#i wanted the kind of crying where you can barely breathe from sobbing so hard and everything hurts and your head is screaming

[sugaredpastille]

i think experiencing grief and depression in an unfamiliar place/country is of the most shaking things someone can go through; feeling like your losing your mind but having nothing physical or emotional to tether yourself to because you don’t know any of it and it makes none of it real to you.

but,,, once it’s over, once you’ve clawed your way out of the numbness and insanity and hours and hours throughout the night where you just barely convinced yourself to ignore all horrid thoughts and wait for the sun to rise, once the nights bring rest instead of frantic suffocation and panic, once you feel a lump in your throat for the first time in two years because you couldn’t cry for so long;

you don’t recognize yourself anymore. you’ve healed from losing someone else, but once that’s over you immediately begin to grieve who you were before. you’ve become a barren landscape in an unfamiliar land that needs years and years and plowing and planting and irrigation to become something you can live in. everything is different, this soil doesn’t grow the way the soil used to before. you miss the lush forests and vegetation of your identity that you wandered through comfortably and was all you ever knew.

but maybe it’s better this way, maybe rediscovering yourself and your values will help you make an even better forest. even if the trees are different and the flowers unfamiliar. maybe recreating what was originally a hurt child’s garden is worth it.

[mywritersmind]

CURB FLIRTING - LN4

summary : In which Lando finds a girl crying on the side of the road and decides to help her a bit.

listen up : this is the cutest thing i’ve ever written. no pt.2‼️

word count : 1438

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Tears stream down my face, I try to control my breathing but I'm still in shock. Even though I'm sobbing, I want to laugh.

I’m sitting on a curb outside of a club, it’s gross and there’s cigarette butts by my feet. I can only smell alcohol and the scent of my vanilla perfume.

I want to rip it off my body. I try to take a deep breath but my chest hurts and I start coughing. People around me ask if I'm okay but when I nod they leave.

Until a man’s shoes appear in front of me, “Are you alright?” I look up, breathing heavily still before nodding and looking back down at his shoes. I like them.

He sits next to me, “You sure?” He has an accent. British, I think.

“No.” I laugh as he cracks a smile.

“I’m Lando.” He holds out his hand for me to shake, so I do. His ring is cold against my burning skin. When I meet his eyes again, I realize they’re green and unfairly stunning.

In fact, his whole face is stunning. He’s got curly hair, dark and mullet-ish, his clothes are light and his jewelry is nice.

“I’m Y/n.” I sniffle, wiping a tear from my face, “I like your shoes.”

He smiles again, “Thank you. I like your dress.” I glance down to my bare legs, hot and uncomfortable with the icy air. He seems to notice my body language and shrugs off his jacket, laying it over my legs.

I frown, crying more, “Hey- I didn’t mean to make it worse.” He looks genuinely worried.

“You didn’t. I’m just- Thank you.” He nods, “I’m kinda embarrassed.”

“No need. Plenty of strangers have seen me cry.” He shrugs, eyeing my hair and earrings, “You don’t need to worry though, you’re a pretty crier.”

I let out a laugh, something I haven’t done for a few hours, “I doubt you aren’t.” His presence is oddly comforting yet also awkward because I was bawling in front of him.

His smile is kind and soft while his body looks sharp and hard. “You flatter me, Y/n.” I like the way he says my name. But that could just be because of my tears.

“What’s your deal, Mr. Lando no last name?” My eyes are still wet but my tears are no longer falling, “Are those your friends?”

We both look over to the group on the other side of the road, three men staring. Lando eyes them but quickly looks back at me, “Uh, yeah.”

“Do they think a twenty four year old woman is going to hurt you?” I look at them again, “Because they sure are protective.”

He laughs, “Protective is a good word for it. Where are your friends?” This makes me frown and he sees it instantly, “Are you visiting Monaco?”

I nod, “Yeah. Are you?”

He shakes his head, “I live here.” My eyes instinctively widen at this. He looks young. I mean, he could be studying here I guess but still.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty five.” This makes my brows pull together, he laughs at this.

“Are you… rich?” I whisper it as if it’s illegal.

He leans it a bit close, “Sort of.”

I hum, “How…?”

“I’ll tell you if you come and sit in my car with me.” I raise a brow at this, crossing my arms, “I promise it’s just because I'm worried you’re gonna catch a cold.” I look at him skeptically too, “You can hold my keys if it makes you feel better.”

I stand, holding his jacket close to me as he drops his keys into my hand. I stare down at them, blink. “A McLaren?” I roll my eyes.

“An eye roll is not the usual reaction I get for that!” He starts walking and I follow him.

“Oh, so you bring all the girls you find crying in the street into your car?” He eyes me, a slight smirk on his face.

“Only the pretty ones.”

I roll my eyes, “You’re going to let a stranger take the keys to your McLaren?” He just shrugs.

“I know your name. You know mine.”

He lets me sit in the driver's seat, he turns the car on and Mamma Mia starts blasting. “Shit.” He mumbles, turning it down quickly as I giggle.

“A musical fan…?” His face is serious and definitely embarrassed. I can’t help but laugh more, “Okay, Okay. How are you, Mr. very mysterious Lando no last name, rich?”

He stretches his arms up, grinning but staying silent. Oh god. He’s fit as hell.

“Oh no.” I feel doom approaching me.

“What?” he asks.

“Don’t tell me you’re a footballer.”

He looks horrified, “An american footballer?” I did forget about that one little difference between us. “Why would I be an American footballer?”

“Well you’re-” He raises a brow as I groan, “You clearly work out.” He laughs at me. “Lando! I’m serious, you’re an athlete aren’t you? Oh god I don’t want to know. Do you play soccer? You’ve got the height for it.”

His jaw is dropped at this point, “Calling me hot then calling me short is insane!”

“I did not say, ‘hot’!” I scoff, turning towards him, “Tell me what you really do then. Are you in the Mafia?”

He sighs, leaning his head against the glass of his car. I hadn't realized before, but I'm much more comfortable here. Well, I suppose a McLaren has got to be more comfortable than a street corner.

It’s quieter and definitely warmer. Plus, I do feel safe with Lando which is a bit odd because I just met the guy.

“I’m a formula 1 driver.”

Oh?

“Oh.” I nod. I don’t know anything about motorsport so I'm a bit lost, but I guess I got my answer, “So you drive cars?”

He looks happy at my answer, his smile making my cheeks heat, “Yeah… Yeah I drive cars.”

Lando Norris.

An interesting name for an interesting man. We stay in his car for another… hour? I don’t know. I lose track of time when Lando starts telling me about everywhere he’s traveled.

He lets me rant or stay silent, something I've been waiting for all night. Or maybe all my life.

He leaves me for five minutes alone, in which I peek around his car, finding absolutely nothing but a golf ball and a bag of chips. He comes back with a smile on his face and an ask.

I move to the passenger seat, saying hi to his friends. He said that he wanted me to feel safe and after the conversation with his friends, I really do. I don’t think I've ever laughed harder at a man’s friend group.

He plays ‘Thank you for the music’ on low while I look out the window, my hair blowing in the wind.

“Hey uh-” he clears his throat, “Could I get your number? Just to check in tomorrow.” I bite my lip as he hands me his phone, smiling to myself as I type in my number.

“Dont abuse it.” I joke as he taps his finger against the wheel.

He's grinning again, “Can’t promise anything.”

I sigh, watching the city pass by me, some of the boats on the water quiet and some bright and loud. I like it here. Even if me crying had to get me in such a good mood.

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Of course, I hope to do it again, one day.”

“You know we're probably not going to see eachother again, right?” I see the corner of his mouth quirk downwards, “I’m going home tomorrow.”

“And I have access to private planes.” He shrugs as I scoff.

“Lando. I just met you. What if I was some crazy stalker?” Does this man not know stranger danger?

He eyes me, “Well, are you?”

“No…”

“So,” he glances at me, a curl falling into his face, “I'll see you soon.”

Sadly, my hotel isn’t far and when he pulls up to the front, I get an odd sensation of sadness washing over me. “Want me to walk you up?”

I shake my head, “You’ve done enough for me.” I lean over the middle console and press a soft kiss to his cheek, “Have a good night, Lando.”

“You too, Y/n.” I grab my bag, and slip out the expensive car, looking back one last time to see Lando watching me. His eyes are meaningful and something I have a feeling I won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

THIS LOVE CAME BACK TO ME

Aaron Hotchner x (former) bau!reader

Sypnosis: A friend's death brings you back to the loving arms of the BAU family. And like a high tide, it also brought back old feelings that Aaron finds difficult to control. WARNING: fluff! cursing. mentions of death, divorce, miscarriage (tell me if I forgot something) A/N: this can be read as a stand alone but is a part 2 for you're too sweet for me. it's loosely inspired by This Love (Taylor's Version)

The sight of you is like a dream.

Aaron thinks it might've been the haze of loss and woe that was making him see things, but it isn't. His breath hitched audibly. The sound causes David and Spencer to turn to Aaron, following his line of sight to where you stand at the front door.

As your eyes roam in the crowd of people clad in black, Aaron is the first you see. Your eyes are rimming with red heat and overflowing with tears. Your feet race to Aaron, snatching him into a tight hug like the cavalry was out to get you, and he is your only lifeline. "Hotch..." Your voice cracks upon his name as you bury your face on his chest, soaking the fabric of his dress shirt like it hadn't been more than a decade since you saw him last.

Shock fills Aaron's chest, but his hands still remember your frame in his arms so well they wrap themselves around your waist like second nature. Lavender and chamomile. You smell just as he remembers. A mixture of solace and gaiety. Your sniffles sound the same. So distinct that his ears itch.

His mind questions whether seventeen years of his life were all a dream and he'd just woken up. Your embrace feels like a day has never gone by, and you two are young and stupid again. Okay, maybe not stupid. You were never stupid. Not a day in your life were you ever stupid. Aaron insists on the thought.

Right then, Aaron decides that you are real because no one else in his life has ever grabbed him into a bone-crushing hug the way you do. Arms wrapped around his neck like vines. Toes pointed at the earth so you could reach his insane height. He can only think of one other person who'd do that: Jack. But the boy could barely wrap his arms around Aaron's legs at the moment, so it was definitely you.

He closes his eyes, and tears quickly trickle down his face like he's been holding it in. He was. He is under the impression that with all the tearful sobs his team has wept, he should at least swallow his. As usual, he wanted to be a strong foundation for the others. A shoulder they can cry on. So, Aaron forbade himself to cry. At least not in front of everyone.

But then your hold is so tight the heartache finally explodes. You roll in with the reminder that he is permitted to cry, too. To feel the sorrow. To crumble like everyone else in the room.

"I came as soon as I heard," You muffle in his shirt, pulling away to wipe your bottomless tears with the back of your hand.

It takes all of Aaron not to hold you back when your body leaves his cold and empty. Your peripheral had caught David's familiar figure, prompting an automatic brain response to capture him into a hug.

Aaron watches as you exit out of David's embrace, forty-five seconds shorter than his. He doesn't let himself think too hard of it. Afraid that he is to get his hopes up for nothing.

David pats your back, "Glad to see you, kid."

There it is.

Your smile.

A smile so bright it blurs out your chapped lips and runny makeup, "I missed you."

Aaron swears he would've fainted if you'd said that to the Aaron Hotchner from seventeen years ago. The one who can't even pluck up the courage to tell you his feelings. As if he's got the prowess to do it now. As if he hasn't been feeling like a schoolgirl, giddy with any kind of affection you offer him in the past three minutes.

For a moment, Aaron let himself indulge in the delusion that you came for him and only him. His bubble burst into a sharp pop in an instant, though. Because then your eyes shift away from him, "I missed everyone." You reiterate with much clearer keywords.

A tug aches Aaron's chest. How can he forget? You are kind to everyone. You are a safe space for everyone. A light for everyone. So, as special as your embrace was for him, it was a normal thing for you.

Then the realization hits him. He was at a funeral, for Pete's sake. He beats himself up mentally. For letting his unrequited feelings for you go rogue like wild animals, hysterical.

Focus, Aaron. He scolds himself.

Your effect on him is still as rabid as ever. He hates it a bit. Blames your perfection in his eyes. Blames himself for still harboring feelings that should've withered years ago. How the love glowed in the darkest depths of his chest as soon as you'd said his name. How a glimpse of you revived every piece of shattered heart. How the high tide of your arrival brought in waves and waves of his feelings back. He claims you are being unfair. Considering the fact that you are oblivious and at no fault.

A cough cuts the reunion short.

Aaron's thoughts dissipate like a fog blown by a violent wind. He mentally thanks the person for bringing him back to reality.

The three of you turn to Derek Morgan. You don't know the man, but you offer him a soft smile—one with your lips closed but curvy enough to be friendly or display an apology—in hopes that he doesn't form the wrong impression of you.

Other faces come into view. Now you wonder who they might be and what special place they hold in Jason Gideon's loving memory. Was he a mentor, a boss, a friend, or a family? Because your senses have never let you down, feeling the capacity of their mourning through their sullen faces and glossy eyes.

Then again, it has been years since you stepped foot on American soil. You aren't sure how many people Jason Gideon made acquaintance with. Maybe you were smiling too widely that it offended people. It's his funeral after all.

Aaron doesn't let your thoughts wander too far, clearing his throat. As if he sensed your insecurities rattle in the pit of your stomach. If you were flushed by it, your puffy face hid it well. He stands between you and the group of people who watched him in detail.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet an important vessel of the behavioral analysis unit..." Aaron introduces you with great renown. He says your first name with an undertone the team picks up but doesn't mention. "We worked on many cases together when the unit was too small to focus on one case at a time." He turns his entire body to face you. A hand makes its way to the lower of your back as if to tell you that the strangers are safe enough to be in close proximity with. "These are agents Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Kate Callahan, Dr. Spencer Reid, and tech analyst Penelope Garcia. The A team." He beams with pride like he'd just shown you his golden medals.

Your jaw drops, hands landing over your chest as a soft gasp escapes you. You look between Aaron and David to confirm, earning two series of nods. "This is the team? Like a team, team?" You can't help but tear up from the utter joy that rushed through your veins.

The said team found you overdramatic. They exchange looks between them. A silent conversation, judging whether they should let their eccentric impression of you stick or give you another chance to redeem yourself. They guessed that the death of a friend may have contributed to your screwy image.

Still, a woman with a kind smile and breathtaking beauty doesn't hesitate to approach you. "You can call me JJ," She starts and offers her hand. You shake it firmly like she's about to interview you for a job. "I used to work with Gideon as a liaison. I never imagined that I'd be one of the profilers who'd solve his case." An awkward smile laces atop her lips, also shock with the randomness of her last words.

Wonderment masked your face. The fact you were supposedly at a funeral was forgotten momentarily. You glance at David with twinkling eyes. "A liaison?" You squeal in a whisper.

"Wait until Penelope Garcia shakes your hand," David whispers back as he leans close to you.

You follow his subtle gaze at the other blonde woman across. Technical Analyst. You remind yourself. An amused scoff bounces off your throat.

Aaron chuckles and hands you a square cloth, "A lot has changed since you left. We have a floor to ourselves now." He is unaware of the team's watchful eyes, taking notes of his every motion next to you.

"Oh, I'm sorry," You take his handkerchief and blot your weepy face. "I must look crazy." A bright giggle roars out of you. "It's just... There were only four of us as a unit, and we had to share our workspace with other units. Cases took a lot more time to solve back in the day."

"How long?" Penelope curiously asks, as if it is the most important detail she has yet to hear. She is a sunshine. It takes one to know one. You swear she's glowing despite the dry mascara stain on her face from all the tears early on the day.

"Too long," You shake your head, trailing off as your face flashes a dreadful expression. "I'm just glad all of you were there to solve Jason's case. I really wanted to help, but I had important matters to take care of." You vaguely share. Your mind quickly shoves the thoughts that you deem irrelevant to the moment.

"You knew Gideon?" The tall boy with unruly hair asks with sorrowful eyes. Dr. Spencer Reid. He had a frown on his face.

"You're not the first genius Jason picked up," David quips, causing a chuckle to most except the young doctor.

Spencer throws his gaze somewhere else. He has been impacted by Jason's death more than anyone else on the team. The tear stains on his face had yet to fade. So, joking about Jason still made his heart ache.

You glance at Aaron, asking him all the questions in your head without letting it slip out of your mouth. Your connection never broke. He could hear your questions loud and clear just by meeting your eyes, and it felt euphoric. Still, he concentrates on your airy curiosity, nodding once.

Just like that, your attention drew to Spencer, "He used to beat me in chess." You state at random, making the group quiet.

Spencer offers you a tight-lipped, wistful smile, "Me too."

You walk closer to him with a soft smile and a "has he ever given you tickets?" The two of you took off to another part of the room, chatting, cheering him up just a bit.

Somehow, the small interaction between you and Spencer made Aaron explode in happiness. He doesn't know why exactly, but it felt fatherly. He wasn't too far older than Spencer, but he'd watched him grow into a great profiler. He knew Spencer like the back of his hand, even if bits of Spencer's life were swept under his palm. So, he knew that it wasn't easy for Spencer to be generously welcoming, especially when someone important to his life just died. And when you knew exactly what to say, understood what Aaron's nod meant, it made his heart swollen. You bonded with Spencer in mere seconds as if you were the one to give him life. Aaron adored it. He couldn't explain the reason, but he hoped that Spencer could find refuge with you.

The day wheels into the night. Fewer and fewer people scatter around Stephen Gideon's residence. You find yourself standing by the terrace with David and Aaron, reminiscing the old days, coddling a glass of whiskey.

Aaron is stunned by your choice of alcohol. He remembers you preferring a much sweeter drink.

"I've always liked whiskey," You correct him gently. A laugh forced its way out against the neat liquid sliding down your throat.

"That sounds wrong," Aaron chuckles, "I swear you even hated it with a passion."

You give him a weird look with a subtle grin, "You must be thinking of someone else because Jason and I like the same exact brand of whiskey. You're getting old, Hotchner." You tease, hiding the butterflies in your stomach.

Aaron's eyes widen as he points an accusatory finger at you, "Jason introduced me to whiskey! You're definitely lying!"

"Well, duh!" You roll your eyes, "It's Jason. He's practically our father." You state, straightening your back as you lean against the railing. The wind whips across your face.

"So, what? I was just a fly on the wall? I'm starting to regret calling you back home." David interjects, spreading his arms as he furrows his brows. He caters to his own glass in the comfort of a chair.

"You're mother bird. Everybody knows that," You grin. The urge to cry has finally stopped. Though, you suspect it was the jet lag and hunger from the ghastly flight.

The three of you fell into fits of laughter. Well, just you. Aaron and David only had wide grins on their faces. After all these years, they still refused to laugh loudly. You didn't mind it, though. Because you felt at home.

Aaron nudges your shoulder, "How'd you get here so fast? If I'm not mistaken, the flight from Paris to Virginia is at least nine hours long." He tries to sound casual, like he hadn't looked up the distance long ago and that, for some reason, he kept the knowledge tucked in one of the wrinkles in his brain.

A smug grin made its way to your face, "Does the BAU have a jet?" You brag, sipping your glass empty as you raise your chin with pride.

"You'd be surprised," David takes the liberty to respond, shaking his head while his brows raise in disbelief. A ring brings his attention to his phone on the table but continues to finish his thoughts out loud. "The team's filled with young people now, and suddenly, I'm ancient history. Hold on, you two. I need to take this." And he slips back inside the house to find a quieter space.

You and Aaron exchange looks.

A smile slowly lifted the ends of his lips. It was a handsome sight.

It felt like time had stopped.

You break from his gaze, "So? How's everything? How long has it been? Like, thirteen—"

"Seventeen," Aaron cuts you off, nonchalantly drowning his throat with liquor.

You blink, "That long?" He nods at the air. "Damn, Hotch. You're making me feel old." You nudge his side, though you barely caused any impact. Your brows are drawn as if you aren't certain whether to take it lightly or feel slightly offended.

He rolls his eyes. Had his team know how much of his expressive side had the habit of showing every time he was with you, they'd start a riot.

"You didn't age a day. You still look young." You still look beautiful.

"Flattery won't get you access to the French database, Hotch. You know that." You kid, playing with the ice cubes in your glass. The clinking sound makes you smile. You convince yourself it was the reason, at least.

"You caught me," Aaron says in a sarcastic tone. He lets the silence sink in for a moment, spoiling himself with your presence for a brief moment. Just for a second, he wants to keep the moment to himself. Just the two of you. Just you and him.

And when he felt satisfied enough, he brought his life into the mix, "I got married." He almost jumps from his spot at the sudden snap of your neck. You beam with excitement, encouraging him to say more. "Haley... she was a great woman, person. We have a son, Jack. He's nine years old."

You looked like a child listening to a fairytale. You pat his shoulder, "Hotch, that's so amazing! Are they here? Did you bring them with you?" You glance inside the sliding glass door, scanning the crowd.

He should've continued talking. "W-we... We got divorced, and... she died," Aaron's voice got lower with each syllable, completely soundless by the end of his sentence. He doesn't know why he feels shame. It has been years, and even if it still makes him sad sometimes, Aaron takes pride in the fact that Haley sacrificed her life.

"What?" The excitement plummets off your chest.

Aaron takes a big gulp. You'd missed so much it became difficult to tell you more. "She died. Five years ago." He clears his throat, "But I'm okay now. Jack and I are doing well on our own."

Your expression softens, and a hand unconsciously sits atop his hand, "I'm so sorry, Hotch." You squeeze his hand. Part of you felt guilty for feeling excited, for getting ahead of yourself like usual. You fear that your enthusiasm may have caused Aaron triple the heartache he is already feeling.

"It's a long time ago. I'm really fine. Jack's growing up like a spitting image of her. He's an amazing kid." He doesn't want to bring the mood down. He's honest when he says that he feels fine. "Enough about me. How about you? Do you have anyone waiting in France? Any kids?" If he can recall, you always told him how badly you wanted to have a family.

You lick your lower lip into a thin purse. You gaze at the evening view of the backyard with a heavy sigh, loosening your shoulders, "I was going to..." Aaron's brows scrunched at the way you phrased your response, but he didn't say anything. "Before I became the chief, I was part of the undercover agents. Days before my new assignment, I found out that I was pregnant. Louis wanted me to take a break from work, but I insisted that I work. The day I learned I was going to have a boy, I got caught in a crossfire. I tried to fight for him, but it was either me or him." You release a heavy sigh, "The doctors chose me. They chose wrong... Louis blamed me for losing our baby. I still do, too. We had a hard time bouncing back up after that. We just finalized our divorce yesterday." You smile weakly at Aaron, masking the hurt that pierced every inch of your heart. You quickly swipe the single drop of tear that managed to trail down your cheek.

Aaron glances at your intertwined hands. He feels guilty for liking it despite the dense atmosphere of your conversation. So, he lets go of it to snake an arm around your shoulders, giving you a tight side hug. "Don't say that, sweetheart..." The endearment rolls off his tongue like butter. He doesn't dwell on it, eager to lessen your pain. "I'm certain that he's glad you lived. He wouldn't have liked the world if he never got the chance to be raised by you." He starts to imagine how awful Louis looks and how much Aaron would make him look worse. He's barely known the guy, but he despises how horrible he's treated you at the time you needed a loving husband the most.

The next thirty minutes became quiet, and Aaron thought that maybe catching up wasn't such a great idea. He should've known that your lives weren't exactly on the greener side.

Then he wonders what life would've been if you hadn't left. He shakes his head. Despite the unrequited love he had for you, he still loved Haley with all his heart and would never change anything if it meant Jack being born. He assumes you'd think the same.

"I sometimes wish I came back here, you know." You blurt out as if you are reading straight from his mind like a book, breaking the silence. "I missed out on so much. Your wedding. You becoming a father. David's other weddings... Jason. I wish I was here for everything." You lean your head against him, letting his warmth spread on your skin. "I don't regret going to France or anything that happened in my life, but I wish I could've been in both places at the same time."

Aaron nods, "Yeah, it would've been nice to have you here." He thinks otherwise because he wishes you stayed. He hoped that despite his cowardness, he'd got you around the block and not a continent away.

He takes it up to himself to change the topic into a lighter tone.

He starts talking about Jack and the satisfying struggles of fatherhood. He shows you videos and photos from his phone. You are engaged in a heartbeat, laughing at the littlest humor he'd throw in. You adored his son. That made Aaron beam with pride. Granted, a lot of people have told him the same thing, but coming from you, it was like he'd received an accolade.

Somewhere in the evening, Stephen steals you from Aaron's company. You're easily filled with joy at the sight of an old friend, ignoring the fact that Jason's son used to have a childish crush on you. Other old acquaintances got a hold of you, too.

Aaron never got to see you again for the rest of the evening.

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

It has been eleven months since Aaron last saw you when his peripheral caught your figure as soon as he stepped inside David's home.

"She's with the team," David announces casually.

Aaron's brows knit together as he brings his gaze back to David, "What's that?"

"I said she's with the team," David repeats, glancing down the hallway. "You better catch her before she leaves. I got lucky when I called her. She's about to take her flight back to France. This is why I set an arrival time—" Before he could finish his last sentence, Aaron was already halfway down.

Jack Hotchner watches as his father speedwalks inside David's house, "Is Dad okay?" He looks up at David with worried eyes.

"He's alright," David pats Jack's head. "See, kiddo. Your dad used to have a crush on someone before he married your mom."

"Is she pretty? Is she nice?" Jack queries.

David smiles, "How about you decide yourself?" He guides the young Hotchner toward the center of the celebration.

Meanwhile, you are in the middle of wishing Dr. Tara Lewis good luck for her new place in the BAU when Aaron calls your name. You pivot on your heels. A smile instantly brightens your face at the sight of Aaron, "Hotch!" You exclaim, engulfing him in a hug.

"You should've told me you were in the area." Aaron's grin is brighter than yours.

Unbeknownst to him, a couple of watchful profilers keep their eyes peeled at you and Aaron.

"Are they?" Tara trails off next to Penelope.

"They worked on many cases together," Penelope replies suggestively, wiggling her brows as she sips from her swirly straws.

JJ grins at the conversation, "He's like an entirely different person with her. Think of Spencer." She hides a grin behind her glass of wine.

Spencer furrows his brows as he looks at JJ. "Should I be offended?" He clutches the mug of eggnog close to his chest.

"No," JJ shakes her head defensively, elongating the last letter. The others erupt into silent chuckles.

Derek nudges Penelope while he's got an arm wrapped around Savannah, nodding towards you and Aaron's direction, "Look. Hotch is about to introduce Jack to her. How much are you betting he's trying to get Jack's approval? Will Jack even like her? She looked crazy at first—Ow!" He rubs the side Savannah just elbowed, wincing.

Jack shyly stands in front of his father as he looks up at you. You had no doubt he looked a lot like his mother now that you'd meet him in person. You don't forget about Aaron, though, because they had matching eyebrows that narrow every time they attempt to read someone intently.

You squat down to Jack's height, "Nice to meet you, Jack. Your dad has told me a lot of great things about you!" You rummage into your bag, fishing out a huge peppermint lollipop disk. "I didn't expect to meet you today, so I wasn't prepared to bring a gift you'd like, but you can have this if you want it."

Jack glances at his dad from behind him and then back to you. A wide smile spreads across his face as he takes the sweet from you, "I like this one, too! Thank you!" You almost stumble down when he launches to hug you.

"You're welcome!" Your giggle echoes in the entire house. You hadn't expected him to attack you with a hug, let alone a stranger you'd identify yourself as.

Aaron couldn't help but feel overjoyed. He doesn't know how to keep his heart from beating faster as you glance at him with a tooth-rottenly sweet smile while hugging his son.

You really were unfair to him.

He's hopeless. A lost cause. He should've known from years ago. Should've known that you'd leave a permanent mark on him.

"Dad," Jack gestures for Aaron to get down. He leans close as soon as his father oblige to his command, covering his mouth.

Aaron's eyes subtly widen. His ears burn into a beet-red blush. He clears his throat, "How about you say hi to the others? Play with Henry and Reid, okay?" He dismisses, ignoring the innocent words that rang in his ears. He gently pushes Jack toward the team's direction.

"He's such a sweetheart," You say as you get back on your feet. You glance at Aaron, "You're doing amazing. He's lucky to have you." You turn to the team. Laughters passed between one another. "They're all lucky to have you." You add, crossing your arms on your chest.

"She's good," Savannah nods in amazement. She's only heard of you from Derek but can finally see the difference in Aaron's demeanor the moment he caught a glimpse of you.

"Who randomly has a giant lollipop in their bag?" Derek states in disbelief, the total opposite of how Savannah reacted. He hands JJ a ten-dollar bill, though.

Spencer shrugs, "I would've been way nicer to her if she offered me one last time." He pouts at the sight of Jack waving the lollipop like a taunt.

JJ and Tara laugh.

"Oh, shoot!" You exclaim, twisting your wrist to glimpse at the time. "I still have to pass by somewhere before my flight. Say bye to Dave for me, yeah?" The rush makes you quite frantic, pulling Aaron in. You leave a peck on his cheek, patting his shoulders like it's tradition. "Merry Christmas, Aaron." You bid farewell with a smile and began to walk.

"Wait—" Aaron grabs your wrist. It's so small in his hand. He makes sure he held you tight in a gentle grip. The last thing he wants is to break your wrist.

Your body recoils a few steps back to him as a product of his pull. "Yes?" Anticipation sparks in your eyes as you wait for his response. You must've drank wine too fast because electricity surged through veins, all coming from his firm hold.

A huge lump forms in his throat. "I—" Suddenly, Aaron is tongue-tied.

I want you to stay.

He fights hard to swallow the rock that kept him from talking and clearing his throat. "I'll walk with you," He wishes the ground would swallow him whole. But he suspects that even the devil himself is too embarrassed for him to let him in.

"Oh..." You don't know why you felt disappointed. What were you even expecting in the first place? You flash a smile, though. "Sure."

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Aaron stays at David's for two more hours before he decides that Jack needs to catch up on some sleep before they leave for Jessica's place in the morning. So, he drives through the light traffic, listening to Jack sing along the radio.

Jingle Bell Rock had just ended, and the DJ interjects for an update about the evening traffic during the transition to the next song when Jack asks a question. "Where did your crush go, Dad?" He inquires all too nonchalantly.

"What did you say?" It takes everything in Aaron to will his eyes to stay on the road and his hands to keep complete control of the wheel. He glances at Jack from the rearview mirror.

"The pretty, nice lady who gave me this," Jack hoists the lollipop in his hand like a wand. He takes a taste of it and adds, "You think she likes Christmas movies? Can we invite her?"

Aaron blinks fast. He couldn't believe how much Jack had grown fond of you in only minutes of interacting with him. He ponders whether you're some kind of a witch. He clears his throat in an obvious fake cough, "I'm sure she'd love to, buddy."

"Can you call her to come back? We can invite her for hot cocoa!"

"Sorry, buddy," Aaron feels bad. He doesn't even know your phone number, even if he could get it within seconds from Penelope. "She had to go and do some work. Maybe n-next time." He isn't sure why he was stuttering in front of his child.

"You didn't ask her to stay?"

It felt like a freezing wave of water filled with ice washed over Aaron. Then, for a moment, he feels proud to know that Jack's innocence has given him the bravery Aaron couldn't even muster.

"No, bud... I didn't." He admits more melancholy to a nine-year-old than he intended to.

Jack sighs, "Aww. Yeah, maybe next time, Dad. I'm sure she'll like to hang out with you if you give her a lollipop. She'll think you're nice. It worked for me. I think she's really nice." He stares at the molded sugar in his hand.

Aaron couldn't believe his son was talking some sense into him. Where did the time go? Jack sounds more mature than Aaron has ever felt for months since he's seen you after years. He tightens his grip on the wheel, clenching his jaw from the sudden torrent of courage that blazes his chest.

"Jack, would you mind passing by somewhere before we go home?"

The boy shakes his head, "It's okay as long as you're okay with me staying past my bed time." Jack giggles.

Aaron chuckles, "I'll let it slide this time," He jests, then turns the wheel and heads to the airport.

You come back from the restroom, looking for a place to sit and wait, when a small figure wraps his arms around your torso, "Jack? What are you doing here? Are you by yourself? Are you okay?" You quickly scan him from head to toe. You could barely move from the way he held you.

He's okay. You tell yourself. Had he been hurt you weren't sure how to face his father.

"I found her, Dad!" Jack shouts, earning looks from exhausted patrons. He leans backwards but still tangled around your legs like his life depended on it.

You panic for a second. Unsure what to make out of his statement. You look around first to mutter an apology on behalf of the boy, but somewhere along the lines you felt like you were a mother denying her child.

"Great job, Jack." You hear a voice so familiar you needn't have to look up to confirm your guess. Aaron walks closer to the two of you out of breath. He tries to play it out but the rise and drop of his shoulders didn't pass your gaze.

You lift your vision up and meet with Aaron's heaving self. "Hotch? What's going on? Is everything okay?" You coax like you aren't sure if he's going to tell you the truth.

Aaron tucks a portion of his lower lip. Fuck. He ran out of courage. His throat is tight. His brain is frozen. His body is stiff.

Jack takes his father's hand and pulls him closer to where you stood. He looks up at you, "Dad has a crush on you. I also think you're nice. Can you watch Christmas movies and drink hot cocoa with us, please?" He says intelligently like he's tired of his father freezing on the spot whenever he faces you.

Your brows knit together, but a huge grin raises the ends of your lips. "He what?" You meet Aaron's blushing gaze. You've never seen his neck, face, and ears glow in rosy red except that one time during an undercover case.

Aaron melts into a chuckle, lowering his head. "I, uh..." He scoffs a laugh, "I can't believe you heard it from Jack first." He meets your eye once more, "Would you mind staying for a bit?" It's clear he has no idea what he was doing. He thinks he's about looking idiotic in front of many people and, most importantly, his son.

You hear your name from below, looking down at Jack as he gestures for you to go down. You do as he says, leaning close when he moves next to your ear, "Dad is very shy, but he really likes you. He smiles when he talks to you. I think he would be happy if you hang out with us." Jack whispers so well Aaron is left to wonder.

"You really think so?" You ask audibly for the sake of Aaron's sanity. You ruffle Jack's hair as he nods eagerly. "I don't mind at all," You smile at Aaron so sweet he feels euphoric.

All three of you leave the airport. The traffic then has grown more difficult to maneuver into, and by the time Aaron parks his car in the driveway, Jack is already ten minutes in his sleep.

You chuckle as you both turn to the backseat, "I stand corrected," You smirk, "I think you're lucky to have him."

"Yeah," Aaron titters, "He's a lot braver than me." He adds gently, reaching out to fix Jack's hair.

A comfortable silence basks the two of you. Jack's soft breathing faintly rings in the background as if both of you had to make sure he's there.

Aaron looks at you, though. He relishes the way the dim light from outside casts a shadow on your face. He loves the way your soft features are still visible despite the dark. "Stay," He blurts out.

"Sure, I'll stay 'til I find another flight—"

"No, I meant..." He struggles to swallow the saliva in his mouth. "I want you to stay. Here... with me." Aaron shifts his eyes down on the gearstick. "I'm not saying that I never loved Haley, but I never stopped loving you." He's sure that no normal person would declare their love the way he just did. He hoped that some foreign spaceship would open the roof of his car and take him away. "I don't know if I make sense. I'm certain that I'm ruining my chances the more I speak, but I want you to stay. I should've asked you to stay a long time ago."

Your gaze sinks into Aaron's eyes. You tuck your lips. Then, you smile. "I agree," You acknowledge, moving your eyes on his lips for a milisecond.

Aaron straightens his back, "I know it's been years," He babbles a laugh, moving his hands as he speaks. "It's okay if you don't— wait—" He blinks once or twice. "Did you just agree? To what exactly?" Only you can make him stumble on his own thoughts.

"I'll stay," You declare, biting the inside of your lower lip. You scoff a silent laugh, "I should've done this a long time ago."

"Done what?" Aaron narrows his brows.

Your gaze jumps between his eyes and his lips, "This," You cup his face with both your hands, clashing your lips like he's in need of saving from a true love's kiss.

Aaron melts into your hold. Not long does he track his hands up your shoulders. Then, to your back, pulling you closer. His hands travel all over you, exploring every inch.

All his life he's seen you as some idea of sweet poison. But as his lips dance with yours, he couldn't ignore the lingering bitter taste of whiskey. He laughs into the kiss. He's been ignorant, wrapped in a saccharine image of you. Was he so wrong for that.

He claims you're still too sweet for him, but was he so glad you came back to him.

Jack moves in his sleep. You both freeze on the spot, lightly pushing Aaron to create space between you.

A soft giggle echoes from your lips, leaning your forehead against his shoulder, "We should bring him upstairs."

"I think that's a good idea," Aaron quips. He unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door, but before he gets out, he steals another peck on your lips.

[sundew199]

Can't Help myself

a/n: first time writing Jean on his own :)

tags: jean x f!reader, dacryphilia, kinda soft gentle sex, teasing, overstimulation

kinktober day three: dacryphilia

He was at a point of no return, not with the way your hips raised into the air, seeking out the friction of the head of his cock that hadn't even entered you yet, so whiny. Jean gripped the base, curling his fingers into where he held onto the headboard and stared down at your glistening cunt. So ready and wet for him after spending almost fifteen minutes at least down between your legs, drawn into your sweet addicting taste, not wanting to even come up for air.

It sounded like you were sobbing when he sucked on your clit there towards the end, trying to focus on your face to see if these new sounds were a good thing, never hearing such desperation come from you until now. And now he regrets looking up from between your legs, seeing the shiny overstimulated tears rolling down your cheeks and absolutely loosing his mind. Jean was making you feel so good to the point of...crying? What an oxymoron that was, and yet it stiffened his cock even more and made the goal of making you cum one last time on his tongue all the more important.

Unfortunately they were dried on your cheeks now, the orgasm that had rattled your entire body put a cease to the tears, but also giving Jean a new goal. I mean why not? His tongue had been able to bring you to tears, so why can't his cock as well?

"You look so pretty," He cooed hovering over you, cradling the side of your face in his palm, stroking his thumb over the dried tear stains on your cheeks, attempting to stay composed at the aftermath of the pleasure he brought you too.

"I can always count on you to remind me." Humming back sweetly, pulling him down just enough to slot your lips in his, Jean's eyes fluttering to the soft press. You were so sweet, always so needy and ready for him, so why did he feel a pang of guilt swirling in his gut at the idea of wanting to make you cry from fucking you? Maybe it was because he'd always associated crying with negativity and felt as if his brain wouldn't properly differentiate this scenario. But the craving and lust of witnessing your pleasure reach new height to the point of crying was stronger than the guilt.

" 'Need you to be good for me sweetheart, alright?" Moving his hips just a little to barely push the head of his cock inside of you, sucking in a deep sharp breath at how tight you were, and he wasn't even inside all the way yet.

"M'kay."

"Want you to listen and do what I say, got it?" Now passing the tight ring of muscle to tease you with just the tip, your breath hitching underneath him at the satisfying intrusion. Jean sighed, taking his time entering you, savoring the clench of your walls when he first thrusted in. God, how were you so addicting? How can everything about you make him so needy? What kind of a spell did you have on yourself to make him yearn for you so intensely?

"okay, anything for you." Came your soft whispered response, seeing your eyes tightly squeezed shut and your brows pinched together so blissfully and he hadn't even really started moving yet.

His hand gripped the wood of the headboard, pulling his hips back and slamming them back forward, your body jolting underneath him with the force of his single thrust, a whimper escaping your lips and Jean's body running hot. He repeated the same drag and snap of his hips a couple more times, loving the way you arched and tensed beneath him, digging your nails into his bicep and trying so hard not to let the noises leave your lips, but failing miserably.

"I want you to cum when I tell you too,"

"But Jean-"

A sudden sweet kiss fell on your lips, interrupting your protests. Jean smiled a little smugly when he released, still inches away from your lips when he cradled the side of your face.

"Said you'd do anything for me right?" Using your delirious words from earlier against you, letting him be selfish in the desire to make your cry from fucking you. And it truly wouldn't be hurting either of you, it's not like he wouldn't let you cum at all. A small innocent nod was the only response he got, and that was more than enough for Jean, kissing you softly one last time.

Moving his hand away from holding onto the headboard to grip your waist, Jean sucked in a large breath and held it, picking up a pace that was relatively fast but nothing you couldn't handle. Your face pinched in pleasure, mouth falling open in quiet almost silent moans as his dick glides in and out, sending shivers up his spine at how tight and inviting you were. You were so innocently greedy with they you continuously sucked him back in, never getting enough and always making it impossible for Jean to go just one round with you.

The steady pace went on until you were squirming for more, like he expected you, breathing a bit heavier and writhing on the sheets. This was the cue for Jean to get you to that point of desperation and overstimulation he had you in earlier, hoping those sparkling tears would roll down your cheeks again for his own satisfaction.

Abruptly stopping, sheathed all the way inside, he chuckled low in his chest, coming back to hover over your face and pepper it with soft kisses.

"Jean please,"

"Let me love on you baby." Through another soft laugh knowing that was anything but what you wanted, robbing you of the lengthy dick reaching that itch deep inside you, making you frustrated.

Good. He thought to himself, dragging his lips down the side of your neck and palming your breast in his hand, thumbing over your hard nipple. He wanted you frustrated and begging for him to move, begging for him to let you cum. Jean was dying to see those pretty eyes of yours overfill with tears and run down your cheeks.

Leaving one last sloppy kiss to your lips, he pulled himself back up, one hand by the side of your head and the other faintly brushing over your clit, never letting his touch linger for long. His hips snapped back and forward, shoving himself inside so hard, your back bent at an unachievable angle he'd never seen before. Fuck, just seeing you in this state was forcing himself to focus on not cumming too quickly and ruining his end goal.

Giving you some grace and resuming a much faster pace than before, Jean smiled when your moans turned vocal, your nails dragged down his arms leaving red in his skin. They quickly turned to whines and choked sobs of his name as he pound his hips into yours, smacking his thighs into yours to make a clap, clap, clap.

Shit, you were so good to him, how'd ever land someone as willing an compliant as the one in his bed, arching and whining his name so prettily? No time to question any of that now, not when your voice strained and choked on itself, hinting at what Jean was hoping for.

Stopping completely once again, your eyes shot open with confusion and irritation, swirling something hot and fiery in his gut. He all but winked, using one of his hands to press one of your legs flat to the bed, gathering a glob of spit to drop down onto your clit, smearing it and rubbing it in with his thumb.

"So needy, are you getting close?" Tone smug and domineering, reminding you subtly of what he asked of you.

"Yes, can I?"

It was amazing how your voice could ask so sweetly and lustfully, a perfect blend that almost made him give in at just the sound.

"Not yet."

Another whine of his name, only to be cut off by Jean snapping his hips forward at an ungodly fast pace. He pressed his forehead to yours, letting his hot breaths fan down on your face, putting all of his weight on the hands on either side of his head. Your neck strained as you threw it back into the pillow, letting out a sob and giving Jean the thing he'd been striving for this entire time. A single tear rolled down your cheek, cinematically slow and making him release a growl sort of sound from his throat.

Just a little more and he'd let you cum.

"Jean,"

God, the way you said his name made his dick throb inside of you. Fuck he couldn't falter, not when he was this fucking close. All he needed was to send you past the point of return.

Slowing his hips again, pressing the pad of his thumb to your swollen clit, did a real sob bubble in your throat. He traced his hand from your hip to your face, holding on side and swiping over the few tears breaking past your waterline. He shouldn't find you this pretty in this state, right?

"So pretty baby." Rotating his thumb in a circle on your clit and leaning forward to kiss the fresh tear rolling down one side of your cheek.

Your arms tried to wrap around his neck so you could bury your face there, but he prevented you, sitting back on his hunches and thrusting softly.

"I wanna see you," Making sure you wouldn't try to hide yourself before leaning back over, kissing your lips gently. "Wanna see you fall apart of my dick before you cum on it."

"okay."

Responding shakily, biting down on your bottom lip when he resumed his pace, moving away just so he wasn't as close. Jean smiled through a huff of a laugh, stealing a glimpse of his dick disappearing and reappearing from your cunt, how wet you were and how easy it was to slide in and out.

In a split second, Jean was back to the brutal fast pace, hoping to bring more of those glistening tears and what a smart move that was, because you were a waterfall. He'd been "unintentionally" edging you and still not letting you cum even though he got what he wanted, you sobbing below him as he ruined you on his cock. Oh but the sight was so addicting and appealing, why would he want to end it so soon.

"Look at you, crying cause it feels so good huh?" Taunting as he grabbed your jaw gently and tilting your head to look at him in the eyes. Yours were red and wet, eyelashes clumping together from the tears and making him thank himself for following through. You'd never looked prettier than right now, crying and making a mess of yourself.

"Please let me cum."

"Can you hold out a little longer?"

Your bottom lip quivered with frustration, throwing your head back and crying a bit more. And Jean had never felt more turned on than that very second, despite it being a little mean, he was being selfish.

"Jean please - I can't,"

He didn't respond at first, focusing on the fast pace thrusts and the echo of his skin smacking into yours. You then resorted to pleading, grabbing at his biceps and spouting a bit of nonsense, so overstimulated and shaking. He was losing focus, nearly cumming himself, smashing his mouth back onto yours, silencing it all.

You whined and whimpered into his lips, your tears smearing onto his cheeks, making him keep his mouth on yours for longer than he intended. He nipped and pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth, holding you down at the hip and eventually breathing directly into your mouth, nearing the end of how much longer he could hold out.

"Cum for me, cum on my dick baby."

He felt you clench and flutter around his cock before he could even finish his sentence, groaning into your mouth and soaking in the shaking whines and sobs as you finally orgasmed. He knew he wouldn't be lasting much longer, running his tongue across the tear stains on your cheeks and following it up with decadent kisses where his tongue just swiped. Your arms flung around his neck, pressing yourself to his body, meeting his final thrusts with your hips as he came hard.

Panting into your mouth still, Jean let out a sort of pitiful groan as his dick pulsed inside you, painting your tight gummy walls with his cum. He waited to catch his breath before pulling out, pushing some of it back in out of habit and flitting his eyes up at the whine you gave.

Gently his hands roamed across your thighs for comfort, prior to grabbing a rag from the bathroom to the clean up the mess he made between your legs. Your droopy eyes watched him, reaching a hand out to run through the ashy hair on his head, allowing him to toss the used rag aside, slip his arms underneath your body and wrap you into an embrace, holding you to his chest as the exhaustion took over and you fell asleep in his arms.

[blueberrybeomgyu]

୨⎯ "pretty mess" ⎯୧ (mjh)

+*:🐨:*﹤descrip. : making jaehyun a pretty mess <3

+*:🥯:*﹤content : sub!anton x fem!reader/dom!reader (i think)

+*:🫐:*﹤warnings : dom!reader, 18+, cockrings, reader calls jh "baby, sweetie pie, baby boy," and "sweet boy", jh maybe slips into subspace here but im not really sure i didnt write it out, ig you could call this edging of sorts, reverse cowgirl but only for a wee bit

+*:🩶:*﹤wc : 1.2K

+*:🍞:*﹤a/n : this probably has typos but im not feeling great today so please just ignore those, babies

+*:🐨:*﹤masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

Underneath you, Jaehyun mewls desperately, fingers twitching where his hands are laying against the bed sheets. He's physically drained, so tired he can barely move, but he's still so tense, vibrating under you as you bounce up and down his cock. You're facing away from him, using his knees as leverage, because you know if you look at his face, splotchy with tears and nose snotty, you'll give in quicker than you’d like to.

"What's the matter, Jae? Something wrong?" You ask breathlessly, feigning ignorance and working yourself on his cock. Every now and then, his hips twitch weakly, causing the head of his cock to bump into your sweet spot and making you gasp before you recollect yourself.

Jaehyun babbles a mess of incoherent pleas and complaints, and you can barely make out "cum, n-need t-to-- pl-" through his ragged breaths and loud gasps. 

"If you need to cum, why don't you? Go ahead, baby. Just do it." You tease, putting on your most innocent voice through your own shaky sighs and low moans. You're glad he can't see your devious smirk – you've gotta keep the act up, after all. 

You bottom out and roll your hips. Jaehyun starts babbling again, thighs shaking as he weakly thrusts up into your cunt.

It drives him crazy, the feeling of being so close to release but having no way to reach it. He's so frustrated that he's crying, tears trailing down his cheeks and wetting his neck, as well as the pillow he's laying on. 

His head is so fuzzy, and when you tighten around him, he sobs. You're so wet and warm, squishy walls squeezing him just right. He’s pretty sure he's going to explode if he doesn't get to cum soon, and he tells you this, or at least, he tries to–

"Need it, need it, mmfg, 'm gonna die, gonna die, fu– pleas–" He manages to mumble through heavy lips, and everything about him is so heavy, like he's underwater. The room is filled with such dirty, slopping sounds when you and Jaehyun’s hips meet, and he's so overwhelmed, so, so frustrated.

You’ve worked him through so many dry orgasms that his dick actually hurts. He just wants to cum, needs it desperately, but he can't, not with the snug ring you slipped around his cock earlier in the evening. He thinks he's going to have another dry orgasm, and the thought runs cold fear through his body, because he can't do it, he can't take it anymore, it hurts so bad, and he wishes you could read his mind, because his tongue is thick and useless in his mouth, too heavy for him to get it to work.

"Hyunnie?" You call out. By now, you've stopped the hip movement, after calling out to Jaehyun for a couple of minutes and not getting a response. He kind of reacts, whining weakly at the feeling of your cunt pulsing around his shaft. Jaehyun shudders as you pull off of him, slipping his hard length out of your wet cunt, and now he’s cold, and this is somehow worse. Then, you turn around to look at him, and every complaint he has dies on his tongue. Your own hair is a bit messy, lip gloss smudged, and he finds comfort in knowing you’re also affected by this. You’re stunning, and he whines again, quietly, as his cock twitches uselessly.

To you, Jaehyun is just as pretty. His cheeks are such a deep shade of red, and his eyes are barely open, lashes fluttering prettily at you. There's a thin trail of drool running down the side of his mouth. You almost wanna lick it up, feed it back into his mouth for him, but you have at least a little self control left. 

Guilt pricks at you when you take in his state – his body is limp against the bed, chest heaving and lips turned down in displeasure. His penis is nearly throbbing, pulsing against his stomach and leaking precum into his belly button. 

"Sweetie pie, I’m sorry. You must’ve needed me so badly, huh?" You coo, kissing his tear-stained cheeks and running your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. "Can you give me a color?"

He doesn't respond for a minute, lost in the sea of his mind, and you rub his biceps soothingly to give him time. Once the question finally reaches his ears, he mumbles something weakly.

"What was that?"

"Gree- g-green, c-color's green." You hum at that, looking over his fucked-out state. His eyes unfocus every couple of seconds as he tries to look at you, eyebrows furrowed, and you decide that maybe he’s reached his limit.

"Think you're ready to cum, baby boy?" He shakes his head, or something like that, the movement is aborted halfway through, and his head falls against the pillows again.  

"Can't, can't, n-need-" 

You shush his struggling words and straddle his lap, hovering over his thighs and trailing your hands down his stomach.

"It's okay, I've got you, yeah?" You nod, and Jaehyun tries to nod with you, but it's jerky and awkward. His back arches when you wrap a hand around his member and start stroking it slowly.

"Haaah- ple-- pleas' don make me, hurts so bad." 

You tell him that it's okay, that you won't make him suffer through another dry orgasm. 

Jaehyun’s hips follow you when you start sliding the ring off of his cock, whining about how it's not gonna come off, it's stuck, it’s gonna hurt. You hold his hip down with your free hand, placing a gentle kiss on his tip. His hips twitch, trying to chase the feeling, but your hold is firm. His cock drools precum pathetically, and you spread it along his shaft, using the wetness to slide the ring off with a pop!

Jaehyun lets out a heavy sigh of relief, and his body melts into the bed at the feeling of his penis finally being free. 

"Gonna let you cum now, Myungie. Wanna make a mess for me?" You ask, straddling his hips, and Jaehyun's nodding desperately, aggressively before you even finish your statement. When his tip pushes against your opening, his mouth drops open, and his back lifts off the bed again, arching as you slide him back into you.

You're facing him now, and you regret not doing it sooner, because he's absolutely stunning, face scrunched up in pleasure.

"Mm, you're so good, Hyunnie. You always do so well, my sweet boy." You praise in between your own gasps and moans, grinding Jaehyun's cock right into your sweet spot. Jaehyun’s shaking like a leaf, fingers gripping your hips. His mouth is still open, making no move to hide his loud, desperate whimpers and moans. Spit pools in his mouth and drools down the side of his chin. Sparks dance behind your eyelids, and you kiss Jaehyun's cheek before leaning into his ear.

"Cum for me, baby boy." And he does, almost immediately, eyes rolling back before his lids squeeze shut, and his moans are so high pitched, so helpless and pitiful that the sound helps send you over the edge, buzzing while taking in Jaehyun's ruined appearance.

You fuck him through it, ignoring his cries of how sensitive he is. You grind your cores together until his hips are jerking up into yours again, only pulling off then. 

You clean him up, kiss him, dote on him until his eyes are less spacey and he’s giggling when you tickle his sides. He’s so special, so amazing, deserves the best, and you tell him that until he’s snoring softly against your chest.

✧･ﾟ: *

[ange1sang]

going under

gallavich/ian x mickey, word count: ~996

summary: the first time mickey tells ian he loves him. ; canon compliant, set seasons 4-5, hurt/comfort, fluff, crying, sex

a/n: here's my contribution for mickey's birthday !!! a day late but i just moved yesterday and fell asleep trying to finish it so </3 here it is !!

Mickey's drowning in Ian. He isn't sure how but he knows he is, every last sense overwhelmed by the redhead above him.

The smell of his skin - soft, clean - and the smell of his cologne - strong, overly masculine - clings to his nostrils. The taste of his spit and sweat, spread over his lips like a thick layer of cheap chapstick. His skin is so hot beneath his palms it feels like he's pressed his hands to a stovetop. His voice buzzes in his ears, every breathy moan and groan and bit back curse word like a shot of adrenaline. And when he focuses his eyes on the face above him, it's like a too-hard hit to the head, the kind that has him thinking he's seeing God.

Ian's beautiful. He'd been gone for so long Mickey'd almost forgotten what it was like getting to see his face. Getting to see his freckles, count every little patch of them like stars in the sky. Getting to grab the back of his neck and pull him close enough that they're breathing the air straight out of each other's lungs.

It reminds Mickey of his very first nicotine high. Veins thrumming, stomach tingling, fingertips trembling. His bottom lip shakes, hands scrambling for purchase. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to shut out the dizzying feeling in the back of his head. His hands land on Ian's shoulders, nails digging into the freckles scattered across Ian's right shoulder, leaving behind little red marks that Mickey wishes would stay there forever.

"Gonna cum?" Ian asks, and he asks like he's teasing, but the strain in his voice gives him away. He's probably closer than than Mickey is. If this were a year ago, or even months ago, Mickey would've teased right back, would've poked fun and called Ian one of the dumb nicknames he seems to love so much. But right now his voice ties itself into knots, catches in his chest.

Ian leans down, kisses along his jaw. Open-mouthed and gentle, nudging his nose into Mickey's cheek like he's committing his scent to memory. Ian buries himself deep inside him, rocks his hips and presses as deep into Mickey as he can get. He's groaning through gritted teeth and Mickey could live off of that sound, could spend the rest of his life drowning in it like he's doing right now.

"Gonna cum, Mick," Ian murmurs into his cheek and his voice is so gentle that it rocks Mickey's world. "Want me to jerk you off?"

Mickey tries to nod, tries to do anything less embarrassing than what he can feel his body trying to do. It doesn't work. Ian reaches down between them, and a sob tears itself from Mickey's throat.

"Mick?" Ian asks, pulling back from his cheek to look him in the eyes. Concern shines through when their eyes meet, and it makes Mickey's heart squeeze in his chest. Because Ian's been so absent since he came back, eyes always half-lidded or open too wide, always focused on someone else or not focused at all. He's been so out of it, so drugged up and so fucked out that Mickey isn't sure a single one of his words has gotten through to Ian since he's been back. Ian pauses where he's pressed into Mickey, stops his movements in the middle of cumming even though his arms start to shake where they're holding him up. "Mickey?"

And as much as he'd rather drown, Mickey has to come up for air before he's totally smothered by Ian.

"I love you," he says, voice barely reaching a whisper. Hot, fat tears roll down his temples, and he crosses his arms over his face so Ian won't see them. His chest heaves even as he swallows back another sob. "You asshole. I love you. I thought you weren't coming back."

Ian stays quiet, but his body melts against Mickey, hands sliding down his sides and pulling him into a sweaty, sticky, uncomfortable hug. It's the sweetest way anyone's ever touched Mickey. He cries shallowly, and in doing so breathes in another mouthful of Ian's scent.

"I came back," Ian whispers, and it's all Mickey can do not to smack him upside the head. He settles for punching his shoulder weakly.

"Fuck you," he mutters. Ian's lips press to his temple and turn up to form a small smile as he kisses him there. It reminds Mickey of the smile he gave him when he visited him in juvie for the first time. His heart squeezes so hard in his chest it hurts.

"I love you too," Ian says, lips moving against Mickey's skin. He moves his head just enough to kiss his ear and then the trail of tears on the side of his face. "I love you too."

It sounds so easy when Ian says it, nothing like how the words tore themselves from Mickey seconds ago. It sounds like he was meant to say it. Mickey uncovers his eyes and Ian pulls back to look at him, to really look at him, for the first time since he's been back. He smiles, soft and sweet and freckly and dorky like Ian's been since the first time Mickey saw him, and the clenching in Mickey's chest lets up a little.

"Stay, then," Mickey mumbles, and it sounds pathetic. It's weak. It's like he's pleading. It's the gayest thing he's ever said. He can't find it in him to feel embarrassed or ashamed like he expects to feel.

"Okay," Ian replies, once again like it's the easiest thing he's ever said. He leans in to kiss him and it's like being able to breathe underwater. Mickey breathes him in, runs his fingers through his hair, swallows as much as he can get.

"I love you," he says right into Ian's mouth. It isn't easy this time either but it hurts less. He hopes one day it won't hurt at all.

[backinmyfangirlera]

Chocolate ice cream and Bluey

Another littlespace oneshot (also posted on ao3) and kind of a sequel to my other oneshot. Enjoy :)

Katie was exhausted. She loved being your caregiver, but sometimes she just needed a break. Especially after a long exhausting week at training and two lost games. On top of it all, you had been regressing a lot lately and been more clingy than usual. You were crying as soon as Katie left your side and wouldn't let anyone else take care of you. Usually you loved being around the other girls on the team, little or big, and loved spending time with your "aunties", but this week you weren't having any of it. The Irish woman was at her breaking point. She just needed a minute to herself. Silently Katie sneaked out of the room and into her bedroom...just for a few minutes. You were happily playing with your blocks, so nothing could go wrong, right? When you turned around after about 5 minutes, you noticed that Katie was gone. Immediately your lip started trembling and tears welled up in your eyes. "Mummy?" You sobbed, clutching your favourite stuffie. You were scared, scared that your Mummy had left you all alone. You tried to stand up, but your legs felt too weak to support you and so you sat down again, sobbing even harder. Snot was coming out of your nose, the tears were clouding your sight and it was hard to breathe. You wanted your Mummy. 

A key turned in the door and you heard a familiar voice calling out yours and Katie's name. "Y/N? Katie? You home?" You would've recognized the Aussie accent everywhere. Caitlin was a frequent guest at your house, you loved her company. When you were big, she was one of your best friends - you enjoyed the Aussie's sense of humour and loved how happy she made your best friend - and when you were little, she was your favourite auntie, always coming up with new games and often bringing you gifts. Your favourite stuffie had been a present from her. But right now, you didn't want Caitlin, you wanted your mummy. The Aussie came into the living room, expecting to find the both of you there, but instead she just saw you, tears streaming down your face, clutching your stuffie, looking so small and miserable that her heart broke a little.

"Hi baby. You alright? Where's your Mummy?" Caitlin spoke softly, trying not to spook you. Katie had told her yesterday, that you were regressing a lot this week and she was barely able to shower alone without you having a meltdown. The mention of your mummy just made you sob again. Caitlin slowly crouched down to your level, reaching out her hand to wipe the tears from your cheek but you shuffled away, not wanting the woman to touch you. "Oh babygirl, I know you want your mummy. Come on, we'll find her together. Does that sound good?" Caitlin was desperate. She was worried about Katie and wanted to find her, but she also wanted nothing more than to take you into her arms and comfort you. She softly smiled at you, reaching out her arms and you finally decided, that Caitlin was the best shot you had at getting to your mummy. You let yourself fall into her arms, immediatley feeling safe when you smelled her perfume and felt her strong arms around you. You stopped sobbing, letting yourself be gently rocked by the older woman. Caitlin cooed soft words and felt you relax in her arms. Then she felt something wet trickling down your leggings. You had peed your pants.

The Aussie knew that those accidents were happening quiet a lot lately, especially when you were feeling anxious. Katie had wanted to talk to big you about the possibility of wearing diapers, but hadn't come around to talking to you about it yet. "Babygirl, I think we need to get you cleaned up" Caitlin softly said. You noticed your wet pants and tried to wriggle out of Caitlin's arms. You started crying, embarrased that it had happened again. But Caitlin wouldn't let you go, she kept rocking you and cooing soft words, reasuring you, that accidents can happen to everyone and no one would get mad at you. She stood up, you clinging on to her for dear life and took you up to your bedroom, that luckily had a small bathroom attached to it. She wanted to set you down on the bathroom floor, but you immediately started sobbing again. Together you picked out a new pair of underwear and some joggers. Caitlin spoke in a soft voice, trying not to spook you and mentally prepared for what was about to come. She didn't know how Katie usually dealt with those accidents, how much help you needed to clean yourself up or if you would even accept any help that wasn't Katie's. You returned to the bathroom and Caitlin grabbed a fresh washcloth from underneath the sink. You tried wriggling your way out of Caitlin's arms again, you hated getting changed after an accident, but you also knew you had to and couldn't do it alone. "Mummy do it," you whispered and your cheeks turned bright red. You were so embarrased. "I know, babygirl. But your mummy isn't here right now. So are you okay with Auntie Caitlin doing it, just this once?" You thought about it for a few moments, scrunching your nose while thinking about it. Caitlin smiled softly, you were just the cutest little girl ever in her eyes. Finally you nodded and grabbed onto Caitlin's shoulders while she gently pulled down your wet leggings and underwear. She wiped down your private parts, making sure you were all clean again, before helping you put on your fresh underwear and the joggers. You immediately grabbed onto her again and the Aussie scooped you up from the bathroom floor.

"Let's go find your Mummy, okay?" You loved the Aussie's accent and giggled slightly. It reminded you of your favourite TV-Show, Bluey, that you just called "Buey". "Oh, are we feeling happier again, babygirl?" Caitlin smiled. You made your way into Katie's bedroom together, finding the Irish woman fast asleep on her bed. You giggled when you heard her snore and Caitlin couldn't help but laugh. "I think Mummy needs a wee nap. How about we watch some Bluey and eat some ice cream, while we wait for her to wake up? Does that sound good to you, baby?" she whispered. "Buey!!" You would never say no to watching your show. Caitlin quietly closed the bedroom door and ten minutes later you were happily eating your ice cream, making a big mess that Caitlin decided to deal with later and watching Bluey. Not without making sure that Caitlin was still sat next to you, of course. Once you had finished your ice cream you cuddled into Caitlin's side, letting out a deep sigh and slowly closing your eyes. Caitlin wasn't your Mummy, but she was important to your Mummy, you felt save in her arms and she let you eat ice cream on the couch while letting you watch Bluey (your Mummy never allowed you to eat ice cream on the couch!), so you decided that Caitlin was defintely your favourite after Katie. 

An hour later you were up again, playing hide and seek with Caitlin, when Katie came running down the stairs. "Y/N? Where are you? Oh my god, I messed up!" Katie was frantically running into the living room, but stooped in her tracks, when she found you giggling behind the living room curtains and Caitlin pretending she didn't see you. The Aussie noticed Katie first, giving her a small kiss, before letting you know, that your mummy was here. "Look who's here, babygirl! Your mummy decided to finally wake up from her nap!" You came out from behind the curtains, running into Katie's open arms. She scooped you up and smothered your face with little kisses. You giggled and wriggled yourself out of her arms. "Mummy, Caitin Buey!" You exclaimed, trying to tell your Mummy that you watched Bluey together with Caitlin. "Oh, you and Caitlin watched Bluey together while Mummy was having a nap? Have you been a good girl for Caitlin?" You nodded, smiling big. "She has been the goodest girl ever! And I think good little girls deserve some ice cream, don't you think so too, Katie?" Caitlin mischievously grinned. "Well, they do...Have you had any ice cream today already, babygirl?" You shook your head no, a matching mischievous smile on your face. "I do feel like you're lying to me...Are you?" Katie asked, although she knew that you'd already had ice cream today when she had seen your stained shirt and the big chocolate stain on one of the couch cushions . You shook your head again, Caitlin did too. "Then, I guess, you can have some ice cream - since you were so good for Caitlin!" 

[suzukiblu]

Beginning of an old YJ animated WIP that I decided to dig back up and revisit. Cut for length and also Clark getting very belatedly hit with a clue-by-four.

There's some kind of fuss going on around the kids, although Clark isn't sure what. He overhears Ollie and Dinah bickering about something to do with Artemis and Speedy–Red Arrow, although “Speedy” is still a much stronger memory–but they don't go into detail. Something about mad science and a mission gone wrong and . . . Lunchables?

Clark very rarely mishears things, but that he is absolutely certain he did.

It isn't his business, though, so he doesn't ask for clarification. If the League needs his help, they'll ask him; otherwise it has nothing to do with him.

Unfortunately, then Bruce actually asks for his help.

There's no excuse good enough to get by Batman, and so Clark finds himself materializing inside a Mount Justice zeta tube with the halfhearted hope that they just need something improbably heavy moved–anything that will just take a moment, in and out. Oddly, there's no one waiting to meet him, although he can hear arguing and laughter and running water and a dozen other sounds of life from different corners of the mountain.

Closer, and more concerning, he can hear crying. 

Clark ignores the other voices and Bruce's distant, Kevlar-muffled heartbeat to follow the tiny little hitched breaths he’s hearing down the hall. He doesn't have to go far. 

There's a little boy curled up in a shadowed hallway alcove not even big enough to be a broom closet, five years old if he's a day and wearing a black T-shirt and cargo pants and oddly heavy-looking boots. His face is buried in his folded arms, but he looks wounded and small and brokenhearted from the lie of his shoulders alone. 

Clark stares down at him in bemusement for a moment–a child this young in Mount Justice?–but another muffled sob takes immediate precedence and he drops into a crouch just outside the boy's personal space, making himself smaller and nonthreatening out of habit. He’s familiar with finding heartbroken children left all alone, after all. 

“Are you alright?” he asks gently, and the boy jumps in surprise and jerks his head up. He has the most enormous blue eyes Clark thinks he's ever seen, and also the most horrified.

“I wasn't crying!” the boy blurts, still crying, and scrubs the tears away frantically.

“It's fine if you were,” Clark tells him, gentling his voice even more, and the boy looks at him like the world just ended. Blue eyes, black hair, broken heart; he remembers Dick four years ago, remembers what happened to make Dick Robin. Wonders where Bruce is, exactly, and if this is what he’s supposed to be helping with. 

“You wouldn't,” the boy says, hiccuping around another sob, and Clark just smiles reassuringly at him.

“Everyone does,” he says, and fresh tears well in the boy's eyes and he turns his face towards the farthest corner of the alcove, huddled up so small it actually hurts to see. Clark is used to misery and has seen more of it than he can stand to remember, but that doesn't make it any easier to watch. 

He could ask what happened–what’s so upsetting–but doesn't want the boy to have to think about what's making him cry like that, so devastated and lonely in a place full of people. So instead he reaches out and rests a very careful hand on his shoulder, and just barely squeezes it. The boy freezes, sobs and breath and heart all stopping, and Clark lightens the contact, but doesn't quite withdraw it. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks with all the gentleness he’d usually reserve for restraining the full scope of Superman's strength down into catching a falling body, embracing a victim, kissing a loved one. The boy shudders and starts back up again, tears falling faster and his attempts to respond all breaking up too much to finish. Finally he just shakes his head, hard, and buries his face back in his arms. 

He’s just so small. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Clark tries, and the boy just cries harder, somehow. He's getting concerned now, because how can every attempt to do something for the boy make him that much more upset? 

All the power in the world means nothing when he can't help a person who's in pieces. 

There's a shriek somewhere in the base, loud and childish and startlingly giddy in comparison to this moment, and Clark startles slightly and looks towards it, automatically dropping the hand on the boy's shoulder to touch his earpiece, meaning to call Bruce and ask what, exactly, is going on here–but then the boy whimpers. 

No. “Whimper” isn’t enough of a word. “Whimper” can’t possibly contain the pain and despair in that sound, the way it tears out of the boy and through Clark worse than any other kind of hit, worse than almost anything. 

“It's alright,” he says quickly, forgetting about the communicator altogether and reaching out again. “Shhh, it's alright, it's alright, son–” 

The boy sobs.

Clark thinks he’s never heard a worse sound in his life than that sob. 

Something like panic flits through him, he doesn't even know where from, and he barely keeps himself from grabbing the boy and yanking him to his chest. But it’d be too much, too sudden and frightening for an already distraught child. The moment it takes him to force down the driving need to is literally painful, though, and when it passes it still doesn't really pass. 

Clark takes off his cape as carefully as he can and wraps the boy up in it–hides him in it, he admits to himself, but it's not hard to admit when the boy himself seems to welcome the idea of vanishing inside its folds. He picks him up in one arm, cradles him in the crook of it, and the boy curls up as tight as if he really could disappear. The sobbing dies down into almost-silence, barely more than hitched breaths again, and Clark holds him close and heads towards the closest sounds of life in the base. He can't help if he doesn't know what's wrong, and the boy's clearly in no condition to explain what's happened to him for himself. 

He thinks of plenty of awful possibilities on the way, but doesn't get halfway there before a sudden blur of black and red and yellow tears down the hall and skids to a stop in front of him, solidifying into two more small boys, although not as small as the one in his arms.

Infinitely more recognizable, though. 

Clark blinks, and looks down at a brightly grinning nine-year old Robin riding piggyback on a beaming Kid Flash . . . that is Kid Flash, isn't it, he thinks, except he can't be a day past nine himself, and Kid Flash definitely never wore that suit or ran like that when he was nine.

Neither of them should be nine. 

“What . . .” he starts, slowly, and the boy in his arms peers out from underneath his cape and sniffles, once.

“Found him!” Kid Flash yells back down the hall, and Robin throws both hands up in the air with a crow of triumph, falling off Kid Flash's back into an effortless back walkover in the process.

“We win!” he says gleefully. “Go Team Batflash, suck it, Team Aquamartian and Double-Arrow!”

“'Birdflash'? Why isn't it Flashbird?” Kid Flash demands indignantly, and Robin just laughs condescendingly and reaches up to give his head a smug little pat. 

“Oh please, it is so Birdflash,” he says with a smirk. Clark stares down at both of them with a certain sinking feeling, and the boy in his arms scrubs at his tear-streaked face again. 

And the cape around him slips lower, and for the first time Clark sees the front of his shirt.

Sees the symbol on the front of his shirt.

[kechiwrites]

decided to break it

toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader

part 4/?

synopsis: babies change everything, and neither you, nor simon handle change very well at all.

wc: 2.2k

cw: afab!reader, angst, hurt with no comfort, language, break up fic, abandonment issues, no gendered language, discussions and depictions of pregnancy. no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: im back <3, more tomorrow, or perhaps later tonight if i feel up to formatting on this hell site. for kitten, shia, nori, 👩🏿‍🍼 anon, and everyone else who cheered me up when i felt super down post-holidays

new to baby blue? start here.

"Fuck." You murmur, maybe for the fourth time since the 15 minute timer had gone off on your phone. The word doesn’t seem heavy enough to sum up how you’re feeling, but you give it a few more tries anyway, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The word 'pregnant', however, is the heaviest you’ve ever seen, latching onto your limbs and skin and dragging you to the floor beneath you. ‘Pregnant’ stares you in the face from the stick in your shaking hands, punctuated with a little smiley face you can barely see through tears. In the back of your mind you kind of wished you'd gotten the kind with the little ambiguous pink lines, just so you could pretend you didn't understand what two lines instead of one meant. Just for a little bit. Alas, the pharmacist recommended the slightly more expensive test, the kind that gives you a week estimate. The kind that tells you you've been fucked for 3-4 weeks now.

Every emotion you'd been feeling up until then cedes to white hot panic. It's hard to breathe in your little blue bathroom.

You wonder what he'll say. 

No. 

You dread what he’ll say. 

It’s nothing you two have ever talked about, not in the cold blackness of night, when he’d sat in your arms with his face bare to you and murmured every gory detail of his upbringing to you and not a goddamn therapist. Not the following morning when you’d sobbed your terror of the future, and losing everything you had into his lap. And certainly not when you had mutually decided you were “getting serious”.

And now you have to. You have to tell Simon you’re pregnant.

There's a pit in your stomach when he comes by that night, mask off and eyes warm, considering like they always are. You get swept up in how it feels to be near him, to have him crowd into your space, soaking your senses in his scent, his warmth. He kisses you gently, so soft it makes you want to cry. He used to say he wasn't capable of being like that. Not with you. Not with anyone. 

Instead of sobbing into his chest like you’re desperate to, you chide him about wearing his boots in the house. You take the time he needs to unlace them to memorize what being with him feels like in this moment, the last time things will be easy. 

He levers up and nudges his boots over to yours, where they sit side by side. Tears choke your voice again, and you’re praying it’s just a pregnancy thing rather than a ‘you being an unstable wreck’ thing.

“Sit.” You turn to the kitchen, setting your kettle on the stove and turning the knob to high. He hunkers down on the worn cream leather of your couch. You linger in front of your stovetop as long as you can, fussing with the mug Simon uses almost always, an ugly misshapen pink thing you’d made at a beginner ceramics class four years ago. It’s chipped at the lip, rose coloured glaze cracked, exposing the beige clay underneath it. Your hand glances over boxes of tea, back and forth over colourful labels that may as well be written in gibberish for all the luck you're having reading them. 

It feels like there's no air in the room, like the secret under your t-shirt is taking it all, vacuum sealing your room until your chest burns and your head feels like it's going to pop. You tear open a brand new box of earl grey, stuffing it back onto your shelf when the tea bag is sat securely in the cup. 

"What's wrong?” He grouses from the couch, and it’s only then that you realize your shoulders are hunched up around your ears. 

“I..” your stomach rolls and sweat begins to bead on your forehead. You can hear him stir in his seat behind you, shifting forward so he can peer at you from your living room. Saliva gathers in your mouth, and oh god, maybe you actually will throw up, it’s too early for morning sickness right? Unless the stupid tests were wrong and now you’re going to cover your countertops in the stew you had for lun-

“Hey.” Simon is standing behind you now, his hands gripping your shoulders, shaking you lightly until you whip around to face him. The kettle is screaming now, filling your home with that shrill, high shriek of steam from the boiling water whistling through the appliance's tiny spout. 

Somehow it’s still quieter than your pulse pounding in your ear.

“I’m pregnant.” You choke out, if only to stop yourself from retching over Simon’s socked feet. God, it’s like time stops, then it splits and cracks in clean halves. Into before and after he knew. Before and after his concerned expression crumbled into disbelief, before and after he schooled that disbelief into placid nothingness. And it’s not like you’d entertained the delusion that he’d be happy about it. But the silent hang time before he reacts is this terrible, hollow, unknown that tears up your insides and relishes in the shiny, red viscera. 

A gruff, quiet "Are you sure?" is what you get from him, when he finally recovers, and you try so hard not to let it bother you. It's a shock. A surprise. A loud bang in the middle of a serene night, a cannon going off in your face, a gunshot into the sky when you thought the race was an hour from starting. 

You try to give him a bit of grace. Still, the pit in your stomach grows.

Now it's a bit of a sinkhole.

"Baby, I wouldn't be telling you if I wasn't sure." You move to snag your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, to tug him close so you can hold each other, support each other, but he take a small step backwards, letting his palms slip from your shoulders. 

The sinkhole is a cavern, yawning wide, open and empty. 

You toss your hope and love inside.

“I need…some time.” He mutters, slinking out of your space, out of the kitchen and back into your entryway. 

'Time to fucking what?' you think, but hold back. You know Simon. You love Simon. And you remember where he's come from. What he's come from. You realize a second too late you should be following him, and when you stumble over the kitchen threshold, he’s tying up his boots, his broad back facing you. You try to peer around him, try to get a look at his face, desperate to gauge where he’s at. But when you notice he’s knocked your shoes over in his scramble to get away, to be anywhere but here, you stop moving..

“Y-yeah. Okay. Just..uh, get back to me soon okay?” you stutter, and wrap your arms around yourself, like you know Simon won't. Not with the way his hands are shaking. 

He doesn’t even respond this time. 

The soldier just stands. He opens your front door. And walks out. Leaving you in your entryway. Water past its boiling point in the kettle.

You don’t see him again until you’re four, nearly five months along, the bump under your clothes now impossible to hide. When you stumble into your home, exhausted from working, he’s in your living room. Sitting there in his mask at your tiny dining room table. Like no time has passed at all. Like he should be there. You realize you never did get your spare house key back.

“Get out.” you spit, blood boiling under your skin. 

"I know you're upset-" He begins, like he’s about to deliver a practiced speech.

"Get the fuck out!" Your tone is caustic, and you hope it burns him, hope it strips off all the facade on the rotting structure he is underneath.

"I never meant to leave it so long. This." He won't even say it. Can't even refer to you, let alone your baby. He stands up and becomes this big, dark mass in the bright space of your living room, black mask, black shirt, black boots, just a huge black hole that sucks up every good feeling you’d had in his absence, every ray of light that’d shone through the dark gloom he’d left behind. Nothing escapes his pull. 

He peers at you from the gap in his mask. The stark white skull stretched over his face mocks you, maliciously whispers in your ear; ‘Did you think you knew him? That he was honest with you? Open to you?’

And you had. You did. You thought you were making progress, building some semblance of a future, falling in love.

It makes you sick to your stomach to think of it.

"You want to apologize, take the fucking mask off Simon." Your voice breaks, and part of you hopes he hears it for the plea it is. Hopes he understands what you’re asking of him. Hopes he feels how bad you missed him, under the hurt and pain and bitter, bitter loneliness. If he would just take it off, just pull the stupid fabric over his face and show you he was still yours under there, that he’d make a mistake and he’s ready now, then maybe the two of you could fix it. This.

Instead, his silence, his stillness cracks open your ribcage and pours black ink over your heart.

Humiliation and anger simmer on your tongue. What comes next is shockingly easy. "Oh you can't do it, huh? Can't be a fucking person with me, huh?" You shove at his chest, and he takes it, staring at you with pain in his eyes. Like this is hurting him.

"I shouldn't have waited so long, but I-" he steps towards you and it feels so good to rip away from his touch. To step back from his advance.

"No!” You shout, and your face is so hot, skin ablaze with righteous anger. “Shut up! Three months? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

And yes, one month of that was deployment, you’d known that, you’d talked about it, together. One month of no contact. One month of sand and heat and blood. But the other two months had been that white hot panic you'd felt on your own, in that tiny bathroom with the peeling blue wallpaper he'd promised he'd help you strip and replace. The other months had been missed calls, and ignored texts and you getting bigger under your sweaters because unlike him, you couldn't just take a break from the situation.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” You shove past him, deeper into your home, spinning around so he’s closer to your entryway than you are. “Don’t you ever show your face here again, do you hear me?” You’re screaming now, much to Ghost’s visible discomfort. Good. You hope your nosy ass neighbours call the cops. You hope they physically remove his pathetic ass. You hope they embarrass him. (It isn’t very likely, of course. But God, could you dream).

“You can't just keep it from me.” He steps closer and you lament that he has you on the backfoot. It’s your space, your home and yet it feels as though you’re the one who’s out of place, off kilter and uncomfortable. You glare at him. 

“It’s mine too.”

‘It’ he says, and that bothers you. Irks you. Him calling your baby an ‘it’. 

“Give me a fucking break, it wasn’t yours when you left me, you couldn’t wait to get your sorry ass out of here when I told you. Now you wanna play daddy? I don’t fucking think so.” You dig your fingernails into the meat of your palms, leaving aching crescents in their wake. 

“And you know what? Maybe it’s my fault for wanting to be with someone who is so fundamentally fucking broken that he couldn’t fucking bear to show me his goddamn face until I’d begged him. Maybe I’m the idiot for thinking you could ever be capable of love, of decency. I needed you. And you abandoned me, Simon. You are a fucking monster.” 

The word hangs in the air, hovering between the two of you where it can’t be taken back, and it sure as hell can’t be forgotten.

“You are good at distancing yourself, you are good at killing your feelings. Keep doing that. Stay the fuck away from me and my kid.” You’re panting when you finish, and everything hurts, one of your hands is bleeding, your eyelids prickle with the pain of unshed tears, your throat feels strained and tight. He nods once, jerky and quick, before he takes an unbalanced step back. Then another and another, his eyes never leaving yours, like he’s looking for something, anything other than hurt and hatred.

But there’s nothing else to find.

He turns, opening your front door and trudging out, heavy footfalls bracketing short moments of gut wrenching silence. It feels final. But it doesn’t feel good. Not like you thought it might.

He’s halfway into his SUV when you scramble out your front door, shouting over your porch railing to him in your driveway. “And get rid of my fucking keys!” He stares at you, standing stockstill, before he gets in the driver’s seat and pulls away.

whew, nice to post ghosty-poo again

series masterlist here

support city girls, reblog what u like

[gravehags]

son of perdition

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: tw descriptions of vomiting, copia being a care giver, confessions and revelations, antichrist copia, curator reader series lore

Words: 1,717

Summary: And Hell followed with him.

a/n: copia is going to fist fight imperator in the street while curator reader fist fights nihil. terzo is filming the whole thing in 4k.

~~~

You don’t even last twenty-four hours with the secret Sister Imperator has burdened you with before it comes crawling back out of your gut at 3 am.

You’re already gagging when you throw the covers back and stumble into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time. It takes four heaves to empty your stomach until it spasms inside you and comes to a stop as you cry and drool and spit pathetically, hunched over the bowl. You don’t even hear Copia get up, let alone hear him come into the bathroom and lean over you to flush the toilet and push your hair back.

“Poverina,” he murmurs, gently easing you backwards to slump against the cool tile wall. You’re still looking at the toilet warily as he grabs a rag from the counter and wets it, bringing it to your mouth. When you finally look at him - the way his brow is furrowed as he kneels in front of you cleaning you up - another loud sob is wrenched from you.

“Amore, what is it? What’s wrong? You were acting so strange all day before we went to bed. I know you, dolcezza, this is no stomach bug,” he says, dropping the rag as tears continue to pour down your face and he gently holds your chin, “What happened?”

None of what I’m about to tell you can leave this office.

You look at the worried face of the man you love.

He would tell you.

“C-Copia,” your voice is hoarse, “we need to talk.”

Copia looks at your tearful face and to the toilet and his eyes get wide.

“Amore, you’re not…”

“No!” you blurt out, “But…that’s part of it. Eugh…let me brush my teeth and we’ll get back in bed. I’ll explain everything, I promise. I promise, my love.”

He nods and reaches his hands out to haul you off the bathroom floor and gives you one last curious glance before shuffling back into the bedroom. Once you’ve completed your task and give yourself a long, hard look in the mirror you shut the light off and walk back to bed. Copia is sitting up with the covers pooled around his waist and your eyes flick to the tattoo on his pectoral as lead settles in your empty stomach. When you crawl in beside him he gently takes your hands in his and you take a deep breath.

“I…I don’t even know where to start.”

“Tell me everything from the moment you left my office yesterday, amore mio.”

“Right. Right. I uh. I got an email yesterday morning from Sister Imperator saying she wanted me to come to her office to talk. I thought I was, y’know, getting fired or something. It wasn’t that though. She told me…ugh,” you squeeze your eyes shut and reopen them with another deep breath, “She told me that I was…chosen. By Satan.”

“For…for what?”

“To…ugh this is so fucked up…to carry your child. She said that's why she hired me.”

The look of abject horror and fury on Copia’s face would make you physically recoil if he weren’t gripping your hands so tightly.

“She said what?” he breathes, and you swear his white eye flashes in the dim light of the bedroom. “Why the fuck…how could she say…unless...”

A self-deprecating little smirk slowly twists his lips and he exhales angrily through his nose.

“Copia she said–”

“--that I’m the Antichrist, sì?”

You’re floored. Sister Imperator had acted like this was an enormous secret that Copia was not aware of.

“Y-yeah. Yeah that’s what she said, Copia how–”

He gives you a sad smile.

“I told you I was always treated differently as a child, huh? People either treated me with kid gloves or complete derision. I’m not an idiot, I figured it out young. These, eh,” he raises his hands and displays the distinct scars on them, “were kind of a giveaway. It should be a great honor to know that the Unholy Father is…your father but all it ever did was give me grief. Eh, I suppose it beats Nihil refusing to accept that I’m his kid. Sathanas has at least been there for me - perhaps not physically but spiritually.”

“I was going to ask,” you start quietly, “I mean…you call the papas your brothers and for the longest time I just thought that was because you’ve known each other for so long but…the eyes…”

“You don’t know how the other kids at the abbey would torment me - knowing I was an Emeritus son but never being acknowledged by Nihil. Being hated by Nihil. Nothing’s fucking changed, I guess,” Copia mutters, “Nihil must have roped my mother into some ritual where he was possessed. Sathanas, what I wouldn’t give to have known her. It’s been a long, lonely life, amore. I just wanted someone to love me. Five decades on this earth of nothing but dalliances and heartache and then came…you.”

Copia looks at you with such tenderness you nearly start crying again. The truth about his mother is ready to leap from your tongue when he speaks again.

“You never saw me as, as a tool, or an inconvenience, or, or anything special–”

You’re horrorstruck.

“My love, you are more special to me than I can possibly put into words–”

“Yes, but as you said - special to you. Important to you. Not important to the faith, or important to some agenda being kept from me by the Ministry elders, eh? That was part of the gift of you being from the outside. I had a clean slate.”

“Even though apparently I was destined to be with you all along,” you say, brow furrowing, “Makes you wonder if…”

“Don’t think that,” Copia says quickly, quietly, and deadly serious as he grips your hands once more, “Amore, the most important tenet of my religion is that of free will. Nobody made you accept this job or made us fall in love. Per favore, don’t ever question that. The powers of the Olde One are great but he cannot manufacture emotion where there is none. I swear to you, amata mia.”

You nod, tears once again filling your eyes. Copia raises your hands to his mouth and kisses them.

“Anima mia,” he says, voice cracking, “Tell me…be honest. Does this news change how you feel about me?”

“Never,” you breathe, without a second thought, “Copia, nothing could change how I feel. I…I’ll be the first to admit I don’t fully understand it - not yet - but my love, you could bring about the end of days and I’ll walk into hell with you, hand in hand. I’d do anything for you, but…”

“What, what is it?” his shoulders tense and his grip on your hands tightens.

“Copia I don’t want a baby. Ever.”

His posture sags, clearly showing his relief.

“And amore I do not want anything that you do not want. Fuck the horrific reason Imperator said you were hired. And if putting your foot down was not enough for her then let her try to tell us both how she’s going to force a pregnancy on you, huh? How dare she. How dare she. Free will. Control over our own bodies. How could she twist His message like this? Not on my fucking watch.”

You give him a small smile, relief flooding your veins before you pause. You’ve revealed almost all to him but one thing still lingers. Part of you tells you to hold off, to wait until a time when you’re both less exhausted. Before you can second-guess yourself though, you speak.

“Copia, there’s something else. About Sister Imperator.”

“What’s that then?”

You hesitate, wondering if it’s wise to divulge all the secrets she shared with you. You know it’s a matter of when, not if, she will make you pay. When you look into his anxious gaze, your heart clenches. He deserves the truth. Damn the consequences.

“She’s…your mother, my love. I’m so sorry.”

He goes quiet, looking down to where your fingers are entwined with his. It takes a minute before he speaks again.

“I think part of me always knew,” he murmurs, “She’s always been there, every step of the way. I just don’t understand why it had to be kept from me. Why she couldn’t…why she couldn’t love me outright. Like a mother should, huh?”

“I don’t know,” you say, “It’s…it’s clear she cares about you deeply but I can’t speak to her motivations. She’s a complex woman.”

He snorts softly, a small smile on his face.

“That’s putting it lightly. Well that’s a conversation for another time, my brain can’t process anymore bullshit right now. Eh, what a night. Didn’t think when I was listening to you puke that this is where things would end up.”

Your stomach does another somersault.

“Ugh don’t remind me. But Copia,” you reach up to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, “Thank you. And I love you. For everything you are and everything you’ve done. Eternally.”

There’s no mistaking the glisten of tears in his eyes this time as he leans in to softly kiss you. When he gently pulls away he rests his forehead against yours.

“We’re taking tomorrow off,” Copia murmurs, “And we’re getting out of the abbey. I’ll text Imperator in the morning to tell her, and if she has a problem I’ll just say that if she doesn’t fuck off I won’t, em—’deceive people with signs and wonders, or sit in the temple of God and claim to be God himself’, eh?”

The laugh that comes out of you is hoarse and tired but genuine.

“Blackmail feels very Antichrist-y of you, my love.”

“See, I’m already great at this. Fear the trembler of nations,” Copia growls, dragging you down onto the bed on top of him. Laughing, you prop your chin up on his sternum.

“Kingdoms to fall one by one?”

He nods, smoothing your hair back.

“Exactly, amore. But first eh, let’s get some sleep.”

“Anything you say, Your Eminence.”

“Oh no, dolcezza mia. Not mine. All yours.”

You yawn and curl into his side.

“Goodnight, my love.”

Copia leans over and turns off the lamp, sighing heavily.

“Buonanotte, amore.”

You dream of hellfire.

You sleep more soundly than you have in a long, long time.

[st-kitten]

707 pt.3

← previous chapter christmas special

A/N: um... i've got two small special effects for this part, sooooo see if u can use them at the right moment :")

WARNINGS: trauma, implied death by accident, a good cry honestly, violence (intended IM A GIRLS GIRL BUT SOME THINGS ARE OKA-), that shlong, sloppenheimer (kidding: oral sex, both receiving), age gap (newsflash 😒) (reader is obv 20+ and toji is idk 38?)

"can we call y/n? for cake?" asked megumi.

"i'm not sure she wants to see anybody today, kid," replied a distressed toji

"but it's my birthday..."

toji couldn't resist megumi's puppy eyes. but he figured that if there was anyone you'd listen to, it would be him. it was worth a try.

both of them stepped out of their apartment, hearing music coming from your apartment. toji felt his breath returning to his lungs. music meant you were okay. or at least alive. your singing got clearer as the two of them stood outside your door. he tried knocking but it was left unanswered. toji wondered whether it was just a recording playing, so he pressed his ear on the door. no, that's definitely her. open the fucking door, y/n!

all toji had as a sign that you were inside were was you were singing.

[mention: easy on me, by adele, again for the lyrics ft.]

"i know there is hope in these waters..." is she crying?

"but I can't bring myself to swim, when i am drowning in this silence..." your voice croaked in the end. she's definitely crying. what the fuck did i do...

toji looked around the lobby. seeing it empty, he grabbed your doorknob and pressed hard on it, tearing it apart, breaking it. he gave it to megumi. he barged inside your barely lit, dark living room, only to find you sitting on the floor, head against the sofa, looking at the ceiling. broken glasses and torn papers surrounded you as you sang at the top of your lungs, voice overcome with some kind of pain that toji couldn't understand, but just feel.

"you can't deny how hard I've tried i changed who I was to put you both first but now I give up..."

"i was still a child..."

"so go eas-" hearing the door blast open, you stopped, whipping your head in its direction.

you were about to bark at toji when you saw the look on his face. fear... then you saw megumi, holding your doorknob, standing behind his father.

toji saw your grief-stricken face. the haunting melody of whatever heart-wrenching song you were singing still echoed in his ears, reaching out from the walls like a desperate cry for help. your disheveled hair clung to your face, a stark contrast to the carefree spirit that used to reside next door.

"w-what are you d-"

"what happened?"

toji treaded carefully around the broken glass, telling megumi to wait where he stood. he knelt down beside you, pushing away the small shards.

you sat there, too horrified to say anything. why is he here? a small shaky breath left your mouth, the rest bubbling up like lava, ready to erupt.

"i don't know what i did baby, but i'm sorr-" toji's apology went unheard as tears streamed down your face and a cry tore through the air like a wounded animal's howl. it was guttural, unrestrained, and laced with a pain so visceral that toji felt it in his bones. the sound wasn't pretty; it was raw and unfiltered, like the ugly side of life laid bare for anyone in earshot.

without a second thought, toji enveloped you in a tight embrace, pulling your trembling shoulders into him. he sat on the floor next to you, one leg folded down and the other tucked to his chest. he felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine as you sobbed into him.

"it's okay..." was all he could say. even he knew that it wasn't about fixing everything; it was about being there in whatever storm was raining down on you. he looked at megumi, unsure about how his son would take seeing you break down. the child stood a silent witness to all of it, his eyes glistening slightly.

"why is it okay?" you muttered. "for parents to be your first bullies..."

"what... stopped them," you sniffled, "from just listening to me?"

toji held onto every word that came out of your mouth. a part of him was relieved that this wasn't about him.

"i didn't want a fucking cake... i didn't want a cake, i just wanted them..." your breath hitched.

"you spend half of your life raising a child in the cruelest way... your last words to each other end up being an argument and... your last words to me were nothing..."

toji felt a knot in his stomach. he watched megumi leave and go back to their apartment. he was torn between his kid, disturbed on the eve of his birthday and the woman he was cradling, on her birthday...

as the echoes of your cry faded, they left behind a heavy, oppressive silence. only your shaky breath could be heard. he sat beside you, his eyes searching for the right words as you wiped away the tears that had traced down your cheeks.

"birthdays are supposed to be happy, ya know..." he whispered to you, as gently as he could. as if the wrong words would shatter you.

"they're also supposed to be spent with family apparently..." you said, gritting your teeth. toji didn't know what to say... he wanted so desperately to talk to her. but how do you even say something at a time like that?

megumi's small steps echoed in your living room. both of you looked at him. you felt like bawling your eyes out and toji simply smiled at his son.

megumi carried a small plate with a loaf of bread sitting atop, two tiny candles buried in it, their flames flickering in the dark room. he stood in front of you, holding out the plate to you with his tiny hands.

you held the plate, placing your hands on his. you glanced at the clock, which was seconds away from midnight. you blew one candle, covering the other with your palm. and when the clock struck 12, megumi blew the other candle out.

"happy birthday, gumi," you put the plate down and hugged him. he wrapped his tiny hands around you, resting his head on your shoulder. "happy birthday, y/n," he said softly.

hours passed by as you talked to toji about your unforeseen disappearance. megumi had fallen asleep in your lap and you stroked his head. you told him about your 13th birthday, your parents death in a car crash... you left some things off the conversation. oh, how toji felt each word you said. he knew how ruthless families could be. his own was never kind to him. he told you about his scar in return, and how he felt insecure about it.

"it's kinda hot, if you ask me." seemed like you were back to being your normal self.

toji smirked. "i know. you wouldn't stop kissing it last night."

you smacked his chest with the back of your hand. but it brought you two to that conversation. toji wanted it off his chest.

"i like ya."

you looked at him, taking a shallow breath.

"not just 'cause we made out yesterday. i'm the worst person to talk about feelings and shit to, but... i got 'em. for you." toji was done with it. he didn't want to stretch it any further. not after the day you'd had.

you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off, "sit with it for a while. ya don't need to answer me right now."

toji picked megumi up from your lap, carrying him in his arms. he pressed a soft, patient kiss to your lips. "belated happy birthday," he said against your lips, got up and left, leaving a large hole in your door.

[ambient song y/n might vibe to: jeene mein aaye maza, by ankur tiwari]

you wandered aimlessly in the convenience store, picking up things and putting them back where they didn't belong. you circled the whole store thrice until the cashier asked you if something was wrong. paying for cheap beer and rice crackers you didn't even want, you left the store.

you walked home in the evening, head in the clouds. (a cloud shaped like toji)

he liked you. his words hammered in your mind like construction workers at the crack of dawn. girls usually felt giddy after hearing a boy confess to them. the fuck were you feeling? and why was it some kind of diarrhoea? you mind went back to how you'd kissed and how good it felt. there was no doubt that you found him attractive. you liked spending time with him. but did you like him? what even would you do if you did? date him? be his girlfriend? mother to his child? how did one go about dating an older man? if anything, he'd end up with another child.

you walked by a park, watching children playing (mostly falling), building sandcastles in the pit (and falling on them), running around chasing nothing (and falling), scurrying into their parents' arms (guess what).

did you want to be that to megumi? because being with toji meant being with megumi and being responsible for him.

you sat down on the pavement, sipping on beer that tasted like toothpaste, pondering over what kind of life you'd build for yourself. you were not interested in hook up culture. committed relationships were made to sound like life imprisonment sentences. the titles didn't apply to you and especially him. what would being with toji even look like? once your little quinn project comes to an end, what then? would he grab the cash and bolt? would he stay? would he stay anyway?

the more you sat and thought about it, the more things blurred. you thought it best not to overthink it. he did tell you to not rush an answer. but you were not the most patient of all people. the one thing you disliked was how things get awkward every time someone confesses their feelings out of the blue and the other has to be the dealbreaker.

you decided to do the rest of the thinking at home. the city was twinkling with christmas lights and decorations. it was always a wonderful sight to see. it made you want to travel to a quaint countryside only to realise your long lost love for the holiday season and family values as you broke into song about reuniting with your childh-yes, that hallmark movie.

when you entered through the gate to your building, you spotted megumi near the postboxes. a very uncomfortable megumi... in the arms of a woman you'd never seen. she looked rich. fur coat, pradas, sunglasses that covered her whole face like a covid shield. megumi so didn't want to be held like that. your gaze fell on toji, who... drumroll... had the exact same expression as his kid. as you walked in that direction you could hear the conversation.

"he likes me, don't you think?" PLEASE that's what rich people sound like?

"just put him down," toji sighed.

"no, i'm gonna steal him!!!" she giggled, shoving her face into megumi. he flinched and pushed himself away from her.

"aww, he's so playful... toji, why don't you invite me over for a drink?"

megumi wiggled like a worm in her arms, trying to escape her grip. he twisted like a pretzel until she had to put him down. but she held onto his hand tightly. that didn't go unnoticed by toji who was growing angrier every passing minute.

"come on... it'll be fun," she sneered.

"i gotta look after my kid." that was all he said.

"i'm sure he won't mind... right meggy? you'll let daddy and i play for a while, right?" megumi tried to pry her hands off, but she tugged at him harshly.

suddenly, all the diarrhoea made sense. the blur cleared. your eyes narrowed as you observed the audacious scene unfolding before you. something in your head snapped and you took purposeful steps towards her, and offensive gaze locked, devoid of any remorse.

swatting her hand off of megumi's, you put the kid behind you protectively. in a millisecond, your hand swung with conscious thought, as you smashed the beer bottle on her head. the glass shattered on her scalp, cutting through the background noise like a warning shot.

"not. your. kid."

caught between shock and appreciation for your sudden defence, toji covered his curled mouth with his palm. he looked at megumi, who stood behind you, holding the ends of your jacket. the kid looked back at his father, smirking mischievously. toji turned his cackling laughter into an asthmatic cough.

the woman couldn't take a hint even when it hit her in the skull.

"who do you think you are?"

"how dare you hit me? do you know who i am?"

"i'm talking to you!!! hello!!!??"

you let her run her mouth. you weren't interested in what she had to say. you looked down at megumi. you could see the faint red strip that circled his wrist. you knew how manipulative it was to use toji's kid as a means to get to him. you already befell his threat. but you understood it all of a sudden.

the honest urge to protect your kid.

the woman eventually stomped and left, mouthing cuss words at passersby.

"so... care to explain what that was?" asked toji, folding his hands, looking at you with fascination.

"my answer," you said with a smile as you held megumi's little hand, rubbing the back of it with your thumb.

toji smirked proudly.

"what happened here?" asked the building watchman, who heard about the act of violence from others who witnessed it.

"nothing interesting,"

"they're saying you harassed a woman," he was quick to throw an accusing glance at toji.

"nonsense! just some personal drama," you interrupted. "that's the father, this is his son."

"and that's the unholy spirit..." toji mumbled to the guard, earning a death glare from you.

the three of you walked towards the elevator. you handed megumi the rice crackers you bought and he wasted no time in digging in. toji put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer as he whispered in your ear, "what does a fella like me have to do to see you smash another bottle again?"

"flirt with another woman and i'll gladly smash one on your head."

toji's deep chuckle vibrated in your ear.

megumi dragged you inside their house to show you his new sketches. he'd really outdone himself. he'd also made his father hang all the small drawings on the christmas tree they had in their living room. toji was glad that he'd found something to occupy himself with. not that he didn't want to spend time with the kid, but seeing him not get overly attached to a single parent relieved the giant weight on his shoulders.

"mmm! gumi, i have a gift for you."

megumi trotted to you like a puppy, eyes twinkling like stars.

"you're gonna spoil him."

"correct."

you gave him a cd. "i wrote you a song." megumi clutched the cd like a prized trophy. he opened the case and showed his father the cd. you'd chased down your producer's sales guy to put one of megumi's sketches as the cd cover.

"when did you even have time to do this?"

"last night. and today morning."

"you didn't sleep?"

you looked away from him, perfectly expecting a fatherly scolding. instead, toji just chortled. he left megumi to listen to your song on a loop as the two of you went to your apartment. (sorry megs, but this is a toji x y/n)

you closed the door, swearing that the hole where your doorknob used to be was getting bigger by each minute. not a moment later, toji had his arms wrapped around you, his mouth on yours. you dropped the grocery bags on the floor and threw your hands around his neck. bumping into nearly every piece of furniture along the way, you sauntered into your room, lips glued to each other. he kissed you like it was the last thing he could do in the world and you kissed him like it was the first thing you wanted to do before anything else.

"mmm... hold on," toji pulled away momentarily and said, "promise me one thing."

"what?"

"you don't disappear when shit hits the fan. you come talk to me."

you felt guilt churn inside you, recalling how you'd left toji and megumi to wonder what 'they' had done wrong to make you go distant.

you nodded. "i promise."

toji held you in his arms for a while, taking a look at your face. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and you winced.

"ow! careful, i just got my ear pierced."

toji raised his eyebrows. he pushed your hair aside and saw a helix piercing, the edge of your ear pink and slightly swollen.

"that looks like it hurt."

"oh, it did."

"then why'd ya get it?"

"i always get piercings on my birthday."

"why?" toji honestly didn't understand this form of self-harm.

"what can i say, buddy, i love getting stabbed..." you said plainly, backing away and took your shoes off.

toji snorted a laugh at your comment. "masochist."

"aww, big man uses big words now..." you said, keeping your shoes under your bed. toji simply slapped your ass.

"sadist."

"by the way, i added some background noises to our recording. it sounds so good!"

"oh? let's hear it then," said toji, sitting down on your bed. he was glad to see you be your usual confident self. last night had him tensed with worry. even though he wasn't the source of your pain, he couldn't imagine how lonely you must've felt spending your birthday crying as life wickedly toasted to your parent's death, scarring the one day you were supposed to own with pride.

you made him listen to some excerpts, but ended up talking over them anyway, excitedly telling him how smartly you had edited some things. he just watched you with a small smile. whenever you turned to face him, his eyes fell on your piercing. he counted how many you had. nine. marking nine years of an anniversary nobody would want to remember like this. four piercings on each ear and one in your nose. did you really need the pain to validate your broken heart? did it make you feel like you deserved it?

he dismissed those thoughts from his head. it was your decision. and you bore it like an ornament, and not a scar. plus, he now that he fully took your face in, he couldn't deny hot incredibly hot those piercings looked on you. the thought of you sitting through that and showing off your piercings made his stomach flip. seriously, how much more hot could you get?

as if to answer his question, your recording played in his ear, some scene at a party with your characters failing to keep their hands to themselves. his voice blended with yours like the perfect duet. the way you spoke, changing your tone, pitch, hell, even your little laugh to suit your character made him feral. he wanted to hear you more. but not for some recording. he wanted to hear you for himself.

the moment the recording ended, toji pounced on you, grabbing your neck, careful not to hurt your ear as he kissed you roughly. you gasped, but melted on the spot. you liked where this was going anyway. toji moved his lips along yours, nibbling at you mouth. he let you catch a breath, before shoving his tongue inside, only for it to hitch again.

he pushed you into your bed, immediately hovering over you. he let his hands run up and down your legs. you hummed under his touch. he felt you shuffle underneath. he pulled away for a moment to watch you sneak your phone out of the pocket, finger pressed on a red dot.

"you wanna give your fans a show, baby?" he murmured.

"nuh uh, this is for me," you panted.

toji smirked. "gotta make this good then..." he peppered kiss on your neck, sucking on your skin. he could smell that god awful coconut perfume. to ease the weight his humongous body dumped on you, he shoved his knee between your legs, hoisting himself over you properly. you practically moaned in his mouth at the feeling of his knee rubbing against you. you had no idea what to do with your hands, so you just let them stay on your stomach lifelessly.

toji broke the kiss once more, chuckling at the whine that escaped from your mouth.

"so needy..." he growled, taking his shirt off with one hand. your jaw hung open as you took him in. the way he towered you even when sitting on his knees made him seem almost... monstrous.

toji only it thought it fair to get rid of your clothes too. he held your waist and pulled you to him, hoisting you on his lap. he took your jacket off, throwing it on the floor.

"be careful with the shirt. it's vivienne westwood."

"strip then."

slowly, taking the sweet time of your life, you pulled the shirt off, turning it right side up and neatly folded it, placing it at the far end of your bed.

"you done, sweetie?" he cooed in your ear.

"done."

"lovely. put your hands to use." he had you folded under him, back on the bed, kisses getting rougher, wetter, messier. you clawed at his shoulder, back, neck, chest, every part of him that you could touch. he licked a particular spot just under your ear that made you mewl in pleasure. like a vampire, toji bit your neck, causing you to moan softly.

his free hand unclasped your bra and tossed it away.

"would it kill you to not throw my clothes here and there?"

"thought you liked it violent, baby..." he murmured in your ear, biting a hickey on your neck. he kept switching between kissing your lips and sucking at your neck while he played with your tits, squeezing them, pinching them, kneading them like dough. he was right. they did fit in his hands perfectly. he latched his mouth onto one, making you squirm under him.

toji was absorbing your body. he felt bold; bold to take what he wanted from you. well, what he wanted was you. your body, your hips, your mouth, all of it. he wanted to show you just how desirable you were to him.

the hand that roamed your waist slowly trailed down your cargo pants. you didn't even realise when he took them off, but it was good anyway. less is more.

at an agonisingly slow pace, the tips of his fingers teased you over your panties. toji took a look at you, covered in his marks, lips pink and swollen.

he chuckled, "just how many of these stupid panties do you have?"

"I FUCKING KNEW IT. PANTY THIEF!" you smacked his abs.

"they're mine now," toji murmured as back away, spreading your legs apart with his hands, grabbing at your thighs. he kissed your inner thigh languorously making his way down to your wet cunt. he took your panties off, once more putting them back in his pockets. he dipped two of is fingers inside slowly, as if he was learning about your body. he watched your every reaction, every quiver, every hitched breath as he took his time and prepped you for himself. he curled his fingers at an optimal spot and like a cat on heat, you mewled and your legs shut tight around his hand.

"uh uh uh, i need these legs wide open, darling." he knew how much you liked it when he said that. when you didn't spread them, he smacked a hard slap on your hip, causing you to gasp and giggle as you did as directed.

"don't be a brat."

"or what?"

toji didn't retort. instead, he dove straight into your cunt, painting your insides with long strokes with his tongue. he paired it with his forefinger running up and down, inside and out, pushing against your clit. hearing you whimper and pant just made him want to tease you. recording all those dirty audios with you had him gain a mind in the game. like an illusionist, his hands disappeared and he pulled away, making you pine for him.

"toji fushiguro, i will smash a bottle on your head if you ever take your mouth off me like that again..." god, you sounded so sexy.

"ya know... it makes my dick hard when you talk to me like that."

you crunched forward and grabbed his hair, pulling him back to your pussy. toji chuckled, resuming eating you out like a man starved for days.

"oh i bet it does," you said breathlessly, throwing a few more slurred taunts his way. toji extended his free hand and shoved two of his fingers in your mouth.

"put that mouth to use, brat." he groaned in pleasure feeling your tongue swirl around his fingers, sucking them, gently biting them whenever he lapped at your cunt the right away. even with his fingers stuffed in your mouth, he could hear your muffled moans loudly. he sped his pace, slipping his fingers in and out of you, lapping at your core. he felt you clench and he took it as an open invitation to increase the pressure. you let out a long, stretched moan as you gushed all over his chin.

"is this what you ladies call girl dinner?" toji took his fingers out of you, licking them and tasting you, smacking his lips.

you laughed, throwing your head back.

"ugh, shut up."

"make me," you commented, practically waltzing into the man's next plan for you. toji's hand wrapped around your throat as he pulled you up as if you weight nothing. he got off the bed, standing in front of you as you were on all fours.

"gladly," toji slid his pants and boxers down, freeing his hard-as-a-rock girth.

"this isn't fair, toji," you cried at the size of it.

"i know, baby..." he gripped your chin with his fingers, nearly crushing your jaw. you looked up at him and seeing you on your knees for him lit a fire within him.

playfully you licked his wet lip like a kitten...

"cute. but that's not gonna cut it, sweetheart."

"i'll have you know i won the popsicle eating contest in my college..."

toji chuckled, holding his cock out to your face and smacked it against your lips. "gonna keep me waitin'?"

you took his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, letting the tip run between the faint slit. you bobbed your head a few times, adjusting to his length and width. you'd be grateful to have a jaw left by the time you've sucked him dry. you took his length in your, stroking what you couldn't. you felt his cock twitch and pulsate in your mouth.

"god, you're doing so well..." toji reached forward, accidentally thrusting more of his dick in your mouth, making you whimper. he picked up your phone, which had been recording every lewd sound you made and he held it by his hip. "you sound so... fucking perfect, baby... gagging over my dick like that."

he pushed your hair aside, gripping it tightly as he pushed your head further in, moaning at how good it felt to have you take damn nearly all of him.

"fuck... shit.... s' good" toji let a buffet of grunts and moans spill out of his mouth. first, because he you took him that well, and second because he wanted you to get off to his voice, just like he did to yours. he began thrusting into your mouth faster, feeling his release creeping its way up. had he known how easy it was for him to come just by getting a quick blowjob, he'd have put more work into the foreplay. but fuck, he loved every damn moment of it. how your mouth was wet and warm, how your pointed tongue knew just where to lick, how your cheeks hollowed to pull him in.

"keep going, baby... i'm almost there," he panted, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back, hips moving at a brutal pace. his mind went to you eating a popsicle for some reason and he laughed, paving the way for a guttural moan that rumbled through his mouth as he came into your mouth. you closed your eyes, letting the uncomfortable feeling pass away as you managed to swallow the barrel full of cum he just shot into your mouth.

toji pulled out, feeling euphoric. he was completely obsessed with you. he wanted to take your right there. he wanted to be inside you. fuck, he wanted to see how loud you could get for him.

a knock on your main door and a small voice calling out to toji snapped you back to your senses.

"what a cockblock," toji sighed.

you threw a pillow at him. "that's your adorable birthday boy you're talking about!"

toji changed back into his clothes, refusing to give you your panties back, earning another pillow to his face. he looked at you to make sure you still didn't have second thoughts about him. but there you were, effortlessly moving around the room, picking up the pieces of clothing he'd tossed here and there. he loved how much fun you had doing all these things with him. it made the experience twice as much worth it.

you changed into your pyjamas and led toji out of your bedroom.

"does it say 'juicy' on your ass?" he said, reading the glittery text on your pants.

"ya bet it does," you smacked your own ass, proud of your sense of fashion, no matter how ridiculous it was.

"gonna fuck that ass someday."

"fix my door first." you peeked through the hole in your door, looking at the top of megumi's hair.

you opened the door to see megumi standing in his pyjamas, holding his demon dog, yawning.

"awww, sorry for keeping your dad for so long."

megumi yawned again, nodding.

"she sang a song for me too, you know..." said toji, picking up his sleepy kid, giving you a wink. you kicked his ass, making him stagger out of your house.

"good night."

"good night..." you smiled at the two.

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊

TAGLIST: @kaininety2 @ruixrei @chicken-fifi @mrsfush1guro @szillx @queendessi24 @sillysillygoofygoose @shadowmoonlight0604

[blixabargelds]

PLS do more cnc, nobody ever writes it :( you are a fantastic writer

thank youu 🥺 cnc my beloved ugh especially when it’s ill advised and under negotiated and ends in tears <3 but also also~

modern clegan au,. gale meets this real attractive guy at a bar, a little older, rough around the edges but he seems nice enough. and gale’s nervous because he’s never touched a drop of alcohol in his life but he’s had a rough fucking week, wants to see what the fuss is all about, take the edge off the noise in his head. and this guy sits down next to him, and gale’s playing nervously with the straw in his vodka lime soda staring into it, and this guy says ‘hey, doll, you gonna drink that?’

so gale does. he takes a sip, and it sort of stings on the way down, but this cute guy, says his name is john, smiles at him so wide like he’s pleased with him and that smile is like a shot in itself, so gale finishes the drink. and john, he can see this quiet kid is relaxing a bit, so he gets him another. and john’s hardly touching his but gale’s halfway through this second one, and christ he’s a lightweight, so he barely notices he’s the only one getting wasted.

and gale gets a little bold with it, he’s flirting with this guy now, and when john offers to drive him home he accepts because the world is tilting a bit, and he seems so nice.

and when gale kisses his cheek as a thank you as they get back to gale’s, this guy- he won’t leave. he sticks a foot in gale’s door and won’t let him shut it. and this big smile john had, it won’t leave his face as he looks at gale and says ‘you do this a lot?’

gale doesn’t know what he means, goes to say no and sorry, but john’s bullying his way into gale’s apartment and saying ‘you like to lead guys on? you do this a lot, leave good men high and dry? nobody ever told you that’s pretty fuckin rude?’

and gale’s gut twists and he goes to say something else, but john’s switched. he ain’t so friendly anymore. he’s grabbing gale by the hair and throwing him down onto his bed. he’s bigger and stronger, and gale’s head is swimming, and he can’t breathe as john’s tugging his pants down, shoving his face into the pillow so when gale shouts for him to get the hell off him nobody’s gonna hear. and gale’s maybe starting to cry as john fingers him once, twice, then fucks into him with spit and the sheer force of a violent stranger, and gale thinks he might pass out.

and he’s never done this before, either, and he tells this guy as much, begging him not to, he doesn’t understand his body’s reaction when this guy fucks him so deep he’s hitting something gale’s only found with his own shy fingers before, and gale wants to die because he’s getting hard, he’s gonna come from this man roughly taking something gale didn’t want to give. and when he does, just from his cock against the sheets and john splitting him apart, he sobs into the pillow, begs john to get off him bc he’s ruining him, and when john pulls out and flips gale over and puts his hand on his neck he tells him ‘you never saw my face, nobody’s going to believe you’.

and he’s choking gale so tight his eyes are rolling back, and the vodka and the terror and the lack of oxygen make him slip, and he thinks he can hear the ocean rushing in his ears and as john’s grip finally loosens he’s gone.

and when john touches his face, brings him back around, everything’s fuzzy. and gale looks up at him, and he smiles so hard john drags in this breath like he was the one getting throttled.

and gale says, ‘you never asked my name’

and john says ‘shit, buck, where d’you learn to act like that,’ and ‘did you tell the bartender beforehand to just give you soda?’ because of course gale would plan that far ahead, and ‘where did the fucking virgin thing come from?’

and gale says, ‘you told me i could improvise,’ and ‘did you lock the door? never know what kinds of people there are out there these days.’

[cmncisspnandmore]

heyyy so i saw that your requests were open so i wanted to ask:

could you write an Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader where she kinda has control issues as she could never trust people with doing the bare minimum so she always does it herself- (she is a civilian by the way). so one day simon sees her breaking down, losing her golden patience and being a crying mess because she is so stressed with doing everything

(ngl i need some comfort after that happened to me)

love you and dont stress yourself!!

Hi Nonny! I hope you're feeling a little better now. You can always message me if you need to talk. I'm sorry this isnt super long, my 3D printed tiny human is having a rough day, but i wanted to get this out for you. I hope i did it justice, its kinda hard to put into words what doing everything looks and feels like. But I did my best. If its not what you wanted/needed please let me know and I will try again. Lots of Love <3 Paige

Pairing: Simon X Reader

Warnings: Overwhelming feelings, soft simon, little bit of butt touching. Like one swear word.

Word Count: 960

You were tired.

Beyond tired, you were exhausted.

The kind of exhaustion that seems to be radiating from your bones. Your hands shake as you sit on the floor of the bathroom. Your back pressed against the side of the bathtub. The cool surface sends chills down your spine as you wipe your hands across your cheeks. It was a pointless action, the tears were falling faster than you could get rid of them. Your cheeks are raw and sore from the constant rub.

Your chest aches from trying to hold back the sobs that threaten to escape. You clamp a hand over your mouth as your shoulders shake, strangled gasp for breath leaving your lips. A pair of boots stop outside the bathroom door and you know that you’ve been caught. Your best efforts to keep quiet, to not worry Simon, have been foiled.

There's a soft knock on the bathroom door, followed by the handle being turned, the wood creaking as Simon’s blonde hair and brown eyes peek behind the door.

“Love?” He says softly, as he slips through the door and closes it again, coming to crouch down in front of you. His brows pulled together in worry. “What's wrong?” He asks softly.

“I’m tired… I just.. I need the world to just pause for a moment so I can catch my breath,” you sniffle, as Simon takes a seat next to you. His arm wrapping around your shoulders as they shake.

“What do you mean Lovie?” He asks, his fingers brushing along your upper arm as he listens.

“I feel like I can never relax.. There’s always something that needs to be done. The dishes, the laundry, something at work, going to appointments, making sure the house is taken care of while you’re gone. I feel like i'm running on empty,” you sob, resting your head on his shoulder.

Simon is quiet for a moment, his hands continue to stroke the fabric of your shirt sleeve as he holds you. He knows the feeling, the inability to let someone else do something for you because what if they don't do it right. Or what if they don't do it at all? He's been there before, after his family was killed. After he was buried alive. He didn't trust anyone else to do the job, so he did it all himself. Wore himself out so thin he wasn't sure he would ever recover.

He noticed it in you too, at first he thought you were just trying to be independent. That you wanted to show him that you could do things on your own when he was away. Which Simon appreciated, he liked to know that you would be okay while he was gone but it quickly became more than that. You started taking over all the chores, making sure that everything was done before he got the chance.

It wasn't to say that Simon didn't try to help you. He did, but you were often insistent that you could do it, you didn't need him to look after you. Night after night you would come home, make dinner, clean it up, and do everything in between, while waving Simon off with the promise you could handle it.

But now, as Simon holds you in his arms on the bathroom floor he wishes he could take what you're feeling away. He wishes he tried harder to get you to relax, because it was clear you hadnt relaxed in a long time. Simon takes a deep breath, his head resting on yours.

“You gotta let me help you, Lovie…” he whispers.

“But i can do it…” You sniffle, pulling away slightly to look at him with teary eyes.

“I know you can, but you don't have to. You don't have to do everything yourself, we’re a team…” His hand comes to rest on the side of your cheek, wiping away your tears. “How can we be a team if you do everything yourself? You know how much I love you right?” You give him a small nod, leaning your cheek into his hand.

“Good girl…” he smiles slightly, “And because I love you, I need you to start letting me help you out. You don't need to be the one who keeps the house in order, or makes dinner every night, you don't need to pretend that nothing is bothering you. I know how stressed you are at work. I know how you feel like you're being pulled a million different directions at all times because you feel like you have to do everything, control everything. But you don't, Love.” Simon’s thumb wipes some of the tears from your cheeks.

“So what you're going to do now, is you’re going to change into your comfiest clothes, and you’re gonna go to our room and lay down, pick out a movie, and i’ll be there in a moment. Then we’re gonna spend the rest of the day in bed, napping and eating junk food until you feel a little better, okay?” He leans forward kissing your forehead.

After a moment you let out a small sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. “Okay…” you mumble into his shoulder as his arms wrap around you, one hand on the back of your head. “I love you Simon…” You whisper.

“I love you too, now go,” he smiles as you pull away. As you stand up and head out of the bathroom, Simon's hand smacks your ass, a yelp leaving your lips as you look back at him with a small smile on your face.

“Simon!” you scold.

“Sorry Darling, I couldn't help myself,” He smirks as he follows you out of the bathroom.

[lonesome-witching]

Tell Me Something Nice

Apparently people love some angst occasionally, because I have been asked to write some. And it won't be the last time. This one does feature a heavily injured Nancy.

Do you have any prompts yourself? Or do you want to dive into what I wrote before? You can read my previous prompts or send me some new ones.

Robin stared for a moment. She wasn’t sure what to do. Nancy was the one who took charge. Nancy was the one who knew what to do in these kinds of situations. Robin didn’t. She needed Nancy to tell her what to do.

But Nancy wouldn’t tell her what to do. Not right now. Not as she was bleeding into the cracked wood of the Upside Down Creel house. There was blood everywhere and it was making Robin sick.

“Rob–“ Nancy creaked out.

And that was enough for Robin to come back to herself. She jumped into action, falling down next to Nancy’s body. She took a deep breath. There was blood creeping towards Robin’s knees, and it worried her.

“Okay, Nance, I’m going to get you out of here.” Robin’s hands reached for Nancy, hesitating. She was unsure where to put her hands as to not hurt Nancy. There wasn’t a single spot where she wouldn’t hurt her.

So, she conceded. She pushed her arms under Nancy’s back, picking her up and instantly feeling the blood drip down her hands. Nancy groaned.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just need to get you out of here. There is no other way,” Robin rambled. She kept talking as she stood up, holding Nancy in her arms. She kept apologizing so she wouldn’t hear the pained noises coming out of Nancy’s mouth.

She hated the sound of it. She hated the feel of it. She hated the worry that squeezed her heart. She couldn’t lose Nancy. She wouldn’t lose Nancy.

“Robin?” Nancy sounded weak. Her voice soft and broken. It pained Robin to hear it.

“Yeah, Nance.”

“Can you… tell me…”

“Tell you what?”

“Anything. Something nice.”

Robin thought about it. She wasn’t sure what she could possibly tell her. Her mind was filled with pain and suffering.

“Please,” Nancy sighed.

“Alright, I’m just thinking about it. It’s hard to think right now.”

Nancy almost smiled. A small little thing. Barely noticeable. But Robin noticed it.

“Would you believe me if I said these past few days were some of the happiest of my life?”

“No,” Nancy replied. Her eyes were hooded.

“Well, it’s true. Before this entire circus I didn’t have any friends. At least no real friends. Instead, I just stared from a distance. At all those people who had friends. At you.”

“No,” Nancy said, trying to shake her head.

“Yes,” Robin disagreed.

“No friends.”

“You had Steve and his braindead friends. And Jonathan. And–“ Robin stopped herself. “Anyway, whether you had friends or not, I still stared at you. You were mesmerizing. And these past few days I finally got to know you. I always thought you were going to be a priss. But you’re not. You’re quite the opposite.”

“Full of… surprises,” Nancy smiled.

“Yeah exactly.” Robin quickened her pace. “Getting to know you was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Nancy’s hand fell down, hanging limp as her eyes finally closed all the way. The smile had gone.

“Nance?”

There was no reaction. The silence merely stretching out around them. Robin had never liked the silence. It was one of the many reasons why she talked as much as she did. When it was to quiet, her mind would start racing and the words would tumble out.

“Nancy?”

Still nothing. Robin started running. There was nothing else to do. She couldn’t be far from the Eddie’s place. Unless she had gotten lost. She hoped she hadn’t gotten lost.

“Nancy? Please, say something. Please, anything. Nance, I can’t lose you. Stay with me. Nancy… I love you.”

She kept talking as she ran to the gate. She kept running until she was able to drop Nancy on the other side. Steve drove her to the hospital. Robin sat in the backseat, stroking Nancy’s hair. She sobbed the whole way to the hospital. She continued crying as she waited for news. Someone had told Karen Wheeler because she cried about as heavily as Robin did when she entered the hospital. Robin wasn’t sure what story they had told her, or the doctors, or anybody.

It had been hours before Karen walked over to Robin.

“She’ll be fine.”

Robin nodded, for once she didn’t have words.

“I heard you saved her life. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for that.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

Karen smiled. “If you’re up for it, she’d really like to see you.”

“She would?”

“Yes, she asked specifically for you.”

Robin stood up. She took a deep breath and walked towards Nancy’s hospital room.

[mathanlin]

// mentions of past abuse & neglect, burns

Foster AU where foster kid!Tommy’s ready to destroy the Watsons.

Not *fight* them — he’s not stupid (and… maybe he falters at their persistent kindness). But there’s other ways to get his anger out. 

Like vandalism.

And his first target is Phil’s stupid parenting book.

The stupid fucker left it out, bookmarked and all. It falls open as Tommy snatches it, intending to shred the thing.

His eyes catch a few words. Abuse. Neglect. Trauma.

But what he truly reads is the highlighted line.

“...may act aggressive or lash out to hide their fear.”

Tommy… hesitates.

No. This is adrenaline & anger, not— not fear. 

But he won’t rip the book to confetti (celebrating how he’ll surely be forced out). He just grabs a pen, scribbling out the stupid highlighted line.

And scrawls his own note. “Fuck you. I’m not fucking afraid.”

And he’s *not.*

Not when he’s driving back from school, bantering with (and insulting) the twins. Not when he strolls into the Watson’s house, laughing too loud to be safe.

Not when he sees Phil on the couch, book open in his lap.

Tommy freezes in the doorway, paralyzed as the twins tumble past him.

Phil looks up. Right at Tommy. And… maybe, just for a second, he’s afraid. 

But that’s replaced by jaw-dropping confusion as Phil just *smiles,* setting the book to the side. “Hey mate. How was the day?”

Fuck it. Tommy hates him, but he hates being confused more. (And that’s what this is. Confusion. Not fear.)

So he stays silent as the twins joke with him, as Phil makes supper, as they drift off to bed.

And the moment he’s alone, he rushes to the book & flips it open.

There’s his mess of scribbled-out lines. His note, in ugly bold. 

And… neat, small handwriting, right beneath it.

“It’s alright to be scared *or* angry.”

And next to it, a *fucking smiley face.*

Tommy’s jaw drops even before his eyes flick to the other note, a Post-It on the page.

“It’s the one-week anniversary of your first day here! We’d love to get you a gift, let me know what you’d like.” 

One week. Like he’s staying.

Like he deserves gifts, after what he’s done.

Tommy’s eyes don’t burn. He doesn’t forget to breathe, trembling quietly.

No. He just scoffs out loud. (Even if it wavers painfully, far too close to a sob.)

And grabs a pen.

The next morning, the book’s moved, sitting on the end table next to Phil’s favorite mug. 

And the next evening, there’s a stack of gifts outside Tommy’s room. (Despite his note, “I don’t need shit. Fuck off.”)

Soft sweaters. Little fidget toys. Candy.

And an annotating set.

Tommy much prefers his permanent marker — thick, bold, destructive.

But Phil never seems to see it like that. No matter how much Tommy swears or blots out the book’s sappier lines. 

And even then, he’s… talking, more. Having genuine conversations through notes in the margins.

“Which of these sounds nice?”

Tommy goes still, staring at Phil’s neat handwriting. His heart hitches at the little chart above it. Types of affection. Hugs. Compliments. Gifts.

Hand trembling, he grabs his own pen. No sharpie.

For once, he feels like being quiet.

“I don’t need any of these. I never have.”

The thought festers in his mind, no matter how many times Wil ruffles his hair or Techno’s dry remarks turn to compliments. Or how Phil looks at him, so impossibly soft.

And when Phil replies, it’s only two words. 

“Page 96.”

Tommy can barely turn the pages, his hands are shaking so hard. 

And when he does, he can hardly see through his tears.

The book’s text is neat. Scientific. Pragmatic. 

And it still tears Tommy apart.

“Every child requires and deserves affection, both physical and emotional.”

Then, a little note below it. Phil’s.

“Please let me know if you’d like to talk.”

And… Tommy wants to, if just to answer the questions crying out in his mind. 

To stop his tears from dripping onto the book’s pages. 

(If I deserved it, why didn’t I get it?)

He tucks the book under his arm, grabbing Phil’s mug from the end table with shaking hands. 

Tea. He’ll make tea. Phil’s favorite, so that even if he pushes Tommy away, maybe he won’t hate him enough to force him away for good.

(And so Tommy can calm himself. So he can stop crying, so he can talk instead of sob.)

But he never gets the chance to speak.

One trembling misstep is all it takes.

The mug tips, sending boiling water over Tommy’s desperately reaching hands. With a horrible crash, it shatters across the floor.

And the stupid fucking book sits right in the puddle’s center, no longer soaked with just Tommy’s tears. 

Right there, he gives up, crumpling to the kitchen floor despite the shards beneath him.

It doesn’t matter that his hands ache, in agony from the scalding burn. His heart hurts worse, as he finally lets himself sob, alone.

It isn’t anger. It isn’t just adrenaline.

It’s fear.

But it doesn’t matter. He won’t ask for comfort or someone to cling to.

(Even if he apparently ‘needs’ and ‘deserves’ it.)

No. He’ll stay quiet — what every foster parent had wanted of him, and what only Phil had managed to get.

He’d wanted to break everything in the beginning. To be loud, to destroy things, to hurt the Watsons in any way possible.

But now, if he’s the last thing to break? 

He’ll give no words, no written notes.

He’ll be quiet.

.

.

.

“Oh god. Tommy.”

It’s the worst thing that could’ve happened. Phil, standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at the broken porcelain. And the book, utterly ruined. 

But the things he seems most concerned with are Tommy’s hands. 

“Here,” he says, guiding Tommy to the sink and nudging his hands beneath the cold water. He obeys numbly, frozen as Phil disinfects and bandages every burn.

When he finishes, Tommy finds the strength to speak, curled into the couch like it could protect him.

“Are you mad at me?”

They’re the first words he’s spoken directly to Phil in ages. With his burnt, bandaged hands, it’s not like he can write.

(And maybe he’d like to hear Phil’s voice, too.)

Phil looks at him so softly Tommy can almost believe what he says.

“No. I’ve never been mad at you.”

“But— I broke your mug.”

“I just want you to be okay,” Phil says, glancing at Tommy’s bandaged hands like they’re hurting him too. He laughs quietly. “The mug doesn’t matter.”

“And… and the book?”

Phil goes still, and Tommy almost sobs in fear.

But the man just leans closer, ducking his head to meet Tommy’s eyes like he’s uttering a promise.

“I only cared about that book because of you,” he says quietly. “So you’d feel comfortable. So you’d ask me for whatever you needed.”

Tommy swallows, curled in on himself. There’s no time to think about his response, no proofreading like when he’d written them out. 

So when Phil quietly asks, “Is there anything you need?”

Tommy whispers, weak and desperate, “A hug?”

And of course, Phil gives it. That, and so much more.

The mug’s shards get sweeped up, and the first thing Phil makes in the kitchen is Tommy’s favorite breakfast. 

For once, he lets himself enjoy it. Enjoy *them,* their laughter and love so freely given.

And the first thing he writes after his hands have healed? 

His name. His signature, really.

Right next to Phil’s, on the final line of his adoption papers.

[moonflvver]

Silent Promise

character: Diluc Ragvindr x reader

warnings: Reader gets held hostage, description of reader getting choked (not by diluc), kind of angsty but there is fluff.

synopsis: Reader ends up in danger due to Diluc's position as the Darknight Hero when the abyss order ends up making connections due to the fact that reader is often seen at Dawn Winery, and coincidentally around the areas where the Darknight ends up appearing.

a/n: This is a drabble for a really old ask that I can no longer find in my inbox, enjoy.

w/c: 864

Diluc feels like he’s going to be sick. His mouth is dry. He never thought it would come to this. He never thought that the Abyss would be so bold as to kidnap you and take you hostage. And right now he needs to think. He needs to move. He needs to do anything at all. And he’s trying so hard to will his feet to move from the ground but they seem to be cemented to the spot where he’s standing. His entire body feels frozen, a stark contrast to the fire that usually simmers just beneath his skin. The entire point of him being the dark knight was to keep people safe, and yet he couldn’t even manage to keep you, the one person who actually mattered to him safe. This wasn’t supposed to be happening at all.

But he should’ve realized that with all the time you spent coming and going from the Dawn Winery someone was bound to pick up on the significance of your relationship with him. He was naive to think that he could keep you safe. He had been lulled into a false sense of safety by the Abyss order and they had taken advantage of his lack of foresight. His breathing felt mechanical at this point; it was almost as if he had to remind his lungs to inhale and exhale. He was still gripping his claymore, staring at the desperation on your face. A silent plea for him to save you. But then he sees the Abyss mage grip your throat tighter, fingers curling around your neck. Forcing your windpipe to close up even further, his name comes out of your mouth just barely. It sounds broken and he swears he’s never felt so angry in his life. Both at himself and at the bastards that would dare to hurt you. And finally he’s able to move so he springs into action. Running at the Abyss mage and bringing his sword down on its arm, cutting it clean off. You drop to the ground still clutching your throat. You’re hurt but you’re alive and once he sees that you’re okay he turns to face the mage and his pyro vision activates.

Wild flames are spilling out of his arm and his sword, a byproduct of the built up fear and rage. Diluc is seeing red and his movements are sloppy. They deviate from his usual well placed and well controlled strikes. The way he moves his sword is an expression of anger, he’s slashing wildly until the damage he has dealt finally takes down the mage. His breath is short and uneven, he’s gasping for air. But before he can stop to rest, his body is moving all on its own and it’s running towards you. He’s scanning you for injuries, he can already see purple blooming on your neck where the mage was digging into your skin with its fingers. His hands ghost over your neck and you wince, pulling away slightly, causing his chest to ache. Once again his vision fogs up with red and he wants nothing more than to hunt down every member of the Abyss order and make them regret ever going after you. But that will have to wait, first he needs to take care of you.

Tears are falling down your face and he cups your cheek with a gloved hand. “Archons forgive me. I’m so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” He whispers as you silently cry in front of him. “Luc I was so scared. I thought- I thought that I’d never see you again. I really thought that this was it for me.” You say through broken sobs. And he swears that in this moment he can feel his heart breaking into a million pieces. “I should’ve realized that they’d do this. I should’ve been more cautious. This is all my fault.” He mumbles, the desperation seeping through his voice. He should’ve been faster, he should’ve been better. Better at keeping you safe, better at playing his role as the dark knight. His thoughts are running around in circles. And it’s evident in his demeanor. You know that he gets lost in his own head sometimes, so you pull him out. “Diluc.” You say softly, causing his attention to snap back to you. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known that this was going to happen.”

He stays silent for a moment and then he starts, “But I should’ve-” and before he can finish his sentence you cut him off. “You don’t need to be perfect, that’s not what I want from you. You saved me regardless, and you’re here now. That’s all I could ever ask for.” You say, smiling up at him as his thumb strokes your cheek absentmindedly. How is it possible for you to be so forgiving, to be so loving? He’s not sure that he deserves any of it. But you’re right. It’s enough just in this moment for him to be able to be here with you. So he pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around you. A silent promise that this will never happen again.