#hit me with a brick it would hurt less

[booberrydraweth]

im gonna be sick i just startes seaspm 7 with my sister and im gonna be sick omghf thse buffoons

Friends at the end of the Republic | Ahsoka & Rex, by illustrator, Veronica Ruffato

[cherryblossomtimemachine]

The way she held onto his vest 🥺

[silverskye13]

Silver's Care Guide for the Impulsively Inclined:

Hi, did you just receive bad news? Are you one of the many many people who, upon receiving bad news, react with self destructive spirals, or lash out in a need for control? Are you just really fucking sad, or angry, and would like an alternative to hurting yourself and others? Are you just feeling a little manic or impulsive?

Welcome to my handy guide for alternative (self) destruction! These are alternatives to physical and immediate harm to your person. That does not necessarily mean they are safe, just safer, and they are all things I've done before to mixed results. With that in mind.

Remember the golden rule: if what you're doing cannot be fixed, repaired, or healed within an hour, don't fucking do it. You have one body, and one life, and regardless of what your thoughts say in the moment, that body and life is necessary for your future happiness. Prioritize yourself; harm objects instead.

Alternatives to harming yourself or others:

Kick something loud. A tin can. A plastic bag. Take it to an outdoor space and see how far you can kick it, and how loud a sound you can make. If you have multiple objects to kick, listen to the differences in sound. How one thing sounds hollow and another rattles.

Kick something soft. A pillow. A hackey-sack. Take it to an outdoor space, or kick it against a sturdy wall (I recommend brick or stone). Listen to the sound of the batting, or the beans. See what shapes you can get it to land in, and how deep a divot your foot can leave.

Tear paper. Get a cheap notebook, some old bills you don't need, note cards or old magazines. See how big of pieces you can make. Put several sheets in your hand and see how thick the paper can get before you can't tear it anymore. See how thin of strips you can tear. Experiment with folding it into shapes and trying to tear along the lines.

Do a very small controlled burn. Newspaper, a cheap notebook from the dollar store, a handful of old homework assignments you don't need, a candle, etc. The best objects are ones made to burn such as matches or candles. In lieu of that, focus specifically on paper, as it will have fewer chemicals/fumes that can damage your lungs if you inhale smoke. Take it to a well ventilated place, the floor of a concrete garage, your driveway, an empty lot or sidewalk. If you have a burn barrel or fire pit, use it. If you have no access to any of these things, make the burn very small [less than half a page at a time] and confine it to your sink. If your building has automatic sprinkler systems, don't do this. Light one edge of your paper on fire and watch it curl. See if you can burn small, individual poke-holes in the page. If you are lighting a candle, watch the wax melt. See if you can light one match using another. When a match is used, try and burn what's left of the stick. If you want some extra catharsis, write a person you hate, a source of your angst, or just general thoughts on the paper you're burning.

Throw rocks. Go outside and touch grass -- and look for rocks while you're there. All sizes are fair game, but the bigger they are, the harder they are to throw. I recommend something the size of a marble. Gather a number of rocks and throw them one at a time, trying to hit targets like trees or fence posts. If you can find a convenient body of water, throw them in there and listen to the splash.

Skip rocks. Skipping rocks across the top of the water can also be a fun challenge to use your aggression on. For skipping rocks specifically, you want a stone that is smooth and flat. Hold it between your forefinger and your thumb, and throw sideways in an arcing motion. You are trying to get the rock to spin. The combination of the spin, and the force, and the flat side hitting the water, causes the skip. I average 3 skips per stone. Beat my average. My Papa, who taught me, used to routinely get 5-7 skips. Beat him after you beat me.

Play a violent or fast paced video game. Most people have games on their mobile or console devices these days. Pick something quick, with low investment and high reward. Shoot-em-ups and arcade games. Something with a number that ticks up, and stock zombies you can kill. Try to beat your high score, or aim for an exact number. My lucky number is 13, so I will often try to score a number that's a multiple of 13.

Break glass. This one requires some investment to do legally and safely. Note: I am not telling you to throw rocks at people's windows or vandalize property. This is an alternative to those things. Find or obtain (I buy mine at Michael's for $10) some glass panes. They can be multicolored if you're feeling fun. Cover a pane in an old sheet or the plastic bag you bought it in. With a thick soled shoe or a rubber mallet, smash it. Try to make fun shapes with the pieces. Listen to the crunch. Keep a broom and dustpan ready, and make sure you have dedicated time to clean the mess. There is nothing worse than walking barefoot through a room and cutting open your foot.

Smash pumpkins, guards, watermelon, etc. Exactly what it says on the tin. Grab your murder-able vegetable of choice and a weapon (stick, hammer, sword, axe, etc) and go wild. Make as big a mess as you can. I mean absolutely destroy that fruit. If you aren't covered in the blood of your prey, have you really won? Take a long shower afterwards, and wear clothes you don't mind staining. Too depressed to clean up the mess? It's fruit. The local wildlife will thank you. Though if it's summer, you may get ants/bees.

Switch a tree. Find a switch. If your parents never made you pick your own switch, congratulations. If they did, you know exactly what you're looking for. Grab a stick, something green and flexible and long -- whip like. Go to the tree you wish to switch, and smack the shit out of it. You can also do this to bushes. Try to make the whip-crack noise, listen to the whistle of the branch through the air. See if you can take the individual leaves off a branch. Smack the shit out the tree with your switch until the switch breaks. If you're still feeling angry and impulsive, rinse and repeat.

Alternatives to moping sadly / wallowing in self pity:

Write a list of things you enjoy. This is just to remind you that you do have joy in life, actually. Focus on finding the smallest things possible, the ones that are truly niche to you and you alone. An example for me would be the strange purple-red color your veins take on when bright light is shining through them. I could stare at that color for ages. I'm talking really strange, personal joys. The way a sharpie brand pen clicks. How saying a word too much turns it into not-a-word. Make a list of those things.

Find a favorite texture and run your hands over it. Over and over. Obsessively. If this texture happens to be a pet, all the better! If not, that is also fine. My favorite texture is running my fingers through my hair when I've put hair gel in it. The feeling of detangling it with my fingers, all the sharp brittle hairs loosening into softness again, is the most cathartic in the world. Close second is my fingernails on very cheap construction paper, the pulpy stuff they give to kindergartners. Pass your hands through the texture until it loses its allure. Listen to the sounds it makes when you run your hands across/through it. Smell it, and smell your hands after you've touched it. Rub it on other parts of your body, like your arms or your neck. Try to pick it up with your feet.

Eat your favorite food. I don't give two shits about calories. This is comfort. If you don't have access to your favorite food, or it is too hard to cook with the energy levels you have, get the closest approximation you can find, or get your second favorite. Eat it slowly. Try to pick the tastes apart on your tongue. Make obnoxious noises while you eat, or eat it in a way you normally wouldn't. Eat ice cream with chopsticks. Eat soup with a butter knife. Lick pudding off the tines of a fork. Use your hands I don't care. Slurp out of the bowl like a dog. Pretend you're a caveman. Get stupid and silly. It's food. It's food. It's food. Enjoy every moment of it!

Tell a friend how awesome they are. Pop into their inbox and ask them about their day. Call them and ask for five minutes of their time. Invite them to dinner. You don't have to get super heartfelt if you're scared of being weird. Just say "Hey, have I told you you're awesome recently? Because you are." Be prepared to list at least one reason why.

Go cry about it. Seriously. In the words of my boss, "Sounds like you need to drink a bottle of wine, put on the saddest episode of your favorite TV show, and have a good sob fest." Crying is a releasing of built up chemicals in your brain, which is why people sometimes cry when they're happy or pissed -- you've got too many emotions inside and you need to literally put them outside. So if you're feeling the Miseries and need a quick release, give yourself a reason to cry and go for it. And I'm not talking like, tasteful wife mourning her husband lost to war with a single stoic tear down her face. Get ugly. Sob your eyes out. Scream, and wail, and thrash. Pretend you're an Irish widow who's just lost her child to famine and dirge. Lament. Do that thing in the Bible where people are so upset they tear at their clothes. When you're done, breathe, and breathe, and breathe again. That feels... Better. Doesn't it?

Listen to calming music, or sing/hum a song. This one might just be a me thing, but it is hard to be truly miserable when there's a soundtrack playing in your thoughts. This works best if the music you're listening to has no words, and is calming. We are not looking for sad mixes on YouTube. We are looking for lofi, and orchestra, and rainy mood. Something to dampen thought, not enhance it. I like putting on rain sounds and humming as I walk through my house. It lets me take action while still providing background noise I can rely on.

And that's about it, I think. I hope! My scattering of thoughts can help you! Or at least get you thinking about what works best for you. Feel free to add your own thoughts in the comments and I will try to reblog them!

Remember: we are prioritizing the safety of self here. This is to curb impulses for self harm, and self destruction, and the harming of others. Above all else, stay safe.

You've got this. I believe in you.

[adieutristana]

Could you do how Jinx would react If you would give her a Love confession similiar to the one lexie gave mark in greys anatomy headcanons?

of course! thank you for being my first request! i’d like to preface this by saying i’ve seen 0% of greys anatomy. i did watch a clip and do some reading but there may still be some inaccuracies, i apologize </3 i did also take a few creative liberties for the sake of drama

i started writing this before act 3 dropped (no spoilers, dw) and now i'm finishing it to cope. LMAO

summary: headcanons for jinx receiving a confession similar to the one mark received in greys anatomy.

characters included: jinx

tags/warnings: fluff, slight hurt/comfort, (happy) crying. lots of fluff

men dni.

✧.* you and jinx were both working under silco before he passed. the news of his passing hit you like a pile of bricks. you had grown relatively close to him- well, as close as one of his employees could grow to him. but you cared for him.

✧.* however, the position paid well, even after silco's passing. so you decided to stay.

✧.* you had also, for lack of a better term, completely fallen for your coworker, jinx.

✧.* unfortunately for you, you had come to this realization while you were in a relationship with somebody else.

✧.* it came as such a shock to you, because you were happy, your girlfriend adored you. you adored your girlfriend. but the more you fell for jinx, the less you could stand to be with your girlfriend and hurt her.

✧.* so, you broke up with her. you told her that she was incredible, that she was a lovely person and you were sorry you couldn’t do more for her. but you were in love with somebody else.

✧.* and that leaves you here. with your colleague who has captured your heart, who you've just finished a successful mission with and wants to celebrate with you. and the fact that she has no idea of your feelings eats at you.

✧.* jinx beaming at you, the rare smile on her face as she makes her way towards you, jumping in excitement.

✧.* the two of you had just made it back to jinx's hideout, surrounded by her colorful wall tags and assorted gadgets.

✧.* "oh, did you see the look on their faces?! that was incredible, (y/n)! it was so-"

✧.* you just couldn't hold back. tears were welling in your eyes, your hands were trembling, and you couldn't bring yourself to meet jinx's gaze.

✧.* jinx stepped forward, her concern written across her face. "you okay?"

✧.* "i love you." you blurted out, now lifting your head to look jinx directly in the eye. you were delirious, you were confused, you were relieved. relieved to finally tell her.

✧.* "oh my god, that was so sudden, it just came out- i love you. i love you, jinx." you continued, your voice shaking. now that you had started, you couldn't stop. just how long had these feelings festered, deep inside of you? how much longer could you hold onto them?

✧.* jinx's expression was unreadable. her mouth agape, her pink eyes were blown wide. her shoulders were strangely tense, but you could tell that her full attention was on you.

✧.* "i love you. i love you, and i've been trying not to say it.. but i can't. it's so hard. it's so hard to repress it, to ignore it, to act like everything is fine but the truth is that i love you more than anything."

✧.* tears started falling from your eyes, yet you went on as if nothing was happening. "my ex was a great girl, she's incredible, she's gorgeous, and she isn't a master criminal- and she loved me. but it was never gonna work out."

✧.* jinx stepped closer to you, slowly, achingly slowly.

✧.* "i- i love you. i'm so in love with you.." tears kept falling, falling, falling. but the words kept coming. "it's like i'm infected by jinx." you chuckled dryly, using your arm to wipe underneath your eyes.

✧.* "i can't think of anything, or anybody, i can't sleep.. i can't breathe. i love you, jinx. all the time. now and forever." you concluded, your breath coming in heavy pants after your tirade. you mustered up the best smile you could for the woman across from you, taking agonizingly slow steps toward you.

✧.* when jinx finally was in close enough proximity, her face mere inches from yours, both of her hands gently cupped your cheeks. the pads of her thumbs swiping underneath your wet eyes. the corners of her lips turned upward ever so slightly.

✧.* "you... love me?" she whispered, voice low.

✧.* and at this, you genuinely were in disbelief. you laughed, heartily, only for a minute. jinx's eyes went wide yet again, and you could tell she was beginning to panic. what if she had misheard you? was this a dream? was she-

✧.* "i think i've made that pretty clear, jinx. yes. i love you."

✧.* the worry washed away from her, and her arms wrapped around your waist. holding you ever so gently, as if you were made of porcelain. as if she was afraid she would break you if she held on too tight. you've never seen her be so delicate with somebody.

✧.* she pressed a chaste, lingering kiss to your cheek.

✧.* "that's good." jinx replied, turning her head to the side to rest it on your shoulder. "because i think i love you too."

[lizardboiii]

Breaking up ┃One Piece Pt. 1

Scenario: Having a huge fight with your bf which ultimately leads one of you to saying something you regret.

"I wish I never met you."

Characters: Monkey D. Luffy, Roronoa Zoro x Fem!reader

cw: 18+, SFW, Angst, Hurt/No comfort, vulgar language

☄. *. ⋆☄. *. ⋆☄. *. ⋆☄. *. ⋆☄. *. ⋆☄. *. ⋆☄. *. ⋆☄. *.

Monkey D. Luffy

“You never even treat me like we're together!”

You were at your breaking point, figuratively and literally. In the last three months that you and Luffy had been together, not once did he change the way he acted towards you. It felt as if you were still just Luffy’s nakama. Well today that was all going to change. You had a plan.

It took some convincing, but you finally managed to get Nami and Ussop to help you set up a romantic dinner in the Sunny’s crow’s nest. Two of Luffy’s favorite things, food and you. It was perfect.

With preparations taken care of, you waited patiently for Luffy to arrive. Your aforementioned captain was currently exploring the island you were stopped at. But with the sun starting to set, he'd be back for dinner any minute now.

So you waited. 

And waited. 

And waited….

You waited till the candles were near burnt out. Waited till the food went ice cold. Waited till your eyes stung from holding back tears.

Monkey D. Luffy had stood you up.

Your own boyfriend. 

Slamming the napkin delicately placed across your lap onto the table, you pushed yourself to your feet. Humiliation creeped its way up your neck. Never in your life have you ever felt so worthless. 

Holding back hiccups, you dragged yourself out of the crow’s nest and away from the undisturbed meal. What was Nami going to think? All that preparation for nothing. You clenched your hands into tight fists. The next time you see Luffy you swear you were going to-

“y/n!”

You spun on your heel to face the familiar voice. Luffy’s face smiled brightly at you, blinding you more than the moonlight. It was almost enough for you to forgive him. Almost.

“Wait up!”

Scoffing, you glared at his cheery form before turning away from him. All you wanted was a shower, not excuses. 

Luffy caught up with your silently seething form with ease, spinning around you like top. He pranced around as if he were a crow and you his shiny treasure. Your name falling from his lips like a mantra.

Try as you might, eventually you gave into his pestering, voice sharp as nails, “What do you want, Luffy?”

Luffy’s grin widened despite your tone, “Sorry I couldn't make it, y/n. There was a festival in town, you should have come. There was an all you can eat buffet, Tra-guy and Jaggy were there too!” He scratched his chin, “Maybe next time you can invite everyone else so we can all eat together again!”

Your eye twitched, “Why would I invite the whole crew to our date?”

“Date?”

You stopped in your tracks, “Yes, date. You know the ones you're supposed to take your girlfriend out on? That kind?”

You could practically see the gears turning in his head at your reply. 

“But I have multiple girlfriends?” “WHAT?”

“Ya! You, Robin, Nami,” Luffy used his fingers to count, “Oh, and Vivi!”

You face palmed, “Not “girl” friends, Luffy. A “girlfriend”. Someone who’s more,” You reached for Luffy’s hand, “Special.”

“But all my friends are special,” Luffy pouted, gingerly returning your touch.

Laughing, you shook your head, “I know. But…It's a different type of special. It's when you wanna hold their hand, and you wanna be near them no matter what,” You met his confused gaze, “It's someone you love.”

“Then why would I wanna do that with you?”

“Huh?”

It felt like your body hit a brick wall. Every word ripped from your throat. He was joking right? It was a sick joke but a joke no less. 

“I don’t think I love you.”

You blinked in confusion before choking out a response, “T-Thats okay. Sometimes it takes a while to realize you love someone. It's not immediate.”

Luffy hummed, “I'm not sure I even want a “girlfriend”, y/n.”

A nervous laughter erupted from your throat, “Luffy, what are you talking about?” It felt like your heart might leap out of your chest.

“I like how my friends are now. I don't need a “girlfriend”. I have my Nakama. I have you.”

The world suddenly stopped spinning, and only for a moment the ocean quieted and the breeze hushed. Then, as if nothing happened, the world began to turn as normal, leaving behind your hollowed out body.

"...what?"

Cheeky smiled, Luffy repeated his words as if it was only the news, "I don't need a "girlfriend" I have a crew!"

The empty feeling in the pit of your stomach slowly filled with rage. First, he stood you up. Now? Now, he wants to pretend you guys aren't even dating!?

“Luffy, we're dating! What are you talking about? I asked you out almost three months ago!” You snapped, “Why did you even say yes to me if you didn't want a "girlfriend"?” 

“I don't know,” He cocked his head to the side, “I just thought you wanted to be closer friends.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, “What?”

Luffy shifted in his sandals, clearly uncomfortable, “I thought you wanted to be my “girl” friend, not my “girlfriend”.”

“Are you joking?” Your skin felt red hot as if your whole being was ablaze, “You thought I wanted to be your “girl” friend!? Did it ever once occur to you that friends don't hold each other’s hands!?”

Luffy quickly retracted his hand from your grip, scratching his head in thought, “Not really.”

“Oh my god,” You couldn't tell if you were laughing or crying at this point, “This whole time you never thought we were together? Ever?!”

“I guess we are a bit closer than everyone else,” Luffy’s brows furrowed in thought.

“A bit?” You ran your fingers through your hair, “We spend every waking moment together! I've confided in you, you've confided with me. You know things about me no one else does!”

To his credit, Luffy looked ashamed, “I’m sorry, y/n. I guess…I just never noticed how you really felt.”

You rolled your tear filled eyes, “Obviously.”

“I can try if you want-”

“Forget it, Luffy,” You held your hands up in defeat, “Just forget it. Whatever you thought was going on here is over.”

Luffy grabbed your arm, “What! I don't want that!”

“You don't seem to want a lot of things,” You shrugged his grip off, “Including me.”

“y/n.”

You wiped your face clear of tears.

“We're done, Lu.”

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Roronoa Zoro

"Do I need to be a sword just to get a minute of your attention!?"

Three hundred seventy-six, three hundred seventy-seven, three hundred seventy-eight-

“Are you still counting?”

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, mom.”

Zoro ignored your annoyed response, preferring to continue his push ups below you. Huffing, you rested your chin on your hand. He had been going at this for hours now. You were starting to feel nauseous as your form jostled every time Zoro went up and down with you on his back.

“How much longer?”

Zoro grunted, “When I reach two thousand.”

“Two thousand!?”

Your sudden shout made Zoro shoot up quickly, knocking you off balance. Your criss-crossed form easily flew from Zoro’s back to the ground below. You fell hard, slamming your shoulder into the wood floor. 

Hissing, you rubbed your now sore arm, “What the hell, Zoro!?”

“Shit.”

The moss head was quick to his feet, offering you a hand, “Dammit, you should've been more careful.”

You snatched his extended hand and scoffed, “I wasn't the one who moved so suddenly.”

Pulling you to your feet, Zoro continued to hold your hand, “I wasn't the one complaining so loudly.”

“I can’t help it. We’ve been here all day,” You played with his larger fingers, “Plus, you promised you'd explore the island with me today.”

You could hear Zoro grumble under his breath before sighing loudly, “Training is more important right now.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “What, why?"

Your thoughts raced around in your head to find a reason for Zoro's sudden uptightness. You were quick to settle on striking golden eyes and a small dagger. Dracule Mihawk. He and Zoro had put on quite the show only weeks ago.

Rubbing Zoro's palm, you quirked a brow, "Are you still hung up about that Mihawk guy beating you?”

“I'm not hung up.”

You flinched at Zoro’s tone, “You clearly are.”

Quickly dropping your hand, Zoro turned away from you, “Listen it doesn't even matter what you think. You wouldn't understand. You're not a swordsman.”

“I'm not a swordsman but I'm definitely your girlfriend,” you snapped at his back.

“Just because you're my girlfriend doesn't mean you can control my training.”

“Just because you're a swordsman doesn't mean you can just dismiss me.”

The room filled with a silence thick enough to cut with a sword. You thought you might drown on land. Staring into Zoro's rigid back, you tried to manifest any form of response from him.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, Zoro rolled his shoulders and turned to face you. Your breath caught in your throat at his expression. It was dark, almost...menacing. It was a gaze he normally reserved scum marines and enemy pirates alike, but never for you.

“You're the one who's dismissing me!”

A forced laugh erupted from your mouth, “How am I dismissing you, moss head?” You crossed the space between the two of you, “By telling you to take one measly break?”

Zoro’s eyes bore into your own as if trying to find his next words. Grabbing your hand, he placed it on his bare chest, “Do you see this?”

You tensed at the feeling of the scar tissue, Mihawk.

“This...this scar is why I have to be stronger. For the crew. For Luffy,” Zoro squeezed your hand, “For you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “Zoro, I didn't-”

“Maybe we should break up.”

You paused, mouth stuck open in shock, “...what?”

It felt like you had swallowed glass, pins and needles running down your esophagus into your stomach. But the glass still wasn't enough to fill the large pit beginning to form.

Gently, Zoro pushed your hand away from him, “This relationship,” he took a deep breath, “Might be too much of a distraction.”

You never really understood when people said it felt like their heart was being ripped out of their chest. But now? It felt like your whole chest cavity had been removed. 

Slowly, hot tears began to cascad down your rosied cheeks, “You think I'm a distraction?”

Zoro paused, his internal conflicted evident on his face, “...yes.”

You clenched your teeth together tightly, “Screw you, Zoro! I can barely get you to pay attention to me when someone even mentions the word “sword” but I'm the distraction?!” You jammed a finger into his chest, avoiding his scar, “If you needed an excuse to break up with me so badly you could've at least chosen a good one!”

“I’m sorry, y/n,” Zoro favored staring at the ground, “But if I want to be the greatest swordsman I can't be with you.” His hand captured the one buried in his chest, "Not yet at least."

You ripped your hand away from him, "If not now, then never." Your eyes searched Zoro's, looking for any sign of regret, "Choose, Zoro."

"Its over, y/n," Massive arms pulled you into a warm hug, "I'm sorry."

Clutching onto him, you sobbed silently. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't he just have both?

"I love you."

“Fuck you.”

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Requests Open!

[gh0st-in-green-c0nverse]

burned

percy jackson x gn! reader — you’re all alone in an alley in NYC. what could go wrong??

tw — violence

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You’re cold.

You’re cold and afraid, shaking in an alley somewhere in downtown New York.

You try to think about camp. About the rolling hills, the sweet strawberries, the campfire. About your friends, about target practice, the climbing walls.

Percy should be here. He should’ve been here— you check your watch — fifteen minutes ago. But he’s not, and your thoughts are running wild.

The wind howls louder. You shut your eyes.

The wound on your leg stings. You’re coiled around it, hunched forward in a meager attempt to shield it from whatever. Meet back here in 30, you’d told him. He nodded; you drew your dagger and he lifted riptide out of its sheath. And then you went separate ways, a desperate attempt to get the monsters off your trail, to confuse them by being in two places at once. It’d worked, partially, and you would’ve been fine, except for the fact that he’s not here. So you’re not fine.

There’s a commotion at the mouth of the alley, and your head snaps up.

A woman stumbles into view, smartly dressed with long blonde hair down to her waist. She notices you, and you freeze.

“Excuse me, do you have a map? I just can’t seem to—”

“y/n, no!”

Percy’s voice echoes off the walls, and your heart drops at his audible panic.

Her smile turns from airheaded to sinister. Fangs peek over her bottom lip.

Multiple things happen at once.

You lunge forward, dagger in hand, but she grabs your wrist with a vice grip. She squeezes, and squeezes, and you’re certain she’s going to snap your wrist in half when Percy rushes in, almost runs headfirst into the brick wall.

She wrenches the knife from your hand and turns it on you. Percy lifts riptide. You stumble backwards; the tip of riptide shines through her chest.

Two blades are thrusted forward. Twin gasps of pain meet your ears.

One of them sounds suspiciously like you.

The woman dissolves, dust flaking away to reveal Percy, breathing hard. His face is bruised. It’s upsetting, even though you really should be used to it by now. You just wish he would get hurt less.

Something throbs under your ribs. It feels like a cramp, but it gets worse and worse until it burns, You’re burning—

Your knees buckle and Percy runs to you. Your head doesn’t hit the ground, so you assume he caught you.

The entire left side of you is on fire. You can feel your heartbeat in your fingertips.

The delicate skin around his eye is blooming an angry red. You reach out for it weakly, and he winces when your knuckle brushes the bruise.

“You’re hurt,” you say quietly.

Percy gently grabs your hand, lowers it from his face. “I’m okay,” he soothes. “I’m right here.”

Why does he feel so far away then?

His hands move again. You’re still cold.

Your eyes flutter, tongue lead in your mouth. You realize with dim fascination that he’s cradling your face. It’d be quite intimate if your vision wasn’t darkening at the edges.

“You’re gonna be okay. They’re almost here. Just… just stay with me.”

You have so many questions. Who’s they? Why are his hands so warm?

Percy’s looking at you with a fear in his eyes that shakes you to your very bones. His eyes rake over your face as if he’ll never see you again. You still don't understand. All you know is the sinking feeling in your chest, the creeping nothing in the corners of your eyes, and the dull ache in your side.

You don't remember closing your eyes, but you do remember Percy shaking you.

“y/n,” he pleads, voice trembling in a way that you haven't heard before. “It’s alright. Just open your eyes for me, yeah? Please— please.”

He’s shivering. You feel absolutely horrible about the whole ordeal, despite your very limited understanding of the situation. You want to assure him it’ll probably be fine, that you’ll bounce back because you guys always bounce back, but this time you’re not sure.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp, the words sandpaper in your throat.

The darkness swallows you whole.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

lmk if I should write a part two? I dunno if anyone will read it

[lineffability]

"Crowley."

Crowley froze, every atom of his body coming to a complete standstill. Aziraphale had appeared out of nowhere, just like that, and he felt like a fly in a spider's web, like he had just run against a glass door that he could not have seen. Oh, this was cruel. He did not turn around.

"Don't even use doors anymore?" He tried to keep his voice level, cold, unaffected. He failed considerably, but the message got across anyways.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, immediately flinching at the words. The first time they were seeing each other again, after-- after that, and his first words were I'm sorry and he was apologizing for not using a door? Aziraphale felt like swearing, but could not. "I thought you wouldn't open if I-- well. I thought this was easier. Like a bandaid."

"Well, you were right. I wouldn't have." Steel was creeping into Crowley's voice, steel around his heart. With a forcing of limbs, he spun around, his gaze piercing through the armor of his sunglasses. Facing him.

"I need your help" Aziraphale said.

"What," Crowley said. He had possibly never put as much meaning into a single word. The glass door turned into a Great Wall. Aziraphale understood. But he was willing to climb.

The angel (oh, a true angel now, wasn't he--not his angel) fumbled, talking with his hands before his mouth even opened. Talking with his eyes, too, but they got lost in translation. Repelled by a black mirror.

"I know this is untoward. I know it's-- But Crowley, I don't have a lot of time."

"Nothing lasts forever, yeah," Crowley spat, hating himself the second the words left his lips. Unnecessary cruelty. Demonic, huh? Worse yet, Aziraphale accepted the verbal lashing. Don't forgive me, Crowley thought.

Crowley looked at him. He was still wearing his suit, there was tartan in it, but it had become polished, the worn edges returned to pristine, boring perfection. He looked prim. Proper. Perhaps this hurt most of all.

"Why are you here?"

Aziraphale glanced upwards. Then he looked intently at Crowley. I don't have much time. Right. He couldn't speak freely, Crowley realized. Of course he couldn't. This was exactly what he had been afraid of, what he had known would happen. His angel in chains. (Yet here he was. Here he was.)

"They don't know I'm here," Aziraphale mumbled, gesticulating weakly between them and Up. "I guess I can divert their attention now, for a bit. Comes with the new powers"--he shrugged helplessly--"but not for long. Crowley, do you know about-- about the-- what they're--"

"Armageddon 2.0? Sure."

There was an undecipherable look in Aziraphale's eyes. "Why didn't you-- well. It's not just. I mean it kind of is--it's. More than that. Crowley, I need you to do something for me."

"No."

"This is important." (This isn't about us.)

"I don't care." (There is no us anymore.)

"You do! You always have."

"Oh not this again," Crowley hissed. "You were an angel once. You can be forgiven. Shut up."

"That's not what I meant."

With two long, angry strides, Crowley closed the space between them. Menace, anger, hurt-- "Then what did you mean?" He spat the words. Like a weapon. (Then why was it a question?)

Aziraphale's face crumbled. He stood his ground nonetheless, not backing away. The angel's anger was less spiky, but it rose to meet Crowley's. It made his next words hit like bricks. "I mean that you love. I mean that you, Crowley, are the best person I know. I mean that I love you."

The words dropped like a lead balloon.

There was utter silence between them.

Why were they so close?

Why were his sunglasses so dark? Aziraphale saw only his own reflection. He couldn't bear that, and dropped his gaze. Oh, worse. There was his mouth, mere inches away.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley's lips, really really looked, and there was nothing more, now that he knew about the feeling of Crowley's lips and of his heart, there was nothing more he wanted to do than to kiss him. But he couldn't, he couldn't. Not like this. He needed the next time (he had to believe in a next time, in a time with Crowley, again)--the next time they kissed he needed it to be good and happy and an affirmation. He couldn't bear it otherwise. He would break entirely. He was sure of it.

But still, still-- Crowley was so close. He could smell nothing but him. Think of nothing but him. That weakness again, that soft spot inside him he had never known how to hold down. And with it, Want reared its greedy head. Aziraphal leaned in ever so slightly, felt their noses touch-- and then used all his strength to move away, to pull back. It was not the right time. Not yet.

He looked past Crowley, who might have as well turned to a pillar of salt. Crowley, whose face was a mask he couldn't let slip. The air flickered between them.

There were tears in his eyes when he finally forced his gaze towards Crowley's face, a silent plead to not misunderstand. Please, please. But he couldn't expect that of him. He was pulling away again. But not because he wanted to. No, there was nothing he wanted more than to pull closer. There was nothing more he wanted than to talk to him, to truly talk, to explain and apologize and make amends, but he was bound by Duty and Rules and Watching Eyes more than he ever had been.

This was his rebellion: he lifted a hand, the ghost of a touch, fingertips against cheekbone. The memory of holding on. Of never wanting to let go. Crowley flinched without moving, a shiver of his lips. Aziraphale let his hand drop, briefly, to Crowley's chest, holding it over his human heart. It was beating just like his.

This was his successful magic trick, when it counted: he drew away, leaving a crack in Crowley's steel-clad heart, and a note in his chest pocket.

"I'm sorry. I need to go."

"Of course you do."

"Oh, Crowley. I--" But he did not finish the sentence, knew there was no proper way how. So he said, quietly, softly, "Trust me, please."

And he did. Crowley hated it, hated it so much, but he did, he did trust him despite it all. But it did not erase the hurt. The festering wound. Now what was he supposed to do with that?

With one last pointed look, Aziraphale vanished.

Crowley was alone.

His defenses lay shattered at his feet, and he slowly gathered them back up. He did not mend the cracks. (That's where the light had gotten in.) He cleared his throat. Tried to banish from his mind the look in Aziraphale's eyes, the memory of his lips and of his tears.

And failed considerably.

I love you.

(Touched his cheek, and then his chest, and faltered.)

[this fic is now also on ao3 and being continued there]

[minkdelovely]

catharsis

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“we are more

than our disguises,

we are more

than just the pain.”

Alastor x Lucifer ; RadioApple ; MDNI 18+

tags/warnings: angst (w/a happy ending), established relationship, hurt/comfort, crying, mentions/allusions of abuse, mentions of death from illness, sexual content (biting, blood/blood play, kissing, palming)

word count: 2.5k

author’s note: guess who’s writing angst again?? this kinda hit me out of nowhere, but is fully inspired by @sunlit-mess / SOL 1 x 1 (on twitter) recent works (linked HERE and HERE) with alastor seeking luci’s comfort. seeing these back-to-back just set something off in my mind and i couldn’t rest until it was out. a special thanks and shoutout to our darling @fraugwinska for helping me get a title on this baby — without her y’all would have been reading ‘untitled’ 😂💖 quote is from twin flame by weyes blood. without further ado, buckle up and dive in; i hope you enjoy 😌 (also posted on my ao3 if that’s your preference)

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It was surprising, even to himself.

Alastor couldn’t recall the last time he had cried, much less in front of a witness. Composure and a display of strength were hard-won attributes he had built upon himself. Each unpleasant memory in his mind was a brick in his fortification; the tears he denied himself to shed the mortar between them.

He hadn’t always followed his own code of conduct and taken the ugliness of life on the chin. Before he had found his own strength, he could admit to being swayed by the will of others. Alastor found words to be harsher than the switch and was more than familiar with the sting of both. Though the switch was a boy’s punishment… A closed fist was more suitable for raising a man.

Or so his father had thought.

Mama’s boy… Just my luck. I got me a mama’s boy... C’mere you little pansy!

The repulsion in his father’s words hadn’t lost any of its potency, even after all this time. Alastor recalled them with more clarity than the face of the man they came from, which only served to plunge him further in his despair. Hadn’t he proven his resilience? Not only in body, but in mind and spirit? Perhaps not as much as he thought, with the way he was sobbing. If his father could see him now — bereft of stoicism and drenched in tears, drool, and mucus — he’d have been absolutely disgusted. Alastor loathed how much that bothered him. The fear of inadequacy lurching in his gut like a bad tonic.

Hot, angry tears flowed down the streaks that shame had carved on his face. Not that Lucifer would be able tell the difference with the way Alastor had burrowed into his chest. It was merely a fresh bout for the candy-striped vest to soak up. The saline fabric was beginning to chafe Alastor’s face, but he didn’t feel ready to surface; arms tightening around his lover’s waist as his hands gripped Lucifer with a desperation he assumed was buried long ago with his innocence.

Stop hidin’ behind your mama and come take your whoopin’ like a man!

Alastor choked on another sob and gasped for breath, heaving in Lucifer’s arms as the angel held him firmly. Gloved hands petting red hair and anguished, downcast ears. Hushed words of comfort spoken into the crown of Alastor’s head to soothe in tandem as they both shook from the force of the demon’s sorrow.

“I’ve got you. Shh, honey, I’ve got you.”

So much love conveyed in so few words. Alastor still grappled with accepting it. Evidenced by more tears fighting their way through his clenched eyes and a muffled, heart-wrenching cry into Lucifer’s chest. The pain of it went straight through the King’s heart as he pressed a firm kiss to Alastor’s head, feeling the distress on his face as he did so. How he wished to unburden the demon of his suffering. More than anyone, Lucifer could understand what it was like to be wracked with such melancholy.

If only Alastor could remember what had set him off, if he had, in fact, been triggered at all. He had just woken up this morning feeling low. Why was he dwelling so much on things that were better left to the past? Unbeknownst to either of them, they were sharing the same thought. And both knew that dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed did nothing other than inflict harm. Must they be plagued by the ignorance and rejection of their fathers for eternity? The cost of the scorn they’d endured seemed to grow ever higher some days.

That was one of the first things they had bonded over, sharing self-deprecating laughter to hide from their aching wounds. When love is built on a foundation of hurt, it’s only a matter of time before the walls crumble. Most times they were Lucifer’s, and sad as it was, it felt much easier to navigate. The angel was much more comfortable wearing his feelings, after all, and he’d had millennia of experience weathering his storms. Alastor was no stranger to being the shoulder to cry on. If anything, it came to him too naturally; a trait he couldn’t be sure was born in him or a side-effect of the wall he had built.

When Alastor buckled under the weight of his grief, it was devastating. He repressed himself for such long bouts of time that the force of his woe had the impact of an avalanche. Sadness, anger, shame, and regret cascading through his lithe frame until he was utterly hollowed out. Lucifer’s task of mending him was only beginning, he knew. It would be days before Alastor returned to himself, but he was more than willing to put in the work. Stitching his love back together with his needle of assurance and thread of devotion.

It was impossible to tell how long they spent this way. Alastor kneeling on the floor between Lucifer’s legs, knees sore and body aching, face still smothered in the drenched clothes donning the angel’s chest. Lucifer on the sofa in their bedroom, comforting the demon with every ounce of strength he could muster.

Until finally the tears stopped, replaced with uneven, sometimes stuttering breaths and hiccups. And soon enough those were gone too. Lucifer’s right hand rubbing Alastor’s back as his left cradled Alastor’s head. Before long, the demon was stirring. Sniffling a bit as he nuzzled his face into the mess of fluids he had left on the King’s vest and shirt. Lucifer didn’t mind, knowing that he could have it all gone with a snap of his fingers, but it wouldn’t do any good for Alastor to try wiping his face on his clothes in the state they were in.

“Let me clean your face, love. You’ll get a rash if you stay there,” Lucifer chided softly, manifesting a warm, damp handkerchief as he bent down to kiss Alastor's forehead for good measure.

It wasn’t a very convincing threat, both of them knowing that if Alastor did suffer a rash Lucifer would heal it in an instant. But Alastor conceded, and gingerly peeled himself away from the safety of the angel’s chest. His poor face was raw from tears, eyelids chapped red with irritation; dried salt crusted his cheeks like the vestiges of sea foam on the shore.

Alastor knew he looked awful. He could see himself reflected in Lucifer’s eyes proving as much. Every bit of moisture his body had was soaked into Lucifer’s chest, and he could feel the headache promised by dehydration blooming in his forehead. He was wrung out and exhausted but nearly began crying again, too moved by the tender act as Lucifer gently wiped his face. His Sire hushed him, voice calm and gaze full of adoration. Not even bothering to clean himself up before ensuring that Alastor was taken care of first.

The swell of affection Alastor felt in that moment was overwhelming, and he swallowed thickly as he closed his eyes, succumbing to the comfort of his lover’s hands tending to him. His father’s cruel words fading into darkness with every soft swipe of the warm cloth.

You’ll find someone special someday, mon amour.

Alastor was grateful for his mother’s memory, and wondered — not for the first time — what she would think of Lucifer. She had been a God-fearing woman, after all. A fear that she did not pass down to her son, choice of partner aside. He had turned his back on God long before his eyes had set their sight on the fallen angel. If she could see him from Heaven, he hoped that she would be happy. The Devil wasn’t all he was made out to be, if the way he cherished Alastor wasn’t proof enough.

His mother never pestered him about settling down, but worried for him deeply when they realized that she was sick and wouldn’t be getting better. Alastor was self-sufficient by then, with a year of working at the local radio station under his belt. Not that he didn’t take her concern to heart. If anything, when it came to her, he took things all too seriously. He wasn’t weighed down by the need for partnership or marriage, especially not when his career still had traction to gain. Alastor would try to tell her as much, assure her that she had nothing to worry about, and they would drop the subject and speak of other things. But he never left the sanatorium without receiving her prayers; his large, warm hands looking almost comical in her frail, cold grasp. Her hold on him was as fervent as the words and wishes she spoke to someone Alastor knew wasn’t listening. Though that didn’t make the act any less sincere or appreciated.

It was a brand of care Alastor thought he would never know again after his mother finally succumbed to her illness. The near-decade that passed after this had only cemented that fact. He didn’t seek companionship nor did he deny it when the mood struck. But beyond his small circle of friends, Alastor was content with his solitary life. Besides, a partner or spouse would have only made his nighttime affairs much harder to juggle — if not damn near impossible — and having the reputation of an elusive bachelor only helped with his fan base when it came to his radio segment.

It wasn’t until Lucifer had broken through his defenses that Alastor understood how he had barricaded himself from the world. And that he wanted support and comfort and understanding more than he cared to admit.

There are things you need that you can’t take care of on your own.

Basked in the warmth of Lucifer’s affection and his mother’s memory, Alastor hummed and opened his eyes, a tired smile curling his lips. Lucifer smiled back at him, expression benevolent and soft as his hands found their way back into Alastor’s hair to resume their petting. And grateful as he was, Alastor couldn’t ignore that Lucifer had yet to address the mess setting into his clothes. He fought against the pain as he uncurled his fingers, stiff from the grip on Lucifer’s waist, and silently began unbuttoning the candy-striped vest he had come to adore as the angel’s signature.

“Hey, you don’t have to —”

Alastor stopped him with a kiss, his fingers continuing their work as Lucifer sighed against his lips. The tension in both their bodies deflating as they shared hungry pecks and inhaled each other’s breath. All the while, Alastor’s hands remained busy with the undoing of buttons. First on the vest, then on the white shirt beneath it. Each open button providing relief like the snapping of a taut string.

Perhaps it was the musician in Alastor subconsciously rising to the task, but Lucifer would never cease to be caught flat-footed by the demon’s impeccable timing. How Alastor’s fingers managed to perfectly sync with his kisses was a feat Lucifer could only describe as divine. As if the acts were always meant to be one, never separate. It made the golden blood in his body turn molten; roiling through his veins as he sighed and chased every touch with relish. He was not often given these affections without needing to ask, whether with a look or an outright plea. Games that Lucifer was content to play, knowing that anticipation and a good tease left them both more than satiated.

With the collar of Lucifer’s shirt loosened, Alastor straightened his back and bent his neck to suckle and kiss down the angel’s pristine throat. The demon took his time with this, hoping to convey his gratitude and desire with every press of his lips against the milky skin beneath them. When Alastor made it to the junction between neck and shoulder, he was unable to resist the urge to sink his teeth in; the flesh yielding to his fangs like a ripened peach, and the nectar that soon coated his tongue was a gift in itself.

Lucifer hissed through the bite, hips jerking in space between them as Alastor groaned and languidly sucked and licked the blood rising from the wound. With his hands free from buttons, Alastor let them explore. How he adored the feeling of Lucifer’s small frame beneath them. Endlessly fascinated by the twitches and sounds he could elicit from the angel with little more than the slightest drag of his claws against sensitive skin.

Alastor released himself from Lucifer’s neck with a salacious pop and licked his lips for good measure. The whine that escaped Lucifer from the action had Alastor’s ears and groin at attention. The low creaking sound of antlers branching out mingled with their shallow breath. Alastor’s crimson eyes drank in the almost bashful look on Lucifer’s face, accented by a golden flush that made his abdomen tight with hunger.

How lucky he was, truly.

The silver lining of Lucifer’s descent was heavily in Alastor’s favor. Had Lucifer remained God’s favorite, he’d be in Heaven — a place Alastor had never planned to be. In truth, he never intended to be in Hell either, which is where luck came into play. He wasn’t destined for mortal companionship, but for something transcendent. Not a god to worship, but a sin. A king.

An angel.

“I’m unworthy of your benevolence,” Alastor lamented, desperately kissing and kneading the supple skin of Lucifer’s chest. “But I’m devoted to you, always.”

It was a sentiment he had expressed before, feeling much like Mary Magdalene washing Jesus’ feet with her tears. But it made Lucifer’s heart jump all the same; its rapid beat calling to Alastor like a siren from under skin and bone as his teeth latched to Lucifer’s breast. Their pleasured moans harmonized as Lucifer cupped the back of Alastor's head, encouraging him to continue with a whisper of his name. Alastor happily obliged. Tongue lapping at the pert nipple, hot and fervent, as his mouth and teeth provided a deliciously sharp suction, drawing out the ambrosia in Lucifer’s veins.

Lucifer struggled to remain cognisant, lost and overwhelmed as Alastor’s mouth peppered a trail of kisses from right to left. Alastor shifted slightly between Lucifer’s legs as teeth sunk into the top of his left pectoral just as Alastor’s left hand palmed his groin. The wanton cry that echoed off the walls of their bedroom only served to make Alastor desperate for more. Eagerly succumbing to his need to worship the angel, the agony he had suffered earlier behind him but not forgotten.

An offering of gratitude and declaration of fidelity in a language they shared when words failed. When adoration was beyond articulation and the only thing strong enough to quell their aching hearts was propinquity. The evening had started with Alastor falling apart in Lucifer’s lap… but it would end with Lucifer falling apart in Alastor’s hands.

And they would wake in the morning with tangled hair in wrinkled sheets. Sharing hushed jokes and lazy kisses as the early morning sun colored their room in a hazy, pink glow.

Healing each other one day at a time.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmiccandydreamer, @hyperfixations-keep-me-going, @cherry-cola-100, @wonderlandangelsposts, @catticora, @velvette3, @sailorsmouth, @reath-solia, @junieshohoho, @cxrsedwxrlds, @littlebluefishtail, @hazelfoureyes, @sugoi-writes, @nxcxllxsevens, @swagkittybear

[meowhara]

Mafia!Miguel O'Hara x Fem Bunny Hybrid!Reader

tw : Death, violence, mention of rape, abuse, a little bit gorey

synopsis : He welcomes you into his home but at what cost?

author's note : Fun fact I already wrote a 3k+ words sequel about Miguel being a totally adorable sweetheart for the reader. But do I like it? Nah, violence is so much better. Sorry if this took me a while, I've been busy af

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓮, 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓽𝔀𝓸, 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮

Your eyes flutters open as you wake up from the longest sleep you had in a while. A massive migraine hit you hard like a brick, you winces in pain as you sit back up instead of laying on your back. It took you a while for your vision to focus until you're able to see your surroundings.

Glancing around the unfamiliar room with dim light, you're amazed by how well furnished and luxurious it is. The dirty and ugly clothes that you were wearing are gone. Replaced by a clean pair of shorts and shirt that's clearly too big for you.

The thought of your terrifying captor floods back to your mind. You look around the room for your captor. The room is oddly quiet, thank god no one is here in this room with you.

Escape is the only thing that echoes in your mind as you thought of the worst possible thing to happen if you try to escape. You never met him before, you didn't even know his name. Possibilities of things that he might be planning to do to you frightens you. What if he sell you away? Or worse, what if he is going to do what your dead master wanted him to do to you?

Your eyes are locked at the door across the room, you wonder if it's locked. But it won't hurt to try and open it right? Just when you tried to crawl off the bed, you realizes how numb your legs are. "No no, what is wrong with my legs?" Whispering to no other than yourself, you wish for your legs to somehow fix itself so it wouldn't be sore anymore.

Miracle had never happened to you before so there's no time to sob and hope anything would get any better soon. Using the neatest nightstand as your support to stand up is your only choice to push yourself back on your feet. But your legs wouldn't move at all making you fall from the bed, knocking the nightstand off including a vase that was sitting on it. It fell directly to the floor and shattered into pieces.

You panicked from how loud you're being, a loud shattering noise followed by an even louder thud can be heard from the spot you're sitting now helplessly on the floor.

Less than a second later you can hear loud and firm footsteps rushing towards the room you're in. Your breath quickens as you tried to stand back up and run but you can't, your legs still wouldn't move an inch.

The door swung open followed by Miguel, panting from how fast he ran towards the room you're in right after he heard something shattered on the floor. He looked at you with his hand still resting on the doorknob then walks towards you. Your body shakes in fear as you looks up at him with your bunny ears flat back.

He let out a low chuckle as he hovers over you, "Running away already, little one? Hmmm?" He tilts his head to the side, waiting for you to say anything. Instead of replying to his question you try and crawls away from him which obviously pissed him off, "Pathetic." He hisses at you before he lift you easily off the floor and throws you back to the bed, earning a loud yelping noise from you. He tugs on your leg, giving it a tight grip. "You know if you keep this behavior up, I might just break your legs permanently so you can't escape me at all. You don't want that do you?"

Eyes widened from his words, your gaze are now focused at your numb legs. Is he the reason why you can't walk at all? What if you can't walk anymore because of him? Tears escapes your eyes as the thoughts fills your mind. "No... Please... Not my legs." You said while sobbing, hoping that he wouldn't do such a cruel thing to you.

The second he saw you crying because of him, he lets go of your leg and took a step away. Pinching on the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes to calm himself down, he starts talking to you with a softer tone. "Look I'm sorry I scared you okay? You pissed me off every single time you try to run away from me." He looks back at you only to find you sobbing over your numb legs. A remorseful sigh escaped his mouth before he walks back over to you and start massaging your legs, making you flinched in fear from his sudden affection towards you. "It's just the drug, it hasn't warn off yet that's why your legs feels numb. Soon it'll go back to normal, trust me little one." He said before he lets your legs go then strokes your head gently, trying to calm you down.

"R— really?" You asked in between sobs. He nods and wipes your tears away with his thumbs. "I know how scared you are but please just go back to sleep, you need to rest." Shaking your head, you refuses to go back to sleep. "I don't want to."

"Why not? Is there anything wrong? It's just—" A loud growling noise from your stomach interrupts the conversation. He raised his eyebrow at you, "That's it? You're hungry?" Your face flushed red from embarrassment as you nods. He walks towards the door, "Fine, let's feed you something." He paused and looks back at you, wondering why you're still sitting on the bed. You look at him before looking back at your legs. "Right, you can't walk."

His hand find it's way under your knees and the other one behind your back before he lift you up from the bed. Carrying you isn't the hardest part, to be gentle and to not scare you off is. He carries you towards the dining room as you glances around his house, amazed. You've never been anywhere like his mansion before. Expensive paintings are hanging on the walls and other elegant decorations sits perfectly taken care of under his roof. How much money does he usually make starts to make you wonder. Countless of his men walks around the house, either just to chill and relax or working on something he asked them to do.

Multiple tall pillars stands firm up to the ceiling and the floor are made by fine and expensive marbles. Massive windows that are four times taller than you are covered with massive silver curtains, opened wide to allow sunlight in. "I can see that you enjoying the inside of my mansion." He said with so much pride before the two of you enters the dining room. He sat you down on one of the chair on the long ends of the table in the dining room.

The dining room is also luxurious and well furnished as well. With the long dining table in the middle of the room with at least a dozen of chairs to sit on. Multiple crystal chandeliers are hanging from the ceiling to lit up the entire room with some candelabras to decorate the table with candles lighting up on it. A fire place at one end of the room and a large expensive painting hanging on the other.

He sat down at the other end of the table, an arm chair prepared especially for the host or the hostess of the house. One of his servant poured him a glass of fine wine for him before walking over to your direction and did the same for you. He sips the wine right away and waits for you to do so, "Go on, try it." You look over to him nervously before taking the glass slowly with your hand and took a sip. Your bunny ears flinches from the taste of it, it's not like it tastes bad or anything it's just that you're not used to drink anything alcoholic before.

He secretly love the way you react towards the absurd taste of wine that you just tried for the first time. "Do you like it?" He asked before he took another sip, enjoying the taste of it. He has his own expensive and rare alcoholic drinks collection that he would pour for himself whenever he feel stressed and whenever he needs to relax.

"I... I like it."

"You do? Good. Pour her another glass."

"No need! I— I mean..."

You're looking for an excuse so you don't have to drink another drop of that weird redish liquid as he raised his eyebrow at you from the end of the table.

"Don't you think giving a little thing like her something alcoholic then forcing her to like it is a little bit too much, Miguel?" A lady with short brown hair waltz into the dinning room with a black shade heart framed glasses rested on her head. She walks closer to you and cupped your cheek with her hand, "Didn't know you have a thing for adorable being like her." She turn your head from side to side to get a better look of your face before touching one of your bunny ears. You flinched and whimpers from her touch, "She's sensitive huh? Are you into those fucked up kinks where you get to own one of these expensive living toys?" She teased him then let your face go but she set her eyes on you, still wondering how did a sweet thing like you ended up with such a dangerous person like him.

He let out an aggressive huff, he seems unfazed by her endless personal and frontal questions. She turned to look at him to annoy him even more, "So, have you two fu—"

"Lyla!" He roared, his voice is loud and clear across the massive dinning room. Lyla didn't flinch from Miguel's roar instead she gave him a mocking smile, "Is that a no, or...?" She paused and looks over to your direction only to find you trembling badly in your seat with your bunny ears and eyes down to avoid any eye contact. She can tell that you're very uncomfortable and scared of Miguel. Concerned by your behavior, she wants to pity you but she knew very well that she couldn't help you to find any way out to escape from him. When Miguel wanted something he'll do anything within his power to achieve it for himself and when possessiveness got the better of him, he will rip anyone into shreds if they dare to touch anything that belongs to him. Unfortunately in this case, you belongs to him.

"Forget it." She walks out from the dinning room, Miguel let out a loud sigh then taking a deep breath to calm himself down. His eyes are now focused back on you while you shift uncomfortably in your seat. No matter how much you tried you still can't understand his intention towards you.

It felt like eternity before one of his servant walks out from the kitchen with two plates of steak prepared and cooked by his professional chef that he hired to cook for his daily meals. Meaty products are not your first choice when it comes to food, it's not like your body is able to digest it anyway. So to have a whole ass steak in front of you isn't very appetizing for you. "You told me that you're hungry so stop being an ungrateful brat and eat your food." His insult made you gulp, hesitating whether to eat it or not.

"I don't think you should eat that, hun." You look up to see Lyla, "What the hell are you up to now?" He groans while rubbing his temple. She replaced the plate of steak with a bowl with varieties of fruit inside. You can feel your mouth water as you look at the cut up fruit in awe.

"Bunnies don't eat meat, you know?" She sneered at Miguel and sat down beside you to watch you eat. With a happy smile on your face, you start munching on the bowl of fruit that Lyla gave you. Miguel opens his mouth to complain but closed it back right away. He could feel like there's something wrong with him, somehow that smile of yours made his heart flutter. He never felt like this before, could something as simple as someone's smile can really make him happy? He thought to himself. The thought itself makes him wants to own you even more, to keep you here by his side forever.

He finishes his meal before standing up and left without saying anything to the both of you. Lyla shrugged, thinking that he's just pissed about the whole situation. You finished your meal a little while after him and after that Lyla help to escort you back to your room.

Hours later you woke up to some loud noises from the first floor of Miguel's mansion. This time, you're able to get up on your own feet. Curiosity got the better of you as you walks towards the bedroom door. To your surprise it opens right away with none of his men in front of your door. The whole mansion is suddenly quiet, you took it as an opportunity to run away. So you walk out from your bedroom and walks down the stairs until you reach the first floor.

His mansion is too big for you to figure out any exit, so you ended up wandering down the hall with lots of doors to your left and right. Your sensitive bunny ears fliches and stood straight up when you heard footsteps walking towards your direction so you rushed to hide inside of one of the room in that hall. You hurried to enter a random room then close the door as quiet as you can. The room you're in is pitch black with no window for sunlight to enter.

"Who the hell are you working for?!" You can hear Miguel shouting in anger from the other side of the door. The door slammed open before Miguel threw a man you've never met before into the room you're in. "You won't tell me? Fine. I'll make you tell me everything I wanted to know." You hid behind a pile of boxes as you watch the man struggling to even defend himself from Miguel's brutal force against him.

He signalled his second in command to tie the poor man on a chair before he began torturing him. Blow after blow landed on the man's face, leaving noticeable bruises that'll need weeks to recover. He winces in pain as he try to endure the physical abuse Miguel is giving to him, shutting himself up in order to protect what ever kind of information Miguel wanted to possess from him. "You're a strong one huh?" Miguel scoffed before he took a knife and carved the word "traitor" on the man's forehead, making him grunts in pain as the blood trails down from his forehead. You sat there covering your mouth with your palm with eyes wide, horrified by how cruel Miguel treats the stranger in front of you.

"After all this time I thought you're one of my most loyal men. But you're nothing but a worthless son of a bitch." Miguel spat on him, venom dripping from his words like how he mean it. "Just tell me your boss's name or I'll make the next seconds of your life a living hell." The man let out a low chuckle from Miguel's threat. "You can torture me all you want, I'm not going to tell you anything."

Miguel slapped him hard across the face, "Give me some acid." His second in command gave him a bucketful of acid and makes the tied up man struggles even more against the rope as he's looking at him in panic. "No—!" He protests. With a sadistic smirk, Miguel poured some of the acid to the man's legs. It melted through his pants before it directly melts his skin. He screams as he felt the agonizing pain on both of his legs.

Just before Miguel continue to torture him one of his subordinate walked into the room and start whispering something to him, telling him about the man's personal information including everything Miguel wanted to know about him in detail. A smirk creeps up to Miguel's face by the time his subordinate is done talking to him. "I see... Your boss was such a cunning man wasn't he? Sending a spy like you into my territory. Guess I won't be needing you anymore." He said coldly towards the tied up man before he pours the rest of the acid all over his body.

His skin burns and melts from the strong acid, melting through his clothes until there's nothing left but his bare flesh to see. Some of his bones are even able to be seen due to the absence of his flesh, melted by the acid. He kept screaming and screaming, begging Miguel to let him go. Your eyes went wide with fear and shock before looking away from the poor man as he screams in agony and pain. The smell of his burning flesh fills the room, making your stomach turn in disgust as you try to not vomit from it.

Pressing your bunny ears down against your head to muffle his screams, you ran out from the room instinctively with tears running down from your eyes. You kept running faster and faster without any clue where you're going until you accidentally bumped into one of Miguel's subordinate. Your small body crashed against his, making you fall backwards from the impact. "Woah, what are you going sweetheart?" He grabbed your wrist to help you to get back on your own feet.

A loud bang echoes from across the hallway, from the room Miguel was in. In a heartbeat, all the screams the man let out stopped. Your breath quickens even more. Miguel killed him, he killed that poor man. "Are you okay?" Without thinking you kicked him right at his groin with your strong hybrid legs, his grip loosened up on you as he groans in pain from how hard you kicked him. You pulled your hands away from him then ran past him towards the front door until you reached the road outside of Miguel's residence. "Hey get back here!" He shouted, catching the other's attention towards you.

One of them rushed to tell Miguel about your escape. Miguel's eyes went wide and his eyebrows furrows in anger when he heard you had left. "She what?! Go after her you idiots!" His men obeyed right away, they ran towards their car to go after you and drove off. Miguel does the same thing, turning his car engine on so he can have you back in his hands.

On the other side, you're running with bare feet on the side of the road. The road is empty without any sign of anyone at all. It turns out that Miguel's mansion was in the middle of nowhere, with a forest of endless trees surrounding it.

Multiple roars of engine can be heard from the distance behind you. You knew that they're coming after you just a second after you succeeded to break free and run away. You can't give up now since you've went this far against Miguel. Who knows what kind of punishment awaits you back at his mansion, what kind of pain will he inflict on you to teach you your lesson after trying to run away from him. The fear that runs in your mind is the only think that gave you the strength to keep running through the endless forest.

But what could a small bunny do against a big strong predator like him? Their car tires made some screeching noises from how hard they hit the breaks. Multiple men got out from their car and ran way faster than you, blocking your way ahead. Miguel was the last one to arrive. He stormed out from his car, slammed his car door out of rage. He stormed towards you and grabbed a fistful of your hair just when you're trying to avoid him, he drags you back into his car. "No! Let me go!" You pries on his tight grip of your hair but he's way stronger than you. He overpowered you easily and held you down in the backseat of his own car while he ordered his men to drive him back to his mansion.

"I'm very disappointed at you, little one." He growls in your ear, trapping both of your wrists in one of his massive hand and his other free hand kept a tight grip of your hair to stop you from fighting back. You sobs uncontrollably, unable to form any words out from your mouth. His mansion came into view, "I swear I'll make you regret running away from me." He continues.

The car stops, he opened the car door and kept dragging you by your hair with his subordinates following him from behind.

"Leave us, I'll take care of her."

"I'm sorry! Let me go, I'm begging you. I promise I won't runaway again!"

"Should've thought of that before you ran away from me. But you're too dumb to even think of that, aren't you?"

He brings you with him downstairs, towards what seems like a strong metal door. "What are we doing here?"

"To teach you how to behave like a good girl."

He said with a cold tone and opens the heavy door and forces you to go inside it with him. The room is dark but you can feel your feet brushing against some heavy chains of metal. He lets go of your hair and wraps his hand around your shoulder. "Sit down on the floor and be quiet, you hear me?." He ordered, waiting for you to obey his words.

You knew that he wanted you to stay here in this room as a punishment but you can't bear getting isolated just like how you did in the past. So you bit his hand that was sitting on your shoulder, hard enough for him to let go of you before running full speed towards the metal door and trying your best to push it open. The door won't even budge, it stood there tall and strong, it didn't even move a millimeter despite your effort to open it. "Was it so hard for you to just listen to me and obey?!"

He grabbed your upper arm and slammed you against the wall, knocking the air out of your lungs before putting you on chokehold and lifting your body off of the ground with his hand. "I've been very patient with you since this morning. But you've been nothing but trouble, behaving like a brat! No wonder why he treated you so badly! He should've raped you to death!" He yelled right at your face, still keeping his tight grip of your neck. You try to fight back trying to claw his hand off of you. But with no avail, his grip got even tighter.

You continue to cry as you struggles to breathe, you couldn't believe he just said that to you. Reminding you about your dead master and blamed you for all that had happened in the past. All you wanted was freedom. But these people did nothing but stole that away from you. Your body felt weak in his hand from lack of oxygen. He finally lets go of you, our body slumped weakly on the floor. You chough heavily, trying to catch some air back into your lungs. Endless tears streams out from your eyes.

He kneels before you and gripped your chin roughly to get a good look of your face. "I saved you from the world because I know how weak you are against them. One second you're out there and you might be their little plaything until the rest of your life. Think about that the next time you try to runaway from me." He took a metal collar linked with chains, connected to the wall behind you and locks it around your neck.

He stood up. Leaving your body slumped on the ground with cold concrete underneath. "Behave. Next time it will be more than just a chained collar."

tag list:

@rvlix3ia @irmiki @s0lm1n @bracefacejimin @ahano @mimiemie @reverieblondie @urlocallocachica @sukioyakio @rin-matsuoka345-blog @tojishugetiddies @appleblueberry-pie @ion-news @outmodead @saturnknows @ilovetaquitosmmmm @obsessedwithromance @amelialysm

[sunraies]

hey hun, could you writes a fluff with rafe where you’ve had an argument with a friend and he comforts you x

Of course! I hope this is ok. I think I ran with the argument more than the comfort, but I hope Rafe gives enough. If you need more Rafe and less plot, please let me know x

Tear-stained Cheeks

Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader

Warnings - Fluff and angst. Reader has the nickname, Bug.

After an argument with Sarah, that is so big it could be friendship breaking. You find comfort and shoulder to cry on, in Rafe.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It started over a pair of shoes Sarah had borrowed. It wasn't even about the shoes, but it spiralled as quickly as it started, and soon, you were hurling the most spiteful things at each other.

Using your years of friendship and deepest insecurities to hit each other were you knew it would hurt.

Ever since she started dating John B, your friendship slowly started to fray. It wasn't like you had experienced in with her past relationships, she throw herself completely into them, and you were always there to pick up the pieces.

This time, you weren't prepared to be a broken piece.

That's how you ended up pushing your bike down the long drive of Tanneyhill. Shoes in the basket and tears threatening to spill. You breathed in through your nose, desperately trying not to break before you were away from a place you used to see as a second home.

You focused on the warmth of the sun on your face, the sound of the bike wheels spinning, anything to stop yourself spiralling.

"Hey!" You closed your eyes at the sound of his voice as his truck pulled up beside you. "Where you going, Bug?"

Of course, Rafe came home at that exact moment. The teasing tone of his voice, you couldn't deal with. Bug was something he'd always called you. It was meant to be an insult when you were children, and it just stuck.

You didn't respond and kept walking, causing him to frown. Normally you’d have some sassy remark or a come back to make him smile.

Rafe was just as much a part of your life as Sarah was. The annoying but unfairly gorgeous best friend's older brother. Your relationship was built on teasing, hating, and loving each other. As you grow, so did new feelings, and a few stolen kisses had been shared through the years, but nothing ever came of them.

"Bug?" His voice sounded more concerned.

You sniffed and straight your back, hoping your voice wouldn't break when you finally spoke to him.

"I'm going home." You had no such luck as your voice cracked.

"With your parents away? Weren't you staying here?"

"Well, plans change. Maybe I could throw a massive party. Who knows?" The only party you actually planned was a pity party for one, with your bed.

Rafe actually laughed. "You having a house party? Never thought I'd see that day." He tilted his head, looking you up and down. "Was it Sarah's idea?"

Of course, he would think Sarah was the one who would make you have a party in your parents' artefact filled house. They were both archaeologists. The funny part was that before the argument, she had been suggesting it. A pogue and kook party in your parents' manor style home.

Her name pierced your heart, and all you could do was shake your head as the tears that had been threatening to finally fall.

"Hey, whoa whoa whoa." Rafe quickly stumbled out of the truck, leaving the engine running and door wide open.

He gently took your face in his hands as your nose wrinkled, a tiny sob heaved from your chest. You dropped your bike on the grass as you held onto his wrists. Everything suddenly came crushing down. The weight of every hurtful word feeling like a brick on your chest.

His thumbs brushed the tears away as they kept falling. "Breathe for me, baby." He got you to copy his steady breaths as his blue, concerned, filled eyes searched your face.

Rafe checked quickly for any physical injury before pulling you into his chest. You could hear his heart beating just as rapidly as yours as his arms circled your shoulders and hands cradled your head. Calming shushes uttered from his lips as your sobs turned to slient hiccups.

"Can you tell me what happened?" He needed to know who the fuck made you cry and who to kill.

"Sarah," you sighed into his chest, your tears having soaked his shirt.

"Sarah's a bitch" He said without missing a beat.

"Then I'm a bitch too. We both said some pretty fucked up things" You still clung to the back of his shirt as you muttered.

"You can be," He admitted, but his tone was completely teasing. "The difference is, I like you"

You laughed, unable to help it as you let go, pulling back after he placed a kiss on your head. You wiped your eyes roughly and rubbed your nose with the back of your hand as you sniffed. "I'm sorry about the shirt"

He pulled it out to look at the watermark you left behind and shrugged before looking back at you, "Even with tear-stained cheeks and snort, your beautiful"

"Shut up." you hit his shoulder but still smiled at him as he held your hand in place.

Sarah appeared in the doorway. "Can we talk?" She asked. You turned to look at her as Rafe threw a protective arm over your shoulders.

Your smile immediately dropped, and Rafe shot Sarah a look so deadly that if looks could kill, she'd be laying stone cold right there.

"Not right now, Sarah." Rafe called over to her. "I'm taking Bug to get ice cream"

"How does ice cream sound, baby?" He glanced down at you as you nodded.

"Ice cream sounds perfect"

Rafe drove you to the ice cream parlour, his hand in your lap as Sarah was left watching you take comfort from her brother while your bike lay abandoned on the grass. The shoes long forgotten.

[navia3000]

i m i s s y o u , i ’ m s o r r y

Includes : Aaron Hotchner

Genre : Angst?

Warnings : Mentions of hospitals, stitches, bombs, injuries, naked people, cursing, not proof read

Based on : I Miss You, I’m Sorry by Gracie Abrams

Part one Part two

Her head was pounding as though she had woken up with a nasty hangover -wait, no, that’s not it. Her head was pounding as if she was hit by a truck, curb stomped, and then beat repeatedly with a bat. Yes, that’s a better description.

Hushed voices come into focus. Her eyes are closed shut. Her throat is parched. Her body hurts all over. Why does her body hurt? Why can’t she remember anything that happened the day before?

She tries to remember. She remembers arguing with Spencer, no, Morgan. She argued with Morgan. She left. She got to the house, then… Nothing. Everything goes black after that.

Her ears try to make out what the voices are saying and who they belong to. Has she been kidnapped by one of the unsubs? No, that’s not possible. She attempts to ground herself. She’s on a bed, she hears beeping, and it is freezing cold. She must be in a hospital.

She pries her eyes open, her vision clearing after a few seconds. Sure enough, she’s in a hospital. She sees Hotch and Emily standing at the door of her bed, speaking in hushed tones with the doctor. She tried to make out the words coming out of Hotch’s mouth, “how… doctor… concussion… bomb…” Bomb.

Upon hearing that word, panic struck her. She began hyperventilating, rushing to pull the needles out of her hand, alerting the doctor and Hotch and Emily of her state of consciousness. They rushed to her, spoke to her, tried to calm her down, but she couldn’t hear them. All she could think of was the bomb she now remembered.

Suddenly, two hands grabbed her face, two brown eyes coming into view. His soft voice calmed her. His gentle touch soothed her shaking body. Her hearing came back, “it’s okay. You’re safe now.” He repeated those words over and over until her breathing regulated.

Exhaustion hit her like a ton of flying bricks, the doctor telling Hotch to give her some space so she could rest. Her eyes closed again.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

The next time she awoke, nobody was in the room with her. It was dark out, and the lights were off, so, she assumed it was well past midnight. Her head hurt less than before, but her body was still sore. She took the time to examine the bruises and stitches and gashes that littered her body under her hospital gown. How she survived, she didn’t know.

A knock at the door startled her. Hotch stood leaning against the doorframe, coffee cup in hand. “Hi,” he gave her a smile. He sat on the chair next to her bed, facing her directly.

Her throat was dry and scratchy, and he seemingly knew this, offering her a glass of cold water. A few minutes went by before she spoke, “what happened?”

She watched as Hotch took a sharp breath. “We got a call that a federal agent had been injured in a bombing. When we got there, the house was practically gone, and you were lying a couple feet away from it. You’re lucky you left the house when you did, but, you still got pretty hurt. You have a concussion, one broken rib, and a bruised lung.” He examined her as she took in all this information.

“How long has it been?”

“What do you mean?”

“How long was I out for?”

“It’s been three days,” his words made the situation start to sink in. Tears sprung to her eyes as she thought about how she almost died. She should’ve been more careful. “God, Y/N, what were you thinking?” It was as if a switch was flipped in him, his usual calm demeanor being replaced by one of sadness and despair. “Why would you go over there by yourself? You should’ve told one of us, or one of your teammates.”

She became angry upon hearing him scold her. “I didn’t have much choice, Hotch. It’s not like I could’ve gone to any of you guys. You hate me, all of you hate me.” He shook his head.

“The team doesn’t hate you.”

“Really? Cause it sure feels like you do. I know I made some mistakes, damn it, but, I’ve tried to apologize, I’ve tried to fix it and you won’t let me!” Her head pounded as she yelled at Hotch, but the emotions took over her.

“They don’t hate you, they are just hurt because of you leaving. They all sat outside in that waiting room while you were in surgery begging God for you to be okay. Morgan and Spencer refused to leave until I ordered them to go get some rest. They have been beating themselves up for everything that’s happened. Morgan blames himself. That’s not hatred, that’s love. And yes, they were wrong for how they treated you, Y/N, but you left a whole in the team after you left that we haven’t been able to fill. They loved you, still love you.” She was speechless. For a while she didn’t know what to say, it was all too much for her.

“What about you?” She whispered, “do you hate me?”

His voice broke as he said, “no. I don’t hate you.”

They spent the rest of the night in silence.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

She was released from the hospital after a week. The team had come by to see her, apologies on hand and relationships mending. Hotch didn’t want her to be alone, insisting on taking her home and making sure she was alright.

So, now she is stuck in her apartment with Hotch. Not awkward at all.

“Alright, make yourself comfortable if you’d like. I’m going to go shower,” she began walking towards her bathroom, limping throughout most of it until Hotch’s words stopped her in her tracks.

“I’ll help you.”

She thought he must be joking. “What?”

“You can barely walk, I don’t see how you’d be able to get into the shower.” So, he’s serious. When they dated, they never got to the point of seeing each other naked, and the image of him helping her take her clothes off made her blush.

“Where are you going?” She asked as he shook off his suit jacket and walked towards her room.

“To draw you a bath.” He came back a few minutes later, and basically manhandled her, lifting her arm onto his shoulders and allowing her to use him as a crutch. They made it to her bathroom, where she was shocked to find the bath running, epsom salt in the water, and a lit candle. She knew he was drawing her a bath, she just didn’t know he would put in the extra effort to make it more comfortable for her.

He slowly turned her around, silently signaling for her to lift up her arms. At her hesitance, he assured her, “I’m not going to look. I just want to help you.” She silently lifted her arms as much as she could without pulling her stitches, and he made work of taking her shirt off. His touch was gentle as he took off her clothes, as though he was afraid of her breaking from the mere pressure of his fingers. He stuck to his promise, his eyes never drifting anywhere she didn’t want them drifting to. She had to admit, she felt something during that moment. She couldn’t put a name onto what she felt, but the concern in his eyes and the strain in his brow did something to her.

Once he was done, he helped her into the bath. She expected him to leave after that, but he leaned against the counter facing the door, letting her take her time.

After a while, she couldn’t help herself but ask, “why are you doing this, Aaron?” She never used his first name, however, it felt right at that moment.

He didn’t answer at first. In fact, she thought he was going to ignore her or pretend he didn’t know what she meant, but, she knows better than that; she knows Hotch better than that.

“I’m doing this because I care about you.” He finally met her eye. “And because I feel guilty.” This confused her.

“Why? Guilty about what?”

“About everything. About how I ended things with you, and how I was the one who drove you to leave the team.” She was about to speak, but he cut her off, “I don’t regret going back to Haley.” His statement made her break eye contact, the mention of how he left her for someone else bringing the hurt back up. “I don’t regret it because I was able to live with Jack, and see him often. I didn’t have to share him. But, I will admit, what me and Haley once had, died. Even when we got back together, it wasn’t the same. We loved each other, but we weren’t in love. She knew it, and she also knew I was in love with someone else.” Oh my God, she thought. She didn’t know what to say, what to feel, what to think, she didn’t know anything. Her heart was racing, her lungs constricting, her throat bobbing, her hands shaking, and it’s all too much, everything is too much, he is too much. “I was in love with you, Y/N. And I need you to know that.”

All her feelings came rushing back, all her emotions breaking out of their cage and rushing to take over. All she could say was, “You were in love with me?” Her eyes pleaded with him.

“I still am.” And it was as though a bomb went off all over again.

[nanami-is-nanamean]

Picture this--

Gojo being "The Strongest", but also Nanami being the "strongest". Lemme lay it down for you--

Nanago but everytime they bring home bags of groceries, gojo is the one incharge of putting away the groceries because his noodle arms "hurt too much from all the bags!" and "they give me the weirdo red line thingys and i cannot do that do my perfect complexion, thank you very much" and "im too pretty to carry all of these kento!! Carry them home for me?"

Nanago but gojo always gives the kids nanamis workout routine everytime they ask for tips to get stronger and hit harder. Nanami is always flattered and always makes time to guide them thru his routine and specialize parts of it for each of them like a personal trainer. Gojo always appreciates the free eye candy of a sweaty nanami in workout clothes

Nanago but gojo wins every strength based competition he and nanami have, only thru significant effort, because if it was literally anyone else he would've dogwalked them. If everyone lasts 1 second to him in an arm wrestling contest, nanami would last like-- 3 to 5 seconds. Which is a lot, considering gojo

Nanago but nanami could literally hold gojo on the palm of his hand. Like. Gojo is straight up standing on the palm of his hand. Could do backflips on that tiny surface with how stable he is.

A nanago where both of them are strong but nanami is stronger-ish than gojo is SO GOOD TO ME

Because like it makes sense!! IT MAKES SO MUCH FUCKING SENSEEE-- Both in his love and dedication to gojo, and in story

The first part is p obvious, hes much too caring and responsible to let gojo waste away and be taken advantage of by the higher ups. Hell knows that nanamis gone thru enough of that being a salaryworker taken advantage of and worked to the ground by his superiors. He's righteous, and wants only the best for himself and his loved ones--if theyre in a bad place and he can do something abt it, u bet ur ass hes gonna do it, even if it wont do much

2nd part is less obvious but will deffo hit u in the face like a sack of bricks if u think abt it. Nanami’s technique, Ratio, relies entirely on him and his own strength. Because while yes, you can make a weak point, what does it matter if you cant hit it properly? If you cant hit it hard enough? Its like going into a boss fight where the bbeg has a giant red glowing weak point. Yeah sure itll do decent damage if you hit it with a level 1 weapon, but if you hit it with a maxxed out weapon-- then holy hell baby, youre going to the races. So OF COURSE, nanami would get built like a brick shit house. He needs to to properly utilize it and bring out its full potential

I JUST--

Nanago where gojo is still the strongest but nanami wants to shoulder some of gojos impossible and back-breaking responsibilities on his own shoulders, so he becomes his own version of "The Strongest" in his own way

Anyways HEHE--

Gojo, smirking like a maniac to megumi: watch this-- if I run and leap at nanami, he will most certainly catch me in his arms!

Megumi, disbelieving: uh huh, sure, yeah. Oh-- oh wait you're actually doing it--

Gojo, running at full speed towards Nanami: coming in, babe!!

Nanami, having just come into the room: no, nO WAIT I HAVE COFFEE-- (catches gojo anyways)

[pomefioredove]

Hello! May I have a sugar cookie, #9, with chocolate drizzle? This event is really cute btw I love it!

another scrumptious prompt!

order #9, sugar with chocolate drizzle

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ less than a hundred percent

tropes: exes to lovers characters: jack additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is not specified to be yuu, hurt/comfort really word count: 700

Well. This is a new low. Even for you.

Standing under a bruising downpour, your arms wrapped around your shivering body, at Savanaclaw's doorstep.

It's pathetic, is what it is.

At least with the rain ruining your hair and soaking your cheeks, Leona can't see the tears.

"Make it quick," he says, leaving you at a certain door and taking the light from his magic pen with him.

You hesitate.

It had been months since you and Jack had broken up. A mutual decision, of course... Jack had suggested it and you had agreed.

Mutual enough, then.

It was something about how you didn't challenge each other, or how he was holding you back, how he felt too comfortable when he was with you, or some other stupid reason that had shattered your heart and given everyone else a piece of it.

You had been through, what...? Four, five boyfriends since then?

They never lasted.

You don't have to knock. The door swings open, and Jack is standing there, in the same pajamas, the same dumbfounded look on his face.

It was as if nothing had changed about him, and everything had changed about you.

"S-sorry," you stammer. "I didn't know who else to-to go to... I just didn't want to be alone."

Jack stares. Whatever thoughts are going through his head, he lets you in anyway.

He gets you one of his clean workout towels to dry off, sweats that don't fit you, and then takes you into the lounge to sit with a warm drink.

He says nothing.

You hadn't expected anything less.

You finish your drink and sit in silence, across from each other, for minutes.

Finally: "What happened?"

Those two words hold such an intense amount of emotion that you're almost speechless. He sounds...

...Well, he sounds like him.

"I just... got in my own head," you mutter. "Got dumped. Again. Earlier today."

His eyes widen, and he says nothing else. He shifts uncomfortably.

"...Sorry," he murmurs. "The guy's an idiot."

Ironic.

"Yeah. I guess he was,"

Another silence. This one is quieter, softer. The sound of the rain is almost soothing, now.

"You weren't, um... it wasn't serious, was it?"

You shake your head. None of them have been serious, since him.

Jack hums. "Good,"

He looks down at his lap, and you don't bother to ask what he means by that.

"I've missed you,"

That hits like a ton of bricks. The wind and words are knocked right out of your chest, and you can't do anything but stare. And wait for him.

"Y'know... I was... kinda hoping you were doing all that to make me jealous. It's dumb," he rubs the back of his neck. It's a nervous habit of his. He doesn't know what to do with his hands.

"...I shoulda fought for you. I gave up. Like a coward."

"Jack..."

"I got too comfortable," he says again. This time, it carries more weight with it. "I was getting attached, and I didn't know if you were... well, into a for-life kinda thing. I thought I'd scare you off."

You go quiet, and you stare, almost bewildered.

"I got scared, I guess," he finishes, his eyes darting up to yours to gauge your feelings. You blink.

"Are... you... crazy?"

"What?"

You stand. "You didn't think to at least ask me? That's so unlike you! You know that you miss a hundred percent of the chances you don't take! You just gave up?! You know it was always us vs. the problem, we're on the same team, Jack! I would have at least heard you out!"

His eyes widen at your sudden outburst of passion, and he looks, for a moment, genuinely taken aback.

Then, a warm, familiar sort of smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He says nothing.

You take a few deep breaths, and look down at him.

"What? What are you staring at?"

"Nothing, I just..." he looks at his lap again, still smiling. "I just remembered why I fell for you in the first place."

Now, you go quiet. You stare back, and he snorts, holding back a laugh at your bewildered expression.

"And you're right. I never give anything less than a hundred percent, and that includes you. I failed you. I'm willing to admit that," he says, slowly holding out a hand.

"...But... I'd like to try again. And I promise to give you my all this time."

[madthetruemad]

hihihi hruuu

Could you pretty please write something where megumi accidentally makes reader cry and then immediately feels bad abt it because I love megumi and I also love hurt/comfort

It's been awhile since I wrote anything for Fushiguro, so I hope I don't disappoint <3

Fushiguro x Reader, Hurt/Comfort

“No, I would never date them. They’re too annoying. Always so loud and clingy too. I would be exhausted just dealing with them.”

“Hey! Isn’t that a bit harsh? Even for you.”

Fushiguro merely rolled his eyes. What started as a meaningless conversation at a sleepover in your room quickly turned into gossiping. And, like any sleepover, love was in the air as Kugisaki and Itadori couldn’t help but to bring up the topic when you left to get more popcorn for the group.

“So, you’re telling me that you feel absolutely nothing for them?”

“Yeah, aren’t you two childhood friends?”

“They merely clung to me throughout school. Nothing more, nothing less.”

As for you? You were waiting behind the door, listening to everything. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was your room after all. How were you supposed to know that your childhood best friend, the exact same person you had a long-time crush on, was telling your other friends how annoying you are and that a relationship between you two will be nonexistent from now and long into the future.

You stood behind the door, frozen in shock, as Fushiguro's words hit you like a ton of bricks. The popcorn in your hands suddenly felt heavy, and your heart sank as you realized that your feelings for him were not reciprocated. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away, not wanting your friends to see you upset.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself and walked back into the room, trying to act as if you hadn't heard anything. But the atmosphere had changed, and Fushiguro's words lingered in the air, casting a shadow over the rest of the night.

As the evening wore on, you tried to act normal, laughing at jokes and joining in the conversations. But inside, you were hurting, trying to come to terms with the fact that Fushiguro saw you only as a clingy childhood friend, nothing more.

Eventually, the sleepover came to an end, and your friends left, leaving you alone in your room. You sat on your bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling a mix of sadness and anger. How could Fushiguro say those things about you? Didn't he know how much you cared about him?

But deep down, you knew that you couldn't force someone to feel a certain way about you. You had to accept that Fushiguro didn't see you in the same light that you saw him. It was a painful realization, but one that you knew you had to come to terms with.

As you lay in bed, thoughts swirling in your head, you made a decision. You wouldn't let Fushiguro's words define you. You would continue to be the kind, caring person that you were, regardless of how he saw you. And maybe, just maybe, someday he would see you in a different light. But until then, you would focus on loving yourself and moving forward, even if it meant letting go of your feelings for him.

Though, you did worry about what tomorrow would bring…

The next day weighed heavily on your mind as you tried to push away thoughts of Fushiguro's words. You couldn't shake the feeling of hurt and betrayal, even though you knew deep down that he had the right to his own feelings.

As you went about your day, you couldn't help but notice the looks from your friends. They seemed to sense that something was off, but you brushed off their concerns with a forced smile. You didn't want to burden them with your feelings, especially when it seemed like they were already tiptoeing around you.

During classes, you found it hard to concentrate, your mind wandering back to the sleepover and the conversation you overheard. (You were also surprised that no one seemed to bother you, not even Gojo-sensei.) You wondered if Fushiguro regretted his words or if he even realized how much they had hurt you. But you pushed those thoughts away, knowing that dwelling on them would only make you feel worse.

After school and a short mission, you decided to take a walk to clear your head. The cool breeze and the sound of birds chirping provided some solace, and you found yourself reflecting on your friendship with Fushiguro. Despite everything, you knew that your bond was strong, and you hoped that it would endure this rough patch.

As you walked, you made a decision. You would confront Fushiguro and tell him how his words had made you feel. You didn't expect him to reciprocate your feelings, but you wanted him to know the impact of his words. You needed closure, even if it meant facing more pain.

When you arrived at your room, you found Fushiguro waiting for you outside your door, a solemn expression on his face. He looked like he had been waiting for this moment, and you knew that it was time to have a difficult conversation.

You had been distant and out of it all day, and Fushiguro noticed. As you approached your dorm room, he called out to you, his voice tinged with concern. As you had got closer you found that you didn’t have the courage to face him yet despite hiding how you felt really well so far.

"Can we talk?"

You ultimately decided to face him, and the concern in his eyes softened your resolve to run away. You nodded, silently inviting him to speak. But you didn't dare open you door. You didn't want to let him in there again. Not yet at least. Whatever he had to say can be done in the hallway (you just hoped Kugisaki wouldn't walk by...).

"You've been acting strange all day. Is everything okay?"

At his words, you finally felt your resolve break as the tears immediately started falling. One second you were fine, but the next moment your eyes felt wet, and seeing you break out into tears caused his eyes to widen, “What-“

"I overheard what you said last night, Fushiguro. About me being annoying and clingy. It really hurt,” your voice sounded shaky as you tried to speak.

“I-“

“I know I can be a bit much sometimes, but I really thought you were my friend, and to think that I- I actually loved you too.”

Fushiguro's expression fell, realizing the impact of his words.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“Then why did you say it.”

“I don’t like those two getting in my personal business, and, well, you already know what it’s like trying to get me to open up,” he smiled slightly, trying to make a joke as he nudged his foot with yours.

“Yeah, you’re an absolute ass sometimes.”

“Only sometimes.”

You frowned, but the tension between you had already started to dissipate, “you’re right, I meant all the time.”

Fushiguro squeezed your hand gently. "I'll try to be better. I value our friendship more than anything. Can you forgive me?"

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and regret there. Despite the hurt, you knew that Fushiguro was truly sorry. With a sigh, you nodded.

"I'll forgive you, Fushiguro. But please, don't ever say something like that again. It really hurt."

"I won't," Fushiguro promised. "I'll do whatever it takes to make it right."

As you stood there, holding hands with Fushiguro, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. You knew that healing would take time, but you also knew that your friendship with Fushiguro was strong enough to withstand this rough patch.

Not to mention that you knew that your feelings for Fushiguro were still there and that even though he didn’t quite acknowledge the fact that you said that you loved him, you were thankful. You didn’t want to be rejected after you just made up with him after all.

And who knows…maybe Fushiguro feels the same.

[schrijverr]

How to Survive Gotham as a Goon

Late one evening, a goon is there to witness his boss – Red Hood – shoot at Robin. Which means he goes through the five stages of grief as he imagines all the ways Batman will skin them, trying to get Red Hood to stop before it’s too late, which only leaves him with more questions.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: references to violence & gun shots

~~~~

Joseph does not want to die. He especially does not want to die at the hands of Batman. It might seem unlikely that that will ever happen, even if Joseph is a henchman, however watching his boss whip out a gun to shoot at Robin, he knows it might only be a matter of time.

It’s kind of the unspoken rule of the goon and henchpeople underworld to not hurt the kid in a way that’s permanent. While the big villains don’t keep to that rule, Joseph had hoped that Red Hood, with all his rules surrounding children, would be different.

However, all that hope is snuffed out when the two of them are taking a smoke break and Hood spots the kid on a warehouse across from their own.

Joseph is immediately on guard as he goes to scan around for the Batman, despite knowing it’s quite useless. But Hood stiffens in anger and screams: “You!” as points at Robin.

The giggle Robin lets out is heard easily as it echoes across the yard. It sends shivers down Joseph’s spine. He knows Robin is just a kid, but all goons and henchpeople have learned to fear the sound of that laugh and it isn’t any less intimidating when he can see the kid giving them a jaunty wave.

Hood’s street instincts must be broken, though, because he doesn’t do any of the things you’re supposed to, instead scrambling for his gun. Joseph is so in shock that he doesn’t even stop him when the first few shots ring out.

Across from them, Robin back flips away from where he was just sat, thankfully not getting hit by any of the bullets.

Robin starts to run and Hood follows him with a spray of bullets, yeering loudly: “Yeah, fucker, ya better run! Ya better fuckin’ run! If ya ever pull tha’ shit again, I’m killin’ you. Killin’ you! Ya hear me?”

Joseph gathers his senses and against the better instinct of keeping his boss on his side, jumps Hood, pushing his gun away as he exclaims: “Are you crazy!?” while Robin disappears over the rooftops.

Hood pushes him off and Joseph lets him, though he likely couldn’t have stopped Hood even if he wanted to, the man is built like a brick house. “What’re you onnabout?” Hood frowns, like he truly doesn’t realize who he just shot at.

“You shootin’ at Robin,” Joseph exclaims. “Do you have any idea the kind of carnage ya would’ve brought down on us if ya’d hit ‘im?”

“What?” Hood asks, sounding truly confused and a little taken aback.

“Do you really not know? By your accent I would’ve sworn ya were from ‘round these parts,” Joseph replies, more confused than normal by his enigma of a boss.

“Well, I’ve been outta the loop for a bit,” Hood grouches. “Explain.”

“I mean, most of the big fish don’t keep to it, but it’s common knowledge to not hurt Robin too bad unless ya want the big Bat to rock your shit,” Joseph explains. “I was already in the henchin’ business when the little guy first hit the street. Course we were all wary of ‘im but what ya gonna do? Fight a little kid?”

Hood lets out a bitter snort, commenting: “Yeah, who’d do that.”

Joseph isn’t sure where that comes from and hesitates for a second, then cautiously goes on: “But the kid was good, better than any of us thought. Fuckin’ embarrassing tha’ was. So we started fighin’ back a little, ya know. Actually punching the kid here and there. It was Jimmy who first truly hurt the kid.”

“Wait, Vegetable Jim?” Hood asks.

“Yeah, isn’t a vegetable anymore. Sonnabitch’s damn lucky that Wayne Enterprises offers compensation for those hurt while working, including hench work,” Joseph laughs a little bashful and awkward. “He clipped the kid with a baseball bat, broke his arm. God, I never heard a kid wail like that,” Joseph grimaces at the memory. “What’s worse is that the kid called for his dad. His dad.”

“Wait, tell me more,” Hood asks, sounding gleeful now, which weirds Joseph out a little. “Like was it super pathetic? Did he really just break his arm, nothing more?”

“No, nothin’ more, just the arm,” Joseph answers carefully. “And ya know how kids can get, it was piercin’ and whinin’. Why’d ya wanna know? Poor fella did nothin’ to ya. You’re to young for that.”

“Nah, I know that, just gonna bully the shit outta him when I see him,” Hood grins and now Joseph is fully confused, because from what he’s heard their first baby Robin is now Nightwing in Blüdhaven and they’re not planning to expand that way. However, before he can ask, Hood says: “Sorry, continue.”

“Well, uhm, Batman came immediately. It was carnage, like I said,” Joseph replied. “Jimmy became a vegetable for a year and a half. Bats usually tries to give us injuries that’ll only last a few weeks max, so we all knew we’d fucked up with that.”

Hood is quiet at that and Joseph explains: “Jimmy was the first and one of the worst, but all the goons tha’ ended up in the hospital for longer than three months hurt a Robin. I think the worst might be those tha’ helped, uhm, that villain kill the second Robin. His organization’s still recoverin’ from tha’ one. Think it’s the closest the Bat ever got to killin’ a man.”

Joseph knows that Hood has some deep seated grudge and hatred for Joker, despite taking his old moniker. So, he isn’t sure how well it will land.

He holds his breath as he watches how his boss will react, hoping he isn’t about to get a bullet in the leg. With Hood you’re less likely to get one in the head, but he’s absolutely not above taking out your femur or kneecap and that also sucks.

However, Hood surprises him. Joseph has always guessed that Hood is younger than he pretends to be, but he now sounds like a lost kid as he asks: “Really?”

“Yeah, boss, the Bat don’t play around when it comes to his Robin,” Joseph answers, suddenly feeling like he’s talking to his own son, instead of his crime lord boss. “New kid’s lucky. I mean, he made Batman nicer, god was he fucked when the second one died. But Stan over at Mr. Freeze’s operation cracked a few of his ribs by accident a coupla weeks after the Bat took ‘im in, I hear he still eatin’ out of a tube now. Bat’s gotten more vicious.”

Hood doesn’t say anything and to avoid feeling awkward Joseph just keeps talking: “Heard through the grapevine tha’ the kid got attacked pretty bad at that fancy Tower they’ve got out there, if the guy who did tha’s capable of thought, it’ll surprise me.”

At that Hood shifts slightly and Joseph is surprised to see a bit of guilt in his stance. It’s not something they see often from their boss. Like everything this smoke break, Joseph has no clue how to react to it.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to, because Hood speaks first. Softly he says: “Guess the kid’s lucky. Just hope the Bat’s nearby when he needs ‘im.”

“Yeah, suppose,” Joseph agrees. “Though he usually is. Never seem ‘im leave the kid alone, especially this one.”

“Good, I’d kill ‘im otherwise,” Hood grunts.

While it fits with Hood’s penchant for protecting kids, Joseph is still thrown off by it, since Hood was shooting at Robin earlier. So he gives him a look, before saying: “I mean, ‘s good tha’ he worries. Kid’s a sprout. Must be older than my boy with the way he talks, but by god is he skinny.” Joseph laughs. “It’s almost funny tha’ I worry for the kid.”

“Nah, worry’s good,” Hood surprisingly assures him. “Wouldn’t be the same if he weren’t jumpin’ ‘round, even if he’s a nuisance.”

“That why ya were shootin’ at ‘im?” Joseph can’t help but ask, even though he knows it’s stupid. It is just- he can’t help it. Not after this strange conversation.

“Kinda,” Hood shrugs. “Little shit needs to learn not to touch my shit. Fucker moved my furniture, I like where my furniture is.”

“He was in your home?” Joseph exclaims, because what the fuck? Why didn’t they hear about it. If the Bats are investigating them close enough to break into their boss’s home, they have a big problem. Very big.

“Yeah, fucked up my alarms too, even though he got a perfectly good key,” Hood mopes and Joseph’s brain screeches to a halt.

Almost as if he’s misheard he asks: “He got a key? Robin got a key? A key to your home?”

“Not voluntarily,” Hood sulks, seemingly not aware of how fucked up that is. “He’s a little stalker. Still. Stole it and copied it.”

“We need to change the locks,” Joseph says, getting up immediately to get going. “Who knows what they’re after. You- you need a protective detail. We need to up security.”

Next to him Hood startles, looking surprised. Then he laughs and waves him away: “Nah, nah, no worries, Joseph. No worries. The Bats ain’t after us.”

“They broke into your home,” Joseph feels the need to point out, because that’s a very important and very worrying detail.

“Just Robin. And just to move my shit and eat my leftovers, which is fuckin’ rude, he has his own chef at home, I have to cook all by myself and it isn’t like he chips in for the groceries,” Hood complains, while Joseph just stares at him, bug eyed.

After a beat, Joseph says: “Uhm, boss, I- uh, I hafta ask. How- how close are ya to the Bats, because that ain’t normal. No- uh no ‘fence.”

“Batman can go suck a dick and Robin needs to go back to school,” Hood scowls. “Kid shouldn’t be out here and I’m not talkin’ to the old man. But he’s a persistent little shit, I haven’t shaken him yet. Doesn’t look like I will.”

That answers absolutely nothing, but does tell Joseph that he doesn’t really want to know, because his brain is putting things together, but not things he wants to think about, because if he thinks about it, he might realize that his boss is a teen and he doesn’t think he can handle the mental weight of knowingly working for a teen.

So, Joseph follows another unspoken rule of the goon and henchpeople underworld and keeps his mouth shut when the boss is spewing nonsense.

He already has a kid to raise, he doesn’t want to think about raising his boss and by the sounds of it, the boss already got people looking after him. Even if they annoy him. Joseph is just going to be grateful about that and ignore the rest.

And pray each Sunday in the Church he doesn’t go to anymore that Hood is gonna keep missing the kid when he shoots. He hasn’t faced that sort of wrath from the Bat yet and he doesn’t plan on ever doing so.

Best to keep his head down and follow all the unspoken rules. Next time he’s smoking alone or with more people than just the boss. He has his blood pressure to think about.

[pvrkacciosan]

Red Jacket

A/n: this is the official first F1 fic I'm writing, sooooooooooooo, also unedited so if there is any mistakes its because I haven't actually corrected them lol

Synopsis: A simple one of where Charles gets jealous when he sees his girl in any colour other than Ferrari Red after they fight.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc X Fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, slightly possessive Charles, tension between drivers

Word Count: 1.8K

You loved your boyfriend, you really did.

But over the past couple of days, You and Charles had really hit a rough patch, which was natural in any healthy relationship, but it still hurt none the less.

He wasn't just your boyfriend, he was your best friend, and you knew that no matter what happened you could and would always trust him with anything,

But even that fact didn't stop you from currently wanting to yell at him right now.

You could understand and appreciate the line of work he was in, especially with an upcoming triple header of races. Charles was stressed, and you trying to be supportive only seemed to get on his already shorter nerves.

Perhaps you had overstepped, but you might also be too stubborn to back down.

"I'm not going to apologise for making sure my boyfriend is taking care of himself Charles!" - You simply had tried to make him drink some water, Water!

"I can take care of myself Y/n, I don't need you to babysit me"

He turned away from you, his shoulders and back rigid, the muscles in his back squared out in his anger.

"Well I clearly fucking need to Charles, You're not taking care of yourself1 Perhaps I should hire a babysitter, Because I ain't putting up with this shit"

He had emptied out is pockets, dumping his phone onto the table in his drivers room, Even as you watched him, his back still you, It wasn't difficult to here the recognisable mutter of him swearing in french under his breathe.

It wasn't a language you spoke but swearing was universal, reaching for the door, Charles looked over his shoulder at you, barely turning enough to even look at you properly,

"Don't put up with it then" his voice was low and in any other situation you might have welcomed the heat that spread between your legs, but not right now,

The words struck you, upside the head as though a brick had been chucked at you.

"Fine. I won't"

Grabbing the handle you ripped the door wide, storming out, you slammed it so hard behind you that it didn't shut, instead the door rattles against its frame, swinging back over.

Charles wouldn't follow you out like this, not where there was the potential for camera's to catch you too fighting like this, whether that would matter right now or not, you weren't sure.

The staff all dressed in red parted for you as you walked, You missed Carlos as he attempted to ask you what was wrong, upon peering at your expression,

You didn't stop, Even through your haze you could hear him as he ran after you, gently grabbing your elbow he pulled you to a stop,

"Y/n, what is the matter?" there was genuine concern across the face of your boyfriends team mate, he examined your expression before looking back in the direction of Charles driving room,

"Nothing Carlos, it's fine" you quickly wiped away at the tear that rolled down your cheek, you didn't want to believe that Charles might have meant when he said for you to not, deal with this anymore, What had it meant in regards to the two of you.

It wasn't something you wanted to tread over, so when you pulled away from Carlos lightly, he didn't stop you,

"Keep an eye on him for me, Yeah?" He nodded, and then you were moving once more.

Leaving the Ferrari bay, you mindlessly weaved through the crowd of fans, reporters and staff milling about, trying to find an open space were you could simply take a second to rejig your thoughts.

The crowd which seemed never ending streamed on and on,

"Fuck sake." the curse left your lips as you smacked straight into someone, by accident.

A pair of hand extended out to steady you when you stumbled back from the impact,

"Easy there Y/n" when you recognised the familiar voice, some of the tension eased from you.

"Max..." you breathed,

His hands still one your shoulders, he peaked down at you in concern, You had known Charles for years, which by default you had also gotten to know the dutchman, despite everything, Max had always been good to you and had never given you any reason to be anything but friendly around him.

In the past, When you and Charles got together, he feared Max might steal you from him, but Max knew where the line was with you, and had never once tried to cross it.

Perhaps it was because of your friendship, that made it so easy for you to explain things to him. It was not your intention to cry in front of him, but as you spoke you couldn't stop the small whimper and quiver in your voice.

"I yelled at Charles."

You watched as Max's expression quickly turned to one of undertsnaind, and when he cast hs gaze back up to the surrounding people, with phones. He quickly pulled off his jacket, handing it to you.

You hesitated before slipping it on, he began to guide you around the crowd and through a set of doors, it wasn't until you saw all the mechanics that you realised you were inside the Red bull garage.

You stopped dead in your tracks, it felt weirdly wrong being in another teams garage. Max waited for you, and din't move you on until you looked a little more comfortable,

He sat you in the corner, his jacket still wrapped around you body,

"I've got to start getting ready for this race, Here's a headset, you can listen in to the radios, we can talk after okay?" he patted the top of your knee lightly, nodding you watch him grab you a set of headphones, before he darted off to start getting ready for the race.

It felt more then weird to be here instead, you would usually be sitting with Charles while he got ready, saying that your presence helped to keep him level headed beforehand, you couldn't deny that not being with him put you slightly on edge, almost like you couldn't quite get grips on what was going on around you.

But before you knew it, Max came back through, dressed and ready to drive. Out of respect you moved away while he had a briefing with his team, he came to grab you right before he began climbing into his car.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you stood to watch the screen in the garage, feeling the anticipation as the drivers began moving out for the formation lap. Your eyes going straight to the red number 16 car.

As the lights finally went out and the race began, your heart hammered hard in your chest watching as the drivers did what they did best. Race.

☽ - Charles - ☾

It wasn't the pole position, but it was a podium, A win for the team.

Charles should be happy, but without you there ready to congratulate him, it almost felt as though he had crossed at the back of the race.

Removing the steering wheel, and climbing out standing on the halo He waved to the cameras, spotting himself appear on the big screen for the fans in the surrounding stand to watch in HD.

As he unclasped his helmet, his attention snagged back onto the screen, Max, had got the pole position, so it wasn't a surprise when the screen switched to show the inside of the garage, where members of the Red bull team were celebrating, what did surprise him though, was spotting your all too familiar figure there amongst the other team.

Something about the notion made his blood boil, you looked slightly uncomfortable, but what tipped everything over was the jacket you wore, Hugging it too yourself in some version of comfort, and Charles knew exactly who it belonged too.

☽ - Y/n - ☾

You had emerged onto the throng of people moving about, trying to get a glimpse of the drivers who were taking in the feeling of their wins.

Getting closer to the barrier you spotted the red suit, just as he began storming toward the leading driver,

Those around you also seemed to tune in, as Charles body language wasn't exactly one of model sportsman's ship.

He moved towards the Red bull driver, being faster you managed to find Fred, who convinced the security to pull you past the barrier.

Charles was gripping the underside of Max's helmet by the time you approached them, the poor dutchman hadn't even had a full explanation or even time to unattached his helmet.

You were too far away to hear what Charles was saying, which wasn't a bad thing as perhaps the camera might not hear it as well, as you don't think it was the nicest thing when Max roughly jerked his head away from Charles, using both hands to roughly push Charles away from himself.

There was members of staff between them faster then you could comprehend, pulling the two drivers apart.

Choosing in that second was more difficult then it should have been, moving towards Charles, you approached carefully, he met your stare and it seemed to harden as it snagged on the jacket, Max's jacket, still around your body.

The security stayed near but back off as Charles approached you, he didn't seem to heed the camera as he stopped inches fro you,

"Take it off. Now."

You jutted your chin up, "Don't think your exactly in the position to give commands,"

"Y/n.."

"Still need babysitting?" you didn't hide the veiled sarcasm in you voice didn't want to when reminded of the argument.

There was a pleading in his eyes when he looked back to you,

"Ma chérie" he bowed his head, reaching gently to take one of your hands, "I'm sorry, truly," he cut his words short, when you leaned up to kiss him.

You couldn't really stay too mad, not when he had just gotten a podium. The fact he didn't ignore you, was good enough, when you two had argued before it never really lasted too long, having history made it easy to read one another. Provided there was communication.

He rested his forehead to yours, "Take it off."

You pulled back, looking to him now in slight confusion. Charles gave the back of Max's jacket a gently tug,

"You're a Ferrari girl, red is your colour. Forever and always."

Without breaking the eye contact you now had going, no doubt the rolling cameras of fans and reporter were catching ever second of this, you peeled the sleeves of the jacket off behind your back, and when you finally turned around to walk to Max with it.

Charles took it from you, you watched him push it into the other drivers chest, grabbing a Ferrari jackets from Fred, he walked back to your side holding it to you,

"Here." his word left little room for discussion.

Once you had it one, Charles couldn't help but look you up and down, giving a quick nod of approval he left a quick kiss to your forehead before he rushed off to catch up with the other drivers,

You watched on, All throughout the after race ceremonies, Charles continued to watch you, admiring you in the jacket, his jacket.

Hugging you arms around yourself you snuggled into its warmth,

the Red one fit you better anyways.