#i don't want to hear that phrase ever again

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so that's it's own warning if you don't like reading fics featuring him. Soulmate! AU, Enemies to Lovers. Some descriptions of illness and death

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 3,907

A/N: The next part is here and we've got some soft Doffy and in denial Doffy because lets face it the man isn't going to admit his feelings so easily. I hope you all like how this chapter turned out. I think this might be the longest chapter yet. Hopefully the next one won't have as long a wait

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven(here) | Chapter Twelve(coming soon)

——————

Once again being soulmates had yielded unforeseen benefits- for a lack of a better term- with the way Doflamingo’s touch meant your body was incapable of feeling pain from your sickness. Doflamingo watched silently as one of the doctors approached to conduct their morning observations of your condition. The doctor, highly aware of his ruler’s intense stare, flinched when they lifted your hand into their’s, already braced and expecting your expression to contort into one of pain. He only relaxed when you continued to sleep, unbothered by the touch that would have caused you to audibly cry out in pain just hours prior. 

With a shaky breath, the doctor became a little braver and pressed their fingers against your wrist to measure your pulse. The night before, when they were first summoned to your chambers after being alerted to your illness this was something they couldn’t properly measure because of the extreme pain you were in. Now he and his colleagues could breathe a little easier, selfishly relieved their lives weren’t entirely endangered when it came to treating you now. 

“Any change?” The doctor jumped suddenly at Doflamingo’s deep voice breaking through the unbearable, tense silence.

“Uh their heart rate is still increased as we’re expecting to be the case for now. But it’s a good sign it hasn’t worsened.” They explained, swallowing the lump in their throat. Even though he was confident in his and the abilities of his colleagues, there was just no predicting how Doflamingo would take any of their statements. He could lash out quite easily and without any remorse or hesitation simply because he wanted to or because their phrasing didn’t fit with what he wanted to hear. “This long period of uninterrupted sleep has made a clear difference. When they wake we'll attempt them with something to eat-something light like broth- and if they can stomach that we’ll begin the first round of medication.”

The seconds ticked by heavily as the doctor waited for Doflamingo to make a comment on the proposed next course of action. He knew better than to prod or say anything that could be seen as forcing a response. So the doctor could only wait and continue to check over you, gently settling your hand against your body before doing another read of your temperature, knowing to monitor your fluctuating fever and chills. Still you didn’t even so much as twitch, the doctor didn't think he’d ever get used to seeing how the power of a soulmate could defy what he knew as a medical professional. “When you’ve finished, discuss an appropriate menu with the cooks and have them begin to prepare it.” 

Taking no further encouragement at his King’s finally uttered words, the doctor completed his checks and updated his notes before bowing and leaving quickly. Silently they were happy their next shift to check on your wouldn’t be until the next morning. Alone again, Doflamingo looked down at your sleeping form. With Doflamingo sitting up against the headrest, you were propped up too but sleeping soundly and unmoved since the second he pulled you into his hold. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. Annoyance that he’d acted in the moment without thinking. The image of your twisted in extreme distress flashed in his head and he turned his head away to scowl, refusing to consider the implications of his actions anymore than he’d already begun to. 

Thankfully you broke his attention by shifting in your sleep, a long lazy groan breaking from your lips as you stirred and forced your eyes to open. Doflamingo noted how exhausted you still looked but the sleep you’d managed to get without feeling pain had helped in some capacity. As you stared blankly in front of you the haze of sleep fell, confusion began to take over. Then panic. Sluggishly you tried to push the covers away and sit up fully. “Late…I’m late.” You croaked out, voice thick with tiredness and trembling with the infection still coursing through you. “Captain’s going…to kill me.”

Doflamingo tilted his head to the side curiously, you didn’t seem to realise he was there and from your sickly rambling it seemed you didn’t even know where you were. With how warm your skin felt he saw the spike in your fever was leaving you confused. He watched your feeble attempt to fight against the covers and listened to you mumble about morning drills for another few seconds before he acted. With ease he pulled the cover back to its original place and lean in so his chest was against your back a little more so he could tell you softly. “You’re on shore leave remember?”

At his voice you stopped and numbly nodded with a small hum of acknowledgement. Slowly you rolled over and slumped to lie down again, your back against his side and head resting on his bicep. While you weren’t conscious enough to know being in his hold prevented your body to feel pain, it seemed like your body now knew out of instinct that this was the only surefire solution for relief. Already your breathing had evened out to signal you were asleep but still Doflamingo could hear the tightened wheeze preventing you from taking calmer, deeper breaths like you normally would. Doflamingo glanced at the clock on the wall, already aware of the doctors’ routine with checking on you. The next would be arriving in twenty minutes, and if the previous doctor had obeyed his order then a servant would be bringing something for you to eat as well. 

In the meantime Doflamingo used his strings to pull the morning’s paper from the table into his waiting hand. Bored and in need of something to occupy his time, he slowly leafed through the pages, taking in the reports from around the world. Some stories about skirmishes made him grin, knowing he was behind the reason both sides had so much weaponry at their disposal and the bloodshed was increasing as he’d expected it to. Other stories of other pirates causing trouble and increasing their bounties made him roll his eyes at the numbers. No doubt the weaklings thought this made them big-shots in the New World but it would only be a matter of time before they ran into someone of real power to knock them down to the harsh reality of these seas. Doflamingo turned the page and paused to see a full story dedicated to the illness you were afflicted with, claiming more lives on the island you’d caught it at. His grin lessened and the vein in his head throbbed as he read through the claims that the island’s best doctors and with the aid of neighbouring islands were administering the treatments needed but for so many it was too late.

‘The cruelty of the illness is so severe to the afflicted that they physically cannot bear to be touched long enough to be treated. Meaning that so many of those that could be saved are unable to endure help from their saviours. These poor souls are meant to spend the last days of life in constant pain while also being too weakened with internal ailments to take matters into their own hands. The only saving grace in this poor report is that thankfully the illness’ source has been dealt with and the island will not suffer more of its populace to fall victim to this calamity. The island’s ruler-thankfully one of those not infected- was quoted to say “We mourn the tragic loss of life but our island will recover.”’ Doflamingo clicked his tongue harshly and discarded the paper.

————

“Just try some please.” You screwed up your face in exhausted distaste at the bowl on the tray. Your eyes stung, even with them being half-opened felt so heavy. Even blinking felt like a massive effort and you had no energy. You just wanted to sleep but the servant and doctor in front of you kept insisting on coaxing you to eat so they could give you medicine. Your gaze dropped to the vial of dark green liquid on the tray and you felt yourself gag, already anticipating the foul taste. “Just a spoonful?”

“No thank you.” You croaked out, turning your head away slightly in case they tried to force it into your mouth. You spotted the fear in their eyes at your refusal to even take a drop of the broth made specifically for you. Even with your mind clouded with the illness you knew they were doing everything they could to avoid the stare of the man you were leaning against. You knew that the reason Doflamingo was in your bed and had your body propped against him, his arm around your waist had been explained but honestly you were too weakened and drained to have really processed what the doctor had told you. All you could really retain was because he was your soulmate and that it was somehow helping. Which only left you more confused about everything. You could feel how tense Doflamingo was, impatient and silently angry. You weren’t in the mood to deal with his tantrums and taking any frustration out on a servant and doctor so you sighed.“Just leave it to the side. I’ll try later.”

While that seemed to relieve the two in front of you, your words only brought an extra note of silent displeasure from the Warlord. If you had the power to roll your eyes you would have. Instead you blankly watched the tray get moved to your bedside table. The servant retreated to the wall closest to the door, silently waiting for permission to leave while the doctor began to check over your condition. Already you were sick of being poked, prodded, and pestered like this and fussed over so intently. “Everything is about the same from the last recordings taken. I don't think we’ll see any real change until the treatment properly begins.”

“Subtle.” You remarked dryly, feeling like a child being lectured for not eating their vegetables.

“Please try to take some before the next check.” You gave no further response to the doctor, watching him and the servant finally leave. The second the door clicked closed you felt movement behind you and glared weakly as the tray as pulled back onto the bed beside you.

“I said I’d-”

“I know what you said.” Doflamingo noted far too evenly for your liking. “I also know that you lied when you said you’d try later. You’d really hurt their feelings by lying?”

“Rather their feelings get hurt than you hurt them physically.” You uttered before breaking out into a cough. Thankfully this time you felt no pain or brought up any blood but the tightness in your chest and constant action left your wheezing and breathless. When you’d recovered you glowered at Doflamingo as he adjusted you to recline back and hold a spoon of broth out to you. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re too weak and stubborn to feed yourself.”

“No. This.” You barely managed to tap his arm around your waist. “Why insist I get better? Why help? This could kill me if we do nothing.” Doflamingo felt his jaw tighten as he fought to keep his expression unreadable to you. Thankfully your usual perception was dulled considerably and you failed to notice how your words got under his skin him and made him bristle. Instead he brought the spoon a little closer to divert your attention away from the question. Unfortunately your stubbornness and deep—seated need to defy him was still very much in tact. “Tell me.”

“Well I didn’t infect you did I?” Doflamingo asked smoothly, deciding to opt for an easier explanation for his actions, more for his own benefit than yours. “It’d be the same as having someone else kill you and that’s not going to happen. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” You grumbled as you eyed the spoon hesitantly. If you gave in and tried the broth then it meant you were doing what Doflamingo wanted. Not wanting to lose to him in the strange sense of point scoring you both had you slowly looked at him, already seeing his grin appear when he could tell you were contemplating giving in and eating. Spurned on you pursed your lips slightly. “Say please first.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Doflamingo ground out. Why did he expect that being sick would make you more agreeable. “Isn’t me holding you so you can sleep and spoon-feeding you enough?”

“You did that on your own.” You remarked with a pout, refusing to comment on how truthfully comfortable and reassured you felt against him. “You want me to eat? Say please.”

Doflamingo stared you down for what felt like an eternity. He was once a Celestial Dragon. Anything he wanted he took. Even now as Dressrosa’s king that was still the case. His every whim and wish was granted when he opened his mouth. Not once had he ever said please, or had to genuinely ask for something. Harshly he bit the inside of his mouth at the sheer absurdity of it all. Suddenly you began to cough again, this time more persistent that the previous bout that racked through your body. He glared at the sound of your worsened wheeze, no doubt because of the amount of talking and effort it was having on your body. Unwillingly he recalled the doctors telling him that your readings hadn’t changed and that  your body needed the balance of rest and nutrients to even be able to fight off the infection. Just because being in his hold meant you didn’t feel pain, it didn’t free you from the infection itself still coursing through your body and getting stronger. As you caught your breath, Doflamingo gnashed his teeth together and forced out a simple but audible. “Please.”

Surprise managed to bring a small amount of light to your eyes. Quite honestly you had expected Doflamingo to force your mouth open before even letting that one little word break from his own. Still you weren’t one to go back on your word and now having the knowledge that you made the Doflamingo Donquixote say please, made the fact you had to be spoon-fed like a baby less humiliating. Taking a breath you nodded and parted your lips, accepting the food reluctantly. 

For the entire process you were surprised to find Doflamingo didn’t rush you, simply waiting in silence for you to attempt the next spoonful offered. Even more surprising was that he seemed to know you’d reached your limit before you had to say so. The bowl was set aside and you let out a tired sigh of relief. Your relief was short-lived because immediately Doflamingo lifted the small vial of medicine and removed the topper and brought it closer. “You already used your ‘please’ so no absurd requests for this one.” 

“It’s fine…” You mumbled, more for yourself than anything else. “I’ve had awful shots in worse bars in the past…I can do this.” Doflamingo chuckled and helped tip the contents of the vial into your mouth, watching you force it down and tense as the full taste hit you. You winced and let out a shuddering breath. It wasn’t the worst thing you’d tasted in your life but even with the doctors making a clear attempt to make the experience more tolerable for you, it was clear it was medicine and nothing to be entirely enjoyed. You gratefully took a sip of water when it was offered to you and already felt the strange numbing warmth begin to spread through you from the medicine. You shifted to get comfortable and curled up, a yawn building in your chest that didn’t feel as tight as it had just a few moments ago. “You don’ have to stay…”

“Oh? You got someone else lined up to sneak in here if I go?” Doflamingo asked with a chuckle. You’d unknowingly moved your arm over his chest at the same time you told him he could go.

“Mhm…” You nodded, mind already hazy and eyes closed. “Don’ be jealous…’kay?”

“Oh I already told you I don’t get jealous, remember?” Doflamingo smirked as you sleepily laughed and forced your eyes open to briefly look at him.

“You also never said please before. First time…for everything hm?” Your sleepy triumphant smile was so endearing that Doflamingo couldn’t even get annoyed at your reminder of your getting the upper hand over him. Even if he did, you wouldn’t have heard anything because you were promptly asleep.

———

You were completely knocked out and in the deepest sleep when the doctors came by for their next check on you. They informed Doflamingo that your response to the first dose of medication was a promising sign. They explained that they’d ensured there was a good balance to assist your immune system to fight the infection, relax your airways, regulate your temperature, manage pain relief, and protect the vital organs. Doflamingo nodded in satisfaction at the report. “My King, there is something we’d like to test while they’re sleeping.” The doctor requested glancing briefly to your sleeping form still against Doflamingo’s chest. “Can you move them out of your touch? I’d like to ensure the pain relief is correct for them? We don’t want to risk them being under or over medicated in that respect.”

Doflamingo hesitated for the briefest second but relented, settling his arms around you and shifting to pass you down to lie against the pillows and climbed out of the bed. He watched silently and hands tensed, to use his strings and stop the doctor if need be. It seemed the doctor was nervous, already remembering what almost happened to her colleague the first night they tended to you. Experimentally her hand settled against yours, sighing in relief to see your fingers twitch at the contact but you gave no other reaction. your expression was kept at its calm, relaxed state as it had been while you slept in Doflamingo’s arms. “That’s promising. My King, you can leave them while they’re sleeping now should you wish? Stretch your legs or even attend to other business. They shouldn’t wake for another few hours if our assumptions are correct.” 

He nodded and offered you another glance. Immediately he felt reluctant to leave you and for that reason he forced himself to leave your quarters, needing desperately to clear his head and get away from your presence. He needed something recognisable, routine. Doflamingo headed straight for his own room and into his personal bathroom. The strong heat and stream of water from the shower helped to loosen the knots in his body and unravel some of the tension that had built in him over the course of the last few days. Between rushing home to Dressrosa from the Marine base until this moment he hadn’t let you out of his sight and had practically ignored everything else. When he was dried and changed, he made his way to the dining room, deciding to actually spend time with his family and eat while making sure to not give you a second thought, out of sheer determination to prove to himself he wasn’t in anyway concerned about you. 

“Doffy what do you think?” Doflamingo blinked in the middle of the meal, only now realising that he’d been absently looking at the time on the clock. Had he been unconsciously checking how long was left until you woke? No. He couldn’t have. He was just tired, he didn’t sleep at the best of times and the shower he had and wine he was drinking was just making him sleepy. 

“About what Diamanté?”

“We were just saying how funny the whole thing with that island is.” His elite officer said. “It’s further proof that you two are soulmates.”

“How so?” Doflamingo asked, not understanding how you getting sick was proof. Then again he’d not been listening to the first part of the conversation, a point no one at the table would point out. Doflamingo couldn’t help but think you would though. The second he slipped on anything, you would promptly call him out on it. Sharply he shoved that thought out of his head and focused on Diamanté who spoke, unfazed at having to no doubt repeat himself. 

“Well it was just a nothing little island, with nothing little criminals storing weapons for us. None of us were meant to even go there for the hand over.” He explained with an amused smile. “If I recall right we were going to send one of the middle tier pirate crews under your command to go. You decided last minute to go. If you hadn’t then you never would have encountered them and brought them here to then be treated by the doctors for that deadly infection. It’s interesting how it all played out isn’t it?”

Interesting certainly was one way of putting it and it was something Doflamingo couldn’t help but continue to consider it after dinner. He remembered now. It was just how Diamanté reminded him. A crew similar to Bellamy’s was instructed to collect the weapons and ammunition being stored at the warehouse. Then a tip came through from one of his other Marine informants that a unit was stationed at the island, waiting to strike and interfere with the operation without knowing it was his business they were sticking their noses into. He hadn’t gotten any names or further information about you or the unit. It was the vaguest report but still, Doflamingo had immediately made the decision to go there and deal with the unit himself. At the time had it been interpreted as something to entertain him. Had he been simply bored or had fate made him go? To inadvertently save your life from the sickness that was already in your system and incubating without anyone knowing? 

Harshly he rubbed his head as he walked down the halls, feeling a migraine coming on. Doflamingo reached for the doorhandles and pushed them open, stopping abruptly when he saw he’d made his way to your room instead of his own. Muttering a curse under his breath he closed the doors and stepped further inside. Silently he told himself he was only doing this until you were a little better and didn’t need the medicine. Pulling back the covers he got back into the bed and lay down beside you but knowing you were still sound asleep with the medicine in your system mean he didn’t need to touch you. Letting out a long groan, he closed his eyes and lifted his hand to press his thumb and finger against his temples. 

The slight sound of shifting fabric caught his attention, signalling him that you were shifting in your sleep. Doflamingo was caught by surprise when your body pressed against him, your head tucking into the crook of his neck. He could tell you were still fast asleep, your deep breathing the clearest sign. Everything in your movements was purely instinct, including when one of your hands lifted you lay over his head, your fingers settling over the point of his headache that immediately began to subside. As he felt himself drift asleep he began to consider that it was only fair you both benefited from the affects that being soulmates brought.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa@kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

WOULD PRICE'S LADY TEACH HIM SPADES?

I'm hollering because the relationship almost didn't survive that first game of spades when visiting her family. Let's switch perspectives, shall we?

Price POV

Rating: Gen Audience

continuation of this post here

John is already dealing out the cards for their next card game. He is sitting across from Kyle, and he feels sorta bad for what he's about to do...but when his Missus had said that he wasn't good at bluffing or shit talking at the spades table he knew he had to practice. Normally he deals out five cards like any old poker game, Simon and Johnny aren't paying attention because Johnny is grilling Simon about his new hen (and if she has any single friends.)

Kyle notices that he has 13 cards and immediately sighs, "Absolutely not. I actually like you guys."

This grabs Johnny's attention, and he tilts his head, "Wot we playin'?"

"Spades." John says, "I just think we should try something new." It's his go-to phrase thanks to his Missus. She says it often when she inevitably coaches him out of his comfort zone. He smiles at the thought of her, and then he frowns because when she said this to him before that disastrous spades game. (He had never seen his girl so fired up and competitive against her sibling and their partner. He honestly thought a fight was going to happen, but then it was explained that was just how they were, loud rowdy and passionate).

Simon is skeptical about the new game, "Why does Gaz look distressed?" He side eyes him. It's a new expression on his face, and he probably picked that one up recently.

"I'm distressed because if we play this game and Johnny cuts me, I won't be inclined to help him ever again." Kyle is already getting up to switch places with Simon, so he is sitting across from Johnny. Kyle is glaring at him and Simon, "what next, are we playing bones? Uno with house rules? Throwing dice at the wall and snapping our fingers?"

Soap is laughing, "Why're ye so stressed about a few games?" He wipes a tear from his eye.

"Captain’s girl has him playing spades, and he has a fade, Simon is wearing black forces with red laces. Nothing good is going to happen if either of them decide to leave their girlfriends." Kyle looks genuinely concerned, and John feels like he is overreacting.

Still, John just chuckled and explained the rules for spades. A few minutes later he finds himself fussing at Simon for throwing down the big joker after the first go around. Johnny is cackling because the only thing he understood about the rules is that nothing beats a spade except a higher spade, and he just used his only three consecutively. Kyle has tried to jump across the table twice, and John is surprised because he's never seen his little mini me lose his carefully crafted composure. By the time this round ends, the four of them are arguing about rules and who screwed who first.

"Cap! I've been playing spades for years! How are you gonna tell me the rules! You can't throw down a heart on a bunch of diamonds, and then in the next play, throw down a diamond!" Kyle is throwing his arms up.

"Wait, ah'm confused" Johnny says, "are we not winnin'?"

"He's saying that my bear is cheating." They didn't hear the basement door open, and Missus entered the room. "Cuddly Bear." She traces her hand across his shoulder, and John looks at her. "I really don't need you perfect at playing spades... you play dominoes well enough, and you clean up at the poker table."

John feels his cheeks warm up at the compliment, and he misses the way Kyle gasps. "Just trying something new with the guys, Sweetheart. "

"He plays dominoes! Ugh, I can't." He flops into his chair.

Missus only laughs, "Actually, I came up here to see if you four wanted to watch 'Why did I get married?' with us downstairs."

John doesn't mind, but he finds it odd that Kyle only groans and pulls his hat over his face.

[ponytailcoby]

Bulls fans when Stan Van Gundy was explaining what clutch games are

[sskk-manifesto]

!

[tearlessrain]

please help me- i used to be pretty smart but i’m having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!

gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.

SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:

diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.

non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.

the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.

now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.

if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.

if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic™ in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.

this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.

it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.

but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.

[themysteryofthepurplepool]

I don't want to hear the phrase "media consumption" ever again unless you mean this

[rindreamery]

it's just instinct, all i want is you.

how long it takes for the blue lock men to realize you’re the one. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku 𝜗𝜚 content: fluff, suggestive

note. desperate and yearning hcs next??? who knows

it takes itoshi rin 6 months.

rin likes to think that he’s slow and deliberate with his relationships— that he’s not the type to have such decisive thoughts about someone so early on. he’s spent years building up a wall to protect his feelings, and he’s not about to let a (potentially fleeting) person ruin what he's worked so hard to maintain. he's only been with you for 6 months, and he has his doubts about whether you would want to stick around. but all it takes is, “i’m so proud of you, rin,” and his world is completely tilted off its axis.

he tries to tell himself that it's nothing; he's been complimented by other people before.

you probably didn't even think much of it when you told him. it’s just a simple phrase, one of many that people say without thinking. but it's different, it's special, when it's coming from you. your words repeat in his head, like some mantra. it's like his senses are overwhelmed by you. he finds himself focusing solely on your voice, the way you look at him with such gentle eyes, the sincerity behind your words— you. it’s scary how much it affects him. it rattles something deep inside of him, and it shakes him to his core.

he doesn't want to hear it from anyone else, he quickly realizes. those praises don't mean much when it's not coming from you. they don't make him feel unstoppable, like he’s on some high that he’ll never be able to get down from. and he's hit with a jarring realization—

“say it again,” he's standing in front of you, ignoring the incessant flashing of cameras that surrounds him and the deafening cheers of the crowd. he's only looking at you.

“i’m so proud of you,” your voice is quiet, but all he can hear is you, “rin.”

—he's fallen for you, much deeper than he thought he would. he’d be damned if he let you slip away.

it takes itoshi sae 1 year and 3 months.

sae had no intention of falling in love with you. needless to say, his affection for you wasn’t some calculated move. the thought of liking you hadn’t even crossed his mind, and he’s not even sure if he’d ever considered you as a friend. you’ve just been around for long enough that he’s stopped questioning it, that he’s grown to tolerate your presence. at least, that’s what he tells himself. he lets you come over when you want, eat all the snacks in his pantry, use his netflix account— to everyone else, you’re basically a couple. before he knows it, you’ve settled into his life the way a familiar song gets stuck in his head without him noticing.

it’s hard to deny the noticeable shift in sae’s behavior whenever he’s around you.

the way the frown on sae’s face vanishes to a more passive state whenever he’s talking to you, and he's much less irritated at the aspect of having to answer your random (but stupid, in his opinion) questions. he’s not aware, but a part of him subconsciously looks forward to it. “would you still love me if i was a worm?” comes another one of your stupid questions, and he answers without thinking.

“yeah.” the expression on his face remains the same, he’s as indifferent as he always is. but his answer takes both of you by surprise. under his cool facade, his mind is scrambling to make sense of his answer, as if he hadn’t expected himself to say such a thing.

you’re flustered, and it’s evident in the way you stumble over your words. a part of you begins to wonder if that was simply a figment of your imagination, like some hallucination from sleep deprivation. “what— huh?”

so he plays it off, he acts as if he meant to say it. “you heard what i said.” he realizes his heart had decided on you longer than he’d ever been aware of.

it takes nagi seishiro 3 months.

nagi’s used to being alone— he’s used to neglecting himself and every aspect of his life because no one is there to tell him not to do so. he’s not used to having someone be a constant in his life, to have someone who isn’t thrown off by his apathetic and lazy attitude. sometimes he wonders if he acts this way to keep people out, and he wonders why you choose to stay despite. but slowly, you color your way into his bleak routine.

at first, it’s subtle. you linger around him, but your presence isn’t demanding for his attention. you’re there, but you let him be.

and then your presence becomes something a little more prominent. he starts to notice the little post-it notes you leave in his locker, and how you remember to sneak in his favorite snacks. or how his pillows start to smell like your shampoo, and the way he becomes used to having you there in his living room as he plays video games. or even the fact that he finds himself waiting by the gate when classes end, and how he doesn’t mind being pushed around by the crowd as he searches for you in the endless sea of students so he could walk with you. so he could be with you.

he starts to feel like he’s truly living, like there’s something to look forward to every day.

when you say, “see you tomorrow,” he deflates at your words. it’s a weird feeling— he feels weird at the thought that he doesn’t like being alone anymore. that he misses you in the way he misses his phone. he feels bored without you there, and a part of him feels so empty when he doesn’t have you beside him.

when he drops you off at home that day, he realizes it feels strange to be alone again— “can you stay with me?”— he needs to be with you.

it takes michael kaiser 7 months.

kaiser lets his ego get in the way of his relationships. he thinks he can have anyone he wants, and that's why he wholeheartedly believes that he's above the idea of yearning for someone. the idea of wanting someone so much that his thoughts would be consumed by them, and only them? it’s unimaginable. he’s used to being admired, worshipped even, by others. he doesn’t need anyone— he doesn’t need you.

so the prick of irritation he feels, when he sees you laughing at another man’s jokes, catches him off-guard.

it shatters his pride, and he tries to ignore the heat that bubbles under his skin. but he can’t ignore the feeling of possessiveness that washes over him at the sight. you’ve always been his— the heated touches, the way you wear his cologne on your skin, the way you linger around him like it’s natural. you're mine, he always thinks to himself, but he never says it out loud. he’s above yearning— but the idea of you being with someone else makes him feel sick. and he’s not about to let another man take you away.

“come with me.” his voice is sharp and demanding, his mere presence filling the space with an unspoken challenge. but before you can speak, kaiser’s gripping your wrist, pulling you into him without another word of explanation. you don’t fight him, you don’t fight the excitement that it brings you. there’s something in his gaze, something so possessive and raw, that makes you follow him wordlessly. you’re mine, the thought echoes in his mind and for the first time in months, he can’t deny the feeling that has been brewing under the surface.

he yearns for you, and he’ll never let anyone strip this feeling away from him.

it takes oliver aiku 4 years and 2 months.

oliver would never deny the fact that he enjoys having you around. but you’re simply his friend— nothing less, and definitely nothing more than that. you’ve been in his life for years now, lingering in his orbit in a way that keeps you both close, but so far. you’re a constant in his life because he doesn’t need to act around you. he never needs to impress you, never needs to win you over with sugary words. you’ve never given him the typical attention he’s used to, the type of attention that he naturally demands. and that bothers him in a way he won’t admit. yet, it’s this disinterest that pulls at him like gravity. it keeps him coming back, keeps him by your side.

but he doesn’t want anything more from you— he doesn’t need it. it’s these words that keeps him from tainting you.

he doesn't like the dangerous and greedy feeling of wanting to have more of you, wanting to see you in ways that no one else has, and that dangerous feeling that makes him want to devote himself to you wholly. and that’s what gets to him. he’s used to being the one in control, the one who dictates the terms.

it's a futile attempt, he realizes. it's always been you who's had the upper hand.

he can no longer deny that he wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. no one else has his heart racing ‘til he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, no one else has him hooked in the way you’ve been stringing him along. and suddenly, all those meaningless flings feel like distractions, like he’s been wasting time when what he really wants is right in front of him.

it’s not about lust, not about the chase—he just wants you. and this time, he’s not about to let fear or pride hold him back.

© rindreamery, 2024

[gotham-daydreams]

Not Tonight

[Platonic! Yandere! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, Reader generally not having a good time.]

(Not proofread. Not too much Yandere shown. Mostly angst with Reader. Set up(?))

2nd chapter here. Chapter 3 Pt. 1, Pt. 2. [Series Masterlist]

๑۩۞۩๑————————————————————๑۩۞۩๑

How many times have you heard them say that? How many times have you tried to do something with them, to share your passion — or even just have some coffee with them, only to hear them say that phrase time and time again.

"Not tonight."

Well, what if you didn't ask them during the night? What if you asked them in the afternoon, or just when they were already up and about?

"Sorry! I can't right now, patrol reeeally kicked my ass last night. Besides, I have some other things that I have to get done, but maybe next time! For sure!"

Okay, right. That makes sense. Sometimes their line of work can be tough and draining, especially when someone is trying to run Gotham to the ground that night. So what if you just try to ask them when they aren't so busy? It may really limit the times you can ask... but you'd still try. Maybe it could also help if you asked for smaller things, like if they'd just like to spend a little time with you before going out again, or if you could just hang around them for a while? Nothing big, and anything was fine. Even if it was just sitting next to them, and having some small talk. Or maybe just the sitting part if talking was too much.

You'd take anything at all.

"I'm actually heading out right now, so I can't stick around. Go ask someone else."

"Can't you see that I already have enough compang with Titus here? Go bother Drake or something, I don't care."

All you could hear was snores past the door when you went to ask. So you moved onto someone else, hoping for a yes as your heart began to squeeze.

Someone had to agree eventually, right?

You begged the Gods as you traveled down the long halls. The chills of reality creeping up on you.

"Sorry, I'm going out to hang with some friends, but maybe next time!"

"..." She just looked at you before shaking her head, and taking her leave.

"I've got something to do at the moment, sorry, but hey, maybe you could ask your old man? Oh! Or maybe Alfred. That's a good idea."

Dick was out in Bludhaven, and you didn't want to bother Barbara considering how bisy she must've been the other night. So, you had no other choice. You asked, heart bleeding from how hard it squeezed.

"Not now."

Simple, to the point, and sharp.

Bruce's words were as cold as ever, and yet the echo in the cave only seemed to make the gap between you and him feel so much bigger. Even as you just nodded, eyes pointed to the floor. Taking your leave with a soft sigh that barely escaped you.

The elevator ride was longer than you remembered. The cold chill in the air grew freezing even as you stepped out, and now stood in one of the many halls in the Wayne Manor. Portraits and pictures decorated the walls, their painted and photographed eyes staring at you. Their gaze far from soft, but at least it was present. At least they, in that way, felt present.

You swore the only times they ever smiled at you that wasn't faked, or just for the sake of appearances was in those paintings and photos. Honestly, it was also probably the most times they've even looked at you too, and as sad as it is — you did say you'd take anything, right?

A 'no' or 'maybe' was part of that anything, technically. It's just not what you were hoping for.

Sighing again, you stared up at one of the portraits, eyes shinging under the lights as everything you refused to say made itself so clear for a moment. You didn't want much, and never asked for more than what you were given. You didn't think so anyway.

You always followed the rules, you did more than just excel in all your classes no matter how hard it was for you to understand certain things, and you even tried to get into things your family seemed to enjoy without pushing too hard.

You studied up on all the pets Damian had so that you could not only care for them properly, but maybe even take care of them with him some day. You played games and read reviews on games you saw Tim play just for a chance that maybe you'd get the opportunity to play with him. You picked up boxing and have even been practicing your aim with an airsoft gun, and have also been going to certain place when you could to practice using real guns and learn about them just so you'd maybe be able to have a conversation with Jason, and even connect with him in some way. You even read nearly all the books in the library just to have a sliver of hope for something, anything.

You learned sign language in three different languages and tried to find out what Cassandra was interested in, just to have some kind of interaction with her. Even writing on small note cards in serval other languages in hopes she'd give some kind of response, even if you forgot to put your initials and such more than several times. You participated in gymnastics in hopes of getting closer to Dick. You tried to find out what Barbra was into so you could also hold up a conversation with her if given the chance. You've tried to match Stephen's energy and do things she likes and have even taken up material arts as a means to maybe be a little closer with everyone!

Yet it never seems like enough.

Your schedule was so packed and filled with activities and extra lessons of all kinds, just so that you could feel like you had something in common with someone in this family. So that, when given the chance, you'd be able to form a connection with one of them and your efforts and sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. Though that still had yet to happen.

You weren't even a vigilante as you tried to persue your own passion and dreams, and yet that one single thing seemed to be keeping you away from everyone else. The one thing you were unwilling to do for them just seemed to make the gap between you and the rest of the family grow bigger. They're constant and continuous dismissals only seemed to further that point.

Just... what were you doing wrong? Was you not being a vigilante and constantly putting yourself at risk every night really putting that much of a dent in your relationships? Did your dreams really get in the way of that? Just because you didn't want to put yourself in danger? Just because you wanted to pursue music instead?

You took up art despite not being super interested in it before. You've been reading all of your life. Your stretched, ran, exercised, cooked, cleaned, organized, sang, wrote, danced, and even sculpted. You picked up almost any hobby someone could have under the sun, even if it began to feel like a chore and a job to you, just so that you could have something, anything in common with this family.

Though now you've gone through countless 'hobbies', and dropped many more since nothing seemed to be working, it... it still didn't feel like enough. Like you had to be doing something more despite having lost countless hours of sleep, just to go through the list of hobbies you had written down that you had left to try. You even took up some sports you were somewhat interested in, and yet nothing clicked.

Though is that really surprising when no one noticed how many times you snuck out for lessons and practice, or how long you were out? When you'd even forget to return to the Manor sometimes, and anyone still had yet to notice you were even gone in the first place?

... You couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped you. It was broken in every way, and yet empty all the same. Maybe you were finally taking after Bruce, but you wouldn't get your hopes up.

You looked up at the painting as if it'd give you all the answers, and yet dismiss you at the same time. The disappointment you felt was normal to you at this point, but the aching pain that came after was always the hardest part. Yet you still stared at the painted faces as if they were your real family, and the people close to them. Looked at the calculated and skilled brush strokes as if they'd give you what your family couldn't. What they refused to give you at every twist and turn, no matter how much you tried to accommodate to them. To do things for them. To just feel worthy enough to stand by their side. To be closer to them.

Though in the end, it is only that. A painting. A well crafted piece that, no matter how skilled the artist, could never truly capture how distant and vague they felt when you were the one standing to the side. No matter how much experience the painter had, they'd never be able to express and show how this poor excuse of a family felt to you, because they were only like that around you.

Maybe you'd feel special if it didn't make you feel like you were wasting your life living like this...

Eventually, you were able to tear you eyes away from the painting. The moon beginning to rise as you were sure the Manor was becoming more empty than it usually was, as more of its visitors and residents left.

The painting itself was nice even if it was one of many that didn't include you, with the number of photographs without you in them being much higher. Honestly, it used to be one of your favorites despite how bittersweet you feel about it now.

You still remember that day, but that would be implying that you forgot the others.

Regardless, you managed to pull yourself away from the spot you had been stuck in for the few moments you were trapped inside your own head. You tried to make yourself feel a little better, and give yourself some reassurance that maybe tomorrow would be different some how, and if not? Perhaps the day after, and the day after that.

Yet it all failed as you passed by more and more memories. Some were events you had participated in, sure, but the pictures made it look like you were never there in the first place. Heartwarming moments littered the halls, but you only recall seeing them from a distance — or being aware that the moment had even happened only when you saw the picture be put up.

It was like the very universe was trying to send you a sign with your constant failures and your family's persistence, intentional or not, to keep you at a distance. You didn't even know if it was appropriate to refer to them as your 'family', and maybe it wasn't considering things, but you still weren't sure.

You had been fighting for a chance to talk with any of them about anything at all for the longest time, because you wanted to be a part of this family. You wanted to spend time with them and really give this 'new life' of yours a chance, but now that 'new' part of this life had worn off. It was hard and honestly more draining than it was rewarding at this point, but you still wanted to give it a try.

Sure, it had been years at this point and now you were just about to go into college, and when you had first arrived here you weren't even middle school, yet little to no progress had been made — you never gave up. You haven't given up. So maybe you could try for a little longer? Just... a little bit, not too much this time, and figure something out?

You almost felt a little sense of hope return to you, no matter how redundant and helpless this situation felt and seemed. Yet it all came crumbling down again when you passed by one of the rooms, and saw something taped to the door.

It was a flier for your performance. One that would be happening soon.

Since your siblings began to pay less and less attention to you as time went on, with your conversations with them growing even shorter, you opted to just tape fliers of your upcoming performances on their doors. Though only the performances you'd thought they'd enjoy, and just hoped that they would show up, if they wanted to, when you stepped onto that stage and approached the instrument you'd be playing for the evening.

You tried texting and other forms of communication at first, but those quickly stopped working and so you just opted for this, and of course it was just as effective as the others.

Alfred was really the only one who listened to your music when you performed, and you only knew that because you caught him playing one of the live performances you had done on the television one day. He not only going out of his way to record the performance, but also trying to find the channel it was broadcasted on.

Ever since you've tried to give him the correct channel number when you do live performances, but that still didn't feel like enough. You loved and appreciated Alfred from the depths of your heart and soul, but what would it take for one of your siblings or close family friends to notice you like that? What would it take for your supposed father to even care to listen to your music? To watch a performance? To not turn you away?

It was only in that moment did a new emotion fuel you. Crawling it's way up your spine as you carefully took the flier in your hands, looking it over before ripping it off the door.

This. This one small thing was all you wanted from them. Over everything else, you just wanted to see one of their faces, one time when you looked out to the crowd when you performed — but every single time, all you saw were strangers.

Every charity event, every gala, every party- that's all you were surrounded by, strangers. Even when you caught small glimpses of them, they were always doing something else, and completely off in a totally different world than your own. That distance along creating a large void-like gap between you and them, and yet it only ever continued to grow. Even when they stood next to you, it was like you couldn't be further apart.

The reality of everything was crushing. Near deadly as you could feel your chest and lungs tighten, with your fingers digging into the paper enough to tear it apart, and reaching your palms as they formed crescent moons, soon drawing blood. Yet nothing could compare to the weight of your heart, and how heavy it felt to carry in your chest.

As you finally moved on from the door, your mind raced. Memories and flashbacks filling your head as every word and notion flashed before your eyes. Barely even paying attention to where you were going, but not caring enough to pay attention.

Every dismissal and excuse thrown your way. Every head shake and blank look. Every confused look, and realization that you were standing there the entire time. Every birthday that passed with the same wish never being granted. Every celebration spent on your own. Every message left on read. Every note ignored. Every time you were forgotten. Every time you were left behind. Every time you brought yourself home, and every time they never noticed. Every night wasted, trying to come up with different things to do only for all of them to turn out fruitless. Everyday that 'maybe' never cones true. Every time you looked out to that sea of strangers, hoping to see someone you recognized, only to find none. Every hour you wasted trying to do something for them while they never once thought of you.

Maybe you'd cry if you could. Then again, maybe not.

You already had spent too many tears over failures you recovered and grew from, and hardships you faced and fought. You've already cried just a little too much during those night you just couldn't handle being so alone, in such a big place anymore. Besides, you've cried enough over people who've never once thought of you. Who never once tried to make time to even see one of your performances, or even allow you to spend a few minutes in their space.

You've given them enough, you think. Especially since after you spent years trying to just make it two thirds of the way — they couldn't even reach that one third of the gap you couldn't. They didn't even try, at least not anymore, and after you had tried to make it easy. Yet, you only hurt yourself in the end.

They never cared about you, and maybe they did once upon a time, but good does that do now when you're trying to go out of your way to make things convenient and easier for them, only for them to skip out on you anyway. No text, no call, no message, no indication, nothing. Just pure silence.

Maybe you were asking for too much, but was it really so bad to want to be loved? And by the people who are supposed to be your family no less?

Hah, who are you kidding at this point. You've just been living in a house full of strangers, and you're the only one who hasn't seen it yet. They've already long since cast you out, and it's only now have you come to truly realize it.

Especially now, as you stand in front of the foot of the door to the music room. Staring at the knob as if it'll turn itself.

You weren't surprised, honestly. Playing music had quickly become an amazing outlet for you, and you had always come here to seek out what little your family couldn't give you; comfort. So it was no wonder that as you collapsed mentally, you had subconsciously brought yourself here.

And yet, only one thought entered your head in that moment.

'They don't deserve to hear my music.'

Perhaps it was now that you decided they had lost the privilege to do so. After all, ever since you had started having performances, even ones in front of wealthy crowds, your 'family' had seemingly been avoiding them like the plague. Never daring to even attend one, for whatever reason, and sure you could understand why they didn't attend the ones you performed at night — but they couldn't use that excuse anymore. You have strictly been playing during the after noon, and at sunset at a push, for over three years now. You've been playing in front of crowds and releasing music for four.

So, you turned away, walking off to your room as your thoughts still stormed. Anger fueling you as you barely remembered storming into your room, collecting any valuables and belongings you had and stuffing them into a bag or two. Not caring about clothes, and only what you deemed important and meaningful to yourself as you just grabbed and shoved everything into a bag if you could.

You could clearly tell now that you obviously weren't wanted, and that no one here even wanted to do the smallest things with you. That even asking to just spend a few minutes with them was too much. So you were doing the only sensible thing, and getting the hell out of here. Moving so quickly that your breathing became uneven, but you didn't stop until you had packed everything you needed, or was important to you in some way.

You only really had a second thought about all this when you were at your window, just about ready to jump out until you paused for a second.

Looking back at the door to your room, you couldn't help but hesitate. There was only ever one person in this entire Manor who treated you like family, and actually put in effort to not only be with you, but to indulge themself in your passion. That met you at the half way mark, and even went a little over sometimes. Since even if everyone else had ignored you — Alfed was there, even if despite all of his efforts you still couldn’t handle this, and maybe that was also your own fault in some way.

You still didn't want to stay, you couldn't anymore, but shouldn't you at least say goodbye? Maybe? After everything... at least he tried.

...

You settled for second best.

Quickly, you grabbed a flashcard and wrote down something before pocketing it and moving back to the window. You may not have any equipment for this kind of thing, but you still managed to scale and work your way around the wall, and managed to reach the window to Alfred's room.

You took a little peak inside, and when you saw that he wasn't there, you opened up the window just a bit, place the small note on the windowsill, and closed it. Then, you skillfully and carefully made your way down, and snuck off to Gotham City. Making your way to a friend's place as you crashed there for the night.

Never once did you look back.

Nor did you ever feel inclined to.

------

Later that night, when Alfred read the note, all it said was:

I'm sorry, Alfed. - Y/n

Just with that alone, it was like he understood everything despite the little that was said. All he could wish you was luck, and that you'd be safe wherever you went.

Suddenly, just like that. The nights where melodies would lull the residence of the Manor to sleep, and bring a temporary, mellow peace to all who heard such a tune, were long gone...

Guess they'll just have to find it, and bring it back.

--------

Kind of rushed at the end there, hope it isn't too bad for a first post. There's probably a lot of mistakes, so apologies for that.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 11: Free Fall

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 12

How many nights did you wish someone would stay? (Lie awake only hoping they're okay?)

(In which an angst writer makes her comeback in more ways than one)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff if you squint?

Words: 8.0K

TW: Swearing (that's probably it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Y'all are the sweetest people ever for being so patient with me but it's finally here! I'm hoping that I don't put y'all through this again but it is almost finals season so...fingers crossed. While you read this chapter, I'd like y'all to keep in mind how much you love me and how much y'all wanted a new chapter and of course my favorite phrase: for the plot! I tried to edit but I hate reading my own work back and so it's not as thorough as it should be and there's probably typos so lemme know. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see next. Have a lovely week my angels!

May 2025 

It’s her first ever WNBA game -Dallas Wings vs Washington Mystics- and the first thing Paige notices as she steps onto the court is that the two courtside seats right by the Mystics bench are empty. The sound of music streaming through the speakers clashes against the raucous crowds; the lights are dimmed and there’s a riveting thrum of energy swirling the arena in anticipation for a generational talent’s professional debut. Paige has spent the days leading up to her first game immersed in basketball. Since training camps, she hasn’t let herself think of anything except how to make sure the ball went through the hoops, how to make sure the person in front of her didn’t score, how to win. 

It’s easier that way. Because then she doesn’t have to think about how empty and cold her bed feels at night, doesn’t have to think about how much she craves to press call on a number she knows she should have blocked, doesn’t have to think about how the pieces of her shattered world are barely bound together by a tape of pretend. Paige can’t think of any of that and so she’s spent every second awake, clearing her head of all potential distractions and focusing on preparing for this moment. 

Except, the moment is here now. 

And all Paige can fixate on is the empty courtside seats. 

The memories come back to her in waves; the two of them in those seats, pressed together -as close as it could be acceptable for their façade of best friends to be- as they weaved dreams of it being their turn on the professional stage. If she listens closely, Paige swears that amidst the chaos, she can still hear the echo of a promise that had once been made casually in conversation. 

“When you play here for the first time, I’ll be right here cheering you on. Every single time.”

Another broken promise. 

The truth is that the last few weeks as much as it’s felt like Paige is walking on a carpet of roses, there have been countless sharp thorns woven through the petals. She’s tried to avoid them -focusing on what she had, instead of what she’d lost- but they’d found a way to perforate through her skin anyways. And Paige knows she’s bleeding but she can’t scream, so she swallows the pain away instead. Memories of the past are piercing her feet and it feels like she’s leaving a trail of it feels incomplete without you behind her as she navigates the journey through her present, stepping towards a future that would be nothing like the one she’d imagined when she’d been a naive girl sitting in those courtside seats. 

The courtside seats that are empty tonight. 

Really it’s exactly what she should’ve expected. And there’s something so final about this moment, like the last flicker of a candle that had burned in secret. Paige hadn’t even realized she was still holding out for something but as she drags her eyes away from the seats and towards her father and brother who are practically vibrating with pride, she can feel the tautness of the string that she’d held onto. Because she hasn't told them; hasn’t told anybody about the breakup. 

Something about vocalizing it had felt just a little too real and Paige had evaded any potential situation that would warrant her having to reveal the tirth. But it hits her now, looking at those damn empty seats that should've been -in another life would’ve been- filled by her other family, that the words she’d been too scared to say out loud -for fear of them being enshrined into reality- had already probably been spoken into existence by someone else. And it hits Paige now, that maybe she’s desperately holding onto a rope that has already been let go of. 

“You good Bueckers?” she whirls around to find Arike looking at her, eyebrows raised in concern. 

“I’m fine,” Paige lies; she’s gotten so incredibly good at that, “just thinking a lot of thoughts.”

Arike nods in understanding, ���fair enough. But you got this dude,” she reaches out a hand to squeeze her rookie’s shoulder, “whatever you’re thinking, when you get on that court, none of it’s gonna matter. All that matters for 40 minutes is the game and that we come out of it with a win. You gonna help us win Paige?”

“That’s the fucking plan,” Paige smirks, earning her a matching one from Arike before the shooting guard saunters onto the court, ready for tip-off.

All that matters is the game. 

Paige sucks in a deep breath, letting herself look over at the courtside seats one more time. This is her reality now. There’s no point in waiting for a regretful phone call or a surprise midnight knock on her door because it’s not going to happen. She feels a sense of hollowed acceptance as she finally turns away from the seats, plastering on a confident smile as she takes her place in the Dallas Wings starting five. And Paige is faced with the same truth that she’d learned at a far too young age; that people would leave her but the game never would. 

***

Dallas wins the game by 17 points. Paige’s statline is 21 points, 6 rebounds and 8 assists with 2 steals and a block. It’s a respectable statement from the rookie and her teammates are overjoyed. She’s surrounded by them as they celebrate winning their first game of the season and there’s a sense of hopeful excitement about how the rest of the season could go. Her eyes go over the top of them to find the cute Dallas local reporter that Paige had befriended shooting her a congratulatory wink and she blushes a little bit, looking away bashfully. In the distance, Paige can make out a small crowd of people decked in custom Wings #5 jersey, whistling in excitement. Despite the home fans, their celebration still echoes around the stadium and the loudest cheer comes from her brother who stands next to her father, both of them beaming with pride. And It’s almost enough to prevent her eyes from wandering back to the empty courtside seats. Almost. 

***

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. With the quick transition from the college season into the draft, Paige hadn’t had found time to go home inbetween. And so when the Wings had been making hotel arrangements for DC, she’d opted to stay with her dad and Drew in Maryland instead. But as she stands in the doorway to her bedroom, staring at a wall filled with pictures that are an ode to the past - collages that are practically a shrine to her broken relationship- Paige finds herself longing for the cold, unfeeling exterior of a foreign hotel room. 

Paige’s life can be split into two parts. There’s the Before Azzi and then there’s the With Azzi. And the truth is that there isn’t much from the Before Azzi left in Paige’s life. Every inch of her current life has been touched by the brunette, illuminated by her presence and now, it’s tainted by her absence. Especially in Maryland. Since she’d met the Virginia native, the DMV area had always been synonymous with the Fudds for Paige and she can’t remember a time when she’d been here -when she’d been in this bedroom- and not had plans to see them- to see Azzi. 

She takes a hesitant step inside, eyes gliding over each photograph and it’s like she’s being transported through time. The memories are as vivid as ever, bursting with color as they ellipse her mind. Paige can picture every moment like she’d lived it yesterday. She can still hear their laughter echoing through the air, can feel the softness of their hands -their bodies- brushing against each other, can still taste the lingering sweetness of their lips meeting halfway as they breathed silent promises against each other’s skin. 

A silent sob wracks through Paige’s body as she brushes her fingers over the most recent image of them from December -the last photograph she’d had time to print out. It’s one that Drew had taken of them in the kitchen- Paige propped up on the counter and Azzi in between her legs, one hand on the counter with the other resting right against Paige’s heart. Neither of them had even noticed the little boy, too wrapped up in each other; they were in their own world like they often had been. Azzi’s head is thrown back in laughter -probably at some ridiculous joke her girlfriend had cracked- and Paige has that goofy - just for Azzi- grin on her face as she gazes at the brunette with nothing but adoration. 

The picture is from barely six months ago but they look so young to Paige, so innocent, so naive, so fucking happy, so completely unaware that in a couple of months, one hesitantly spoken word would dissolve that happiness into a puddle of rubble. 

No. 

She thinks that one simple word is destined to echo through her ears, like that unpleasant screech of nails scratching against a chalkboard, for as long as she still has the ability to hear. Paige hadn’t even really heard it at first; it had been said so softly, so quietly, so brokenly and she’d barely seen Azzi’s lips move. For the briefest moment she’d tricked her mind into believing it was just the sound of the wind around them. But then there it was again. 

Louder. 

Stronger. 

No.

Paige’s hands instinctively clasp around her ears, fingers tangling tightly through her blond hair, because she can still fucking hear it. Here in this bedroom, where every corner still holds a little part of Azzi -holds a little part of them- the sting of rejection is louder than it’s been since it had first hit. Because it’s not just the pictures. It’s all the little pieces of them they’d left scattered over Christmas break, thinking they’d come back to it together.

 It’s a set of Azzi’s earrings -one Paige vaguely remembers picking out for her when they’d gone shopping a couple of weeks before- placed delicately on Paige’s dresser. It’s the pink sweater -that neither of them are sure who it originally belongs to but like most of their clothes, is basically a shared item at this point- haphazardly thrown over a chair. It’s that stupid book they’d started reading together -Paige lying across her girlfriend’s lap, toying with her curls as Azzi read the story out loud- still lying on the nightstand, waiting to be finished. 

Despite being alone in her room, Paige finds herself rapidly shaking her head. Because she can’t do this. Can’t spend a night in this room that had barely ever been just hers, had always felt more like theirs. She can’t sleep on that bed, no when her last memory of it is being tangled in the sheets with Azzi on a cold wintry morning, their legs intertwined with each other as they’d giggled to themselves in between languid lazy kisses. And maybe it’s pathetic of her but she can’t find it in herself to unmake the bed, not when her last memory of the two of them in this room is her leaning against the wall, shamelessly checking out her girlfriend as Azzi neatly made the bed, chiding Paige for the nth time on the importance of tidiness. 

“When are you gonna learn how to make your bed,” Azzi had sighed. 

Grinning, Paige had wrapped her arms around her girlfriend from behind, slotting her face into the crevice of Azzi’s neck and brushing her lips against the patch of skin, “I know how to make my bed. I just never have to because I’ll always have you to do it for me.”

Except for the last few weeks, Paige has had to make her own bed and she fucking hates it. 

Breathing sharply, Paige slowly backs out of her bedroom, gently pulling the door shut. She leans her forehead against the cool mahogany frame, trying to calm herself down. There’s been a nonstop dull ache in her chest since that night but tonight feels different, like the cold hands of the past have managed to dig under her ribcage and squeeze her heart  -something sharp digging into her arteries- so hard that it hurts just to exist. Paige gives herself a couple more seconds, creating half-moons as she digs her nails into her palms, before she finally pulls away from the door, heading towards her brother’s room down the hall. 

“You know you really should start knocking before you come into my room,” Drew says with a mock annoyance that’s betrayed by his large grin, as Paige slips into his room, “I’m almost a teenager.”

Despite the heaviness that’s still lingering between her lungs, Paige suddenly finds it a lot easier to breathe. Her little brother’s bedroom is dark, save for red LED lights and dim glow of the TV. Drew is reclined on his bed, gripping a white gaming controller between his hands. 

“You’re always gonna be a baby to me Drewski,” she teases, stepping towards him to ruffle his hair, laughing when he ducks her hand and shoots her an irritated glare in response. 

“Not the hair,” he whines and then groans as his eyes flicker back to the screen, towards the game he'd been playing, “damnit Paigey you just got me killed.”

“Hey hey hey, don’t blame me for your incompetence,” Paige chides. 

Drew rolls his eyes, before reaching over to hand over the other controller, “you wanna play?”

Paige shakes her head, gently pushing his hand away, “nah I just-” she chews at her bottom lip, shuffling her feet with uncharacteristic nervousness, “I was just uh- just wondering if I could stay in here tonight? We could have a sleepover? Like old times? Just you and me.”

It’s heartwarming the way her little bother’s eyes light up -like he’s still the little boy that used to fit perfectly in Paige’s arms, not almost a teenager who’ll eventually be taller than her- as he nods excitedly, scooching over to give his older sister space on his bed. Paige crawls gingerly onto the bed, hesitating for a second, before she lays her head on her brother’s lap, curling into herself. Drew is warm and inviting and familiar and for a second she almost forgets that serrated pain shooting through her nerves. But then it all comes rushing back and Paige has to swallow harshly to keep herself from giving into the fresh new set of tears that are re-emerging on her waterline. 

“Paigey,” Drew whispers softly as he runs his finger through her delicate blonde hair, clearly sensing something’s wrong, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine Drew,” she means to keep her voice strong but it comes out as broken as she feels. 

“Paigey,” the little boy’s voice is more worried now, “should I call Azzi?” 

This time the whimper escapes before Paige can stop it as she tightly closes her eyes. She knows her brother means well; knows that Drew doesn’t really remember Paige without Azzi- doesn’t remember a time before his sister knew how to heal without the brunette’s touch. He’d watched Paige celebrate all her victories with Azzi and he’d seen the same girl hold his sister in all her tragedies, putting her back together every time she broke with promises of you’ll have always have me. From the moment Drew was old enough to understand his sister’s feelings, he was also perceptive enough to understand that Azzi was always what she needed, no matter how she was feeling. And it’s still true, Paige thinks; she wants nothing more than to say yes, wants nothing more than for Drew to call Azzi, so Paige can tell her how much she fucking misses her- how much she fucking needs her. 

Perhaps it's pride or maybe it’s fear, but Paige doesn’t say what she wants. Instead she vigorously shakes her head in her brother’s lap, “n-no it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s late and Azzi’s busy-”

“Azzi’s never too busy for you,” Drew says indignantly, “I’m gonna call her.”

“Drew stop,” Paige’s voice is much firmer this time as she wraps a strong arm around her little brother’s knee, stopping him from moving, “we’re not calling Azzi.”

She could tell him now. After all, she’s going to have to when he inevitably asks why he hasn’t seen Azzi -why he hasn’t seen the girl who’s been a part of his life for more than half of it- in so long. But even though the words sit scratchily on the tip of her tongue, she still isn’t quite ready to spit them out; isn’t quite ready to confront reality. 

“Why not,” petulance coats Drew’s tone. 

“Because I’m fine and I don’t need- I don’t want to talk to her,” Paige lies. 

The little boy scoffs, “you always want to talk to her.”

He doesn’t know the way that simple sentence turns the cracked pieces of Paige’s heart into dust as she tightens her grips on his leg, “Drew please- please just let it go.”

“Why,” Drew argues stubbornly, “why can’t we call her.”

“We just-” Paige’s voice breaks, as she scrambles to wipe her tears before they can wet her little brother’s shirt, “we just can’t okay?”

And there must be something in her voice -the anguish that no amount of trying is able to hide- that Drew pieces together to understand that this isn’t a battle he can win, no matter how much he and Paige might both want him to. The young boy slowly droops his body back to its reclining position, his fingers returning back to Paige’s hair as he begins to stroke her head again. 

“It’s gonna be okay Paigey,” he whispers with all the hopeful innocence of a blissfully naive little boy, “everything gonna be okay.”

And god does Paige want to believe him. But the courtside seats were empty tonight. And she’s in the DMV with no plans to see the Fudds- to see Azzi. And she’ll never know the ending to that stupid book on her bedside table. 

She wants to believe Drew but Paige isn’t sure how anything’s ever going to be okay again. 

***

May 2033 

It should be a joyful moment -the three most important people in her life congregating together- but instead as Paige quietly observes the scene in her living room -Drew silently seething, Azzi fidgeting nervously with her thumbs and Stephie babbling away amidst it all- she feels suffocated by this heavy gray cloud of apprehension lingering above her head. If she’s honest with herself, she’s been on edge for a couple of days now, since training camp had begun to be precise. Since she’d moved to the Bay Area, everything else in Paige’s world had been eclipsed by Azzi and Stephie. The mother-daughter duo were all-consuming and if she’s honest with herself, Paige had been more than happy to let her thoughts -and her heart- be consumed by nothing but the two of them. 

It had been so easy to forget everything else and the tentative verbal three-way deal she technically had with the Valkyries and the Liberty had pretty much ceased to exist in her thoughts. That is until Angie Davis -the lynchpin in this agreement- had been selected, just as everyone had predicted, to the Valkyries. The Stanford PG had shown up to training camp with a shy smile and an eagerness to learn that all the rest of the vets on the team had warmly embraced. But all Paige saw in the girl was the ticking time bomb of a decision she’d forgotten she’d have to make. And it isn’t just the reminder of the decision that has Paige feeling at unease; it’s why she has to make this decision in the first place, the reason behind why she’d agreed to this deal in the first play, why she’d been so adamant for Talia to make sure she didn’t get stuck here. 

Eight years ago, Azzi Fudd had broken her heart and Paige has spent every moment since, trying to collect the shattered pieces and reassemble them. 

And the last thing Paige had wanted to do was give Azzi the hammer to smash her barely fixed heart again. 

That’s what it had felt like when Talia had first brought up the Valkyries offer. It wasn’t that she and Azzi hadn’t been in each other’s orbit the last couple of years -it was impossible not to- but since the breakup, they’d never been around each other long enough, never quite been in the right situations, for that opportunity to present itself again. But Paige had known that if she came to the Valkyries, it would be an inevitability. That belief had only been strengthened the day she’d visited the Bay Area. She’d been adamant from the second she’d gotten on the flight that she couldn’t be persuaded to join Golden State, no matter how much she respected the organization and how well she’d fit into their system; no matter how much she adored the city and its love for her favorite sport.

But then she’d met a little girl who had an identical smile to the one that had held her captive since she was fifteen and barely knew what love was. And if Stephie with her doe-eyed wisdom that Paige would look great in purple wasn’t enough, then there was Azzi. Paige had expected Azzi to tell her to decline the offer. In a way that’s what she wanted; the masochistic need to feel the sting of that rejection again so she wouldn’t be tempted to burn herself in the fire again. But the brunette had done the opposite and Paige had known by just how quick her resolve had succumbed, that she’d been right to fear the inevitability. And it was that fear that had prompted the verbal agreement with the Liberty; an escape plan she’d forgotten she’d devised. 

Because escaping had been the last thing on Paige’s mind the last few weeks. 

All of Paige’s fears and apprehension had seemed to take a backseat the moment Azzi had smiled -hesitant but real- and said she was ready to try, the moment Stephie’s tiny hands had fit perfectly into her own. 

But she can feel it all coming back now, bubbling to the surface and threatening to spill over like lava, wiping out this paradise she’s been in with Stephie and Azzi. It had started with the reminder of the Liberty deal but it’s Drew’s presence -his scowl directed at Azzi that feels like one of a brother still betrayed on his sister’s behalf- that had heightened it. Her little brother’s anger, and the genuine hurt that lingers behind it, feels like a dark reminder of Paige’s own heartbreak. 

Suddenly she feels like she’s 23, playing her first WNBA game and instead of celebrating a solid debut, she’s sobbing in her little brother’s lap over the girl who had walked away. 

“Miss Buecks,” Paige looks down to find Stephie crawling into her lap, “are we ready to order the pizza now?”

The little girl’s arms wrapping around her neck eases some of Paige’s discomfort as she smiles down at Stephie. 

“I’ve been ready for ages. You were the one yapping away,” she teases. 

Stephie pouts, “I don’t yap,” she turns her body towards Azzi, “Mama I don’t yap do I?”

Azzi’s own tense body seems to relax a little as she smirks at the two of them, “you definitely yap Stephie-”

“Mama,” Stephie protests, looking betrayed. 

“But not nearly as much as your Miss Buecks yaps,” Azzi’s eyes twinkle with mirth as Paige splutters, jaw dropping open with mock offense, “between the two of you, it’s a miracle my poor ears haven’t fallen off.”

“Just for that I’m not adding veggies to the pizza,” Paige sticks her tongue out, causing Stephie to giggle and Azzi to roll her eyes at the display of immaturity. 

Paige slips out her phone, pulling up their usual pizza place on doordash and quickly plugs in her memorized orders for everyone in the room as Stephie gets herself comfortable on the blonde’s lap. The five-year old leans her head back against Paige’s chest, who instinctively wraps her free hand around Stephie’s waist, keeping her securely in place. 

“So uncle Drew,” Stephie says with a grin, slightly leaning forward as she addresses the man sitting rigidly on the edge of the sofa, “did Miss Buecks yap a lot when she was younger too.”

“Be careful how you answer that,” Paige warns with a good natured glare in her brother’s direction, trying to lighten his mood. 

It works to an extent as a small smirk slips onto the edges of Drew’s lip, “oh she was a chronic yapper.”

“What does che-ronic mean?” Stephie asks, scrunching her nose in confusion.

Drew laughs, eyes glittering with mischief, “it means she didn’t know when to shut up.”

“Drew Thomas,” Paige guffaws, “you’re supposed to be my little brother, protecting your older sister’s honor and all of that.”

“Hey,” Drew raises his hand in surrender, “my older sister taught me to never lie, especially not to children.”

“Did you really talk that much?” Stephie asks, turning to Paige with wide eyes. 

“Don’t listen to him Stephie-bean,” the blonde says, brushing her hands through Stephie’s curls, “it’s all bullsh-”

“Paige,” Azzi hisses immediately as the older woman bites her lip to stop the curse word from escaping. 

“Bullsharks,” Paige amends, “fake news. False advertising. I was a calm and quiet kid for sure.”

Drew snorts, leaning back into the sofa and Paige lets out a soft sigh of relief at seeing her brother relax. Her eyes flicker over to Azzi, feeling a sense of calmness when she sees the younger girl’s nervous fidgeting has stilled and there’s a tentative smile on her face. 

 “You weren’t calm or quiet,” he says pointedly. 

“Was too,” Paige argues stubbornly. 

“Yes you were,” Drew presses, “Stephie if you don’t believe me, ask your Mama,” he turns to Azzi, “tell her Azzi. She literally yapped your ear off into becoming your friend.”

Azzi blanches, clearly shocked at having been so cavalierly addressed, and even Paige is a little surprised by the expectant “agree with me look” that Drew is giving the brunette after having spent the last moments practically glaring at her. But really it probably shouldn’t be that surprising. Because Drew and Paige are cut from the same material and letting Azzi into the folds seems to just come naturally to both of them. And it’s so familiar to when they’d all been years and years younger -two college students and a little boy - so familiar to the countless nights spent in Minnesota and DC and Connecticut where several silly arguments like this between Paige and Drew had ultimately ended with them both turning to Azzi -the forever moderator- in hopes that she’d side with them. 

She’d always sided with Drew -much to Paige’s chagrin, though she’d been secretly enamored by the relationship between her girlfriend and her brother- and this time is no different as Azzi shakes off the shock, replacing it with a cheeky expression. 

“Didn’t shut up for 14 whole hours,” she laments, her voice filled with teasing but she smiles at the blonde as if she’s reminiscing it, reminiscing the moment that began it all for them and Paige can’t help the hopelessly sappy smile she gives her in return. 

“14 hours? You talked for 14 whole hours, Miss Buecks?” Stephie’s eyes are comically large as she echoes the number. 

“Of course not,” Paige defends, eyebrows creasing as she glares at the other two adults in the room, “this is bullying. Stephie,” she whines, nuzzling her head into the little girl’s neck, “they’re ganging up on me.”

“There there Miss Buecks,” Stephie says diligently as she pats at the older woman’s cheek. 

“We’re just telling the truth,” Drew shrugs. 

“Exactly,” Azzi nods solemnly, “the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

She grins, reaching her hand out for a high five and Paige watches as Drew raises his own hand, ready to reciprocate. For a second it feels like everything is coming together; like the past could just stay in the past. But then he stops midair. The easy smile fades from his face and the previous tautness comes rushing back. He pulls his hand back, turning away from Azzi, who’s face slowly falls back. The lightheartedness from mere seconds ago is replaced by the tension from before and that burden of all that’s happened between us returns as a heavy weight pressed against Paige’s heart. 

“Paigey used to yap a lot,” Drew says slowly, “like I said you couldn’t get her to shut up and then one day,” he pauses, angry eyes darting towards Azzi, “one day she just got quiet- she shut up- she stopped yapping all the time.”

“Why?” Stephie asks softly, her tone a mixture of concern and genuine curiosity. 

Paige’s arm tightens around the little girl in her lap as she shoots her brother a pleading look, “Drew-”

“Because someone-” there’s so much venom in the word that it makes Azzi visibly flinch and Paige wants to soothe away the creases forming in her forehead, “someone broke her heart. And it took years- it took years to get her back to normal, to get her yapping again. To get my sister back to who she was.”

There’s pindrop silence as Drew seethes at his own words and Azzi rapidly blinks back tears, until Stephie turns around in Paige’s lap, tiny hands cupping the blonde’s face as she tries not to let her emotions show in front of the little girl. 

“Someone broke your heart?” Stephie looks so upset by the idea that Paige wants to vehemently deny it, “how could anyone break your heart Miss Buecks?”

She means well -just a child concerned for one of her favorite people- but she has no idea of the dagger she’s just twisted in her own mother’s heart as a faint whimper escapes Azzi’s lips. Paige opens and closes her mouth, hopelessly looking at the brunette who’s digging her fist into the sofa, despair embedded all over her face. 

“Stephie-” Paige tries to say. 

“Don’t worry kid,” Drew cuts in instead, his voice steady and firm, “it happened once but I won’t-” his eyes burn with fire as he looks at Azzi, “I won’t let it happen again.”

“Stephie,” Paige says quietly after a moment, her gaze transfixed on Azzi whose doing her absolute best not to let her emotions show in front of her little girl, “sweetheart how ‘bout you show Uncle Drew around the house.”

“I don’t want to see the house,” Drew says petulantly as he stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest

“Yes. You. Do.” Paige grits out, trying not to curse when her younger brother rolls his eyes at her. 

“C’mon Uncle Drew,” Stephie says cheerfully as she slips off of Paige’s lap and reaches a hand out for the man instead, “Miss Buecks has a really cool house and maybe we can go steal some of her cool clothes.”

Drew sighs but he’s not immune to Stephie’s infectious energy. A hint of a grin sneaks through the cracks as he accepts the little girl’s offer. Stephie starts to pull him towards the staircase but the perceptive girl stops for a second in front of her mother, a cautious look on her face as Azzi musters up a grin to mollify the little girl's concern and Drew adamantly averts looking at the other woman. 

“Go on bean,” Azzi urges softly, keeping her shaky voice under control, “go show him the house.”

Stephie nods before gently pressing her lips against Azzi’s cheeks, eliciting a deep breath from her mother, before she practically drags Drew towards the staircase, already speaking a mile per minute.  

There’s a pause, filled with a combination of the quiet rumble of Stephie blabbering upstairs and Azzi’s uneven breathing. Then the tears that the brunette had been trying so hard to barricade behind her eyelids starts cascading down her cheeks and Paige almost trips on her own feet as she moves towards her. She falls to her knees in front of Azzi, gently brushing her against her cheek, before wrapping her hands around her tightly formed fists. 

“Baby don’t cry. Please I hate it when you cry,” Paige whispers softly, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s, “he’s just-”

“He’s right,” Azzi cuts her off, shaking her head. 

“Az-”

“He hates me-”

“He doesn’t-”

“He does,” Azzi presses, her tears falling faster now, “and he should. Paige I did break your heart,” they both flinch at the blunt statement, “and he doesn’t trust me because of it and he hasn’t forgiven me for it. I haven’t forgiven me for it.”

“Baby,” Paige echoes again, unsure what else to say. 

“Have you forgiven me?” 

The question lingers in the air as Azzi looks expectantly at her and Paige stumbles over her words, trying to find the right ones. She doesn’t really know how to answer the questions; hadn’t been expecting to be confronted with it tonight. Paige wants to say yes; she wants to take away Azzi’s guilt so fucking bad. These last few weeks had been so perfect, Paige had convinced herself she was over what had happened almost a decade ago. But if she’s honest with herself -if she’s honest to the memories of every night she’d spent sobbing into her pillows, missing the girl in front of her and resenting her for walking away- Paige doesn’t really know if she has forgiven Azzi. 

“Paige?” Azzi ask again, her voice breaking on the one syllable. 

Paige’s face crumbles as she looks at the girl defenselessly, “ Az, I-”

The doorbell rings at the exact moment and Stephie comes excitedly barrelling down the staircase as the two women scramble away from each other, trying to compose themselves. 

“Miss Buecks, Mama,” the younger girl hollers, “pizza’s here.”

Paige looks at Azzi who’s rushing to wipe away the remnants of her tears. She opens her mouth, desperately willing herself to find something, anything that could offer the girl in front of her some comfort; that could take their relationship away from the precipice of this cliff they’ve somehow found themselves on. But the right words don’t materialize and instead Paige closes her mouth and turns away, slowly heading towards Stephie as Azzi’s question continues to wreak havoc in her mind. 

And she wishes she could rewind the clock and freeze them where they had been just a couple of hours ago, freeze them in a moment where the past hadn’t weighed so heavily on the present. But perhaps the past had always been there and they’d simply just done a marvelous job ignoring it. Except tonight, they can’t seem to ignore it anymore. 

***

Paige thinks pizza has never tasted so terrible in her life. The mood at her basically unused dining table is numbingly sober; even Stephie has stopped her chatter, the little girl clearly picking up on the tense atmosphere around her as she quietly nibbles away at her slice of pizza. It’s in stark contrast to the innumerable dinners they’d had in the last three weeks; the three of them -Paige, Azzi and Stephie in between them- at the table or the counter or sometimes even the couch, raucous with laughter and smiles. Paige doesn’t understand how moments can shift like this; how last night could have been filled with giggles and grins and tonight is filled with nothing but a silence filled with too many unspoken words.

Her eyes flicker over to Azzi, who’s making a concerted effort to keep her own everted from both Bueckers siblings. The brunette’s question from before feels like a loud horn blaring in Paige’s ears, one that she can’t seem to find the off-switch for no matter how hard she searches for it. They’re barely a couple feet apart, sitting opposite each other with Drew next to Paige and Stephie next to Azzi, but the width of the table feels like it stretches for miles. Paige misses the warmth of Azzi’s body pressed against hers, misses the sly brush of their hands before their fingers would inevitably curl around each other’s underneath the table where Stephie couldn’t see. 

“Miss Buecks,” Paige swallows, trying to shake off the feeling of is this us crumbling again, as she diverts attention to Stephie who’s smiling at her with that cheeky grin that means she wants something. 

“What’s up Stephie-bean?” Paige asks and she’s convinced there’s magic in the little girl’s existence because despite the tightness she still feels in her chest, having Stephie close feels like a reason for her to breathe through it. 

“Can I have a soda?” Stephie asks, using the palm of her hands to frame her slightly tilted face as she juts out her bottom lip in a pleading. 

Paige grins, ready to concede as she often is with the little girl but Azzi speaks first, “no soda Stephie.”

Stephie pouts, “why not?”

“Because I said so,” Azzi says bluntly and Paige is taken back by the sharpness of it. 

“Mama please,” Stephie begs, “please, please, please.”

“No Stephie,” there’s a warning edge to Azzi’s tone but Stephie doesn’t pay much heed to it continuing to plead and the irritation on her mother’s face -clearly exacerbated by other things- gets more and more apparent. 

“Please Mama. Pizza just doesn’t go down right without soda,” the little girl argues, “can I please just have a little bit. Just a teeny tiny bit Please, please pretty please please-”

“Stephie, no” Azzi repeats, pinching the bridge of her nose as Drew and Paige exchange nervous glances. 

“Stephie, yes,” the little girl argues, stubbornly crossing her hands over her chest. 

“Ste-”

“I want soda. I want soda. Please, please, please, plea-”

“I said no Stephanie,” Azzi all but yells, startling Stephie into being quiet and making both Drew and Paige flinch. The little girl is wide-eyed for a second -not used to anything but her mother’s normally gentle way of dealing with her occasional brattiness- before her lips begin to tremble and big fat tears begin to spill down her cheeks. She scrambles out of her chair, beelining towards Paige and climbing onto her lap as she burrows her face into the blonde’s neck, wetting her shirt with tears. 

“Shhh, shhh sweetheart it’s okay,” Paige whispers to the little girl, gently rocking the two of them back and forth as she strokes her hair. 

She glances at Azzi, who’s adamantly looking, her face stone cold but regret gleaming in her eyes, “Az-”

“No,” the younger woman says immediately. 

“C’mon,” Paige says exasperatedly, “you don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“If it’s about giving her a soda, I don’t wanna hear it,” Azzi warns, “you can’t just give into all of her demands all the time, you have to learn to say no and she needs to learn to hear it.”

“I hear you but Az it’s a Friday-”

“Paige-”

“A tiny bit of soda to start the weekend can’t hurt. In fact,” Paige smirks down at the little girl in her lap as she coaxes Stephie’s face out of her neck so she can wipe away the tears on her blotchy red face, “I think a little soda to start the weekend is probably good for you.”

She feels her heart soar when it makes Stephie giggle, letting out a couple teary hiccoughs in between as she clutches onto Paige. 

“I think so too Mama,” the little girl echoes, looking back at her mother with a timid grin. 

“Give in Azzi,” Paige matches the pleading smile on Stephie’s face as she turns her focus onto the brunette, “she deserves a little treat 

“I know what she deserves. I think I know what’s good for my daughter,” Azzi says steely and Paige feels something cold squeezing through her ribcage, “no soda Stephie. End of discussion.”

My daughter. 

The thing is Paige doesn’t even really think she has the right to be upset over Azzi’s statements. Really, it’s nothing but the truth. Stephie is Azzi’s daughter and Azzi definitely knows what’s good for her daughter. So why does it sting like this? Why does it feel like little shards of ice piercing into her heart, leaving deep gashes that have her whole body feeling like it’s freezing over? Paige knows why, knows that these past weeks had been enough to trick her mind into believing the mirage that Stephie was hers. But now Azzi’s flicked her fingers against it causing the whole fantasy to come crashing down and Paige feels herself slowly getting buried under the rubble of it. 

“Right," she says softly, trying to keep her voice steady, “she’s your daughter and you know best,” she ignores the tinge of guilt in Azzi’s eyes as she turns to Stephie who looks like she’s ready to protest again, “you heard your Mama Stephie. No soda tonight.”

“But Miss Buecks-” Stephie whines. 

“No sweetheart,” Paige says gently, shaking her head. 

The little girl narrows her eyes before letting out a frustrated groan as she slips off of Paige’s lap. She loudly stomps her feet, glaring at all the adults in the room before she angrily storms upstairs. It’s so unlike the usually even-keeled little girl that Paige thinks it’s probably a reaction to the tension she can sense between the adults. Her eyes drift over Drew -who’s chewing at his lips in a similar manner to how his big sister often does- before locking with Azzi’s and she feels that familiar guilt of there’s always collateral damage for our mistakes pooling at the pit of her stomach. The brunette breaks eye contact first, letting out a heavy sigh before she follows behind her daughter and Paige lets her face fall into her hands, 

It feels like everything’s in free fall, like during an earthquake when everything shakes and the books -the complicatedly tangled stories of the past and present- go flying from their shelves. Paige rubs at her eyelids, trying to make this helpless feeling go away. Her fingers are coiled tightly around a rope, just like they had been on that night eight years ago and just like that night, she can feel the tips of them starting to bleed. She can feel Drew’s gaze fixated on her; can tell he’s contemplating whether to say something or not. Swallowing, Paige pulls her face out of her palms to look at her brother, a decisively defiant expression on her face. 

“Something you wanna say?” she asks him, cocking her eyebrows as if she’s daring him to speak. 

Drew hesitates for a second before an almost identical expression crosses his face, “what the fuck are you doing Paige?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paige replies airly. 

Drew narrows his eyes at her, “seriously?”

“Seriously,” Paige shrugs. 

“This was supposed to be a temporary arrangement Paige,” Drew says, ignoring the way his sister flinches at the reminder as he drops his voice lower so they can’t be overheard, “you were supposed to be with Golden State for one season, hopefully win a championship and then you’d be off to New York at the end. That was the plan but clearly all of that has gone flying out the window. You’re getting attached to this city, this life, to them.” 

A barely believable “of course I’m not,” flutters weakly off of Paige’s lip as she blinks rapidly at the accusation. 

“Oh for fucks sake,” Drew curses, “Paige your bed looks like it hasn’t been slept in, in days. There’s almost no groceries in your fridge or your pantry. From what I saw of the garden, it’s basically been left for dead. Your closet is half empty and it sure as shit isn’t because they’re all in the laundry because as Stephie puts it, Azzi says that their laundry basket is three times heavier than it used to be with all your clothes.”

“I-I don’t-” Paige stutters, “that- that doesn’t- doesn’t mean-”

“It’s been two months -if even that- two months Paige and I think you're in even deeper now than you were the last time,” Drew spits the last two words out bitterly like their flames on the tip of his tongue and the sparks of it singe Paige’s skin. 

“That’s not- I’m not-” she tries to justify but it sounds hollow to her own ears. 

“You are,” Drew says exasperatedly, “what are you gonna do when she walks away again? When she lets you go again, what are you gonna do Paige?”

Her little brother isn’t cruel but Paige swears she’s never heard anything more aimed to hurt than these perfectly directed arrows he’s launching straight at her heart. The defense of she’s not going to leave me stays stuck in her throats, battling against the harsh thoughts of she already has that are taunting her. 

“She- I- you- this- I don’t- you can’t-” Paige doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say; she feels like a fish spluttering outside of the water, desperate to breathe air that seems to kill her the more she inhales it. 

Drew looks away, his face crumpling slightly, a mixture of sadness and guilt gleaming in his eyes, and Paige can tell that he hates himself a little for being the one to cause her this torment, the one to make her face the darkest possibility of her reality. 

“I was there Paige,” he says softly, “I was the one who watched you break in ways that I didn’t even think you were breakable,” his voice snaps, “and I was the one who watched how hard you had to work to put yourself back together. I don’t wanna see any of that again.”

“Drew,” Paige whispers. 

“And it wasn’t just her,” Drew continues, “you lost her family too.”

Paige gulps at the reminder, “they were still there. They came to games. They were at my wedding.”

Drew shakes his head, “but it wasn’t the same and you know it. You lost her and you lost them and this time,” he bites his lip, like he wishes the next words weren’t sitting on his vocal chords, waiting to spill out, “this time, if you lose her, you’ll lose a lot more.”

“What do you-” Paige heistates, unsure if she even wants to ask, “what do you mean?”

Her little brother pauses, mouth opening and closing like it’s painful to speak, before his eyes drift towards the stairs and Paige feels her heart sinking even before Drew says the words she knows he’s about to say. 

“You’ll lose her daughter. You’ll lose Stephie.”

“No,” the whispered syllable is out before Paige can even stop it, “no, no, no, no-”

“Paige-”

“Stop it Drew,” the blonde says louder than she wanted to as she clutches at her heart, trying to keep it whole as the tears overflow over her waterline. 

“Stop what Paige? Stop saying things you already know deep down but are choosing to ignore? Is that what you want me to stop doing?” Drew asks harshly. 

“Drew-”

“There’s a reason you didn’t want to commit to the Valkyries and you know it. There’s a reason you only wanted to be here for this season.” her younger brother says firmly. 

“I know,” Paige whispers, “I know.”

Drew’s eyes soften, “stick to plan Paige. Let the Liberty be the end goal. You’ll be in New York by the end of October.”

Paige bites her lip so hard, she can taste that morbid taste of iron on her lips as she opens her mouth to say something. She’s not sure if it’s to argue with Drew or to agree and she doesn’t get a chance to find out. Instead there’s a sharp intake of breath and then a quiet, timid voice laced with accusation and Paige feels the blood drain out of her body as she slowly turns around to find Stephie and Azzi -their faces ashen with identical expressions of betrayal- staring at her. 

“Miss Buecks, you’re moving to New York?”

[everything-is-as-it-was]

Just rewatched the first (!!) pizza mukbang video and Oh God I Am So Fond of This Work of Art. (this is a long one sorry!!)

Does it ever occur to you... they owned their house at this time. They were building it. They knew they were going to own their phorever home together. god

Dan knew he was going to come out. That was his next big project. The fact that he even talks about how he's (at that time) growing and changing rapidly as a person all the time... he was doing so much.

Phil's whole vibe of gently shutting Dan's pessimistic comments is everything to me. Obv the most famous one is the 'you ever feel like you don't have a personality?' but it happens so many more times and it just makes me love phil so much he's so gentle

side note- when Dan talks about how he was thinking about saying 'eating ass' in his Living My Truth video Phil's face goes BLANK it's incredibly funny

When Phil says 'there was a moment, about a month before we did it, that I didn't think it was going to happen, in a way.' And knowing the context behind that, the fact that Dan was breaking down because he wanted to come out and felt like he couldn't, GOD. And the way Phil phrases it too, how even after Dan says 'because I was having a mental breakdown!' he goes on to say how it was a lot of things, not just that. True love or whatever idegaf

And there's so many times where Dan will jump in to clarify what Phil's saying- like when Phil talks about how he liked hearing people laugh in real time, and Dan jumps in to say how he's not saying that in a 'it's more gratifying to feel clapping' way. And again, this happens multiple times!! I feel like it just shows how in tune they are, how Dan knows what Phil means and how that might be misconstrued, and wants to make sure everyone else knows what he means too.

SO MUCH soft launch. The hand on the thigh. The "eating ass." The wide hips comment. The Zac Efron comment. Jesus.

I love the imagery of them sat on the couch trying to watch the handmaid's tale and Phil is absolutely losing it crying so Dan switches it to something happier. I mean I guess 'love' might not be the best word but it's just so sweet

D: "I panic about everything all the time." P: "Why are you worried?" D: "I don't know." -- man knowing the context of everything this hits hard

The way Phil challenges him when he says "i think I could just live in a hole" is- idek how to describe it. It's so matter-of-fact, so, "I know how you get, so I'm approaching this from a logical perspective because I know how to reason with you." ugh.

Anyhow sorry this was massive!! So so so many thoughts about this wonderful video and feel free to discuss/disagree with me :) I love any opportunity to yap loll

[doki-doki-imagines]

Not sure if you take requests but could you write about Shang Tsung (and others) with breeding kink?🙏

feat. Shang Tsung, Bi-Han, Liu Kang, Syzoth (aka the guy I think would be into it)

tw: smut, afab!reader

author note: requests are open! It's been a while since I wrote smut, I hope you'll like these.

Shang Tsung: -He is staining your soul, putting his seed of evil into you. -The thought gives him goosebumps, his right hand keeping your leg up and open wide, while to other play with your nipple and at the same time pushes your back against his front. -The hand that way playing with your chest slides lower, now drawing patterns on your tummy that in a few month will be round and full. -Shang Tsung bites his lower lip, and close tight his eyes, it's a sinful thought that is bringing him too fast to the end. -"Let me cum inside, you want it too right? You always tell me, don't you remember?" He whispers into your ear, voice weavering at each of his thrust in your core. -You seriously don't remember ever telling him that, but you nod, too fucked, too lost in the throes of pleasure to formulate a coherent thought. -"I knew it, you will be an excellent brood mare." He smirks, wide and wicked. -Shang Tsung almost hope he didn't impregnate you this time, the idea so good he wants to try again and again. -Not that he will stop anyway…

Bi-Han: -He is the Grandmaster, you know? He needs heirs! -But Bi-Han isn't doing this to follow orders, his eyes liquid lust while looking at your soft body, phrases way too broken and badly formulated to be of a man following his duty. -"I'll make you full of my cum, I'll fuck you so good-" The sudden grip of your core make Bi-Han stops in his track, lost in the pleasure of your pussy suiting his cock like a glove. -It's not like you are doing any better, legs up his shoulders, hands scratching his biceps the only stable thing to keep you anchored to this moment, mind wandering in the sea of bliss at each of his hard thrusts. -Bi-Han can't stop thinking of your chest, filled to the brim with milk, soft and round begging to be touched, nipples hard desperate for some attention, tummy full of yours and his child. -His mind plays a dirty trick and he cums with just one last thrust, falling on top of you, groaning into your neck, while he fills you with his cum. -"Keep it all in, don't make a single drop fall."

Liu Kang: -He waited his entire life to be in peace and in love. Now it's time to step up the game. -The idea of you carrying his baby, your entire body glowing of happiness make his brain vessels close really fast, blood flowing to his crotch pathetically fast. -That's why now you are on your hands and knees, taking him like a champ, his thrusts hard and fast, the fat of your ass red from the slaps you counted a minute ago, the sound you are both making obscenely lewd. -Liu Kang isn't a gentleman. He is a man with a goal that he needs to accomplish if he doesn't want to become crazy. -Something that you already are, tears running down your face, drool escaping your open mouth, moans escaping freely. -"Please, lemme cum-" You sob "I've been good." You gasp out. -Liu Kang whines after hearing your voice. You always sound so good, and he is too weak to you. -"Take it all, my darling, you can do it. I know it." He prompts you on, close to the end himself. -And you do, not even a sound escapes your mouth, too tired and desperate, total opposite of Liu Kang whom cum into you, an high pitched moan blessing your ears. -You lay down, knees and arms weak after the intense session, trying to stabilise your breath, while your lover stay behind you, pulling out and admiring his work. -Liu Kang notices some cum rolling down your core, so he scoop it up with his index and middle finger to plunge it inside you again, earning him a whine. -"Don't waste any of it, keep it inside. It's holy, you know?"

Syzoth: -He gets a bit insane thinking of you having his kids, honestly. -That's why for the longest time, Syzoth won't say anything and keep this thought for himself, ashamed you may get scared. -But then he finds out you share his kink and his wall drop. But he'll ask to repeat yourself because Syzoth thinks his intrusive thought pulled a bad joke on him. -Syzoth prefers to enjoy his kink when he isn't in "heat", when his mind is a bit more stable and he can control himself a bit more. You tell him he is fine either way, but please respect his decision one step at a time. -Doesn't mean Syzoth won't rock your world anyway; you should know how hot your shy boy is. -Syzoth would bite your neck, tell him if he is being too rough, he may not be in "heat," but the blood isn't pumping only in his brain right now. -Don't tap out! For lizards, it means you are being submissive, and it is like an okay sign to keep going, Syzoth didn't agree on a safe word with you just for fun. -"You are so fucking big-" You turn your head back as best as you can, face still pushed into the mattress, voice almost a little whine "Fill me up, please cum inside!" -Syzoth doesn't have to mind to reply, but he understands enough to act, filling you to the brim, the idea of your full tummy and soft glow the last push he needed.

[alsofoundinpeas]

I Don't Need To Know

Summary: Spencer Reid has no choice but to watch the love of his life fall in love with another man. 

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Major character death. HEAVY angst. Bittersweet ending? Graphic depictions of violence (for maybe two lines). Fingering (f receiving). P in v sex/unprotected sex (in terms of a condom, birth control is mentioned). Loss of virginity (both m and f). Creampie (god I hate that word ugh!!). Slight age gap (roughly five years). Argument scene that may be triggering for readers that have experienced SA or manipulation from a partner (nothing of that nature actually happens, but just in case).

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

A/N: This is inspired by Will He by Joji, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading. I cried several times while writing this, but I felt it needed to be done so here it is. :’) Please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :) (I also ask that my work not be uploaded to other platforms or translated without my explicit permission. Thank you!)

I got knots all up in my chest… Just know, I’m trying my best…

Spencer had always found the saying “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” absurd. He couldn’t fathom willingly letting go of something he loved on the off chance that it would come back to him. Not after having everything he’d ever loved ripped from his clutches throughout his lifetime. To him, love wasn’t about releasing someone to see if they’d return. It was about holding on as though his very survival depended on it—like a feral cat finally finding food after days of hunger, sinking its teeth in and never letting go, no matter the cost. 

It wasn’t until today that Spencer finally understood the meaning of that stupid phrase. And he wished with every intricate thread of his being that he didn’t. 

Five years. Five long, agonizing years had passed. So why was he here now? Why, after what felt like an eternity of pleading for just one more moment with her, did the universe decide now was the time to give him what he wanted? 

Ironically, the timing only drove home another phrase he’d always hated: “Be careful what you wish for.” 

There she was, as beautiful as the day he’d met her, sitting in the corner of what had once been their favorite café. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on her ring, the enticing glinting of the jewelry drawing his eyes away from her face momentarily. His heart is in his throat. She’s still wearing the wedding ring he’d given her, twisting it in the same nervous fashion she always used to. 

And there across from her is a man that isn’t him making her smile. 

‘Cause when you look… When you laugh… When you smile… I’ll bring you back…

Spencer Reid had never been a particularly angry man. He had his moments—who didn’t?—but he usually considered himself level-headed, patient. But now, watching Y/N hide a bashful smile behind the rim of her mug as she gazed at the man across from her, all Spencer could feel was rage. Raw, unbridled rage. It flared up inside him as her head tipped back, the sound of her laughter crashing over him like a tidal wave, stirring his veins with a violent rush. The same sound he’d yearned to hear again for five fucking years. And it was all because of him—Ben. 

That was his girl. His perfect, beautiful girl. The love of his life. His angel. 

All Spencer could do was stand there, feeling every broken shard of his non-existent heart pierce his chest. 

And now I’m sad… And I’m a mess… And now we high… That’s why I left… That’s why I left…

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Spencer had never wanted to leave her. But that choice wasn’t his to make. 

That cold, cruel September night six years ago had robbed Spencer of his very existence. 

Everything that could have gone wrong during that case did. The bullet wasn’t meant for him, but he took it anyway. He had traded his life in exchange for JJ’s. It wasn’t even meant to be heroic. It wasn’t done out of love. It was just instinct. It’s who he was as a person. 

Was. 

The word leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Because that’s his reality now. He was a person; an agent, a professor, a son, a husband…

Now he’s… well, that he didn’t quite understand. As a man of science, Spencer was stumped by what he could even call his existence now. Calling himself a ghost felt silly—he felt as alive as the day he’d died. And yet, that was essentially what he was. A whisper of the person he’d once been. A soul caught between worlds. 

Spencer could still feel the exact moment his soul wrenched free from its physical tether to the world. Even recalling it sent a shiver down his spine. It hadn’t been peaceful, as so many people claimed in interviews. No… it had been agony in its purest form; white hot and searing as his very essence clawed its way out from his ribs. There was no light waiting for him to step into it and find peace.

Instead, he had watched helplessly as the team he called his family swarmed his dead body, uselessly screaming for a medic as the crimson puddle underneath him grew and smeared beneath their hands as they knelt beside him. He had watched Y/N swing open their door that fateful night, the excited grin on her face vanishing as she came face to face with a tearful Emily instead of the husband she’d been eagerly waiting for. And he had watched the guilt eat away at JJ as their eyes met at his funeral, the hatred on Y/N’s face so raw it made Spencer’s own stomach twist. 

Despite the Bureau's insistence, she took charge of every detail—planning his funeral in a way that honored everything Spencer would have wanted. Y/N held Diana as she wept over her baby boy's body. She delivered a eulogy that left even Spencer in shambles. She was the first person to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until everyone had left to sink to her knees beside his casket and howl her grievances. 

For that first year, Y/N was as strong as she could be during the day. She handled everything that needed to be done, as long as the sun was still up. But when night fell, and the suffocating silence of their empty home settled in… that’s when she’d finally let herself break. 

Spencer had never been a religious man, but the year after his death felt like an endless descent into his own personal hell. He would never escape the sound of those gut-wrenching screams. He cursed whatever force had condemned him to an eternity where he could do nothing but watch, powerless as Y/N crumpled to the floor night after night, her wails so desperate it seemed as though she thought breaking the sound barrier might somehow bring him back to life. 

All he could do was stay beside her, silently pleading for his touch to somehow reach her, his hands brushing over her again and again, unnoticed and unfelt. 

Time was no longer a concept to Spencer. 

The limits of his existence perplexed him. He couldn’t roam freely, couldn’t go where he pleased—he could only follow where Y/N went. It was as if his very soul was bound to hers, linked by some invisible string that kept him tied to her even in death. It brought him both joy and sorrow: joy in the fact that he could still watch her, still admire the way she carried on, and sorrow because she would never know he was there, silently urging her forward, so incredibly proud of her strength. 

The longer he lingered, the more control he gained over his abilities. It started with the smallest things—a strand of hair lifting with the brush of his fingers, a faint chill against her skin as he cradled her face while she slept. But soon, it became more. Doors creaked open as he stepped into rooms behind her, and objects shifted ever so slightly from their places when he pushed with just enough force. 

There were times when she seemed to sense him—moments Spencer cherished more than anything. In those fleeting instances, it felt as though she could see him, even though he knew she couldn’t. Every day, rain or shine, she visited his grave, and when she spoke to him, her gaze would drift forward, as if she were looking into the honey-colored eyes she once loved. Her hands would rest open in her lap, as though she knew he was holding them. When she was home, she’d speak aloud every thought that came to mind, as though she knew he could hear every word that fell from her perfect lips. And he always responded as if she could hear him in return. That was their new life for the first year after his death. 

After a year and one day, he was gone. 

That’s where his understanding of the phrase “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” came from. It was because she had set him free. 

One whole year had passed. The hardest year of Y/N’s life. She had knelt by his grave, laying fresh flowers with trembling hands, her tears falling freely for hours. When she finally stood to leave, her legs unsteady beneath her, she pressed a soft kiss to his headstone. Through her tears, she whispered how much she missed him, how he never left her thoughts, and how she’d never stop loving him—but above all, she wished he could be at peace. And on the night following the anniversary of his passing, her wish was granted. He had faded into nothingness, existing only in her dreams and memories for five long years. 

But now, he was back. Because he had always been hers. 

Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips? Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips? 

Spencer remembered their first time like it was yesterday, though he wasn’t sure if he could thank his eidetic memory or the fact that it was because of how remarkable it had been for the memory lingering so vividly...

“You’re lying! You’ve really never had sex before?” 

Y/N squawked the words incredulously as she sat atop Spencer’s lap, grinning down at the stammering mess of a man beneath her. Spencer’s hands flexed against her hips, unintentionally squeezing as he took a deep breath to calm himself. 

They were inside Spencer’s apartment, having enjoyed the museum and dinner but still craving each other’s company too badly to end the night there. What started as sweet, innocent pecks pressed up against the kitchen counter had quickly devolved into ravenous, passionate kisses that had them stumbling towards the couch. It was going so well… until Spencer panicked after Y/N had whispered into his ear asking how far he wanted things to go. 

That resulted in him spewing out the fact that he, at twenty-six years old, was a virgin.

“No, I haven’t! Why is that so hard to believe?” Spencer huffs, his small smile belying his annoyed tone. 

It was their sixth date total in a span of four months, but it was their first date as an actual couple. Spencer had reluctantly agreed to let Penelope set him up on a blind date after his failed attempt at taking JJ out had shattered any of the confidence he’d built up, leaving the man petrified of taking his chances romantically again. He suspected Penelope’s pity for him was why she was setting up said date to begin with, but he quickly found himself grateful that he went. 

Y/N had been friends with Penelope for years, having bonded online over some indie punk rock band that was no longer around and developing a close friendship from there despite their age difference. When Penelope found out Y/N had moved to Virginia and was single, she couldn’t resist setting the two up. 

It’s Y/N’s turn to stammer as she quickly thinks of a response. “I, uh… you’re just so handsome that I naturally assumed you’d had sex before.” 

Spencer blinks up at her skeptically, trying to detect even the faintest clue that the otherworldly woman in his lap was lying to him. All he found was nervous adoration as she stared back down at him, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. It suited her. He wanted to cause it more often. 

“I had, um… I graduated super early from both high school and college, so I didn’t do much dating.” 

Instead of the judgment Spencer expected to see spread across her face, Y/N simply just hummed in understanding, her eyes curious as they watched him. He’d elaborate more on his unfortunate (for lack of a better term) adolescence later. For now, he just wanted to keep from scaring the poor girl off of his lap so he could taste her sweet chapstick again. 

“I see…” Y/N murmurs before continuing, shifting forward slightly with a smirk. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m also a virgin.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened almost comically as he gawked up at her. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth going dry. His tongue pokes out in a meek attempt at wetting his lips, his voice cracking as he responds. 

“Et tu, Y/N?” 

Oh fuck. Spencer hadn’t meant to let the lame reference slip from his mouth. She just made him so nervous that he couldn’t think straight, and Rome had been heavily on his mind since she had perched herself in his lap. Specifically Roman goddesses, because she looked like she should be amongst them on their thrones. Surely she was going to leave now—-

Loud, genuine laughter bubbles from Y/N’s lips, the noise startling Spencer as she tips her head back and her hands grip his shoulders to stabilize herself. She thought it was funny. She thought he was funny. 

“That’s, like, the last thing I expected you to say,” Y/N managed once her laughter had simmered down into giggles. “But, to answer your question… I too have really never had sex before.” 

Spencer knew that it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. The woman was sex personified; the archetype of beauty and seduction wrapped into one perfect being. The twitching in his pants brought his attention back to the situation at hand. He could ask her later why that was. For now, he brought his focus back to her. 

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Spencer tilted his head up to brush their noses together. “Would you… would you want to?” 

It didn’t take a profiler to notice the hitch in her breath or the almost imperceptible squeezing of her thighs around his hips. Her pupils were already blown, her lower lip trembling from what Spencer prayed was anticipation and not regret as his question settled over her. The silence stretched between them, the seconds feeling like hours in Spencer’s overly anxious mind. 

He’d done it now. He’d gone off and opened his stupid mouth and frightened the one woman he could actually see himself having a future with because the head straining against his zipper overruled the head housing his supposed genius level IQ. The apologies were already forming in the back of his throat, but they weren’t needed because she— she was kissing him? 

“God, yes. Please,” Y/N murmured eagerly against his lips, effectively clearing every cohesive thought from his brain. 

If Spencer thought her words were enough to bring upon his undoing, he was sorely mistaken. The grinding of her hips against his erection ignited something inside of him that he had no idea existed. It was feral, drowning out all of his other emotions and replacing them with one thing: primal, unfiltered desire. 

Spencer understood now why men used to start wars over women. 

With each gasp that fell upon his ears, Spencer pledged his allegiance to her. Every stuttered moan that came into existence from his hips rutting up into her clothed core fueled his devotion to her. It was animalistic, the way his hands gripped her ass and pulled her tighter against his body as his mouth devoured her now, every cell swimming through his veins screaming for more. More of her touch, more of her taste, more of her sounds... God, those heavenly sounds that had Spencer finally believing in salvation, if only in the form of her skin against his.  

Tongues danced together as layers were hastily stripped away. Layers of insecurity. Layers of self-doubt. Layers of uncertainty. Their clothes fell to the ground as though the fabric burned them, clumsy hands fidgeting with buttons and tugging at zippers with a vendetta. 

Those layers that had crumbled so easily were replaced instead with the firm knowledge that this was exactly where they were meant to be: in each other’s arms, trembling and panting as their world’s trajectory tilted so violently it uprooted them from their upright position, knocking them down against the leather cushions as their bodies attempted to mend their separated souls back into one. 

Spencer choked on the words he wanted to worship her with, so instead he used the most primitive sense he could to get his message across: touch. His lips sucked purpling reminders into the crook of her neck of what they both knew to be true now: He is hers just as much as she is his. Lithe fingers tugged the soaked fabric of her lace panties down until they landed in a heap with their other clothes. Those same fingers pause at the crest of her most intimate spot, his eyes meeting hers with a silent plea. 

Y/N found herself in the same position, her words failing her as they were strangled in her throat by the overwhelming adoration she felt for the man hovering above her. Instead of chanting her desire for Spencer to please touch her, she canted her hips up in approval. 

Her moans were swallowed by swollen lips that claimed the sound straight from her body as nimble fingers dug themselves into the deepest parts of her. Their rhythm was clumsy but steadfast, her hips bucking against his hand in jerky movements as the palm of his hand pressed against her clit. Spencer’s own hips ground against the bare skin of her thigh, shielded only by the immature fabric of his equation-covered boxers. 

Spencer hadn’t for a second thought the night was going to go like this. If he had known he’d have the definition of art itself clawing at his shoulders and panting into his mouth while he made her legs tremble beneath him, he wouldn’t have worn what he deemed his lucky boxers. At least they had done their job, he supposed. 

Their lips separated completely as a guttural moan wrenched its way from Y/N’s throat, her body beginning to thrash wildly underneath him as the tension in her lower belly coiled tighter. Spencer wouldn’t allow her first time to happen on his couch. She was much too precious for that. But he’d already made the decision to unravel her at least once while they were there, to bring her over the edge before taking her into his bedroom so that he could experience the glorious sight of her falling apart more than once tonight. 

Spencer was a virgin, not a prude. He’d seen porn before. He’d read erotic novels. Anything he could use to try to prepare himself for the real experience, he did. But nothing could have prepared him for the downright visceral reaction Y/N had as his fingers curled and brushed against the rough patch of skin inside of her that caused the tension building in her body to snap. Her cries of pleasure tore through him as her pussy clenched around his fingers, his free hand leaving its place beside her head to keep her thighs pried open. He quickly shifted up onto his knees to watch her taking his fingers as she came, taking the pleasure he inflicted upon her. 

He sang her praises while slowing his pace, cooing softly at her as he stroked her hair and worked her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Only when she was squirming and whining beneath him did he finally remove his fingers, sucking them into his mouth greedily. Y/N’s mouth gaped open as her chest heaved, her eyes locked on Spencer as his tongue lapped over his fingers, enjoying her essence with a groan. Her body sagged into the couch, a delighted laugh spilling from her exhausted frame as she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of his living room. 

“Do you still want to keep going?” Spencer breathed as he gazed down at her, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of something that made Y/N's heart flutter. “B-because we can stop there if you want. I just… I want to do what makes you happy.” 

Above her was the man she’d recognized, soft and timid, but now with a newfound air of confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Above her was the man that she wanted more than anything. Above her was the man that she knew, without a shadow of doubt, would be her husband. 

“Spencer… if you don’t fuck me right now, then I’ll die a virgin, right here on your couch... and it will be all your fault.” 

Spencer’s hearty chuckles filled the room, his nose twitching as he grinned down at the dramatic woman. He simply couldn’t let that be her fate, could he? 

Shaking his head, he stooped down to press a gentle kiss to her nose before standing from the couch, offering her his (clean) hand. Y/N’s face twisted in confusion as she stared up at him, still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm surprisingly given to her by the same man who’d eagerly rambled about the lore behind Doctor Who on their first date when she’d mentioned she hadn’t seen it. 

“Not here, silly girl. The bedroom,” He whispered. 

He guided her down the dark hallway as though he were escorting the most priceless treasure known to man to his bed, and in his eyes, he was. His hand stayed steady on her hip as she swayed lightly, her body pressed into his side as he opened the door with shaky hands. Any confidence Spencer had managed to muster throughout the night vanished as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gently as his courage began to crack. 

In an almost startling display of being seen, something Spencer had never experienced before, Y/N looped her arms around his neck and tugged him into a kiss that simultaneously stole the breath from his lungs and filled him with the air he needed to breathe again, effectively calming his nerves.

“It’s okay,” She reassured him against his lips. “It’s just me.” 

She walked them backward until the backs of her knees pressed into his cool comforter, taking over where Spencer so willingly handed her the reigns while he regained his momentum. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands pressed into his hips to keep him from following after her. Her eyes met his, the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window illuminating her as though she were a vision, a figment of his imagination that he’d conjured up in the dead of night, ready to haunt his every waking moment once he inevitably woke up to an empty bed. She was too good to be true. 

Spencer’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, just to give himself proof that Y/N was real and that he hadn’t dreamed her up or somehow followed in his mother’s footsteps and succumbed to early onset schizophrenia. 

She was real and she was here, eye level with the tent in his boxers and naked as the day she was born, her warm breath fanning across the smattering of hair trailing down from his belly button to below his underwear. His muscles tensed and twitched as she smirked up at him, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his cock through the thin fabric. His entire body flinched from that one touch, his brows furrowing together as he hissed quietly. 

“N-not that I wouldn’t love to feel your mouth on me—“ Spencer’s pitch raised as her hands found the elastic of his waistband, pulling his boxers down his legs. “But I… I won’t last if you do.” 

The fondness in her eyes quelled any humiliation he felt from having uttered those words. 

Placing a kiss to his hip, she nodded in understanding before shuffling backwards to lay in the middle of his bed, with him kneeling onto the mattress after her. The sight of her— stretched out and languid and looking at him as if she wanted to ravage him— had him sending up a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever in the universe had deemed him worthy enough of having this divine of a woman in his life. 

As Spencer reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom, Y/N stammers, grabbing his attention. He watches for a moment as she flounders over her words, his brow furrowing in concern at her sudden diffidence. 

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“I’m on birth control if you want to skip the condom!” 

Spencer inhales sharply at the same time she smiles sheepishly up at him, her blurted words almost making him finish before they’d even started. He holds her gaze, tracing her irises for any hint of hesitancy. When he finds none, he nods once, swallowing hard. 

“I— uh. Um...” 

It was rare that Spencer Reid was rendered speechless, but Y/N had managed to do it with just eleven words. He clears his throat, trying again. 

“Yes. Yes, I would like to skip the condom. Only if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.” 

“Yes. It is. I pinky promise.” 

Y/N holds up her pinky for him, the sight so endearing he can practically feel his heart melt away, dripping in a sticky mess inside him. He just grins, linking his pinky with hers before he moves to settle over her once more. 

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair as his elbows dig into the mattress beside her ribs. The flushed head of his cock bumps against her clit as he reaches down to line himself up at her entrance, a small whine leaving her lips at the sensation. He repeats the action, dizzy from the sound of her soft noises. She was still soaked from their time on the couch, a small feeling of pride welling in Spencer’s chest at the knowledge that not only did he make her cum, but he’d kept her wet while they made it here. 

His lips meet hers in a searing kiss, the both of them quivering with anticipation at giving themselves so intimately to someone for the first time. He was happy it was her. And she was happy it was him. 

Spencer couldn’t remember a time where his mind had ever been quiet. All he knew was incessant thoughts and worries, unable to put a halt to the chaos jumbling around his brain. But as he pressed forward and sunk into Y/N for the first time, his entire mind went blank. White static crowded the spaces where various facts and tidbits of information had been stored, the only thing he was able to focus on now being the sheer ecstasy coursing through his body from being inside of her. 

His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips stilling as they pressed flush against hers. She mirrored his response, squeaking out an “oh!” as her walls fluttered around the intrusion instinctively. He throbbed in response, his head dropping to rest in the crook of her neck, unable to stop the pitiful whimper that escaped from behind clenched teeth. 

She was so tight. So wet. So warm. 

Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his spine as he remained still, waiting patiently for Y/N to adjust to both his size and to the feeling of being filled for the first time in general. He’d wait as long as she needed him to. All he wanted was for her to feel good. To enjoy this as much as he was. 

He was a humble man, truly. But even he wasn’t too shy to admit he’d been gifted with a size that was bigger than average. Not necessarily just in length, falling just shy of seven inches, but in girth as well.  

Spencer peppered soft kisses up and down her flushed skin, feeling her rapid pulse beneath his lips. He was sure she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs from where their bare chests were pressed together. Her nipples were taut, pressing into his skin enticingly. He wanted to touch them. Taste them. But he’d wait until she was ready. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. 

At her gentle nod, Spencer lifted his head to press his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together as he pulls his hips back. The sensation of her grip tightening in his hair as he pushed forward does more to him than he’d care to admit, but he still lets her hear just how affected he is by her. With a shaky moan, Spencer repeats the motion, easing out of her before gently rocking back into her. He keeps this up for a few minutes, her sharp breaths dissolving into muted moans of her own. 

“You can— you can move faster if y-you want.” 

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut at her words, and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips before he begins to really move. The sound of skin smacking together begins to fill the air as he ruts his hips into hers, his walls bearing witness to every pleasured noise that spills between them. His pace is frenzied, his rhythm stuttered, but it feels so good that neither of them really care. 

Y/N’s nails roamed his body now, alternating between dragging harsh lines into the planes of his back and burying into his shoulders to leave little tender half moons in their wake. Spencer yearned to pull every single noise that he could from her throat, planting his hands beside her head and hefting himself up for better leverage before his lips wrapped around her right nipple. He sucks harshly at the pert bud, reveling in the desperate whimper it causes. 

Spencer grunts when she clenches around him, letting his mouth glide over to her neglected breast, his hips hammering into hers now as she cries out his name over and over. He was close… so, so close. But he needed to make her cum one more time before he’d allow himself to. He needed to know what it felt like for her to fall apart around his cock. With every ounce of willpower he had, Spencer slows his hips to a stop inside of her. 

Y/N whined her discontent at his sudden pause, her eyes opening to blink hazily up at him. “Why’d you… why’d you stop?” She panted, her fingers finding and twisting her own nipples as if she couldn’t help but to touch herself. 

Spencer muffled a curse at the sight, sitting back on his haunches as he stared down at the woman beneath him with reverence. 

“Flip onto your stomach for me, angel.”

She does as instructed, wiggling her hips coyly as Spencer grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it underneath her hips to prop her up better, ensuring she’d be comfortable. Once she’s settled on her front, Spencer wasted no time in pressing himself back into her, both of them releasing a moan so loud he’s surprised the walls don’t shake. Thank God he didn’t have neighbors right now. 

He eased himself down so his chest is pressed to her back, lavishing her neck and shoulder in open mouthed kisses while his hips drilled into her. This angle was deeper, allowing him to plow directly into her g-spot as she writhed and begged incoherently beneath him. He laced his left hand with hers, shoving them into his mattress. His other hand stuffed itself between the pillow and her wriggling body until the pads of his fingers found her clit, his breath coming out in sharp pants into her ear. 

Y/N felt delirious with pleasure, bucking her hips back in a feeble attempt to meet his. He began whispering into her ear about how good she felt around him, thanking her for allowing him to fuck her, praising her for taking him so well… 

His words paired with his fingers circling her clit have her second orgasm ripping through her body with so much ferocity that tears begin to fall down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and her hand clutching his so tightly her knuckles whitened as she wailed into a pillow, gushing around him. 

Spencer let out his own guttural moan at the feeling, spilling into her with a shout as he planted his head between her shoulder blades, his hips weakly thrusting into her as they rode out their climaxes. 

He held her until her tremors stopped. He kissed her forehead before he darted off to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean her with. He thanked her in soft whispers as her eyes began to drift shut before he’d even finished cleaning his mess between her thighs. 

And he knew, watching the gorgeous woman before him sleep so soundly in his bed after they’d just defiled each other’s innocence, that he was looking at his future wife. 

Will your lover caress you the way that I did? Will you notice my charm if he slips up one bit? 

The air was thick with tension as Y/N stared at Ben, her chest heaving and eyes watering at the hurt look on his face. Spencer watched from the corner, his concern for his wife outweighing the jealousy he had previously felt when he watched the couple slip into her— though he still selfishly thought of it as their— bed. Y/N had been dating Ben for three months now. That made for three months that Spencer ached so heavily he’d sometimes wish he could fade back into nothingness if it meant he didn’t have to watch the love of his life with another man. 

The furthest Ben and Y/N had gone physically was a few pecks here and there, with Y/N always being the one to draw away and cut the kisses short. Ben had played the nice guy act, reassuring her that he understood her hesitance and that he’d be okay doing whatever she was comfortable with. Spencer despised him. He could see right through Ben’s facade, and if he could do more than nudge a door open, he’d make that hatred known. But he couldn’t. 

Spencer watched on with furrowed brows as Y/N reached a shaky hand over and turned the lamp on her nightstand on, illuminating the dark room in a soft glow that contrasted with the dark energy that began to cloud the small space. Spencer could see it all on Ben’s face: hurt, betrayal, anger. He could see the fear, guilt, and shame on Y/N’s. 

This was the first night Y/N had tried to push past her discomfort so that she could offer Ben more than just false promises of physical intimacy. It started slow, with soft kisses that dissolved into hungrier ones as they laid together in the dark. But the second Ben went to roll on top of her, sliding a hand down her body to pull her hips against his, she panicked. Her body jolted, and her hands had shot out instinctively to shove him off of her, leaving them where they were now in some sort of silent standoff. 

Spencer knew as soon as it had happened just why it did. She had thought of him. His guilt overruled the smug pleasure he’d felt as he watched it unfold. As painful as it had been watching Y/N move on with her life, all he ultimately wanted was for her to be happy. Spencer had been barely thirty-five when he passed, and she had only been thirty. That left almost an entire lifetime ahead for her, and even though he so desperately wanted to have lived that lifetime with her, he had to accept that that wasn’t what fate had in store for them. 

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Spencer’s jaw tightened at the same time Y/N’s dropped. 

“Excuse me?” Y/N leveled Ben with a narrowed glare, rage flashing in her eyes in place of the shame that had just been there. 

“I get that you have a dead husband. I’ve tried to be patient with you. But fuck! It's been six years, Y/N. It’s time for you to move on,” Ben seethes, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t even touch you without you flinging me off of you!” 

It’s as though Y/N is the exact physical embodiment of Spencer’s own emotions, physically reacting in the way that he can’t. She was out of the bed before Spencer could even blink, marching over to the bedroom door and yanking it open. Ben watches in bewilderment, his mind clearly not catching up with what was happening. 

“Get out of my fucking house.” 

Y/N’s voice is cold as she stares menacingly at Ben. When he doesn’t move, she speaks again, her voice louder. “Get out of my fucking house, Ben!” 

Ben stammers, standing from the bed and attempting to plead his case. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just-”

“I don’t care. Get out of my house,” Y/N repeats herself, cutting off his pathetic excuses. 

Spencer smirks proudly from beside her.

 That’s his girl. 

Ben sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing his hands frustratedly across his face. 

“If you kick me out over some guy that’s been dead for six years, then we’re over. For good.” 

Spencer cackles at Ben’s proposition, though it can’t be heard by either party in the room. That was his attempt at fixing things? Seriously? Good riddance. He’d drag the guy out of there himself if he could. 

“If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re already over. No one talks about my husband like that. Now get out before I call the police and have you escorted off of my property.” 

It doesn’t take long after that for Ben to tuck his tail and leave, slamming the front door on his way out. Y/N’s steam runs out the second his car pulls out of her driveway, tears streaming down her face as she curls up on her couch. 

Spencer’s own chest twinges uncomfortably as he sits beside her, stroking her hair despite her inability to actually receive the comfort. He didn’t know what hurt more; watching his beautiful, broken girl sob and not being able to stop her tears, or being the cause of the tears himself. He had to do something, anything to let her know he was still there and that he still loved her beyond death. 

The same time Spencer stands is the same time Y/N’s tears pause, a hiccup rocking her frame before she glances up. 

“Spence?” Y/N calls softly. Spencer’s heart would have stopped right there had he not already been dead.

Spencer turns slowly from his place at the end of the couch, his eyes wide and hopeful as he responds. “Yes, angel?” 

His hope fades as he realizes she isn’t looking at him, rather her eyes are just darting around the room. 

“Spencer I… I know it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you. And for that, I’m so sorry,” Y/N starts, her voice cracking. “I don’t know if you can even hear me. Or if you ever could. But I miss you. I miss you in my bones. I just… you were— are my everything.” 

The lump in her throat grows as the tears begin to stream down her face again. Spencer’s own eyes sting with tears that she’ll never see drip down his face. He swallows hard, making his way over to their— yes, their— bookshelf. 

“I’d give anything to have you back in my arms… I should have begged you to leave the BAU and just teach full-time if it meant I could still have you here, safe and at home. It’s not even a home without you.” 

Y/N sobs freely now, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before she buries her head into them. 

Every ounce of grief, guilt, sadness, and anger from what his death has done to his precious girl fuels Spencer to do something he deemed impossible: he yanks the leatherbound notebook holding their vows inside of it off of the bookshelf, sending it tumbling to the ground in a desperate attempt to show her that he’s still there and that he still loves her. 

The noise causes a yelp to slip from Y/N’s lips, her head jerking up as the book hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump. It had fallen open exactly to where Spencer wanted it to: the page starting his vows to her.  Y/N crawled from the couch to the book, her trembling hands lifting the journal so that she can read the words her husband wrote to her ten years ago. With a deep exhale, she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, reading Spencer’s chicken scratch he called handwriting with a heavy heart. And for the first time since his casket closed, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. She was going to be okay, despite it all, because he was hers just as much as she was his.

Continued A/N: Ahh!! Ghost!Spencer my beloved. :') JUST TO CLARIFY: I am not a JJ hater!! It just fit better for the story to have her be the one this all happened for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to sharing more in the future with you as my blog grows <3

K <3

[tojipie]

pls pls pls elaborate on scumbag asshole gojo i love him and i don't care if he treats me like dirt under his shoe as long as he rolls me like a pretzel and fills me like a twinkie

quick drabble

there was just something about men that had a little something wrong with them. the one’s with faces like carved marble, bodies of greek gods. hearts dripping with tar

you could see the cracks in gojo’s little persona from the moment you’d met him

your little situationship started well into the winter. in an attempt to get warm you’d stopped by a frat party for a drink or two with your friends, bumping into the taller man and spilling your cup full of jungle juice down the front of his outfit.

you feared the worst when he pushed his sunglasses down to glare at you, big blue eyes blown wide with rage. then, much to your horror, his look of pure bloodlust fades into something more akin to a sleazy grin.

“i’m just playing,” he laughs, alluding to the death stare he’d given to you.

you laugh too, more out of relief than anything. the change in emotions had given you whiplash more than anything but you figured that was just his way of joking.

“i’m sorry,” you apologize, motioning to the liquor colored splash seeping into the fabric of his jeans. “i can pay for dry cleaning if you need it.”

“why would i need money from you?” he laughs, whipping out his phone with unmatched speed. the implications of the phrase are unmistakable. his tone is vile, dripping with condescension and a unique kind of snark you’re not sure you ever want to hear again.

“you can give me your number though, we’ll figure something out,” he offers, shooting you a fake smile.

cocky, wealthy, patronizing. you want him so bad.

˚ ✧ ───

[kunikuyu]

"A reward for someone so good." Hashira Series!

Part 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Uzui Tengen x Male! Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI, NSFW, read as afab reader, Dom! Uzui x Sub! Reader, use of explicit words, worship kink, master kink, Tengen has an open relationship with his three wives, cockwarming, drunk sex.

Summary: Pillar training has begun, much to your delight. Of course, as a hard-working and strong person, you can handle any challenge. Even if it's fighting a hashira. And in a way, they all see some value in you, and want to reward you for it.

How did you end up like this? Thrown on top of Tengen, who now had his arms hugging your waist as he fucked you violently? Your brain had already melted and consumed with pleasure, you don't even remember what happened in the beginning.

From what you think you remember, it all started quite normally...

.....

"[Name]! It's been a long time since we've seen each other, my man. I see you've gotten tougher and flashy." You had just arrived at the area where Uzui's training was going to take place. You were even excited because the tallest man had already been your partner on some missions and you ended up creating a friendship. You knew that hashira's full capabilities, and you were eager to fight alongside him once again.

Turns out it was pretty fun, at least for you. Seeing Tengen active even after he lost his hand and one of his eyes is exciting, and you can learn even more from him. As for your training partners... They weren't doing very well.

While they were getting injured and trying to improve their physical resistance, you had already been released for the next training. But before that, Tengen told you to spend the night in his room. For what? You have no idea. Yet.

....

Tengen opens the bedroom door after hearing some almost silent knocks. He already knew you were arriving before he even knocked on the door, but he didn't want to seem anxious and already be at the door waiting for you. When he opens the bedroom door, you look kind of carefree and calm, looking at something not so important next to the door.

"Oh, hi Tengen-Sama!" You say to the man standing in front of you, greeting him with a smile on your face. He looked slightly nervous, which wasn't really his style. You chose not to talk about it, though.

He closes the door, and invites you to sit next to him. At no point did you see the tallest man's three wives, which made you curious. Before you can ask, he answers you. "Hinatsuru, Suma and Makio are in another room, they are already asleep." "Oh I see." You were going to say more, but you were stopped when Tengen took a huge bottle of alcohol and poured some into a glass, giving it to you right away.

You silently thanked him, and after he poured the liquid for him too, you drink together. Some conversations were exchanged and glasses were refilled several times, resulting in rosy faces and jokes you would never make if you were both sober. They ranged from phrases like "I like taller guys" to "I would have sex with you, no problem." And you didn't care about it anymore, the drink consumed you once and for all.

"I'm not kidding man, I'd fuck you right here and now." "Then why not do that? I wouldn't mind having you inside me."

.....

Ah yes, now you remember. It was just a stupid conversation, which turned into the most incredible fuck ever. Your sweaty face, your skin completely marked by bites and hickeys, all done by the same person. He seemed to like seeing you like this, and in a weird way, he saw it as the purest art. Your body was like a sculpture to be modeled, and he was a god destined to sculpt every detail that filled your skin.

"M-Master Tengen... I..." You wanted to say that this was the best experience possible, and that your body was being overwhelmed with so much pleasure. But nothing understandable comes out of your mouth. His cock was completely buried in your cunt, filling every space inside.

"... Your voice is so beautiful, thick for someone so delicate." He said, as his fingers roamed your body in search of something warm and wet. Once there, he couldn't help but massage the area, bringing you even closer to a climax. He didn't want to cum before you did.

You had already finished in Uzui's hands, but he wasn't finished yet. A few deep thrusts were made before you felt Tengen's cum invade your body. At this point, you didn't even care if you ended up pregnant, only the pleasure was important. ((spoiler, you didn't end up pregnant))

....

You had been clinging together all night, Tengen's cock still inside you. He didn't want to take his dick out of you, because he thought your insides were too warm.

"Man, we need to drink together more often."

"For sure."

Bonus lines!

"Man, what a headache. Are you sure there was only sake in that one?"

"... I have no idea."

[scented-morker]

NCT Dream under the mistletoe

In which you end up under the mistletoe… 1.6k, fluff fluff fluff, I think gn reader, not proofread

Mark

After so long of dating, you'd think Mark would be fine with kissing you in front of his members

You'd be wrong

Whether it's because he's their hyung or just because they don't let him live— Marks lips are OFF LIMITS when with the boys

(Yes that's exactly how he phrased it)

But it's Christmas, and it's tradition!! And the boys need something new to bully Mark about!!!

So they hang it on the threshold of the dorm and wait in suspense until you knock on the door

"Mark why don't you go get that?"

"Why? I'm kinda busy rn, besides it's yn, don't you guys usually fight over who gets to open the door for them?" Exposed 🫣

"Just Open the door Mark!"

"Fine!"

So he opens the door in a little apron bc he was cooking (scary ik)  and the boys start screaming

"MISTLETOE YOURE UNDER THE MISTLETOE YOU HAVE TO KISS!!"

He glares so hard, but you just shrug.

"You look like a cute little housewife rn, I already wanted to kiss you."

He laughs at the comparison before giving you a peck, the boys going wild in the background

"I'll be the housewife if you take care of the kids," he grins, motioning to the crowd behind him

"Deal," you place another peck on him as you walk by and into the crowd of boys. "I have gifts for you gremlins!!"

They were too distracted to tease mark much (until after you left)

Renjun

We all know the boys take every chance to kiss him as they can

Which— understandable but like that’s YOUR boyfriend???

He thinks it’s the funniest thing ever when you complain to him about it one day

“STOP LAUGHING, THIS IS SERIOUS!”

He’s kinda flattered that you’re so protective but still thinks it’s hilarious

“They don’t actually kiss me that much”

LIES

Imagine your terror when you walk into the dreamies Christmas party and see mistletoe EVERYWHERE

“What is this?”

“Idk, Hyuck decorated”

Cue the boy in question calling your boyfriend from across the room

You see he’s standing under one of the plants and refuse to let Renjun go over without you

You follow him around all night, kissing him under every single mistletoe while the boys make faces at you

(Hyuck actually did not decorate, renjun did, and he was having the best night of his life getting your kisses every five minutes) 🤫

Never tell him a secret ever again

Jeno

You weren't even dating 🤭

It was that weird stage of knowing you're more than friends but not saying anything bc WHAT IF YOURE CRAZY

And the boys are TIRED of hearing Jeno nonstop talk about you

"So I think she might feel the same way, but then yesterday when she texted me she ended it with a period, AND she said ly to sign off instead of ily so what if-"

"Jeno literally shut up."

So they do the thing where they ask both of you to hang out and then cancel so it's just the two of you

"Wow I can't believe Chenle and Jisung both just got the flu, that sucks."

Jeno knew exactly what they were doing, and was very suspicious

"Yeah wild, do you wanna grab coffee since we're already here?"

So you decide to go into the cafe you were supposed to meet at, ignoring the sign at the front (lovers cafe <3)

The bell sings as you walk in, and the woman at the counter turns at the sound.

You walk up to order and she shakes her head

"You can't order until you complete the tradition," she says, gesturing to the door and a mistletoe hanging over it

Jeno now realizes what his stupid friends have done, but he smiles at you sheepishly

"What do you say?"

To which you immediately lean in and give him a kiss

Haechan

Honestly he probably hung it himself 😭

Like the two of you had recently gotten together and he just always wanted to be kissing you

The boys had invited you over to the dorm for a Christmas movie marathon, and Hyuck decided to take the decorations into his own hands

(Yes it got a little awkward when Jungwoo came to borrow one of their plates and there was mistletoe everywhere, and yes the boys groaned about it but gave him kisses on the cheek under every plant)

"Welcome yn, to our holiday wonderland," he says dramatically

"It's literally a stinky apartment with lights hung everywhere."

"Shut up Chenle, oh would you look at that, we're under mistletoe!"

So obviously you oblige the tradition, giving him a sweet peck before continuing your walk to the couch

"Oh look another one!"

You check the ceiling to make sure he isn't lying, but lean in to give him a kiss anyway

"Woah looks like another kiss for me!"

By the third time you know he's doing it on purpose, and you look forward to see at least five more plants hung between your current spot and the living room

"We tried to stop him."

You laugh, but give him a kiss under each one because he worked so hard for it <3

Jaemin

He gives zero ducks, he'll take any opportunity to kiss you

Even when you wish he wouldn't

Why, you may ask, would you ever not want to get Jaemin's kisses?

The answer: because you're in front of his entire family 😃

Why they hung mistletoe at the Na family Christmas, you may never know

Possibly because everyone else in his family was just as lovey-dovey as he was

But it was fine for everyone else THEY WERE MARRIED AND HAD KIDS

This was your first time ever meeting his whole family, and Jaemin's extra ass was apparently trying to make it as mortifying as possible

"Babyyy," he calls out as you stand talking to his mom

You smile apologetically at his mother before turning as he approaches

"What?"

"You're under the mistletoe!"

You look up to see the cursed plant before turning back to your boyfriend with pleading eyes

"Not in front of your mom, please."

He just smiles that sweet smile before DIPPING YOU LIKE A TANGO DANCER and planting a long kiss on your lips

Your face is on fire when he stands you back up

"I can't even look at your mother right now. I hate you."

So he kisses you again

Chenle

Listen he has the softest spot for you 🥹

Home alone? Never ending kisses, he's telling you how happy you make him, playing with your hair, everything

But not in front of his members 🫡 (which they know)

They were messing with him, but you were in on it 🤭

"Lele, look!"

He looks up where you're pointing, seeing the mistletoe before immediately glaring at the other boys who have gathered around

They all have the biggest grins in their faces as if this was the best thing they'd ever experienced..

But he notices the too-innocent smile on your face telling him you are in on it, which in his book is a worse offense than the boys planning it

"Is Lele shy?" Jaemin coos, which only makes the younger boy more flustered

He decides it's only fair that you feel just as embarrassed

So before the boys can tease him anymore he straight up just grabs the back of your neck and basically slams his lips into yours

Whew he's so hot... uh anyways

As soon as he releases you you're letting out nervous giggles and hiding your face in his neck because HOW DID THIS BACKFIRE ON YOU SO HARD

The guys can't even make fun of him anymore so they just groan and disperse into their own rooms

To which Chenle then teases you (and gives you many more kisses)

Jisung

Poor guy 😭

He just wanted to take you to the Christmas party so he could share hot chocolate and maybe hold your hand underneath the table

BUT SOMEONE THOUGHT ITD BE FUNNY TO HANG MISTLETOE AS DECORATION

The two of you are sitting at your table, watching Hyuck and Jeno dance unnecessarily aggressively to Jingle Bells when he asks if you want a snack

So you get up and make your way over to the cookie table bc yum Christmas cookies

But when you get there jaemin lets out a dramatic gasp

"JISUNG YOU BROUGHT THEM UNDER THE MISTLETOE YOU LITTLE RASCAL"

He immediately looks up, staring at the offending plant

"I didn't- I didn't do it on purpose yn! I promise!"

You just laugh, "I know you didn't, it's okay."

So you grab your cookies and head back to the table, kiss-less

"Dang you're really not going to kiss them?" Jaemin asks, looking over where you're staring at the cookies on your plate

"Well not in front of you!"

With that Jisung walks away, forgetting to grab cookies for himself

"Yn," he whisper calls, and you look up to see him gesturing you to the hallway

You follow him, stepping out into the brighter lit and much quieter hall.

"Did you need a break?" You're used to him sneaking off from crowded places to recenter

"No."

"Oh, then what's—"

He cuts you off by pressing his lips into yours, hand on the back of your head

He has a pink hue on his cheeks when he pulls away, and he refuses to look you in the eyes

"I wanted to kiss you, just not in front of him."

[queenpiranhadon]

╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ✿ .ᐟ: You're exhausted, and so your loving husband makes sure that you have the day to yourself by keeping your children entertained for the day. The only problem is that your daughters want to do two very different things...and they don't want to compromise.

✿ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Fluffff, Satoru being a loving husband, crack, mentions of water guns hehe, you and Satoru have two daughters, f!reader

✿ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Satoru Gojo x Reader

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: ✿

Satoru Gojo, despite being known as the strongest across the globe, has a weakness.

That weakness, happens to be you. Or, more specifically, saying no to you.

And this unfortunately, was passed down to your kids, and so Satoru Gojo now had three weaknesses - his wife, and his two daughters as well.

Now, this might not seem as bad as one may think - given that Satoru spoils you as easily as one may breathe, and spoiling two little girls along with you was no problem.

However lucky this may seem though...one was always bound to encounter a few bumps in the road.

This seemed like a prime example.

It all started on a Saturday afternoon, Satoru was lounging in the living room when you, his pretty wife padded into the room, laying down to join him, snuggling up against his chest as you practically melt into his embrace.

You stay silent for a little while, Satoru smiling softly as he strokes your hair, large palm reaching down to gently squeeze the plush of your thigh, while rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"Mmm...Satoru...?" you ask sleepily, your voice a little hoarse from disuse, but Satoru thinks he's never heard a sound more angelic.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he hums, continuing to trace patterns into your skin, weaving together words and phrases that no one could ever decipher.

"M'exhausted Toru.." you mumble, your cheek half smushed against his solid chest and god, you look so adorable right now, he might actually combust- but he doesn't, because you're tired, and he loves you.

Satoru hums, a large hand coming up to brush the stray strands of hair in your face, rubbing the apple of your cheek lovingly as he presses a soft kiss to your nose, eliciting a soft giggle from your lips.

"Why don't you go rest then, yeah? I'll handle the girls and make dinner tonight." he says, almost cooing as your frown slightly, a small crinkle forming between the crease of your brows.

"But-"

"No buts love, you need rest, okay? Go take a nap." He says, kissing your nose again and you sigh, groaning dramatically as you snuggle into your husband further.

"But you're so comfy..." you whine and he chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips this time, gentle but firm.

"Go sleep, love. You deserve it." he says, bringing up both his hands this time to rub the skin of your undereyes with his thumbs, kissing your forehead once more before shooing you off to your shared bedroom to take a much needed nap.

However, the moment your retreating form disappears behind the door to your bedroom, Satoru hears the sound of the sink running, and a pair of tiny feet running around the kitchen, and immediately, his dad senses are tingling.

Begrudgingly, he gets up, keeping his promise to you in mind as he's met with the sight of his 7 year old daughter Aiya messily trying to fill up her water gun- specifically the one you had warned Satoru not to buy a few years back, for this reason and this reason only.

"Aiya, honey, what are you doing?" Satoru asks cautiously, and your daughter grins back at him excitedly, a grin that he knew very well that always chalked up to trouble.

...Though to be fair, he's pretty sure the little girl got it from himself in the first place.

"Hi Daddy!" she chips, and Satoru can already feel a sense of dread coming along from his daughter's happy demeanor. "Do you wanna play water guns with me?"

Satoru sweatdrops nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really want to Aiya... but you know we can't use water guns in the house.. and Mommy wouldn't want that, now would she?"

Aiya pouts slightly, and Satoru can almost see the little cogs turning in her head. However, the despondent expression on her face is almost gone immediately, formulating a new idea.

"I know! I'll just ask Mommy if I can play inside!" she says brightly, and Satoru groans, realizing that he's found himself in a stalemate.

"Aiya, no just- wait...I'll play with you.." He says, mustering up an enthusiastic smile, the ecstatic one that mirrors on his little girl's face making him think this might be worth it, only for a spray of water to hit his face and realize that, no it definitely isn't.

"You have until the count of three Daddy! You gotta run and I'll find you!" she says, her adorable face wearing an evil smile and Satoru cries internally, wondering what the hell has he gotten himself into.

He sprints down the hallway, sock clad feet making their best attempt to be quiet as to not disturb your slumber, before he spots an open door at the end of the hallway, closing it quietly and slumping against the wall, relieved.

"Daddy?"

He blinks, realizing he has entered the playroom when escaping from Aiya, his younger daughter Sumi staring at him with eyes the same color as yours.

Before he can register what's going on, a small stuffed animal is shoved into his hands, a soft purple bunny by the looks of it, with what looks to be a little yellow sundress on its plush body.

"Here, can you take Keiko to daycare? She's late and I need to go to work." she asks, though it's more of a demand than a question as the girl has already moved on to the other side of the room, seemingly not wanting an answer from Satoru.

It takes him another minute to realize Sumi was referring to the bunny in his hand, and he groans internally, knowing that he's going to need extra cuddle time with you after this to recover.

Before he can ask Sumi where exactly the daycare was- Aiya burst into the room with a triumphant grin, the nozzle of the water gun pointed straight at him, her small finger on the trigger before-

"Wait! Aiya! Don't shoot!" Satoru whisper-yells, and the little girl stops momentarily, confused.

"Can we please play the same game as your sister?" he begs and Aiya giggles, shaking her head.

"No~!" she sings, cocking the gun again and Satoru is seriously almost at his wits end until Sami's voice rings out through the room. "Daddy, stop slacking! Keiko's going to be late for daycare and it's all your fault!" the 5 year old chastises and Satoru makes out a quick apology before bolting out of the room, Aiya in quick pursuit.

After making a series of twists and turns, Satoru finds himself in the living room again, crashing onto the sofa, slightly out of breath.

Setting Keiko down next to him, he sighs - he's never underestimating your parenting skills ever again.

Just he as allows his body to relax though, he senses something off in the air.

And the moment he decides to turn around to see what the fuss is all about-

"Found you Daddy!"

Satoru is pretty sure that evil grin is going to be in his nightmares for weeks.

A/N: Am I in my girl dad Gojo era??

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