#he can’t forgive himself for a small mistake on a good day

[withclawandvine]

the interview was years ago, and this particular snippet had been edited out of the final cut. the agency had forked over a lot of money for it, too. but every once in a while, an illegally recorded cellphone video would resurface, doing numbers on twitter and tiktok. a grainy image of a younger dynamight, sitting at a disrespectful angle in one of those talk show chairs. even with the low quality, and the shaky cameraship, it was obvious he was scowling. then, the interviewer asked about you—the mysterious figure he was so rarely seen with, always shielded and angled away from prying eyes and camera flashes. and dynamight’s scowl became much more intentional. his silence nearly ominous. but he was still young and inexperienced with press, so it didn’t take much needling from the host to end up where they did: a leading question about protecting the relationship. wondering aloud if he was also trying to protect you. if he worried about you capturing the interest of a villain, who might see you as dynamight’s achilles heel. and finally, striking just the right nerve with the implication that he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to protect you. dynamight wasn’t afraid of anything. katsuki, on the other hand…

but all the audience saw at that afternoon taping was a murderous glower, and a death-promise to any villain that might make such an attempt. brazen and protective, a little bit arrogant. not particularly heroic, at least not in the usual way. classic dynamight, really. his manager didn’t see it that way. she saw it “how villains are going to see it: as a challenge.” so she and her team have continued to do their best to scrub any traces of it off the internet for years. as soon as a repost goes viral, it’s removed and the poster’s account is often suspended.

the video is as forgotten as it will ever be when finally, after three years and an engagement ring, you are targeted.

[iluvmattsbeard]

innocence (c.s)

master list

popular!chris x quiet!reader

warnings: smut/car sex/virginity loss/fingering/p in v/angst/asshole chris

preview: you and chris sat next to each other in class. he liked that you weren’t like the rest of the girls. though he’s in denial of his feelings. what happens when one day he gives you a ride home?

a/n: sorry i stay slacking guys 🙁 forgive me. FRAT BOY CHRISSSSS. also, listen to song as you read. i actually can’t believe how good this song is.

Chris and you are sat in class quietly. your heart aches every time you guys meet each other's gaze. it's been nearly a month since the incident. the incident that you didn't expect to happen. you knew it was too good to be true but, there was a sliver of hope you felt. the way he sweet talked you, the way he took care of you, and how gentle he was. you never expected it to turn south so quickly. he treated you like you were invisible after it all. it broke you immensely but, you felt stupid for even having that small bit of hope that you would actually be different. how could you be different in his eyes?

you were nothing compared to those popular girls who basically threw themselves at him. the way their hairs sat perfectly, the way their outfits were carefully thought of, and how good they spoke. especially when they flutter their eyes and have that small soft grin when they flirt with Chris. you were nothing like them; you tried so hard to push the feelings away but, your mind replays the same memory over and over again.

-flashback-

you were standing there dumbfounded, your heart breaking as you speak up shakily, "a mistake?" you look at him with hurt in your eyes. his expression falters for a second but he quickly regains his cold demeanor. he looks away and sighs, "yes. a mistake." he whispers. you look away slowly, shaking your head slightly in denial, "h-how could it be a mistake? you told me it was the best you ever had-." you were quickly cut off, "I was just caught up in the moment okay?" he says sternly. you look back at him, you felt yourself getting weaker from every word that came out of his mouth. you open your mouth slightly, about to speak but, he just continues, "just-," he sighs, "just keep your mouth shut about it okay? I can't have people knowing." he says, while avoiding eye contact.

keep your mouth shut? how could he just say that? is it because it would effect his image? "why? because you're embarrassed?" you let out shakily. there was a moment of silence but he nods, "yes." he says bluntly. there was that feeling again, getting worse by the second. you nod slowly, "got it." you whisper before turning around to walk away.

Chris looks up at the sight of you walking away. secretly, he felt terrible for hurting your feelings but, he knew he couldn't show it. he turns around and walks the opposite direction, scolding himself in the inside. why did he let it get so far if this is what he had to do? why did he care so much? his friends would ridicule him for god knows how long, if they ever found out what happened between you two. as much as he's hurting in secret, he knew he couldn't be seen with you or associated with you.

-end of flashback-

the bell rings, snapping you out of your deep thought. you move slowly to put your books in your bag. Chris was secretly taking small glances over at you, he still felt terrible for everything. he bites his lip softly before getting up, looking away slinging his backpack onto his shoulder. he walks out of class, making you look up at him go. your heart dropping but, you quickly shake it off.

you get up and walk out of class, your head dropping down to your feet as you took steps. there you were in deep thought once again but, it was quickly interrupted by a thud. you look up startled, you meet eyes with an irritated girl. you had just bumped into her as she scoffs slightly, "move." she scolds as you nod, "sorry." you mumble about to walk past her but she stops you, "what was that?" she says, "speak louder you freak." you look around to quickly realize that now everyone was watching, even Chris. he's stood there with a group of friends as he watches with a blank expression.

"i'm sorry..." you spit out nervously as she mocks you, "i'm sorry- yeah you should be. next time pay attention." you nod slowly before walking away, your cheeks flustered by embarrassment. Chris deep down felt angered for you. he never understood why anyone would pick on you but, obviously he kept that to himself. "dude something is up with that girl." one of his friends says, catching Chris's attention. he clears his throat before nodding in agreement, "right. try being sat next to her." he chuckles a bit as he ridicules you to his friends. which deep down he didn't feel right doing but, he felt the need to. you turn your head around to meet eyes with Chris, hurt from the words that came out of his mouth. his expression falters slightly, realizing you heard him.

how could he act like that? you thought to yourself. you turn back around as you continue your steps down the hallway. how could he talk about you like that with his friends when you both knew what happened between you two? it was all making your head spiral. you thought of yourself as a fool for falling for his ways. like said before, too good to be true.

at the end of the day, Chris heads out the school doors as he begins to say bye to his friends. he walks towards his car, unlocking it, and getting inside with a small sigh. as he's about to start his car, he looks up slightly, doing a double take as he watches you from afar, walking by yourself. you always walked home and he always felt bad deep down that you had to. he bites his lip slightly before looking up at his rear view mirror, staring into the back seat. he gulps slightly before the memory floods his head.

-flashback-

you sit quietly at your desk. you rummage through your backpack as you begin to pull out your notebook for class. Chris walks into class as he looks around for a seat. the teacher then speaks up to him, "you are sitting next to Y/n. over there." she points. you lift your head up, meeting Chris's gaze as he takes in your appearance. you had doe eyes, with flustered red cheeks, and your lips matched the shade of it. he nods at the teacher before walking over to sit next to you. he takes off his backpack as he leans back into his seat. you focus your attention forward, trying to avoid his presence. he glances at you, looking at you up and down before he speaks up quietly, "i'm Chris."

you glance at him slightly before continuing to face forward. he chuckles softly before leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk, keeping his eyes on you, "you hear me or you just ignoring me?" he asks. you sigh quietly before turning to face him, "I know who you are." you mumble. "oh so you were ignoring me?" he teases, slightly cocking up an eyebrow. "didn't mean to." you mumble quietly as you focus your gaze down at your notebook. "right... so your name is Y/n?" he asks curiously, making you nod slowly, "yup." you respond dryly.

this intrigued him, usually girls would fall to their knees to have a conversation with him but, you? you treated him like he was just whoever. "playing hard to get or are you just not much of a talker?" he says playfully, fiddling with his pencil. you stay silent as you look up at the board. "okay so not much a talker." he speaks up again. you sigh once again before looking at him, why was he trying so hard to get you to talk? "look, yes, i'm not much of a talker but also, I just don't feel the need to talk to you okay?" you say bluntly before turning your gaze back to the board.

he grins slightly before putting both his hands up in defense, "got it." he says leaning back into his seat. you paid attention to the lesson as you carefully took notes as the teacher spoke. meanwhile, Chris would just roll his eyes in boredom, still taking glances at you when he got the chance.

as much as you didn't want to speak to him, as days passed by with him sat next to you, you had no choice but to give in and speak to him. he mostly rambled about non sense but, you just let him. you started to realize he wasn't that bad to talk to, even though he did most of the talking, you felt like you could say anything to him without feeling judged. deep down, he was really understanding and down to earth. he was respectful and when you did speak, he would keep his eyes on you, blocking everyone out. it didn't take very long for you to start feeling some type of way towards him. in your defense, he was the only guy who really kept a strong conversation with you.

one day, the weather took an unexpected route. you always walked home from school and today as you begin to walk, you feel droplets fall onto your head. you look up at the cloudy sky as it begins to pour rain. you stop in your place as you sigh, looking back ahead of you. it takes you almost about 30 minutes to get home. this was going to suck, you thought. to make it worse, you were wearing only a thin long sleeve shirt and jeans. the cold air mixed with the cold water hitting you, made you walk extremely slow.

Chris gets in his car quickly as he starts it, immediately turning on the windshield wipers. he throws his back pack into the passenger seat as he begins to drive. what an odd day for rain, he thought to himself. he wasn't driving for long as he does a double take at your figure, walking alone the rain. "is that Y/n?" he whispers to himself before rolling down the window, driving slowly near you, "Y/n!" he calls out, making you turn your head to face whoever has called you. you squint your eyes slightly, due to the heavy rain. didn't take you long to figure out it's Chris. "Chris?" you call out, bringing your hand up to your forehead as you continue to squint.

you were soaked from the rain, slightly shivering, "get in!" Chris calls out. you hesitate, "what? no it's okay! i'm soaked." you reply about to continue walking. "get in Y/n! i'm not letting you walk in this rain!" he says. you look at him again as you nod slowly before walking around to the passenger seat, getting in. you felt some relief as you felt the warmth of his car but, sitting in soaking wet clothes was uncomfortable.

"shit- I don't think I can drive in this weather." he says as he tries to look forward but, the windshield wipers couldn't even help to clear the view. he decides to pull over so that hopefully this all subsides. you sit there quietly as you look at him. he takes his key out of the ignition before looking back at you. "do you have to be home at a specific time or..." he asks quietly. you shake your head slowly, "no i'm good." you respond, still uncomfortable from the condition of your clothes. "sorry, should I start the car up again?" he asks about to put his key back, "no, it's fine Chris." you say reassuringly as he leans back into his seat and sigh. "I wasn't expecting this weather." he begins to start small talk. "me neither." you say quietly. you both were feeling a bit awkward, unsure what to do in this situation.

the weather was quite terrible and being stuck in a car soaking wet was not ideal for you. as you look down at your hands, you're oblivious to Chris glancing over at you. sometimes his gaze a little longer than the last but, he couldn't help it. the way your damp hair stuck onto your face, your cheeks were flushed red from the coldness, and he couldn't help but watch the way you trembled slightly. "so we're back to this?" he breaks the silence with a small laugh. you look up at him confused, "back to what?" you ask curiously. "you being so quiet." he teases, making you roll your eyes, "well this isn't quite an ideal situation." you shoot back. "you're right. sorry." he says staying silent for a bit but, that obviously didn't last long, "answer me one thing."

your eyes dart to him again confused, "okay..." you say quietly trailing off. Chris meets your gaze, gulping slightly before asking his question, "why do you keep to yourself? so quiet all the time?" you stay silent, caught off guard by his blunt question. why did you? you look back down at your hands, trying to figure out how to respond. “well… I just choose to.” you let out, making Chris shake his head slightly, “elaborate.” he says. you sigh softly before speaking up again, “I guess I choose to stay silent because it’s not like anyone bothers to have a conversation with me.” you pause, playing with your fingers nervously, “why should I waste my breath on people who don’t even bother trying? it saves me the embarrassment.” you mutter quietly.

Chris’s expression falters and he gulps once again, “well you need to give yourself more credit. why do you think you would be embarrassed? when I talk to you, it’s easy and I think people will realize that as well if you try.” he advices, keeping his eyes on you. trying to read your expression. you stay silent, taking in what he just said. “don’t know if you realized but, I am sort of the school’s easy target.” you convey quietly. maybe he’ll understand but, he shakes his head, “easy target? bullshit. don’t take anyone’s shit Y/n.” he says making you scoff with humor, “easier said than done.” you mumble.

you’re caught off guard by what he does next, he lifts your chin up slowly to meet his eyes. “i’m serious. you’re a good person, quite interesting in my eyes.” he says quietly. you swallow a bit, nervous as he runs his thumb across your bottom lip gently. his eyes taking in the sight. “w-what are you doing?” you whisper nervously. “not sure…” he mumbles quietly, “something is just drawing me to you. even from the start.” he adds on in a small whisper.

you look away, pulling your face away from his hand. he sits there a bit shock from your sudden movement, “did I say something wrong?” he asks. you look down at your feet as you shake your head slowly, “n-no it’s just… i’m not trying to be apart of your game…” you admit in a small whisper. he raises his eyebrows a bit, “what game?” he asks still confused. “i’m not stupid Chris.” you turn to face him, “what do you mean something is pulling you to me? is that what you say to every girl?” you continue. “do you think I just get with every girl? I mean what I say Y/n. ever since from the start, I felt drawn to you. your demeanor.” he admits, hoping you’d understand. “I-I don’t know…” you whisper quietly. he places his hand on your cheek gently, his touch cold as he makes you face him. “I mean it.” he says quietly. it felt genuine to you but, what if it’s too good to be true?

silence filled the air. the tension between you was obvious as you let out a shaky breath, slowly looking down at his lips and back up to his eyes. you lean in slowly, something about him was now drawing you in, were you falling for his trap? but how can someone sound so genuine? you feel his lips attach onto yours softly, making your heart beat fast. both yours and his lips moved in such synchronization. his hand eventually move away from your cheek as it snakes behind your neck. Chris deepens the kiss, making you place your hands on his shoulders hesitantly. you couldn’t help but think, he’s so good at this, of course he was. he then pulls away suddenly, trying to read your expression, “is this okay?” he whispers. making you nod slightly with a gulp. he unbuckles his seat belt, bringing his hand back behind your neck, kissing you once again, this time more eager than the last.

you moan softly against his lips, making him run his hands down your shoulders, down to your waist. the kiss is nothing like you’ve ever experienced and his touch was gentle. you take the initiative to crawl onto him, both your legs straddling him as you do it without breaking the kiss. his hands run down your back slowly. you move your hips slowly, not meaning to grind against his dick but, you do and it was obvious how hard he is. he places his hands on your ass gently, caressing it slowly as he works his mouth against you with growing hunger. you pull away breathlessly, about to speak up but he gets to it first, “let’s get in the back seat?” he suggests. your eyes linger to the back, making you a little nervous, “u-um… sure…” you whisper. “we don’t have to if you aren’t comfortable-.” he starts off but, you cut him off, “no. i’m comfortable with it.” he nods keeping his eyes on you. you make your way to the back seat, him following shortly after. you sit there in silence as the thoughts begin to eat at you again. how many girls have been back here? you see Chris begin to take off his shoes, making you do the same.

he gently holds you by the waist, laying you down carefully. his eyes never left yours as he whispers, “you’re so beautiful.” you feel your cheeks heat up as you whisper back, “thank you…” he leans down to your face as he begins to kiss you once again. this time, his hand lingers down your thigh. he then brings his mouth to your neck, kissing it delicately. his hand then goes up under your shirt slightly, feeling his cold hand graze your lower stomach, making you shiver slightly. he then brings his lips back to yours as he deepens the kiss, moving his hand down your pants slowly, making his fingers slowly rub up and down your clothed heat. you let out a small breath in between the kiss as you open your eyes and push him away slightly. “w-wait.” you whisper breathlessly. he looks down at you, his features barely lit up by the gloomy atmosphere from the outside, “what’s wrong?” he asks concerned. “it’s just…” you look down at his hand in your pants, “i’ve never done this…” you confess. his face softens as he whispers, “are you sure you want this?” even though you’ve been hesitant, you want it so bad. “yes.” you mutter slightly confident. he nods, “i’ll be gentle okay?” he whispers, continuing his hand movement, he slowly brings his hand into your underwear, running his fingers up and down your folds slowly, “you’re already so wet beautiful.” he says quietly, his eyes still never leaving yours.

“i’m going to stretch you out a bit first. is that okay sweetheart?” he asks softly. you feel your heart about to pound out of your chest from the pet name, “y-yes.” you let out with a soft breath. he remains eye contact as he brings his fingers near your entrance. he pushes one finger in first, his fingers were long and you feel your chest rise and fall from the sudden sensation. he pumps his finger slowly as he watches you carefully. your eyes flutter shut as you take in the new feeling. you moan softly, which to him was angelic. your eyebrows furrow slightly as he continues to pump slowly. “okay i’m going to add another finger. is that alright beautiful?” he whispers. you swallow and nod, your eyes still shut. he adds a another finger making you gasp quietly, “you okay sweetheart?” you nod at his words as he now pumps in and out of your soaking core slowly. “does it feel good?” he coos soothingly. “y-yes Chris.” you moan out as his fingers begin to redouble it’s efforts. he begins to pump his fingers a bit faster, making your thighs close in slightly, “C-Chris.” you stutter at the sensation. he uses his other hand to pry your legs apart slowly as he whispers, “you’re doing so good f’me.” he then uses his thumb to rub small circles on your clit, making you gasp once more. how did he know how to do this so well? how did he know the right places?

he uses his other hand to rub my cheek delicately as he whispers, “you’re so pretty under my touch.” your eyes meet his as your eyebrows furrow more, your eyes glossy from the pleasure. you feel the knot in your stomach form, signifying how close you are. “I-I’m going to cum Chris.” you whine out, making him grin slowly, “be a good girl and cum all over my fingers sweetheart.” he says, making the knot in your stomach snap, letting out ragged gasps, your back arching a bit at the high. “oh my god.” he lets out breathless, “you’re so perfect.” he says taking out his fingers, bringing it up to his mouth, cleaning his fingers dry, “tastes s’good.” he says with small groan. he then places his hand on the button of your jeans, “may i?” he asks huskily. you nod as you watch him begin to unbutton your jeans and tug them down slowly, along with your underwear. his eyes dart at your now exposed core. you feel your heartbeat speeding up as you feel slightly ashamed. “you’re perfect.” he reassures as he licks his lips slightly. he then unbuttons his jeans, pulling them down. leaving his boxers still on. the obvious boner is peaking through it. your eyes widen slightly. even though he was still covered, it was obvious how big he was. he then moves his gaze to the glove compartment, opening it to pull out a condom. of course he has a stash in his car. how often does he do this to be so prepared?

you watch as he meets your eyes once again, pulling his boxers down. the tip of his dick hitting his stomach slightly. you gulp nervously. you couldn’t believe this was happening right now. about to lose your innocence in the back seat of the most popular guy in school. he rips open the condom wrapper, pulling it out and handing it to me, “put it on me.” he says, making you sit up and look at his dick, now close to you. you begin to roll it down his length slowly, “i-is it going to fit?” you ask nervously. he chuckles softly before rubbing your cheek, “it’ll fit sweetheart. you tell me if it hurts too much.” he says as he lays you back down gently. the sound of rain escapes your ears, due to how loud your heart pounding. he spreads your legs open as he aligns in between you, “i’ll put the tip in only for now okay?” he says quietly. you nod hesitantly as you look down at his cock. he runs his hand on it at first before lowering it in front of your entrance. he lubricates the tip of his protected cock by rubbing it up and down your folds slowly. he then pushes his tip in gently, his eyes flickering up to your face. you bite your lip a bit hard as your facial expression betrays the pain you feel.

he stops and whispers, “it’ll only hurt for a bit. i promise it’ll feel better okay? just breathe f’me.” you nod as you do as he says. he thrusts his tip in and out slowly, you begin to ease slightly. you continue to watch his tip disappear and reappear in you as he watches your face closely. after a bit, he then speaks up, “i’m going to go further okay?” you nod in response, still nervous it won’t fit fully. he begins to push into you further, slowly stretching you out more. your mouth opens, a small whimper escaping, “C-Chris it’s too big.” he looks at you as he stops, “it’s okay sweetheart. just be a good girl okay? you’re doing good so far.” he says. you swallow as you flicker your eyes from his face to the scene happening. he behind to move slowly, a grunt coming from his mouth, “shit. you feel so good around me baby.” he looks down at the sight of his cock going in and out of you slowly, “you’re doing good.” he reassures. he continues his slow and deep thrusts, making you throw your head back slowly. moans flying out of your mouth from the burning sensation. “so beautiful baby.” he moans lowly as he continues to watch his movements. “y-you can go faster.” you let out shakily.

“are you sure?” he asks with a bit of worry, “I don’t want to hurt you.” you nod, “i’ll be okay.” you whisper. he nods as he begins to pick up the pace. his hand rests behind your neck as he rests his forehead against yours. his thrusts are fast and deep, hitting your g spot with every movement. “so fucking good.” he mumbles close to your face. you attach your lips onto his as he does the same back. with this, he begins to slam into you at a rough pace. making you moan loudly against his lips, “Chris!” “you’re doing s’good baby. keep taking it like a good girl.” he moans lowly as he continues. the car is filled with the sounds of your skins slapping against each other. you grip his shoulders a bit hard, making him hiss slightly against your lips. he leans back up a bit as he places his hand on your chin, his thumb resting on your lip. “who knew you could take dick so good.” he lets out as his thrusts continue to progress. you moan loudly as he grips your chin a bit harder, “open your mouth sweetheart.” you do as he says as he pushes his thumb into your mouth.

“such a good girl obeying me.” he says as he moves his thumb in and out of your mouth, still pounding into you. you gurgle slightly as your eyes shut tightly from the feeling of his cock, hitting your g spot so good. the pleasure is nothing you’ve ever felt before. you didn’t want this to end. he was so careful with you, so reassuring, and thoughtful. he knew how to work your body perfectly. he then removes his thumb from your mouth as he grips your jaw gently, “you’re s’good wrapped around me.” he groans as he then pulls your thighs up to his chest, pounding into you at a more fast pace. you gasp loudly as you swallow harshly, “ah! fuck!” you moan loudly. you forgot that it was still daylight, if the rain clears up anytime soon, you guys would for sure be caught. “what baby? you like that?” he asks sweetly. you whine with a nod, the feeling was unbelievable. the way you both rock together was something you never expected. the noises that came out of his mouth, made you feel great. not only were you feeling incredible, you knew he was too. how many girls have seen him like this? you feel the knot in your stomach appear again as he doesn’t hold back with his thrusts. “I-I’m so close!” you moan loudly. “cum all over this dick sweetheart.” he says with a grunt following. you start to feel your legs shake as the knot snaps once again, letting you release all over his dick. he feels you clench around him as you shudder, your face contorting into pure ecstasy. he watches you fall apart under him, making his face turn into slight submission. he continues to pound into you before one final thrust, releasing his hot cum into the condom inside of you. he moans loudly as he rides out his climax, “fuck such a good girl.” he grunts.

when regaining strength, he looks down at you, you both were sweaty. he moves your hair from your face, making it unstick as he smiles softly, “you’re incredible. i’ve never felt this good before.” he whispers. you look up at him as you swallow, “r-really?” he nods, “yes really.” you both eventually lay there in silence, taking each other in as he places soft kisses on your forehead. the windows were all fogged up and you start to hear the rain again. your heart beating fast still as he lays onto of you. what could get any better than this?

the next few days, you notice Chris a bit distant. he would barely talk to you in class and you were starting to feel like something was up. one day, you follow him, calling out for him, “Chris!” he turns around and looks at you but, he quickly looks around nervously, “what?” he asks. “why are you acting so weird? you’ve been treating me differently.” you say confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he says before turning around about to continue walking. “seriously? what we fuck and all of the sudden i’m nothing?” you ask slightly hurt. he turns around and looks at you with a harden expression, “can you keep your voice down? look, it was a mistake.” he reveals, your face dropping.

-end of flashback-

so not only do you think about it, Chris does too. he has been thinking about it. it eats him up inside but he can’t help but try to ignore it, to keep up his reputation. he looks away from the rear view mirror as he sighs. no one knew he was hurting like this. he hated the fact he pushed you away. he lied to you and said it was a mistake but, it was further from the truth. it wasn’t a mistake to him. he meant what he said, it was the best he’s ever felt. he couldn’t fight back his underlying emotions in that moment. he glances back up at the mirror, taking in the back seat again before looking down at his phone. he pulls up your contact and immediately texts you.

Chris

‘i’m sorry Y/n. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

he sees you read it but, he gets no response.

Chris

‘please talk to me. it wasn’t a mistake. i’m sorry it took me so long to admit it.’

he sits there desperately as he waits.

Y/n

‘it’s fine but, you made me realize it really was a mistake.’

Chris

‘no don’t say that please. it was a dick move of me. please believe me.’

Y/n

‘I fell for your game. I can’t believe I fell for your sweet talk.’

Chris

‘Y/n believe me. everything I said to you that day, I meant every bit of it. I know it’s hard for you to believe but, I went everyday beating myself up for it. you are more than you think and I want to prove to you I can do better.’

Y/n

‘yeah how?’

Chris

‘just let me be the man for you. I don’t care what anybody says. let me prove that to you that I won’t let my reputation get in the way.’

Chris’s attention is soon interrupted by a knock at his car door window. he looks up from his phone and sees you standing there. he opens the door quickly and embraces you, “i’m really sorry okay?” he whispers, “I don’t want to lose you again.” you melt into his touch as you sigh, “it really hurt Chris.” “I know but-.” he pulls away pausing for a bit as he looks down at you, “I really will do anything to make it up to you.” he whispers. you look up at him as you try to read his expression, last time you didn’t know what was real or not. will he make it up to you? or does he just want more of your innocence? you just stay silent as you rest your head on his chest.

a/n: sorry if it’s so long! hope you enjoyed. likes, comments, and reblogs are so highly appreciated. love you guys.

tags! (comment if want to be added)

@jnkvivi @fuckshitslover @nickgetsmewetter @mwahsturns @sturniolo-fann @etvar12 @hxnnah24 @strnlxlqve @sturncakez @sturnioloremarker @3lizaluvs @lanaswifeyy @dirtylittleheart333 @luzsturniolo @sturnpooks @sturnioq @c6ina @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @sweetangelgirl7 @fratbrochrisgf @l0vergrlll @deadiish

[mrsriddlenott]

okay I just need pussydrunk mattheo 🥵

It is honestly embarrassing how long this has been in my drafts unfinished(literally a few days over a year🤦‍♀️) I have been awol for so long but I have been GOIN through it y’all. I think I can finally at least try and actually come back to this blog. I love writing so much and I hate when it just isn’t fun anymore. And when I saw this I actually got excited to finish it so let’s see how it goes. Please correct mistakes and give feedback

Warnings: suggestive content but not actually full smut, public oral(f!receiving), heavy petting, play argument/kinda roleplay, some teasing.

{masterlist}

~Needy~

To plenty of people having a needy boyfriend would be the end of the world. But when that boyfriend is Mattheo Riddle, who seems to have an unnaturally high labido and stamina, it’s more of a pro rather than a con.

But what comes with needy is clingy. Mattheo just needs his hands on you whenever he can. You weren’t complaining but he certainly was. There was just too much time out of the day that he couldn’t touch you. So me made sure to cut thay time down as much as he could.

“Come oooon Baby” Mattheo groaned as he tugged you towards an empty, shadow filled corridor, “Just think about it, how many days a week do we have Potions, and how many weeks are in a term, how many terms in a school year….we can miss one hour of Potions Baby it’ll be fine. Plus you’re the smartest, prettiest, hottest person at this school you’ve got options for you future.”

“Um first of all,” You start, crossing your arms across your chest, poking your hip out to make Mattheo groan out loud as he restrains himself from touching you, “This will be the fourth time we missed Potions so far this term, and second of all who said I was worried for my future, nuh uh Baby I’m worried about yours.”

“Merlin you’re sexy when you’re being all bossy”Mattheo sighs, stepping closer to you and fanning your face with his breath, “I don’t care about my future as long as you’re in it, I need to keep you excited don’t I Princess?” He laughs out as he watches your resolve melt away, moving his hand up to grip your waste.

“That’s no fair.” You pout, desperately trying to hold a straight face as you continue, “You know you’re not allowed to call me Princess in an argument, you always win with that.” Mattheo sighs dramatically and steps even closer to you, breathing your air as he holds your hip tightly, tugging you into him aggressively.

“I’m so sorry baby, please forgive me,” He begs dramatically, smiling before dipping his head into the crook beside your shoulder to trace small pecks across your collarbone, forcing a moan to slip past your lips despite your pretend protests.

“How could I ever forgive you for such a lapse Mattheo,” you smile at how fast he halts his mouths assault of your collarbone giving you time to slip your fingers into his raven curls, giving them a tug to force his eyes up to yours, “You know, I can think of something you can do to earn my forgiveness.”

“What?” He rasps out, his breath caught in his chest at the feeling of your hand in his hair and the other slowly slipping down his chest at an agonizing pace, “What can I do to make you feel better Baby, I’ll do anything for you, you know that.” His voice his breathy and desperate, sending heat down your abdomen as your thighs squeeze together subconsciously. At the gentle shove to his shoulder, Mattheo knew exactly what you wanted, smirking as you looked down to him where he leant into you with those pretend innocent eyes. Mattheo fell to his knees immediately, his hands tracing their way under your skirt while his eyes stay on yours.

“Is this what you’re asking for…Princess?” Mattheo asks, smirking as he gains dominance from below you, “You want me to make you feel good?….But Baby what about Potions, we-we can’t miss class i-it’s impo-“ You cut off his teasing with a tug to his hair and small sigh at the feeling of his hand ghosting across your underwear. Mattheo groans, his eyes falling into the back of his head as your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Okay okay, I’ve got you Princess.” He laughs breathlessly as his fingers tug your underwear down your legs, allowing you to step out of them before he shoves them in his pocket with a wink. In a flash Mattheo has his lips on you, his head vanishing under your skirt, his hand trailing upward to squeeze at your chest through your button up, the other gripping your thigh to give you support as you begin to wobble.

“Oh fuck Mattheo,” You moan loudly before clamping your hand over your mouth, almost forgetting your very public location at the feeling of Mattheo’s tongue meticulously swirling around your clit. His chuckle from below almost pisses you off enough to fight for dominance but as though to wipe your mind of it, Mattheo flattens his tongue and leaves a strip up your heat, making you whimper into your hand and bite your skin to prevent getting caught.

You shake as Mattheo’s fingernails dig into the skin of your thigh while it wobbles, unsteady as you begin to lose balance at the fast pace of Mattheo’s tongue, “Fuck Baby, can you stand or do I need to hold you?” He chuckles against you at your whine of protest, not wanting him to stop even for a second. Mattheo quickly tugs your thigh over his shoulder, allowing him to gain more access, speeding up his actions, moaning at your taste and the thought of you coming on his face as you depend on him to hold you steady. Your head falls back against the stone wall, your eyes rolling backward as your hand falls to his shoulders for balance not caring anymore about your volume. Your little whimpers and squeaks drive him insane below you, he knows your close, he can feel it.

Without warning Mattheo shifts lower, shoving his tongue into you, lowering his hand from your chest in a flash and using his thumb to stimulate your clit as his tongue moves in and out of you, matching his own pace and groaning as he feels your legs begin to shake for him. Your moans become screams as you release on his tongue, falling into his hold while he rises to look at your post-orgasm face he loves so much.

“Good thing we did this during class, someone might have heard otherwise.” Mattheo says simply with a laugh as you weakly smack at his broad shoulder.

~~~~

Pretty short compared to others I have but I just really wanted to start posting again. I’m probably gonna be cleaning out my drafts and trying to get them out even old ones ppl probably aren’t waiting on anymore to try and get back into a groove on here.

[cupidsanne]

Mike Faist Fluff Alphabet ✢ Headcanons

Mike Faist x Female! Insert Reader

SYNOPSIS! ✦ headcanons based on the ask of these prompts!!

WARNINGS! ✦ None, sfw.

NOTES! ✦ link to template for these are here! no proof reads, lmk if something’s wrong! <3

Mike Faist Masterlist . About Me + Rules .

A — Admiration . . . What Do They Absolutely Adore About You?

One of the things he adores about you is your leniency with everything. Your ability to forgive and be tolerant of certain things is really nice to him, since no one’s perfect and even Mike makes mistakes sometimes. Mike always assumed the worst whenever he messes up something small and thinks you’ll hold it against him, which is so far from the truth. He has to constantly remind himself that you’re not there to belittle him for everything, and it’s okay to tell you things.

B — Body . . . What Is Their Favorite Part Of Your Body?

His favorite part is your smile. You’re a silly person naturally, so a grin is always spread onto your face. He makes you laugh a lot, and you do the same for him. He’s definitely attracted to your happiness. Don’t even be insecure if you’re teeth may be crooked, if your lips look a certain way, ect. he does not care!! Smile all the time!

C — Cuddling . . . How Do They Like To Cuddle?

He prefers to cuddle with you sat up and seated, cause whenever you two do cuddle laying down, he falls asleep. He can’t help it! You’re comforting to be around.

D — Dates . . . What Does Their Ideal Date With You Look Like?

He’s content with anything as long as it’s private. On dates, Mike likes to give his sole attention to you and doesn’t want outside distractions or interruptions. He’s also not too particular with dates, but he does prefer calm ones. Although he doesn’t mind those crazier dates like rock climbing, clubbing, ski-ing ect. he likes ones where he doesn’t have to do much as well. Mike loves having fun, but he’s a homebody too. His ideal dates are picnics at the park, beach, or having a quiet dinner in a cozy restaurant. If your dates mostly consisted of eating inside either (or your shared) homes, he’d be fine with that too.

E — Emotions . . . How Do They Express Emotion Around You?

He’s a honest partner, but he’s not always comfortable with being verbally vulnerable. He doesn’t want to burden you with his issues or thoughts initially, so a lot of the times of when he’s upset, you have to look for any physical cues on him. Similar reasoning from letter A.

F — Family . . . Do They Want One? If They Do, When?

He does, but he isn’t sure when is the right time. With his career and constantly being on the move, he doesn’t know how he’ll want to balance work life and family life. He doesn’t work a office job where he can go in during the day and come back in the evening, he’s an actor! Actors schedules constantly shift and he may be expected to travel. You knew what you were signing up for when you got together with him, so he really wants to leave the decision of a family to you.

He has a great relationship with kids. Because of his energy and kind smile, kids naturally are drawn to him and want to play/hang out with him. He’s polite and super fun, and he’s also good at a lot of things. He’d be a great father, but he underestimates himself.

G — Gifts . . . How Do They Feel About Gift Giving? What Are Their Habits When It Comes To This?

He doesn’t mind giving gifts but it’s not his main love language. He’s the type of person where he likes to save gifts for special occasions so they can feel extra special. Occasionally, he might gift you something small and silly to make you laugh but the meaningful gifts are for certain occasions. He also entirely chooses your gifts for your benefit and wants, not his.

H — Holding Hands . . . When/How Do They Like To Hold Hands?

Mike is not a huge fan of PDA, but he’s not completely against it either. This doesn’t mean he’s not physically affectionate with you at all, cause that’s false!! He’s just not the type of guy to make out with you in public or grab your butt in front of friends… (I find those things corny.) Subtle affection like hand holding is great with him! He doesn’t mind holding your hand as you guys walk, sit down, or talk. He’s a private person, but he’s not gonna keep your relationship a secret.

He likes to interlock fingers! It’s comforting to him and if your walking through somewhere crowded, you won’t feel like you’re slipping away. He doesn’t like those hand holds where it’s him holding your hand and you’re not, or you’re holding is hand and he’s not, he likes to keep it mutual. One parter just holding onto the other feels territorial.

I — Injury . . . How Would They Act If You Got Hurt?

If you slip on the floor and fall, he’s gonna rush over and check on you with a smile cracked on his lips. He’s not doing it to make you embarrassed, he just finds it cute, in a way! If it’s funny, he’ll try to hold it in and make sure you’re recomposed. He doesn’t like to see you hurt at all.

Now, he’s not a monster! If you seriously get injured, he’s gonna be devastated! He’s a responsible person and when put in a panicked situation, he knows how to calm you and/or the area down. Not saying he won’t be stressed or alarmed, but he’s gonna take you to the hospital or doctor to make sure you’re alright.

J — Jokes . . . Do They Like To Joke Around With Or Prank You? How?

He definitely does, no question about it. You two joke around and share many laughs with each other. He doesn’t necessarily prank you crazily, but he does in a small way.

If you’re new here, Mike is a actor. A incredible one, and with being a actor it’s easy for him to tell little lies. Sometimes when he says things, you’re prone to believe it based off his face and tone. For example, he’d do those pranks where it’s “My gosh, [insert a celebrity you like] has just died!” and you’d definitely become hysterical trying to find out if it’s true, the whole time he’s sitting there smiling internally as you’re freaking out. He doesn’t keep it up forever though and always comes clean, you’d complain but you’re not actually hurt. If anything, you reciprocate and pull mini pranks like that on him all the time. Yet, he’s skeptic whenever you try since you’re not as good at pranking him then he is with you.

K — Kisses . . . How Do The Like To Kiss You?

Now, a controversial opinion… He just loves those short kisses! Those kisses where he leans down to kiss you on the lips deeply but fast are his favorite. He likes to see your facial expression afterwards, nine times out of ten you’re grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t mean pecks where it’s so quick the other partner can’t catch it, but the short regular ones. Despite this, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love those long kisses either.

L — Love . . . How Do They Show They Love You?

Quality time is his favorite way! It sucks because sometimes he has to be away from you for periods of time because of his job, but it’s his favorite way of showing how he loves you. Mike can be anti-social sometimes and does cherish his away time, but quality time together is his love language cause it means he’s sharing his space and extra time for you. When you two are together, it doesn’t feel like a chore or obligation to be around each other. He genuinely enjoys your company, he wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t.

M — Memory . . . Favorite Memory Together?

Meeting your family was one of his favorite memories. You come from a big family and they were all so excited to meet him. Some of them couldn’t believe he was this star who could sing and dance as he was so bashful around everyone! He was super polite and warm to everyone. Your parents are obsessed with him and whenever you try to come around, the first thing they ask is “Where’s Mike? How’s Mike doing?”

When he was first invited to a family get together, he was set on making a good impression, and he sure did! He met and greeted everyone, he played with the kids for a little bit, he help set the table when your mother asked, he even sat down with your dad, uncles, and some other guy relatives and they had a drink and chatted. He came to have a genuine good time with them all, and was glad to hear that they like him so much, cause he was planning on being with you for the long run.

N — Nightmare . . . What Is Their Worst Fear?

Disappointing or not living up to certain expectations. Mike can be very tough on himself and underestimates his abilities. If you listen to any peer, actor, or even directors he has worked with, they all have such uplifting things to say about him. How Mike always goes above and beyond in whatever he does. He doesn’t just do this to please others, but he does it to please himself.

Before his career, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for him, so working hard is always the mindset that he lives in. It’s a sense of security for him.

O — Oddity . . . What Is One Quirk They Have?

Most of the time, you can read what he’s thinking or feeling through his eyes. It’s not odd, it’s pretty regular but it’s much more intriguing from him. Mike has heterochromia which means his eyes are two different colors! It’s not something you see often but it’s not uncommon. Not only are they different but he’s naturally handsome as well and as luscious eyelashes to go with his eyes. You’ve learned that whenever he’s listening to something, he might not do the talking but his eyes will.

For example, if you say something totally unexpected, his eyes might widened and he’s gonna blink repeatedly. If you say something funny, he’s gonna chuckle and his eyes will squint. He doesn’t always realize you look in his eyes to read him.

P — Pet Names . . . What Do They Like To Call You?

He likes to keep it simple, he doesn’t do those extra cheesy pet names like “sweetie pie” and “boo boo bear” he can’t stand those!! A good go-to nickname for you is a short “Babe”. If you’re not really into pet names but you do have a nickname that’s known from close friends or loved ones, he can call you that too!

Q — Quality Time . . . How Do They Like To Spend Time With You?

He likes to spend it privately and not too much outside distractions. He wants all his focus on you to let you know that he’s listening and paying attention to you.

R — Rhythm . . . What Song Reminds You Of Them?

“There! I’ve Said it Again” sung by Bobby Vinton!!

I really don’t have any reasoning for it, but this is my selection! Because Mike was into the older movies with Gene Kelly and more, I’d think he’d appreciate that older genre of music too. This is a slow yet lovely song.

S — Secrets . . . How Open Are They With You?

Like stated before, he’s honest with you but it may take some coaxing for him to speak up. He’s good at acting and ignoring something, but after so long he can’t always keep it up, so you’re always bound to find out. As time goes on, he gets better at being more open.

T — Time . . . How Long Does It Take You To Get Together?

Surprisingly, he’s persistent. As much as he’s an over-thinker, he’s not gonna make any decisions he’s gonna regret if he knows he has a chance.

I definitely see you two starting off as friends and slowly falling for each other. It all really depends on the circumstances of how you two crossed paths for how long it takes for you to get together.

U — Upset . . . How Do They Act When You’re Upset?

His first priority is to comfort or calm you down. When upset, you’re not gonna always think rationally and he doesn’t want you to wear yourself out or do anything you’d regret. If there’s a issue, he won’t ultimately take over and help you, but he will assure and offer solutions if you need it. Sometimes, that’s all a person really wants when they’re upset and he realizes that over time.

V — Vaunt . . . What Are They Proud Of? Do They Like To Show You Off?

Despite his humble demeanor, he’s very proud and grateful for how far he’s come into his career. There was a point in his life where he felt like he wasn’t going to get as far as he wanted, yet he’s proven himself wrong.

He doesn’t mind showing you off at all! He loves you and everything you do. The reason he doesn’t have you out there to the public like crazy isn’t because he’s ashamed to be with you, but it’s because he values your privacy and his. Despite this, the instances where you two are put out in the spotlight, he’s making it known that you’re his and he’s yours!

W — Warrior . . . How Do They Feel About You Fighting? Would They Fight For You? Beside You? Ect.

Verbal or Physical, he doesn’t want you fighting at all! Mike likes to keep the peace in situations and feels that fighting isn’t the way to go. Although, he doesn’t want you to get walked over on and allow yourself to be backed into a corner. If we’re speaking about verbal fighting, he wholeheartedly supports you defending yourself and knows you’re an adult and you should be able to handle yourself. He won’t say anything but he will be alongside you to comfort you. Now, if it calls for it, he will defend you with no hesitation. If someone tries to insult/put you down while you’re not there to defend yourself, you bet he’s going to shut that down. So don’t even worry!

X — X-Ray . . . How Well Are They Able To Read You?

In the beginning of your relationship, it was so hard for him. At times he’d read too much and think the worst instead of coming up and communicating with you. Eventually, he’d get the hang of it all and now he can read you like an open book. He’s memorized your quirks and behaviors whenever you’re happy, sad, angry ect. and so have you for him.

Y — Yes . . . How Would They Propose To You?

Now, what some people may not know is that Mike has a pilot’s license! He wanted to make the proposal memorable for you and him, and he was wondering if he should do something totally different then you’d expect! With some coaxing from friends and his half brothers, they encouraged him to propose to you while flying! With some convincing, he pushed for you to join him on flying out. He assured you’d be safe and staged that his half brother couldn’t be his co-pilot and needed to go out because “he didn’t want his skills to get rusty.” You believed him obviously and followed through and as you two drove out in the air, he popped the question on you privately, handing you a ring box as he drove. You cried tears of joy and accepted his proposal.

( ^ should I turn this into a imagine or blurb? 🫣)

Z — Zen . . . What Makes Them Feel Calm?

Knowing that you’re understanding and listening to him always. There’s a different between hearing and listening to someone. Sometimes, he feels invalidated on his wants and expressions therefore he doesn’t always outright admits to when he has a problem with something. You know he doesn’t like to ask for assistance or help, and will do it himself before anything. That’s why, whenever you feel or get a hunch that there’s something off, you immediately ask him if he’s alright or if there’s anything he’d want you to do. He appreciates it so much, and even if he declines your help and controls your worries, it means so much that you’re wondering how he’s feeling. To you, this is the bare minimum but to him, it means a lot.

[anniebeemine]

It Takes A Village- Part One

Girl Dad!Spencer, they chant with fists in the air.

Summary: Spencer Reid had given up on finding love and having a family. His life is turned upside down when Naomi appears.

Age: 0-4

The fluorescent lights of the BAU flickered softly, casting a familiar, sterile glow over the desks as Spencer Reid made his way into the bullpen. The day had been long, the case grueling, and all he wanted was to drop off his paperwork, head home, and maybe find solace in a good book. His mind was already wandering toward the stacks of unread novels in his apartment when something unusual caught his eye.

A baby carrier.

It was perched right on his desk, nestled among his neatly stacked files and the coffee cup he’d left behind that morning. Spencer frowned, confusion knitting his brow. The sight was so out of place that Spencer's tired brain struggled to make sense of it. The BAU wasn’t a place where one typically found baby carriers, and certainly not on his desk. He glanced around, expecting to see one of his colleagues hovering nearby, but the room was nearly empty, save for a few agents buried in their own work.

He hesitated, his eyes darting back to the carrier. Maybe someone had left it there by mistake? As he approached, he noticed something else—a small, pink bundle inside the carrier, shifting slightly. His breath caught in his throat. There was a baby in there.

His first instinct was to look for a note, something that would explain why a baby was on his desk. But there was nothing in sight, just the carrier and the tiny life nestled inside it. A wave of panic surged through him, his mind racing through possibilities. He had no idea who this child was or why she was there. Was it a joke? A mistake?

His hands trembled slightly as he reached out, pulling back the soft blanket to reveal a tiny face, delicate and serene in sleep. The baby—she couldn’t have been more than a few months old—had dark curls that reminded him of someone, though he couldn’t place who just yet.

As the initial shock wore off, Spencer’s gaze fell on a folded piece of paper, partially hidden beneath one of his files. He snatched it up, unfolding it quickly. The handwriting was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. His heart thudded in his chest as he began to read.

Spencer,

I know this is probably the last thing you expected to find on your desk today. The last thing you’d ever expect from me. But I didn’t know where else to turn. This is Naomi. She’s your daughter.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want to complicate your life, especially with the kind of work you do. But I can’t take care of her anymore, and she deserves a chance at a good life with a parent who can provide for her. I’m leaving her with you because I know you’ll give her that. Please don’t try to find me. I can’t be part of her life—or yours—anymore.

I’m sorry, Spencer. I hope you can forgive me one day.

The letter ended there, signed simply with the name of an old fling—someone Spencer had barely thought of in months. He sank into his chair, the letter clutched in his hands as the reality of the situation began to sink in. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t someone else’s child. Naomi was his daughter.

Spencer's hands shook as he gently set the letter aside and scanned his desk. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and concern, trying to process the shocking revelation that Naomi was his daughter. The small, pink bundle in the carrier shifted slightly, a soft, comforting sound from the baby breaking through the fog of his thoughts.

As he tried to steady himself, his eyes fell on a manila folder that had been tucked inside a binder, partially hidden behind a stack of case files. With a sense of urgency, he pulled the folder free and opened it, hoping for more information that might help him understand what to do next.

The folder was surprisingly organized. Inside, there were several neatly arranged documents. Spencer's heart raced as he flipped through them, each page providing a window into Naomi’s short life. The first section was a detailed medical history: her birth date, weight, and height, followed by her immunization records and a note about her recent check-up.

One particular page caught his eye—a list of formula brands with notes on her reactions. Some formulas had caused gas and discomfort, while others seemed to be well-tolerated. A section marked "Allergies" revealed a startling detail: Naomi was allergic to the same medication that he was. Spencer’s breath hitched; it was an eerie coincidence, but it also made him feel a strange sense of connection.

The next few pages included a list of essential baby supplies and instructions for her care, along with tips for calming her when she was fussy. There were notes on her sleeping patterns, preferences for certain types of lullabies, and even a small section detailing how to manage colic—a challenge he was unfamiliar with but was now keenly aware of.

Spencer was overwhelmed, but the structure of the folder gave him a small sense of control. It was clear that whoever had left this for him had done so with great care, ensuring that he had everything he needed to provide for Naomi.

Panic clawed at his chest. What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t prepared for this—didn’t know the first thing about being a father. The thought of trying to raise a child, especially on his own, was terrifying. And yet, as he looked down at Naomi’s peaceful face, something else stirred in him too. A fierce, protective instinct, one that told him he couldn’t just turn away from this.

But he couldn’t do this alone. He needed help.

Spencer pushed himself up from his chair, the letter still in his hand as he made his way to his  boss’s office.  His heart pounded erratically in his chest as he stumbled toward Hotch’s office, the world feeling like it was closing in on him. Each step felt like an effort, his legs heavy with a mix of fear and disbelief. The letter, a stark reminder of the life-altering revelation he had just uncovered, seemed to weigh him down more with every stride. Hotch was seated at his desk, the glow of his computer screen casting a shadow over his face as he looked up at Spencer’s sudden entrance.

Spencer’s face was flushed, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Panic was evident in his strained breaths, which came out in short, ragged gasps. He could barely catch his breath, his chest tightening as he tried to speak.

“Hotch…” Spencer’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blur of tears that threatened to spill over. “I—I need your help. I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

“Reid?” Hotch’s voice was calm, but Spencer could see the concern in his eyes as he noticed the expression on his face. “What’s going on?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. Instead, he handed the letter to Hotch, who took it with a frown. As Hotch began to read, Spencer’s gaze drifted back toward the bullpen, where he could still see the baby carrier sitting on his desk. Hotch’s eyes widened as he took the letter from Spencer’s trembling hand, his gaze shifting between the letter and Spencer’s distressed face. He glanced up at Spencer, his expression a mixture of concern and empathy. Spencer collapsed into the chair, his breath still coming in shallow, uneven bursts. He buried his face in his hands, trying to regain his composure. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on him, making it difficult to think clearly.

When Hotch finally looked up, his expression was unreadable. “She just left her here?”

Spencer nodded, his throat tight. “I don’t know what to do, Hotch. She’s my daughter. But I… I don’t know how to take care of a baby. She’s only six weeks old.” 

Hotch leaned back in his chair, considering the situation. “Did anyone see her come in?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer admitted. “She must have come in while we were still out on the case.”

Hotch stood up, moving toward the door. “Let’s check with security. See if we can figure out how she got in without anyone noticing.”

The two of them made their way to the security office, where the footage from the building’s cameras was stored. It didn’t take long to find the moment when the woman had entered the building, a hood pulled low over her face as she carried the baby carrier inside. She moved quickly, her face never clearly visible on any of the cameras. It was as if she had planned it that way—leaving no trace of herself behind, except for the baby she left in Spencer’s care.

Hotch frowned as they watched the footage. “We might not be able to find her,” he said quietly. “She knew what she was doing.”

Spencer’s heart sank.  He had hoped, against hope, that there might be some clue, some lead that would help him understand why she had left Naomi in his care. But it seemed she had taken every precaution to ensure she wouldn’t be found. The reality of her disappearance was setting in, and with it, the gravity of the situation.

He stared at the blank screen, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. He had so many questions—about her motives, about the timing, about everything. But as he considered the implications of forcing her to confront her decision, a realization began to form. She deserved privacy, even if he didn’t understand or agree with her choices. It wasn’t fair to drag her back into this, to force her to be a mother if she wasn’t prepared to be one. And on the other hand, it wasn’t fair for him to be forced into the role of a father without warning or preparation.

Spencer took a deep breath, letting go of the need for answers. He would respect her choice, even if it left him grappling with the unexpected responsibility. With a heavy heart, he nodded at Hotch, signaling that he was ready to move on.

“Alright,” Spencer said quietly. “I’ll respect her decision. I won’t go looking for her.”

Hotch gave him a supportive nod, understanding the weight of Spencer’s decision. “Let’s go back and check on Naomi.”

They walked back to the bullpen, where the baby carrier still sat on Spencer’s desk. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Spencer’s steps were slow and deliberate as he approached the carrier.

Hotch gently pulled the blanket away from Naomi, revealing her tiny, sleeping form. The sudden exposure to the cooler air made the baby shiver slightly, her delicate lips smacking in a tired, reflexive gesture. Hotch’s face softened with empathy as he quickly reached for a pacifier from the nearby supply of baby items.

He placed the pacifier gently in Naomi’s mouth. The moment the pacifier touched her lips, she instinctively began to suckle, her tiny gums working at the soft object. The soothing motion seemed to calm her immediately, and she settled into a more relaxed state, the shivering subsiding as the warmth of the pacifier brought her comfort.

“So what happens now?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch turned to him, his expression serious. “Legally, we have to report this. The child would either go into the system until we can locate the birth mother or any other relatives. But given the circumstances…” He paused, studying Spencer carefully. “You could take her home, Reid. She’s your daughter. If you’re willing to step up, she doesn’t have to go into the system.”

Spencer’s mind raced. Take Naomi home? It seemed impossible, overwhelming. But as he thought about it, he knew he couldn’t let her be taken away. She was his responsibility now, whether he felt ready for it or not. He had always been the type to analyze every detail, to consider every consequence, and now he found himself grappling with the gravity of his situation. The thought of Naomi being taken into the system filled him with a deep sense of dread. 

He knew all too well what could happen to children in the system. The stories he had encountered through his work were a grim reminder of the horrors that could await them. He had seen the psychological scars that children carried with them, the way their trust could be shattered and their sense of security upended. He had witnessed the impact of neglect, abuse, and the cold indifference of a system that, while well-intentioned, often failed to provide the warmth and stability that children desperately needed. The cases he had worked on had exposed him to the darkest aspects of human nature. He had seen the way people could exploit, harm, and exploit vulnerable children, their lives twisted into a series of traumas that were nearly impossible to undo. He had heard the stories of children who grew up in foster care, their experiences marked by a constant struggle for belonging, love, and safety. Each story had left a mark on him, a reminder of the fragility of childhood and the need for protection.

As he looked at Naomi, so small and innocent in her carrier, a surge of protectiveness washed over him. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being subjected to the same horrors that he had seen, of her becoming another statistic in a system that could not always safeguard its most vulnerable. He knew the emotional and psychological toll that could result from being shuffled from one place to another, from feeling like an outsider in a world that should have been a place of comfort and care.

“I’ll take her home,” Spencer said, the words coming out with more certainty than he felt. “I’ll figure it out. I can’t let her go into the system, Hotch.”

Hotch nodded, his expression softening slightly. “You won’t be alone in this, Reid. We’re all here to help. Let’s get the paperwork started.”

Spencer felt a mixture of fear and determination settle in his chest. His mind raced with questions and uncertainties about how he would manage this new responsibility. He still didn’t know how he was going to do this—how he was going to be a father to this tiny, innocent life that had been suddenly thrust into his world. But as he looked down at Naomi, still asleep in her carrier, he knew one thing for sure.

He was going to do everything in his power to give her the life she deserved.

Spencer’s hands shook slightly as he tried to figure out how to strap Naomi’s car seat into the back of his car. The piece of durable plastic seemed to mock him with its complexity. He had read countless books on a wide range of topics, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of trying to secure a car seat. The instructions that came with the seat might as well have been written in a foreign language, and the diagrams didn’t help much either.

He fumbled with the straps, his frustration growing with each passing minute. Naomi stirred in her carrier, making a small sound that tugged at his heart. He couldn’t help but feel like he was already failing her, and they hadn’t even left the parking lot yet.

After several more attempts to secure the seat, Spencer sighed in defeat and pulled out his phone. A quick search led him to a video tutorial, and he followed along step by step. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to get the seat installed correctly. He double-checked it, tugging on the straps to make sure everything was secure, then let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

He glanced back at Naomi, who was still fast asleep, her tiny fingers curled into a fist as she slept. He could see her eyes moving beneath her eyelids, soft whimpers escaping her lips as she dreamed. It was all so surreal. Spencer had barely wrapped his mind around the fact that he had a daughter, and now he was taking her home.

The drive back to his apartment was nerve-wracking. Every little sound Naomi made caused Spencer’s heart to race, and he found himself constantly checking the rearview mirror to make sure she was okay. Each sound, whether it was a slight shift or a soft sigh, felt magnified in the quiet of the car, adding to his growing anxiety. His mind raced with an endless stream of questions and concerns. What did he need to do now? How would he manage this new responsibility?

When they finally arrived at his apartment, Spencer carefully unbuckled the car seat and carried Naomi inside. The place suddenly felt too small, too quiet, as if it wasn’t ready to accommodate a baby. He had no crib, no bassinet—nothing to make sure she could sleep safely. He’d never had a reason to prepare for this, and now he was scrambling to figure out what to do.

Spencer set Naomi’s carrier down in the living room, looking around as if the answer might be hidden in the furniture. The apartment, usually so orderly and familiar, seemed suddenly alien and inadequate. His gaze settled on his bed, and he remembered something he had read in one of his many parenting books about co-sleeping being risky. But at the same time, he couldn’t exactly leave her in the carrier all night. She needed somewhere safe to sleep, and he had to act quickly. He scanned the room again, his mind racing for a solution. It wasn’t long before an idea struck him. 

e gathered some blankets and a large laundry basket from the closet, hoping they might serve as a temporary solution. With quick, determined movements, he lined the basket with the softest blankets he could find, making sure to tuck in the edges to create a snug and secure space for Naomi.

It wasn’t an ideal setup, but it would keep Naomi safe for the night. He knew he’d need to find a more permanent solution soon, but for now, this would have to do.

Exhausted, Spencer collapsed onto the couch, watching Naomi sleep. He felt like he was in over his head, but he knew he couldn’t afford to fall apart now. He needed to be strong for her, to figure out how to give her everything she needed. Hours passed, and Spencer found himself dozing off, but the sound of Naomi’s cries jolted him awake. The tiny wails filled the apartment, growing louder by the second. Panic surged through him as he tried to remember everything he had read about calming a crying baby.

“Okay, okay, it’s alright,” he murmured, lifting Naomi out of the basket and cradling her in his arms. She continued to cry, her face scrunched up in distress. Spencer’s heart ached at the sound, desperate to do something—anything—to make it stop.

He checked her diaper and found that it was wet, so he quickly changed it, hoping that would soothe her. But Naomi’s cries only grew more frantic. Spencer then tried feeding her, but she only took a few sips from the bottle before pushing it away and continuing to cry. He bounced her gently, tried burping her, even sang softly to her, but nothing seemed to work. Spencer was at a loss, his own eyes burning with unshed tears. He felt utterly helpless, the weight of his new reality crashing down on him.

After what felt like an eternity, Spencer realized he couldn’t do this alone. With shaky hands, he reached for his phone and dialed JJ’s number. She answered on the third ring, her voice groggy with sleep.

“Spence? What’s going on?” she asked, concern creeping into her tone.

“JJ,” Spencer’s voice cracked, tears spilling over as he spoke. “I need your help. I— I have a baby, JJ. She’s my daughter, and I… I don’t know what to do.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. “Did I hear you right? You have a baby?”

“Yes,” Spencer choked out, cradling Naomi closer as she continued to cry. “Please, JJ, I need you to come over. I can’t— I don’t know how to calm her down. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” JJ said, her voice firm with determination. “Hang in there, Spence. I’m on my way.”

Spencer hung up, relief flooding through him as he clung to the hope that JJ would know what to do. He tried to soothe Naomi as best as he could, whispering soft words of comfort, but her cries didn’t ease. He paced as he waited, sniffling as he failed to soothe her. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he held her against his shoulder. 

True to her word, JJ arrived in record time, letting herself in with the spare key Spencer had given her years ago. She rushed over to where Spencer sat on the couch, Naomi still wailing in his arms.

“Let me see her,” JJ said gently, holding out her hands. Spencer passed Naomi to her, his heart heavy with guilt and worry. JJ held Naomi close, rocking her back and forth with a practiced ease. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. Aunt JJ’s here.” She hummed softly, swaying from side to side, and within minutes, Naomi’s cries began to quiet.

Spencer watched in amazement as JJ soothed Naomi, the baby’s wails gradually turning into soft whimpers. “How did you do that?”

JJ smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It’s not your fault, Spence. You’re doing your best. Babies just have a way of knowing when someone’s scared, and she can probably sense that you’re nervous. You just need to be patient with yourself—and with her.”

Spencer nodded, wiping his eyes as he took a deep breath. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this, JJ. I don’t know anything about being a father.”

JJ placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to learn, just like every new parent does. And you’re not alone. You’ve got us—me, the team, everyone who cares about you. We’ll help you get through this.” She chuckled as she placed Naomi in the laundry basket. “Raising babies takes a village, and you have one of the best out there.”

Sure enough, Spencer had all the support he needed. JJ had gone home in the morning after helping him calm Naomi, but she returned a few hours later with Will and Henry in tow. The sight of them brought Spencer a sense of comfort, like a lifeline had been extended just when he needed it most. Will carried in Henry’s old crib and JJ had a large bag filled with baby items slung over her shoulder.

“We figured you might need some of Henry’s old things to get you by,” JJ said, setting the bag down and giving Spencer a warm smile. “We’ve got more at home, but this should be a good start.”

Spencer was beyond grateful. He hadn’t even had the chance to think about where Naomi would sleep beyond the makeshift solution he’d created last night. Now, with a crib being set up in his bedroom, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

As Will assembled the crib, Henry sat on the floor beside Naomi, who was now lying on a blanket JJ had spread out. He was curious, poking gently at Naomi’s cheeks as she slept. “She’s so small,” Henry whispered, his eyes wide with wonder.

“She is,” Spencer agreed, watching the interaction with a soft smile. Despite most of the items being “boy things”—like blue onesies and trucks—Spencer was immensely grateful. The practicality and sentiment behind each item were what mattered most, and Spencer couldn’t thank them enough.

Henry gazed down at Naomi, his curiosity and fascination evident in his wide eyes. He studied her delicate features, her tiny fingers curled into soft fists, and her peaceful, sleepy expression. Spencer watched the scene unfold, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions—gratitude, awe, and a deep, newfound love for the little girl lying before him. After a moment, Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small toy car, one that was clearly well-loved. The paint was slightly chipped, and the wheels had been rolled over countless surfaces, but it was still in good shape. Henry hesitated for a second, glancing up at his father and then at Spencer before turning his attention back to Naomi.

“This is my favorite car,” Henry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at the car in his hand, then gently placed it on the blanket beside Naomi, close to her tiny hand. “But Naomi can have it. I think she’ll like it.”

The simple, selfless gesture brought tears to Spencer’s eyes. He wasn’t expecting it—hadn’t prepared himself for the emotional impact of watching Henry, so young and yet so full of love, offer his favorite toy to Naomi without hesitation. Spencer blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but a few escaped and slid down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself, but the overwhelming emotion was too much to contain.

“Henry,” Spencer said, his voice thick with emotion, “that’s… that’s incredibly kind of you. Thank you.”

Hotch, understanding the gravity of Spencer’s situation, had already granted him a few weeks of leave to adjust to his new role as a father. It was a small relief, but a vital one. Spencer knew that taking time off was the only way he’d be able to navigate the challenges of his new reality.

The team visited separately over the next few days, each of them bringing something unique to help Spencer and Naomi. Emily arrived with a large box of clothes for a baby girl, ranging from newborn to a few months old. “You’re going to need these sooner than you think,” she said with a grin, pulling out a tiny pink dress. “This one’s my favorite.” 

When Spencer looked exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open, Emily offered to watch Naomi so he could get a few hours of much-needed sleep. “Go on, I’ve got this,” she insisted, and Spencer, though hesitant at first, eventually relented. The nap was one of the deepest sleeps he’d had in days.

Penelope arrived a few days later, her arms full of bags containing frozen dinners. “I know you’re probably too tired to cook, so I made sure your freezer is stocked,” she explained, stacking the meals carefully. “Just pop them in the oven, and you’re good to go.”

Upon inspection, she had written the instructions on each lid along with an inspirational note. 

Derek came by with a stack of children’s books in his arms. “You’re never too young for a good story,” he said, placing the books on Spencer’s coffee table. “These are some of my favorites from when I was a kid. I figured you’s start reading to Naomi now—she’ll love hearing your voice.”

Rossi’s visit was a bit different. He brought an assortment of girly items—bows, ribbons, and even a small, plush pink blanket. “Every little girl needs a bit of flair,” he joked, showing Spencer how to tie one of the bows in Naomi’s fine hair.

When Hotch came by, he brought a few books he’d found helpful when Jack was born. “It’s a lot to take in,” Hotch said as they sat down in Spencer’s living room. “But you’ll get the hang of it. You’re one of the smartest people I know, and parenting is something you’ll learn, just like everything else.”

It was then that the overwhelming weight of everything finally hit Spencer. He had been holding it all together, trying to stay strong for Naomi, but the fear and uncertainty were still bubbling under the surface. Hotch had always been someone he looked up to, someone who had managed to balance fatherhood and the demands of their job with grace.

Spencer’s composure broke, and tears filled his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this, Hotch,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I’m so scared that I’m going to mess this up. Naomi… she deserves better than someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Hotch placed a reassuring hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Spencer, every parent feels that way at some point. It’s normal to be scared, especially when everything is so new. But you’re not alone in this. You have a team of people who care about you and Naomi, and we’re all here to help. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

Spencer nodded, wiping away the tears that had spilled over. “It just feels like there’s so much I don’t know. Every time she cries, I’m terrified that I won’t be able to figure out what she needs.”

Aaron gave him a small, understanding smile. “You’ll learn, Spencer. And Naomi already has everything she needs—she has you. You’re doing your best, and that’s what matters. The rest will come with time.”

Spencer looked over at Naomi, who was nestled in the crib that Will had set up. Her tiny chest rose and fell with each breath, and a sense of awe washed over him once more. He was still scared, but Hotch’s words gave him a sense of reassurance that he desperately needed.

For the first time since Naomi had come into his life, Spencer allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he could do this. It wouldn’t be easy, but with the support of his friends and his determination to give Naomi the best life possible, he knew he had a fighting chance.

The next year unfolded like a beautifully chaotic whirlwind for Spencer and Naomi. The early days were filled with sleepless nights, diaper changes, and countless moments of doubt. But there were also countless moments of joy, wonder, and discovery as Naomi grew and began to show more of her personality.

By the time Naomi was a little over a year old, she was walking—wobbling at first, but quickly gaining confidence with each step. Her laughter filled their home as she toddled around, exploring every corner with boundless curiosity. Spencer’s heart swelled with pride every time she reached a new milestone, no matter how small.

Their mornings settled into a comfortable routine. Spencer would wake up early, usually to the sound of Naomi babbling in her crib. He would scoop her up, her tiny hands reaching out for him, and they’d head to the kitchen together. Breakfast was always a shared bowl of oatmeal, something Spencer had learned Naomi enjoyed from their earliest days together. He’d feed her small spoonfuls, making sure it was just the right temperature, and she’d giggle or babble happily between bites. Spencer would carefully spoon out the oatmeal, blowing on it to cool it before offering a bite to Naomi. She would eagerly open her mouth, sometimes making a mess, but always with a smile or a babble of excitement. The sight of her chubby cheeks and bright eyes, so engaged in the simple pleasure of breakfast, made Spencer’s heart ache with a fierce, protective love.

After breakfast, it was time to get ready for the day. Spencer had developed a surprising skill in doing Naomi’s hair, carefully parting and brushing her soft curls before securing them with colorful clips or tiny bows that Emily and Penelope had gifted her. Naomi would sit patiently, sometimes holding a brush of her own, as Spencer fussed over her hair. He always made sure to give her choices in what she’d like to wear—holding up two outfits and watching as she pointed to the one she preferred, her brow furrowed in concentration.

As Naomi grew, so did her curiosity. She was always on the move, exploring every inch of their small apartment with relentless energy. Spencer found himself marveling at how quickly she learned and adapted, often trailing behind her as she ventured into new areas of their home. He would follow her, ready to ensure she stayed safe while encouraging her independence.

The days were filled with laughter and learning. Whether it was playing with toys, reading picture books, or taking walks to the park, each moment was an opportunity for Spencer to bond with Naomi and witness her development. The challenges of parenthood were many, but the rewards were even greater. Spencer felt a profound sense of fulfillment in watching Naomi grow, knowing he was providing her with a loving and supportive environment.

Reading became their favorite activity, a habit Spencer encouraged at every opportunity. He read to her during meals, while she played, and especially before bed. Naomi had her favorites—books with bright colors and simple stories—and she would hand them to Spencer with an expectant look, knowing he would happily oblige. It became their special time, a moment of calm before she drifted off to sleep. Spencer’s voice would grow softer as he read, his fingers gently brushing through her curls, and soon enough, she would be fast asleep, her tiny hand clutching a stuffed animal close to her chest.

The team remained an ever-present force in their lives, each member growing attached to Naomi in their own way. Emily was the fun aunt who always brought new clothes and toys. Penelope, who couldn't resist showering Naomi with love, would often arrive with new books or stuffed animals. Derek played the role of the cool uncle, bringing Naomi toy cars and balls to play with. He taught her how to roll them across the floor, and Spencer would often find her giggling as she tried to mimic him. Rossi spoiled her with little trinkets and treats, calling her “principessa” and telling her stories about his adventures. He’d bought a gold plated bracelet for her, her name engraved on the outside. Spencer refused it at first, but Rossi insisted. “It’s already engraved,” he said. Naomi never wanted to take it off. Hotch, always thoughtful, would visit with Jack, and the two children would play together under Spencer’s watchful eye.

The team would drop by often, sometimes just to spend time with Naomi and give Spencer a bit of a break. They celebrated her first birthday together, throwing a small party in Spencer’s apartment. Naomi had a cake—pink frosting smeared all over her face as she tried to eat it with her tiny hands. Everyone had laughed, and Spencer had taken so many pictures he’d lost count. Spencer had decorated the apartment with pastel streamers and balloons, transforming the living room into a vibrant, festive space. Naomi’s excitement was palpable as she waddled around, her giggles echoing through the apartment. Her outfit—a frilly pink dress and matching headband—made her look like a miniature princess.

 Naomi was thrilled to see familiar faces. JJ, Emily, and Penelope were among the first to show up, each bringing a thoughtful gift and a warm smile. JJ had a colorful stack of board books, Emily brought a plush toy that Naomi immediately hugged close, and Penelope had a small, handmade quilt that she had been working on for weeks.

As the team settled in, Naomi’s eyes widened with delight when she saw Henry and Jack. Though they were much older, the two boys had always been fond of her. They were enthusiastic participants in her birthday festivities, eager to play with their tiny friend. Henry and Jack took turns pushing Naomi in a toy car, their laughter blending with hers as they navigated the apartment. Naomi’s face lit up with pure joy as she played, her tiny hands clapping and her laughter ringing out each time they went around the room.

As the months passed, Spencer found that his life, once so carefully ordered and solitary, had become fuller, richer, and more chaotic than he could have ever imagined. Naomi brought light into his world, a light that radiated out and touched everyone around them.

And every night, after Naomi had fallen asleep and the apartment was quiet, Spencer would sit beside her crib, sometimes reading one last book just for himself. He’d look down at his daughter—his beautiful, strong, spirited daughter—and feel a deep sense of peace. Life had changed in ways he couldn’t have predicted, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Naomi was his world, and he was hers.

The years with Naomi seemed to fly by, each one filled with memories that Spencer held close to his heart. By the time she turned four, she had blossomed into a bright, lively little girl with an insatiable curiosity and a contagious laugh. She had inherited Spencer's sharp mind, often surprising him with the things she picked up and remembered. But more than anything, she had retained the pure, innocent joy of being a child—a joy that brought so much light into Spencer’s life.

Today, they were playing hide and seek, a favorite game of Naomi's. Spencer was “it,” walking slowly through their apartment, calling out playfully as he searched for his daughter. Naomi’s giggles echoed faintly from somewhere nearby, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile.

As he looked for her, he found himself stumbling across small reminders of the years they had spent together. Bending down to peek under the bed, he found a tiny newborn sock, no bigger than his palm. He picked it up, marveling at how small she had been once. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet also like it was just yesterday. Next, he checked in the kitchen, opening a cabinet where Naomi liked to hide sometimes. Inside, tucked in the back, he found an old baby bottle, its lid slightly askew. He remembered the nights he had spent in this very kitchen, warming milk for her when she was just a baby, pacing the floor as he tried to soothe her back to sleep.

Smiling to himself, Spencer moved on to his office. He didn’t expect her to be in here—Naomi knew it was a space her dad liked to keep neat and organized—but he checked anyway. Opening a drawer, he found a pacifier, one of Naomi’s old binkies, hidden away from when he was trying to wean her off of them. She had cried for it at first, but eventually, she had adjusted, like she always did.

Each of these small items served as a poignant reminder of their journey—of the sleepless nights, the first steps, the first words. They were memories of challenges and triumphs, of moments where Spencer had doubted himself but had found a way through, often with Naomi’s innocent determination leading the charge.

Finally, Spencer made his way back to the bedroom. He scanned the room and saw a suspicious lump beneath the blankets of his unmade bed. Smiling to himself, he called out, “Okay, Naomi, I give up! I can’t find you anywhere!”

He waited, expecting her to pop out from under the blankets with a triumphant cry. But instead, he heard a burst of giggles behind him. Spencer turned around just in time to see Naomi leap out from a laundry basket, her eyes shining with mischief.

“I win, Daddy! I win!” she chanted, bouncing up and down with excitement.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, his heart swelling with love and pride. “Yes, you win,” he agreed, scooping her up into his arms. Naomi squealed with delight, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

As he held her close, Spencer realized that it didn’t matter who won or lost their little games. In the grand scheme of things, he felt like the true winner every day. He had Naomi—his daughter, his light, his reason for everything. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he cherished every moment, every memory they created together.

He looked into her bright eyes and smiled, knowing that no matter where life took them, they would always have each other. And that, more than anything else, was what made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

-

Part Two

[yaksha-lover]

Imagine being stuck between your not-boyfriend Leona and your dearest friend Malleus.

Things start out casual between you and Leona - you promise each other that you won’t catch feelings. There are endless reasons you two can’t ever be in a relationship: Leona’s the last person to want a commitment to anyone or anything, he’s a prince, you’re still planning to return to your home world. You agree to a few nights of fun whenever you both have time, eventually planning to go your separate ways without anyone ever finding out. Only things never work out that way.

One day, Leona stops leaving Ramshackle as soon as the two of you are finished. He stays and you make midnight snacks and actually talk. The late-night conversations show you a different side of Leona. You think the previous events of the night put him in a good mood, one where he’s willing to tell you stories of the Sunset Savanna, of his childhood.

Suddenly, the two of you are sneaking out of NRC on secret dates (neither of you call it that, but the dinners and sights he take you to are hard to dismiss as just a friendly get-together). It’s exhilarating while it lasts, the secrecy of this love affair. When it’s just the two of you, out where no one knows you, it’s like living in another universe where you could actually be together; there’s no mention of his royal status or your return home, there’s only you and him.

It’s hard to separate the ‘you’ that made the promise from the ‘you’ that knows the way Leona is when no one else is there for him to keep up appearances. You make a mistake; he’d huffed about holding your hand on a secret outing before, but ultimately he’d conceded and let you tug him along to places. This time, with an audience of the other housewardens, he isn’t so willing to forgive your little mistake.

Your attempt to take his hand and lead him out of the classroom is met with a fierce glare and him yanking his hand out of yours. You know it’s your fault - you should’ve known better than to break the rules that you agreed to, he’s not your boyfriend after all - but the sting of his rejection and the words of venom he spits at you have your chest squeezing tight enough to leave you rooted in place. Vil even stops to pat your shoulder on the way out, his pity at your rejection evident in his voice.

You think you might love him. The feeling is suffocating, nothing like you’d ever thought falling in love would be like. You’ve doomed yourself - Leona’s been clear about his intentions from the start - and still, you dared to hope that the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear meant something.

You never told Malleus about your relationship with Leona, but you never had to; he already knows. He’s far more observant than most give him credit for. What else can one do but listen when they have no one to talk to? No one, that is, until you. He notices the changes in you during each successive club meeting. The cycles of elation and heartbreak were easy to spot in your small grins and deep eye bags.

He’s a bit heartbroken himself when he first realizes it. He thought it was no secret that he was interested in you, but you remained oblivious despite his attempts. He comforts himself with the thought that this is just a temporary thing - a relationship never meant to last more than a change of seasons.

Eventually, when the sadness becomes too much for even you to hold in, you confide in him. That day, you cry into his arms and for the first time, he wishes to hurt Leona Kingscholar. Despite your insistence that this is not Leona’s fault, Malleus knows better.

It’s clear to anyone that Leona’s feelings for you run deeper than you know. Even before you two began this secret affair, everyone had known the way he looked at you, the way his eyes would linger. Now, his love for you is obvious in the way he takes care of you, the way he glares at anyone willing to come within a two meter radius of you.

It’s because he knows Leona has feelings for you that he hates him. Because his inability to express them sends you crying into Malleus’ own arms every time. You deserve better than someone who isn’t willing to show you how they truly feel. And yet, you never stop. You can’t resist him, Malleus supposes.

It hurts him, when you cry into his chest night after night. How cruel are you, to cry to him over another man when he has spent many nights simply trying to suppress his own feelings for you? He knows that you would never do this to him, if you knew about his feelings, but he can’t bring himself to tell you. He would rather stay by your side as a friend than lose you trying to become more. Malleus keeps that thought close to himself on the nights he’s alone and forced to wonder if you would’ve chosen him had you met him and not Leona first.

Malleus doesn’t know that you’ve thought the same, convinced that the dragon prince would never think about you that way. At first, you’d only really been interested in Leona, but the more he pushed you away and the more time you’d spent with Malleus, the more you began to see him in another light. You only become more and more confused about your feelings as time goes on.

The last time you’d seen Leona, you’d finally broken down and told him your true feelings. That you couldn’t do things casual anymore, that you’d longed to be with him as a real couple. You felt guilty also mentioning your growing feelings for Malleus, but in the end felt it was necessary to be entirely honest to him. You’d asked him to say something, to make a decision.

Leona hadn’t said a word, only staring at you in silence until you couldn’t take the feeling anymore and fled from his room. In a way, you felt that his silence had spoken for him and ended anything you thought existed between the two of you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to tell Malleus about it.

You have no idea how you make Leona’s heart ache. How much he cares about you and much it hurts to see your sad face when he has to pretend that he doesn’t. Old habits die hard, and Leona’s past makes it difficult for him to openly care about anything. He never wanted to make you feel like this - he wants to love you publicly, but his pride takes over and leaves him pushing you away.

He knows he sabotages all his chances at happiness, but Leona won’t let himself lose you. The next night, he shows up to your door, wearing a suit and flowers in hand (the most effort he’s put into anything in years), prepared to finally tell you of his feelings and ask you on a real date. He feels his heart sink when you open the door and he spots Malleus sitting at the coffee table behind you.

Only an hour earlier, Malleus had decided that he couldn’t live like this anymore, not telling you of his feelings. He’d also shown up at Ramshackle, asking you to talk. As he told you his feelings for you, you hadn’t said much, looking more surprised than anything. It was as he was waiting for your answer that the doorbell rang and Leona appeared on your doorstep.

The two men stare at each other and then back at you.

You have a choice to make: the handsome lion who’d won your heart during passionate nights or the beautiful dragon who’d been there for you all along?

[otakusheep15]

Flufftober Day 28 - Protect

Content includes: Trein and reader, platonic (father child duo), Crowley being horrible as usual, protective Trein

Ever since you started his class, Trein has been keeping an eye on you. You and your friends are naturally known to cause trouble, so he has to make sure you aren’t disrupting his class.

However, the more he watched over you, the more fond he became.

Trein has a soft spot for children. It’s why he became a teacher after all.

You remind him a lot of his daughters, strong and kind and caring. You’re surprisingly good at taking care of your friends, at least attempting to keep them out of trouble when you can. It’s not always successful, but it’s the thought that counts.

It’s rare that he has a favorite in one of his classes. Usually, he cares for all his students equally, but you’re a special student in his eyes.

Because of this, Trein finds himself being much more lenient with you. When he’s grading papers, he’s always more forgiving when you make small mistakes, as long as it’s nothing major. In class, he never scolds you if he sees you dozing off, knowing you probably had a long night handling some issue with a fellow student.

And, most importantly, Trein always seems to be the first to defend you whenever he senses trouble.

Today was yet another faculty meeting. Crowley was going on and on about something no one really cared about. Crewel was busy grading papers, Vargas was outlining a workout routine for the Spelldrive club, and Sam wasn’t even present.

Trein tried to listen, knowing they would all get an earful from Crowley if no one was paying attention.

Then, Crowley mentions you, and that certainly gets Trein’s attention. Crowley goes on to give a long list of various responsibilities he plans on passing onto you, responsibilities that should be his to deal with. He gives some excuse about needing to “free up his own schedule for more important matters” and how “this will be a good learning experience for you”, but Trein isn’t buying it.

He, as well of the rest of the staff, knew how much Crowley pushed onto you. None of them like it, but it’s impossible to convince Crowley to back off once he’s set his mind on something.

Trein continues to listen, upset at how much Crowley is planning on giving you. You’ve already fallen asleep in class twice this week, and he knows you can’t possibly handle anymore stress.

Eventually, he’s had enough, and he stands up glaring at Crowley. This grabs the attention of his coworkers, and they all watch in stunned silence as Trein yells at Crowley, calling him every name under the sun as he explains just how tired you are and how you deserve a break.

Crowley gives a weak excuse, and Trein easily dismisses it, continuing to scold him.

It’s understandable how shocked everyone is. Even when he’s upset, Trein is never one to lose his temper under normal circumstances. It’s a bit startling, but there’s no denying that it wasn’t deserved. Everyone knows just how fond he’s become of you, practically treating you like his third child.

When Trein is finished, there’s a few moments of stunned silence as everyone processes what just happened. Then, Crowley looks away, awkwardly coughing as he thinks of what to say. His voice is weak, but he does make some comment about how, since he’s so generous and kind, he supposes he’ll give you a break.

Trein sits back down, feeling a bit embarrassed about his outburst. He can see Crewel smirking out of the corner of his eye, and he knows he’s going to be cornered by him later for a gossip session.

Even so, he doesn’t regret it. He will always protect you if given the chance. You’re the obvious favorite, and he’ll do everything within his power to make sure you’re taken care of while at this school.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Starts With a Spark, Then It's a Wildfire

[Buck/Tommy post break-up, 2,064 words; Angst]

It’s a bad time for the call.

Tommy's thumb has been hovering over Buck's name in his phone for a few days, yearning to ask for forgiveness, for understanding, for… anything, really. He hasn’t hit the button, not for a text, not for a call. It’s been a strange way to end a relationship, but he’s had worse, and he guesses Ev… Buck’s had them, too. He’s probably hurt now, confused, but he’ll get over it.

Or maybe he won’t, because it’s been nearly two weeks and he chooses the worst time to call Tommy. He considers not even picking up, just let this one go to voicemail. For some reason, he doesn’t.

„Buck,“ he says, trying to sound casual and busy at the same time, even if he’s only one of these things. „Not a good time, I’m on shift and there’s…“

There’s a sigh on the other end, a peculiar sound; like he’s waited, maybe for days, to muster the strength to finally call. It’s just… Tommy can’t deal with that right now, and it’s not because he doesn’t want to. So many mixed feelings stir up the tight knot in his stomach that’s sitting there since 11 days. 11 days and 14 hours, to be precise.

„There’s been an accident, I believe,“ he continues, quickening his pace, „something for AirOps. I need to go.“

Is he babbling? It sure sounds like it. He doesn’t owe the man any explanation. Does he?

„It’s me.“

His voice is but a breath, and there’s something in it that makes Tommy turn a corner. It’s the worst time, but he presses himself against a wall as if he’d something to hide. Well, not rushing to an emergency, that’s what he’s hiding right now, isn’t it?

„What?“ he asks, a little sharper than intended.

„It’s me. I’m the accident.“

Is… is he laughing? Is he drunk? Tommy’s fingers are itching to press the button, to stop this ridiculous call. He should’ve never picked up in the first place. Worst part is that he now feels sorry for himself, he’s disappointed without really knowing why.

„Buck,“ he says in the coldest tone possible, „don’t call me at work. I’m gonna go now.“

„Wait. I’m sorry.“

Another sigh, a peculiar wet sound. Like he’s been crying. Or…

„I’m t-the accident, Tommy. I’m 32-year old male stuck in a car dangling on unfinished bridge. That’s w-why they called AirOps, I guess.“

He’s starting to stutter. Right now, Tommy hates that he knows this, but it means he’s scared. Of all the things in the world Tommy doesn’t want his ex-boyfriend to be, it’s scared. Then the words hit home, and the knot in his stomach turns to ice. Tommy doesn’t even notice that he starts moving again. He almost runs into Moore, he’s always the last to enter the engine. The man’s still holding a sandwich, some sort of sauce dripping from his chin as he frantically stuffs the rests of it in his mouth.

„Where’s the accident?“ Tommy urges.

„Uh, on the 110, near the exit of Adams Boulevard. Guy must have missed some warning signs,“ Moore replies.

Tommy runs past him, up the stairs to the helipad, thinking he has missed a couple of those, right. Is that thought fair? It doesn’t matter now. He tells Buck to stay on the phone; in the helicopter, he mounts the device on a holder beneath the window pane with slightly trembling fingers. This way, he can connect it to the helicopter’s communication system and still hear Buck with his headphones on.

„Talk to me,“ he says, hopefully sounding like someone who has it all under control, while he starts the machine. „How did this happen?“

„H-how?“

There’s this small chuckle in his voice again. It’s inappropriate, totally out of place. He’s in shock, and so afraid, yet he’s still trying to be brave about it. Tommy’s heart aches at the thought.

„Don’t you mean why? Why d-did it happen. Why did you leave just like that?“

Tommys right hand grips the cyclic a little too hard. If he doesn’t focus, he’ll make a mistake; he can’t do that because a life depends on him. Depends on him being faster than the ground crew, because he knows that at this hour, with the usual traffic, the necessary tools and gear will never reach the bridge in time. And maybe it doesn’t matter how it happened, actually. How, on a perfectly normal day, Evan Buckley has somehow missed some road signs, took a wrong turn, or maybe, just maybe, deliberately steered his car onto an unfinished bridge. Either way, it’s a painful thought, because Tommy is to blame for it, isn’t he. 11 days, 14 hours, 35 minutes; the longest they’ve neither texted nor called each other since that fateful hospital wedding. The night in which Buck decided he wanted to be with him, full stop. Tommy is to blame he let the man inside his heart, and he’s to blame for apparently breaking it.

The city lights far, far beneath him blur, and he blinks. It's his own fault that he allowed such a vulnerable, sensitive, wonderful guy to become infatuated with him. His fault he felt the same. Feels, actually. Because there’s not just fear for Buck’s life, a deep dread turning the knuckles of his fingers around the cyclic white. There’s so much more. He needs to focus, he needs him to stay awake until help arrives. Until he arrives.

„That’s not the question right now,“ he says, his eyes searching the streets for striking landmarks. „I need to know where you’re hurt. Tell me what’s wrong, let’s focus on that.“

„Why?“ The question comes in a matter-of-fact tone. „You’re not a paramedic. You’re called because the situation is dire, Tommy, beyond my injuries. A-and I… I’m not even sure where exactly I’m hurt. But I know i-it’s bad.“

He pauses to suck in a breath; a painful, shaky sound. Tommy listens to the radio with half an ear, but not a single fire station is within a 10 minute reach, and his own department – just like the 118, he suspects –may violate a couple of road rules yet they will still not reach the bridge in time.

„My c-car,“ Buck continues slowly, „the rear end… well, it might just topple any minute now. I hardly dare to breathe, Tommy, a-and it hurts anyway. Maybe I’ll just stop breathing until somebody arrives.“

This time, his laughter is chopped and not at all cheerful.

„You won’t stop breathing.“

It’s not a statement, it’s an order. Tommy is almost surprised of himself – that’s his military voice, there hasn't been the need or the want to use that voice, to recall that part of him for a long time.

„I don’t know what else to do,“ says Buck, suddenly sounding so young. „I… I just wanted to hear your voice. In case… you know. But n-now that I hear it, I’m just s-sad. Because you d-didn’t… you didn’t explain.“

„That’s not true,“ Tommy softly replies.

He still can’t see the half-finished bridge, though GPS and the map in his mind tell him he’s getting closer; way closer than any EMT on the ground, he can tell that from the radio. Not much time has passed. Blinking at the slowly darkening horizon, Tommy inwardly pleads the universe for more time. His mind is not ready to fathom the idea of this being their last call. He’s missed this voice so much, it’s haunted his dreams. 11 days, 14 hours, 38 minutes, 12 seconds.

„Y-you told me… you said you’re afraid I’d break your heart,“ Buck says. „I’ve been dumped before, but never for that r-reason.“

There’s a moment of silence, and Tommy glances at his phone. He can hear him breathe; strained, choppy sniffs that don’t bode well.

„Pretty sure that’s not the only thing I said.“

Maybe that was too harsh. It’s just… has that man ever considered that Tommy’s hurting, too? He clings to that thought, trying to stir up some anger inside. If there must be any feelings when he meets him, let it be resentment.

„No, it’s not, you said something else that… t-that hurt me, Tommy.“

Oh, great. As if he doesn’t know this break-up out of the blue was hurtful. It was just easy to pretend they would get over it soon. Six months, that’s not such a long time, right?

„I’m sorry,“ he softly replies, and he is. Maybe it was inevitable to hurt him, but that doesn’t mean he’s not regretting it. God, he’s regretting so much.

„You said you’re not my last. Ah man, that hurts.“

Another sharply sucked-in breath makes this remark pretty multi-layered.

„I’m sorry,“ Tommy repeats, staring down at the city. Only 1 or 2 more minutes, he implores the sky. He can almost see the bridge.

„You better be, b-because you can’t know that, Tommy. You can’t just assume I’m gonna grow tired of you because the world is full of other people I haven’t… I haven’t tried. That’s insulting, you know? I was no virgin before you, and it’s not sex that has me… has me orbiting you like a s-satellite.“

„Maybe I’ve drawn the wrong conclusions,“ Tommy says, just to keep him talking. There’s the part of the highway they never finished, the bridge that cost the city a fortune but was never completed because of financial cuts. Ironic, isn’t it? They’d rather stop, even if reaching the other side seems so close. Cut the cord, dismiss everything you’ve already reached. There’s a pattern Tommy knows all too well.

„And now I’ve realized that’s the problem. I’ve been orbiting you. As if you’d been my awakening experience, larger than life.“

„I’m only human.“

„Right. I know that now. We should’ve spend more time talking. I should’ve listened to what you’ve experienced. You’ve been hurt, Tommy, I’ve figured that, and I… I never asked you about it. You wanna know what I think?“

There’s a car on the unfinished end of the bridge, just as expected; but knowing what will come never helps ease the pain. It’s dangling over the concrete, looks like one false move might topple it. It’s a miracle that hasn’t already happened. Tommy carefully lowers the helicopter. There’s sirens in the distance, and he realizes he needs help. He can’t do this alone, what was he even thinking? AirOps is the eye in the sky, a means for faster transportation, yes; but he can’t lift a car with his helicopter. You’re an idiot, he scolds himself. It’s just about being fast. Being first. How ironic.

„I’m here,“ he says. „I’ll try to land on that bridge, but I’ll need to do that far enough so the wind of my rotors doesn’t…“

„I think,“ Buck continues as if he’s not heard him, „you left me because you love me. That’s stupid, T-Tommy.“

He coughs, and now he sounds as if he’s almost choking. There’s a sharp and cold pain gripping Tommy’s guts, because he might still be too late.

„Keep talking to me,“ he urges, his eyes searching the ground for a proper landing spot.

„But is it true?“

He sounds tired now, tired and worn out, yet that’s not why Tommy decides it’s time for the truth.

„It is,“ he quietly replies, focusing on the controls. „It’s true. Sometimes, you need to shut your heart because loving hurts more than leaving.“

„That much is true,“ Buck says. His words are merely a whiff now. „Because I love you, and it hurts.“

The helicopter’s skids touch the ground, and Tommy is already tearing at the door. The air is now filled with the wailing of sirens, the red light already flashing in his eyes. He runs, but it seems to take like forever. Forever can be 30 seconds. Half a year. 11 days, 14 hours, 40 minutes, 10 seconds, 50 milliseconds.

If necessary, he will use all his weight to prevent the car from tipping over, he thinks. Still, he’s not prepared for what he sees when he finally reaches the driver’s door. The sight burns itself deep inside his memory: there’s blood everywhere, shards of glass, something sharp protruding, but most of all,

„Evan,“ he says.

Again. Finally. Forever.

[AO3] | All my BuckTommy on AO3

[gibberishfangirl]

WINDBREAKER | just a mistake?

Synopsis ✰ how they react to getting cheated on

Characters ✰ Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Akihiko Nirei, Toma Hiragi, Mitsuki Kiryu, Jo Togame, Choji Tomiyama

Contains ✰ sfw!, angst, betrayal, cheater!reader, gn!reader, reader is referred as “they/them”, usage of the words “partner” and “lover”, bottled up feelings, emotional affairs, physical cheating, break ups, guilty!reader, insecurity, unstable relationships, some relationships continue, cheating sucks, uncertain emotions, mainly contains the characters gathering their thoughts/characters perspective

typically Sakura ᡣ𐭩 thought anyone who would be so unloyal and distrust worthy were scum. he would believe they didn’t deserve anything good life had to offer. he wouldn’t give any dirty slimy cheater the time of day. at least that’s what he thought before… before he was actually put in the position where he had to see his lover become something he thought so lowly of. trust and respect were huge for Sakura and for them to throw it all away drove him insane. sure he was inexperienced and wasn’t anything close to perfect, but that wasn’t any excuse for them to do what they did. he hated himself for wanting to cave. wanting to tell them that it’s okay and he forgives them because anything would’ve felt better than forcing himself to walk away. despite feeling that way his pride could never allow him to continue a relationship with someone who disrespected him. it took everything in his power to not want to hold you and ask what he did wrong. took all of him to not wipe off the tears streaming down their face as they pleaded for forgiveness. Sakura’s never felt this type of rage and sadness in his life and he never thought they’d be the one to make him feel this way.

were they really so lonely to the point where they had to find comfort in another man’s arms? Umemiya ᡣ𐭩 couldn’t help but ask himself that question every night since the incident. the way he had to fight back the urge to rip that man off of them. but he didn’t, not when they laughed and smiled at that strange man like that. with that same smile they used to give him. that stupid stupid joyous face that was supposed to be reserved for him only. as long as they’re happy, is what he would keep telling himself everyday trying to find a way to live without them. Ume couldn’t really bring himself to hate them or really feel anything negative. he couldn’t wish them the worst, wish them a world with nothing but pain, wish them to experience the way he feels right now. he can’t. not when he did everything in his power to make them happy. he’d cope with the lesson that his love was never enough. no matter how painful it was. he’d remain with a smile on his face even if the sparkle in his eyes didn’t match. he built walls around him and promised himself that he would never make the same mistake again. the mistake of letting someone get too close. he never wanted to feel this way again. even if that meant not feeling the wonders of love ever again.

Suo ᡣ𐭩 couldn’t really comprehend where it came from. despite being a man with a good defense and having the ability to be aware of everything around him, this caught him by surprise. and it wasn’t the cute type of surprise his lover would give him each time whenever they’d “sneak” up on him from behind and cover his eyes to place a kiss on the top of his head before giggling out a “guess who?”. he never thought he’d find himself in the situation where he had to hear the love of his life tell him they fell for another. wasn’t he enough? why would they need someone else? why, why, why, why, so many questions and no answers. no answers that satisfied him at least. he wasn’t even sure where his relationship stood. they didn’t do anything… but they were in love with someone who wasn’t him? his heart sank down to his feet he almost felt like it was about to burst out of his body and his life would just end right there. a small part of him wanted it to. he couldn’t find a solution on how to move forward. any sane person would tell him it wasn’t worth it but no one knew them like he did. no one felt the joys of falling in love with them the way he did… at least that’s what he thought. clearly someone else now shares that same feeling and he didn’t like it in the slightest.

he wasn’t all that special, there were better fish in the sea. that much he knew. he always knew this was too good to be true but to think that day would come almost felt like a joke. Nirei ᡣ𐭩 always thought they could do better but to actually see it hurt. he couldn’t help but feel an unhealthy amount of anger that was out of his character. a small part of him hated them. not for cheating, not for making him fall in love for them but for letting him believe he was special. of course in past tense, he no longer felt that small bit of confidence he managed to build up in the relationship. it was gone. it disappeared faster than it even came. he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of shame as he was the one to beg them to stay. he felt like a fool. but he couldn’t stop the pleading from existing his mouth. “please give me another chance, i can change. i can do better. i’ll be better. please i promise, just don’t leave me.” he pleaded with more tears running down his face than theirs. the way he cried more than they did. as if he was the one who made the mistake. “how pathetic” he’d think to himself every night as he thought back to day. no matter how much he wanted to blame them for cheating he couldn’t. not when he felt like he was to blame for simply not being good enough. being good enough for anyone started to feel impossible.

“they’re as good as dead to me.” at least that’s what Hiragi ᡣ𐭩 kept telling everyone who asked. it was the only thing he had convincing himself that the pain he felt in his chest wasn’t there. that it was only temporary and it would already gone before he knew it. not that he would still be hurt about it after weeks on end (he was). even kaji grew worried for his friend as he never even got a straight answer himself. Hiragi found it especially easier to shut out everyone after the incident. “it’s not worth talking about.” it wasn’t was it? wasn’t worth talking about how happier they seemed in their messages as they sent mornings texts, night texts, “i love you” texts and what not. not to mention those stupid pictures he saw within their messages as he felt his heart shatter. as his mind snap as he couldn’t stop scrolling through the entire conversations. conversations that never seemed to end. conversations that couldn’t even hold a candle to the ones between him and them. maybe this is what he got for being too tired. for being too drained. for not being there. for not being a good boyfriend. for being a good for nothing. Hiragi was a real man, never talking down on their name as he made every conversation short. it was more than they deserved but it wasn’t because they deserved it. it was because he never knew how he would be able to handle someone else talking down on the person he still loves. the person he wanted so badly to want him. he wished he didn’t have the energy to get so worked up about it but he did. he wanted to be their everything the same way they were his everything. only to realize in the end that he was nothing.

y���know surprisingly enough this wasn’t Kiryu ᡣ𐭩‘s first rodeo on heartbreak. but it was different. not because this was the first time he got cheated on. but because this was the first time he thought they were the one. as silly as it sounded he couldn’t deny the fact that he wanted to marry them. feeling stupid as he looked at the shiny ring. he never would’ve guessed that it would stay hidden forever, tucked away in that small box in his dresser. he did a decent job at always keeping himself distracted as the days go by. whether it meant distracting himself with friends or strangers. even if it meant finding a random fling sleeping softly in his bed. despite wishing so badly he would do a double take and it’d be them instead. either way he’d just shake his head and the thoughts would easily vanish. the real problem was when he finally had time to himself. especially when he was quietly showering and he would have nothing to distract him from reminiscing on about the life he once had. along with the life he dreamed about and was close to achieving before it all vanished. he wouldn’t move on from them so easily but it never stopped him from trying no matter how hard it got. he didn’t really blame himself for anything that happened but he didn’t blame you either. he understood where they were coming from even if he wasn’t fond of it. similar to Ume he’d just want them to find happiness even if it wasn’t with him. although he’ll most likely take a break from dating after this.

he was in disbelief. he couldn’t believe it until he saw the proof with his own eyes. even though it hurt him so bad. the old Togame ᡣ𐭩 would’ve gone on a huge spiral. most likely ending with the new guy covered in his own blood as toga would pound every ounce of anger he felt out of him through his fist. any guy who thought they could look let alone touch his partner was as good as dead. there wasn’t anyone sane enough to test that, well now there was. despite wanting to react in anger and frustration he bottled it up. he would act like he didn’t care. he might even try to continue the relationship because his love was too strong for him to give up without even trying. however, his mind could never erase the amount of pain he felt as he questioned every second of the relationship. he couldn’t help himself but wonder if there was someone new, if his next mistake would result in his lover in another man’s arms again, it wouldn’t help if his partner told him there was no one else or would show proof of no contact. it didn’t erase the pain like he hoped it would. the damage was done and he wasn’t sure how to move forward with this broken trust. didn’t matter how hard they tried, toga would throw the mistake in his partners face at any given moment despite them changing. they’d both drive each other insane as the relationship would grow more toxic than what it was worth. he’d realize how unhealthy it is but would take time to learn when to walk away. most painful lesson he’s learned

although multiple people reassured him it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t help but convince himself it was. Choji ᡣ𐭩 felt like he was lucky enough to even get someone like his partner to look at him. so what did he do wrong to make them look the other way? he made plenty of mistakes in his life before. did he make more without knowing? he never felt so much self doubt in his life, it drained him. he became noticeably less happy and bubbly in comparison to his old self. choji was confident in himself for a lot of things, he was always able to recognize his own talents and good traits about himself. now he can’t really find any. outgoing? he wasn’t outgoing enough to keep them happy. strength? clearly not strong enough to make them stay. loving? apparently not enough. suddenly he felt weak in every sense. choji could never imagine himself leaving his partner by choice so when his own partner had asked for the breakup his heart would break more than he thought was possible. it’d take him forever to rebuild himself back up again but he’ll get there eventually. it didn’t make the process any easier as a small part of him always hoped his lover would return. it pained him to imagine that they might’ve found someone better than him. someone who had more to offer than he did. someone who he could never compare to. at least that’s what he would think until he realizes nothing was ever completely his fault.

[cameronspecial]

A New Kind Of Normal (Part 2)

Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Cocaine Hangover and Attending Sobriety Resources

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: Rafe wakes up the next day remembering his mistakes and realizes he needs to change.

Masterlist

The massive headache he has from the cocaine he did last night makes him question why he does it in the first place. Jaw pain is not unusual for him thanks to the substance, but it still doesn’t mean it can’t hurt. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and it helps him clearly see the sweat stain on his pillow. The deep breath he takes brings clarity to last night's events; panic starts to weave through his mind. Y/N is never going to forgive him for going to her house while high and saying what he said. The fury she held is definitely not one he want to meet in court, especially since he built a case against himself. This stress needs to leave him and he knows one substance that would help him relax. It’s the same thing he turns to every time he argues with his dad. He sniffles in an attempt to bring moisture back to his nose, but it doesn’t work. His hand shakes as he tries to open the ziplock bag filled with the white substance. 

And then he thinks about those small blue eyes that match his eyes. The excitement in her voice as she saw her mother. The way her beautiful hair blew in the wind as she ran around the counter. It stops his fingers from going any further. If he keeps turning toward drugs, he will never get to see her again. She’ll never get to know that he is her daddy and that he cares for her even if she doesn’t him. She’ll never get to tell him about her favourite TV shows or food. He wonders if she needs a night light to go to sleep and how many stories she likes to read before bedtime. He doesn’t even know his own daughter’s name. 

He needs to change because he wants to find all that stuff out. He told Y/N that he would’ve changed if he knew about their daughter and he is going to prove that he truly meant it. The first thing he needs to do is get a therapist and get clean. That’s his new goal. All he wants as of now is to be the best father he can be to the little girl. 

——

“I’m Rafe and I am an addict.” The other members of the meeting all retort with the typical anonymous meeting greeting. He didn’t think he had a problem, but his therapist begged to differ. She says that if he really wants to be in his daughter’s life, he has to show Y/N that drugs aren’t more important than their daughter. “I started using it when I was in my senior year of high school,” he starts to explain. “Most parents say they don’t have a favourite when their kids ask, but my dad was different. It was always clear to me that my younger sister was his favourite. No matter what I did, Sarah was the perfect one and I was the worthless one. Coke was the only thing that made his tiny voice in my head stop.” The group gives him sympathetic nods. They wait for him to continue, “I think that’s all I’m going to share for today. That’s all I need to get off of my chest right now.”

“Thank you for sharing,” Diana thanks. The meeting goes on and Rafe listens intently to the others’ stories. Listening to their journeys, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the signs of his own addiction before. The clacking of chairs folding finds his ears as he helps clean up. He doesn’t hear Diana’s footsteps as she approaches him, “So what made you decide to get sober if you don’t mind me asking?” He looks at her and finishes putting the chair he is holding away. “No, I don’t mind. Um… I recently found out that I have a daughter. I didn’t react so great when I found out that she was kept a secret from me, so I realized I needed to get better for her.” 

“It’s good that you realized you needed help. What’s your little girl’s name?”

“I actually don’t know. I was too high to ask. Another reason why I need to get sober is so I can get to know her.” 

“I see. Well, if you need a sponsor, I would be more than happy to help. I’ve been sober for three years. I know how difficult it can be to try to change.”

“That would be great. I’ve been sober for a day and I’m already struggling with it a little bit.” 

They exchange numbers before Rafe goes on his way to his next meeting of the day. 

——

Anger management right after a narcotics anonymous meeting may not have been the best idea on Rafe’s part. He really did want to get better, but with therapy, he has been doing a lot of talking about his feelings and it is exhausting to him. “And what do you think your anger triggers are, Rafe?” Corey asks, leaning forward in his chair. Rafe feels irritation fill him, “If I knew, then why would I be in anger management?” The look Corey gives him makes Rafe feel like he is receiving a warning from a parent. 

He cowers a little under the look. “Okay, I’m sorry for being snippy. But I’m hoping that I can figure this out. I want to figure out what makes me angry and how I can express that anger in a healthy manner,” he reasons. Corey agrees with his statement, “That’s exactly why I am here to help. Why don’t we talk about times you were angry?”

“The last time I was angry was when I found out that someone I slept with five years ago had my baby and didn’t tell me for five years.” 

“Right and were you more angry about the lie or the fact that you had a kid?”

“I am more upset by the lying. I told myself that I would be a better parent to my child and she didn’t give me a chance to do that.”

Rafe feels nervous with Corey’s eyes on him; today is the most he has been vulnerable since the night he met Y/N. “That is very angering. Now, how do you think you could’ve managed your anger?” Corey pushes, moving one leg over the other. Rafe takes a second to think, “I should not have gotten high that day. Instead, I should’ve opened communications with her. She tried to talk to me before I ran off, but I didn’t give her a chance.” “That’s right, Rafe. This is a very good start for your first session,” Corey applauds. 

——

The blast of music can be heard from outside the front door. Rafe has to laugh at the off-key and incorrect lyrics that are sung about five seconds too late. His daughter might look like his twin, but she seems to have inherited her mother’s musical abilities. He pauses as his fist lifts to knock on the door. The two girls in the house have their own lives. They already know how they fit into each other’s lives and he could off-balance their equilibrium by worming himself into it. He can’t mess up being a father if he isn’t in her life. But then he also couldn’t be a great father if he just left without trying to make things right with Y/N. 

He shakes off his anxiety and knocks on the door. The singing stops and the music dims. He can hear her footsteps approaching the door. Vanilla. It seems to haunt him whenever he is around her. He is glad fear doesn’t flash through her eyes when she sees him. He wouldn’t be able to handle knowing he caused her to feel that way. 

Her hair falls over her shoulder as she looks over at their daughter behind her. “Stella. Why don’t you go play in your room, Baby?” Y/N suggests, blocking Rafe from the little girl’s sight. Stella shoots up from the couch, “Okay, Mommy.” Her little running legs slowly down at the calling out from her mother to walk. With Stella out of earshot, Y/N finally gives him her full attention. “So her name is Stella. It means star, doesn’t it?” he thinks out loud. She slowly nods her head, “Yeah, I thought of it when I was stargazing while I was pregnant. Plus, my grandmother’s name was Luna so I thought it was a good homage to her. Rafe, I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to see you again unless you were suing me.” His hand moves his watch face back and forward on his wrist. He doesn’t want to look her in the eyes. 

“It’s a beautiful name. And you did make it clear. I want to apologize first. I shouldn’t have shown up to your house high. I probably scared you and Stella, which I never meant to do. 

“Apologizing won’t fix the fact that you came over high while my daughter was in the room.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But seeing our little girl, Y/N. I never thought that I could feel so much love for a person I didn’t know before. It made me realize that I need to change. So I started going to NA, anger management and therapy. I want to be mentally healthy. For Stella.” 

He can see the way she is processing his words and it gives him hope that he has a chance. “Rafe, I’m glad you are trying to get better. I really am, but I don’t know if I can trust you. You haven’t shown me that you are responsible enough to be Stella’s father,” Y/N explains and she doesn’t want to admit that the sad look on his face causes her some pain. He finally has the courage to look at her, “I understand. I wouldn’t trust me either. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance to show you that I am serious about being there for her. I’m hoping that if I stay sober for a month, you might consider letting me meet Stella as her father.” The silence that comes from Y/N absolutely kills Rafe and he feels like time is dragging on. “Okay. Stay sober for a month and Stella can meet you. But I want to meet you every week to get to know you more to make sure you are someone who can be around her,” she offers.

Rafe’s smile fixes the pain she felt before. He throws his arms around her to give her a hug, “Thank you so much, Buttercup! Can you do dinner tomorrow night?” That nickname. God, she didn’t think she could feel this many butterflies in her stomach at a simple name. She remembers why they are having this conversation and removes herself from his arms. “Dinner feels too romantic. How about lunch?” she counters. He gives her a thumbs up as he walks backwards toward his truck, “I can do lunch, great. I’ll pick you up at twelve. See you tomorrow.” 

He gets in his car and starts it. As he does so, he feels a pang shoot through his heart. She didn’t like the idea of going on a date with him, which tomorrow wasn’t going to be. He doesn’t know why he feels that way about it. He shakes off the feeling and focuses on the road.

——

Given that they are here because of Rafe, he offered to pay for lunch. They had decided on a small cafe near her house. “Were you able to find a babysitter? I can pay them for you if you need,” he states, playing with the food on his plate. She shakes her head at his offer, “My brother is watching her, so you don’t need to pay anybody. I certainly don’t need you paying for anything else either. I’ve been able to provide for her just fine so far.” “Right, right. I’m not saying that you can’t take care of her. I just want to make up for not being there for the first few years of her life,” he clears up. She takes a bite out of her sandwich, “You don’t need to make up for not being there. I knew where to find you and it was my choice not to tell you.” 

“Right…So you have a brother?” 

“I do. I have two actually. An older one and a younger one. How about you? You have a sister, if I remember correctly.”

His heart flutters at the fact that she remembers him talking about Sarah. He looks up to see that her attention is fully on him, “Yeah. I have two younger ones. Sarah and Wheezie.” “Wheezie. That’s an interesting name,” Y/N tries to pretend it isn’t strange. Rafe chuckles at the look on her face, “It’s a nickname, Buttercup. Don’t worry.” “Of course, I’m glad your parents had enough reason not to make that her legal name,” she jokes. Her beautiful smile that Rafe loves has returned, “Me too.” “How are you feeling about being sober so far? Any withdrawal symptoms?” she worries. He feels a twitch in his hand at the mention of his sobriety, “I’m not going to lie. It’s hard. I’m always tired, I’m more hungry than normal and I feel an unpleasant itch throughout my whole body. Not to mention the need for the drug is driving me crazy. But then I think about Stella and remember what I am doing this for.” 

The corner of her lips turns upwards at the thought of Stella helping Rafe stay strong. He must truly feel a love for Stella if she is helping anchor him during these trying times. “That’s good,” she says. “Button, I know I said I didn’t want to see you again, but if you ever feel the need to talk to someone, you can come to me. I know that addictions can be hard to overcome and I can see you really are trying. I want to help so Stella can meet her father.” The genuine care in her voice brings tears to his eyes. He barely knows her, yet she has shown more belief in Rafe’s abilities than Ward has in the twenty-six years that Rafe has been his son. Plus, using the nickname she gave him all those years ago must be a good sign that they are on the right track. “Thank you, Buttercup. It really means a lot to me that I have your support.” 

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @drewstarkeyswifehoe @kisstaya @magicalyoura @mp-littlebit @loverfu55ii

[hinatiny]

trivial things ੈ✩‧₊˚ kuroo tetsuro

kuroo is there with you through thick and thin, for everything between the worst of your days to painting your nails.

w.c: 0.8k

kuroo likes to help you.

the silence you share with him in the space of your bedroom is of the comfortable type—soothing, anchoring your mind to a plane of reality, not in the need of breaking.

your carpet doesn’t do much to soften your seats on the floor, and you’re sure both your and his spine will feel like a disaster within an hour or so. you don’t care about that really yet though.

you can’t care about it, you’re too busy focusing on not moving, to the point where you’re almost forgetting to breathe. you’ve curled a leg up, hugging it to your chest to keep it stable as kuroo, too, is busy focusing; his hands aren’t shaking, but his slight lack of inexperience with nail polish is visible as he tries to paint your toenails.

your feet are cold. just a bit wrinkly as well, the results of washing them after telling him there’s no way you’ll let him do your nails before that. he’d argued back, saying he’ll wash his hands later anyway, but you didn’t falter. thus you sit here with feet, cold, but not freezing at all; throughout the current process, his warm hands brush against your skin every now and then, and it’s oddly calming.

you glance away for a moment, at your own hands that he’d been taking care of just lately. the nails are red, alarmingly red. it’s a shade you didn’t even know you owned, let alone used, and you’re sure you’ll wipe it off before the next time you go out. for now, you’ll let it remain there, although it’s not the color you had initially planned on. “but red was our uniform color in high school!” was what had convinced you, along with a childish pout.

“woops, sorry.” you look back down. out of all the mistakes and accidental strokes kuroo has done so far, this fresh one is the worst. your toe looks like it’s screaming for help, and it somehow makes you feel like laughing. “i’ll fix that later.”

“i’ll forgive you if you let me do your nails later.”

he chuckles, “sure. what color are you planning?”

“black, i think it’ll look good on you,” you say after humming for a moment but he doesn’t seem as pleased with the suggestion, grimacing. “what?”

“that’s daichi’s team’s color.” “fukurodani?” “worse, karasuno. next color.”

you silently scoff, “per that logic, we should be dying your hair too.”

this brings out another chuckle from kuroo, “yeah? what color are we dying my hair then?”

“yellow.” “like kenma-yellow?” “no, it’s called kenma-yellow for a reason.” “are you saying i can’t pull off that color?” “kuroo, i hate to break this to you but you’d probably look like a chicken in that color.”

at any other time, he’d jokingly act offended. however, he can’t bring himself to do so when the image draws a hearty laugh from you as well, the sound only making him smile as he briefly glances up at you.

the laugh is soon muffled below that returning, comfortable silence again. it stays like that for a while, and you wouldn’t mind if it stayed like that the entire night either.

the only issue is the one sob you suddenly let out, one you’d been holding back after already having sobbed more than a just a few times only a short while ago. this time, kuroo sighs.

“i know i told you to cry it all out earlier,” he says without diverting his eyes from the work in progress. “but if your roommate comes in and sees you like this, she’s probably going to think i forced you into doing your nails.”

to his relief, between two more sobs you let out, cracks a small giggle out. “i’ll try to stop. sorry, i didn’t mean to cry again.”

kuroo doesn’t answer immediately. he spends another few moments on the very last nail left to paint, before eventually letting out a deep breath. he puts the brush back into the small bottle of polish, screws its cap shut and puts it aside.

his hand, as warm as it’s always been, finds the top of your head. your hair gathers in messes between his fingers as he ruffles it, but it’s gently done, so gently that you can’t complain like you otherwise would. for a few moments, it makes you forget that you have a whole world of stress and pressure spinning around you.

so you let it happen, finding solace in being able to let your walls down at last. you feel your eyes burn in threatening tears, but as he speaks, his reassurance tilts you closer towards a calm, “it’s okay. everything’s going to be alright.”

kuroo likes to help you, even if it’s through the most trivial ways — like visiting your home at two in the morning and painting your nails. he truly likes to help you and would probably do anything, as long as it meant hearing that laugh again, the one you let out when he soon adds,

“by the way, you weren’t serious about dying my hair, right?”

[misscherrys-world]

Day and night.

Warnings: smut, p in v, dacryphilia, degradation. Fingering (fem receiving). Unprotected sex. Spanking (both ass and pussy) The reader and Kai are kind of lovers but Kai doesn’t like “labels”.

I got lazy checking for any mistakes so please just forgive me and pretend it’s not there.

I personally believe that Kai has a thing for spanking cunts because he’s a sadistic mf.

𝔐𝔶 𝔭𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔳𝔦𝔢𝔴:

I stood in Kai’s kitchen before the sink washing our dinner’s dishes when I felt his arms sneaking around my waist and his head resting on my shoulder.

“Hmm, you look so pretty when you’re playing the good housewife.” He hummed as he started planting soft kisses along my neck, pressing my back against his chest even more.

I smiled as I felt the familiar butterflies flattering all around my stomach.. those damn butterflies..

“Kai~ someone will see us~” I was worried if someone from the cult sees us in this position. Kai was the one who wanted to keep things secret between the two of us. And I didn’t question him.

“Then we have to go upstairs to my room.” He bit on my sensitive skin.

As we headed upstairs his hand started to squeeze my ass. “Look at that great ass of yours I wanna see it all red and plumbed facing me.” He whispered in my ear. Goosebumps appeared on the nape of my neck and heat rushed to my cheeks.

As soon as we stepped into his room he pushed me down the bed. “There’s only 2 rules today..” he started ripping my shirt off “The first rule, no cumming without my permission” he continues ripping my clothes off, my bra, my shorts and my panties. “The second rule, don’t you dare moan loud. We don’t want others to know you’re such a cum slut now, do we?” I was gasping in need, I always liked how strong he was. I loved how he manhandled me. “N-no.. we don’t want others to know..”

“Good girl” he started kneading my breast pinching my nibbles lightly. “Ahh~” I moaned softly, he knows how sensitive my nibbles were and he used it against me. “Tsk tsk. Look how drenched your pretty little cunt is” his middle finger slides into my folds, he arches his finger finding my g-spot immediately. My breath hitched as I tried to suppress a loud moan.

“Shhhh, good girls follow the rules.” I whimpered as I clenched around his finger. He added another finger and increased the pace. I felt the familiar knot forming in my stomach. Kai felt I was close, suddenly he withdrew his fingers and slapped my pussy tenderly. “I said you’re not allowed to come yet” a small whine came from my mouth. “Kai..” he chuckled “yes, love? What is it?” I looked at him as he started unzipping his pants. “Why can’t I cum..?” He gave himself few strokes before holding my thighs in his hands pulling me closer, positioning the tip of his dick into my throbbing pussy.

“Because my little princess. (A grunt as he slided into my cunt) it’s called taming. You can’t just go do whatever you want without my permission.” I was about to moan when he covered my mouth with his hand. He started pounding roughly never giving me a chance to adjust. Tears glossed my eyes while he pounded into me roughly. “That’s it, cry for me, show me how much you love my cock.”

Before I could cum he pulled out and flipped me into my stomach starting pounding into my drenched cunt again. A muffled moan escape my mouth as he buried my face into the mattress. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.” A spank landed on the right cheek of my ass and his hand quickly soothed the sting I felt.

“Mine, all mine.. so damn pretty, nobody deserves that pussy more than me.” Another spank landed on the left cheek, this time was way harsh so I cried loudly. “Shh shhh, don’t let the others notice how whiny and aroused you are by my cock. I can do it all day all night, my little cum slut.”

“Mhmm.. K-kai… I’m gonna.. c-cum..” Kai increased his pace as he whispered into my ear “Beg me”. I muffled a moan and I pleaded him. This went for about 10 minutes until he gave me permission to cum. As soon as I came he planted his seed inside me. “So fucking pretty. Spread your legs and stick that pretty pussy of yours out” I obeyed and once I arched my back to stick out my cunt he gave it a spank. “Uhh.. whyyy..” I cried from the sudden harshness of his action. “Don’t question your god when he’s taming you.”

He stood up pulling up his pants again. “Stay here I’ll get you something to wear.” He left me in the room trembling and crying out of pain and pleasure. With that our day was over and I got ready to leave. I wish he was more softer with me but who am I to complain? I’m lucky he’s giving me the chance to take his cock.

[flowerwiththemachinegun]

Sorry I like my men toxic and nobody can convince me that Tseng would give you a fully healthy relationship. He’s just not the worst guy you could date. So here are some of Tseng’s toxic habits. I wish we could post powerpoint slides. Like I guess NSFW for my choice of words. Edit: Okay I’ve typed more. It’s NSFW, it wasn’t that when it was just scattered notes i swear. granted, this is still scattered notes

Forgiveness?

Tseng. The man you forgive a million times because someone like him is so hard to come by. Even if you’re a person who doesn’t tolerate bullshit. You know that it would be impossible to find anyone nearly as good as him despite his mistakes. Tseng knows this too, taking advantage of your level of comfort in him. The connection between the two of you so deep there wasn’t a possibility you could view life without him. Tseng creates soul bonds with his significant other, he has to have all of you fully invested in him. You would also want for absolutely nothing, he can provide everything you could ever want so you can focus on the future you want to build for yourself. Whether it’s school, art, creating your own business, etc. Tseng is there to guarantee everything goes according to plan if it’s financially or if he has to pull a few strings. Seeks out people who would be reluctant to replace him but aren’t very co-dependent. If you manage to leave Tseng, say good riddance to developing any new relationships. He’s either going to make any of your new significant others vanish. If it’s someone he can’t kill, he’ll find a way to scare them away from you or find a way to put them in prison. 

My alternative reasoning as to why all of your other relationships would fail? The dick of course. Yes. The unbelievable wee wee. There’s not a soul in the world that would be able to learn your body the way he does. Have you ever heard of people being nearly ready to pass away because they lost their dick? Well if you haven’t, you have now. Even thinking of him fucking someone else the way he does with you is enough to make you want to vomit. That shit will have you sliding down the wall crying. You can try all you like to fuck someone else, it won’t compare. The way he touches you immediately sends electricity down your spine. It’s all in the way he knows how to touch you. Where to touch you. A subtle brush of his fingers along the small of your back while you’re riding him. An almost tickling sensation that causes you to press yourself against him as he leans up to kiss the most sensitive parts of your neck. How about when all he needs to do is look into your eyes and knows exactly how you want to be fucked? You can’t think of a time you had to ask him to do anything, your minds were seemingly in perfect sync. Always so so willing to please you. “So you wanna fuck other people huh?” He whispers in your ear mockingly while driving his cock deeper into you. Your knees pressed against your chest, legs hooked in Tseng’s arms as he ensures you won’t slip out of your position. No, you really don’t, not when he’s reminding you of what you’ll be missing. You’ll be calling him the next day for more, innocently asking for him to come over to “talk”. There won’t be much talking, just Tseng bending you over the kitchen table. His hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks himself into you so deeply, ignoring the way your hands push against his abdomen in a half-hearted attempt to slow his tempo down. 

There aren’t many people in this world that would be nearly as attentive as he is. The way he can easily tell all of your needs within moments of talking to you. Reads you like a book and it can’t help but make your heart flip, cause like, ‘who sent this man?’ and why does he know all of your emotional needs and exactly how to take care of them? Tseng carries aspects of his job along with his relationships. The same way he gets to know his enemies closely, he’ll do the same to you. Memorizes all of your sayings, even can predict what your response would be to most questions or statements. It’s almost more eerie than heart warming. With this comes the ability to manipulate you endlessly. Gaslighting has never been easier honestly. Lying to you about anything or forcing you to agree with his point of view would be child’s play. The way he carries himself during an argument, so well composed, rarely letting his emotions control him paired with the way he effectively strings his words together to soothe you. His calmness will make you question why you’re even so worked up. Tseng isn’t, so why are you? Tseng makes you see everything through rose colored lenses, and despite your aching heart when he hurts you, Tseng could never be wrong in your eyes. He only does what’s best for you. 

Gaslighting? Probably.

Truly remembers every word you’ve said to him and will use it against you. This goes back into my last little paragraph but deeper? Uses traumatic things from your past so you can believe that maybe your emotions, in regards to something Tseng has done wrong, are nothing more than misguided reactions. Will have you think that maybe you’re projecting your fears from past experiences onto him when you challenge him or try to hold him accountable for any wrongdoings. Certainly will guilt trip you knowing exactly what makes you feel like you’re the biggest piece of shit in the world. He doesn’t have to do anything outrageous. It’s the way Tseng subtly changes his body language. Slumping his shoulders just a bit, the way his brow furrows at your words or actions, breaking eye contact and staring at the floor like a scolded child. To put the cherry on top, it’s the ever so slight change in his tone of voice. The wavering in his tone as he speaks softly, not too soft for it to sound out of the ordinary, but enough for you to believe you’ve hurt his feelings. Usually resulting in you coddling him, now you’re the one apologizing because you “never meant to make him feel bad” even if it’s because you were grilling him for something as major as fucking his boss behind your back. Believing that it must be your fault if he’s off sleeping with others. Master manipulator for sure. He’s good at lying, like we see what he does for a living.

Like to make you cry because he's the only one that can also make you better. At times he’ll do this just to make sure he’s got complete control over you still. Wrapping his arms around you in such a calming way, his warmth and sweet words coaxing you to relax against him so he could “make it all better again.” More makeup sex. Somehow gets a kick out of cheering you back up. One minute you were sobbing because his words were a little too cruel and now you’re sobbing because he won’t stop fucking you so good. Tseng has a way he likes to position you in times like this. Having you lay on your stomach, your back arched just enough for his hips to flush against your ass as he completely sheaths himself in you, whispering in your ear asking “you still love me, right?” Christ, he has a way of making himself emotionally needy at just the right times. You can’t help but whimper, whine, and eventually choke out, through your moans, your appreciation, love, and devotion to him. Always ends with him cuming in you, some aftercare, then holding you in his arms for a majority of the night unless work calls him away.

Sometimes-y af?

He can pick and choose when he wants to pick up your relationship or not but you cannot do the same to him. Loves someone who he can come and go as he pleases with. You're so stupid and willing. Loyal to a fault, though the only person it’s negatively affecting is you. There isn’t a time you’ve turned him away thus far. Constantly taking him into your arms, babying him as though he’s some angel despite you knowing he isn’t. Tseng’s just managed to get you to the point you couldn't care less about his deceptive ways. You just want him by your side, no matter what the circumstances may be. The entire world can see the invisible leash and collar Tseng has put on you, yet you manage to stay blind to it all. You’ll wait like the good little puppy he’s molded you into. 

It’s a wonder he can be such a gentleman and a conniving son of a bitch. The kind to end an argument by demanding to be left alone but will ask “what you're doing tonight” a few hours later---he's going to fuck you—giving you a reason to keep accepting him back into your loving arms. He knows you’re a gift from the Goddess but he can’t help that he likes being toxic at times. It’s why he treats you so well and the sex is so unbelievably good. He needs to cement himself into your soul so he can continuously get away with everything, so things can continue to go exactly as he wants it to. Tseng prefers a life with you that has no consequences. For him. You, however, have to deal with punishment if you dare treat him in a similar manner to his treatment of you. Will show his displeasure with hurtful words and by neglecting you. If that doesn’t have the desired effects he’s willing to scare you into submission. Once again, nothing too outrageous that he would do. Tseng might just choke you a bit, push you against a wall, or if you try to run he’ll hold you against him tightly. Whispering into your ear about making you disappear if he can’t have you the way he wants you. Telling you how he does so much for you and he at the very least deserves you on your best behavior at all times or else he might just have to break that pretty neck of yours. Isn’t too big on yelling, he can get his point across just fine without having to do so.

Stalker? Obviously.

Tseng has trackers in your cars, phone, and bags. It doesn’t matter where you go, he’s going to find you. He’s definitely followed you from location to location, making sure you were doing what you said you would be. Sure he’s always been able to track you, but that isn’t the same as seeing you. You could be doing anything in the areas you claimed to be in. Tseng is even familiar with the faces of employees of each store you frequent. Has tracked down every family member and friend of yours, performing thorough background checks on all of them. Even closely looking after some of the people closest to you. Tseng has to approve of the people you hang around of course, he won’t tolerate anything that he feels is a negative influence and will force them out of your life. Tseng will sit outside of your house for hours after leaving, wondering if someone will come over. If he knows someone is coming over he’s got your home mic’d. Listening to all of your conversations, evading your most private conversations. Hates to hear when you vent about him, makes it hard to come back to you and act nice when in reality he wants to correct you for telling his business to your friends and family. Doesn’t mind when you’re speaking highly of him though, you help boost his ego most of the time. Getting space from Tseng is impossible. Your attempts to drive around and find a nice parking spot are all for nothing. He’s following right behind you. Is definitely going to block you in with his own car, angrily getting out of his own. Once he made you leave your car where it was entirely. Pissed that you would try to get away from him at all, it doesn’t matter if it’s just for a few hours. Pushing you into the passenger seat of his car, driving you back home all while yelling about how stupid you were and that you would always come back begging for him. 

He was always right about that. Nothing would stop you from wanting Tseng back if he finally decided he was done. A relationship with Tseng is either on his terms or very much a “till death do us part” 

[xoalin4]

VIKING!NIKTO

I am so, so sorry this took so long. Haven’t been in the best mood lately and lost motivation to write. But I got a little baby birdie the other week, he is three weeks old now and I am in a better mood.

So here is the Viking!nikto hc (or half story, I don’t really know where I was going with this but I tried) Sorry if it isn’t how you hoped/would have liked.

WARNINGS: Non-con?/dub-con?/kidnapping/unwanted touching/murder/blood/mention of slavery?(They are Vikings after all)/mention of rape(not directed at ‘user’)/piv.

Again, deeply sorry it took so long. And forgive me if any mistakes in the writing

Nikto wasn’t a kind man, killed many too much people in times that wasn’t needed. But the king always forgave the violent Viking, he was a good fighter after all, he would be needed in raids or wars to come.

Despite his often violent actions, he was quite popular amongst the women. He had a good body, he was strong, a good fighter and he was decently good looking, and he was just really good with sex. So it wasn’t a surprise to know he had most likely fucked half the women in his village. After all, who is he to deny a woman that comes to him asking for some pleasure?

He often had sex to release some of his pent up anger which seemingly spawns out of nowhere, in a less violent way. He had a few acquaintances, he wouldn’t dare call them friends, he just tolerated them the most. So he was well known in his village for being a woman pleaser and a skilled fighter.

He enjoyed the attention— not all of it, he hated when too much attention was on him. He only wanted people to know who he was, what he has done, and fear him. Nothing more than that. But he didn’t mind the attention from the women, he loved that, and he thrived in it, knowing that he can always get a woman to let him pound his cock into.

That was until that one, fatal day. The day where he was no longer the same person— fuck, he didn’t even know who he was anymore. He could barely feel his hands that much anymore, his face felt stiff, the skin melted together in parts, burnt. His body littered in scars, burn marks from when they had thrown a torch onto him. His face, he doesn’t even want to look at it. Hates seeing it in the reflection in the lakes he cleans himself in, hated seeing the fact that his mouth was in a permanent snare.

He would do anything, take all the pain in the world, if it meant his face would be normal again. He doesn’t even know how he is alive, he swore he had died that day, he wishes he did, then maybe he would have been spared this life of pain and humiliation.

It’s funny how much scars can change someone, mentally and physically. He heard things, people, more than one, or is there just one? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore, the peace of death or the feeling of killing someone with his bare hands again, both sound pleasing.

He didn’t get much attention from women that much more, often times they looked disgusted or scared. It was funny in a way, how people easily give up on someone after their looks change. He can’t blame them tho, he would be disgusted too. The men didn’t seem to care that much for it, they seemed quite pleased in a way, they got more women after all.

So he wears a mask to cover his face, save him the humiliation. It was uncomfortable but he got used to it quickly, it put more weight onto his body as it was metal. But he felt comforted in a way, the mask was now his face, less gruelling, less hideous.

Kill, Kill, Kill. That was the only thing going through nikto’s mind, kill them all, his axe piercing through a man’s back as the pain had tried to run, blood pooling out of his mouth as he drops to the floor. Nikto chest rising fast and heavy, his eyes wide and pupils small in an almost animalistic way. He loved this, the blood, the screams, the horror of it all.

On to the next, another man dead, another life taken by nikto’s hands, or axe in other words. Blood splattered on his mask, hands and axe dripping with it, the ground red as screams go off around him. A raid, he loved them, loved destruction, loved the fear in the people’s eyes as Vikings raid their land, taking the women and some of men to use as slaves, slaughtering the people that resided here.

Nikto wasn’t really into all the kidnapping shit, he was there for the death, none of the rape and slavery stuff. He wanted to kill people that’s all, that’s the only thing he is good at. But when he saw you, something changed in him, he completely forgot about the man he was currently killing, his axe logged into the man’s side as the man cries in pain on the ground. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, you were.. beautiful. Okay, maybe not the number one beautifulest person, but on the Gods you were the beautifulest he has seen.

You were different, instead of crying and pleading on your knees like the other women, you had a knife in your hand, stabbing it into the neck of one of his village buddies who was trying to grab you. I mean, sure, he has seen women kill in his village, a lot actually, a couple were in on the raids. But it was different coming from you, you dressed differently from the women in this village he was raiding, you looked odd compared to the other women.

You were trying to protect yourself and get out of the village, but the other people that were running were in your way. He never found the idea of taking a woman for himself that pleasing, he used to get them all the time, but that was years ago, when he actually had looks. But Gods be dammed if he was going to let this opportunity go. Taking his axe and logging it through the man’s skull, shutting him up.

Walking over to you, his eyes locked onto your form and yours only, pushing some of the people out of the way, he needed to get to you, it was as if his body willed him to do that and that only. He watched as you saw him at the last second, turning around and trying to stab him. But completely failed as he snatched your wrist, he picked you up hoisted your body over his shoulder, as if you weighed nothing. You didn’t! Not much to him anyway, you were easy to carry. If he ignored your squirming around and your fists hitting his back that is.

Oh, oh you were perfect, perfect for him, if only you would stop screaming and crying that is. He is going to give you a good life, back at his small house tucked away in the trees, away from the village, but in his home. A little trophy you were, a feisty one that is, but hey, he always liked a bit of a challenge.

Tho he hadn’t anticipated the fact that you wouldn’t be used to the weather in his village, it was almost winter, and soon snow would cover every part of ground. Back where he had saved you kidnapped you you didn’t have snow, you had cold weathers but not this cold. You were freezing your ass off, teeth chattering and fingers numb.

Nikto and his horrible ability to look after anything that is alive, he forgot to get you extra clothes for your small, weak body. You had gotten sick within the first week. And now nikto had to go back to the village and try to get some herbs and thicker clothes to keep you warm, he wouldn’t want his slave to die just yet.

Thankfully he had managed to help you over your sickness, getting you back to health. Tho, that is where the problems started. He kept his house warm, gave you thick clothes and even offered to help you warm up (tired to have sex with you). He fed you, decently enough. He kept you warm, gave you a house to live in, didnt try and force himself on you yet. didn’t give you your own bed sadly, you had to share one with him. But other than that, he had given you everything you could have possibly needed!

So this is how you repay him, by smashing the leg of the wooden chair that was in his house over his head when he had came through the front door. Using the fact he had stumbled over and grabbed the back of his head in pain as your advantage, and running out the door. Stupid thing to do.

A man like him only had so much patience, and he just happens to have little of it. But he had tried to be patient with you, he was slow with everything, didn’t go overboard with touching you, even tho he wanted nothing more then to stuff his fat cock into your cunt the moment he saw you.

So why did you have to run? Had he not given you enough stuff to keep you here? Had he done something wrong? Possibly not! He saved you from that stinky village you were in, saved you from working at that farm, around shit and mud. Given you a home to do nothing, no work, nothing but to please him in.

So why?

He had asked himself as he trailed after you, did you really think you could get away from him? Or were you just stupid? He could see your footprints in the show, trailing out into the forest. His head was bleeding, making his shirt become dark coloured, and he felt a bit dizzy. You had a strong hit, that was for sure, left a painful ache in his head. He couldn’t let you get away with that, no, not after everything he has done for you.

It was easy to find you, well you gave him a bit of trouble, you had gotten pretty far in the amount of time you left, farther then he thought you would make it. But he knew the forest well, knew where everything was, knew where to look, so it didn’t take him long.

You had run though the cold forest, the snow slowing you down a bit, luckily it wasn’t that thick, because holy fuck it was hard to run in it. You were panting, lips turning blue and face stinging, it was freezing and the wind didn’t help. You didn’t even know where you were running, but you didn’t care, as long as it got you away from that lunatics place.

Did he really think you were going to stay there? Think you were going to fold and bend over for him since he gave you food and clothes? By the Gods no, absolutely not. You couldn’t even understand him! Only the simple words he knew how to say so you would understand, ‘eat’ ‘sleep’ ‘stay’ and a couple others.

You hated it there, he was creepy and old, a stinky old man! That is what he was, forcing you to lay in the same bed as him, wrapping his arms around you so you are immobilised and unable to move. Having to feel his strong chest up against your back, breathe against your shoulder as it passed through the mask he wore. Hands occasionally moving to touch your thighs or to straight up grope your tits

Not to mention when he baths you, he was kind enough to warm the water by boiling it but that wasn’t the point! You had tried to argue with him, tried to tell him to get out of the room or to turn around so he wouldn’t see you. Which he definitely understood what you meant but didn’t care, forcing you into the wooden tub, naked and exposed. Luckily you had managed to convince him to let you clean yourself instead of him doing it.

Like hell you were going to stay in that place, he even had this weird dog looking thing— definitely wasn’t a dog. But you didn’t know what it was, but it was just as creepy and scary as him. And it stunk! Talk about being related to a mutt, no wonder they got along. But this wasn’t the time to think of that, you had to run, get away remember?

Yes, that is what you were supposed to do, run, escape and never return to that maniacs hut. You weren’t supposed to feel a hand grab the back of your neck, nor being thrown into the snowy ground as a tall figure stands over you. This wasn’t how it’s supposed to go! Why can’t the Gods give you at least some luck? Did you upset them with something? Because you would beg and plead for how ever many years it’ll take if it meant they’ll spare you from the absolute, horrifying glare this man is sending you.

He was pissed, no, more than that, the man looked like he was about to rip you apart limb to limb. You wanted to take back what you did— say that you’ll be good and please him if it meant he wouldn’t drag you back by your hair and chain you up outside his place like you were a dog, out in the freezing snow with noting back a thin, stinky, dress. You really do wish you hadn’t done that, should have waited longer maybe, when he wasn’t in the house.

But no, now you were suffering the consequences. At least he didn’t beat you to death like you half expected he would have done when he had dragged you back, tho you half wish he would if it meant he wouldn’t leave you outside for hours in the snow until it felt like your limbs were about to fall off.

You were so, so cold, lips bluish purple, hands numb and you could barley feel your feet! His house was mere feet away, but you couldn’t get to it, the chain around your neck keeping you tired down to a wooden stake outside. Your eyes half lidded and you felt as if this was your end, you time had finally come. At least you would get to see your family again, because you doubt they managed to escape the Vikings.

But just as you felt like you were going to pass out, your light in shining armour came out, your kidnapper. You don’t know if you should feel thankful or wish you were left out there for longer. But he had brought you inside, put you into the tub of heated water and made sure you didn’t drown in it as he surprisingly gently bathed you and got you warm. The room was warm, the fire which had warmed up the pots of water keeping the hut lighted and warm.

You didn’t fight him, you couldn’t even, you were too cold, but slowly the warmth was coming back into your body. He had taken you out, dried you, and Brought you to the bed he shared with you. You still felt cold tho, the warm bath didn’t warm deep inside you unfortunately. But don’t worry, he’ll help with that, he’ll make sure you are very, very warm.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t THAT rough, he didn’t tear at your skin and eat you alive like you imagined him too. His hands running along your body, groping at your breasts even as you whimpered and protested, but still too weak to push him away. He looked like a feral beast right now, or just a horny old man. Shoulders rising and falling fast, heavy breathing, eyes wide and pupils dilated, bare hands gripping your thighs as he shuffled between them.

He had such rough hands, and the top part of his pinkie finger missing on his right hand along with dints and burn marks along his large hands. He looked like he didn’t know what to do for a second— had it really been that long since the man got some pussy? Yes, seven years since the the man only used his hand.

He was even shaking! A bulge in his pants, fuck, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was drooling underneath that mask of his. He didn’t take it off, and part of you is glad, you didn’t particularly want to see the face of the man who had literally kidnapped you and forced you to live in his home, and now was about to fuck you to help you get warm, after he had locked you outside.

You were scared, terrified honestly, afraid of what this man was going to do to your poor pussy, what this VIKING was going to do to your poor pussy. You had had sex before, with a few village boys back In your home but they were all your age, immature boys who didn’t really know what to do. You didn’t know if he was going to be brutal with it or not, if he would leave your pussy ruined and aching in pain. He was a Viking after all, and from what you read, all of them are rough, cruel, and nasty.

But you didn’t have much time to think about it, because his hand was already down there, spreading your lips to him with his index and middle finger, his other hand holding your waist to keep you put as you tried to squirm away. A cry of— pain? Pleasure? Leaving your lips as a finger thrusted onto you, stretching your walls which left you gripping the fur of the bed. It hurt slightly, the stretch, but at the same time felt slightly good. But then he added two more, which stretched you wider and made you cry out as they thrusted in and out of you. Preparing you, not forcing himself inside like a desperate mutt.

But it wasn’t long until you got the full thing, you hated to admit it, but he was fucking good. Tears rolling down your cheeks as your legs wrapped tighter around his thick hips, his fat cock plunging deep inside your sopping pussy. He was big, a thick and decently long cock, and it was.. how do you say it in the most pleasant way— it was half burnt. Simple as that, a scratchy feeling to it as it slid along your walls, it wasn’t unpleasant, it heightened the experience for you actually! It felt good, and he was hitting all the right places.

You doubt he could feel that side of it tho, but he still felt the feeling of your cunt clenching around him, that was obvious by the way he was panting and groaning into your neck like a dog on heat. Rutting up into your cunt over and over and OVER again. You were so tight, warm, fuck you were perfect for him, you felt so good. A pretty little thing you were, even tho you were a fucking brat and had basically tried to kill him earlier. He would forgive you for that, as this was the perfect apology you could give him, even tho he had taken it forcefully from you.

But you were enjoying it, you were moaning loudly and had tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks. Your hands clawing at his back, leaving scratch marks down his already heavily scarred back. But he would be lying if he didn’t enjoy it, because he did, it felt absolutely fucking delicious to him.

He wish he wasn’t in wearing his mask right now, so he could take one of your bouncing breasts into his mouth, or even to kiss you to shut your moans up. But that will have to be for another time, he wasn’t ready just yet, he wasn’t sure if he would ever be. But he isn’t going to dwell on it that much, not when he had a pretty feisty little lady to fuck his kids into.

By the end of the night, you were definitely warmed up, wrapped in the arms of a large, sweaty man who practically clings to your body. Hands groping your tits as his masked face lays against the back of your neck, the feeling of his semen still leaking out of your swollen, aching cunt. He did leave it aching in the end, but at least it wasn’t in pain.

Ok, I might have gone overboard with it. It honestly wasn’t supposed to be this long, lmao.

Sorry if this was shit, I tried, and took fucking forever to make, I’ll take all the blame for that😔

Please tell me if it’s shit or not and if there is another warning I should put in because I missed something. Thank you for reading of you got this far🙏

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter XII : Venus

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

A/N: I realized shortly after posting chapter 11 that I’d made a small mistake in the timeline I’m intending this to follow. I included a line from Din saying Paz had already tried to take the Darksaber from him and failed, but where we’re at now, chapter 5 of The Book of Boba Fett hasn’t happened just yet. So I’ve gone back and deleted that small detail from the previous chapter, and why am I even telling you this, idk, but if you guy could do me a solid and pretend to forget my fuck up, I’d love you forever for it. 

Writing Star Wars is hard

Also, the indomitable @dirtysouvenir has rendered the most gorgeous artwork imaginable of Din and Sithy, and I still can’t quite believe my eyes every time I look at it. Everyone please go show Jonis all the love and praise she deserves. 

Anyways… like always, forgive me for the wait. I love you all for being so patient with me. And shout out to chapter four of Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband which served as inspiration for this. You will always be famous to me!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

CHAPTER XII : VENUS

What are we doing here, and why are our hearts invisible?

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water

“Just like that, yes. Good girl–keep doing what you’re doing.” His hand slides to circle your wrist, leather and the thick weave of your tunic, the slight shake of your nerves caught between. “Grip it firmly, but squeeze it gently. Yes– yes, good. You’re doing so well.”

You suck in a trembling breath, too hyper aware of the feel of his chest plate brushing against your back, the cap of his left knee gently bumping the back of your own, his arms wrapped in a loose and careful cage around your frame where he’s helping you direct the blaster at the target he’d set up several meters away for practicing. He’s got one of your wrists wrapped in the leather of his fist, the other cupping the underside of your elbow to keep your shaking arms steady. 

“I don’t know why I’ve never been very good at this,” you whisper over the sound of the burning desert winds lashing you in the brow. “It’s just never come very easy.”

“That’s alright. That’s why we’re practicing again.” The hand cupping your elbow moves slowly to your waist, all his handling of you these past few days has been so intentional, cautious and patient and aware of himself and you and your reactions. Your heart beats, thumps and thumps hard enough to make you a little dizzy, a little sick. “Keep your right arm firm, but fluid. Try not to lock your elbow, let the recoil move through you steadily.”

He’d covered your hair and face in soft white linen wraps to keep you from being scorched by the sun and sand, and his voice is so deep, head pitched low so that the modulator is vibrating right at the level of your ear, the sounds of him sluicing through the linen to curl around your ear. You shiver again, squeezing your fist too tight around the butt of the blaster. You’d asked him if he’d help you practice just before you’d made planet fall a few hours ago, and now here the two of you are. A few clicks outside of Mos Eisley, he’d found a cluster of sandstacks to land the Crest amidst for a couple hours of target practice—near an area he’d told you is called Beggar’s Canyon. 

You’re not sure if it’s just an excuse to have him touch you, but here you are now, in the circle of his arms, shivering with nerves and heat and want. The sun burns, but the places where he grips you burn worse, and your heart rings in your skull. 

“Focus your gaze between the eyeline, eventually, it’ll come naturally, your aim, but for now, use the field the blaster sets. Squeeze gentle–” He grips your now healed elbow firmly, anchoring your arm, the hand holding your wrist moves to your waist, securing you in his hold so that when you pull the trigger, the zing of the blaster bolt leaving its chamber moves through your limb, into your chest cavity, electrifying your heart, and his hold is steadying all the way through. He’s there to keep you up, keep you strong, and so it’s almost thoughtless when you do it, a gut instinct or some muscle inside your brain desperate to flex and stretch or come awake because faster than you can blink or think, you take hold of that bolt of plasma with your mind, freezing it midway between where the two of you stand and the target he’d set. 

You feel his hands flex around you, but he keeps still and silent, watching, waiting for what you’ll do next. And your heart beats faster and faster, the bright of the sun gleaming and nauseating, refracting off the sand, the plasma, your eyes. The bolt screeches and writhes and defies the laws of nature by your hand, and it does not feel good, but it does feel right. 

The first time you’ve really wielded the Force since the night you escaped. 

There’s something painful and uncomfortable and familiar about it coming back to you. Your breath goes fast within your chest, the taste of the desert on your tongue and the grit of sand sneaking beneath your clothes, sweaty line of anxiety down your spine, and his steady, calm breaths up against your back every other moment, this power inside of you that’s always been the cause of everything bad and only some things good. It vibrates in everything, moves through all living things, the Force, within you, within him. 

“Let it go, cyare. It’s okay if you miss.” You shut your eyes and let it fall away and now it’s not the Force or you or anything else, it’s only him keeping you up against the rest of everything. 

The two of you, like grief and the mountain. 

-

“How did you meet this woman again?” You ask for about the third time, seemingly unable to keep your mouth shut and your nerves to yourself. 

“She’s been keeping up maintenance on the Crest for a while now. And she helped out with the kid, watched him for me a couple times—I trust her.”

“Peli,” you repeat the name contemplatively, taking in the sight of him as he checks the pre-landing codes, flipping switches and punching toggles a little too roughly. He’s agitated, covered and swathed in it. You know he’s worried about you, the way you’ll feel being around someone else, scared you’re still feeling fragile or tired or weak. And you’re accepting it for now because you are. You are tired and you do feel fragile and you do need taking care of. If only for the time being, if only for a little bit longer. A sort of end feels very near, and you’re still working out what that such end is going to be. 

“Peli,” he sighs, hitting the last button and finally swiveling in his chair to face you, and you eye him suspiciously, you know that sigh and head tilt. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Not tired?”

“No.”

“Your shoulder?”

Hurts. “Fine.”

“Cyar’ika.”

“Din.” Another sigh. Another shake of his head. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes at you beneath that stupid lug of metal he wears on his fat head. But you hope that he’s smiling too, and you give him a soft, small one of your own, twisting your fingers together tightly in your lap. You want to reach out for him, to go to him and sit with him and kiss him again like the other day. But you don’t feel ready again. Again, fragile, tired, a weakness of heart within you that you can’t understand the source of, or you can, but you don’t want to accept it, you want to be able to move on, to get over it, to be like you once were. But that you also know he’ll let you feel for as long as you need to.

“I promise I feel okay, and that I’ll tell you if I don’t.” The target practice had left you tired and awake, and there is something moving inside of you—a recognition of sorts you can’t pinpoint exactly, but which you know is going to show or tell you something about yourself soon, the Force, the things you’d done or the things you’d do. And there’s patience too, a waiting, a readiness to receive whatever this would be without pressure or urgency. You feel entirely strung tight, a knot about to be set loose, entirely at ease, as well. Something strange about the anxiety you carry within yourself, like it doesn’t really matter much anymore and is only waiting for the right moment to be expelled. 

He gives a soft grunt and turns back to face the control panel. The rolling golden sands of Tatooine like an ocean before you, and then there in the distance, the littered smattering of sand blighted little buildings that make up the spaceport of Mos Eisley. He directs the Razor Crest towards Hangar three-five, the ship jostling with the lowering of the landing gear. 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” You ask nervously, following him down the ladder once he’s eased the ship into the landing bay, fretting over this ordeal of having to meet someone else from his life, a friend, which wasn’t even something you were aware he knew how to have. You hear the heavy thud of his boots against the durasteel, and then his hands are circling your waist and pulling you down the rest of the way, paying no mind to your indignant squawking. 

He’d been strange with his touch, as well. As if he couldn’t help himself some moments, overcome by habit and familiarity, and then afraid and cautious in others. And you can’t understand how you feel about this either. Grateful, a sort of soft that makes your eyes smart and your cheeks bleed with heat. He’s so aware of you, so aware of what you might want or need, but then overcome, as well, needing you, wanting you. And you feel so afraid you won’t be able to give him those things—the ones he wants or needs, that you won't be able to find your way back to the way things had been between the two of you before. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says, little compassion to be found for your fretting. You stick your tongue out at the back of his head, rolling your eyes and steeling yourself as he lowers the hatch, and a chirpy little voice calls, Mando!

The plank lowers, and lowers, and lowers, and finally, a mess of springy dark curls come into view. The small woman, Peli, claps her hands excitedly and spreads her arms in wide welcome of him, and something in your heart throbs. 

A friend, indeed. 

“Peli,” he greets her, heavy, swaying gate stomping down the gangplank, voice serious and not all matching her enthusiasm. You roll your eyes at him again as the reverberations of his steps tickle your feet through the soles of your boots. 

“Hey, look everyone! It’s Mando,” she says to the chittering droids whirring around her. You follow him slowly, slinking directly behind him so that the breadth of his shoulders conceals you for a second longer before, “And who do we have here? Another unlikely companion?” 

He pivots, letting you step into full view and brave shyness, a hand coming up to hover around your waist, urging you forward, but not actually touching you. The sound of your name rings in tune to the thump of your heart through the modulator. Careful, so careful, and it makes you hurt at your own self. Wanting to touch you one moment, unable to stop himself from ripping you into his arms; another, afraid, feeling like he can’t even put a gently motioning hand on your body, and how will you ever fix this? How are you going to ever be able to get the two of you back to where you were? 

You take a hurt little step away from him, swallowing the heat in your throat several times before you can force a smile onto your face. 

His body shifts and sways towards your retreating one. 

But the small woman steps towards you, pit droids spinning and skittering frantically around her, and she claps a work hewn hand on your shoulder. “Let Peli take a good look at you.” Her gaze is cheerful, full of a youthfulness that belies her age and an even more cheerful, gap toothed smile. “Pretty girlfriend, Mando.” She waggles her bushy brows up at him. “Brought me another set of bright eyes, didn’t’cha?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Peli.” Your throat feels humiliatingly tight when she takes your hand in her smaller one, giving it a swift shake, no gentleness about the way she handles you, and there’s something comforting about the forsaking of the kid gloves. Your fracture isn’t obvious for the whole world to see, there’s still normalcy to be found for you. 

She looks up at Din as you avoid his burning gaze, laughing scowl on her sunny face. “Who woulda thought you had it in, ya, huh?” She thumps a fist on his chest plate, shaking her head and moves to take a look at the Crest. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Chasing down some elusive bounty? Carbon scoring’s worse than last time.'' She chatters a million miles a minute, pulling out some sort of electric scanner, assessing the old gunship. 

“We had a long trip,” he sighs, hands fisted on his hips as he watches her impatiently, turning his gaze back to your face every few moments. You want to bare your teeth at him in a snarl and tell him to stop fucking worrying. You want him to take you into his arms or hold your hand. 

“Long trip, sure. That’s what he always says,” she tells you over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Turns out it’s usually a gun fight or something just as idiotic.”

You snicker, enjoying the easy way she handles your Mandalorian’s surliness, grateful for the cheerful buffer she provides between your own internal angst and his overzealous worrying. “It was a long trip this time, I swear. We’re coming from the Core,” he grumbles, and the two of you follow her while she inspects the damage on the ship, and in a moment of bravery or desperation for normalcy or closeness or just him, you reach up to grip two of his thick fingers in your fist. His hand immediately adjusts and curves to wrap around yours, intertwining your fingers and taking you securely in his grip. You feel him turn to look down at you questioningly, but you refuse to look back. This is normal, this is how it should be, this is what feels right even if you need the barrier of his gloves to feel like you can breathe. 

“The Core! Long way’s.” Hmm, she muses as she goes. “Got a fuel leak.” Again. He huffs. “Taking a vacation now?” She turns back with another smarmy smirk. 

“Something like that.”

“Nice little honeymoon?” She teases. “I could use one of those myself.” She scans something else, and the pit droids chatter and chirp around her, almost full her height, she’s so small. 

“Peli–” he grumbles. Your grumpy, shy boy; you wonder if he ever blushes under that thing, squeezing his hand in yours as tight as you can. 

“Yeah, yeah. No droids, I know. When are you gonna get over that nonsense, huh Mando? It’s about time, you know!” She bends to inspect something closer near the landing gear, covered in carbon scoring here too, examines her scanner again, then clips it back to her utility belt. “Alright, here’s the deal–” But he cuts her off, pivoting while pulling his blaster in one fluid motion to shoot at a poor little droid that's gotten too close. “Hey! Hey! What’ve I said before? You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it!” She shouts. 

“Din–” you scold, gripping the thick of his arm to pull the weapon down. 

“What’ve I told you?” He barks. 

“No droids. No droids. Blah, blah. You have got to get over that! I’m tryn’a make a deal with you here, ya womp rat.”

He jerks aggressively towards another little droid that wanders too close, sending it skittering away in terror, and you pinch his arm beneath the thick duraweave, frowning up at him, be nice, when he looks down at you, giving him a jut of your eyebrow and thrusting your chin at Peli. He groans, cursing low and grumpy in Mando’a. “Fine. What’s the deal?”

“If you let them work on the Crest–” She jerks her chin at the little pit droids quivering behind the crates strewn about the hangar in abject terror of the mean Mandalorian. 

“No,” he cuts her off, stubbornness in every line of his frame. 

“Din!” You scold again, bumping your hip into his. 

“Come on, Mando! I’ll charge you half price–”

“Deal,” he cuts her off again immediately, the cheapskate. 

“Ha!” She hoots and claps loudly. “Droids! Get to work on this lovely man’s ship. Lemme see the cash.” She holds out a grubby palm, wiggling her fingers. “He’s pretty easy, you ever notice that?” She says to you conspiratorially. 

“Constantly,” you can’t help the laugh in your voice. Your first laugh in what seems like years. 

“Loose knickered is what they used to call it back in my day.” And you have to turn your face into his arm to muffle your cackling, listening to him start up another string of curses beneath the helmet.

“I’ve literally never heard anyone say that before, ever,” he mutters sullenly. 

“Well, you’re young.”

“Not that young,” you provide helpfully, big cheesy smile that feels slightly unnatural and rusted spreading across your face. 

“Whoopee, Mando! I like this one! You really do know how to pick ‘em.” She claps him roughly on the shoulder, her little paw slapping loudly against his pauldron. “Anyway, I’ve got somewhere to be for the next couple of days, you see. I’m dating that Jawa again—the one I’d told you about,” she announces, proud as anything, big smile across her leathery face.

“A Jawa?” You repeat, making sure you heard right. 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, bright eyes. They’re quite furry… very furry, but…” She clicks her teeth together, “You know…” Grins. 

You look up at Din, squeezing his arm in your grip. “Guess I gotta try it.” You’re pretty sure you hear him grumble something to the effect of over my dead body, before he’s agreeing to Peli’s deal with a clap and a shake, and the promise of two hundred and fifty Imperial credits and absolutely no harm done to her droids while she’s gone and they work on the Crest. 

“Treadwell, get in there!” She shouts, and the little pit droid chirps fretfully, trembling behind an R5 unit. “You can’t say no, you’re a droid. Oh, he’s not going to shoot you. Stop being a coward! What is this, a democracy all of a sudden?” Losing the fight, the droid wheels forward to get to work. “Yeah, thought so.” She turns back to you and Din. “You two can stay here, look after the shop while I’m gone? It’ll only be a few days.”

“We have some resupplying to do, but we’ll stay until you’re back,” he promises.

“And you’re not going to shoot my droids?”

“And I’m not going to shoot your droids,” he agrees, but later, you catch the too rough nudge he gives one of the little droids with his boot when he thinks no one’s watching. This man and his droid complex, you roll your eyes. 

“How’s the N-1 keeping up?” He asks as she’s packing up to go. 

“Just how you left her. That honey’s faster than a fathier. You should take her out while you’re here, give that baby a spin. Oh! And I added that turbonic venturi power assimilator I’d mentioned before. Remember? S’how I reconnected with my Jawa,” she nudges you with a wink. “You’re gonna be the fastest ship on the Outer Rim.” 

“You got a new ship?” You ask curiously.

“Just a side project we took up while I had some spare time.” But the way he says it is a little strange, making you pause to look up and try to read the blank face of his helmet. Ah, and he smooths that same hovering hand from before along the line of your spine, an attempt to soothe or quell your curiosity without actually giving you the gift of his touch.  

Peli leaves a few hours later, and she really does have a Jawa lover. The little critter comes to collect her right before the suns set, off to catch the sandcrawler before it journeys off into the desert, leaving you alone with only Din and the little pit droids for company. 

And suddenly, that shyness from earlier is back for some reason. The distraction of travel and the buzz of hyperspace lost to the calm silence of the quiet spaceport as the suns set over the horizon and night settles in, cool winds coming in on the sand gusts from deep in the desert. After hours of work, Din posing as the menacing overlord barking orders and complaints, intruding on their work when it isn’t up to his ridiculous standards, the droids finish up for the night, and Din engages the hangar security system, and then the ship’s, locking the two of you in safely for the night. 

“Dinner?” He asks as he moves slowly around the hull, pulling the cloak from his shoulders, a river of sand sluicing in a rain sheet onto the steel floor. The sound of it has a shiver moving through you as you lower yourself to the floor, crossing your legs beneath you at the edge of your makeshift bed. You desperately want to crawl between the covers without a shower and find the peace of evasion through sleep, secure in the knowledge that he won’t follow you into bed. He’d refused since you’d reunited, even though you’d invited him several times to share the much more comfortable pile of blankets than what you know his pilot’s chair or bunk provide. He’d not taken you up on the offer yet, and right now, fluttering heart and hot eyes and sweating nape, you’re glad for it. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you—or you do. You’re overwhelmed with want and fear, of him, of his touch, of having lost what the two of you had before. And as you watch him start to pull his armor from his body, first one pauldron, then a vambrace, then a thigh guard, no sense of congruity to the pattern with which he divests himself of his Creed, it’s suddenly like he’s standing right in front of you, and yet you miss him anyway. Miss him in a way that makes you sick and devastated. 

You must make some sort of sound, a funny look on your face or a change in your breathing because he turns suddenly, a too worried, “What’s wrong?” on his tongue. 

“Nothing.” You look up at him from your spot on the ground, head falling back on your neck, and you can feel the wet of your eyes, trying to force yourself not to blink so that they won’t fall—the tears. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He comes to a slow crouch before you, long legs folding down, down. “What is it? Tell me.” Half missing his armor as he poses now, it’s like he’s half him, half yours, half only-man, half Mandalorian. A little bit like what you feel yourself; half, half, half. 

Pulling one glove from his hand, he lifts it, palm spread towards you, showing you his intention before he carefully cups the side of your face; thumb at your pulse, pointer and middle fingers giving your temple a soft pressure, pinky poised at the bridge of your nose. Your lashes brush against his index every time you blink, and his skin is smooth and rough at the same time, and warm—sun-hearted man. 

You press your face harder into his palm, letting him support the weight of your head, nuzzling against the rough of his calluses, blaster blister scratchy against your carotid, and heat pulses all through you from the crown of your head, sliding down the length of your, still yet, too long hair, the back of your neck, your chest, pooling to settle deep in the pit of your belly. 

And yet there’s something missing or different or off, like you feel empty but too full of trepidation to conjure up that old desire you’d always had, that need for him to fill, fill, fill you. Like the heat is there, but it’s remembered, not necessarily present. It all makes you want to cry and scream and go to sleep. 

The truth, and plainly: you’re terrified of anything that might hurt, can’t fathom the idea of it. 

Your heart beats in your throat, you taste it on your tongue, and it mixes with the sad when you say: “Do you remember when we were on Kashyyyk—when we sparred?”

“I remember,” he says, voice deep and low—through the modulator. You hate his helmet. You wish you could get beneath. You wish you were brave enough. The feeling of it coming on sudden and unexpected, thought, bitter and foul and not something you’d necessarily felt before, certainly not so viciously. It’s just that you hate that all this has happened—you want to feel the press of his lips at the crown of your head and the wash of his breath like heat moving through your hair—that you are not in the same place you once were, that you’re too afraid to move forward. 

“When we switched weapons—”

He hums: “Yes.”

“It was so green there.” You turn your face further into him so that you’re speaking into his palm now, words pooling there in the cup of it like a well of truths and fears. 

“It was.” The pointer and index stroke your temple, press once, twice, thrice—harder on the latter. It feels good, it feels real and reminding. He lets a heavy silence pass for a moment, he’s thinking of something, contemplating a push. “Do you remember—” He passes a swallow you can hear the thickness of, “Do you remember how I had you in the dirt—like a fucking animal? How you let me do whatever I wanted, however I wanted.” He gives the hardest press he’s given yet, at your temple, you think you feel the press against your brain, and you open your mouth to let the edge of your teeth dig hard into the meat of his palm. He growls a rough sound, a hungry sound, a sound like one he’d have made when he had you in the dirt like a fucking animal. 

You drag your teeth along the hill of his palm, closing your mouth at the end. You don’t give him the wet of your tongue, you don’t feel ready to taste his skin like that just yet—an assimilation of violence.

“Yes,” you finally say, realizing that he understands what you were thinking without having to say it, or knowing how to, that you’re full of memories of past desires and how badly you want them back and how out of reach that all feels, but also, that suddenly now, in a single blink, the heat in your belly isn’t remembered, but present, alive, awake. That you’re cunt clenches once, twice, thrice around nothing—harder, hungrier on the latter. That you’re wet for him. “I remember.”

“Good. I remember every single thing we’ve ever done.” You roll your face in his palm so that you can look up at him now, feeling something like brave. “Every word, every breath, I remember all of it. Alright?”

“Alright,” you say quietly. 

“And if you need me to help you remember too, then I will.”

“Alright.” And then: “What if I can’t, though?... What if we can’t ever have that again? What if I can’t remember? What if I can never give you that again?” A tear slides over the bridge of your nose, and now it’s not only truths and fears cupped in the palm of his hand but the saltwater of grief too.  

“Then we’ll find something new. A new way, a different way. We’ll do it however you want now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, cyar’ika.” It’s very much a promise, a new Creed being established here. 

“Okay.”

He nods, “Okay.”

-

The water is warm verging on hot verging on scalding. It feels incredible slithering over your tired and sore muscles, the ligatures in your arms still trembling from the blaster practice earlier today, from your overwhelm of emotions. 

You hate that you’re not good at it, that the only weapon that seems to become you is a lightsaber. 

The suds of his earthy smelling soap slide through your hair, slipping down your spine, over your ass and along your legs to pool around your feet and disappear down the drain. You shiver once, as though letting something fall away as you slide your hand down, over the swell of your belly, to cup the palmful of your cunt, wedging your hand between your thighs. You pet slowly at the wet curls there, realizing some of it is also the sticky slick of your desire. You were right, you’re wet for him and your clit pulses, slightly swollen and wanting. Your body is awake and hungry for him for the first time in what feels like eons. 

You explore slowly, your cunt slightly trembling at the feeling of being prodded and touched for the first time in you can’t remember how long. Moaning softly, you pull your fingers from between your legs, hands sliding up now to cup the weights of your breasts in each palm and squeeze tightly. Oh, you want him, you want him, you’re afraid. Your head falls back on a thump against the fresher wall, loud enough that you hear his lurking voice through the door, you okay in there? And instead of being annoyed at his overbearing caution, his hovering, you shiver again, something coming back to you now. 

Your desire. 

You shut the water off, grabbing one of the soft linens he’d slung over the warm pipe for you to wrap yourself in. He knocks a knuckle against the wobbly little door, “Cyar’ika?” 

Looking at yourself in front of the steamy mirror, too long, naiad hair, bright, strange eyes, you want him, you want him, you want to feel alive, awake, anything. You can’t deny your shortcomings, fears, whatever they might be called, but there is yet still a soft place inside of you that they’d not snuffed out, that wants Din still. 

You turn to slide the fresher door open just as he’s readying to knock again. 

He’d showered before you, after he’d fed you your soup and your disgusting fake bread he’d promised he’d find a real substitution for soon enough, and you’d needed a moment alone to sit in your grime and silence, digest your feelings. He’s clad now in one of his soft, dark undershirts, his flight pants and the helmet, opposite your towel and water dewed skin, steaming from the hot fresher. 

You watch a swallow pass through his throat, words caught, slow and heavy. He clears it once, twice, tilts his head down to take in the state of you, before he says, “You alright?”

You nod, wide eyed awake. He’s standing right in front of you and you miss him and you want to shock him wide eyed awake too. “The water was too hot. I got dizzy,” you lie, swaying towards him a little, letting your lashes flutter dramatically. 

Not all the way, but enough, just a little, as much as you can bear, that’s what you want from him right now. 

His hands come up to grip the sides of your arms immediately, his bare hands, soaking up the wet of your skin. He pulls you into himself, pressing you carefully against his chest, and you shiver and shake against him, teeth rattling with a sound entirely lacking temperance. Your blood feels like it’s boiling, there’s desire alive and writhing in your tummy, and you squeeze your thighs together tightly, shifting from one foot to another while you drip a puddle onto the cold floor. 

“Come here, sit down,” he murmurs, gently moving you to your bed, easing you down onto it slowly. “You need to take it easy,” he clucks over you, gripping your elbow to let you down carefully, keeping his hands on your bare skin until the last moment. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re still tired, you’re still recovering. And you never listen. You have to listen to me when I’m trying to take care of you. You don’t eat enough, and I know your shoulder still hurts, little liar. Your elbow is barely better, and I saw you making strange faces when you were walking up the plank the other day. Your hip hurts doesn't it? Or your knee, something. No, don’t answer. I know you’ll just say no.” He talks and talks and talks, and you love him and you think that— 

There’s a name for this…

He’d told you he loved you and he’d not said it again, neither had you, it felt too huge a thing to talk about again just yet while there was still so much left to discuss and bridge, but what does it matter if your body sings or screams in pain when you have the love of this beskar titan? What could you care for all the rest of everything?

Yes, Din. Yes, Din. Whatever you say, Din, as he huffs and puffs and arranges you, brings another pillow and blanket from the bunk, his only one in there, not that he cares, lovely man. 

And it’s not only that you feel like you need to give him the things he wants or needs, because of course you do. You love him, you need to be able to give him things, everything, you want to be able to give him the whole galaxy. But it’s also that you want to. That to give him what he desires is to feed yourself, to live together, to be together, to give each other the things you need to stay alive. 

You let yourself fall back onto the soft blankets slowly, this nest where you’ve always felt so safe and so protected and so loved, even when neither of you knew it was love that was holding you here. And you watch him for a few anxious moments as he pulls the covers this way and that, tucking them here and there, trying to avoid looking at the bare expanse of your dew damp legs. But then, taking hold of his hand, you still his nervous movements, and he finally looks up at your face, letting go of his fretting, taking hold of the bravery in the palm of your hand. 

Shy—but brave. Brave—and wanting. 

“We’ll take care of each other, won’t we?” You want to tell him you love him again, but there’s something slightly terrifying, gloriously intimate and fragile about the words. 

“Always.”

“And we’ll keep each other alive?” Maker, I hope we keep each other alive. 

“Yes.”

You take hold of the edge of the linen covering you, revealing your naked body to him slowly, exposing your soft underbelly. You hear his breath hitch, exhale on a groan that sounds like dying. His grip on your hand goes tight to the point of bone crushing pain for one brief, brief moment before he remembers himself and gentles again. You shiver at the pain, belly swooping and quivering with fear and nausea and lust. 

You wish you could see his eyes, his face, his want. 

“You—” he stutters, swallows, “You don’t have to, my love.” My love. He doesn’t need to say it out loud again now with teeth and tongue, he says it in all the things he does. 

“You have to know that I want you so much. That I want you more than anything, Din.”

“I do know,” he says immediately. “I’ve never doubted that.” 

“I want to show you.”

“You don’t have to. I know—” His other hand comes up to grip yours with both of his, caging your limb within the strength of his fists—to keep himself from touching you anywhere else, you think. But you can feel the intensity of his gaze along your skin, over your bare breasts, quivering with your hitching breaths, water droplets translating the frantic beat of your heart in their trembling on the surface of your skin. The line of your belly, the slope downward to the soft place between your thighs. 

He’d seen the scarring on your hand, it was inevitable as much as you’d wished you could hide the deformity they’d left. As much as you wish you could’ve kept it from him, held an illusion for the rest of your lives together to spare him from the reminder of the things that’d been done, happened, chosen. But now… now he is to be subjected to the whole truth of it. Scars like cobwebs, strangely shimmering in silver lights beneath the surface of your skin—they’d been clever and ingenious in their torture—covering the whole circumference of your left hand up to your elbow. But also, from the lowest point of your last rib, over your right hip, traversing lower down the contours of your skin to wrap around the uppermost swell of your thigh. 

They’d left their mark like they’d intended, and it wasn't something you could ever hide from him, the reality of what’d been done, what you’d chosen. It was obvious in everything, etched into your skin, a chasm in the still present distance between the two of you. 

You feel like a bruise; tender, vulnerable, incongruously desperate to press on it harder and feel that dull throb, dark and ugly and on display. 

His hands go tight around yours again for a moment, before he’s snatching them back to grip his bent knee, white knuckled, silent anger on display when his eyes reach the scarring. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, smoothing a hand over your hip down to your thigh to grip yourself there, digging your fingertips lightly into the plush softness. Your skin vibrates. “It doesn't hurt now.”

“What did they do?” His voice is like gravel, restrained fire-full fury. 

“They wanted to see what it’d take to leave a mark. They figured it out.” The helmet turns away sharply, a short, brutal curse spit from his mouth. The tongue of his mother, beautiful despite his violence. 

“It’s okay, Din.” You take hold of your thigh, pulling it up and apart, spreading yourself for him. Brave, wanting heart, be brave. He turns back immediately. “I want you to see how much I want you,” you whisper. “How much I still need you.” 

You let your fingertips flutter lightly over your swollen, needy sex, and you can hear the obscene, sucking sound of your wet lips spreading apart when you part your legs wide enough for your sex to bloom. Cunt hungry and weeping for him. 

Fuck, he spits, leaning closer, and his hand snaps forward to grip your ankle all the way around, pulling your foot up onto the uncompromising muscle of his thigh—your only point of contact. 

“Show me, cyar’ika. Show me how much that pretty cunt missed me,” he growls. 

You start slow, wide eyes fixed on the dark tee of his vizor, fingertips swirling around your clit slowly, it pulses and throbs and beats to the rhythm you can feel his own heart beating at within his own chest. But you pet it slowly, teasing both of you, and then feel lower down to the clenching mouth of your cunt—fuck, he spits again—slicking your fingers in your sticky wet. You start to rock your hips against the flat of your hand, the sound of your cunt, loud in the quiet hull, nothing to interrupt but the too desperate sound of your mutual panting. His fingers around your ankle are so tight they’ll leave a sore spot, and you can't think of the later hurt now, afraid it'll scare you out of this, all you can focus on is the beat of your cunt, the way it cries for him. 

You swirl your fingertips at your opening, again, again, “Put them inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” And it’s a demand. 

You start with one, slow and tentative, a little, shocked gasp as you probe shallowly within the tight, little hole. Then further, wiggling inside until you’re impaling yourself with your own small finger, the first thing inside of you in so long, and suddenly, you wish it was him. Your eyes fill with tears at the thought, spilling over at the wish that he could’ve been the first thing inside of you after all this time, but the reality that you’re just not ready for it yet. The salted proof of your inevitable shortcomings slide back along your cheeks to drip into your ears. 

“Another,” he demands. “Oh, it sounds so pretty, little one. Give it another.” You pull your single finger out, sucking, wet-cunt sound that he groans in tune with, to press another one in, mewling at the pinch and stretch of it, the slick slide. Yes, just like that. You’re doing so well, he says, a mirror of his earlier words to you today during target practice. “Roll your hips, ride your hand.” You hitch another sob, “Don’t fucking cry,” he grits, pressing your heel hard into the meat of his thigh. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re going to come for me, you’re going to let me see it.” He spreads his thighs wider in his kneeling crouch, pushing his hips forward into nothing, drawing your gaze to the heavy bulge behind the plaquette of his flight pants. He’s so hard. 

You crook your fingers inside yourself, hill of your palm against the swell of your engorged clit, fingertips against the spongey ridge at the front of your cunt, rolling your hips faster, chasing the orgasm you need to give him. Your foot feels numb in his grip, your cunt, on fire, so tight it hurts. Your belly hitches and heaves, open mouth gasping and you cry his name, moaning and writhing wantonly, your stomach slick and glistening again with sweat now instead of water. One of your palms reaches up to take hold of your breast, nipple caught between your fingers, squeezing tight, tight, tight. And suddenly he’s surging forward, letting go of your ankle to lean over you and rip his pants open, freeing his furious erection. The tip is red-purple and swollen fat, drooling a thick string of sloppy, white precum, and he wraps one massive fist around the angry thing. Din, Din, Din. He beats at his cock furiously, the sound of your name, the slick thwack, thwack, thwack of it sends you spilling into your orgasm, belly pulling tight, cunt twisting even tighter. 

“Fuck, fucking come—fucking come,” he snarls as he twists his fist cruelly around the head and the thick white viscosity of his semen starts to spill from the fat head, bubbling up and over his fist and between his fingers, splattering heavy and hot onto your spasming cunt, coating your fingers so that you’re pushing the thick of his come into yourself, slicking you further. “Yes, yes, yes, like that. Let me fucking see it…Look at what you do to me.” And there's so much furious want in his voice, and he’s so big, long and thick, and you know it’s going to hurt when he puts it inside of you for the first time again—you remember how it hurt before, how you loved it—and you’re afraid you’re not going to be able to handle any sort of pain ever again, not even the sort you’d been so hungry for before. 

But your womb pulls tight, pulses and throbs, and suddenly your two skinny fingers arent enough, you want the thick heft of his cock fucking hard and fast and deep inside of you, punching at the deepest spot within you.

His orgasm ends on a fierce groan, panting, thick chest heaving, his head hangs low between his shoulders. You pull your shaking fingers from your clenching hole, and he gives a few last lazy strokes, squeezing the last drops of come from the slick tip to splatter against your pussy. “I fucking missed this—your cunt covered in me.” His dripping cock bobs so close, and you have the sudden insane thought of him just shoving it in, holding you down prone and fucking all of his spend into your sloppy cunt, forcing you to take it and be his again. “I can’t wait to eat it. I can’t wait to fill it with my come again and eat it out of you.” There’s a part of you that might want it, that might wish for it. 

“Maker, Din…” you moan, rubbing the thick semen into your overstimulated clit, your mound, up the curve of your belly, slicking yourself in him.

 If you can’t have his touch, this is enough, and you bring your sticky, soaking fingers up to your mouth, sucking the come from them. He groans, not fair, sitting back on his knees, spent cock hanging obscenely from his open pants, wet and glistening. He reaches behind his head to tug his shirt up and off, leaving his sweaty chest bare and gleaming. Your eyes flutter shut, cupping your cunt in the palm of your hand, covering the slick curve of it, and you arch your back, spreading your thighs further, putting yourself on display for him. 

“Gorgeous, cyar’ika,” he says between pants. “So pretty, my love.” He reaches down to squeeze his half hard cock once more. “I can be patient for you, I promise. You’re so worth it.”

-

He lays beside you in the dark, stretched out long and entirely clothed, but here with you, forced and convinced to share your bed with a line of pillows as a protective moat between the two of you at his own insistence.

You’re on your side, hands folded beneath your smushed cheek, wide eyes searching fruitlessly for the shape of him in the pitch dark. You want to say something else. You want to tell him you love him again, to hear the words fall from your tongue. 

“What are you thinking?” He asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” You hum a barely breathed laugh. And then, “I know you’re scared or regretful or worried that we’ll not get back to where we were,” he reads you.

“Yes.”

There’s a name for this…

He sighs long, goes quiet for longer, and then finally: “What’s happened’s happened, which is an expression of faith in the mechanics of the galaxy.”

“Fate?” You muse, a little unbelieving.

Dark red—

“Call it what you want. We met, we separated…you were—gone. We waited. Now we’re here again. It’s meaningful, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You believe in this—fate?” I didn’t think I believed in anything anymore. But I believe in you.

“Call it what you want, but yes.”

—String. 

There’s something about this that you need to consider, chew on. The fact that you’d felt, all your life, cursed to know how a thing would happen, be, end, always. Something like fate, perhaps, the whisper of it making a home for itself within the shell of your ear, and now the truth that he too believes in this thing you’ve always lived with. Destiny, what have you—you believe in the same things, you believe in each other. 

“Will you hold my hand?”

He turns over, reaching to twine his fingers through yours; large, rough palm against small, soft palm. You want to tell him you love him again, you want to hear the words for him, but they feel trapped, tender, timid. 

You’d always thought your destiny fixed, poised, on the tip of your tongue. A thing was what it was birthed unto the galaxy in perpetuity, and no amount of desire could absolve you of its sunken teeth. But this—this desire is like the creation of myth, that dark red thread that goes by the name of fate being pulled taught, humming in accord with a frequency heard only by the two of you. 

Now: “Will you kiss me?” A beat of silence, his fingers around yours going tight, tight. 

“Come here,” his voice blends with the darkness, and tugging you into himself, protective border between your bodies and his hand around your jaw, he slips a kiss onto your tongue. His mouth holds the hot recollection of being alive; the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the taste, your fingers weaving through his hair, your names sounding together, a pair because they belong on the same breath. 

You pull back, and it’s only a small brevity, but it’s enough, and that confusion from earlier, that shiver of letting something go or taking it back into yourself, settles. 

You’re afraid or regretful or both, yes, sure. You also find yourself to be, suddenly, forgiving, full of empathy. You won’t be able to have him unless you take possession of yourself first, and on the tail end of a comet breaking across the sky: I love him, but I must also love myself. He deserves someone who loves themself, but more than that, I deserve it too. To be able to give him the things he wants and needs: I deserve to be in love with myself. 

You let the Tartarian memory become nothing.

 Love manifests itself primarily in forgiveness.

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Party girl P2 : Trouble

Mob! Loki x female reader

18+ | contains smut - I wasn’t gonna do another part but here, Ao3 and wattpad are asking and of course I aim to please || Part 1 if you didn’t catch it TW KIDNAP

You regarded the roses suspiciously despite knowing they were from Loki although you didn’t give him your address. Remembering his status, you assumed he had connections and put the flower delivery down to that. Too fixated on the small card in your hand, you had failed to notice Natasha’s questioning gaze as she watched you.

“What’s that?” She asked, snapping you back to reality.

“Roses.” You answered plainly.

“Yeah, from who?” She delved.

“Never mind.” You shrugged, about to pass her before she stopped you.

“Come on, don’t be like that, show me the card.” She requested.

“No.”

“Y/n.” She spoke warningly.

“No.” You repeated, a smile spreading across your face before you broke off into a sprint around the apartment, Natasha quick to chase you. Both of you giggled, petals flying around the living room as you ran into it, circling the couch. When she finally caught you, she took the card from your hands, gasping as she read it.

“L as in Loki? How did he even get our address?”

“I don’t knowww.” You replied, sitting on the couch.

“Did you two?” She asked, clearly alluding to sex.

“Yess.” You smiled.

“Was it good?”

“Amazing” you sighed dreamily “but I told him I wasn’t looking for commitment and that that was supposed to be a one night thing but all these roses look like commitment.” You huffed.

“Or maybe he’s just thanking you for the good night. It’ll stop.” She assured.

“I hope.”

But it didn’t stop. Every day a bouquet of some type of flowers arrived at your door. As the week went on, the apartment grew full of them, the fragrant smell overpowering anything else. Eventually you began distributing them to your neighbours, wanting everyone to enjoy the fruits of your labour so to speak.

When it got to the end of the week, you began noticing a black Rolls Royce situated outside your apartment. At first it wasn’t suspicious considering you lived in quite a wealthy neighbourhood but then you noticed it didn’t move much during the day. The tinted windows made it impossible to tell whether or not someone was ever inside but considering it’d sometimes be in different locations, all still close to you, you assumed someone was inside which meant that they didn’t really leave the car. You felt surveilled, it was evident that whoever was in the car was interested in seeing you as you began noticing it following you around. When you brought it up to Nat, she told you you were being paranoid. So you were being paranoid.

“Is she not the most buigiling thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on.” Loki hummed contently as he watched you reading from your apartment, his car paired with the lack of privacy from your open curtains offering the perfect view of you.

“Loki, we’ve got business we need to deal with, you can’t just keep—”

“Silence!” Loki interrupted before calming himself down “make no mistake, I am very much aware of the situation however y/n has not yet thanked me for the flowers and I find such rudeness punishable.” He spoke.

“You’re going to kill her? Gosh Loki I—”

“No I’m not going to kill her, perhaps spank her yes” he smirked at the thought “or maybe I’ll have her on her knees begging for my forgiveness” he continued, smirk growing “regardless, my patience is wearing thin, clearly my more subtle approach isn’t working.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have a few ideas.” Loki chuckled.

When you left your apartment this morning, the last thing you thought was going to happen was that a stranger was going to jump out at you, grab you and drag you to his car. Despite your desperate attempts at fleeing, he was too strong, too overpowering. You thrashed and screamed, no one hearing you until you gave up. Surprisingly, you were not carried to the boot and instead had your seatbelt secured by the kidnapper who then waved a bottle of water in your face leaving you confused.

“I’m not a monster.” He shrugged, leaving the water on your lap.

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” You questioned. Huffing, the man picked the bottle up before opening it and taking a sip.

“Not a monster.” He concluded, handing you back the water before entering the car.

“Where are we going?” You then asked once he started driving, confused as to what the protocol was for a kidnap.

“Boss wants you.” He answered.

“Boss? What do you mean—” you began to panic before realisation hit you “Loki! Loki did this!” You exclaimed.

“Yes ma’am.” The man confirmed leaving you fuming.

“Let me out.” You demanded.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The man shrugged.

“Fine, I’ll deal with him when I see him.” You decided, crossing your arms.

The drive was nice despite the fact that it was against your will. You eventually learned your kidnappers name, Bucky, and passed time talking to one another. By the time you approached where you assumed was Loki’s estate, your conversation drew to a close.

“Just tell her how you feel and be direct, unlike some.” You advised, your sentence ending venomously as your eyes met Loki’s. Pushing the car door open, you stormed towards him angrily before being stopped by one of his security guards.

“Let her go” he spoke nonchalantly before smiling at you being set down “feisty.”

“What the fuck Loki? What’s this?” You shouted.

“What?” He answered feigning innconcence.

“You’ve kidnapped me.” You snarled.

“I wouldn’t say it’s a kidnap, that makes it sound dramatic” he began “in fact, you’re not being held here against your will, I just wanted a thank you for the flowers.”

“Here’s your thank you.” You replied, putting your middle fingers up causing Loki’s brows to furrow.

“That’s not nice.”

“Sorry, I know it was a bit overdramatic.” You agreed, Loki nodding as you spoke “but you did kidnap me.” You reasoned.

“Enough with the accusations, join me for a meal.” He welcomed.

“A meal?” You scoffed.

“I’ve brought the best chef in to prepare us a meal.”

“You’re insane.” You stressed as Loki gestured for you to follow him inside. “Don’t tell me you kidnapped them too.” You mumbled, following him inside.

When you reached what you assumed was the dining room, Loki pulled a chair out before gesturing for you to sit on it. You did so, allowing him to tuck the chair in. In front of you there was a selection of different foods and fruits as well as bottles of champagne. You took a steadying breath contemplating your life choices leading you up to this moment.

“Do you need me to feed you or are you capable?”

You glanced up at Loki who was sitting next to you before narrowing your gaze at him.

“Yes I’m capable.” You answered, picking up a knife and fork. Stabbing at a piece of food, you brought it to your lips before taking a bite. “That’s amazing.” You complimented just above a whisper.

“Only the best for you.” Loki grinned before picking up something. “You must try the pitted olives.” He insisted, using a cocktail stick to pick one up before feeding it to you.

“Mmm, that’s nice.” You hummed before Loki fed you another. He marveled in your sounds of appreciation, growing excited as you closed your eyes, swallowing.

Opening your eyes again, you noticed Loki looking at you intently.

“What’s your game here? What do you want?” You confronted him.

“For you to say thank you.” He answered causing you to roll your eyes.

“Really?” You huffed “a thank you? Cut the bullshit Loki and tell me what you really want.”

“Truthfully” he began, standing up and stepping behind you, his hands finding your shoulders before he began moving them in a way that could only be described as perfectly leaving you melting into his touch “I find myself wanting to please you” he admitted, lowering his lips to your ear to whisper, placing a single kiss just below it “and pleasing someone other than myself isn't in my nature so what is it about you that I can’t get over?” He queried, still gently massaging your shoulders.

“I told you I wasn’t looking for anything long term.” You opined.

“And I said I wasn’t the commitment type” he retorted “believe me, I have tried to get you out of my head. Every night I try to get you out of my head but no one fits me like you do. No one comes close to making me forget that night so let me have one more, here with you, in my bed, my terms and then you can go.” He proposed.

“No.” You quickly answered.

“No?”

“If you want me, you can have me right here, hard and fast and then I leave.” You bargained.

“It’s quite exhilarating, isn’t it.” Loki smiled coyly.

“What is?”

“Being ordered around” he began, lowering his lips to your ear again “I like it.”

Before long, the both of you were on your feet, Loki’s tongue pushing past your lips as he claimed your mouth. His hand was against your cheek as you leaned back against the table, kissing him back just as fiercely. His hand fell from your cheek before venturing down your body and finding purchase between your legs. His skillful hand cupped your pussy leaving you gasping into the kiss as he moved it to and fro. Using his other hand, he pushed you further against the table, ensuring you were stable before falling to his knees in front of you. He made fast work of eagerly tugging your trousers down as well as your panties, pulling them off of you before he was prising your legs apart, hungrily kissing your thighs. It didn’t take long for him to reach your centre leaving you moaning lewdly as his lips latched onto your clit. You ground your hips against his face as he flicked the bundle of nerves with his tongue before flattening it against it. Your head fell backwards, Loki’s name falling like a chant from your lips as he suckled on your clit. He felt you throbbing needily against him as he traced your pussy with his tongue before dipping it into your entrance leaving your legs trembling.

“I’m gonna cum.” You almost cried, legs clamping shut around Loki’s head as he circled your clit again leaving you spiraling into oblivion. “Fuckk.” You panted, reaching your climax.

Barely allowing you time to come down from your high, Loki was back up, freeing his hard length as he pushed you further up the table with his hips. Gripping it, he moved it through your sensitive folds, coating himself in your slick before reaching your entrance. Your eyes met briefly, your gaze daring him to enter you. Hard and fast you said. A small smirk spread across his lips as he pushed inside of you. He didn’t give you any time to adjust. Hard and fast. He bottomed out before slamming inside of you again, the movement leaving the table rocking. Hard and fast. Your eyes screwed tightly shut as Loki’s long cock moved in and out of your sensitive tunnel, every vein well received by your walls. His thrusts were merciless, his growls loud as he bared his teeth, fucking you against the table. Finally, he was back inside of you, where he fit, where he belonged.

“Say thank you.” He spoke, catching you off guard.

“No.” You answered, opening your eyes again.

“Say. It.” He ordered, thrusting harder with each word.

“Noo.” You insisted, clenching your walls around him, both of you granting each other pure, filthy pleasure. You lost all composure, practically crumbling beneath him as he reached between you again, using his thumb to toy with your clit. “I’m cumming.” You screamed, body tensing until you released but Loki didn’t relent, he continued playing with your clit, fucking your overstimulated pussy. “Lokiii.” You begged, needing him to stop, pleading with him to carry on.

“Say thank you.” He answered.

“N-no.” You choked out making Loki thrust harder until things were falling off of the table.

“Thank me!” He demanded.

“Fuckkk, I’m sooo closeeee Lokii.” You yelled.

“Thank me goddamn it.” He insisted, doubling over as he rested his head in the crook of your neck, thrusts growing sloppy.

“Thank youu.” You moaned, voice sultry in his ear as you reached another orgasm, Loki doing the same as he released inside of you.

Time stopped, both of you panting as Loki lifted his head, your gazes meeting again as you mapped one another’s faces. He was sweating, no doubt you were too as your heart rate began to slow. Your lips met haphazardly as Loki helped you to sit up before pulling out of you.

“I-I’m going to shower and then I’m leaving.” You spoke, trying to sound even, in charge.

“Very well” he spoke, handing you the trousers and panties that he previously tore off of you before clicking his fingers once you were dressed, Bucky entering the room “show her to my room.”

“Loki—” you began to protest.

“I’m not following you, don't worry” he interrupted “you can shower in there and then meet Bucky at the front, he’ll take you home.” He explained, turning away from you before you left.

Just over an hour later, Loki returned to his room finding it empty. Noticing that his wardrobe was open he walked towards it, smiling when he saw your clothes hung up on a hanger one of his shirts used to be. Making his way to the bed, he spotted the panties you were previously wearing as well as a note.

Consider me pleased x

But that gif 🥵

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