Christmas is approaching and Y/N usually spends it alone because she has a complicated relationship with her family that always favors her brother.

Maybe he has plans to go spend it with his mom and because they are in early times in their relationship he didn’t think to invite her, but once he finds out she’s alone, he takes her to meet his mom and they all have a really good time!

I was thinking something angsty, fluffy, and maybe smutty in the end? I don’t know, you’re the mastermind behind these beautiful creations, so whatever makes you feel inspired haha

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Very brief mention of alcohol. Strained relationship with family (repetitive I know). Oral (m!receiving), unprotected PinV sex (birth control is discussed beforehand but said conversation isn't actually in it), creampie (I wince every single time I type that). Fluffy holiday smut!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: Reupload because I'm a bingus head and accidentally deleted when editing FORGIVE ME PLS!! I loved writing this request!! Huge thank you to @dalamjisung for the request. I hope you like it :') The song mentioned in the fic is December by Ariana Grande btw, but it's only mentioned because reader listens to it, it isn't mandatory for the fic. I have a few more requests lined up after this one, so as for right now my requests are closed until all of them get posted. As always, please tell me what you think! :) If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all!!! :) <3

Y/N sighed as she stared down at the text from her mom, re-reading it a few times before tossing her phone to the end of her bed with a frustrated groan.

Mom: Hey sweetie! Are you planning to come home for Christmas this weekend? If not, I completely understand. Honestly, I’m just happy your brother will at least be here. I think he’s bringing his new girlfriend, too, so that’s exciting! He’s always so good about making time for family. But again, no pressure if you’re too busy. I know you have a lot going on!

Her excuses were starting to wear thin, seeing as she had played the flu card for last year’s Christmas party and faked a work emergency to skip Thanksgiving. But the thought of attending her family’s Christmas only to spend the night listening to her brother's achievements, followed by the inevitable barrage of condescending questions about her life, was unbearable. Call her a Grinch or a Scrooge, but the holidays had become her least favorite time of year for this very reason.

Unfortunately, it didn’t even matter if it was a holiday or not. It never changed. Her family had always favored her brother, even when they were kids. She had a never-ending list of chores and rules, while he breezed through life with no curfew and no accountability. Any mistake he made seemed to fall on her, and heaven forbid she stayed out five minutes later than she was supposed to with her friends.

Despite their constant claims that there were 'no favorites,' it was painfully obvious who the real favorite was.

Y/N lay staring at the ceiling, weighing the pros and cons of skipping Christmas this year. On one hand, it would be nice to see her grandmother—the one person who had actually kept her promise of no favorites. But she could always visit her grandmother separately and avoid the hassle of sneaking away just to have a real conversation. On the other hand, her family was already used to being disappointed in her. What was one more excuse? She could always make it up next year.

After what felt like an agonizing eternity of indecision (though it was really only five minutes), she finally decided to skip Christmas again this year and stay home. Her family mostly gave money as gifts now that they were all adults, so she wouldn't be missing much—just a meal (takeout had never let her down) and some forced small talk with extended family (who never really seemed interested in her life anyway).

Y/N: Hey, mom! I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to miss this year too. There’s a bug going around at work and I’m worried I caught it :(

Her mom’s answer was immediate, and the guilt lifted from her shoulders as she rolled her eyes at the response.

Mom: Poor thing! You just have the worst luck when it comes to holidays huh? Your brother must have taken all the good immune system genes or something LOL!! That’s okay, dad and I will mail your gift and I’ll send you lots of pics. Hope you feel better soon!

After firing off a quick 'Thanks, love you!' Y/N rose from the bed, let out a sigh, and wandered to the kitchen for a bottle of wine.

She’d tried to convince herself that her parents' indifference no longer hurt, but what had dulled into a constant ache over the years flared into a sharp sting during the holidays. No one wanted to be alone at Christmas, but she knew she had to prioritize her peace of mind—and that meant avoiding an entire day spent deflecting passive-aggressive jabs while her brother soaked up all the attention.

The one person who could make her feel better was across the country, tied up with a case. She wasn’t upset with him—far from it. Y/N admired the work he did and the way he dedicated himself to saving people without ever getting the recognition he deserved. Still, it had been over a week since she’d last seen Spencer, and all she wanted was to curl up in his arms and hear him tell her that everything would be okay.

As if the universe had picked up on her tension, a knock at the door startled her, causing her to jump with a racing heart. She froze, eyes darting to the door, considering whether she should quietly move toward the knife block in case a dangerous stranger stood outside. It was barely 8:30, and she hadn’t been expecting anyone.

After a second round of knocks, relief washed over her as a familiar voice called "Y/N? Sweetheart?" She rushed to the door, unlocking it as quickly as she could and flinging it open to find an exhausted-looking Spencer standing on the other side.

“Spence!” Y/N cooed excitedly, wrapping her arms around him tightly before pulling him inside. “When did you get back? I thought you guys wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night?”

Not that she was complaining at all. She loved any time she could spend with Spencer. They’d only been dating for a little over two months, but she’d already fallen hopelessly in love with the sweet genius that she met when he accidentally stumbled into her while in line at their favorite coffee shop (she later found out it was no accident and that Morgan intentionally shoved him into her because Spencer was too afraid to make the first move).

“Technically we weren’t supposed to be, but we ended up getting a confession so it took way less time than we anticipated to finish the case. And with Christmas coming up this weekend, Gideon figured the sooner we got home the better,” Spencer explained with a small, tired grin as he slipped off his shoes and sat his satchel down. “I hope you don’t mind that I showed up, I just really missed you. I tried to call beforehand, but I thought maybe your phone was dead or something...” His eyes caught sight of the wine bottle on the island and paused, arching a brow before glancing back down at her. “Rough night?”

Y/N blew out an exasperated huff of air, nodding as they made their way over to her couch. She cuddled into his side immediately, relishing in the feeling of finally being able to do so. Spencer had been hesitant when they first started dating with physical touch, but once he pushed past the initial discomfort, he couldn’t get enough of her affection.

“Yeahhh. I had to tell my mom that I’m not making it home for Christmas again this year and it just… stressed me out a bit.”

Spencer’s face scrunched in confusion, looking down at her worriedly. “Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart. Are you not feeling good? Or what’s stopping you from going?”

Right. They hadn’t had the whole “I love my family from a distance because they act like brother is Saint Michael himself” talk yet. Y/N nibbled at her lower lip, fidgeting with her hands before sighing.

“I… um, it’s complicated. I just prefer not to see my family around the holidays because they’ve always had this weird favoritism for my brother and as I got older I just decided it wasn’t worth sacrificing my peace for.”

Spencer frowned, nodding in understanding before his face lit up with realization.

“Well, if you’d like, you could join me and my mom for Christmas? If you don’t want to be alone, that is. Not that I’m trying to pressure you into meeting her! I just planned to check her out of the sanitarium this weekend and bring her to New York City since she’s been doing better on her medication. I’m sure she’d love to meet you, and I, of course, love any time I get to spend with you—“ Spencer began, his words tumbling out nervously as his face flushed and his voice pitched higher.

Y/N’s heart skipped at the invitation, her face lighting up into a wide grin as she gently cupped his face, halting his nervous rambling. He met her gaze, and she smiled softly. "Spencer, I’d love to join you and your mom for Christmas—only if you’re really sure you’re okay with it."

Spencer had first mentioned his mother's illness on their third date, explaining himself after abruptly excusing himself to take a call from her nurse. It was also the night of their first kiss—he had started panicking, flustered and trying to explain his sudden exit, and Y/N thought he might cry. So, she kissed him to calm his nerves. Once he’d settled down, she reassured him that it was completely fine, that she understood how important his mother was to him, and that she’d love to learn more when he was ready to share.

That night, Spencer realized, without a doubt, that he was falling in love with her.

"It’s settled then," Spencer said with a grin, leaning forward to kiss her quickly. "I’m so excited to spend Christmas with my two favorite people. I was actually thinking we could get tickets to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center—"

Y/N listened intently, her heart swelling as she gazed at him with stars in her eyes, enchanted by his excitement as he shared the plans he’d made for the weekend. Although a little nervous, she couldn’t wait to share Christmas with him and his mom. They continued to plan the weekend, finalizing details between sleepy kisses and small yawns until they finally caved to their exhaustion and went to sleep.

The weekend arrived faster than she expected, and nervous excitement washed over Y/N as she waited for Spencer to pick her up from her apartment. She was packed and ready, excited to meet his mom and see New York City sparkling with Christmas decorations. For the first time in years, she felt something other than dread for the holiday, and she couldn’t be more grateful for her sweet boyfriend because of it.

Spencer had picked up his mom the day before, carefully explaining the plan to her during the drive home and making sure she felt well enough to go ahead with it. Diana was overjoyed at the idea of Y/N joining them for Christmas, assuring him she was feeling fine and could hardly wait to meet her.

For the first time in ages, Spencer felt like he had his mom back, her treatment progressing far better than he'd hoped. All it did was make him even more excited for the weekend ahead, his anxiety easing with each hour spent in the car on the way back to his apartment. It was comforting to open up to her about Y/N and to share what had been happening in his life beyond the letters he wasn’t sure she even remembered receiving.

The weekend turned out even better than Spencer had hoped. Diana and Y/N hit it off so well that Spencer found himself mostly on the sidelines of their conversations, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. It filled him with happiness to see his mom and the woman he was now certain was the love of his life getting along so effortlessly.

They had packed in every Christmas activity they could think of: admiring the lights, sipping hot cocoa, watching The Nutcracker... anything that felt festive was crossed off the list. By the end of the weekend, Diana was almost pleading with Spencer to make Y/N her daughter-in-law on the drive back to the sanitarium. Spencer could only laugh nervously, promising to do his best to make it happen.

Once Y/N got home, she knew she had to find a way to thank Spencer—not only for giving her the best Christmas of her life but also for being the most amazing boyfriend she could ever have hoped for. He was going to come back to her place tomorrow so they could exchange their gifts for each other, so whatever she did, she had to do it then before he inevitably got called in for another case. The real question was: how could she possibly show him just how grateful she was?

With a sigh, Y/N turned on her playlist and settled onto the couch, trying to brainstorm ideas. It felt like the harder she thought, the less her brain worked. After agonizing over ideas for nearly fifteen minutes, Y/N was at her wit's end, ready to settle for a card and a lengthy essay to express her gratitude, when the lyrics of the song playing suddenly grabbed her attention.

Merry Christmas, here I am, boy

I'm the present and you know it, here I am, boy

She sat up suddenly, a victorious grin spreading across her face as the perfect idea popped into her head. She and Spencer had yet to make it past second base, not for lack of desire, but because the opportunity never seemed to align—each time they got close, his phone would ring or something would interrupt, stopping them in their tracks. Tomorrow would be the perfect opportunity to finally take that next step and for her to show her appreciation for the sweet genius.

There was a perfect dark red satin lingerie set at a nearby boutique that would bring her vision to life, but it closed in just thirty minutes. Y/N threw on some clothes, making sure she looked presentable, then grabbed her keys and purse and rushed out of the apartment.

The cashier shot her a glare as she approached the counter, and Y/N internally groaned. She already felt like an asshole for being there so late, but she did still have fourteen minutes to spare before they actually closed. The guilt vanished when she met the cashier’s icy stare, and she grabbed her purchase with a mumbled thanks before she hurried out of the store. Sue her for wanting to look sexy for her boyfriend on Christmas.

The next day seemed to drag on, with Y/N anticipating the surprise she had planned for Spencer.

She cleaned the apartment until it was spotless, setting the perfect mood with scattered scented candles and dimming the lights. The room was softly illuminated by her Christmas tree—one she had convinced Spencer to help decorate at the start of the month—and a few strands of lights she had strung up. All of the presents were ready and waiting to be unwrapped.

Now all she was waiting on was Spencer himself.

Three firm knocks echoed at the door, marking his arrival—right on the dot at 5:00. As punctual as ever. Y/N opened the door with a thrilled smile, eagerly tugging him inside.

"Woah, hey! Hello to you too, sweetheart," Spencer chuckles loudly, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day, so excuse my enthusiasm,” Y/N said with a soft laugh. “Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry. We can do presents first and then eat, or eat and then unwrap them—whatever you prefer. I honestly could do either, it doesn't matter to me and of course, you're the guest so—”

Spencer grinned as she nervously rambled, her hands gesturing wildly as she listed off options. It was oddly comforting to him that she got just as nervous around him as he did around her. Even though she had quickly become the person he felt most at ease with, a part of him still felt those nerves—after all, she was the most incredible woman he’d ever met, and the thought of messing things up and losing her terrified him.

“How about we eat first and then open presents? Is that okay with you?” Spencer suggested, offering a small smile.

The tension in Y/N's body eased as she returned the smile, nodding in agreement. "That sounds perfect."

Dinner passed with casual conversation, both Y/N and Spencer chatting between bites about everything from the new book she was reading to the latest research paper Spencer had discovered and found fascinating. They ate more quickly than usual, both eager to exchange the gifts they had carefully picked out for each other. It wasn’t long before they were done, clearing the table and loading the dishes into the sink before heading into the living room.

The two of them sat together in front of the tree, feeling as giddy as a couple of kids as they finally began to exchange presents.

Spencer slowly unwrapped his first gift, his eyes softening as he revealed the delicate, intricately designed watch she'd chosen for him—a gift that held both practical value and deep sentimental meaning. He glanced up at her, a shy but sincere smile spreading across his face, and she felt the warmth in his gaze. “This is… perfect, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. I’ll wear it every day, I promise."

“Always, Spence. I’m so glad you love it,” Y/N murmured, her eyes filled with affection as she watched him. She recalled how devastated he’d been when his previous watch had broken a few weeks ago. Though hers wasn’t as extravagant as his old one, it meant far more to him—because it came from her.

Y/N cherished every gift he gave her: a whimsical coffee mug to add to her collection, a journal with a playful inscription from him that made her laugh—promising she'd have a place to rant about her family when he wasn’t around to listen, a couple of books from her wishlist, and, lastly, her absolute favorite: a delicate locket on a thin chain, holding the first picture they’d ever taken together.

Once all the gifts were unwrapped, Y/N smiled and stood up, holding her hand out to Spencer. He looked at her in confusion but took her hand without hesitation, allowing her to lead him to the couch.

“Keep your eyes closed and stay right here. Your final gift is in my room,” Y/N instructed, a mischievous smile curling at her lips. As soon as his eyes were shut, she darted down the hallway to her room, stifling a soft giggle at the surprise she was about to unveil.

When she came back, she positioned herself between his legs, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, “Alright, Spence… you can open your eyes now.”

Spencer opened his eyes, nearly choking as he took in the sight in front of him. Y/N was standing there in a beautiful lingerie set, the bra designed so that it was a bow that he could untie to reveal her... Just like a present.

“Holly shit,” Spencer breathed, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the rare curse slipping from his lips. Spencer hardly ever swore, so hearing it from him spoke volumes about how much he liked what he saw.

"So I take it you like it?" Y/N arched a brow, resting her arms on his shoulders.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Spencer stammered, looking up with wide eyes as Y/N climbed into his lap.

Y/N settled into his lap with a coy grin, reveling in the feeling of his hands coming up to grip her waist. She leaned in, brushing her nose lightly against his before softly grazing her lips across his.

"I wanted to show you my appreciation..." Y/N whispered, placing a brief but tender kiss on his lips before trailing kisses along his jawline. "...for giving me the best Christmas ever."

Spencer blinked hazily, her words taking a second to process in his mind as the sensation of her lips now sucking a mark into his skin became the center of his focus. His grip on her waist tightened imperceptibly as his fingers flexed against her warm skin. He swallowed hard before finally mustering up an answer.

"Y-you don't have to thank me, baby. All I ever want to do is make you the happiest you've ever been—"

Spencer's words came out as a squeak as she rocked her hips once against the erection now straining in his slacks. His head fell back onto the couch with a soft thump, a quiet whimper slipping from his lips at the friction. The scent of her perfume enveloped him, a fragrant haze that clouded his thoughts and left him feeling lightheaded, as if he were drowning in its sweetness.

The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, the sight of his dilated pupils stirring more in her than she was willing to admit. Y/N smirked, repeating the motion to hear the soft noise fall from his lips once more. She lifted a finger to his lips, shushing him before she moved to kneel between his legs.

"I want to, Spence. Please?"

Spencer nodded so vigorously it almost looked painful, his wide eyes locked on hers in stunned disbelief. He couldn't believe this was real... that he not only had her to begin with but that she was on her knees begging to make him feel good. The breath rushed from his body as her fingers trailed up his thighs to the button of his slacks, popping it open while she kept her hungry gaze on his.

His body trembled in anticipation as Y/N dragged the fabric down his legs, tugging them off once they reached his feet and casting them off to the side. He whined as she leaned forward to mouth over his aching cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, his fingers twitching from where they rested beside himself. His breath hitched in his throat as she dragged her nails down the inside of his thighs, a smug grin on her face as she watched him dig his nails into his palms.

Y/N decided she'd teased him enough, placing a kiss on his hipbone before swiftly removing his boxers. Spencer's hips lifted from the couch, jerking toward her mouth instinctively as she wasted no time in leaning forward to lick a thick stripe up the side of him before taking his swollen head between her lips.

"Oh—" Spencer gasped, his eyes struggling to stay open as he watched her begin to swallow his length. "Oh my God, Y/N—"

Y/N smirked around her mouthful, taking him as far into her throat as she could before wrapping a hand around what couldn't fit. She began to bob her head slowly, easing him into the sensation. The feeling of him—hot and hard and filling her mouth so perfectly—had her squeezing her thighs together as she began to move more vigorously.

Spencer writhed beneath her as her mouth and hand began to work in tandem, his eyes fluttering shut despite his efforts to watch her every move so he could burn the sight into his memory for later use. His hips bucked up when she took him into the back of her throat, a guttural groan falling from his open mouth at the gag that emitted from her from the motion. His eyes shot open as he began spewing out apologies, but his words died in his throat as she pulled off of him to shake her head vehemently.

"Do it again," Y/N croaked, taking him back into her mouth and reaching up to guide his hands to her head.

Spencer whimpered pitifully, exhaling sharply before tentatively repeating the motion. His heart nearly fell out of his ass when Y/N moaned around him, encouraging him to keep going. His hips thrust rapidly into her mouth, his eyes squeezed shut now as moan after moan spilled from his lips.

"I-I'm close— sweetheart, please," Spencer groaned, lights flashing behind his eyes as she all but sucked the soul from his body. "Can I— Can I fuck you? Please? Wanna make you feel good, too."

Y/N moaned loudly around him at that, pulling off of him with a slick 'pop' before nodding vigorously. She was drenched, the sounds Spencer made having turned her on more than most men had in the past with their entire bodies. She hurriedly climbed into his lap, not even bothering to take her panties off and instead pulling the fabric to the side as she lined him up at her entrance.

They'd previously agreed that since they were both clean and she was on birth control they'd skip using a condom. They just never had the chance to actually get on with it... until now, anyway.

The sight of her swollen lips and watery eyes had Spencer captivated as his hands automatically found their home on her thighs, rubbing gently as she eased herself down onto him. If someone had told him six months ago that he'd ever be lucky enough to experience this—having the most beautiful woman he'd ever met as his, riding his cock like she was made for it—he would have laughed in their face. But now, all he could do was sit back and watch her in awe as she took every last inch of him into her core, speechless as he marveled at the sight. His brows pinched together as her walls enveloped him, his mouth gaping open as she bottomed out with a loud moan.

Y/N's head tipped back as a moan wrenched its way from her throat, her hips moving in small circles as she adjusted to the stretch of him inside of her pussy. She had never felt so desperate for someone before, but she wasn't surprised. It was Spencer—the man she admired more than anyone. The man who treated her like she was everything, simply for being herself. The man who reminded her every day that she was worth more than she’d ever believed.

Neither one of them was going to last long, a realization they both came to as she lifted her hips and dropped them down into his lap as she began to ride his cock. But that was okay. They had all night to make each other feel good.

“How does that feel, sweet boy? Hm?” Y/N panted, falling forward to rest her face in the crook of his neck as she rocked against him with frantic, needy movements.

All Spencer could do was whine loudly as he clung to her, planting his feet on the ground and moving his hands to cradle her back as he began to rut up into her. He was borderline delirious with pleasure, the feeling of her walls clenching around him driving him mad with the need to make her fall apart in his arms. The movement served to drive him repeatedly into her G-spot, the both of them crying out and latching to each other as Y/N trembled above him.

"So good," Spencer finally grunted, moving his hands up to hastily unwrap the bow restricting his access to her breasts. His lips latched onto her right nipple, sucking and nibbling as his hand came up to pinch her neglected bud. "You're so fucking perfect, sweetheart." He mumbled against her skin, laving over the pert bud and groaning.

Y/N cried out, her hands tangling into his hair as she rode him harder. It was almost feral the way they moved together, needing each other in a way words couldn't describe. The couch creaked beneath their movements, but she couldn't care less. She only cared about making the man underneath her feel the best he ever had.

Her walls began to clench around him as she whimpered into his shoulder, signaling her impending climax. Spencer slid a hand down from her breast to instead rub at her clit, lifting his head to capture her lips in a passionate kiss. It only took a few circles of his skilled fingers before Y/N was chanting his name into his mouth like a prayer, her eyes squeezed shut as she came hard around him. Spencer's orgasm was almost simultaneous with hers, the sensation of her walls squeezing his cock triggering his climax almost violently as he pumped into her with soft sobs.

Their chests heaved as they slumped against each other, caressing each other with gentle touches as they caught their breath. Once Y/N could sit up, she lifted off of his softening cock with trembling legs, a giggle spilling from her lips as he whined in discontent. She placed a lingering kiss on his lips, effectively shushing him before she stood from the couch to go get a rag.

When she came back, Spencer reached for her with needy hands, wanting to feel her against him once more. They tended to each other with soft murmurs of praise and gentle kisses, their love unspoken but evident in every touch and gesture. Once they were cleaned (and Spencer had all but shoved her toward the bathroom so she could pee to avoid getting a UTI), they stumbled into her bedroom and into her bed.

It was in Spencer's arms, as he drifted off to sleep, that Y/N finally understood just how special the holidays could be���made all the more meaningful by the sweet genius she was fortunate enough to call hers.

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[hiitsm]

The Weight of a Promise: The Second Vow

The Weight of a Promise is for 18+ only.

Angst, Hurt

-

You sit at the table, the takeout containers now a stark contrast to the atmosphere that was supposed to be filled with joy and togetherness. Your engagement ring glints painfully in the dim light, its presence a constant reminder of what was just torn away from you.

The numbness from Jenni’s sudden departure begins to give way to a tempest of emotions. Sadness, anger, confusion, and a deep-seated sense of betrayal. The more you think about her words, the more you question whether her decision was truly about needing to clear her head or if there was something deeper that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, share with you.

Hours pass in a blur, the silence punctuated only by the occasional sob that escapes your lips. You keep glancing at the engagement ring on your finger, its brilliance now a cruel mockery of the promise it once symbolized. How could something that represented such deep love and commitment now feel so heavy and painful?

In the midst of your turmoil, your phone buzzes, startling you from your reverie. It’s a message from Alexia, a name that brings a flicker of comfort amidst the storm. She had been a close friend to both you and Jenni, a confidante who had witnessed the highs and lows of your relationship.

Alexia: 'Hey, I just saw Jenni’s post. Are you okay? I’m here if you need me.'

You hesitate for a moment, the sting of Jenni's departure still fresh. But Alexia’s genuine concern and your own need for support outweigh your reservations. With a heavy sigh, you reply.

You: 'Can you come over? I really need someone to talk to.'

Alexia’s response is swift.

Alexia: 'I’m on my way. Hang in there.'

When the doorbell rings, the sound is both a relief and a reminder of the painful reality you're facing. You slowly rise from the couch, your movements heavy with the weight of your emotions, and open the door to find Alexia standing there, her face etched with concern.

“Hey,” she says softly, stepping inside and pulling you into a comforting hug. Her embrace is warm, a stark contrast to the coldness that has enveloped you since Jenni left.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice breaking slightly as you step back to let her in. You lead her to the living room, where she takes in the scene. The untouched takeout, the candle flickering weakly, and your tear-streaked face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alexia asks gently, her eyes filled with a deep empathy.

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, sinking back onto the couch. “Jenni just… left. She’s going to Mexico, and she’s going alone. I don’t understand why she couldn’t wait, why she couldn’t let me be part of this journey with her.”

Alexia sits beside you, her hand reaching out to comfort you. “It’s okay to feel like this. It’s a lot to process,” she says, her voice steady and soothing.

“But why now?” you continue, your voice trembling. “Why did she make this decision without talking to me first? We were supposed to be building a life together. How could she just leave like this?”

Alexia takes a deep breath, clearly struggling to find the right words. “Sometimes, people make decisions based on what they feel they need at the moment. It doesn’t necessarily mean it’s right or easy, but it’s what they think is best for them.”

You look at her, the pain in your eyes evident. “I thought Jenni was different. I thought we were stronger than this.”

A sob breaks free from your chest, and you clutch at the engagement ring, as if trying to hold onto the last shreds of your shattered dreams. “She vowed to always face challenges together,” you choke out between sobs. “During her proposal, she promised we’d be a team, that we’d navigate everything side by side. And now… now she’s breaking that vow. She’s leaving, and it feels like she’s breaking me too.”

The tears flow freely, and you lean into Alexia’s comforting presence, your body shaking with the intensity of your emotions. “I thought we were building a future together. I thought we’d face everything as a team, but now it feels like she’s choosing to walk away from us, from everything we dreamed of.”

Alexia holds you tightly, her own eyes brimming with tears as she listens to your heartache. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. “I know it’s incredibly painful. And it’s okay to grieve the loss of what you thought your future would be.”

You bury your face in Alexia’s shoulder, the warmth of her embrace providing a small comfort amidst the storm of your emotions. “I don’t know how to move on from this,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “It feels like a piece of me is missing, and I don’t know how to find it again.”

Alexia’s hand strokes your hair soothingly. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just take things one day at a time. Allow yourself to feel, to mourn, and to heal. And remember, you’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, and I’ll support you through every step.”

As you cry into her shoulder, Alexia’s words offer a glimmer of solace in the midst of your anguish. The pain is still raw, the hurt still fresh, but her presence provides a small measure of comfort as you navigate the difficult path ahead. For now, you cling to her support, finding strength in the fact that you don’t have to face this heartache alone.

-

Slow burn.

[reidmania]

let the grass grow | spencer reid

summary; you love spencer too let him stay while your world falls apart at your own hands.

warnings; hurt x comfort w no comfort, exes, angst w no happy ending, self depricating thoughts, insecurities, self sabotaging, avoidant attachment reader, fem reader, early seasons spencer, mentions of not eating, scars but never says whats from, arguments, but u guys love each other. its just sad tbh. 1.7k words

an; this is purely for my own sake and i wanted to make it a comfort but i genuinely couldn't bc this is a very real and relevant issue that no comfort seems to comfort so.. enjoy the pain?? song is let the grass grow by ruel, my man my man.

‘so I'll leave before you go, ‘cause there's no tears when it's my fault this self-sabotage, all of our other scars don't compare. take the river to the sea, drown myself, so I don't sink, find my peace there, underneath the hurricane, break a promise, so I can leave, burn a forest so i can sleep. lay my head stone and let the grass grow over me’

You could feel eyes on you everywhere, constantly throughout the entirety of the day. Even though deep down you knew no one was really staring at you the amount you built it up to in your mind. Constant judgement and quiet questioning from the gaze of your co-workers made your stomach fill with an overwhelming sense of sickness, it made you want to crawl into a hole and remain there in a foetal position for the rest of the time life offered you.

Quiet whispers of worry bounced around the building from your co-workers to one another, each one who had asked if you were okay throughout the day – multiple times, every to which you’d reply with a nod of your head and a forced smile on your lips that left indents on your cheeks, when your eyes remained the same distant and sullen that caused their worry in the first place.

It wasn’t until you were leaving the building you heard the same question after a whisper of your  name, but from Spencer.

Your head turned towards him faster than you meant it to, you swore any faster and you would’ve ended the day with not only a worse mood than you woke up in but also whiplash. Your eyes met his and you wished they didn’t. The care is held and balanced evenly in his eyes, causing a slither in the walls you had built up around yourself and everything that fell below surface level.

“Are you okay?” His eyes studied your face as if he would find any hint of truth in your expression since he knew better than to believe the lie that fell from your lips. Spencer Reid wasn’t an idiot, anyone and everyone was painfully aware of that, you were painfully aware of that. He hadn’t asked the question the same amount everyone else did, he hadn’t even talked to you today until now.

You nodded in response, casting your eyes away from his and back to the elevator you wished would hurry up. Two weeks, it had been two weeks since you broke up with Spencer, it had been two weeks of Spencer everyday asking you why, and it had been two weeks of you being unable to provide an answer that seemed good enough for him. Nothing you said seemed to help him understand why you would break off something that was going so well, that made you both evidently happy, everyone could see it, everyone watched you both pine after one another for years.

“Talk to me” He begged for what felt like – and probably was, the hundredth time.

Your head shook, because what were you supposed to say? What did he want you to say? You didn’t know and for you that meant you were better off not saying anything, maybe because the truth you fought to keep away from the open air seemed so pathetic and embarrassing it was better left unsaid. He was asking you to show him the deepest and worst parts of you and you were refusing and he just wouldn’t let it go.

“I don’t have anything to say” You replied, the same response as every other time he asked. It wasn’t enough, not for Spencer because he knew it wasn’t true.

He frowned, and it broke your heart. 

“I just want to understand,” He pleaded with you, reaching out for your hand. You pulled it away, what you were doing was mean, you knew that, it was unfair and mean to both him and yourself. Depriving you both of what you both wanted and yearned for so deeply all because you constantly felt like the world was closing in on you and things fell apart under your touch, it was just mean – but you weren’t cruel enough to allow Spencer the touch of your hand to pull it back all over again.

“I wish you would” You mumbled out, muffled enough you could convince yourself he didn’t hear even though you knew he did. You didn’t intend to be mean with your words, you wished he understood that you were physically incapable of what he was asking from you, it wasn’t something you could bring yourself to do.

The elevator dinged and the door opened and you were thanking the world, until Spencer got on next to you and now you were left in a confined space with the one person who seemed to break through the box of self deprecation you would bury yourself into, time and time again. You didn’t want him there, you didn’t want him in your space, in your mind and in the middle of your emotions that took you down day in and day out. 

You wanted him, that wasn’t something you tried to hide, just something you deprived yourself of because you didn’t want him to want you, you didn’t even want you. The fact someone else could, someone like Spencer, was overwhelming in a number of ways and it only furthered the insecurity that consumed you.

“I’m here, I know there’s more than what you’re letting on.” He said, you wanted to appreciate his effort of reassurance but it didn’t help. You loved Spencer, and you were now certain he was the sweetest person to ever exist. How could you allow yourself to indulge in something so sweet and so pure when you deemed yourself the opposite. You fell apart and buried yourself in your own issues, you spent days lying in the darkness of your bedroom body starved and scarred, you’d mull over every mistake you ever made and everything in your life that should have belonged to someone more deserving.

You didn’t answer him, so he spoke again. “I have been and I'm going to be here until you’re ready to talk about it” his voice was gentle and dripping with reassurance you wish you could accept because his words were suppose to be reassuring but they left a bad taste in your mouth and just made your heart clench tighter in your chest to the point you thought it might’ve stopped beating.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” You said, not turning your head to face him but you were sure enough that they best portrayed what you were feeling, too much.

He let out a breath, a sigh of a sort and shook his head as he spoke, “I never said you did, I don’t mind waiting for you–”

There it was.

“I don’t want you to do that.” You snapped slightly, guilt instantly infested your gut but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t need him to wait around for this feeling to go away because it never did, your entire life, it never had and you didn’t imagine that changing. “I don’t want you to wait for me, Spencer. I don’t want you to just wait around for something that’s never going to happen, this won’t change. I made my decision” you huffed out the most you had said to him since that night you ended things which consisted of a teary eyed argument.

He dragged his hands through his hair as he tried to figure out what to say, then the elevator came to a stop and you were moving off it quicker than his brain could process and then he was following you and he was reaching out for your hand, even though he knew better by now. “You said you loved me, you said that while you were breaking up with me. You said you loved me and that you were sorry, you couldn’t do it anymore and then gave me nothing else” He stated, his eyes pleading for some sort of answer, something he could blame himself for.

That's not what you wanted, you didn’t want him to blame himself – that was almost a part of the whole point. If he blamed you for this, if you ended it now then there was no chance it would happen any other way. You could live with him blaming you with this, much better than you could live with getting hurt or inevitably hurting him. “I do love you Spencer” You said, you weren’t going to lie about that. 

Your arm pulled away from his touch but he only reached out again, “I’m trying to respect your decision, but I don’t understand. You love me but you don’t want me to wait, you love me but you broke up with me – I just- You’re doing this thing where–  you like to shut down and shut everyone out and I don’t want you to do that. If you don’t want to be with me then I’ll respect that but If you think I can stand around and watch you fall apart you don’t know me, and I would really prefer to think you did because for the longest time I thought I knew you and now finding out that maybe I don’t is– Well it sucks.”

You huffed out, you knew it was unfair and contradicting and you almost wished you had never gotten involved in the first place because you hated the fact you were hurting Spencer right now because your emotions were confusing. It was unfair. “I’m sorry” You started. He was right, you knew him and he knew you, on the slightest of a deeper level.

“Don’t do that. Don’t apologise and then brush it off. I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to be honest. You keep everyone at arm's reach, on surface level– I want more than that, I want to know you, and understand you, I want to understand this. Tell me what you need and I'll do it, but I need to understand why first.” 

How were you supposed to tell the single handedly most sweet, kind and perfect person that you were unable to provide him with the one thing he wanted – to know you. How were you supposed to admit that something as simple as that was too much to ask for. 

“There's this expectation that I can't reach, that I never have, never will and I love you, Spencer, that's true – but I'm not going to let you sit around and watch me fail time after time again to reach the expectation of basic human existence.” You shook your head as you pulled your hands away from his grasp, your body turned as you walked away.

He stood calling out your name but his feet stayed glued to the ground, and there was no response from you.

[sanakimohara]

“Stalker” B.C.

{ MDNI }

+++++

Chan as a stalker would be painfully toxic. The constant messages you’d receive from him, vague, but highly personal. He wouldn’t threaten you at all…at first.

It starts off with little random reminders or sending a few innocent pictures of you doing random tasks throughout the day.

“You look so cute when you’re cleaning, baby…”

“You should really eat something today, sweetheart…”

“Don’t stay up too late like last time little one…need you well rested okay?…”

Then he progresses to intricate gestures. It’s not hard to get to you since you’re a trainee under JYPE and coincidentally share the same dorm building as Stray Kids. Chan has easy access to the areas you occupy most often.

Even your dorm, specifically your bedroom.

Of course you don’t know this so when random pieces of your clothing start to disappear and reappear at odd times you just chalk it up to your forgetfulness. In reality Chan slips into your room when no one’s around, admiring how neat or messy you keep it, and committing to memory all the little trinkets/games/decor that you personalized it with. He likes the fact that your room reflects who you are, it brings out your purity in his opinion, and if he could lock you in it he would.

Deep down he liked the idea of locking you in his room much better. Then you’d be even safer under his constant watch. For now he settled with invading your private spaces, slipping your panties into his pocket as he wanders around, picking up the little messes around your room. When he’s all done and satisfied with the amount of possessions he’s taken from you he writes a note to you before leaving and continuing on with his day like nothing happened.

“Keep your room clean, sweetheart.”

You’re shaking with fear and anxiety reading his note but seeing as you don’t have a clue who wrote it you keep the information to yourself. It bothers you all week but weirdly you’re loving the anonymous attention. Blushing at random times of the day just from the thought of who might’ve written that note for you. It’s still terrifying but you admire their devotion…

Chan observes you from an afar after that, continuing to sneak in your room when he has the chance, and leaving less than innocent notes on your desk more often.

“You did well practicing. I was impressed, really,”

“I left you a little gift for working hard, baby. Open it when you’re ready..”

You spot his gift at the foot of your bed, all the random clothes (mostly underwear) he’s taken from you are neatly washed and folded too. It disgusts you to see your intimates causally laid out -and probably used for other purposes- like a present. At the same time your mind is reeling with the image of your ‘admirer’ getting off to the simple scent of you or the thought of you wearing them.

You’ve never felt so beautifully violated in your life and you hate how wet it gets you.

Something has to be wrong with you…

Paranoid. You become extremely paranoid and Chan uses that against you. You’re such a young trainee, being tortured by some skillful stalker, and he’s the first person you open up to about it. How can he not help you cope?

Everytime you come running to him about the last occurrence with your supposed stalker Chan is ready to console you with a warm smile and loving embrace. Sure, he’s extremely turned on by the fear in your wide eyes, and his cock twitches every time you curl into him for a comforting hug. He’s just there to help you through this mess, right?

“Why would anyone want to treat you this way?..”

“I’ll protect you I promise… “

“You can always come to me when you don’t feel safe..”

Every word he says is a backhanded lie and you fall for it every time. You spend less time in your dorm and more time with him. The other trainees and his members notice but don’t say a word since Chan never makes it a big deal. That isn’t to say he doesn’t purposefully act unnerved by the notion of a stalker with in the company.

His habit of texting you escalates into sending obscure photos of you in the shower, alone in the practice rooms, or simply getting changed. He’s gotten comfortable with his obsession now, actively seeking out chances for vulnerability, and that raises your fears and fantasies higher.

“Want to see you do this in person…”

“I can’t help but to watch you , baby… I’m just making sure you’re safe…”

Safe….and unknowingly reliant on him.

A perfect combination of control and fear.

“I know everything about you, little one. You can never hide from me…”

+++++

[words-etched-in-her-skin]

With Death's Name Upon Her Lips

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio VIdal

Summary: Of course Agatha should have probably predicted that her ex, Rio Vidal, would show up during her late night escapades. She was in a Graveyard , after all. But, still, the sight of the reaper frustrated the witch to no end. What was supposed to be a simple easy grave heist would now be made into something more complicated. Something deeper. And might we say, something a whole lot more fun.

Will Agatha leave with what she came for? Or will Rio's presence distract her a little too much from the goal at hand?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI - Top Agatha, Brat Rio, full on lesbian pining, vaginal fingering, oral, battle for dominance, Rio being fucked so good it brings a tree to life, discussions of past, discussions of loss, grave desecration, cemetery sex.

Word Count: 4,572

For anyone wanting to read this on AO3, you can do so here ♥️

Agatha blew a rogue strand of hair from her face and wiped her brow. Even with all the magic in the world she was still doomed to a lifetime of digging up her own graves whenever the situation called for it. Which, unfortunately, it did. When the news hit her that a particularly powerful Witch had just recently “bit the dust”, and happened to take a very enticing talisman along with her - a talisman that Agatha had every intention of acquiring - she knew exactly what needed to be done.

“God, Cynthia, could they have buried your ass any deeper?”

Agatha was already in a foul mood as it was, and the ripening smell of decay and wet earth was doing very little to better it. Still, she did her best to ignore it and stay focused on the task at hand.

“Desecrating the dead, are we now, Aggs?”

Agatha stopped short, scowling at the infuriating nickname before peering up from the half dug grave.

“Oh, jesus fuck, what are you doing here?” She asked. The air outside suddenly felt iced over - almost cold enough to see her breath. Agatha glowered at the last woman in the universe she currently wanted to see.

“Heh, could ask you the same thing.” Rio replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

Agatha snorted before going back to her digging. “Well that, sweetcheeks, is none of your damn business.”

“Oh, come on, Aggie. Give me the deets.”

The dark haired woman wiggled her eyebrows at Agatha, an act that both infuriated her and also made her laugh. It was one of the things she hated most about Rio. Just how easy it was for her to break through her walls - to bring down her defenses. It might even be the thing she liked least about her ex lover. Even more than the fact that the love of her life was the literal personification of Death.

“And what's in it for me?” Agatha asked, peaking over her shoulder.

“Anything you want.” Rio teased.

The witch felt her whole body tense at the simple implications behind the reaper’s words, as well as her teasing tone. They were enough to bring an unwanted dusting of heat to Agatha’s cheeks. She cleared her throat and silently went back to digging. Rio only rolled her eyes and leaned back against the nearest tombstone, a black lollipop suddenly appearing between two fingers.

“So, how long is this gonna take? I don't have all night, you know.”

“Good. Then that means you can GO.”

The dark haired woman chuckled, she really never could get enough of riling her past lover up. In fact, there were days that she absolutely thrived off it. It fed her, you could say. Mind, body, and soul.

“Oh, now we both know you don't really want that, sweetheart.”

Agatha growled in frustration before slowing her digging down to a painfully tedious pace, her gaze practically shooting daggers in Rio’s direction, even with the smirk that now played at her lips.

“Looks like you're gonna be standing there looking pretty for a while, then.”

Rio pulled the lollipop from her mouth and grinned.

“You think I'm pretty?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Agatha could feel her temper rising. Both from Rio’s constant nagging and the persistent freeze that was seeping into her bones. She wanted nothing more than to no longer be cold and digging out dirt from inside a hole. Unfortunately for her, though, this amulet was far too important - way more important than anything else in her life - so giving up and going home to her warm bed was simply not an option.

“Come on, Agatha, this is borinnng.”

“Well, lucky for you, you don't have to be here. This has nothing to do with you, Rio.”

Rio snorted. “Ah, this has everything to do with me. You're literally in a graveyard, digging up the recently deceased corpse of a world renowned witch-”

“Oh, Cynthia was a twat!”

Rio covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Twat or not, Aggs. You know I'm right.”

Agatha shook her head and gritted her teeth.

“You’re welcome to get your ass in here, then, and help me. Otherwise, shut it.”

Rio popped the lollipop back into her mouth and gave it a swirl before answering.

“Nah, I think I rather prefer the view from out here.”

The reaper gave her a wink before Agatha disgruntingly went back to her digging. A light fog had begun to settle in over the graveyard, bringing in an even cold chill with it, Agatha couldn’t stop the shiver that rolled across her shoulders as she stuck her shovel deep into the moist dirt, reminding herself to collect a small vial of it later to take home. A couple more shovel fulls and the smell of fresh decay became more distinct, almost overwhelming, Agatha was certain she was finally nearly there. And the sound of metal striking something firm only confirmed her suspicions.

“Aha! Finally, you old witch.”

“Aren’t you like, a hundred years older than her?” Rio laughed.

“Yes, but I make it look good, darling.” Agatha replied, flipping her long hair back over her shoulder with a satisfied grin. “Now, let’s crack this baby open.”

The witch rubbed her gloved hands together excitedly before kneeling down, though, the smile on her face quickly faded, replaced by a frown.

“What’s up?”

“It’s stone.”

“Stoned?”

“NO, Rio, her coffin. It’s made from fucking stone.”

Agatha knelt down and began frantically wiping dirt from the top of the stone casket.

“AND it has a fucking protection spell engraved into it.” She added, clenching her fists. “Fuck!”

“Can’t you just.. blast it open?”

“Not without potentially damaging it.”

“... without potentially damaging what?”

“Ah, nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Agatha quickly added, standing to straighten out her jacket before holding out a single gloved hand. “Now, help me out of here, will you? I need to find something to get this open with.”

“What’s in it for me?” Rio asked with a smirk.

The witch silently placed her shovel against the dirt and gave her ex lover a look.

“Just help me, before I-!”

Agatha felt the cold hand of Death clasp firmly onto hers and pull her from the deep grave, tugging with such force that she fell immediately forward. Right onto Rio. Their bodies completely flush together.

“Oh, whoops. Seems we have found ourselves in a rather.. complicated position.”

Rio batted her eyelashes in faux innocence, making Agatha snort.

“Mh.. and completely by accident, I’m sure.”

“Of course. You know me. I’d never.. fuck ..with the natural order of things.”

Agatha only shook her head before starting to lift herself up.

“Wait.”

Rio’s hand coming to rest firmly on her forearm brought the witch's gaze directly down at her. Her eyes as dark as obsidian, shimmering with moonlight from above and a measure of hope. Agatha’s breath shuddered, a small bite to her bottom lip as she looked down at her once lover - at her heart. She paused.

“Rio…”

In a tone that seemed far too soft for such a great and terrible witch, Agatha Harkness could barely breathe out the woman's name. She could barely stand to think of it. She closed her eyes before going to move again, but Rio grabbed her arm just the same. This time pulling her closer forward with near desperation.

“Agatha. Please.”

Even with the thick emotions that were swiftly building inside of her, Agatha could never pass up the chance to tease her past lover.

“Begging already, Reap? Someone’s losing her touch.”

The reaper's dark eyes grew wide at her old nickname, a slight quiver to her bottom lip. Agatha took off her gloves and placed two fingers around Rio’s jaw and pulled her close.

“You know you're my favorite poison, right?”

Whatever words were set to come out of Rio’s mouth next were consumed by a deep kiss. A kiss of longing and regret. Of passion and pain. A kiss that was felt in every universe, and in every timeline of their love. It washed over them in a warmth, languishing as their tongues danced and their souls devoured. Rio’s hands hungry, wandering over as much of Agatha’s body as they could until the witch grabbed them and pinned them over her head. Rio squirmed beneath her, whining slightly.

“And here now I thought you were going to behave.” Agatha whispered, breaking the kiss.

“Oh, we both know you like it best when I put up a little fight, darling.” Rio replied as she smirked up at her, her arms now struggling to get out of her past lover’s grasp. Agatha only chuckled before forcing Rio’s arms back down over her head and into the cold, wet grass. A soft incantation whispered into the night quickly binding the reaper’s hands in a wisp of bright purple.

“Sorry, Reap. This time, I’m in control.”

Rio pressed her hips firmly up into Agatha, forcing pressure against the witch’s core and making her moan.

“You sure about that?” She quipped back with a grin.

“Fuck you.”

“Well, I certainly hope so.”

Agatha placed her hand around the base of Rio’s neck - a slight maniacal look on the witch’s face as she applied pressure. The reaper gasped at the familiar touch before leaning into it, her hand coming unbound to hold Agatha’s wrist. A smirk playing at her lips.

Agatha scowled. She had always been annoyed at just how ineffective her powers were on Rio, but she guessed they'd have to be to be able to withstand loving someone like her.

“You're not playing fair, Reap.” She said, shaking her head.

“Aren't I, though?”

Rio gave Agatha a wink, an all too wide grin on her face as she placed both of her hands on Agatha’s biceps and flipped the two of them over with ease. Waves of dark hair falling forward and eyes as crisp as night staring down at the witch as she found herself suddenly on her back. She growled in frustration, but Rio knew how much it turned her on. The fighting, the struggle, the battle for dominance. Even though Agatha was usually always the one to come out on top, the reaper was more than happy to make her work for it a little first.

“Now who's in control? Huh? Sweetheart?”

Agatha bucked her hips, forcing her thigh across Rio’s core. A slight gasp followed by a needy moan slipped from the woman’s mouth, warming the space between them. Agatha looked up at her, smiling smugly - a single kiss blown in Rio’s direction before a flash of bright purple had them both on their feet.

“You were saying?”

Rio opened her mouth to speak, though her attempts to quip back were quickly stifled by the abrupt feeling of being flown through the air, cradles within her lover’s arms. Her back forced against the cold bark of the nearest tree. She moved slowly to straighten out her hair and shirt, clearing her throat.

“Oh, nooo. It seems you have me right where you want me, Agatha.”

Agatha leaned in, her warm breath skating over Rio's ear.

“Or maybe, I have you exactly where you want to be. Rio.”

Rio smirked, leaning even further back into the tree to elongate her neck. The bare branches above her rustling at Death’s touch.

“Maybe-”

And just like that, her words were swallowed. Replaced by moans and whimpers that only the rush of Agatha’s lips on hers could ensue. That only the firm but gentle touch of her heart’s caress could coax. The subtle dance of Agatha’s tongue over here, the utter need of it. As the witch’s hands roamed freely over her body like it was her own. As if she owned it physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

And she did.

Death was well aware that she would never love another. That Agatha was one in a million. Cut from stone and rock and stardust. Rio leaned into her touch even more, desperate to feel her everywhere. Desperate to have her inside of her.

“Don’t make me.. beg.” She whimpered between heated kisses.

“Aw, but why? Sounds so pretty coming from that mouth of yours.”

The witch’s hands and fingers danced over her like an ill forgotten melody. A dance macabre that waltzed over every part of her except where she needed it most. The desire inside of her being built higher and higher, bringing with it the all too familiar scent of life.

“See how beautiful it is when you're like this? How am I to just give in? ”

Agatha peered up at the tree Rio was pinned against, watching as new life began to breathe within it. As a swirl of green encased them both and the smallest of leaves started to blossom.

“Agatha… please...”

“Mmmh.”

Agatha hummed in the reaper’s ear before nipping at it, her tongue circling the outer shell of her ear. A trail of kisses spattering down Rio’s neck as even more leaves began to bloom. The cemetery around them a stark reminder of the frigid winter’s breath of the night, with all the other trees otherwise dead and barren. It was no secret to Agatha that Rio could breathe life into the darkest of areas, it was something her heart knew all too well.

“My love, pleas-.”

Whether by pure desire alone or the absolute need to never hear those words drip from Rio's tongue ever again, Agatha slid her hand deep into her pants. A mere second pause before her fingers were eagerly slipped inside of her. First one, then another. Rio gasped.

“Don’t.” Agatha replied adamantly, teasing her with a single curl of her fingers.

Rio let out a moan before pointing. “F-fine. Asshole.”

“That's more like it.” The witch smirked, pressing the dark haired woman even further into the tree, fingers curling deep inside her. Rio moaned a little louder, spurring a small patch of forget-me-nots to bloom on the branches above.

“Extra needy tonight, are we, Reap?” Agatha added, looking up at the small blue flowers.

“Fuck you.”

“Hmmm.. maybe.” Agatha replied, punctuating her words with a simple curl of her fingers. A third one slipping in. “If you behave.”

“F-fuck.”

Rio’s hitched breath only made the witch’s smirk smugger. Dark tendrils covering the reaper's face as her head fell forward.

“Uh-uh. Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

Rio’s dark eyes show up, locking onto Agatha's without question. A beautiful pink hue splashed across her cheeks and the humming of life vibrating within the tree behind her. She looked beautiful like this, Agatha couldn't deny that, with the essence of life’s mortal balance pulsing inside of her. She curled her fingers again, this time a little deeper. A slight arch to Rio's back and the widening of her hips was all the witch needed to fuel her on further.

“That's it. That's my good Reap.”

Rio whimpered, her breath hitched. Eyelashes fluttering as Agatha pumped her fingers in and out very slowly - intently - giving her just enough to build her pleasure at an almost unbearable pace. Rio was wet. Dripping. With the measure of her arousal trickling down Agatha’s wrist and soaking her thin fabric that encased it.

“Agatha-”

“Shhh.”

The witch placed a single finger over Rio’s lips before kissing them, swallowing whatever pleas for more she had. The momentum of her fingers gradually picking up as warm tongues dance over each other. Rio's hand clenched into Agatha’s shirt, desperate to have her closer, to feel her warmth. The tree behind them beginning to brim with life, with more and more leaves sprouting as Rio’s pleasure was built higher and higher.

If there was anything that Agatha knew how to do - and do it well - was to coax that deep hidden fire inside of her past lover. To spark vitality within the cold hands of Death and build it anew. With each sweep of her tongue, every pump of her fingers, as she thrusted them deeper into Rio’s dripping core and forced her ecstasy to unbridled lengths. It was insistent - unrelenting. Like a wildfire that threatened to take over and burn down everything in its path.

Rio widened her legs further - eagerly - frantic to feel as much as Agatha inside of her as she could. A loud moan that seemed into the witch’s lips as Agatha slipped a fourth finger inside of her, stretching her with expertise. The pleasured heat was enough to will a warm arousal across her body. It was enough to have her legs trembling and her back arched almost completely off the tree. A tree that was now vibrant with life, breathing with color amongst a wintery backdrop of death.

Agatha only chuckled and sped up her fingers. In and out. Faster and faster. Grinning with satisfaction as Rio’s walls began to tremor around her hand.

“Just look at the all-powerful Death. All needy for me. Dying to come.”

Rio cursed under her breath as Agatha laughed at her own joke, her hips beginning to buck. Her normally fair skin covered in a deep flush as her fingernails dug into Agatha’s arm. The fire that now encompassed her body was relentless - unyielding - washing over her in a prickling heat that moved from the top of her and ended at her toes. As a final move Agatha circled her thumb over Rio’s clit, matching it with a thrust and made her whole body convulse. Flowers now blooming all around her, a shimmer of green sparking in crisp night air as Rio’s climax wholly took her over.

The last thing Agatha heard was her name screamed out through half bitten lips before Rio’s knees buckled out from under her, dropping her limp body into her ex lover’s arms.

“You alright there, Reap?” The witch asked with a smirk.

“Fuck-” Rio shuddered, the entirety of her practically steaming from the overwhelmth of energy.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Agatha chuckled, still holding the dark haired woman up against the tree. Rio took a deep breath before raising her head, but even with a dusting of pink still painting her cheeks she smirked.

“Heh. Just gave a whole new meaning to having ‘death come for you’.”

Agatha groaned at the terrible pun but Rio only grinned, her tongue circling over the inside of her cheek.

“And just how long have you been waiting to use that one?” The witch asked as she shook her head and moved back from tree, releasing her hold on Rio.

“Only a few decades.” She replied.

“Uh huh.”

Agatha laughed again, a soft crinkle to the corner of her eyes as she did. Her gaze shifted as Rio took a step forward, her dark eyes on Agatha.

“Got something on your mind, Reap?”

Another step forward.

“Maybe.”

Agatha swallowed, a subtle prickling at the back of her neck.

Another step.

“Care to share with the class then?” She asked, voice slightly more tentative than the last.

Rio took a final step forward and gave Agatha a smirk. Then dropped down to her knees in front of the witch, the grass beneath her immediately turning green with life.

“That answer your question?”

“Maybe.” Agatha replied, an all too knowing smirk curling at her lips as Rio lifted her skirt and pulled her closer. The scent of her arousal prominent, heady, with a musk that was so intoxicating Rio could all but lick her lips.

“Now who's all needy? Huh?”

Agatha scowled before attempting to pull away, but the reaper’s grasp was strong and kept the witch in place - exactly where she wanted to be.

“Nice try, but I can smell how bad you want this, sweetheart.” Rio smirked. Her fingers lightly grazing up the side of Agatha’s thigh as she inched closer to the hem of her underwear. Underwear that was promptly soaked through and begging to be ripped off.

Which it was.

Quickly and without pause. Her arousal now shimmering in the cold moonlight.

Rio licked her lips and fell back upon her knees, allowing herself to take in the view. The amount of years that had passed since she was last gifted such a sight were long since gone and lost to ages. Even her deepest dreams had paled in comparison, when all she had was the comfort of her own hands and the dark of night to keep her company. She took a deep breath, breathing her in.

“Well, don't just stare at it, Reap. Eat it.”

The dark haired woman looked up at her past lover to find a smug smirk across the woman’s face. Oh, to have sweet Death on their knees for you. To will them into submission and gaze upon their absolute beauty. Her hand came to the back of Rio’s head, long fingers coming to guide her mouth closer, legs parting a little wider still. Rio’s breath hitched as she leaned in, permitting Agatha's hand to lead her. The reaper’s arms coming to wrap firmly around Agatha's hips and ass, with the fabric of her skirt held back in place.

A soft kiss to her clit at first before allowing her tongue to circle over it, causing Agatha to gasp. She tasted just as divine as Rio remembered. Just as sweet, with the slightest hint of sweat. Salty in all the right places, delectable. Her soft folds were absolutely wet - dripping - glistening throughout the tousle of brown hair that covered them. She traced her tongue up the slit of her and moaned, feeling Agatha’s desire all over her mouth and chin as the witch pulled her in even closer.

“Mmm-” Agatha moaned, “Rio-”

The intoxicating sound of Death’s name falling from Agatha's lips had her almost at a frenzy. Her fingernails digging into Agatha’s backside as she elongated her tongue deeply into her core. Her mouth warm - inviting - stroking that burning fire inside of Agatha higher and higher.

“Fuck. Just like that, baby.”

Long fingers tangled into a mess of dark hair, hips grinding upwards. The witch's needy moans ringing out into the night like a ballad of lust. Of need. Of the absolute desire to have no one else but Rio.

But Death.

But life.

The humming of it vibrating within her as she rode the reaper’s face.

“Don't.. don't stop.”

As if Rio had any intentions to do so, in fact she only persisted. Mercilessly and with fervor. As her tongue alternated between thrusting deep inside Agatha's core and circling over her clit. Deep, long licks up and down her opening, subtle sucks across her clit. Death showed no mercy as she lapped up the witch’s essence.

A tiny buck to Agatha’s hips and a clench to her walls and Rio pulled her even closer, forcing the length of her tongue as deep inside of her as she could go.

“F-uck-”

Agatha’s body jerked forward as her hold on Rio's hair tightened. Her hips now frantic - desperate - grinding into the woman’s face with absolute need. Rio flattened her tongue against Agatha's clit and rocked her head to the movement with the witch's hips. A few long strokes of her tongue and Agatha screamed out, her body suddenly overcome with a prickling heat. It was feverish. All enveloping. With her eyes whitened over in fireworks and her whole body convulsing.

The orgasm that took her over was violent in nature. It was raw and unhindered. It stole the stars straight from the night sky and injected them directly into Agatha’s very being. Her legs trembled while Rio held her close, her tongue only stopping once the last drop of Agatha’s arousal finally dripped into her mouth.

“Mmmm.” The reaper hummed, “Someone needed that.”

Even with the waves of aftershock still rolling throughout her body, Agatha's hand came firmly around Rio's throat as she pulled the dark haired woman to her feet. The look of surprise on Rio's face was quickly replaced with softness as Agatha’s lips pressed warmly into hers. Kissing her as if she were the last woman on Earth. The only woman. And to Agatha, she was. Their bodies a tangled mess, kissing each other with such ferocity that the whole world around them threatened to break. And when their lips finally parted, with the witch’s scent now adorning both of their faces, Agatha rested her forehead against Rio’s and sighed.

“Sometimes I wish it could always be like this.” She whispered.

“It can-”

Agatha placed a single finger against the reaper's lips and shook her head, the glisten of unspent tears in her eyes.

“You know it can't.”

“We could try.”

“We have.”

Rio sighed and leaned back into her past lover’s arms, head heavy. She knew Agatha was right. That these rare moments were like passing galaxies in the universe of life, but it still broke what little heart she had left to admit it. She sniffled once before clearing her throat, hugging the witch a final time before completely pulling back.

“So, uh.. what was so important that you had to resort to grave robbery again?” She asked, straightening out her clothes and hair as she wiped away a few tears of her own.

Agatha snorted and lowered her skirt. “It's not that important.”

“Bullshit. Just tell me.”

The witch bit her bottom lip in consideration before shrugging.

“A talisman. One that Cynthia coveted her entire life.”

“Okay. And what does this talisman do?”

Agatha’s gaze shifted around the quiet cemetery, the promise of dusk now painting the skyline. Her fingers fidgeted, knowing she had no other options than to tell her. She exhaled.

“Spectral reawakening.”

Rio’s dark eyes studied for her a minute, her finger coming to tap at her chin.

“I see.”

“It won't upset your precious balance of life, if that's what you're worried about.” The witch scoffed. “Only grants a day with the spectral form of a.. lost loved one.”

Rio knew immediately who Agatha intended to use the talisman on, and again, her heart ached.

“And you're planning to bring back Nicky, I presume?”

Agatha only nodded, her eyes growing desperate.

“I need to see him, Rio. I need to tell him-” She took a deep breath, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I need him to know how sorry I am.”

Rio knew all too well the grief that Agatha had felt over losing their son. And she knew she was partly to blame. Even if she gave the two as much time as she possibly could, she still couldn't help but feel responsible. She swallowed deep before nodding.

“Alright, then.” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Let's go get you that talisman.”

“Wait, what-?”

Before Agatha could even finish Rio was walking back over to the dug up grave, the slick marble casket peeking out from underneath the dirt. She looked back and gave Agatha a single wink before turning back around. With a simple blast of green and black magic the casket cracked open, the scent of death becoming ever more prevalent in the air.

Agatha came to stand beside her past lover, eyes wide.

“Rio.. what? Why?”

The dark haired woman turned and took the witch’s hand in hers.

“Just tell Nicky I said hello, yeah?”

Those were the last words she uttered before Death disappeared into the night, leaving Agatha with nothing but a cold graveyard to comfort her and the everlasting gift of getting to see her beloved Nicky again.

[fatuismooches]

do..do you ever think the akademiya segment gets really sad seeing fragile! reader because in his mind, he’s still thinking of the reader that was always dragging him wherever they went (and even if he had the strength to just move them off, he always let them hold his hand wherever?). do you think some segments are hit with such overwhelming feelings of sadness when they miss reader too much while they work because they feel dottore’s yearning at the time at a constant?

BRO PLEASE... why. WHY!! But ouch, that is like, a really good thought. Also now that I think about it, the other segments may be a little jealous of the Akademiya one now, because he was the last version you saw before you fell asleep. So when you wake up, even though you're nervous around the clones at first, you tend to cling to that one, since at least he brings a sense of familiarity, and strangely enough, comfort. (Which leaves the other segments seething for a while. You can cling to them too!! Okay, I'm going off track.) I imagine that even though that segment despised the Akademiya, and thought it was a place full of swallow and stupid people, a part of him longs to go back to those days. Because those memories are painfully vivid in his mind, much more than the other segments.

And yes... and it honestly comes as a shock to them. Since they never feel sad, after all, their hearts are obviously rather cold, they're not going to feel sad for other people or themselves. But you? Oh, you change that, and they're not sure how to feel. This feeling, it is something that greatly bothers them. How are they supposed to focus when they feel such longing in their artificial bodies? Didn't you always say that love brings only good things? You said that love makes you stronger, so why do they feel like this, so powerless? So they don't understand, why are their bodies reacting this way? This is something that doesn't make sense, something not even the most extensive research or experiments could solve or cure. And the worse part is that they know that, and they can only watch you further deteriorate in front of them.

At the very least, it's a testament to how much their creator loves you. Because although they may just be segments, he is still human. And being human comes with emotions, much to Dottore's regret.

[goldstargloww]

quick note before i start ranting: last night i started thinking. and then i started ranting in discord. and it got off track. and then i woke up this morning and had a similar thought. so this is just a stream of thoughts from me, really, lmao also, absolutely all of this is from memory, there's a good chance i got some stuff wrong (and i also include a lot of headcanons based off estimates and stuff i don't think would be a stretch), so yeah lmao this is kinda like a thought experiment or something

thinking,, thinking about c!martyn and his birthday

3rd life started 2 weeks after his birthday, last and double life weren't close, rats missed it, pirates has a good chance of missing it, and that's in the future anyway

only limited life included it

martyn… spends the rest of his time in a void, regardless of which route you take, datastream or eyesandears (as we don't know how they connect yet, they're mostly separate? kinda? idk its complicated)

so… what's better: having your birthday in the midst of a death game, in a world that isn't real but feels painfully so, or alone in a void?

in a dark void where you're unconscious most of the time, and when you're not, you're being taunted? or in a green void where you can't so much as sleep like you had to back in the world you were torn from, the world that you only have one actual connection with, your only glimpse of reality being of that who trapped you in this mess and doesn't care enough to get you out already?

martyn's first birthday in the datastream likely would've been limited life, if that's how that would work (again, datastream~eyesandears, complicated)

he's still got another good 7 months until his next one

will he be out of the datastream by then? will doc have finally figured it out?

…why hasn't he yet?

…that's a question for another day. (sure, maybe he's said that dozens of times before, but… now's not the time, is all)

(…besides, it seems like he cares. but…- no, question for another day. whatever a day even is. he only really knows because doc makes him journal for every one that passes, not because it really holds any meaning right now.)

would he rather spend his birthday lonely and paranoid, lonely and paranoid, or lonely and paranoid?

either

in constant fear of death, being able to see just how much time you have left until then, knowing it could skip ahead by an hour or even two at a moment's notice.

people who were supposed to be your friends (and perhaps were in another life) trying to kill you on your birthday, throwing explosives down from the clouds onto your party on the one day you maybe thought you'd be allowed to enjoy yourself.

(and yeah, maybe you were planning on blowing up everyone else, too, but when you're red, can you really be blamed for wanting to spill some blood?)

(…everyone else feels like that, don't they? you're not the only one. you're stupid for thinking you'd be an exception to their bloodlust just because it's your birthday.)

or

in a void where your only waking moments aren't good ones. where you're taunted and berated and ridiculed for your mistakes, where you start to believe what you're told, that you failed your one job despite being given so many chances.

the void in which you last see Them before your only anything between these games abandon you for years?- months on end, only to reappear a game later in hopes of ruining your life. and you're pretty damn scared They succeeded. (you've felt, just, bad, for so long, that you're not sure things can get worse, yet they manage to every time. you're not sure when things got this bad, but it's Their fault, you know it is.)

…you're unconscious most of the time in this void, anyway. you're not sure why it feels like such an eternity every time.

or

in a lime green void, stretching on virtually endlessly (heh, virtually… ah, this is what you've resorted to for entertainment, isn't it?), with access to all you could ever dream of?

sure, maybe not the impossible—that's, well, impossible—and maybe not things that haven't been created yet, maybe some things are locked behind paywalls you can't bypass, or, or need for accounts–

oh, did you mention you can't leave any trace of your existence either? there's quite a few restrictions, actually—no accounts, no anonymous comments, no privacy, no friends, no family, no food, no drink, no sleep, no- no bodily functions, no.. no concrete sense of self, no… fellow(? are you even human anymore?) human interaction…

well, besides doc, but he's… busy. too busy to help you get out of here, too busy to…

to care where you land after pushing you through a portal to an unknown world with little to no warning,

to get… worried, when you stay months in the same game world, because these- these missions are meant to be a, a quick in and out, maybe a week, usually less, not… three whole months, and…

fuck did that hurt, leaving them all, but… the sooner you complete these missions for doc—what even are these missions, anyway? why-—the faster you'll be out of the datastream and.. back to reality. back to.. home… you think.

(why do these missions have such big gaps between them?

why– how is doc presumably fighting CHEST all by himself (well, not all by himself, you are the datastream defender, after all, even if that is just a made up title to make yourself feel better, even if you're barely an asset as opposed to a liability to doc)?

what does global ramifications entail?

why hasn't doc figured out how to get you out of here yet?

why does he not spend any time with you, he's your only real human contact, and even then, it's flakey!?

why does he make you journal every day? to keep you sane? you mean, it's hardly working, but why?

if doc cares, it'd be more than just whatever this is. or–…

…you've had this conversation before. you're just out of touch with social interaction. players and npcs are nothing like real people. you're just… wrong. and doc's right, because doc knows what's going on, and you don't, save for some tiny morsels of information. right. …nevermind.)

this is where i stopped ranting for the night, and i pick it back up on a similar topic this morning ^^

i wonder if, in the datastream lore, rats and pirates are made by the same people or not

if doc would have access to that information, if he would purposefully start avoiding powcreations, or purposefully seek out their game worlds

is martyn spending months in a game world, having fun instead of doing his job, a good thing in any way, in doc's eyes? or is it solely a distraction or vulnerability?

martyn goes to all these game worlds for a reason, he needs to find loot shards so doc can deal with them, but how does doc feel about martyn staying months instead of days? of martyn having fun? growing attached? forming emotional bonds with people who aren't real?

(doc tells martyn they aren't real. martyn has no reason not to believe him on that. (in fact, martyn tells himself they aren't real, because if they were, he's not sure he'd handle that well.) even though players can be awakened, they're still ultimately under an actual human's control—doc's told martyn this. martyn is... a special case. (and if they aren't quick enough, his situation could lose its uniqueness to the enemy. which, if it wasn't clear, isn't a good thing.))

it's ultimately not healthy, martyn knows, but he's been in the datastream a little over a year at this point. the only human interaction he has is doc, who barely seems to have time for him, and CHEST agents (he thinks? they may just be AI), which are actively trying to kill him, whatever that would mean for him. he doesn't like the thought.

so, maybe he's a bit lonely—okay, maybe very lonely—so can you really blame him for wanting to indulge? i mean… even if it isn't really reality, what's stopping it from acting as one? he'll… he'll always have to leave eventually, but… he may as well enjoy himself while he has the chance, right?

so what's to stop him from making friends with oli the trash rat, or oli the pirate? (they're almost eerily similar, all things considered, but martyn guesses that's what happens when you get lazy devs. everything else seems to have so much care put into it, though... why would they put in such little effort to player characters when so much goes into everything else?)

what's to stop him flirting with half the players on the faction isles and being responsible for the nickname "kisstrels"?

what's to stop him having a genuinely good time?

leaving rats was hard. it was the first time he felt he truly belonged somewhere in how long? longer than the datastream, for sure.

he was really starting to struggle at that point with the crushing loneliness and feelings of unreality, if he's honest. rats... rats was nice. rats was probably some of the most fun he's had.

and leaving pirates has every chance to be even harder.

with these new scars appearing (which he would assume to be a design thing if it weren't for the fact that they stayed with him in the datastream itself), and these new feelings occurring without reason or rhyme, he's starting to feel uneasy about being stuck in the datastream again. (he's never not felt uneasy about it. he just… manages to push it to the back of his mind(? does he still have one of those?), sometimes.)

he's spent a lot of his time thinking—a lot about the rats, admittedly—why does scott feel so much more familiar now than he did even after he left rats? so many of the rats always felt familiar, especially jimmy and oli, but why does he miss scott all of a sudden?

weird feelings like that had been beginning to pop up the past few months, along with scars he has no explanation for—i mean, seriously, why does he have at least three scars shaped like a four-pointed star? what would even cause that? he's fairly sure there's more, as well!—and it's been making him uneasy. most of all, it's been making him lonely.

pirates came at a good time, he thinks.

maybe his introduction wasn't the best, what, with doc shoving him through a portal just for him to fall from the sky into the ocean, then immediately getting scammed by scar—

why does scar feel so familiar? why does that seem so in character for him? he hasn't been in another game world which used his assets, has he?

—just to go to this weird corrupted purple island and lose two people along the way—

why does doc always put him in the center of the story? it can get so stressful at times! i mean, rats was stressful enough even before the other rats did stuff like blow up the boiler!

—but... i mean, he made a song for pirates. that's something he'd only previously done for rats (and wow, was that process painful, can you imagine how hard it is to make music while being a rat and staying secretive about your mission? speaking of secrets, he got pretty lucky with the whole pirate thing, for once he can be truthful about some part of why he's here, even if he has to stay vague), and even then, that wasn't really a serious song. this one's a full on song, water made sheet music and everything!

so, evidently, it's not that bad. it's quite the opposite, actually. martyn thinks he's going to have a pretty good time here, as a pirate.

(he's not sure why the pirate aesthetic, and the oceanic/aquatic aesthetic as a whole, actually, feels so familiar. like he's done this sort of thing recently...?

and... scott. scott feels related to that, for some reason. and scott's a heron, martyn fucking hates the herons (he'd never admit it, maybe except to the rats in his boots, but they're actually not that bad. it's more like a sibling rivalry, than anything).

…does this have something to do with martyn randomly missing rat scott the past few months? …does he miss rat scott, or does he miss scott? …these aren't real people, martyn, get it together, it's fine. you're fine. nothing to worry about.)

[octuscle]

What the fuck?! I've just arrived for this academic conference in Amsterdam and when I went to unpack, my clothes and notes were gone! Instead my suitcase is filled with thongs and jockstraps and.. are those dildos? Who's fucking with me?

Well, to be quite precise: No, these are not only dildos. They are also butt plugs. Do you find just as disgusting? Then just put the case in the corner.

Damn, you just can't get this plug out of your head… When you fall asleep, you swear you hear a voice telling you that you should try the butt plug. Since your mother gave you a fever suppository as a child, no one has inserted anything into your ass. But somehow you know exactly what to do. You take a handful of Crisco, rub the plug in, fix it on the coffee table of your hotel room, relax your ass and slowly insert the plug. Fuck! Your cock reacts immediately. And so does your brain. What a horny combination of pleasure and pain. Yes, something like that belongs in your ass. Damn it! You pump air into the plug. Oh my God! The feeling drives you crazy. You can't get enough. And you start pumping with one hand and jerking off with the other. Until you cum a load like you have cum before. Fuck, what a mess in the hotel room. But what an orgasm!

The night is full of wild dreams. Full of wet wild dreams. You would love to go straight on with another sex toy. But you have a message on your cell phone. You should wear the latex shorts with the integrated dildo at the conference today. And after the conference you are supposed to work out with it in the gym. As if in a trance, you shower, oil yourself and put on the shorts. And over it you wear a shirt and a suit. Fuck! Your boner doesn't come to rest at all. And you get another message: "Good Boi".

The conference is really exhausting. With the dildo in your ass you can hardly concentrate. You are only thankful that you are wearing the latex shorts. You produce precum by the ounce. When you have to go to the toilet, you always use a stall. You are uncomfortable showing your ass in latex. At noon you get a message. "Sluts show their dick while pissing". Okay. So next time you stand at the urinal. You can't help it, you have to jerk off when you are done pissing. The looks you reap fluctuate between disgust, alienation and lechery.

You skip the champagne reception at the end of the congress day. Your task was to work out today. So you go straight back to the hotel. And you wonder what to wear to the training. Your suitcase still hasn't shown up. But the question is unnecessary. On your bed are shorts, tank top, socks and training shoes. The tank top has "Gym Slut" printed on it. And on your desk is a whole battery of bottles with protein drinks. Next to it is a weird metal thing… You get a new message. Every two hours you should drink a bottle of protein drinks. And wear the cock cage for training. You drink the first bottle and look at the device. Somehow you get it on. It looks way too big for your dick. But you immediately get a hard-on. A huge hard-on. You fill the cage painfully almost to bursting. Fuck, how you would love to jerk off now. "Training. Right now. At least three hours" says a new message. You get dressed, take two bottles and go to the hotel gym.

The cock cage makes it look like you have a constant hard-on anyway. In fact, you have a hard-on almost all the time. Nevertheless, you give everything during his workout. At 23:00 the gym closes. You Pose in front of the mirror. Damn, you are a beast! You're about to take a shower when your cell phone rings. No shower. No shave. No deodorant. Until further notice!

In your hotel room you drink another protein shake. You notice that your suit, your shirt, your shoes, everything you wore to the conference today is gone. The key to your cock cage is also gone. Instead, a pair of leather jeans hangs in the closet. A pair of long shiny track pants. And a bomber jacket. A pair of tank tops. A pair of combat boots. A pair of sneakers. And, of course, the stuff from your suitcase. You pull the bomber jacket over the sweaty gym clothes. You feel the pack of cigarettes in the pocket on your sleeve. "Go on, go to the smokers' bar at the hotel. And let someone give you a light. Just as you are.". Actually, you just wanted to go to bed. But orders are orders. In your short sports shorts and tank top under your shiny nylon jacket you stand out in the bar like a colorful dog. Actually you want to take a box of matches. But the order was to have them give you a light. You approach an older gentleman in a suit who is smoking his cigar. He looks at you, opens your jacket and reads "Gym Slut" aloud. He gives you a light and asks what you take for once blowing. You have no idea what to answer. You say € 50.00. The gentleman grabs your crotch, feels the cock cage and grins. He asks if you can keep the money or if your master gets it. You don't answer at all and follow him wordlessly to the toilet.

It is 02:00 o'clock when you are back in your room. You have smoked a pack of cigarettes and sucked four cocks. "Gym at 06:00" is written in your display. You drink another protein shake and fall into a deep sleep.

Good thing you didn't take off your latex shorts to sleep. That way you could prevent another mess in your bed. You take off the shorts, wash them briefly in the sink and go to the gym without underpants with your sports clothes smelling of sweat and cigarette smoke. Heck, it's 09:00 when you remember the conference. Your boss will kill you if you skip the day. A message pops up on your phone with an address. 10:00. On time. You hesitate. So far, everything has been very cool and exciting. But now it's about your job. You don't think with your head anymore. You think with your dick. And your caged dick tells you that you have to be at the address at 10:00.

A dark side street in a bad looking neighborhood. The cab driver took your money and made sure he got there fast. Nothing but a black door in a black facade. And a doorbell. You ring the bell. And the door opens. A bare-chested fellow asks you if you're Gareth. You nod. He invites you in and tells you to take a seat. Hours of agony begin.

It is 22:00 o'clock, when you stand again on the street. Your hair is shorn short. And you are inked. Richly inked. You used to be Gareth. Now you are Pig. Or Gaz. At least both are so prominently inked on your neck. You call a cab, but the way you stand on the street with a cigarette in your mouth in your leather pants and bomber jacket over your otherwise naked torso, no car stops. You receive a new message. You have checked out of your hotel. Your luggage has moved to a guesthouse. Around the corner. The entrance is through a bar. In front of it a group of smoking young men, at the sight of which your cock cage is almost blown. One of the fellows looks at you, pulls up the contents of his nose and snorts everything on his boot. Two days ago you would have turned away in disgust. But now you get down on your knees. And lick the snot off his boots. The fellow pulls you up by your collar and spits in your face. He turns around and you follow without asking a question.

Before you move into your cell, you have to hand over your cell phone. You now receive your orders via a new cell phone. And the next order comes immediately. You have to take the anal beads and come to the bar. You may live in a cell, but you are not a prisoner. At most of your sexual fantasies. And now get to know your master.

Hot inspiration found at @pigbberlin

[loveywon]

ENHYPEN AS LADY GAGA SONGS !

pairings! enhypen hyung line x gn!reader (separately) wc! 1.3k+ synopsis! enhypen as lady gaga songs ................... warnings! very slightly suggestive in jake's (aluded hookups), um little(?) angst in jay's, husband!jay x reader, heeseung situationship, sunghoon is barely touching the border of being obsessive idk, i think that's it lmk if i missed anything! not proofread who do u think i am

LEE HEESEUNG as POKERFACE

“no, he can’t read my poker face (she’s got me like nobody).”

to be fair, heeseung should’ve known better than getting into a complicated situationship with you. not that you were the ultimate heart breaker around campus or anything, but more so because you’re just too confusing. from the start, he was already enamored. you got him like you knew him since the two of you were kids, when in reality you two have only met for three months. it really wasn’t your fault, he couldn’t blame you as it was just the way you were. stoic, a bit cold, and he supposes it's how you’re able to easily read him like a children’s storybook. “how’s it going with y/n?” jay would ask every once in a while, and all heeseung can do is just shrug; how’s he supposed to know? one minute you’re ghosting, the next you’re asking him on a date and when the two of you can meet as soon as possible. “why don’t you just end things with y/n?” jay would then ask after heeseung’s previous answer, and he says in return, “i can’t.” almost like he’s addicted. maybe it’s the idea that you’re so unattainable, you won’t ever initiate a kiss nor say any affirming words unless he does it first and he wants to break you out of it. you’re exciting, it’s never the same with you. before he met you, he felt like his life was on autopilot and just doing the same routine every day. but now, he has something to expect from you, someone to keep him on his toes. he feels sick sometimes, like a sadist, he hurts whenever you ghost him or won’t really confirm you like him or not. he’s not really sure what it is about you, he feels like he’s gambling with what “type of y/n” he’ll get the next day, but one thing’s for sure, he’s hooked and can’t get enough.  (runner up was telephone for him but i ended up deciding on pokerface but PLEASE INDULGE WITH ME ON TELEPHONE HEESEUNG PLSSZEZZZ)

PARK JONGSEONG as BAD ROMANCE

“i want your ugly, i want your disease. i want your everything as long as it’s free.”

“you’re too young!” constantly rings in jay’s head. regret is a bad word to describe it, and he knows deep down that he doesn’t actually regret anything, but sometimes, just sometimes it's too much for him and he thinks you feel the same too. young and dumb is definitely something that you and jay represent, especially after literally eloping since neither of your respective families supported your relationship, not to mention marriage. it was all too surreal, the good was too good. waking up next to jay everyday felt like a dream, and jay can definitely say the same about you. the smell of pancakes in the morning stirring you awake, finding jay in the kitchen with a stupid “world’s number one husband” apron, serving the delicious breakfast onto a plate and handing it to you. “all good things come to an end” they say, but one thing that jay loves about you is that you’re stubborn, a bit headstrong, maybe a little bit too much, but it’s quite the reason why the both of you are still together. you fight like your life depends on it, and jay would find it almost painfully attractive if it weren’t for the constant back and forth screams that happens almost every day. it’s gotten so bad to the point where you’ve taken off your ring– not one, but two times, with jay following with “oh? that’s it, huh? well then, you know where the door is, right?” so condescending, you think. it’s really ugly, so hideous, it’s almost like an illness with the way your relationship plays out. “why not just be friends?” you think about at night sometimes, but both you and jay know that you both can not just be friends. you’ve seen each other's bad, the ugly, the disgusting, it’s too far to back out now.

SIM JAEYUN as SUMMERBOY

“baby you’ll just be my summer boyfriend (summerboy)!”

we have all the time in the world, you wish you could say to a sleepy jake next to you, in his bed. unfortunately for the both of you, you only have the summer. you love summer. and after meeting jake at some random friend’s pool party, you find yourself with him too often and enjoying summer way more. he’s exciting, he’s fun, he’s adventurous. he keeps you occupied, and maybe sometimes he keeps you a little ignorant of other things around you, but it’s fine, after all– it’s just for the summer. it’s all casual, but sometimes it’s hard to keep jealous feelings at bay when you see him flirting with other girls by the pool. not that he can notice anyway, your sunglasses do a fine job at hiding your green eyes as you sip on your favorite beverage. jake knows who he spends the night with, anyway. unfortunately, he’s more comfortable with you than he thought, a frown appearing on his face when he sees the sun coming down, meaning that you’re leaving him, only to do it all over again the next day until summer comes to an end. “stay?” he asks suddenly, two nights away from the fall season approaching. you stare at him blankly before laughing, assuming that he’s just joking. his frown is deeper, “i’m serious. i’m gonna miss you.” he admits, and you have to give it to him for being honest. “me too,” you reply with a grin, “you’re my summerboy, after all.” his frown curves into a boyish smile. “don’t miss me too much, though. we have next summer,” you say as you crawl out of his bed, collecting your things before waving goodbye. 

PARK SUNGHOON as PAPARAZZI

“promise i’ll be kind, but i won’t stop until that boy is mine.”

he’s such a sweet boy, he really is, until you come into the picture. global stars, the both of you. with the constant invitations to multiple movie premiers and red carpets to the point where the blinding camera flashes are just a norm now. he only got attention from the cameras because of you, really. spotted one day at your favorite cafe (which you can no longer go to now, too many fans crowd the area in hopes of seeing you) with your best friend, sunghoon. he went viral for being your rumored (ridiculously handsome) boyfriend, and many model agencies reached out to him. the both of you shut it down, but sunghoon wishes that you could’ve let the rumors stay, maybe he’ll have a chance with you. truthfully, he didn’t really relish in the spotlight and almost said no to the model agencies that reached out to him but he later came to the realization that it granted closer access to you. not long after his fame skyrocketed along with yours, many agencies desired you two to be in couple shoots (sunghoon may or may not have requested this). he hangs up every shoot or keeps every magazine that the two of you appear on, and gets a little jealous whenever his friends come over and ogle his framed photoshoots of you two or the magazines he has laying around with the both of you as the cover. he’s with you at every celebrity A-list party, making sure no one makes any wrong moves with you. he has the golden boy personality with the public, but many celebrities know that you’re off limits, thanks to the private talks and sharp stares from sunghoon. he’ll follow you everywhere until you notice the one you need is right in front of you this entire time, and he won’t quit anything for you. 

a/n ok but hear me out maknae line as justin bieber songs

[mavia-anon]

SBI Whumptober Day 6 - coughing up blood // choking // "just breathe."

This particular prompt is getting a spotlight here because I like it. If you wanna check out everything else I've written for SBI Whumptober so far you can find it on my ao3 here. This is also longer than what I'd usually post on Tumblr so sorry about that

CW: dark SBI, possessive behaviour, vampire Tommy got turned against his will, (but that's not shown, just mentioned)

---

There's a hunger like never before gnawing at Tommy's bones.

He's no stranger to going hungry, he spent most of his childhood being half starved and weak because of it. But even that doesn't compare to the hunger and the pain he feels now.

"Just rest," a gentle voice soothes, a cold hand carding through his hair. "You can eat soon."

Tommy whines pathetically, under the hunger pangs that make his stomach twist, there's an ache in his heart at the sound of the voice. Wilbur's voice, a slightly more coherent part of him, recognises.

He's supposed to trust Wilbur, right? They're friends – brothers almost. He remembers joking about that once, he thinks. It feels like it was a lifetime ago.

But as awareness slowly creeps back into his mind, Tommy remembers more. He had trusted not just Wilbur, but his whole family – Techno and Phil, where are they?

Tommy whines again, some new and unfamiliar part of his mind crying about the loss of… something. The ache in his heart worsens.

His family. Tommy trusted them – had trusted them. He trusted them with so much. With his fears and his vulnerabilities, with his physical wellbeing, with his fucking heart.

Fuck, he even trusted them with Henry. The stupid ratty cow plush that was his only memory of his biological family. And what did he get in return? Backstabbed – no, neckstabbed by Phil the moment he could admit he loved them.

"Wil," Tommy whines. "Wil what did you do t' me?"

"Don't worry about it, moonlight," Wilbur dismisses quickly. "You love us, right?"

Tommy whines again, confused and uncertain. Because he does. He loves them so much it hurts him sometimes but… but love shouldn't hurt like this, should it?

"You fuckin' turned me," Tommy whispers brokenly, the start of tears pooling in his eyes. "I told you I'd never want this."

The hand in his hair tightens painfully, and Tommy whines once more, moving his head to try and shake Wilbur off.

"Sorry, moonlight," the hand retracts completely and Tommy has to bite back a whimper. "Just… don't say things like that, alright?"

Tommy doesn't offer a response, he hardly feels smart enough to argue with Wilbur on a good day, but now, with his head stuffed full of cotton and the hunger overtaking his every thought, it feels almost impossible.

"I'm hungry," Tommy says after a long moment. "Do you think Phil'll make me pancakes again?"

"I don't think so, moonlight," Wilbur says gently.

Tommy frowns. "What's up with you callin' me that?" He mumbles. "Though' I was your sunshine, or whatever."

"You were – you still are," Wilburs hand returns to his hair, sharp nails scratching at his scalp softly. "But you're like us now. Still yourself of course, just. Changed. Moonlight is only a darker reflection of the sun, after all, and now you're ours. I thought it was fitting."

Tommy hums a non answer. Wilbur has always been poetic about shit like that, but Tommy feels too distant to really understand the words properly. It's nice to hear him talk though, his voice has always been calming.

Tommy breathes deep, content to listen as Wilbur continues rambling on. He can't sleep, as much as he wants to, the hunger is constant. But he’s fine, for now, he's certainly lived through worse.

Like being bitten and turned by a vampire.

The thought comes unbidden and Tommy frowns to himself, but the sound of a door opening steals his attention quickly enough that he doesn't have to think too deeply yet.

He feels the presence of two people enter the nest, an unfamiliar bond between them that feels like family. And with them, the sweetest smell reaches Tommys nose.

He sits up instantly, his hunger growing with a vengeance at the smell. Phil and Techno stand in the doorway, wide smiles on their faces and a fondness in their eyes Tommy has never seen before.

“Hey mate,” Phil greets him with a soft voice and Tommy makes an odd noise in return, something eerily close to a bird call. “Wow, you're deep in your instincts, huh? Makes this next part easier I guess.”

Both Wilbur and Techno chuckle at that and Tommy whines lowly. The sweet smell is only getting stronger, and Tommy is just so hungry. Whatever his sire is hiding, Tommy needs to have it – to sink his teeth into it and–

“Come here, Toms, I’ve got your food right here.”

Tommy doesnt waste a moment, scrambling out of Wilburs arms and off the bed, rushing headfirst into Phil, an unpracticed rumbling purr spilling from his lips.

That's… that's weird, right? Tommy blinks, awareness seeping back in for a moment. He shouldn't– something is wrong.

“Shh,” Phil hushes. “It’s okay, I'm here, just focus on me. You want to eat, don't you?”

A haze he hadn't noticed before falls over Tommys mind. It feels safe, warm. Phil purrs at him and somehow he knows it means his sire is content. Tommy lets himself sink into the haze.

“Good,” Phil praises. “Techno, if you would?”

Tommy blinks, and suddenly something is at his lips and the sweet smell becomes overwhelming.

He bites down on the thing in front of him instinctively, and distantly he hears Techno hiss in pain off to the side. Tommy hardly cares though, there's something thick and rich on his tongue, almost as sweet as the smell still in the air but almost tainted somehow.

Tommy feels himself being moved and gently the finger – Technos finger, he realises – is pried from his mouth. Before he can even whine in complaint, there's something else pushed in front of him. It's the source of the sweet smell, Tommys stomach cramps and he bites down without another thought.

The taste on his tongue is heavenly, as thick and rich as before, but it's not spoiled this time. It tastes fresh and it feels hot as it spills down his throat and warms his stomach. Tommy drinks and drinks and drinks until he is full, his hunger finally sated.

He pulls back, the haze over his mind is gone and he blinks the blurriness from his eyes–

To find a body cradled in his lap.

Tommy screams and scrambles backwards, staring wide eyed at the pale and bloodied person in front of him.

They're not moving, not breathing– they're– 

Tommy brings a hand up to his lips. They're wet and sticky to the touch and as Tommy looks at his fingertips, he sees a deep red blood staining them.

Oh god.

His stomach lurches, his breath quickens.

Oh fucking god. There’s no way– he wouldn't have–

Tommy gags, rolling onto his side as he focuses on the sick feeling. There's still blood in his mouth and Tommy's breath hitches with the force of his sudden sobs.

He's choking. He can't breathe, he can't remember how to anymore.

His guts twist.

Oh god.

“Hey, it's alright, I'm right here, look at me.”

That's Techno. That's Technoblade talking to him in his deep rumbling voice. Warm hands grab him, but it's okay. It's okay, it's just Technoblade, right? Technoblade would never hurt him, he promised. 

“Just breathe,” Techno soothes. “You're gonna be okay, I promise.”

Tommy settles at that. Techno… Techno would never break a promise.

He promised to protect Tommy, and he had. He promised to love Tommy, and despite everything he does.

They all promised not to turn him.

But… but if Techno promises everything will be okay.

Tommy retches again. There's still blood in his mouth, staining every inch of him. He's scared, he's so, so tired.

The haze creeps over his mind, and Tommy willingly sinks into it.

His coven will keep him safe. They love him, afterall. Even if they hurt him.

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Clearing the Fog

Oh hey it's the annual chapter of Damage. One of these days I PROMISE I'll update on a day sometime else in the year. Eventually?

Summary: Cole is dead. But he's been a ghost before, so maybe Pet can find a way to dig him out of his grave.

Trigger Warnings: mentions of attempted suicide, pet whump, dehumanization, past abuse, trauma, stockholm syndrome, existential crisis

1743 words

He didn’t know what to do.

Jay had dragged him off the rooftop hours ago, away from the bite of the wind and the chill of panic that was seeping at the edges of his brain. He was so, so tired. He wanted to curl up and sleep forever. But he just… he couldn’t make himself get on the bed.

No matter how many times Jay told him it would be okay, something in him just… refused to believe it. Maybe it was that foreign name on his lips, so completely unattached from the husk he now was.

Maybe Cole was dead. Maybe he had never been alive at all.

He hunched in on himself on the floor, grateful for the bundle of blankets that Jay had all but forced him to accept. At least he could hide away in these, pretend that a few layers of fluff would stop him from being vulnerable to the world — like a mother’s warm embrace.

God, his mom. When was the last time he’d allowed her to enter his stupidly broken brain? When had he realized just how damaged his brain even was?

He missed his mom so much. He’d been at peace with her loss, once, but the sands of time had withered away at him in more ways than one, hadn’t they? What he would give for just one moment of her comfort.

There was his dad. But the others (he swallowed down the creeping along his spine at the concept of equating himself to them at all) had all but forced him to go home for a few days, promising to keep him updated. Was he being updated now? How much would he know?

He longed for his father, but at the same time… he couldn’t bear it. Not when all he could see was the shattered heartbreak in his eyes when he’d pushed him away. Not when he was like this. The nausea swimming in his stomach dipped and spun, and he was finally beginning to identify what exactly it might have been.

It was humiliating, being seen like this. It was humiliating to be the disgusting shell he now was, unsure of where he was supposed to fit in the world, untrusting of his own shattered mind.

It was humiliating to still believe, on a primal level, that he was just a pet.

He didn’t want to believe it. He really didn’t. But what else could he be? He certainly wasn’t a ninja, not anymore. He barely qualified as a person at all.

Maybe it was better that way. Maybe he could still just go back. Home.

He wanted to go home.

Where had home ever been?

It should have been with Master. That’s where it was supposed to be. He was happy there. He was. But maybe… maybe it wasn’t right, that home was a place that, underneath the clouded haze of one sided love (which side was it?), was a hive of constant, buzzing fear.

Love wasn’t supposed to hurt. Was it?

He hadn’t thought it possible to cry any more tonight. His eyes were painfully dry and there couldn’t possibly be any water left inside him, not after all of that. And yet, tears were steadily dribbling again anyway.

His mouth burned in its dryness. 

Slowly, he poked his head out of his blanket pile, unsurprised but still embarrassed to find Jay watching him intently. Like if he didn’t keep both eyes on him at all times, he’d run off to the roof again. It wasn’t a horrible assumption on his part.

“Can I—” he croaked, voice cracking from what was probably both his incoming breakdown and the lack of use over time. How many times had Master ever allowed him to speak? “Water?” He asked, too exhausted to so much as clear his throat. He was barely even holding his head up at this point.

Jay snapped to attention, standing from his post. “Of course! Um, will you be okay if I leave to get it, or, uh…”

Cole nodded as much as his body allowed, slumping back into the blankets. “Pl’se,” he mumbled, eyes half open.

Through his blurry vision, he thought he might have seen Jay smiling. “Be right back.”

He didn’t watch him go. He allowed his eyes to slip closed, keeping himself just awake enough that he’d be able to chug a cup or two before passing out entirely.

His head hurt, and he wondered distantly if it was because he was no longer used to truly thinking. Not for himself, anyway. 

Jay returned within moments, pressing a bottle with a straw into his hands. Spill proof. He might have sobbed if it weren’t for his exhaustion, too tired to do anything but allow more tears to slide down his cheeks. 

He didn’t get through more than a few relieving sips before he began to drift off again, somehow finding himself having dragged Jay into his makeshift nest, arms wrapped loosely around him. 

If Jay was with him, surely that would keep the monsters at bay. No nightmares, and no…

Well. In any case, at least he could finally sleep.

He woke up to a deep, harrowing ache in his bones. At some point in the night, Jay had rolled over, half on top of him. 

He couldn’t entirely say he minded. It was a comforting sort of weight. He couldn’t do anything to himself if the body atop him prevented it. Nothing could hurt him — not himself, and not… not anyone or anything else.

In the peace of the morning sun, he committed every name to memory, going over their faces in his mind and staring at Jay’s slack face until he’d memorized every intricacy of it.

Even when he went back — because he knew he would. He knew Master would come for him, he knew there was nothing that could stop him, not a thing in the world. Even when, he didn’t want to forget. Not again. He would remember their names — Jay, Kai, Zane, Lloyd, Nya — and he would remember their faces. He would remember them. No matter what.

Master would find him. He couldn’t allow himself to get too comfortable — it would only make it all hurt so much worse.

But such a small, burning spark of hope buried deep beneath it all longed to hold on. To hold onto the people who refused to give up on him. Even as he screamed at them, pulled away, broke their hearts every time he refused to so much as look at them.

Looking at them hurt, now that he could feebly grasp onto the memories of who he once was.

Who was he now?

What if he could just… not go back? What if he could just stay, find who Cole was, dig him out from where he’d been buried deep within himself? 

Jay stirred beside him, slowing sitting up and cracking his neck, then his knuckles. They sat in silence for a great deal of time while he thought.

“Jay,” he finally mumbled, staring at the wall, “what happened to him?”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Jay watching him. He wanted to look at him, to meet his eyes, to convey anything other than the emptiness in his voice.

“Police custody,” he finally supplied, “in jail until he goes to trial, and then… god, he’s going to rot in Kryptarium if I have anything to say about it.”

Silence, again. For a long time, sitting together while Pet tried to find his words. Up to him to break the silence. Up to him to use his voice as he pleased.

“I’m so confused,” he finally admitted, once again choked up. “I don’t know what to — I’m confused.”

“I know,” Jay sighed, leaning over and resting his head on Cole’s shoulder. “I know, bud. You don’t need to — fuck, you don’t need to be okay right now, okay? You don’t need to stress about anything. You’re safe. You have all the time in the world to figure it out, okay?”

“Do I?”

“Oh, Cole… he’s never getting out. After what he did to you… even if he somehow managed to escape Kryptarium, he’d have to fight off a group of highly trained ninja that would sooner die than let him at you. Plus your dad. That guy is vicious.”

At the mention of his father, he fully burst into tears, the dam breaking. 

Jay rubbed circles into his back, softly encouraging him to let it all out, not seeming to mind as he sobbed into his shirt, creating a mess of it. He hated remembering almost as much as he hated having a hollow mind. Remembering hurt. Existing numbly hurt.

“It’s not fair,” he managed between hiccuping sobs, “it’s not — I don’t even know where to — it’s not fair. I wish I could just — I wish I could go back. Before.”

Jay cringed at the mention of a wish, something he could vaguely remember (remember, remember) him doing over the last few years. He liked remembering. Even if there were still massive gaps, it made the thoughts in his head feel so much less alone. 

“I know,” Jay mumbled, squeezing his arms tight around him. “You’re so strong, Cole. You — god, I was so scared you would never remember anything at all.”

“I don’t,” he sniffled, “I don’t.”

“You’re so strong,” he just repeated. “We’re gonna get through this, together, okay? You have all of us, and we’re never — look at me,” he gently lifted Pet’s head with his hands so his eyes could bore into him. “We are never. Ever. Letting that disgusting man get his hands anywhere near you again.”

He hated how much he hated hearing that. Despite the confliction violently burning in his chest, he missed — him. He hated missing him. He wanted things to go back to how they were before it all. He wanted to be Cole. He wanted to be normal.

A soft knock sounded at the door, swinging open with the hesitance of waking someone. “Jay, are you…?” The green one — Lloyd, his baby brother, the boy he would protect with every last breath in his body, whom destiny had linked them all to so many years ago — asked, trailing off as he took in the scene in front of him.

Cole sniffled, smiling up at the boy through his tears. “Hi, Lloyd,” he said. “I missed you.”

[erisenyo]

Hi!!! So I promised like forever ago I would come scream at you about All I Need is to be Struck (By your Electric Love) and I NEVER DID!!! I've been going thru it in my classes, I'M SORRY!!!!! But I'm here now and Jesus fucking christ I am rusty at comments again! Here we go, I apologize if this is just a bunch of nothing lol.

The little intro where they're getting dressed to go out is so cute! It feels so domestic to have Zuko pretending to be annoyed while Sokka spends too long picking out an accessory for an outfit that is supposed to keep them out of sight. I love them so much! Even the little moments where Sokka fixes Zuko's collar and then Zuko grabs his hand to hurry him along?💕💕 I'm melting! The comfort they have with touching eachother is so sweet!!! They're so intune with each other's habits and moods! I am so smiley, they love eachother hehe.💞 And now having read this a couple times, Zuko is such a sneak!! Love him planning this day from the very beginning, I think I thought he set up like a sunset picnic the first read thru. This is UM NOT THAT. Love it for them tho. You ever just so wildly in love, you have to spend all day indulging in someone's presence and then ravish them on a roof as soon as you feel a storm coming??? Babe. Your experiences ARE NOT UNIVERSAL!! The little details about how Zuko uses more vernacular from the South when he's been talking to Bato is so fucking cute!! Oh! Love the flirting between the boys!! The ass grab and titty fondling? Lmao am I obsessed with their constant bickering turning into basically causing a scene in public. The date!!!! God one if my favorite tropes is Zuko being taller! Yes be a little shit about it to your boyfriend!!!! Crying about them making notes of which food the other enjoyed the most. I am over here sighing wistfully again, it's about loving someone enough to watch their reactions over everything. 💘Stop it, not Zuko using his badass heat bending to make Sokka more comfortable if he ate something too warm!!!! He's so cool and just uses it to be hot and make Sokka smile! He's a DORK. "Zuko’s thumb is slowly stroking over Sokka’s hand, his firebender heat pressing all along Sokka’s left side, his foot intercepting Sokka’s swinging every so often, a quiet tap just a bit too far to the side to be anything but a deliberate nudge." This??? So cute and so fucking realistic, you're amazing at humanizing your characters I swear. Sokka's brain is so fucking cool btw, like he notices Zuko isn't stopping as often, contemplates the joy in the city vs the very recent anxiety of war that used to be a constant, sees a bobble for water benders, considers what could help the South and what the South could provide in return, figures out that Zuko would want to speak to some firebenders, and plans out how to get him chances to, while still shopping. I'm love. He's brilliant. Oh and the bag modeling???? The playful posing and touching!!! Zuko going along with the game is!!!!! Sjdhhdjdjd my cheeks hurt from smiling!!!!! Everyone knows him as a serious leader, but he's just a sucker for Sokka! I love the way they bring out the best in eachother. 💗Zuko picking out the armbands!!!! Not me spinning around and twirling my hair cause Sokka said "later"!!!!!! The implications of it all. The teasing in public is painfully sweet. And Zuko getting grumpy when Sokka talks about The Boulder wjhsjdjsjsjs I am snort-cackling that is fucking adorable!!!! I live for the different sides of these characters in your writing! I'm so used to imagining Zuko as prickly (which he is) but seeing him become someone who can be playful and unbearably attentive? It's so nice! I won't mention the spicy bits but I really like the way you include tenderness and romance in these scenes!!! They're stupidly in love and you can see it in everything they do and say!!!!! The fact that whenever asked about listening to Sokka or memorizing what he wrote, Zuko replies "always" every time. I am WEAK. They love each other so much!!! This is not my best work, I'll get back into it I swear!!!! I love your writing!! The whole time I had a smile on my face and couldn't stop giggling! Amazing job as always!!!! You deserve the best!!! 💝💌💝

Anon, hello!! Hopefully you made it through the roughness with classes, my fingers are crossed for you, and absolutely no need to apologize ever, you have no idea how much this made my whole week to see when it came through!

I love that you enjoyed the opener and that all the cuteness and domesticity hit right from the start! I'll admit I didn't even truly register that Sokka was spending too long picking out an accessory for their go-unnoticed-outfits, but that is absolutely what he is doing and Zuko is absolutely here for it haha. I'm so happy their comfort with each other came through so clearly, and the ways they're in sync with each other's habits and moods and just that their love was so obvious right from the first scene!

I'm also doing a little happy dance that you've already read it a few times, rereading is truly such an amazing compliment. And Zuko is a sneak! I'm cracking up that you thought it was going to be a cute sunset picnic from the start, that is very much not it even though that is also very nice. But Zuko has plans for this day. He's got goals and an agenda and he might not be entirely sure how it's going to come about but he's going to make sure it happens haha

It's so fun seeing all the little details that stood out to you, from Zuko's vernacular to the flirting moments (both blatant and subtle lol) to Zuko lording his current height over Sokka (I like to believe it's a constant and very smug competition for them) to their bickering basically being some light foreplay. It's the enemies to lovers in them :P

And it's so lovely to see that even in the midst of all their ass-grabbing and arguing-as-flirting that those moments of romance shone through, too! Zuko automatically taking care of Sokka with his heat bending, them paying such close attention to each other because they want to make each other happy, both of them being such dorks and so into it with each other haha. And that the moments are not only cute and sweet but feel so realistic just puts such a smile on my face. It's such an amazing compliment that they feel so human when I write them, truly it means so much to hear, and I'm just beyond happy that you think the way I write Sokka's thought process is so cool!! He's simultaneously about the details and also the free-associating from topic to topic and I love how you frame that chain of thought that gets him from 'Zuko isn't stopping' to executing a plan to give Zuko something he wants.

It makes me so happy too that their flirting and playfulness was so fun to read and had you smiling so much! Zuko absolutely being focused and determined and totally gone on Sokka when they get the chance to just be with each other. I love those moments when there's that window into their relationship vs how they might appear to someone on the outside, and it's so awesome that you can see the way they bring out the best in each other like that!

I love that the armband scene had you spinning around and twirling your hair! I apparently can't resist slipping an engagement tease into fics about the two of them haha. And that the teasing in general was so sweet is such an awesome thing to hear. That all their winding each other up still had such affection and sweetness to it for you is so wonderful, and I've been smiling ever since this ask came through that my writing shows you so many different sides of these characters (especially when it comes through fun little moments like Sokka's crush on the Boulder haha), that is so sweet and I'm genuinely so touched that my fics showcase these different facets of their personalities in a way that feels so authentic to them still.

It's so nice too that their tenderness and romance came through so clearly even during the spicy moments when their surface thoughts are unrepentantly horny, too! That the quest to find a private-enough place to hook up still showcases how stupidly in love they are is all I could hope for with this one :)

Thank you again for these amazing thoughts. I so enjoy reading your reactions and what stood out to you, it really is a bright spot in my whole week and I'm so thrilled you liked this one so much <3 <3

[pertinasities]

kaeya's words give diluc pause; he hesitates for a moment before reaching for the next ingredient in kaeya's drink. he supposes it's not an ... incorrect assertion ( and the glaringly obvious implication makes his heart heave painfully in his chest. ... he's been so cruel to his little brother. so unfathomably, unforgivably cruel. ) " ... just because they fall into it ... doesn't mean they have to stay there. resentment is a trap ... forgiveness is a choice." his gaze is searching when he meet's kaeya's, posing a silent question: what about you ? do you still hate me for all i put you through ? or could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me --- to call me 'brother' again ? " ... is ... everything all right, kaeya ? you're always cryptic, but you're being ... especially so tonight." | @dilucisms

Kaeya tips back on the barstool just a touch further than is safe - the way Crepus always used to scold him for. It will ruin the integrity of the chair - he'll fall and hit his head. Any number of cautionary tales. But he hasn't heard that lecture in years, and he'll never hear it again. Funny how that works.

"How very well spoken of you, Master Diluc," Kaeya drawls, sure to sound as shitty as possible. He may have started them down this road, but he can feel every wall he's built around himself doubling rapidly as they grow dangerously close to a genuine conversation.

But of course, Diluc has always had a way of slamming a battering ram into the weakest point, leaving Kaeya exposed and defenseless.

"Careful now, I might start to think you care." It's a deflection, but he knows Diluc will see right through it. But it's also an out. Diluc can turn now, leave Kaeya to mortar his walls and lick his wounds. Or, the more frightening option, he can double down. Can press a conversation they've both been avoiding for years. If only Kaeya had kept his mouth shut.

Still, his finger traces the rim of his empty glass as Diluc prepares his next. He could leave now, but his options would be the Cat's Tail, or making a drink at home. It's never as good as when Diluc makes it (just like hot chocolate when they were younger, he thinks).

"I've had a lot on my mind as of late." His voice turns softer, just a touch. And no one to talk about it to goes unsaid. Ever since he got back from Sumeru he's felt... detached, almost. More than usual. Like the loyalty he's built means nothing, could crumble in the face of something as simple as his lineage. It's like he's 18 again, a ticking time bomb that can't tell anyone what he really is. And the vision hanging at his hip is a constant reminder.

"Forgiveness is a funny thing. We think we choose it, but I don't think I agree." He'd tried, for a time, not to forgive Diluc. It would be easier that way. The less ties the better, anyway, and he had more than enough reason. Yet he couldn't even maintain the resentment properly until Diluc returned. "We can try, of course, but sometimes the grudge doesn't die. And sometimes, we fail to stoke it."

An unusual bout of honesty leaves him unsteady, unsure, and faintly uncomfortable. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the hour, maybe it's the strange concoction he volunteered to test for Albedo and Sucrose. Or maybe it's one too many burdens, and a soft spot he's never managed to snuff out.

[averycorvoidae]

Resentment Dump 2

I guess I can just nebulously blame *mental health,* but here's the second attempt at me trying to write something. I know, it's incredibly shit. It's hard to not give up but I swear I'm trying At least, I think I am, I don't really know what trying feels like. I feel like the more I write the more I need to understand why I'm writing. I mean, in a way where it doesn't feel like I'm putting things together that **don't** build to anything. I feel like alot of the time I write in a way that's very... wandering but obsessive? It might be the mindstate of both myself and the characters, but I don't feel like it's interesting to read. The biggest reason I just *gave up* here is I didn't know how to introduce a character in an "organic" way. Well As "organic" as an inciting incident can be. I'll include afterthoughts after the bulk of the writing.

-- Chapter 1 --

For as long as I could remember, the village had been growing. I don’t mean logical growth. Buildings and structures come out of the ground overnight. The concrete maze strangles a little more life from my village every day.

                I remember my original village well enough. I wouldn’t say I have the greatest memory, but there were clear starts and ends. I live in a house, with my parents. The front door leads to a square, with a few benches, and a fountain in the middle. Surrounding the square were various buildings: a market, the school, more houses, other small buildings complete with four roads that ran in each cardinal direction from the center. From back side of my house there was the same road, all connected in the shape of a large “O.” Outside this was another ring of buildings, then, only a few bits of road and scant buildings beyond. The rest of the space left to nature’s growths. I look out my window now, and it’s just a horizon of grey squares.

                Nobody else seems to notice. Maybe nobody else cares. The city is decaying, and I need to get out. Most of the people I remember from school left already, they were the smart ones. I was too afraid to do what I thought was blindly wander away and abandon everything.

                I haven’t done much since leaving school. There’s not much I needed to do. I don’t know if doing something would’ve helped. The cancer is pervasive, it doesn’t sit outside the village. That’s something that took me too long to realize. My parents look at me with haunted expressions, past human, ready to cry or scream in terror. Abandoned buildings keep shades moving in their windows. The trustworthy food in the markets gets smaller every time I visit. Then the strangers, some know my name, they’re always wrong. Not as far gone as the monsters in the outer tumors, these strangers freeze singular expressions on their faces, sometimes their limbs stop responding, often times hard to understand and painfully easy to smell. I wonder how many of these people regret their existence, clearly once normal, displaced and disfigured into my village.

                I don’t know when I first noticed this taint in my own body. Maybe it was somewhere in my hands. I look at them now, they’re supposed to be smooth. Whether it was scales, crevices, growths, or blackened spots, I have to keep my hands pure. It’s one of the most important things I check for. Anything wrong gets shaved. My hands are damaged now, but still pure. Whatever my skin is supposed to look like, is now covered wholly by an intricate web of scars. The homes of various tumors excised and grown over. To monitor my whole body is a constant task.

I keep my tools next to my bed. There are the simpler tools, like pliers and clamps. There’s my needle, a sharp daggerlike blade perfect for digging and precision. Finally, there’s my razor, a knife around half the length of my forearm in total. There’s nothing special about the blade. The handle is more akin to a large egg, rough and stone-cut, attached to blade by a random, odd angle. I didn’t make it myself, and for along time it confused me. As I use it more and more, it’s easier to understand, it’s not a weapon, a tool in the truest sense of the word. I can move the blade to match any angle or position it needs. What it sacrifices in power, it gains in leverage and precision. There are other tools, but none as important or well-used.

I enjoy the pain. I know the blades keep me steady, on the path I need to be on. Every slipped cut forces my attention to be just as sharp as my tools. A wayward incision leaves a reminder of what I have to deal with for sometimes days. If I hit a tendon or a nerve, my hands might spasm or go limp. In a way, I have complete control over my body. There is comfort to know that there is a baseline all I can return to, and that I have learned how to pay the price. But mainly, I thank pain for my mentality, it’s always there, in tandem alongside the corruption. I never forget my place. The danger is always present. Pain ensures my safety.

I spend most of my time in my house, I watch the neighborhood, myself. It’s hard to justify going out, things get stranger, the strangers get more threatening, and everything I trust shrinks away and disappears. I force myself to leave my house every so often, reminding myself what’s being lost, but more and more its just not safe enough. I know I need to do something though, even if it’s more out of fear rather than courage. I keep to myself; I try not to look at any one thing for too long. I lie my hands against the things I have in my clothes. The weight and feeling assures me nothing is lost. Even so, I feel like I go out shorter and shorter distances.

I need to go out today. I have to. I need to know I still can.

My room is safe enough. I know I can’t fully trust my memories anymore, but it keeps feeling like this perversion changes things when I’m not looking. When I’m in my room, it’s stable, I know where everything is. One either end, are two windows, one lets me see into the market square, and the other offers a narrow angle of the streets behind. The back window also has a door. Outside of which is a steep set of stone stairs. The only other way out is through the front door on the first floor.

The furnishing of my room is generally sparse. I have a bed far too wide for me. Next to the bed is a simple nightstand, the tools kept in its drawer. I have a dresser infront of a wall. It stores all my clothes, baggy, in various shades of beige and grey. I also have an old, partially rotten chair currently placed to view out of the front window. The room itself is far larger than a single living space should reasonably be. The room, in general, is best for pacing, where the thin carpet can barely protect the stone floor below from sounding loudly with regular, heavy footsteps. The red and purple carpet itself, was wildly oversized. The frayed ends crumpled under itself or rode up the wall at nearly each end of the room. I kept one of the carpet’s corners peeled back, so the flooring would lay bare. That corner was the only real proof of what I do.

My bathroom is near that corner. Simple, but still overly large for a single person. A sink, a toilet, and a boxed shower were all that it had. I used to clean myself over the sink. Thinking it could be easier to wash the blood away. But over time, the stains wore into the sink. For whatever reason, this disgusted me. The sink had a purpose, and I needed to find a place that could serve the purpose I needed. So I moved to that outside corner. The stone drinks in the blood whenever I have any to offer. The wall, originally the color of sand, turns a feint shade of purple before blackening closer and closer to the meeting point of both walls and the floor. At this point it feels like an altar. The blackness proves longstanding dedication to purity.

The rest of my house I don’t trust as much. My parents live downstairs, they have the kitchen. I fear the people I’ve seen them become. I don’t even know if they are my parents anymore. They go about their days like they used to, only now under constant veils of sadness and fear. It taints their words, their actions. It was a sad realization to come to, but there’s nothing I can do anymore.

I’m stalling.

I don’t want to go outside.

It’s warm today, I don’t need to wear more than the clothes I have on: simple shorts and a shirt all covered by a large nearly white poncho. A lot of my legs were showing. The heavily scarred shins hid an even more heavily scarred calf. At least my shoes would hide my feet. It’s fine. The scars are my pride, proof of my courage. One last look showed a similar sight to most days. The few people that were, kept to themselves on the periphery.

I just need to reach the fountain.

The steps leading into the kitchen are always intimidating. A suffocating corridor with no lights led down to a landing lit up by distant light reaching around the corner. The front door wasn’t too far beyond.

I started to walk around my room. I know what each step feels like. I know where the handrail is. I know to grab the handrail with my fingers, not the whole of my hand, otherwise it would splinter off into my hand. I reflexively know to curl my fingers up in a rhythm with my walking, as to avoid needing to deal with the brackets on the wall. I know what I would see when I got downstairs, just the front wall of the house, the door, and a room behind I don’t need to even look at. This took me almost four laps. I was wasting my energy.

I moved back to the door and gripped the corner. Almost pulling myself through, my left hand gripped the handrail. Every footstep I took down was meticulous. It seemed as if I was trying to savor the feeling of each step away from guaranteed safety. I had to keep forcing myself down. I extended my left pinky. Touching the rail gave a more immediate thrill. My steps gradually got faster as I threatened myself with splinters under my nail. As congratulations, I let myself free near the bottom. No splinters.

I kept my eyes on the door. If I continually made my last step the point of no return, I would at least be outside. My right hand thrust toward the doorknob. It felt… like nothing. My fingers dug into it, and all of a sudden this fear felt very silly. This was the front door of my house. This is normal. I should be safe. A twist of the wrist and a light push instantly forced regret down my throat. The air wasn’t hard to breathe, but it felt malignant. The sun glared down on the whole square, and every damned soul in it. On my, damned soul. I closed the door. Instantly, the air settled down to its normal, stagnant self. The world got so much slower. Nothing would move before I did. I had to come to terms with being such a fucking coward before I could let go of the doorhandle. Just a bloated sack of failures, scabby from being too afraid to get to safety. I let go of the doorhandle. The world sped back up, I remained, inside.

I didn’t have to turn around, so I didn’t. I just moved back to the stairwell. I don’t have to see what became of my parents, or what light is being blared from what’s left of the TV. I already know the noise, voices mangled together in a broadcast, cutting through and over each other. The noise is a soft constant that reverberates through the floor all 24 hours.

The stairs are oddly softer going back up. It’s almost like walking through clay, slowly raising my leg, just to lower it again. The stairs want to remain stone, but they make my feet feel so heavy. Then I’m back in my room. Such a goddamn disappointment. I knew I said I was going to make it, but today I just felt so sure! Tomorrow I have to, I can’t keep waiting for my haven to stop being so safe.

-- Chapter 2 --

Every morning is the same. I stir, then slowly grow a frustration until I have to rip myself out of bed. I always grab my tools and head towards the corner. Kneeling, I begin to meditate on my own body. My entire body feels suspect, but I can only cut at the tumors that have formed. My right hand grabbed the doorknob yesterday. I couldn’t risk it. I grabbed my razor, and turned it towards my right hand, looking for the best opening.

My wrist had a prominent bone which pointed directly at my thumb. I balanced the edge of the blade on the bone. I followed where the wrist pointed, but only a short while. I was hovering right above the meaty chunk of my palm. I wrenched the blade to the left. The tip was free, but now more of the blade laid under the skin. My thumb twitched, and I did my best to keep it from ruining my precision. I moved the blade all the way to the left, at the corner of my hand. I’ve done this enough times to set my hand in position easily, no matter how much it wanted to resist. I forced my fingers to relax, but raised the pinky. With a single, swift motion, I freed the skin, from palm to pink. Slowly, I moved my hand to the wall, the fabric of skin dangling off the edge of my thumb. I pressed my bloody appendage firmly against the wall. The easy part was to hewn my hand free. With my hand against the wall, I did my best  to raise the uncut fingers. My knuckle made it look like little pistons ran my body. I wish I was that easy to maintain, taking out, replacing parts, recovering the skin when I had to. It could be so much more simple to maintain my purity. Regardless, I slid the knife beneath the underside of my knuckle. Eventually it found stable purchase under skin. Another single, swift motion and a loose flap of flesh flew above my hand before landing on the ground with an unsatisfying half-splat. Finally, I freed the rest of my hand to push my thumb into the wall by itself. Putting the knife by my wrist again, another quick motion peeled the infected layers off my skin.

I freed my hand from the wall. I just sat there for a moment, reflexively clenching my fist of blood as tight as I could muster. The three flaps of skin just laid on the ground. A part of me expected them to start moving, like parasites freed from their host. They never moved, they just sat in the little puddle of blood each of them was left in. Blood trickled down my hand and just started to pour into the middle of the corner. I grabbed the handle, and I had to be cleaned. Clenching my fit makes time go by faster. I just focus on the pain. I do my best to stay still until the trickle slows into periodic droplets.

It disappoints me how much my knees hurt. I’ve grown used to the pain of cuts and scars. I always kneel, but my knees and shins can hardly hold me. I suppose that’s why I’ve always found this ritual so meditative. I must focus on myself. I become my flaws and errors. I can’t fall, the point is persistence.

The blood stopped. I opened my hand. A spray of blood hit the ground, and that was it. I rose from my knees and headed towards the bathroom to wash the blood off. Maybe it’s just how my mind works, but the water stream sounded so quiet. The cutting was so much louder. The knife makes little noise, and me even less so. It just makes me feel full in a way that makes this seem so… bleakly mundane. I can feel myself getting lost in the red flow, painting the creases of my hand a dark red, only to be washed away, spiraling down the sink. My hands look like I could live off them. The skin promises ready soil, vast planes. I noticed my knuckles again. The odd piping below my hands disgusted me. I clenched and unclenched my hands, disgusting filth. The crude machines made a mockery of the texture grafted ontop of them. The back of my hand seems to expand when I close my grasp, senseless and repulsive. I looked up to the mirror, and saw myself, grimacing at the thoughts that flooded my mind. I need to walk away.

Being back in my room comforted me. But yeah, the main character was meant to be agoraphobic, and almost entirely out of touch with reality. I have an idea for a new version. Keeps some of the same themes/ideas, but forces the character to interact with the world a bit more. Instead of watching the world rot from inside their house, I wanted to start the book with them getting off of a bus. Lets the characters more organically get to know people without being able to rely on much history Generic but ultimately useful? I'll try to write on it and see if i like it. I don't know, I might come back to this version I don't know if my writing difficulties is just me or Mental illness or Being a bad/unexperienced/unconfident writer But I just can't stop... giving up, or starting over I just get so... I look back at what I write and it's just repulsive Aimless, shitty It makes me feel sick i'm sorry

[feelingdeath]

Him

It's amazing how the world is so full of life and how you are in mine now. I am ebbing with feelings and this is so different than anything I have ever felt before.

Something changed yesterday, something inside of me. Something to do with the way I feel. I think I am in love. And yes I know I have said that before but that was my weaker side. The side that opened up and the side that felt too much and the side that formed attachments. This side was supposed to be the stone-cold wall I had built all around me to prevent getting hurt. To prevent having any feelings and emotions. It made me feel like I was strong by merely moving on.

But now my rock heart is in love. My fucking soul of granite actually feels for someone. I have never felt so nervous in my life before. It's so consuming. I love him differently than I loved him yesterday. I trust him? I feel so different. I would never tell morphi that noshu loves him, heh, I m scared you'll leave once you find out I can be hurt. I am at a loss for words.

I feel like that massive void I carried around with me since the beginning of time has now been filled. He made his home in me, he brought his blankets and his music and his scent and he snuggled inside that emptiness. For the first time in my life, I feel loved. I feel loved without condition, without prologues and epilogue, without the ifs and buts, without the constant uncertainty shudders, without the ghost of his past or heck the ghost of my past lurking on our heads, without the fear of breaking into a billion shards, without the feeling of being judged, without the million insecurities and trust issues that I seem to manifest in a vivid aura around me. You made my scars fade love, you make them look pretty, you make me feel so fucking loved.

Along with all the goodness and with all the glam of experiencing love comes pain (of course there's a pain). The urge to text him a million times to ask him if he still loves me. The urge to blockade everyone and everything that could possibly make him drift from me. The urge to give up everything and anything just for his happiness. The urge to never ever let him feel lonely even if that means spending all my time as long as I breathe for him, by him. The urge of thinking about every consequence of my actions that could affect our relationship. The urge to sob uncontrollably in his arms. The urge to break down right now, to break down, to break down and to break down.

He is asleep, I know he is sleeping, yet I feel skittish and panicky. What if he's avoiding me and is offline because he doesn't love me anymore? Since when have I become so terrified of lingering silences? I get how he feels now. Sheyu !! I get how you feel. When you told me you were scared I'll wake up tomorrow and fall out of love, I thought I was going wrong somewhere and I needed to make you feel loved better, but this is love meri jaan. I get it now, I see it. I feel so painfully petrified at the prospect of you plunging out of passion. I am scared that my overthinking and my doubting nature are going to leave you exhausted by the number of times I'll need reassurance that you love me and that you are mine. I'll learn to be better.

I think the tugging at my heart is also fueled by the fact that I do sometimes get really low, I end up saying things I don't mean, and I end up hurting everyone in my vicinity. The fact that the could-be-bpd splits of me could jeopardize us, disturbs me. I resort to the most subtle self-harm and isolation and self-depreciation to let it out of my system. But I know how bad that makes you feel. I have seen the terror in your eyes and in your voice when you ask me how bad it was this time, how badly I hurt myself. I never ever want to make you feel that way. I'll stop doing it for you. At least I'll try.

I love you. Saying "I love you" hits totally different now. I have said it 9 times since the morning, but you haven't seen it yet. We did stay up last night talking about our future till 2:30 AM and giggling about yellow walls. I love you. Fuck. You are my first love. [ⁱ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵃ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵉ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵈ ᵗᵒᵒ, ⁴ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ⁴ ᵐᵒⁿᵗʰˢ ᵃᵍᵒ. ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵃˡᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵉ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈᵃʸ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ⁱᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʰᵃˡᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵉ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ¹ ʸᵉᵃʳ, ⁸ᵐᵒⁿᵗʰˢ ᵃᵍᵒ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ. ⁱ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵃʸ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵉ ⁱˢ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵐʸ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ ᵖᵃˢᵗ ˢⁱᵐᵖˡʸ ᵐᵃⁿⁱᶠᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵃ ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ᶜᵒʳⁿᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᵇʳᵃⁱⁿ ⁱ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃˡˡ ˡᵒʷⁿᵒˢʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗⁱᵐᵉ ⁱᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ᵘᵖ, ᵃⁿ ⁱʳʳᵉᵖᵃʳᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵘⁿʳᵉᶠᵘᵗᵉᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ⁿᵘᵐᵇˢ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ]. It's alright if i am not yours, but fuck sheyu, you are nosh's first love. Love. the L-O-V-E kind. fuck. fuck.

Fuck I love you so much.