#it's a miserable experience to close yourself off like that

[loki-cees-all]

I'm Dreaming of A White Christmas

Cee's James Conrad Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : James Conrad x Female Reader

Summary : After another long journey through the hot jungle with Conrad, you come to the startling realization that it’s actually Christmas Eve.

W/c : 2.8k words

Content / Warnings : Non-traditional Christmas smut, Non-traditional Christmas fluff.

Author’s Note : This fic is dedicated to Climate Change, for making me have to suffer through 20+ years of Christmas without a single fucking flake of snow to show for it 🙃

18+ Only - Minors DNI

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Sweaty would have been an understatement. 

After two days in the jungle, after traipsing through endless amounts of grimy mud and sticky bushes and shouting yourself raw, it felt like no amount of cold showers was ever going to bring your body temperature back down to something reasonable.

Hell, it was damn near midnight now, and the outside humidity was still hovering well over 90%. But even in those conditions, the entire ordeal was worth it in the end. 

You probably spent over half an hour in the shower once you made it back to the hostel. Just standing there, letting the water run down your scalp and skin, until your muscles were too heavy and exhausted to even reach for a bar of soap. Instead, your eyes fluttered closed while your mind replayed the dramatic events over the past two days. 

Eventually you forced yourself to actually wash yourself and dry off. Conrad would surely be back soon, if he wasn’t already, and you wanted to be waiting for him when he finally returned. You wanted to hear about the look of joy on that poor mother’s face when her child was finally returned safely. 

After dressing in what passes for clean clothes these days, you begin to sweat again before even making it back to the room. Cursing God, and Lucifer, and Jesus, and anyone else you could think of, you pushed open the door and flopped unceremoniously onto the stiff bed. 

Christ, even the bedsheets were sticky and miserable. It’s a good thing you were so unbelievably exhausted, otherwise you might never be able to fall asleep tonight. And a sticky bed was way better than sleeping on the ground at least, but still - you’d absolutely murder someone just for the chance at a crisp, heavy snowfall tonight. 

For a chilly, decadent Winter Wonderland, a fuzzy sweater, and a creamy hot chocolate. It’d been ages since you’d last felt a genuine shiver…

Groaning, you slowly push up to sitting and try to blink yourself awake. While rolling your shoulders to pop your neck, you glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It read half an hour till midnight, and your heart rate picked up a little bit. Only an hour had passed since temporarily parting ways with Conrad, and you already couldn’t wait to see him again. 

To keep yourself occupied while waiting, you step gingerly over to the single table in your room and grab your canvas knapsack from the chair. Inside the bag, nestled between your empty canteen and a seemingly endless supply of empty peanut wrappers, is the journal you used to document your adventures with Conrad. 

The journal has definitely seen better days. Its edges are bent and torn, the cover is littered with mud and water stains - but it was your most prized possession. Inside those pages were beautiful, tragic, tales of both wanderlust and wonderful lust. Traveling with Conrad was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, from midnight skinny-dipping to beach camping and stargazing. 

You’d seen more marvels of the world than most people ever get to dream about. And the fact that you got to experience it all with such a stunning man was nothing more than a miracle. 

In-between those special moments, there would occasionally be a less-than savory or even potentially dangerous mission to take on. They were just in order to fund your more pleasant adventures, but even the stress and peril was well worth it to you. Every moment with that tall, devastatingly handsome, perfectly muscular and very protective former soldier was a dream come true - snowy weather or not. 

A warm breeze drifts in through the open window, charitably stirring the stagnant air in the room. It was a temporary reprieve, and just enough to get you to uncap your pen and begin writing. 

Over the next several pages, recollections of the previous days’ events poured out seamlessly. The stop at this small village, just a day’s walk from Saigon, was supposed to be a quick one; just long enough to find a place to bathe and stock up on supplies for the final trek of your journey. 

But as soon as Conrad heard a mother’s anguished screams of terror down the street, he literally dropped everything and took off running. By the time you managed to pay the vendor, gather the purchased wares from the street and take off after him, he had disappeared. 

A few minutes later you finally managed to find him, down on his knees and comforting the distraught mother in broken Vietnamese while her neighbors and other children shouted additional information to him. Eventually, he was able to determine that the woman’s youngest child, a boy no more than 2 or 3 years old, had taken off suddenly - possibly into the jungle, and definitely terribly lost. 

One look from Conrad was all it took to let you know that Saigon could wait; finding this missing child was way more important than any other task he’d ever been given. Only a monster would ever disagree with him about something like that. 

Shortly thereafter, you were journeying back into the jungle with Conrad, alongside the woman’s brother and his two eldest children. All four of you walked from sunrise to sundown, meticulously searching every inch of the earth in widening, concentric circles - slowly venturing further and further into the jungle, looking for clues and desperately calling out the name of the missing child. 

If it were up to Conrad, you knew he’d keep looking throughout the night, and that he was only stopping at sunset to give you and the others a chance to rest. But as soon as he thought you were asleep, he’d slip out of your tent and go off searching by himself all night, returning to camp just before sunrise and looking more weary than ever. 

But eventually, you all did manage to find the child. When Conrad pulled that scared little boy down from the tree, you wept actual tears of joy. He was mostly uninjured, just frightened and starving and sporting a few more scrapes and cuts than before. And after getting a little bit of food and water into his belly, the former soldier dutifully carried him all the way back to the village. 

He’d directed you to go straight to the hostel to get cleaned up while he returned the child to his mother, and that was where the journal entry concluded for now. Your eyes filled with happy tears once more as you skimmed over the words you’d just written; you’d never ever seen Conrad more pleased or relieved than in the moment when he finally located the little boy alive. 

Finding people and reuniting lost loved ones was in his blood, it was woven tightly into his DNA. It was what he lived for most; the one thing he’d never been able to have himself.  

With a relieved sigh, you flip back a few pages to check the date of the previous entry, and your breath suddenly hitches in surprise. Could this be right?! Maybe all the sweat was seeping into your brain and drowning all of your synapses beyond functionality…

But no. You double- and then triple-check. You count on your fingers, you write out each date individually in the margin of the page. The last entry, written the morning you and Conrad were due to arrive in the village, two whole days prior, was dated December 22nd. Making today…December 24th. 

Christmas Eve. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as a wave of excitement and painful nostalgia crashes over the room. Life is so much different now than when you were a kid; of course Christmas wouldn’t be any exception, no matter how much you loved the holiday. And it doesn’t feel right, sweating and feeling like you’re boiling alive on the day before Christmas - yet, here it is all the same. 

Mercifully, the pain is short-lived as you sense the familiar thud of Conrad’s boots finally coming up the stairs. The sound of his voice, spirited yet exhausted, reverberates off your skin as he laughs with another guest of the hostel. You barely have enough time to bite your lip in anticipation before he’s bursting into the room, a lovely grin on his face and his jeans and knapsack covered in dirt and muck. 

Like he’s Santa Clause, and he’s finally come round to you, bearing gifts of good news and his very own presence. 

You hop out of your seat, matching his giddy grin with one of your own. “Kid’s back home now? Safe and sound?” 

Before he can even finish nodding, you’re across the room and jumping into his arms. Luckily, Conrad is already quite adept with this maneuver and he catches you with ease, bracing his arms underneath your thighs as they wrap around his waist. 

“Was that doubt I sensed in your tone just now, darling?” he teases playfully against your lips, his large hands shifting to grip your ass. 

You laugh, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck and shifting closer in his grasp to let your lips brush against his. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of doubting you…” 

“There’s a good girl…” Conrad purrs before closing the distance between your lips, kissing you passionately and eagerly. 

You moan into it, shifting one hand to cup his jaw as your lips part between his. Rushed and heated, his kisses taste like salt and sun and rain. Like home; a new one, completely the opposite of where you’d originally come from, but still somehow everything you’d ever needed. 

It’s funny how things work out like that. 

Before you can take another breath, he begins walking you both backwards, his hands squeezing your ass before you both go toppling onto the bed. As soon as you land and arch yourself beneath him, his kisses shift down your jaw to your neck, his teeth gently scraping against the delicate skin there. 

“Christ, you smell incredible…” he groans deeply, his hands sliding up over your hips and underneath your tank top. 

You let out a soft hum, grinning as he pushes the tank top up over your breasts, and then gasping as his lips find your nipple. Conrad was always a hungry man, but never more so than after a win like today. 

“It’s called showering, Captain. You should try it sometime…” 

His smirk grows exponentially after you tease him, devilish and intense as he crawls back up to let his lips hover just a heated breath above yours. 

“Perhaps you should’ve waited for me…washed my back, while I washed yours…” he groans, the sound of it breathless and sinfully delirious already. For good measure, he rolls his hips in an enticing manner, slowly increasing the pressure against your throbbing clit. 

As if you needed any additional reasons to want him this badly. 

With each roll of his hips, you shudder in pleasure, the need at the apex of your thighs slowly drenching the fabric between you both. You need no further enticing and pull his face down, crushing his lips against yours in an even more desperate, more hurried kiss than before.

The next few moments are a flurry of breathless moans and needy groans. Two sets of hands work on one another’s clothing, pushing and pulling and stripping until you’re both as bare as the day each of you were born. 

And then suddenly, Conrad’s inside you. That familiar stretch graces you once more, kindly blessing the ever-present ache that’s existed ever since you first laid eyes on him. Your back arches further, the heels of your feet dig into his hips and you both moan in unison as he sinks in, burying himself all the way to the hilt. 

It isn’t the first time he’d had you, nor will it be the last, but it had been almost three whole days. Too long, practically a lifetime considering how good it always is - but even so, his pace is slow and languid, like he’s savoring it. He’s not a man drowning in a river after almost dying of thirst, but a man who’s been waiting patiently for a reward most definitely well-earned. 

You can’t help the gasping laugh that escapes in a sudden rush of endorphins. Your heart lurches in your chest and your pupils dilate until there’s just a sliver of color left around them. This is a reward, yes, but it’s also more than that - it’s a gift. 

Conrad, a dedicated and well-trained soldier until the very end, doesn’t miss a beat even after you laugh again and your arms tighten around his neck. He merely nips at your jaw while a curious smirk tugs at his cheeks, his hips continuing so smooth and fluid in their undulating. 

“Something funny, dear?” 

You gasp again as he punctuates that final word by slipping a large hand underneath your skull, cradling it gently and tilting it upwards. It’s a stunning move, making you feel so safe and small while he makes love to you. Your eyelids flicker, and he follows suit as you let out yet another breathless laugh. 

“It’s Christmas…” you murmur, almost in a daze. You’re not even sure if the words are audible as a rush of light crashes over you. 

“Is it now?” Conrad grins, mistakenly taking your statement as one of pure praise instead of just a reflection of today’s date. He thrusts harder, and lets out a deep groan as your muscles tighten in response. 

You moan again and start to feel like you’re floating. Consistent breaths in and out are a thing of the past, but still, you manage a frenzied response. You want him to know the truth, to celebrate the special day with him.

“No - it’s…oh, God, fuck - the 25th! It’s the 25th…”

Conrad’s moaning along with you, drowning out any response in a sea of incoherence. His hips thrust deeper, the taut muscles of his back flexing and contracting in a quick rhythm underneath your hands. His forehead falls against yours, his gasps and exhales heavily washing over your cheeks and lips and nose. He’s starting to lose his mind, and the last thing you can see clearly are his eyes rolling back into his head. 

It’s so incredibly hot when he loses control, the shameless passion he openly shows to you and only you. It’s the complete opposite of the winter wonderland you were dreaming of earlier. But when your thighs start to shake, he changes the angle of his thrusts - and then all of a sudden, it finally feels like Christmas. 

Usually when you come, he makes you see stars, but not tonight. This time, you see Christmas lights - reds and whites and greens and blues all sparkling and dancing together in unison. The room instantaneously becomes a frigid, barren landscape and Conrad is the only warm thing left in existence, his fire crackling and popping against the deep and endless midnight sky. 

Keeping you safe inside the great big dark unknown. A guiding light towards the brighter days lingering ahead. 

You whimper as you come, from the sheer force of it, and Conrad tips right over the edge with you. His back arches to push himself deeper, his hips move frantically, pushing and pulling his cock over and over between your tight muscles like he just can’t help himself. 

And why shouldn’t he? He performed a Christmas miracle yesterday. 

It all feels like a dream, but eventually, Conrad’s hips slow, and he collapses on top of you. For a moment, neither of you can move, other than gasping for breath and whimpering with each uncontrollable twitch and spasm of every nerve and muscle. Slick skin marks both the mutual satisfaction and the need for another shower - and as long as you don’t pass out beforehand, this time you’d be honored to wash Conrad’s back for him. 

Recovery takes longer than usual. Maybe it’s the culmination of the previous few days, the heat, the date; maybe it’s the reflection of the past year as a whole, or the hopeful promises of what the next one might bring. But when Conrad adjusts, and then tightens, his arms around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and taking in a deep breath, you know it’s all of the above.

You hug him tighter in return. You press your lips to his ear, his jaw, his hair. Anywhere you can reach, anything that’s him. He’s made your year an incredible one, and you were sure that the next one was going to be even better. 

Conrad lets out a deep, peaceful hum. One that reverberates deep into your heart and makes it skip a beat. He tilts his head and presses a deep, tender kiss to your cheek. 

“Is it really the 25th?” he murmurs softly. 

“Yeah, it is…” you laugh, turning your head and nuzzling your face against his. “Merry Christmas, Conrad…”

He chuckles and returns the sweet gesture, adding in a tender caress of your jaw. His eyes flicker up and then down your face, examining and completely mesmerized by everything he finds. Everything you feel about him, he returns tenfold, and it shows in every flicker of light in his eyes, mesmerizing and breathtaking.

“Merry Christmas, darling…”

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[the-blind-geisha]

No Shipping Drama, Please

Going to put this here, as I had to deal with this on IG:

I'm going to be a mom for a second tell everyone getting into shipping discourse/ drama is not worth it.

People are allowed to enjoy the same character as you but ship them with other characters (self-insert/ OC/ canon/ etc).

If you don't like what they do, then I can gladly say the block button is your friend, but do NOT spread misinformation about them to others, please!

Saying someone is awful just because you feel threatened by their ship is not the way to behave. ♥

[ennuidays]

think im back in my Everyone is stupid era bcuz im mad at people for literally no reason

[terrestrialnoob]

Harley crawled into the apartment. It was organized, but it looked like the occupant didn't have a lot of time for cleaning. She walked softly through it, taking it in. There were photos of her target and what had to be her family, but no friends or romantic partners. Some had a pair of older adults, matching traits meant bio-parents. More of the photos were of the target and a younger boy - a little brother, the highest likelihood of becoming another target if things go bad.

Harley continued forward, following the light to where her target was. She stood in the doorway, looking in.

Dr. Jasmine Fenton, Arkham Asylum's newest psychologist, just got her degree and everything. She did what most newbies do, actually thinking she could get through to the Joker. Harley didn't want to say it was impossible, but everyone who tried ended up in a new job or dead. Harley would try and make sure it was the former and not the later.

Harley watched as the redhead read over a file as she ate from a takeout box. She didn't want to scare the girl, yet. The scaring her away from Joker came later. So, she had to wait for the perfect moment to-

"I know you're there." Jasmine didn't look up from her file, but held out the last box of Chinese food in Harley's direction. "There's plenty if you want some."

"Awe, you ruined the surprise." Harley walked out of the shadows of the hallway into the girl's home office. She snatched the offered box of food and took a few bites as she jumped to sit on the desk.

"I'm hard to sneak up on." Jasmine said, closing her file and finally looking at Harley. "So, Dr. Quinzel, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?"

"Oh, call me Harley!" She laughed, she wasn't called Dr. all that often any more. She tapped her chop sticks on the file Jasmine just closed. "I thought you'd like a consult on your new patient, Dr. Fenton. I've got a lot of experience with him."

"I prefer to go by Jazz." She said with a smile, "While I appreciate the offer, I'd like to see how far I can get on my own. And, sorry, but I'm pretty sure your license was revoked."

Harley nodded as she swallowed to get the noodles out of her mouth. "I get it! You're new, fresh outta school, gotta prove yourself. But Joker ain't the guy to do that with. He eats people like us for breakfast, and in all the years he's been in Arkham, no one's been able to get anywhere with him."

Jazz sighed, "I don't like to believe people are lost causes. There's always something we can do to help."

"You can't help everyone, especially when they don't want it. And it's not just a question if whether or not he can be saved or whatever." Harley set down the now empty box, Jazz pointed to another one that still had food in it, but Harley declined. "If you keep it up, he'll think you're worth his time to torment. There's no telling what he'll do when he inevitably gets himself out again."

"I'll be fine." Jazz said, but Harley had to cut her off before she said something stupid.

"It's not just you! You've got family out there he can target, your parents. Your Brother! Anyone you date will become a target! He'll do everything in his power to make your life miserable!"

Jazz chuckled. "If he wants to target my family, his funeral. My parents are - were supervillains. They've really only become less- well, hyper-focused on eradicating an entire race of being- in the past few years. And my brother - I'm pretty sure he's conditionally immortal. So that's nothing to worry about."

"If it's conditional, Joker will find a way around it." Harley said, but she had to admit, this might have been an unnecessary trip. "You sure y'ain't got nothing to worry about? What about you? How conditional is your mortality?"

Jazz smiled. Her mouth seemed too wide and with too many teeth. "Oh, I am nowhere near immortal. But..."

She stood up and the room was suddenly a black void. Toxic green eyes and mouths filled with glowing white teeth opened around them. "I doubt anyone could get close enough to test it."

The room was suddenly back to normal, but whatever that thing was was still there. Harley could see its eyes watching her with amusement from inside Jazz's oversized cardigan.

"Well, I guess this really was a wasted trip. You've clearly got it covered."

"Not entirely." Jazz said, her hand wend up to her neck to rub nervously, "Well, you see... I don't really have a lot of friends. People tend to get - uh, creeped out, you know? Or chased off by my parents or brother or whatever..."

"You wanna be friends?" Harley laughed so hard she almost fell over.

Jazz's face turned bright red and the shadow eyes looked way less amused. "Yeah, stupid question. You've clearly got your own things going on."

"No! No, no." Harley had to take several deep breaths before she could look Jazz in the face again. "I 100% wanna hang out with you!"

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." She took another deep breath, "I mean, I really should have made a support system before trying to take on the Joker back when I worked for Arkham. This" she pointed between them "can only end well."

Jazz's face turned brighter than the sun. "Oh my gosh! This is amazing! We should - I have Thursday's and weekends off - What - what kind of things should we-"

Oh man, Jazz was like an excited kid. She must have had a really lonely childhood... they can psychoanalyze each other later. "Come over for girl's night next week. I'll tell my gf and bff to expect an extra person... Does the-" she motioned to the cardigan creature "-go everywhere you go? Does it need food?"

"Oh, don't worry about Jet, they only eat who I tell them to."

Harley barked out more laughter. "You're going to fit right in!"

Now featuring a Part 2

[wandaslittlebird]

Her Special Girl

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

After being away at college for three years, you finally come home for the holidays. And no one is more excited to see you than your stepmom.

CW: Stepmom/Stepdaughter, MOMMY ISSUES, slight daddy issues, mommy kink, cheating, breastfeeding, fingering (R receiving), mentions of strap usage, flashbacks, mentions of past: suicidal thoughts, loss of virginity, ghosting

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: I think if I keep this up, they’re going to revoke my degree in psychology and bury me for defending psychosexual development.

A/N: I could be talked into making a part 2 for this. And by talked into I mean approximately 1 person needs to ask. I had way too much fun with this.

Part 1 of Her Special Girl

——————————————————--

She knew something was wrong when you had called her to pick you from your mom’s house a week early. You weren’t supposed to be coming home till Christmas Eve, but here you were, curled up in her passenger seat only three days after being home for Christmas break. 

Wanda wasn’t supposed to be the one picking you up. You originally called your father, but he was, unsurprisingly, unavailable. Apparently he was off playing ‘not the world’s worst stepdad’ with Wanda’s boys for the week. Probably some bonding time enforced by Wanda. He was never terribly keen on spending time with his family. Plus it got the miserable old man out of her hair for a few days. Merry Christmas to Wanda.  

“Mom’s house was that bad, huh?” she asked. You simply nodded in response. She made a sympathetic noise and rubbed the back of your head. “I’m sorry sweetheart. We’ll talk about it when we get home?” 

You nodded again, thankful she wasn’t going to fill the car with awkward small talk. You reached for the radio, turning up the quiet christmas music. You rested your head against your knees, absently humming the familiar music to soothe yourself. You didn’t notice the way Wanda’s heart absolutely melted everytime she got a glance at you. As much as it broke her heart that you’d had a bad experience at your mother’s house, she was glad to have you home for Christmas. 

—------

Wanda and your father had married when you were around 16. In the first years, you weren’t close. In fact, you had hated Wanda at first. The kindness and gentleness she offered you was so alien and unfamiliar. Everytime she did you a favor without being asked, or made a move to give you physical reassurance, you felt like your inside would turn to mush. By that point, you were old enough to decide when you wanted to go to your dad’s house, and it felt easier to avoid her entirely than confront the gnawing feeling in your chest that arose whenever you interacted with her. So you spent those years at your mom’s house.

But as time passed, something shifted. 

In what was supposed to be your last semester of high school, it became pretty clear you were not going to pass. Your life, the one you had planned for at least, fell into a tailspin. You watched all of your friends move on without you. Both of your parents were extremely disappointed with you and seemed to give up on you in favor of the new families they’d created. All of your hopes and dreams of finally escaping to college were put on hold. You had completely lost all direction. 

And one night in late July, when there was no school to look forward to in August and no hope of starting a life of your own without a high school diploma, you hit rock bottom. You were lying down in the shower at your dad’s house and you found yourself unable to get up. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t do it anymore. And just when you thought your body would decay into the blue tile, you heard a knock at the door.

“Honey? Are you okay in there?” 

It was Wanda. You wanted to yell that you were fine and you'd be out in a minute, but you couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. So you didn’t respond. 

You heard the sound of a key pressing into the lock, and the hesitant steps of your stepmother making her way into the bathroom. “Honey?” she called again. She gasped when she found your limp body in the shower. She threw the glass door open, turned off the shower that had long since gone cold, and wrapped you up in a towel. You were too far gone to be embarrassed that your stepmother was seeing you naked at 18 years old. All you could do was throw your arms around her and sob and babble apologies. 

“Oh! My sweet girl. How long have you been in here? I just woke up to use the restroom and I heard the water still running. You poor thing, have you been in here all night? You’re freezing. Your poor lips are purple! Come on, let's get you warmed up.”

With impressive strength, she was able to pick you up and carry you to bed. She threw all of your softest blankets around you cocooning you with warmth on all sides. Then she sat on the bed next to you, wiping the cold wet hair from your forehead. 

And for once, you were too weak to push her away. Too weak to fight the magnetic draw you had always had towards the woman. You needed her more than anything in the world. You wanted to be surrounded by her. You craved an impossible closeness with her. The hole in your heart had grown so big it nearly devoured you, and she was here to patch it up and kiss it all better.

So you melted into her touch, inching your body closer to where she sat on the bed until you were wrapped around her. You almost expected her to inquire as to where this was coming from, the sudden closeness after avoiding her for so long. You thought maybe she would even reprimand you for your childish behavior, or call you weird for acting like this with her. But she didn’t. “Aww my sweet girl. You’ll be alright. I’m not going anywhere. Mama’s here.”

And she didn’t call you weird when you tugged on her nightshirt, silently asking her to lay down with you. She simply crawled under the covers, kissed your head, and pulled your still naked body into her arms. “You poor thing, you're still freezing. It’s okay, mama will keep warm.”

And she didn’t reprimand you when you decided there was still too much separation, so you pulled her nightshirt up over her head, leaving her bare in bed with you. “Mmm, you’re right this will get you all nice and warmed up. You're a very smart girl.”

“I love you, mama.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

She tangled her body into yours, enveloping you in the warmest embrace. Her skin was so incredibly soft against your, pressed into every inch of your body. You could feel the way her heart overflowed with contented joy with you between her arms. 

And nothing was ever the same after that. In the span of twenty minutes with her, you’d gone from believing you could die on the shower floor and no one would care, to feeling like the single most important thing in her entire world. You were hers. 

And you were hers when she gave you your first kiss over an episode of “Legend of Korra.” You’d been so over eager, it’d felt like you were trying to eat her face, but she didn’t make fun of you. She just calmly pulled back, giving you all the instructions you needed to make your second kiss perfect. 

And you were hers when she took your virginity while your father was away on a business trip. She had laid you out on the bed, kissing slow trails down your stomach while you gasped and shuttered at every new sensation. That first night, she treated you like you were made of the finest glass, beautiful and delicate. 

And you were hers when she cried into your arms, begging you not to go so far away for college. With her help, you’d finally gotten a high school diploma. You had the funding from your father to go anywhere you wanted. She wanted to want you to go, she really did. She wanted to want whatever was best for you, but she wasn’t ready to let go of you yet. 

But when you packed your bags and left anyway, you couldn’t be hers any longer. There were no phone calls, no texts, no apologies or explanations for why you left. You were simply gone like you’d never existed in the first place.  

—------

“So,” she asked, helping you carry in your luggage and dropping it in the foyer, “do you wanna talk about what happened with your mother?” She knew you and your mother had never gotten along. She was honestly more wondering why you even decided to go home in the first place. You had spent Christmases with your friends since you’d left for college, but this year you had inexplicably decided to come home. 

You shrugged. “Same as always, I guess. There’s never been a group of people I’m so palpably unimportant to. She and my stepdad have a family of their own, ya know? And I’m just… not part of it. Every time I’m there I feel like a ghost haunting a happy family.” Tears welled up in your eyes, falling down your cheeks. 

“Oh, honey,” Wanda sighed, cupping your cheek with her hand. You only cried harder at the gesture. It was so kind. So gentle. So familiar. You fought your every instinct to not throw yourself against, clinging to her like a petulant child. You wanted to be close to her again.  

The look in her eyes made you feel like you were going to explode. She was listening to you, like actually listening to you. You couldn’t help but pour your heart out to her. “I don’t even know why I tried to come home this year. I just had this idea that I was gonna come home after being gone for so long and she was going to have magically changed. I just had this, like… fantasy that she’d wrap her arms around me and apologize for not being there for me, say that all this time away has made her realize that she can’t live without me, tell me how I’m her most special little girl and she’ll do anything to make it right.”

You turned away from her, suddenly very embarrassed of all the things you’d just confessed. “It was stupid. Whatever. It’s never been like that and it’s never going to be like that. I’m fucking 22, I wasn’t going to be mommy’s little princess anyway.” You felt the urge to run away. You couldn’t bear to look at your stepmother’s face any longer. You made a quick break for the stairs, but Wanda caught your wrist.

“Honey, wait!” she said, pulling you back around to face her. Your head spun and your skin tingled when she touched you. “You know you're still my special girl, right?” 

“Of course, but you have your boys and they’re your whole world. And that’s a good thing! They’re really lucky to have you, I just…” You trailed off, unsure of what to say next. 

“You just?” she asked after you didn’t speak for a minute. 

Another torrent of tears stung your eyes. “I can’t be your special girl. I’m not even really yours.”

Wanda tilted her head in confusion. “What do you mean by that, honey?”

“I’m not your baby,” you said, choked up by your failed attempt to not let your tears fall. You ducked your head, avoiding her gaze at all cost.

She took a step towards you. “Hey,” she started, reaching for your chin to make you look at her. “I’ve missed you, you know? While you’ve been gone.”

“You did?” you asked in almost a whisper. 

“I did,” she reassured. “I thought about you all the time. I never let your father get rid of your bedroom, even though he wanted to move his office there. And there’s still a chair at the end of the dining table for you. And in the winter time I always buy that peppermint creamer for my coffee because it was always your favorite.”

Your resolve finally crumbled and you threw yourself around her, clinging to her desperately. “I missed you too, mama. I wanted to come home to see you, but I didn’t think you’d ever wanna see me again. After I… I thought you’d hate me forever!” you were sobbing in her arms, head tucked under her chin as her long nails scratched your scalp, just how you like. 

“Shh, baby it’s okay. I could never hate you. You’re home now. Mama’s got you,” she cooed. “Let’s get you a nice warm bath, get you all cleaned up, and then we can watch a movie in my room. Does that sound good?”

You nodded, reluctantly removing yourself from her. She reached out for your hand and smiled when you grabbed her arm with both hands, clinging to her awkwardly as you made your way up the steps. She led you to the master bathroom that had a fancy corner tub. She ran the water, checking the temperature to make sure the water was just right. 

“Alright pretty girl, arms up,” she said, lifting the hem of your shirt over your head. She neatly folded your shirt and placed it on the counter. She turned around to find you with your arms bashfully crossed over your chest. She took your hand. “None of that, sweet girl. It’s just you and mama, you don’t need to cover yourself.”

“‘s cold,” you mumbled, goosebumps rising across your chest.

“I know,” she said, bending down to unbutton your pants and push them down around your ankles. You wrapped your arms around her neck, using her for balance as you kicked out of your pants. “We’re gonna have you all warmed up in just a second, sweetheart.”

As soon as you were naked, you scrambled over to the warm tub. Steam was rising from the water’s surface where it met the cool air. You hissed as your cold feet met the water. Wanda giggled at your eagerness, folding your pants and underwear and placing them on top of your shirt. “Careful, pretty girl,” she chuckled. 

You sank into the tub, slowly allowing your body to adjust to the temperature. You sighed in contentment, resting your head back against the ledge of the tub. You rolled your head to the side to face Wanda, who had stripped off her jeans, leaving her in a long gray sweater that barely covered her ass. Your eyes glimmered at the sight of the beautiful woman. “Will you get in with me?” you asked. “Please?”

“Not tonight, honey,” she said, sitting down on the ledge of the tub behind your head. She stuck her feet into the water on either side of you, leaving your head between her bare thighs. “Mama’s already had her bath. Now keep your head tilted back for me. I don’t wanna get any soap in your eyes.” Any protests you had were quickly cut short when you felt long fingers massaging your favorite coconut shampoo in your hair. Wanda worked cautiously, careful not to get any soap in your eyes. She somehow managed to keep your face almost entirely dry throughout the entire process. 

You nearly started to cry when she started applying soap to your body with a soft washcloth. It had been so long since someone had touched you so gently. You could feel how much she cared for you as she softly scrubbed the day's grime from your body. Each caress left trails of goosebumps rising on your soapy skin. You felt like you might melt into the bathwater. 

“Alright little love, kneel up nice and straight for me so I can get you all clean,” she calmly commanded. You hesitantly got up on your knees and turned to face her, reluctant to pull your body from the warmth of the water. Now that you were looking up at her, you felt suddenly exposed again. It was much easier to be naked in front of her with your back turned. 

You took in a sharp inhale when the washcloth landed between your legs. “Mama…” you whined, looking up at her with worried eyes. Her touch felt so good you couldn’t help but buck against the cloth while a knot still coiled in the pit of your stomach. You had the fleeing thought that you should tell her to stop and that this was wrong. But as she continued her ministrations, your head seemed to empty itself of any such thoughts. All you could focus on was the growing sensation between your legs. 

“Aww, sweet girl,” Wanda cooed. “It’s okay that you like it when you like it when mama touches you like this honey. You don't have to be embarrassed, angel.” She made slow, teasing circles around your clit through the thick cloth. You grabbed her arm, keeping her in place until she finally had had enough of the teasing and gently freed herself of your grip. 

“Mama,” you whined again as she continued to wash down the curve of your ass and the inside of your thighs. You weren’t sure why, exactly, you found yourself chanting her name, but it seemed to be the only word you could find. 

She smiled. “You’re okay, angel. Mama got you. I love you so very much, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of you, just like I used to. There’s no need to be embarrassed or guilty or scared. You’re still your mama’s special girl, okay?” She leaned down to kiss your forehead. You closed your eyes and allowed her complete control over your body.  “We’re all finished, detka. You can sit back down now.” She guided you back down into the water, turning you back around and resting your head against her inner thigh. She gently started to dry your hair as you settled back into the water. You found yourself wrapping your arms around her calf, clutching at her like she might fly away.

“Mama?” 

“Yes, little love?”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“How do you mean, angel?” Her voice was laced with concern. You weren’t exactly sure how to respond, so you nuzzled your face into her thigh in embarrassment. “Hey little love.” She bent down so she could see your face. “It’s okay. You can tell mama. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

You shifted around uncomfortably, unsure of how to phrase what you wanted to say. “I need you really badly mama,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I know I’m too old, but I wanna be your special little girl forever.” 

“Oh honey,” she soothed, “you’re never too old to be my special little girl. Even if you wanted me to take care of you forever, I’d love every second of it.” She laid back against the wall, closing her eyes and allowing herself to fantasize about what it would be like to have you back. Forever, this time. A faint smile painted her face at the thought. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re too old to need your mama. They might not understand it like you do, but you are a very very special girl and your mama loves you very very much.”

You nodded against her, shyly tucking your face back into her thigh. You sat like that for a minute, letting her fingers scratch your damp scalp while you smiled in contentment. 

But you could only rest naked between her bare legs for so long before the little pings of arousal took over. You turned around to face her, this time straddling a single one of her legs between two of your own. You sat back on your feet, resting your head on her knee. 

“Mama, please. I need to feel you again,” you sighed. You desperately craved the feeling of closeness you’d once shared. The feeling that you and her were the only two people in the world, and that you were as important to her as she was to you, and that was the only thing that mattered. 

You wanted her inside of you, touching all the parts of you no one else got to see. You yearned for the way she made you feel like the most precious thing in the universe, chasing your pleasure like it was her own. She felt good when you felt good. 

Conversely, you wanted to be inside of her, pushing into her like a puzzle piece that had always meant to fit together. You felt like you could rewrite time, finally inside your mama like you were supposed to be all along. 

She reached down beside the tub and pulled up a fluffy pink towel. She stretched it out with her arms, welcoming you into a soft embrace. She took such care in drying off every part of you, down to your calves that still stayed in the water. 

You sat in between her legs, her arms wrapped around your bare body. She pulled you close to her, your back flush against her chest. Then she wrapped her legs around yours, effectively pinning them open against the wall of the tub. 

You pulled at the sleeves of her sweater, desperate to get closer to her. There was still too much fabric between the two of your bodies. 

She shushed you pleas with gentle hands. “Not right now, detka. Let mama show you how much she’s missed you, okay? Then we can cuddle up all naked under the soft blankets on the bed just how we like to. Does that sound okay?”

You let out a displeased whine. You were extremely impatient. It had been years since you’d had her so close. But as she stroked your hair with one hand and your clit with the other, you found yourself more amenable to suggestions. “P-promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” she reassured. 

She kept her pace just steady enough that talking, and thinking for that matter, became difficult. “A-and we stay like that all-all night?”

“All night, angel.”

You finally nodded in agreement, relaxing against her. You kept a ironclad grip on her bicep, feeling the muscles flex as she played with your most sensitive parts. 

She moved her fingers down through your folds, teasing your entrance. You tried to force your hips down onto her fingers, but her legs kept you from moving. You settled instead for whining like an injured puppy. “Please mama, please.”

“Mmm,” she hummed in your ear, circling your entrance with the tip of her finger. “I’m so lucky. I get to have my most special girl and all her most special parts,” she sunk her middle finger into you, eliciting a mangled groan, “all to myself.” 

“All yours,” you assured, feeling her finger curl and twist inside of you, making room for more. She was always so calculated with the way she pleased you. You were like a present she was methodically unwrapping, peeling each piece of tape off, careful not to damage the paper. She was in no rush to tear you apart. She kept her painfully slow pace, but sunk a second finger into you. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head. “I’m all yours, mama.” 

She leaned your head back onto her shoulder and kissed your cheek. You didn’t even notice the uncomfortable strain the position should’ve caused your neck. There was just her everywhere, caressing each part of your body with a tenderness you’d never experienced anywhere else. Her hand explored your chest, teasing hard nipples with gentle pinches and soft touches. Nails scraped their way down the soft expanse of your stomach, paying special attention to the curve of your hip bone.

“Mama, I love you. You feel so good inside of me, please don’t stop. Oh god please never stop,” you whined. You didn’t even care that she was moving her fingers too slow to make you cum. You were so content with just her filling you up, touching the parts of you no one else got to touch. You got to be hers all over again.

You thought back to your days with her, home alone. She’d let you sit on her lap in her office, arms and legs wrapped around her like a koala bear, her strap nestled inside of you. She was always so impressed by your ability to stay still for hours on end. But how could you want for anything more than to be full of her?

“You’re so tight and warm for mama,” she cooed. “I love feeling you around my fingers, baby. You make such pretty noises.” She sped up her movements, highlighting the sound of the wetness between your legs. You were nearly dripping a trail down the side of the tub. 

You tried to buck against her hand, but her legs kept you perfectly still. “Ooh mama. I love you. I love you mama,” you cried, unable to escape the building pleasure of her fingers. She slipped a third finger inside of you, only further spurring your desperate cries. “Please mama!  Please, I'm so full. Mama I wanna cum for you. I wanna cum on your fingers. Please! Please let me cum on your fingers.” 

Her fingers twisted and curled in all the ways that drove you crazy. You knew you couldn’t cum until she touched your clit, which she was tactfully avoiding for that exact reason, but you still felt nearly out of your mind with pleasure. You were jerking against her now, causing her to wrap her arms around your waist. “Calm down honey. Mama’s got you. You’re doing so good for me sweet girl.”

“Good girl for mama,” you mumbled brainlessly. The continuous pounding of her fingers made your head spin. There was nothing in the whole world but you and your mama. Nothing else mattered. 

“That’s right, angel. You’re mama’s good girl,” she praised. 

You nodded dumbly, unable to muster any more thoughts than “mama” which you chanted repeatedly. She shoved three fingers in your mouth, making the word come out even more unintelligible. You whined around her hand, but obediently sucked her fingers. 

“Can you touch yourself for me princess?” She asked, both her hands too occupied to finally put an end to your abuse. You both knew that just a little pressure to your clit would finally push you over the edge. 

You didn’t even acknowledge her question, just hopelessly cried around her fingers. “Aww sweet girl, you need mama to do it for you? That’s okay, honey. Mama will take care of it.” She pulled her fingers from your mouth, now covered in your spit, and reached down between your legs. She kissed the side of your head while she finally attended to your neglected clit. “That’s it, princess. Cum on mama’s hand.”

You were nearly silent as you fell over the edge, unable to do little more than jerk and squeak. She gently led you down from the high, removing her fingers and bracing you against herself so you didn’t tumble back into the now cold bathtub. She cleaned you up with a washcloth and wrapped you back up in the soft towel. 

She chuckled when she picked you up and saw your face, blissed out and stupid. She thought back to before you had left for college, when you were 18 and it took a lot more than three fingers and 20 minutes to get you here. “Nobody has touched you like that for a long time, have they angel?”

You shook your head against her chest. “Only you mama.” 

She smiled at the admission. Laying you down at the center of her big bed. You pawed at her sweater when she pulled away. “I’m just taking this off. I’ll be down there in just a second.”

She crawled under the covers only a moment later, pulling you closer and discarding the towel onto the floor. You nuzzled into her neck, wrapping your arms around her waist. You were so warm and so loved. You felt so important again, just like you did the fateful night she’d pulled you from the cold shower. In that moment, you couldn’t wrap your head around why you’d ever left. How could you ever have left anything so perfect?

“Mama, can I be inside of you next time?” You mumbled into her chest, unwilling to completely separate yourself from her. 

“Of course you can,” she replied, pulling you in to kiss your forehead. “Anything for my special girl.”

You smiled. “Can I use the dark red toy? The one that gives you the little bump right here?” You touched her lower stomach in indication. 

She couldn’t help but laugh at the request, recalling the only other time she allowed you to use that toy right before you left. Seeing the bulge in her lower stomach had gotten you so excited you’d pathetically rutted into like a teenage boy. “Only if you can be gentle with mama.”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Gentle with mama.” 

She smiled down at you, noticing your eyelids start to droop. “That’s enough for tonight, little love. Rest now and we can talk some more in the morning, okay?” She gently guided your head down to her chest. She smiled when you almost immediately took her nipple into your mouth, suckling contentedly, just like she’d taught you to do. Oh, how she loved you.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift off into a daydream. Maybe she could convince you to move schools so you could come back, live at home with her. Every stressful assignment or class or situation with your friends could end like this: in this intimate act that drowned out both your stress and hers. Maybe if you’d stay, she could get on hormones and start actually producing milk again. All for you. All for her baby girl. And she'd remind you how loved you were everyday, and you never take her for granted again. 

Yes, she’ll have you back in her arms just like it used to be. You’ll come home to her, and you’ll finally see that you’ll never need anyone else ever again.

[pathologicalreid]

first snow | s.r.

in which you and Spencer experience the first snow in your new apartment together

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff. the kind that rots your teeth. content warnings: snow? ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ word count: 954 a/n: so! not margovember! but i've been saving this one for a special occasion (my first snow came!!!!!) and i hope you enjoy it!!!!

“Why are we doing this now?” You asked, cocking your head at your boyfriend after you finished hauling a stack of books off of the shelves.

He was sitting on the floor, dozens of stacks of books surrounding him, so each step you took was precarious. Spencer’s self-appointed job was to sort through the books, but you weren’t getting rid of any of them. No. He’d decided to reorganize them, influenced by an influx of new language books, according to the Dewey decimal system—a phrase you hadn’t heard since grade school.

You hoisted another stack of books from the shelves, thankfully built into the walls, and set them on the ground. “We can never move out of this apartment,” you told him, flipping through an early edition Proust, likely from his mom’s collection.

That got his attention, “Why not?” His legs were crisscrossed beneath him, his hair freshly washed, and glasses perched on his face. Spencer’s flannel pajama pants were likely warmer than your cotton ones, but you felt as though your hoodie had an advantage over his crewneck.

Gesturing your hands out to the piles of books, you raised your eyebrows, “We’d have to move all of the books again.” The two of you had moved into the apartment near the beginning of the summer, right before Spencer started his training at the Academy, and the heat had ended up being more than you bargained for.

Spencer smiled fondly at you, “I like this apartment,” he reminded you, turning his attention back to his philosophy books, “It suits us.”

Looking around, you had also fallen in love with the apartment rather quickly, and you didn’t have much room to complain, knowing that Spencer had sacrificed having a short commute so you could be close to work. The two of you moved in together after you finished school in Pasadena, and he wrapped up classes at MIT, closing the distance and starting the rest of your lives together.

The two of you repainted together, abandoning the miserable taupe that had been on the walls in favor of a dark green; you worked together to make it home, even if you were here more often than him.

Stepping over a teetering pile of novels, you held your arms out for balance as you tried to get to the kitchen, yelping when your foot caught on a book, sending you falling to the ground. You groaned as the corner of a book dug into your side; the blow softened by the cotton of your sweatshirt as you rolled off of the collapsed stack.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked as you rolled over to a safe area. His hand settled on your side, stopping you from rolling onto your back.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you nodded, “Yeah.” You frowned at the books that were left in your wake, “Oh, Spence. Your books,” you sighed, sticking out your bottom lip sadly.

He shook his head, “They’re just books, lovely.” Despite his reassurance, you caught his brown eyes flickering over the fallen novels. At a glance, it didn’t seem like any damage was incurred, but Spencer held his books to a very high standard. You knew he’d be checking them over as soon as you turned your head.

Sitting all the way up, you giggled softly at the way his concern split between you and the books; you thought about pressing your lips to his, but something moving outside the window caught your eye instead.

You squinted out the window, trying to ascertain what was going on, when your mouth gaped in surprise, “Spencer!” You scrambled to your feet, trying to drag your boyfriend to his, “Come on!”

His brows pinched in confusion. He looked around the living room, trying to find what had gotten you so excited, but you were already shoving your fuzzy sock-covered feet into your sneakers. Spencer had no choice but to follow.

Not even minding that you’d folded over the heels of your shoes, you were shuffling down the stairs and making your way to the street. Spencer lagged behind you, and you had already thrown your arms out in excitement by the time he made it outside. “It’s snowing,” You said giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet and spinning on the pavement.

Spencer grabbed one of your hands, stopping you from moving while he draped your jacket over your shoulders, having been too driven to get to the snowflakes to think about staying warm. His eyes were filled with love, leaving no room for judgment.

Sticking your tongue in an attempt to catch a snowflake, you didn’t even care that you were acting like a child. You’d never lived anywhere that got real snow like this before, “Oh, I love snow.”

“Your scarf is in tatters,” Spencer observed, holding the threadbare fabric at arm’s length.

You shrugged, breathing in and letting the cold air nip at your nose, “I haven’t had any use for it. It’s been in storage for ages,” you reminded him, closing your eyes and basking in the snow.

Instead of placing the hole-ridden scarf around your neck, Spencer loops his purple one over your shoulders. “I’ll have to knit you a new one. They’re predicting above-average snowfall this winter.”

Beaming at Spencer, you held out your hand for him to take, and he pulled you closer to him so your back was flush with his chest, the two of you watching the flurries as the lamplight refracted off the tiny ice crystals. “Happy first snow, Spencer Reid,” you told him, leaning your head back on his shoulder so the two of you could share a kiss.

He hummed affectionately, “Happy first snow, my love.”

[waitingonher]

NIGHTS LIKE THESE — [hoo boys drabbles]

summary: how they react to your bad dreams.

author's note: i wrote leo's + jason's part imagining that the cabins/barracks have individual rooms sooo...also ik this trope is so ran through in the pjo fandom but it's just toooo good i couldn't help myself

percy jackson

percy has always been the type of person to pick up the phone no matter the time. even as he’s on a lone movie marathon and the scene reaches its long-anticipated climax, he’s reaching for his buzzing phone that’s lost beneath the sheets. having found it after the third ring, percy checks the time and the caller id. why are you calling him so late? he answers, “hi babe. i thought you had to wake up early this morning, why are you awake?” 

“hi percy,” your voice was shaky and congested, as if you’d been crying. percy immediately sits up, alarmed at the state of your voice, “did i wake you up?” 

“no, no, i was up watching movies. what’s wrong? is everything okay?” he’s seated at the edge of his bed now, anxiously awaiting your response. 

you force him to sit in silence as you think of an excuse, “yeah, um…i’m okay. i just wanted to hear your voice. but i’ll see you on thursday, okay? goodni-” 

“(y/n), what’s going on?” percy runs a hand through his hair as he heads out of his room to his kitchen. he rips off a napkin from the roll and snatches a pen from the drawer. on the napkin, he writes a brief message to sally, saying that he’d be over at your place and not to worry. 

“nothing. i’m fine, percy,” you mutter. but your boyfriend knows you too well. the way your voice quivers makes it sound as though you were trying to convince yourself that everything was okay, and you were failing miserably. 

percy places his phone between his ear and shoulder as he ties his shoes, “don’t leave me in the dark, (y/n).” 

“don’t worry about me. i’m fine it was just-” 

“babe, i’m coming over, okay?” and with that, percy hangs up. 

he’s walked this path over a hundred times, usually for dropping you off after dates or simply for hanging out with you. but this time, all percy can think about is how you sounded over the phone and that he needs to seriously pick up the pace. 

upon arrival, percy climbs up the fire escape ladder as quickly and quietly as possible. it’s only now that he’s grateful for his experience from all of those laborious quests. reaching your floor, he knocks delicately on the glass. 

“percy, what are you doing here?” you ask after he closes your window, “i’m sorry, you really didn’t need to come all this way. it’s like three in the morning and you-” 

your boyfriend silences you with a gentle kiss, “i’m okay. it’s you i’m worried about. what’s wrong?” 

“it was just a dream.” 

“just a dream?”

“yes, it was just a stupid dream.” 

percy grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him, “(y/n), you’re one of the strongest people i know. so if you were crying over it, then it really must be something.” 

you slump on your bed, and percy joins beside you. it's no use hiding it from percy, so with a sigh, you confess, “well, you’re here now. but it just felt so real,” your eyes begin to prick with tears again, “you were laying on the floor…and there was just so much blood, and i tried to stop it—i really did try—but it just kept coming and there was nothing else i could do.” 

honestly, percy didn’t know what to say. but he did know that if your dream was anything like the ones he had about you, they were emotionally and physically crushing. so, he decides that if he can’t say anything, he’d rather show you. percy gently guides your body, until the both of you are laying down. with a strong arm wrapped around your figure and the other rubbing slow circles on your back, he can only hope you understand the message he’s trying to convey. 

“i’m here, (y/n). everything’s going to be okay,” percy continues to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. slowly but surely, your crying mellows into only soft sniffles. 

as you lay on his chest, you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing body. it wasn’t at all like that dream of yours; his cold body eerily still on the floor. not at all like that. you allow yourself to slowly drift off with the rise and fall of his chest, strangely as if it were its own lullaby, “thank you, percy,” you manage to whisper. 

“i love you, (y/n). i’m not leaving you, ever. i promise,” percy whispers back. 

leo valdez

leo’s used to waking up several times in the middle of the night. considering the demigod dreams, he hasn’t remembered the last time he’s gotten a full night's rest, which is why he’s not surprised to be awake at the crisp hour of two a.m. he can’t even remember the dream this time, but leo bets it was another dream foreseeing his imminent death or the end of the world. 

as he stares at the pipes and wires running along the ceiling of bunker 9, a familiar ringtone sounds from his phone. leo quickly wipes the sleep from his eyes and picks up the phone from his nightstand, “(y/n)? are you okay? it’s so late.” 

there’s a silence, followed up by quiet sniffles. were you crying? “hi leo, i’m sorry i probably woke you up didn’t i? go back to sleep, i was-” 

“no i was already awake, what’s wrong?” the moment your boyfriend noticed your shaky voice, his attitude completely changed. suddenly awake and full of energy, he tears off his blanket and reaches for his hoodie and shoes.

considering the fact that you never really call so late alarms him. you calling either meant that you had a nightmare or you were hurt…and leo prayed it was the dream. 

“i’m sorry…” you take a deep breath, “i just had a bad dream, like one of those dreams, you know?” leo knows all too well what you’re talking about, and if it’s anything close to the dreams he has, he can only imagine what you’re feeling, “but i swear i’m okay now. i’ll see you later?” 

but leo’s already out the door as you finish your explanation, “i’m coming over, stay there.” 

“wait leo-” 

he hung up. 

the trek through the forest was usually something one would avoid, especially at this hour, but leo couldn't give less of a shit as he thinks about you crying in your room. a few minutes later after practically sprinting to your cabin, he arrives. locating the window to your room was easy, he’d done this several times before for your sleepovers. leo knocks as quietly as he can on the glass, hoping he doesn’t disturb any of your other siblings. 

surprised, you pull your curtain aside and are face to face with none other than your boyfriend. he looks sweaty and out of breath. leo ran all this way? pushing your question to the side, you rush to open the window and let him in. 

for the first time, leo really gets a good look at you. your eyes are red and puffy; you look at him with such desperation and he can’t help but pull you into a rib-cracking hug. 

“you actually came.” 

“what? of course i did, (y/n),” he takes your face into his hands, rubbing soft circles on each cheek. suddenly, tears begin to flow freely down your face. was it something he said? was he not supposed to come? 

you pick up on his confusion, “i’m sorry, i’m just…glad you’re alive,” leo sits you on your bed, and continues to wipe away the tears, his concern growing with each passing second. your boyfriend urges you to go on, “it’s just the same thing every night. i’m at your grave on the hill, and i’m all alone and it’s raining and i just-” 

“(y/n), breathe,” leo pulls you into his chest once more. he holds you so impossibly tight, ensuring that you know he’s there and he doesn’t plan to ever leave. his sacrifice during the final battle against gaia will forever be amongst one of leo’s biggest regrets. not because he had saved the world, but because of how hard it impacted you. without a doubt, you could easily say that those months where leo was gone were the hardest times of your life. and not a day goes by where leo thinks he can ever forgive himself for it, “i’m here. i’m alive.” 

you nod, your sobs turning into quiet hiccups. leo moves the two of you guys to be laying down, and as final reassurance, he gently guides your hand under his hoodie, allowing you to feel his steady heartbeat. your boyfriend’s skin is warm to the touch and you count his heartbeat…one…two…three. and that was proof enough, “you’re alive.” 

“i am,” leo soothes. he places a gentle kiss atop your head and pulls the covers over your bodies. his arms wrap tightly around your figure, holding you close, “sleep, (y/n). i’ll be here in the morning.”

jason grace

it’s late nights like these that jason has slowly come to appreciate. these scarce nights where he’s completed his praetor duties for the night and he allows himself to indulge in some self-care, which usually consists of a cup of hot herbal tea and a good book. 

usually, jason prefers historical books, oftentimes concerning roman myths or the occasional diary of some war general. what can he say? he likes to be all-knowing when it comes to these things. but this time, as he’s curled up in his bed, he reaches for the book that you had recommended to him: a classic romance novel. jason laughs to himself as he recalls you teasing him about his taste in literature. if he remembers correctly, you called him a “history-loving freak?” 

just as jason’s about to open the book, an unexpected ringing sounds from his phone. he huffs, momentarily disapointed. that is, until he sees who’s calling, “(y/n)? hi, are you okay?” 

“oh, hi,” jason noticed the way your voice sounded off, like you’d been crying, “i didn’t think you’d actually answer.” 

confused, he puts the book back on his nightstand, “of course i would, my love. what’s going on? you sound like you’ve been crying.” 

“no, everything’s okay i just…” you pause, “had a bad dream, so i wanted to listen to your voicemail.”

jason’s heart squeezes at the thought of you going so far as to listen to his own ten second voicemail as a method of comfort. but the feeling goes away just as quickly as it came upon hearing you had a nightmare, “oh i’m sorry, my love. do you want me to come over?” 

“no,” you reply, “it’s okay. i’m better now that i’ve heard your voice. you can go back to bed, jason.” 

despite you declining his offer, jason’s already up and putting his shoes on, “i’ll be there in a few, okay? i love you,” and he hangs up. 

within a handful of minutes, jason reaches your cohort’s barracks. the square windows look impossibly similar, but it’s all thanks to practice that he recognizes yours. even as praetor, he still has to enforce the rules and sneak around. with a quiet knock on your window, he waits in the dark for you. 

“you’re here. you’re alive, jason,” is all you can muster up as your boyfriend stands tall inside your room. his expression is clearly written with worry as he closes the gap between you with a hug. as hard as you tried to fight it, the tears came again in a fresh wave. 

“yeah, i’m here, (y/n). i’m not leaving,” he replies, concern laced in his words. jason notices your tears and gently wipes them away, “c’mere, tell me about your dream,” he beckons, guiding you towards the bed. with a gentle plop, he settles down and opens his arms, inviting you to join him.

settling against jason’s chest, you take a shaky breath as he places kisses on your temple, “i was at your funeral, and you looked so peaceful, like you were sleeping. i just can’t stop thinking about how you looked asleep. and then they expected me to, you know, give a speech in front of the entire camp about you, and i just…i can’t imagine a world without you, so please, you can’t leave me like that.” 

“woah, woah, (y/n) i’m okay, breathe,” jason hushes you, rubbing soft circles on your arm. to be frank, he’s pretty shocked about what you had just said. he can’t get over how shaken up you are by this. but jason can’t even blame you, because if it were him who had the dream, he bets he would also be like this, “i’m here and i have no plan of ever leaving, okay? i’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life,” he jokes, hoping to get at least a smile from you. 

jason’s joke succeeds as he feels your body shake with a quiet giggle, “good. i wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

your boyfriend checks your face once more, ensuring that you’ve stopped crying. seeing that you have, he places delicate kisses on each cheek, “hey, how about we go to sleep now? i’ll read you that book,” jason motions to the book on your nightstand, which happens to be the same one you recommended him. 

you nod tiredly, “only if you do different voices for each character.” 

“of course, only for you,” jason quips. 

after adjusting your bodies, jason reaches for the book and opens it to chapter one. but before he begins, he pulls the covers completely over your body and places a chaste kiss on your forehead, “i love you so much, (y/n). and i hope you know that i’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter thirteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi my loves i’m back!! thank you all for your patience while i was sick and preparing for the new semester, i appreciate all your kind messages so much x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐖𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒’ 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎 

“Newcomer on the professional tennis scene, Y/N Y/L/N surprised virtually everyone when she won the Ladies’ Semi Final two days ago,” an English-accented sports journalist said on TV as you waited for your cue to step onto the court for the finals. “She’s not only the most technically excellent player of her age, but she has the fastest serve on the WTA tour.”

“She’s a remarkable player,” the other journalist agreed. You watched them play back a clip from your most recent match, highlighting one of your aces. “But if she wants to win on Centre Court here at Wimbledon for the very first time, she’s going to have to start embracing her volleys. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her boyfriend’s book.”

“Patrick Zweig? He only made it to the second round!”

“Yes, but he played some very entertaining tennis this week. It was a joy to watch and very well suited to a grass court!” 

“It’s true, Zweig plays a sneaky game of tennis. He keeps his opponent on his feet.” 

“In any case, the whole world is sure to be watching Y/N Y/L/N tonight, eager to see her take on Anna Mueller.”

“Now, this isn’t the first time Y/L/N and Mueller have played. They faced off numerous times in junior tournaments, and Y/L/N already beat her at Indian Wells, Milan, Roland-Garros, and the US Open last year. They have yet to play each other in a final, though, and Y/L/N has no grand slam titles to Mueller’s two.”

“Will it be experience and longevity that give Mueller the win, or will new talent Y/L/N take the match with precision and speed?”

“We will soon see.”

You had never been this nervous before a match until your second time at Wimbledon. 

For the first time in your professional career, just a year and a half after entering the tennis world, you made it to the final round of a grand slam tournament. The other tournaments you had won within the last year put your name on the map, allowing you to garner attention and recognition from your peers and spectators.

But a grand slam title meant you would be a part of history.

It was everything you wanted, everything you worked and struggled for. Your heart pounded so quickly that you thought it might leap out of your skin, and your quickening breath made spots appear in your vision. The pressure mounted, not just because your life goal was an arm’s length away, but from all the people who had their eyes on you. Some scrutinising, some rooting for you. 

Bracing your hands on your thighs, you closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. It felt like you were losing control. Everything you did to maintain your anxiety felt like it was slipping through your fingers, just like your dream of becoming a grand slam winner. 

Tashi’s voice rang in your ears. You’re going to be fucking miserable, and you’re going to hate your life just as much as your mother hates the fact that she had you. Art’s voice joined Tashi. Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game. You have a lot of anxiety, and…

The sound of your phone getting a text message interrupted your tornado of negative thoughts. 

PAT 💞: Don’t listen to any of those assholes, they don’t matter. I love you so much and I’m proud of you no matter what happens today. Hold your head up high and do your best, nothing else matters. Don’t forget to breathe, pretty girl. P x

As you stepped onto the court, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You could feel the vibrations of their applause through the soles of your shoes; the energy was electric, and the buzzing of quiet chatter set you on edge. Remembering Patrick’s advice, you breathed deeply and waved to the crowd, smiling as you headed for your bench. Everyone on your team was sitting in the player’s box with Patrick and your dad, and it was a relief to see them there supporting you. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this final round match. This match will be played as the best of three sets,” the umpire said. “To the left of the chair, from Switzerland, Anna Mueller. To the right of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. Y/L/N won the toss and elected to serve.”

From his seat in your box, Patrick chuckled. “I bet Anna Mueller’s terrified right now,” he commented. “Going into a match against Y/N and having her serve first would push me over the edge if I was playing her.” 

Next to Patrick, your father happily declared, “If Mueller wasn’t nervous to play Y/N before, she will be once she realises how many aces she has up her sleeve.”

Mueller crouched behind the baseline, nervously twirling her racket between her hands. Her poker face wasn’t nearly as good as yours, betraying her fear as you bounced the ball and prepared to serve. Knowing that you had this effect on your opponent, even before the game had started, made you feel powerful. 

With a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins, you tossed the ball in the air and served it over the tennis net. Mueller ran in the wrong direction, expecting you to serve to her backhand, and cursed when she couldn’t change courses fast enough to return the ball.

Your first ace of the game. 15-love.

Mueller played nervously. She knew your baseline game was strong, but her mistake was assuming that you could only play from the baseline. You decided to play closer to the net, consistently hitting gently when Mueller expected you to go hard and fast, making it impossible for her to generate the power needed to return well.

When you took the first set 6-0, Mueller cursed and turned to her box to yell something at her coach. During the changeover, you could hear her muttering to herself, failing to compose her posture and expression. She looked panicked and angry. From experience, you knew that the right amount of anxiety could help you focus on the match, but anger would destroy a player’s self-control and concentration.

When you served an ace at the beginning of the next set, Mueller stomped her foot angrily and challenged the call. The call held up, declaring your serve was in and awarding you the point. You watched in shock as Mueller’s face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing as she smashed her racket against the ground. Over and over again, the crowd gasped and booed as the frame cracked and the strings bent out of shape. 

“Code violation, racket abuse. Warning, Mueller.” 

From his seat, Patrick smirked, applauding the action while you maintained professionalism. He was the type of player who occasionally broke his racket or committed other code violations, so Patrick admired your ability to hold back. There was something rewarding about watching your opponent fall apart as you waited for her to get it together so you could keep playing. 

The atmosphere of the game changed after Mueller’s outburst. Releasing her anger had done Mueller well, and one of her backhands shot forth like a lightning bolt, making it impossible for you to return. She got a few points in, making you run for it. Sweat glistened on your brows, and your heart pounded, a steady drum beat that echoed the rhythm of your feet as you struggled to return some of Mueller’s balls. The crowd watched in awe as she started finding her rhythm, pushing through the fatigue with a newfound unwavering focus. 

Mueller looked incredibly smug to have caught up with you. So, you let her win a little bit. 

Your father frowned when you served into the net twice, giving Mueller the point. “What’s she doing?” he muttered quietly. “Are the nerves getting to her?”

Patrick shook his head, chuckling as he realised, “She’s throwing the set on purpose.” A smirk graced his lips when he remembered how you used to do the same thing when you played Tashi. “She wants Mueller to think she’s beating her.”

You let yourself enjoy it, toying with Mueller and never letting her know what you planned next. When you volleyed the ball back to her, she sprinted to the net. Just when she got used to playing close to the net, you hit a flat groundstroke past her. Once Mueller realised your pattern, she stayed closer to the baseline, and you hit her with your drop shots, far too close to the net for her to return.

Quickly, you caught up, 7-7. You needed one last game to win the match, and it was your turn to serve. 

Two aces in a row. Mueller yelled in frustration and anger when she missed both serves, once to her forehand and once to her backhand. Your focus sharpened with each passing moment. Serving was your area of expertise. You had the match exactly where you wanted it. 

With each point you won, your confidence grew. Your movements were fluid and instinctive; your racket felt like an extension of your arm, sending powerful, precise shots that left Mueller scrambling to return them. Like always, your serves were lightning fast, unerring and spectacular, kissing the line every time without fail. 

Mueller chased down every ball, but exhaustion was setting in, and her anger had returned. She was irritated that you had let her win, annoyed that it had boosted her ego so much, and furious that she couldn’t get in your head the way you got in hers. 

You were playing the best tennis of your life, each moment a testament to your skill and resilience over the years. The beauty of your game captivated the spectators, leaving the crowd in awe of your mesmerising strokes and masterful returns. The more points you won, the closer you got to winning the tournament. Tension and excitement were palpable, mounting in a crescendo of enthusiastic applause and standing ovations.

“Match point.” 

The cacophony of cheers faded into the background as you bounced the ball in your hand. You were good at keeping the pressure of winning off your shoulders, but the enormity of this point pressed down on you heavily. With your stomach in knots, you adjusted your grip on your tennis racket. Amid all the stress, anxiety, and fear, you felt a spark of determination. 

You didn’t just want to win; you deserved it. 

You served her backhand, which Mueller anticipated and hit back with equal intensity. The ball hit the ground awkwardly on your side of the net, creating minimal bounce with little power. Regardless, you hit it hard. As the two of you rallied back and forth, you followed the sports journalist from earlier’s advice and used a trick shot Patrick had taught you. When Mueller hit your forehand, you pretended to miss the ball. She celebrated, prematurely stopping while you hit the ball back between your legs, surprising Mueller and making her trip as she tried to return the ball. 

As Mueller landed on the floor, the ball bounced on her side of the net for a second time, earning you the point and the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles title. 

An overwhelming surge of triumph and disbelief hit you all at once. Your ears rang, drowning out the cacophony of the crowd’s ecstatic roars as you collapsed to your knees, dropping your racket. The weight of victory crashed upon you, and tears streamed down your face as you sobbed. Each teardrop released the intense pressure and emotion you had carried through the gruelling tournament. 

You cried for your mother, who you no longer needed to please; for Tashi, your former best friend who would not be here to celebrate this moment with you; and you cried for yourself, the person who got through it all and made it to the other side. 

When you wiped the tears from your cheeks and stood to shake your opponent’s hand, the world around you blurred back into focus. The cheers and applause of the crowd went from being a distant echo to a deafening roar. Mueller barely touched your hand before going to shake the umpire’s and—for a brief, solitary moment—you were enveloped by a profound sense of accomplishment. 

You did it.

After waving to the crowd and thanking the umpire, you turned to your player’s box. There, Patrick stood applauding your victory. His heart swelled with immeasurable pride and love for you, feeling an overwhelming admiration for your strength and dedication. You laughed, running across the court towards the box and excusing yourself as you squeezed past ball boys and line judges. Stepping up on one of the nearby benches, you lifted yourself closer to your boyfriend, who leaned over the railing, giggling.

Up close, Patrick’s eyes were misty, and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. Every sacrifice you made, every early morning and late night, came rushing back to him in a flood of memories. He could hardly contain his excitement. 

“You just fucking won Wimbledon!” Patrick yelled. “You were incredible!”

“I love you,” you replied, equally breathless and giddy. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pat.” 

Pushing up on your toes, you hooked your arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissed him. The crowd cheered even louder around you, but you didn’t care. Nothing and nobody else mattered at that moment. All you knew was that you had just achieved something incredible and Patrick was the only person you wanted to celebrate it with. He held your head carefully and kissed you hard, expressing his passionate pride with every press of his lips.

“Thank you. For reminding me to breathe,” you acknowledged when you parted, gazing up at your boyfriend with sparkling eyes. “And for teaching me your favourite trick shot.”

Patrick chuckled, taking one of your hands and pressing several kisses to the back of it. “That was all you, gorgeous. I had nothing to do with it. This win belongs to you,” he said sincerely. “Fuck, I love you, pretty girl.”

Art Donaldson stood in the crowd, his heart heavy with pride and melancholy as he watched you give Patrick a final kiss before returning to the court for your interview. It was a privilege to watch every powerful swing of your racket and every point you earned. Art was reminded of the countless hours you had poured into your practice, the determination that had always driven you while you were at Stanford. He had once been the one to share in those moments of victory with you, celebrating every win with the joy you now showed on the court. 

But now, as Art saw the happiness in your eyes and heard the crowd’s cheers, a wave of sadness washed over him. He was no longer part of your triumphs. He was just another face in the sea of supporters, knowing your victory wouldn’t be shared with him.

Art’s gaze flickered between you standing on the court and Patrick sitting with your father in the player’s box. His former best friend looked happier than Art had ever seen him, and knowing that your memory of this day would always be intertwined with your relationship with Patrick filled Art with an ugly jealousy. 

He knew he had no right to your life and joy, but Art wanted to celebrate with you. He wanted to tell you that he was proud of you and always knew you had the talent and perseverance to succeed. In fact, there were a lot of things Art wanted to say, including a sincere apology for what he said the night you broke up. But you had moved on, and you were happy, and the last thing Art wanted to do was ruin any of that for you. 

So instead, Art got up and pushed through the crowd, making his way to the exit as he heard your voice thanking Patrick for his love and support over the loudspeakers.

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

It felt good. 

Sitting in the booth with Tashi was almost like when Art used to sit in the dining hall with her at Stanford, back when you, Art, and Tashi were all attached at the hip.

A month ago, Art and Tashi graduated and began working in the professional tennis world, but it meant nothing to either of them without their best friends by their sides. Neither of them could have guessed that you and Patrick would leave behind such a huge hole when you stopped being friends with them.

“Maybe you wanna jump ship?” Art said, half-joking as he signed the bill and paid for their meal. “Come be my assistant coach?” When Tashi stared dumbfoundedly at him, he grinned. “Oh, I get it. You want to work with someone who has a little bit more potential.” 

“No!” Tashi protested. “No. No, it’s not that. I mean, you have plenty of potential. It’s just–” she cut herself off, nervously observing the blond sitting in front of her. It had been years since you and Art broke up, but it felt like yesterday. “You think that would be a good idea?” 

“Why not?” Art retorted. Tashi gestured vaguely, referencing their complex shared past. “That was a long time ago–” 

“–It was not that long ago,” she disagreed, interrupting Art’s attempt at nonchalance. 

“Well, it feels like a long time ago,” Art mumbled. 

“So, you’re saying you’re not in love with her anymore?” Tashi argued, raising a questioning eyebrow at her old friend. 

Art schooled his expression, not wanting to give his lingering emotions away. But Tashi saw through it, recognising the familiar signs that indicated his love for you still ran deep. His features softened at the mention of you, and there was a faraway look in his icy blue eyes.

Back when you were dating Art—and Tashi and Patrick were casually seeing each other—Patrick used to describe the look on his best friend’s face when he first laid eyes on you. That look of pure, absolute adoration and love never once faded from Art’s face at the mention or sight of you. Tashi knew with certainty that it would never fade.

“Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for her,” Art retorted. “That ship has clearly sailed.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t clutching the hull for dear life,” Tashi remarked, using Art’s ship analogy against him. “Did you see her at Wimbledon?��

“Of course I did,” Art replied, fiddling anxiously with the napkin on the table. 

“She was incredible, wasn’t she? I mean, I always knew she had it in her, but watching her win that final…” Tashi sighed.

If she was as good a friend to you as she always thought, she would have noticed that you used to hold back to help Tashi pursue her dreams of being the best tennis player in the world. Upon reflection, Tashi realised she would never be as good a friend to you as you were to her, and she should never have considered you to be less talented, hard-working, or capable than herself.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tashi said proudly.

Art agreed, “She’s officially a grand slam winner, the whole world was watching her that day.”

Tashi nodded. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Her lips curved in a disappointed frown, recalling all the times you and Tashi promised you would always be there to celebrate each others’ accomplishments when you were teenagers. “All of a sudden, the whole world feels entitled to a part of her. Instead of going through this journey with her, we’re on the outside looking in, just like everybody else.”

“It was pretty surreal,” Art affirmed. “I mean, I always knew what she was capable of. I remember all those late nights, talking about what she would do if she ever won a grand slam. And now that she has, I can’t help but feel a little lost.”

“Like you should be there with her,” Tashi guessed. She gave Art a sympathetic smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Art sighed, leaning back in his booth. “We used to be the people who knew her best in the world,” he recalled. “And now, we aren’t a part of her life anymore. It’s not just about tennis or success, it’s about her. She didn’t just hold us all together, she was seeped into the essence of everything I did and everything I dreamed.” The vulnerable honesty in Art’s voice made Tashi swallow harshly. “What am I supposed to do without her now? None of my plans ever accounted for me reaching this point in my life without her in it.”

Art’s words rendered them both silent.

You used to take up so much space in their lives, filling a void neither of them knew existed until you left them. Thinking about you and reflecting on your absence was always bittersweet. There was so much warmth and joy in their memories of you, but they were constantly paired with painful reminders of how much they hurt you. You, who only ever wanted to love and be loved. 

“Maybe this is what we deserve for hurting her in the first place,” Tashi offered. “The things I said to her that day–” she inhaled sharply, pain filling her chest as she recalled the argument that ended your friendship– “I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.”

“The look on her face when I told her I went to see you the night you fought…” Art shook his head in disappointment, his jaw clenched tightly as the frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I should have told her I went to confront you for hurting her. I should have told her I was desperate to figure out why she was inconsolable, but I let her believe I went to you because I was on your side. I was so angry and frustrated during the break up that I told her things just because I knew they would hurt her. Who does that to someone they love?”

“Us, apparently,” Tashi said, grumbling like she couldn’t believe what they did to you. Reaching across the table, Tashi covered Art’s hand with hers, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “My mom says that Y/N was my life lesson,” she explained. “That losing her was supposed to teach me something.”

“Yeah?” Art met her eyes and frowned. “What did it teach you?”

“To hold on,” Tashi declared. “When you meet someone like her, someone who’s warm and loving and far kinder to you than you deserve, you hold on to her. Because going through life without her is unimaginably worse than when she’s by your side.” 

It hurt to reflect on how much worse life was without you. You had been everything to Art for so long, and his eyes stung with tears every time he thought of you. The emptiness you left behind felt insurmountable, a constant ache he couldn’t escape. Every moment without you reminded him of what he’d lost, of how your presence had once filled his world with light and purpose.

Now, that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of what used to be; the pain of your absence was a relentless companion.

Art pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “This is really stupid, but, uh… After your injury… I couldn’t help but just think about what would have happened if I had beaten Patrick,” he confessed. 

Tashi froze at the mention of how you met Art and Patrick. 

She knew Art well enough to understand that everything he did led back to you and how he lost you. No matter how badly Art wanted to change the past, Tashi knew you would always love him and Patrick throughout your life. 

In a way, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were the three great loves of your life.

One for a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, one for the boy who made you realise what it was like to be loved, and one for the man who would wait a lifetime just for a minute of happiness with you.

No matter how much you once loved Art, Tashi knew you would love Patrick in every life, too. It didn’t matter what order you met them in; you were the catalyst that changed each of their lives. 

Tashi thought she was the only objective spectator to your relationships with Art and Patrick. She was your best friend at Stanford when you dated Art, and she was practically a stranger now that you were with Patrick. Watching your romantic relationship unfold on TV and in newspapers and magazines was entirely different from having a front-row seat back in college, but Tashi knew you well enough to see how deeply and genuinely you loved Patrick, just as you had loved Art.

“So you want me to join your team because you couldn’t win Y/N’s number that day?”

Art lifted his head to meet Tashi’s gaze. “No,” he denied. “I want you to join my team because I want to win.”

Tashi suppressed a grin. She should have known that if it wasn’t about you, it was about Patrick. “I think you’d beat him now if you guys played,” she commented, sipping her coffee. “Don’t you think?” 

It was a challenge that Tashi knew Art would easily see through. 

Perhaps Art could beat Patrick if their history wasn’t complicated by you entering their lives. If the two of them were just best friends trying to make it in the tennis world, Art had the skills, practice, and tenacity to win now. After all, he had dedicated himself to the sport at Stanford and had an excellent team supporting him, while Patrick continued to rely on raw talent. As Art steadily climbed the ranks with every game, Patrick floundered somewhere in the lower 200s. 

But all of this was negated by one simple fact. Patrick had the one thing that Art truly wanted: you. 

If Art and Patrick played a match tomorrow, you would be in Patrick’s player box, cheering his name and applauding his wins. Your presence at the match—and in Patrick’s life—would be more than enough for Art to lose every time he faced his former best friend, just as he lost you. The only thing that could give Art a chance to beat Patrick would be having you on his side. 

“Don’t know,” Art replied cryptically. “We, uh… haven’t played professionally, and don’t keep in touch.” Tashi laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “What?” 

She cleared her throat. “Just… She never saw it,” Tashi explained. “The rivalry between you and Patrick. Ever since that night we first met, she always assumed the two of you were after me.” She shook her head, visibly entertained. “She used to say that I was the sun and she was the moon. But, God, wasn’t she just everything? The moon and the stars and everything in between, that was her.” Tashi and Art shared a soft, sentimental expression. “I never understood why she couldn’t see it. Everything was over the moment you and Patrick met her, and I knew none of us would ever be the same.”

A small smile stretched across Art’s lips. “Yeah…” 

Tashi was right—you had been everything to him. 

Art felt it the moment his eyes first met yours, an instant connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if something within him recognised you, a deep and undeniable pull that resonated in both his body and heart. It wasn’t just about your smile or how you moved; it was how your presence seemed to complete something in him, filling a void he hadn’t even known existed.

You became his anchor, the one person who made everything else make sense, and from that moment on, he knew his life would never be the same without you.

“We joked that we weren’t homewreckers the night we met you, but…” Tashi trailed off, sighing as she set her mug on the table and crossed her arms. “I never thought it would come between me and her. I always thought I was a better friend than that. And I hate it, but running into you today is the closest I’ve felt to her in years,” she confessed.

Sitting there opposite your former best friend, Art couldn’t help but agree. So many parts of you lived on in Tashi, remnants of your lifelong friendship that had shaped both of you in ways he could now see clearly. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought mirrored your own, a habit you’d both picked up during your countless late-night conversations. That amused, all-knowing expression on Tashi’s face when Art tried to lie to her was uncannily similar to yours. 

Even her choice of words, the little phrases and inside jokes that only you two shared, brought you vividly to life at that moment, making it feel like a part of you was still there, sitting right across from Art.

“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed, trying to keep the sudden gust of sadness out of his tone. 

To make matters worse, seeing Tashi was the closest Art had felt to you and Patrick in a very long time. 

It brought back memories of his former best friend, who had once been his world. There was a time when the four of you felt inseparable, and now, sitting there, Art could almost hear the echoes of those days. The way Tashi absentmindedly rubbed her forearm was like Patrick used to, a nervous habit that always surfaced during serious conversations. Tashi’s honest recount of how much she missed you felt like a mirror image of how much Art missed Patrick. Being with Tashi now, it was impossible not to feel the empty space left by the absence of the friendships that had once defined them both.

That night, as Tashi stepped into Art’s hotel room, the invisible string that still bound them both to you seemed to tighten, pulling them a little closer to where you slept just a few floors away.

𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“I just got off the phone with Elora,” you declared, stepping into your shared hotel room with Patrick and finding your boyfriend lounging on the bed with the TV on. “I’ve been asked to play an exhibition match tomorrow. Just something quick and fun before the first round to boost ticket sales for the qualifiers. A bunch of American players from the tour will be there.”

You dropped onto the bed beside Patrick, kicking off your shoes and curling up in his awaiting arms. The two of you had been travelling together for over a year, sharing rooms while on tour and cohabitating in every aspect of your lives. It was like a reward after enduring a long-distance relationship during your final year at Stanford. Instead of just talking on the phone and occasionally getting surprise visits from Patrick, you went everywhere together and supported each other at every match and tournament you attended.

The two of you had slipped into an easy routine. Having the same profession meant that you were constantly going to the same places, and it made travelling and sightseeing so much more special. After working hard for over two weeks at each tournament, exploring new cities with Patrick was the ideal way to wind down and relax. There was something incredibly special and romantic about doing every day of your life with him.

Your relationship had been grabbing headlines ever since the press caught on to the fact that you were together over a year ago, but the attention ramped up exponentially after you won Wimbledon.

What used to be short articles about an up-and-coming, attractive couple in the tennis world had snowballed into detailed timelines of your dates and public appearances with Patrick. Luckily, the public adored you, and there was very little criticism or negativity surrounding your relationship. Other players on the WTA and ATP tour often teased you about being real celebrities, pointing out how rare it was to win public favour as much as you and Patrick did.

Even though this shift was odd, and you had yet to get used to the constant eyes on you, there were perks to having your picture taken professionally every time you went on a date with your boyfriend. You had framed your favourite newspaper clipping, a beautiful picture of you kissing Patrick after winning Wimbledon, with the heading The Darlings of the Tennis World written above it in a large, bold font.

“Great,” Patrick drawled, blinking lazily as he wrapped his arms around you. His hands gravitated under your shirt to draw circles on the bare skin of your midriff, immediately sending butterflies to your stomach. “Which unlucky girl’s getting her ass handed to her while you beat her in straight sets?” he joked, knowing any match you played would end in a crushing defeat for the other player. 

“Actually…” you trailed off, sending him your best smile as Patrick drew his head back to meet your gaze. 

He observed your innocent expression with quizzical, unsure eyes. Even though you were giving him your sweetest look, there was something mischievous about the glint in your eyes. When realisation hit him, Patrick sighed and said, “I’m the unlucky girl, aren’t I?” His distraught tone made laughter bubble from your lips.

“Smart and handsome? I really hit the jackpot,” you teased, buttering him up with compliments so that he would agree more readily. “Come on, Pat, it’ll be fun!” 

“Oh yeah, really fun!” Patrick agreed sarcastically, matching your energetic tone. “Like how a lion treats a lamb during slaughter!”

You rolled your eyes, stifling your laughter at your boyfriend’s dramatics. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll go easy on you,” you said, imitating his voice and tone. He had never used those exact words about playing tennis, but Patrick’s tone was always thick with the same arrogant confidence. “Think about it! If you play against me, you’ll get to see that winning serve of mine up close and personal.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been on the opposing end of your winning serve plenty of times during practice,” Patrick defended. “I always knew you were better than me, gorgeous, but I don’t remember agreeing to public humiliation when we started dating!”

“Drama queen,” you accused. “It really will be fun! We’ll be mic’d up and we can talk and joke the entire time. It’s the best of three sets and it’ll be just like practising together. Come on, what do you say?” At Patrick’s uncertain expression, you sat up in bed and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The fire that instantaneously burned in his gaze made you smirk triumphantly. “I’ll be really grateful if you do it,” you said suggestively, placing your hands on his chest and grinning. “Pretty please?”

“Well, since you said pretty please,” Patrick joked, unable to keep the wide smile off his face when you tilted your head at him. “Sure. What’s one more event where everyone thinks you’re out of my league?”

Happily, you exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!” 

“Wait–” Patrick frowned when you got up from his lap and began scurrying around the room looking for your phone– “I thought you were going to show me how grateful you are?”

You snorted. “Nice try. You can have your reward after the exhibition match,” you declared, chuckling quietly.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Patrick complained.

“Don’t act like you don’t love the chase,” you retorted, winking as you texted Elora that you and Patrick were happy to participate in the exhibition match. 

From his place on your shared bed, Patrick rolled onto his stomach and observed you. It was hard to imagine that he had only known you for four years. Your participation in his life felt so insurmountably important that it was like he had known you his entire life. You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of Patrick’s daily existence, shaping his world with a depth and significance that defied the brevity of time. 

Unlike Tashi and Art, Patrick realised early on that you were someone he should hold on to. His life before you had been filled with disappointment from his family, and Patrick recognised what a rarity you were. Having already lost you before when his relationships with Tashi and Art ended, Patrick knew losing you meant losing something irreplaceable. Your presence filled gaps he hadn’t noticed before he met you, making it obvious that you were someone worth cherishing. 

As you picked up a phone call from your coach, Patrick went on his laptop and checked how much money was in his savings account. He won enough matches to pay for plane tickets, tennis equipment, and other daily necessities, saving an immense amount of money because the fat cheque you got from Nike every month more than covered your shared accommodations. Over the last year, in particular, Patrick had started saving for something very special. 

An engagement ring.

As much as Patrick wanted you to have the very best, an engagement ring from Harry Winston or Bulgari just wasn’t within his budget. He was entitled to a family heirloom ring, but Patrick didn’t want to give you something from his family. Any engagement ring he chose had to represent you and your relationship with him, rather than the generations of unhappy, reluctant marriages his family seemed destined to repeat.

After carefully perusing different stores and comparing the cost and quality of various rings, Patrick found the perfect one at Cartier. It was simple and classic, exactly the style you had mentioned you preferred offhandedly on several occasions. To his surprise, it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, and he had almost saved enough to get you the exact ring he wanted you to have.

After Wimbledon, you noticed and commented on the fact that Patrick was training harder than ever. To you, it seemed like he was finally starting to take himself more seriously. Instead of coasting on his natural talent, Patrick began seeing your physical trainer with you and even quit smoking to improve his stamina. What you didn’t know was that he was doing all of this to increase his chances of winning more matches at the US Open, where a significant amount of prize money was on the line.

In Patrick’s mind, the more matches he won, the more money he could take home, and the nicer your engagement ring could be. 

“Hey, do you know what ring size you are?” Patrick asked as casually as he could when your phone call was over. “Jess got a bunch of rings that don’t fit her and she was wondering if you want them instead?”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t believe she thought of me,” you acknowledged, grinning. Ever since you met Patrick and his extended family last year, you were constantly invited to spend time with his cousins Jess and Alex. While Patrick wasn’t best friends with them, they were the closest family he had, so you had accepted several invitations over the past year. “I would love that, Jess has amazing taste in jewellery! Tell her I’m an eight in ring size, but I’ll squeeze into anything she wants to give me,” you joked, not thinking much of Patrick’s question. 

With shaking hands, Patrick sent a text with your ring size to the sales associate at the Cartier store in New York, who had been keeping him updated on when the exact ring he wanted was available. Once the US Open was over, all Patrick had to do was head to Manhattan and pick up the ring. It had taken him almost four months to find the perfect one for you, and then it was just a matter of winning enough prize money to afford it. As long as Patrick won two rounds at the US Open next week, he’d have enough to buy your engagement ring.

Then he would have to decide how and when to propose to you.

[sturnioz]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE A PART 2 OF THE FRATBOY CHRIS X SHY READER ANGST PRETTY PLEASERE (ily btw)

──── ⭑ ( part 0.1 | part 1 ) .ᐟ

after going home that night, you were almost positive that you were never going to see chris again.

you took every precaution possible to avoid him ─ parking your car far from campus, you deliberately chose the longest routes to your classes, and in the hallways you kept your head down, pretending to be focussed on your phone while your heart raced at the thought of crossing paths.

you deleted pictures on your phone, even blocked his number and his socials, determined to erase him from your life. the idea of him posting pictures with another girl twisted your stomach in uncomfortable knots, leaving you feeling utterly miserable.

during your time alone, you began to realise just how dull your life actually was without chris. sure, frat parties had never been your scene, but you used to enjoy being tucked against his side, watching him in his element ─ dealing, taking drugs, and drinking with his frat brothers before he took you into his bedroom where you spent the night.

and then there were the midnight food runs when the munchies hit, him bringing you along to the nearest 24-hour store and buying all your favourite treats and snacks which you shared.

but that was gone now, you were sure of it. you were never going to experience those moments with him again.

until he opened your bedroom door one night while your were episodes deep into one of your favourite rewatchable series. your heart raced and your eyes widened in disbelief, nearly dropping your cup of water that you've been sipping. you hastily place it on the bedside table, pausing your show mid-scene.

you stammer, confusion flooding your voice. "what.. what are you─"

"your uh, your mom let me in," chris cuts you off with a reply, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the stillness.

you weren't a bad daughter, but you couldn't help but curse your mother out in your head for allowing chris inside the house. she's always had a soft spot for him, drawn to his charm and charisma, even if she didn't know him like you did.

"jus' wanna talk to you, alright? 'cos you leavin' like you did... yeah, it doesn't sit well with me ─ got this..." chris pauses as he prods his chest with his two fingers, his expression a mix of frustration and slight vulnerability. "here. got me feelin' this weird shit and ─ and i can't take it, alright? so jus'... jus' talk to me. use that fuckin' mouth of yours and talk. 'cos i must've done somethin' right?"

you sit in silence, your heart racing as you stare at him from your position on the bed, lips curling into a frown.

the sight of him stirs a whirlwind on emotions in you ─ hurt, anger, longing. you don't want to talk to him; you don't want to bring up the painful memories of his cruel words that still, undoubtedly, echo in your mind. you knew that confronting him would only remind you that he wanted nothing to do with you, but you also understand that conversation is important... even if it felt like a trap to you.

"i... heard you," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. you chew the skin of your cheek, your gaze dropping to your lap, unable to meet his intense stare.

"heard me what, kid?" he presses, his tone blunt, yet you sense a hint of curiosity lurking beneath the surface. his directness catches you off guard, and you feel the room closing in around you.

he leans back against the door, arms crossed over his chest. the posture is defensive, and you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, analysing every twitch of your expression, searching for any sign of what you're thinking. it's unnerving, and you shift uncomfortably, feeling exposed.

you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "i heard you say that you want nothing to do with me," you confess, the words tasting bitter on your tongue as the tears begin to brim in your eyes. "you're so... so cruel, chris."

chris' expression shifts a little, "you uh, you heard that?" he runs a hand through his messy hair, tongue prodding at his cheek, frustration evident in his movements. "jesus, kid, i ─ i didn't mean it like that, alright? i jus'... you think i wanna hurt you? huh?"

"then why did you say it?" your voice cracks, a mix of hurt and confusion spilling out.

"i didn't mean it," he repeats again, his voice rough around the edges, but there's a sincerity that catches you a little off guard. he pushes himself off the door, taking a few steps towards you, closing the distance between you. "look at me, kid. i didn't mean it... you ─ you listen t'me, okay? jus' listen for a sec."

you finally lift your head, meeting his gaze, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. the air is thick between you both as he sits down at the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"i..." chris exhales deeply through his nose, visibly struggling with his words. "what we have ─ this shit between us? it.. it's new f'me, okay? and ─ and i'm not the type to get all romantic and relationship-like, you know that. but i get this weird fuckin' shit in my chest whenever i'm with you, and i'm tryin' to figure out how this all works, yeah? i'm not... i'm not used to this."

you continue watching him in silence, your heart racing as you stare at him. the vulnerability in his expression surprises you.

"when i said that shit, about how i want nothin' to do with you? that was jus' to get him off my back, s'all ─ 'cos he kept goin' on and on, and it was pissin' me off and i needed him to shut the fuck up," chris explains to you. "i... i shouldn't have said it, alright? and ─ and i'm... i'm sorry, yeah? i'm sorry."

his apology hangs in the air, and you can see the seriousness etched on his face. the weight of his words settles over you, and you feel the walls around your heart begin to crack. the raw honesty in his voice makes you reconsider everything.

"didn't mean to hurt you, kid," chris adds, his tone softer than usual. "don't know how to handle everythin'. it scares the shit outta me, y'know?"

you nod slowly, "i... i get it," you reply, frowning softly. "but i don't know if i can trust you."

chris' jaw clenches for a moment, the muscles ticking rhythmically as he processes your words. "yeah, well, gonna have to try 'cos uh, i can't let you walk away like that again... yeah, s'not happenin'."

he clears his throat, scrunching his nose as he sniffs, and the familiar gesture brings a slight smile to your lips despite the heaviness of the moment.

"now wipe your face 'n scoot over, told your mom m'stayin' the night."

© STURNIOZ

authors note. writing fratboy!chris so vulnerable and soft is WEIRD EEE this isnt my fratboy!chris !!! bring back the pain !!!! (hope you like it tho anon i did this for you)

[gyumazing]

Nishimura Riki

In which your mom gave you a pack of condoms during dinner

-

Pairings: Ni-ki × Reader

Genre: FLUFFY fluff (very suggestive ⚠️)

Word count: 1.8k

-

"Baby, I missed yo—" Ni-ki's greeting was cut short as he suddenly saw your painfully red face the moment he opened his door, preparing to engulf you in a hug. He bit his tongue back, looking like he was about to laugh, but was courteous enough to try and hold it in—which, obviously, failed miserably. His stupid face made your already red face even redder. "Babe..." he called out apologetically as you made your way inside his room, immediately plopping down on his bed, covering your face in embarrassment.

You felt gentle hands patting your head. "I don't think it's that bad," you heard him snicker a little, so you groaned.

You felt his weight shift the foam mattress as he sat down beside you. He combed your hair a little, just enough for him to keep sight of your closed eyes.

"It's perfectly normal... I think?" That was more like a question for himself rather than reassurance for your already ashamed and embarrassed self. Nonetheless, he plopped next to you now, kissing your closed eyes softly. "I mean, there's no way they won't know what we're doing when we're all alone together in he—" Ni-ki half-groaned, half-chuckled, not being able to finish his sentence as you rose up from his bed, wringing his neck.

You wailed.

"Have you seen the teasing looks on their faces earlier?!" You closed your eyes, shaking your head as you recalled the previous encounter with your family at the dinner table; your mom casually handing you a packet of condoms as you bit down on your last piece of toast; your brother Heeseung snickering at you with a knowing look; everyone watching you intently with a smug expression. It was the most horribly nerve-wracking experience you'd ever had. The shame, mortification, and shock brought upon you from that family dinner alone were probably enough to take at least 10 years off your lifespan.

You groaned. You cringed so bad that you found yourself dropping like a soulless sack down onto your boyfriend's bed again, hitting your head onto his laid-out biceps with a thud.

Ni-ki chuckled, which of course earned a death glare from you. He poked your nose.

"It's not that bad... They're looking out for you, and at least they didn't say anything, right?" Ni-ki's pathetic attempt at cheering you up involved playing with your hair as he nibbled on your jaw.

You pushed his head aside resentfully.

How dare he act so casually at your misery when he's the root of it all?

"I mean, it's not like they're wrong. I haven't bought new packs yet, and we could totally use those, you know, babe? That was so thoughtful of your m—"

"Shut up!" You covered your ears, rising up from his bed. He chuckled, his pretty boxy smile creeping onto his face.

He grabbed you by your waist and effortlessly pulled you back into bed. He rested his chin on the gap between your shoulder and neck, spooning you in his hold.

"Okay, okay, no teasing," he surrendered, biting your neck again, earning a gasp and a sharp cuss from you.

He chuckled at your reaction.

"I freaking hate you so much sometimes, Nishimura Riki..." You got up from his hold and flipped him off. But you suddenly let out an inhumane squeal as you found yourself lifted in the air, Ni-ki carrying you easily as if you weighed not more than a dime.

"That's mean. No flipping your boyfriend off..." He warned, ushering your frail and helpless figure next to the wall, pinning your back against it. He towered over you, dark eyes lingering a little too long on your quivering lips. "Do you want to take that back, princess? Hmmm?" he pressed against you, making your eyes widen.

"Let me go..." You tried to act tough.

He shook his head.

"Try that again."

"Let me go..." You started. "Please... baby..." You added in the quietest manner humanely possible, not wanting to have your pride and ego entirely crushed.

Ni-ki presses himself against you again, making you inhale sharply onto his chest. He wraps his hands on your waist.

"I can't hear you, baby." He lifts your chin up delicately, firming your gaze to meet his longing and hazy ones. "Louder."

You scoffed.

Absolutely not.

You kicked him off of you slightly, but it made matters even worse because now he held you even tighter, hands practically caging your waist.

"So bratty..." He whispered, kissing your jaw, pushing you back onto the bed on your back. You gasped, heartbeat racing so fast in anticipation.

Ni-ki looked at you with a smug grin on his face.

"Cat got your tongue, babe?" He tilted his head to the side with a coy grin. You immediately tried to open your mouth to spit out a comeback, a word, something that could make you appear less pathetic beneath his towering frame—anything—but it seemed as though your voice betrayed you. So, you lay there like a deer caught in headlights, gulping cautiously to disregard any bubbling feelings inside you.

Ni-ki giggled, his expression softening as he bit his lip affectionately—a habit of his whenever he found you cute or endearing.

To your surprise, he plopped down next to you again, pulling you into a cuddle. And you wanted to berate yourself for feeling disappointed that he had stopped somehow.

He kissed your forehead.

"Disappointed?" He asked as if he had read your mind. You gasped a little at the accusation, then rolled your eyes as he grinned like an idiot.

Damn him.

Ni-ki fixated his gaze on yours again, an intense look plastered on his face, as if he were studying every pore on your face, etching every speck of detail into his memory. And you couldn't help but sigh in fondness and safety having him so close like this.

"I love you..." He muttered, closing his eyes for so long you almost thought he had drifted off to dreamland. "I'm so happy you came into my life..." He added casually, completely unaware of how loudly your heart was thumping along with his warm, shallow breaths... completely unaware of what he was doing to you and your sanity.

You played with his hair gently, still processing and buffering at the sudden intimacy—not that it was anything new. Not that he didn't bombard you with his sappiness every freaking hour of the day.

"Okay, I was about to sulk that you didn't bother to return my 'I love you,' but I guess this is your way of saying it back." He said contentedly, mewling at the way your fingers scratched his scalp.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his comment, a smile tugging at your lips.

Riki... He was just so silly sometimes. He presented himself in the media as a "cool" and "nonchalant" guy when in fact, he was a loverboy through and through. A silly, sappy boy who craved affection 24/7.

A boyfriend who never got tired of your constant grunts whenever he professed his love to you, and whenever you shrugged his words off, too scared to actually admit that you were in love with him too—something your conscious mind would excuse as simple "puppy love." But days of dating turned into weeks, turned into months, and now you recently marked your fourth year together. You know, it's just shocking. You never saw yourself dating that troublesome kid from elementary school who always made his rich parents pay the school to move up to the next grade, let alone dating him for 4 whole years.

It's just... wow.

"Babe?" You muttered, still playing with Ni-ki's hair as he lay motionless beside you. If it weren't for his low "hmm?" and a sudden peck on your cheek, you'd think he had actually fallen asleep.

You brushed stray hairs out of his face.

This boy loves you.

You love this boy too.

So damn much.

"Ni-ki..." you bit your tongue back in haste. "I love you." You felt your stomach churn weirdly at the projection of Ni-ki's smug expression in your mind the moment those three words escaped your mouth. You waited for his reaction dreadfully—you waited for the familiar menacing grin to appear on his cold and intimidating face—but instead, he remained unmoving.

Then, sniffs.

Sniffs?

Crying?

"Hey, are you okay? Baby? Are you okay?" You got up off the bed in panic, scanning him entirely to check if anything was hurting him. He looked fine, except for his closed eyes that brought tears rolling down his pretty cheeks. "Ni-ki?" You shook him gently.

To your surprise, he pulled you into a cuddle again, chuckling a little.

"Are you... okay?" you asked, more concerned now.

"You said 'I love you' back to me..." He whispered into your neck. You couldn't help but sit up again with a look of disbelief on your face, but Ni-ki pulled you back into a cuddle faster than you could utter anything. Is he seriously crying now... because you said I love you? You rarely said it, yes. But this was definitely not the first time. "This is the 5th time you've said it after our 4 years of dating. Honestly, I had made peace with the fact that I'd only ever hear you say it during our anniversaries..." He said, groaning a little—probably due to his self-awareness of how love-stricken and smitten he sounded—which he obviously was, in fact.

"So it surprised you so much to the point that you... cried?" You said in disbelief.

Ni-ki pouted.

"Hey... don't make fun of me." He bit your neck gently.

You hissed at the feeling of his teeth digging into your skin.

Come to think of it, you were almost always the center of teasing and you never really had the chance to get back at him. Whenever you did try, you always ended up in the hole you dug. Like that one time when you sent him a "not so very appropriate" photo of you while they were touring Asia, trying to rile him up, but ended up being severely punished for it the moment he returned home.

Even if you did try teasing him about something, you knew he would have something to tease you back about.

You huffed.

"What are you thinking?" Ni-ki interrupted your thoughts.

"Oh nothing." You huffed again. "Well, for your sake, I won't make fun of you..." It was a lie. It was mostly for your sake.

Ni-ki raised his eyebrows.

"But?" He asked.

"What do you mean 'but'?" You feigned innocence.

"Don't pretend now." He said impatiently, biting your neck again. You pushed his head aside while giggling.

"But, I will use it in case of emergencies..." You grinned.

"Emergencies?"

"Oh you know... When you make fun of me, now I have something to tease you back with." You sang, hands creeping onto his. "So, don't go around teasing me every time, goddammit!" You warned.

But instead of being intimidated, Ni-ki's grin grew even bigger.

He nodded.

"Okay deal." He poked your side. "We don't talk about me crying and I won't ask what flavor of condom your mom bought you." He wiggled his brows.

You groaned.

___

[ryiju-muunie]

hiiiii can i request a pregnant reader x toji where he learns sex induces labor? and the reader is like GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME and he wants to "relieve" her pain??

Fucking for two

18+ viewer discretion advised

fem!reader/Toji Zenin Warnings: pregnancy sex, pregnancy fetish/kink, breeding kink, rough sex, Toji is hung that’s canon, they’re married and in their 30s, attempted mating press but she’s like 9 months pregnant, creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, fingering, breast milk kink, breast milk play, Toji's gonna suck some nipnips, dacryphilia, I'm gonna be honest this is not realistic, squirting Word count: 2820 DESC: Toji wants to relieve your pain and get off at the same time

Well anon this was an interesting experience! And some of it is not accurate like the breast milk part but we ball.

ALL EYES ON RAFAH

“Hey bitch,” Toji strolled into your shared room with a more playful expression than usual. He gave your annoyed glare a wiggle with his eyebrows, “I know how to get that baby outta you.”

You were a week late. Almost two at that point. And you had been dying to get this god-forsaken baby out of you for days. You’ve tried spicy food, yoga, or sour food. Anything you heard that might’ve made your pregnancy end. But nothing worked! So you were stuck with this large lump inside of you sucking the life force from your mind. You wanted so desperately to be free from the shackles of pregnancy so you could do certain things like bathe properly or lay on your side. So when your amazing husband suggested a way to get this baby out of you… you wanted to hear him out. 

“Hm?” You looked up from your laptop, closing it as you stared at him. God, he was such eye candy. Maybe that was the reason you stayed all through his interesting quirks. (Like gambling or drinking himself half-blind) He was hot. You couldn’t deny it. The way his muscles poked out through his tight shirt always made you clench your legs together, even if you couldn’t exactly do that right now. 

He looked over at you and smirked before answering, “We fuck.” 

You had to do a double-take. You … what? You two had been intimate during your pregnancy, giving him blowjobs and him eating you out. But you hadn’t engaged in sexual intercourse like that. You didn’t think Toji found you attractive enough to pound you like he used to. Mainly since he had been a lot more careful around you ever since you hit the third trimester; Maybe it was your hormones, but you didn’t think he could find your bloated body attractive currently.

“Toji I’m not having sex with you,” you shook your head, looking down at your closed laptop filled with anime stickers from various shows you liked. 

“I don’t wanna see you all miserable. It’s annoying,” he shrugged as you made a sour face. You knew he meant well, but Toji always had a way with words. A bad way with words.“Besides. I kinda wanna fuck a pregnant bitch.” 

You gave him a warning glare and he cleared his throat, “Pregnant woman.” 

“I… you don’t need to say all that. I know I’m not very hot right now and taking care of me is a pain in the ass. But you don’t need to force yourself to sleep with me just to get it over with…” You mumbled, looking up at him. His face contorted from a smirk to a weird look. He stared at you as if you were crazy. Like you just said the wildest thing imaginable without any warning. 

You thought … you weren’t attractive like that? You thought you weren’t attractive to him? And you thought you were making him force himself to sleep with you? Oh, you really were insane. Toji was deeply and madly in love with you, even if he didn’t exactly show it. You’ve always been hot to him, no matter what. You’ve been together for five years, of course, you’ve changed. You didn’t look like the same girl he first met at that bar and he didn’t care. He loved you no matter how big or small you were. If you were carrying his child or not. He loved you. If fucking you while pregnant was going to get rid of your agony, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

And he didn’t want to admit the other reason why he’d been dying to fuck you pregnant. He had a certain kink he’d never been able to try since you were his first wife. Once you got too big to lay on your side or even get up without help, Toji thought you wanted him to be more gentle. So he abstained from slapping your ass or grabbing you while you were fast asleep beside him. But he wanted to. 

He wanted to fuck you raw while you were pregnant with his seed. And he wanted to induce labor and have your water break all over his meaty cock. You didn’t want to see his PornHub browsing history, because, for the past nine months, it was all pregnancy porn. He couldn’t help it. Just the thought of you filled with his baby being fucked by him got him off in ways he didn’t know. 

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Toji replied after a moment of pure silence. He got onto the bed and crawled towards you, pushing your laptop to the side, “I wanna fuck a pregnant bitch. And I wanna fuck you. So … let’s fuck.” 

You blinked a few times, “Oh you have such a way with words, Zenin,” a small smile bit at your lips and you nodded, “If you aren’t forcing yourself, then sure. Is it like a fetish of yours or something?” One of your arms slung around your husband's neck and he nodded, inhaling in your scent. He didn’t care if you thought you smelt bad, he loved it. He loved how you naturally always smelt a certain way, that he could pick you out in a crowd. He rested his head against your large belly and closed his eyes briefly. 

Soon this would be gone and a baby Megumi would be born. You both decided on the more feminine name because screw gender roles! And it was the only thing you two could agree on. 

One of his big hands trailed from the top of your stomach down to the hem of your pants, sneaking past the waistband and making its way to your underwear. Your breath hitched at your lips and you felt two fingers dip into your pussy. It was a slow and methodical movement that he did, just swirling around your clit to get you all hot and bothered. His other hand trailed up to fondle your breasts. You let out a small gasp and before you knew it that hand was in your shirt. He pinched and rolled your nipple around between his fingers, just to feel you tense up beneath him. 

“Toji… remember I’m gonna…” You bit your lip and exhaled a shaky moan as you felt him continue. He moved his head up from your stomach to find its way inside your shirt as well, taking your other breast and nipple into his mouth. He let his teeth rake around your sensitive pebble and suck it just to see your reaction. You had never been one for nipple play, but after you got pregnant they had become so sensitive… just a bit of fondling never hurt.

You had forgotten what you were about to say when you felt a strange sensation come from the center of your nipples. Oh. That. You found yourself prematurely leaking colostrum or breast milk, whenever your nipples were fondled with. Toji must’ve forgotten since he went mouth-first into your chest. But he didn’t even flinch as you felt them drain into your husband's palm and mouth. Instead, you realized he was going a bit harder, sucking and pinching as if his life depended on it. 

His hand was still on your clit in a way that made you dizzy. All of it was just to prepare you for the horse he was going to force into your cunt. Toji was hung, he was massively hung. Even after five years he still needed to let you adjust to his girth by fingering you until you were wet enough to handle it. You always loved how big he was compared to your tight pussy. It made it all the more pleasurable to think about that log touching your cervix. 

One finger dipped into your wetness, quickly followed by a second, just to tease you. He pumped them in and out of you very slowly, not fast enough to cause you any release. But instead, slow enough you had a chance to savor the pleasure. He wanted to take his time with this. He wanted to relish in the fact he was fucking you so good your water would break all over him. He wanted to take a video just to show the event happen, letting all your juices flow onto his thick cock. 

“T..Toji,” you whimpered, letting your head fall back onto the headboard, “F-fuck… mm- fuck me.. Pleaaa..ssee?” You looked down at him still inside your shirt. You wanted to see his face as he fucked you from the front. You wanted him to manhandle you until you couldn’t stand, which you were beginning to think wouldn’t happen since he was taking his goddamn time with your breasts. 

Toji pulled back slowly from your sensitive nipple and pulled your shirt up, and over his head, “Whuh?” He blinked a few times, clearly getting distracted by your lovely chest. He loved the way you squirmed while he sucked and prodded at them. Even if he wasn’t a tits guy, he’d never let them feel neglected.

“Fuck me,” you blurted out, staring at him with an intense gaze. He nodded and smiled, removing his hand from your underwear. Then he delicately took off your pants, making sure not to hurt you or the baby as he pulled them off. Then came your panties, which slid right off. Both articles of clothing were tossed off the bed, followed by his pants and boxers. 

“You’re picking those up later,” you frowned, looking down to see his prize. God, he was like if Willam Defoe and Drake had a baby… So, huge. The girth was something you didn’t even think was possible for a man, but there it was. He snaked a large hand around his tip and let the precum smear across his fingers, which he moved down his shaft. You needed that throbbing member inside your cunt this instant or you didn’t know what you’d do!

Toji pressed his swollen tip against your folds and let his cock do the work. You felt yourself stretch as he slowly inserted himself, giving you time between pushes to adjust. He was perfect. The way his penis curved hit your perfect, plush spot in a way that made you instantly bite your lip. But he wasn’t done yet. One arm slowly reached for your leg and pushed it up. Well, it didn’t go entirely up, but up enough to simulate a really shitty mating press. Then came the other one. So the position was more like: Toji on his knees, slightly hunched over, with you on your back. With your two legs held up by his arms, knees slung over his elbows. If that made any sense you’re also as insane as I am. 

You let out a moan and threw your head back into the pillow behind you, as he fully inserted himself. A few seconds passed and slowly, Toji pulled back. Then he thrust forward. A noise that you hadn’t heard come out of your husband escaped his lips. It was almost like … a whimper? No-no that’s impossible, Toji would never whimper! Oh … but he did. 

“F-fuck… M’ gonna fuck this baby outta you, slut. Mmm sh…shit,” he bit his bottom lip and continued to thrust, turning it almost rhythmical. The sound of your husband's moans and dirty talk mixed with your whimpers filled the air, followed by loud plapping from your bodies. You needed this. You needed him to fuck you stupid and fuck you blind; Until you couldn’t breathe. You needed him so bad it hurt, and he needed you the same. He needed you so bad he couldn’t even put it into words to describe how badly he needed you. You were the one Toji was going to spend the rest of his life with of course he fucking loved you. And god he was already close to cumming. 

Just seeing his very pregnant wife underneath him, with your breasts full of milk and bouncing, sent him over the edge. Spurts of thick cum shot out of his tip and coated your insides perfectly in white. But of course he couldn’t stop, he needed you to release your sweet water all over him if it was the last thing he’d ever do. You gasped and clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to silence whatever nonsense was gonna come out. But it was too late. You were fucked dumb. 

“F-fuck baby… mm- sh-shit.. Mm hah.. F-f… mm … fuck me… c-c mm c-cum in me,” you whined, squeezing your eyes shut from the immense pleasure. He was hitting your g-spot and fucking it raw. You could feel yourself becoming close but it still wasn’t enough. You needed to cum so badly and you needed to cum with him. You needed to see him bite his lip to hide the pleasure-filled face he was going to make as he came again. So slowly your eyes fluttered open and you watched him through a hazy veil of lust.

Toji thrust himself into you as if there was no tomorrow. Since truly, he’d never get a pleasure like this again, unless you two planned on a second kid. He took in your chubby form and your fat belly, filled with his forming seed. He took in your face contorted with pleasure, staring at him with the biggest fuck me eyes he’d ever seen. And he came again. So quickly after cumming the first time it hurt. He gasped and leaned forward, groaning sweet nonsense as he fucked you roughly through your high. With the sensation of being filled up again you came, feeling a sweet release from your insides wash over your body. But your water hadn’t broken yet, so Toji wasn’t nearing his thrusting any time soon. 

“I’m gonna make you … you pregnant mm again,” he groaned, throwing his head back as he pounded into your swollen cunt. You bit your lip and nodded, feeling tears springing to the corners of your eyes. God, it was too much, and you felt a big release pulsating through your vagina. You felt something coming and you hoped it was gonna come soon. Everything, every inch of your body was on fire. You needed to cum so badly to the point where it stung and throbbed. 

“T-Toji…” You gasped, running a hand through your hair only to grab onto the pillow behind you, “I’m… mm f-f… mmm fuck,” you looked up to the ceiling, feeling your body twitch and convulse below you. The best kind of orgasms were the kind where you couldn’t control your body, and you knew it was building to it. 

“Yeah, cum. Fucking… cum,” Toji moaned, feeling himself on the verge of cumming again just by seeing you so overstimulated. The tears coming from your eyes and the way you cried for an orgasm to happen made him so aroused it was insane. You two needed to have sex like this more often… he’d never felt such pleasure in his life before. Yeah, your sex life was good, but this was great. Seeing you so broken and seeing you fucked stupid was something he never knew he needed. 

Then it happened. You felt a weird sensation build and then release in between your legs, followed by such an intense pleasure you almost felt faint. It rushed through your core and into your brain, causing a momentary lapse in your system. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t move. Yet at the same time, you were gulping down air and grinding against your husband's throbbing cock. You came, squirting down his length and crying out in a way you never had before. And your water broke, seeping through your legs and releasing in a pleasurable way you’d never experienced before. It was a different kind of feeling. A huge release followed by an even bigger sensation building up inside of you. 

Toji came at the sight of you losing full control, and he whimpered at the sight of you squirting on him. The guys a bit stupid so he couldn’t tell if it was squirt or the water … either way, he was horny and happy. He thrust a few more times into your battered pussy as you came down from your loud high. He looked down at the mess you two had made on your freshly made white sheets, then he looked at you. 

“Do you … have the baby bag ready?” You mumbled, looking up at the ceiling with a hazy expression. Oh yeah, you were completely out of it. 

“Yeah, why?” Toji asked, pulling himself out of you and groaning at the pleasurable yet sensitive sensation. 

“T… Toji. My water just broke,” you glanced at him and blinked a few times. 

“Yeah I know,” he rolled his eyes before stopping, “Oh. Shit.”

[pomefioredove]

Hi! This is very very specific, but…I've had a rough start to my day today, kinda relating to the topic of my request…

So I was wondering, would it be alright to request HCs of Jamil, Ruggie, Leona, Floyd and Rollo with a Reader who runs into an emotionally abusive/manipulative parent they haven't seen in a long time? The kind of subtle abuse that's hard to tell (from the inside, at least) is even abuse at all, and makes you doubt yourself a lot. Kinda narcissistic abuse

Kind of a hurt/comfort thing? Like how they'd deal with the bad parent and the Reader opening up a bit about it. Romantic or platonic, either one is good

Feel more than free to ignore if this kind of request isn't your thing: that's totally fine, I understand it's a bit heavy, not to mention very specific, so please do what makes you feel best. I hope you have a good day!

ahhh of course! I relate to this sort of thing a lot (although I don't use terms like narcissistic abuse since abuse is just abuse to me) and I know exactly what you mean. I love hurt/comfort and you're well within my boundaries since the only thing I wouldn't write pertaining to this topic is intimate partner abuse (like with an s/o). so you're perfectly fine! I enjoyed writing this <3

summary: comforting a reader with an abusive parent type of post: short fics characters: jamil, ruggie, leona, floyd, rollo additional info: reader is not specified to be yuu ("shrimpy" is used as a nickname during floyd's part tho), reader is gender neutral, food mention (ruggie's part), actual interaction w the parent happens during leona and rollo's parts, mentions/descriptions of emotional abuse, although reader is kinda vague about it

Jamil Viper

Jamil knows what it's like to feel stuck.

That's really all he has to know when he recognizes that look on your face.

Perhaps you usually wear your heart on your sleeves, or perhaps you're better at keeping your emotions to yourself, like him, but either way he can tell something is very wrong the second he sees you.

It's a bit strange, isn't it?

Surrounded by people in the cafeteria and yet no one seems to notice the shadow cast over you.

He tries to talk himself out of it for the rest of the day. He has enough on his plate as it is, and it's not his problem. He's Kalim's keeper, not yours.

But that sense of unease doesn't go away.

He drags himself out of bed and somehow finds himself at your door in the dead of night.

And even though it takes you a moment to answer, he can tell you were already awake.

"Here," he says, handing you a warm meal in a container. "I noticed you didn't eat today. We had leftovers."

You don't feel very much like eating, but you accept the gift, anyway. It smells amazing. His cooking always does.

"Thank you," you mumble.

You can't think of anything else to say.

"Are you... well, Kalim sent me to ask if you're feeling unwell," he lies through his teeth.

"I'm fine,"

Another lie, this time of your behalf, which annoys him ever-so-slightly.

"You're clearly not. Are you sick?" the question is vague enough, said in such a way that leaves you with the impression that he wasn't exactly referring to a physical illness.

"I've... had a rough day,"

Jamil is quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. And then: "Do you mind if I come in?"

He's always so careful with his words that such a direct (yet polite) request almost catches you off guard. You step to the side, letting him in your room.

"I don't mean to pry. I know it's not my place," he says, watching you close the door. "But... Kalim is worried. Yes."

You shake your head. "It's fine. I'll get over it,"

It.

What did "it" mean? Surely this couldn't just be a lousy day.

"Did something happen?"

You hesitate.

"Have you ever... ran into someone who made your life miserable? That you thought you moved on from... and it starts to feel like you're stuck in that place all over again?"

Of course. Of course he knows what that feels like.

He has to live through that exact experience every day, without even being able to move on.

But he can't just say that. And this is about you, after all.

"I'm familiar with the feeling. I suppose that's what's ruined your day, then?"

"That's one way to put it," you sigh, sitting at the edge of your bed. "Sometimes it feels like all the progress I've made is just... null. Like I'll never really move on."

He hates how much he's relating to you. How much you're affecting him, now, too.

He follows you to the bed and sits beside you.

"Someday, though, you will. It may feel hopeless now, but... you won't stay stuck forever,"

Unlike me, he thinks.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't be. But you don't strike me as someone to give up after hardship,"

Like me.

You're quiet for a moment, seemingly considering what he told you. And then you hug him.

A nice, soft hug. Not abrasive or sudden like the ones Kalim gives. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Thank you, Jamil,"

He hugs back. "Of course,"

Ruggie Bucchi

It was almost painful, watching you fumble with your wallet like that.

You couldn't seem to get the proper amount out, shaking like a leaf and apologizing profusely. Sam keeps telling you it's okay, but the line forming behind you is starting to grow restless.

Ruggie included.

He has places to be, after all, and he's got two whole crates of energy drinks to lug back to Savanaclaw.

He has half a mind to ask what the holdup is.

And so, he peers over your shoulder, ready to- oh, no. You're crying.

Damn it. Why can't things ever be easy for him?

He can't even chew someone out for taking up all his precious time without being thrown a curveball. And now he feels bad.

Sigh.

"Hey, I got this," he says, setting his heavy crates down on the counter and flashing a card.

Your eyes widen. "Oh, no, Ruggie, you don't have to-"

"Relax, it's Leona's money, not mine," he offers a grin, ignoring the tears trailing down your face. "He won't even notice it's missing."

The line behind you two breathes a collective sigh of relief (much to your embarrassment) and Ruggie shoots them a glare.

"I... I still can't accept this-" you start, before he quickly shushes you.

"Hey, if you wanna make it up to me, you can help me carry these things. I'll call it even,"

You're silent for a moment as Sam finishes ringing you both up, and then you take a crate. As quiet as ever. It's unnerving.

You're walking back to the Hall of Mirrors when Ruggie breaks that silence by bringing up your purchase. "So, what's up with the afternoon snack? Not that I'm judging- I'm jealous. I skipped lunch, shishishi,"

"Oh, it's nothing," you mutter. "Comfort food, I guess."

The concept of comfort food is extremely appealing to him. "Huh. Long day?"

"Something like that... Why'd you skip lunch?"

Trying to change the conversation topic? Clever. But he'll bite, anyway.

"Leona forgot some of his class stuff, so I had 'ta run and get it. Too bad he forgot where he left it... I was all over campus,"

"Did you find it?"

"Eventually. Or else I'd be busy getting my neck wrung instead of 'bein here with you,"

You nod, and the conversation swiftly dies.

After another awkward beat, he clears his throat. "So you... you wanna talk about it, or something?"

"What?"

"You know, your... your day," he mutters, shrugging. He's desperately trying to remember all of the things his grandma did for him when he was upset as a child. "Talking about it might... make 'ya feel better, y'know?"

You're quiet again, and for a moment Ruggie is worried he said something to offend you.

Then, much to his relief, your voice picks up. "I ran into someone today,"

"What? Like someone was giving you trouble?"

"No, not a student. Someone I don't see very much anymore. Um... I guess it just threw me off,"

He tilts his head to the side. "Why?"

"I don't... well, we don't get along very much. Something about them just makes me feel... very... small. Insignificant,"

You don't ask if he understands what you mean, but he does. Not that he'd ever admit that so openly to you at a time like this, but being small and insignificant is basically his job.

And as much as he likes the perks, he can imagine how rough it would be to deal with that and not get to use a bottomless credit card whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He struggles to respond for a moment.

"That's rough,"

Definitely not the sympathetic response he was going for. At least you don't seem to mind.

"I-I mean, sometimes we have to act small to survive. It's a part of life, 'ya know? But that doesn't mean you are small. Just surviving on its own is an accomplishment," he recovers from his earlier blunder, trying to smile. "You should be proud of yourself, if anything."

"That's..." you say. "That's one way of looking at it."

He sighs. "I'm not expressing myself very well, am I? What I'm trying to say is that you're not small or insignificant, and living life feeling like you are is a survival tactic at best,"

The both of you stop in front of Savanaclaw, and he offers another grin.

"And if you ever wanna talk about this stuff... well, I'm around... And you can come inside now, if you want. I could definitely find more stuff to carry!"

Leona Kingscholar

Leona Kingscholar is very, very much enjoying parent weekend alone, thank you.

Of course his folks don't want to attend a school event for their disappointment of a second son. Why would they care? And on Cheka's birthday weekend, no less...

But that didn't bother him. Not at all.

As long as he slept through the weekend without being bothered by any happy-go-lucky nuclear family units, he'd live.

That plan lasts about five hours.

"You'd be better off doing something more useful with your time. Sports, or science, or... something that might help your future. But if you're so sure... I suppose it's better to cut our losses now than put any more faith in you. You just can never decide, can you?"

That voice. Unfamiliar, but drawling, laced with poison. Aggravating enough to stir Leona from his nap in the botanical gardens.

And it's getting closer.

"I just don't understand. Why get accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the world just to spend your time goofing off?" a long sigh. "But as long as you're happy... we just want what's best for you."

Leona grumbles, turning over and trying to drift back to sleep.

"I'm trying,"

This voice is different. No- he recognizes it. It's yours.

"Are you? You know I know what's best for you, right?"

Sevens. This is your parent speaking to you? No wonder you've been acting all jittery lately.

He sits up, giving up on his nap, and continues listening in.

"I know," you say. "I really am trying, though."

"Did I say you weren't? Don't speak for me,"

This is getting ugly. Leona stands, stepping out of the shrubbery and clearing his throat behind the two of you.

You're the first to turn. "Oh- Leona! Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you,"

"You're fine," he snaps, sharp eyes turning to your parent beside you. "Who's this, then?"

"This is-"

"Their parent," they go ahead and introduce themselves, cutting you off as if you weren't speaking at all. Like you're a piece of furniture hanging in the background. He's not a fan.

"Really? From the way you were talking, I would have guessed that you were their coach. Or boss,"

Your eyes dart between the two. "Leona-"

"You're fine," he reaffirms. "I was just looking for you, anyway. We really have to talk."

You pause, raising an eyebrow. He? Wants to talk to you? Now?

"Is it important?" your parent asks. The question is directed at you, although he answers.

"Very. I was just coming to ask you, very politely, I might add, to reconsider my offer,"

"Your... offer...?"

Your parent looks down at you. "What's he talking about?"

"Can't blame you for forgetting. I'm sure you're busy with all your... school... things. But I do have to ask you to rejoin the spelldrive club. We're in shambles without you,"

He gives you a certain look, one that clearly reads "Go along with it."

Leona Kingscholar offering an olive branch to someone is a rare occurrence. So you take it.

"Oh! Right, I have been busy with school. I've been meaning to get back to you..."

Your parent looks between the two of you with just the faintest hint of confusion, and then frustration. "You've been playing spelldrive? When was I going to hear about this?"

"They haven't been playing with us," Leona says, a small smirk already forming. "They're the team manager. They're way too smart to be out on the field- no, they're running the team, they're organizing everything, their strategy is like nothing we've ever seen. If only they were in Savanaclaw, we might have a chance at winning one of these years."

"Uhhh..." you start, looking between your parent and the oddly friendly and receptive clone that's replaced Leona. "...Yeah, right."

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we really have to discuss official club matters," he says, shooing away your parent until they eventually give in and leave.

As soon as they're out the door, you turn to him. "What w-"

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Stunned would be an understatement. "I'm fine,"

"Really? Cause you're looking at me like a gazelle caught in headlights,"

"I-I guess it's just been hard... having them here,"

Leona nods, closing his eyes as he thinks to himself. Then, he sighs.

"Yeah. I get that. Come on, then,"

You raise an eyebrow as he starts off in the opposite direction. "What? Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet and warm to nap. Being around that person sucked all the energy right out of me, I can't imagine how exhausted you feel,"

He turns to look over his shoulder with a smile. "With any luck, we'll avoid them for the rest of the weekend,"

Floyd Leech

Of course, he can tell something's up right away.

Well... maybe it takes him a little while to tune into the conversation, but once he does, he notices you've been... awfully quiet throughout it.

His favorite little shrimpy? All sad? Moping around like a kicked puppy?

Now this catches his attention.

"Bored?" he asks. It's his first guess.

"Hm?" you ask, looking back at him. "No, I'm fine."

"But you're not,"

"Okay, I'm a little distracted,"

Now that, he can understand. But there's still something very off about the whole thing that he can't quite put his finger on.

"You're not telling me something," he states, matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

You raise an eyebrow. "...And?"

"And I wanna know. I'm not letting you leave until you tell me,"

Your thought process is probably ranging somewhere between "oh, no," and "oh NO," by now.

"I sweaaar, it's nothing," you insist. "I just had a bad day, okay?"

"Why?"

There's no turning back now. He's invested, and until he loses interest, you're stuck here.

"It was... just... long. Can I go now? I have things to do,"

He frowns, and stands, and then puts you in a headlock. "Alright, where're we 'goin?"

"FLOYD!"

He drags you along with him, remembering not to be too rough as he takes you from place to place on his dailies. You begrudgingly learn to accept it.

When you walk back into the Mostro Lounge, Azul and Jade don't even bat an eye.

"You're thirty minutes late- ah, why do I bother?" Azul says, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. He only looks up when he catches a glimpse of you. "Oh. Hello, there."

You wave half-heartedly. "Can I get some help?"

"Floyd. What is the meaning of this?" he asks.

Floyd pouts. "There's 'somethin wrong with them and they won't tell me what,"

"Are they ill?"

You lower your eyes at the two as they speak like you're not even there. "Hello?"

"Nah, they feel fine. They're all mopey, though,"

Azul hums to himself, lost in thought. And then: "Well, figure out what it is, and get to work, if you please,"

"Azul!" you shout. He ignores you.

Floyd drags you back outside the office and sits down with you at one of the tables, waving to concerned lounge-goers as they pass by.

"Now will you tell me?"

"Geez, alright, alright. I give up, you win," you sigh. "I... well, my parent was here earlier. At school. And we talked, and they... said some not-very-nice things to me. That's why I've been upset, okay?"

Floyd's smile immediately drops. "I win? But that's not a very good prize,"

"Tell me about it,"

"Why would anyone be mean to you, anyway? You're the best shrimpy I know!"

You avert your eyes. "It wasn't... mean... per se. Just... not nice,"

"Sounds mean to me," he mutters. "I don't get it."

"Well, sometimes these things just... don't make sense. It's my fault, anyway," you sigh.

His gaze sharpens at that. "'An who told you that? You didn't do anything! I'm starting to really dislike this parent of yours,"

His sudden mood swing doesn't phase you, but it does lift your spirits... just the tiniest bit. Even if you wouldn't admit that to yourself. "Hey, it's fine. I'm over it,"

"You sure you don't want me to squeeze 'em?"

"Heh. No, that's okay. I would like you to let me go, though,"

His eyes widen at the sudden realization he still has you in a headlock and he quickly releases you.

You sit up, stretching and rubbing the back of your neck. "Thanks,"

"My arm was starting to hurt, anyway..." he thinks for a moment, looking back to the office door. "Ya think I can use that to get out of working? I wanna spend more quality time with my favorite shrimpy. You could use it!"

You look to the door and shrug. "Hey, worth a try, right?"

Rollo Flamme

Out of all the things to ruin the day, of course it had to be your parent.

The disappointment between the two of you was palpable. And even though it was only a brief encounter, it was enough to sour the rest of the afternoon for the both of you.

The first thing Rollo noticed, of course, was the manner in which they carried themselves. As an authoritative, important figure, puffing out their chest and towering over you. What gave them the right...?

They were not a leader, nor a public figure, nor anyone of interest, if your earlier mentions of them gave him any idea. Nothing but an adult who spoke to the both of you as if you were tiny children.

He loathed being talked down to.

Perhaps he should have said something sooner than he did, and perhaps he should have said something more than the interruption he used to excuse you from the conversation.

And now you're just quiet.

"Are you well?" he asks, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

You shrug.

"I apologize for not speaking on your behalf sooner. I did not want to be rude,"

No response at all.

Your silence was driving him mad. He couldn't get a good read on what you were feeling when you kept looking away like that.

"If you'd like to return home early, I would understand and escort you promptly,"

"No,"

A response. Not a good one, but a response nonetheless.

"May I ask you a question?" though he doesn't really wait for your permission to go on. "Why do they speak to you like that?"

That comment seems to jolt you, and you turn to look at him with wide eyes. "What? Speak to me like what?"

He struggles for the right words.

How could he describe it? It was so... odd. The words they spoke to you didn't sound cruel, but there was something sinister lurking beneath them. And not even in the typical "polite for the sake of it" sense.

Each response they gave was laced with a sort of venom that seemed to sting you. You had grown quiet, distant, as if you weren't really there at all.

Of course he was familiar with such tactics. He could weave his own words with ease. But you had done nothing wrong- you were guiltless. Why were you being punished?

He couldn't quite come up with an answer.

"You seemed uncomfortable," he finally says, looking away again. "I apologize for such an experience happening to you under my watch."

"It's not your fault,"

"It certainly isn't. And it's not yours, either,"

A blanket of silence falls over the two of you until he speaks again.

"You have nothing to feel bad about," he reaffirms.

Another pause.

"And I don't mean to intrude. But if you ever need my assistance, you know where to find me,"

[sailortongue]

Laboratory Mishap

pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

wc: 2.9k

summary: after a lab experiment goes awry, you and spencer find yourselves in a heated situation

cw: smut, aphrodisiac/sex pollen (its not actual pollen but it fits the trope), oral (fem receiving), dubcon?, power dynamic, unprotected sex, semi-public sex

-------

Chemistry was the bane of your existence. You had never struggled so much with a subject. You had completed three general chemistry classes, two genchem labs, three organic chemistry classes, two ochem labs, and now you were taking biochem and a biochem lab. But despite all of your academic background, you still didn't have the slightest iota of understanding.

Even so, you couldn't stop yourself from looking forward to the weekly lab. You hated having to change from shorts into pants in the tiny bathroom stalls (no way in hell were you walking all the way across campus in high-humidity weather wearing pants). You hated the red line on your forehead from the goggles. You hated having to stand for 2+ hours because the lab wasn't equipped with stools. You hated chemistry in general. But you loved seeing the uber attractive GA, Spencer Reid.

More often than not, you spaced out during his pre-lab instructions. You were too busy focusing on anything about him that wasn't the jargon coming from his lips. Your poor lab partner always ended up having to re-explain the procedure. But today, that wasn't an option. Your lab partner had a wedding to attend today and, instead of being in your usual lab session, had opted to join yesterday’s lab session, leaving you all by your lonesome. Initially, you had cursed their name to hell and back for forsaking you like this, but, after Spencer offered to give you all the extra help you needed, you were suddenly exceedingly happy that your partner wasn't here.

You could see the scathing looks directed at you by some of the other girls in class. Of course you weren't the only one who had immediately taken a liking to the young GA. Only a blind person wouldn't be able to see how good looking he was. And the girls in your class were definitely not blind. You couldn't help but feel a bit smug that you would be getting his extra attention and not them.

Spencer, unbeknownst to you, was having similar thoughts and was mentally extending his gratitude to your absent lab partner. He was more than aware of the implications of coming onto a student, especially since as a GA he was in a position above you. But he wanted to be above you in the literal sense, and it was beginning to cause him to question his morals. You were the same age, so how bad could it really be? He’d noticed your frequent glances at him and reveled in the fact that you couldn't keep your eyes off of him.

During the course of the lab, Spencer was essentially your replacement lab partner. In an attempt to not show his blatant favoritism, he didn't actually guide you through the lab and instead just followed your instructions, such as pouring out chemicals into the waste bucket and washing beakers. Labs were lengthy enough with two people working together, and although Spencer would like to keep you all to himself past the time the others had already left, he remembered how miserable it was to have to stay late.

But even with his help, you still found yourself to be the last one. And not only were you the last one, but you weren’t even close to being done. Since there wasn't anyone to tell him otherwise, Spencer took pity on you and gave you far more help than he probably should have. But if he was being totally honest with himself, he just wanted an excuse to be close to you. Even though there was more than enough room at the bench, he still stood near enough that your arms occasionally brushed. Every time you handed him something he made sure his fingers met yours. And when you asked for his input about the data report? That was his favorite. His stature gave him the perfect excuse to lean down under the guise of seeing better, but he always bent down lower than he really needed to, just to have his face right next to yours and give him a front row seat to your flustered expression.

It took all of your willpower to keep your head out of the gutter. You were trying in vain to rationalize his actions. Like maybe he just didn't realize how close he was actually standing to you, and you were definitely overthinking the hand-to-hand contact, and maybe he just didn't have his contacts in and that’s why he was leaning so close. But try as you might, it wasn't enough to prevent you from getting severely distracted by the handsome GA, and getting severely distracted in a lab was typically advised against. In your flustered state, you grabbed the wrong pipette, and Spencer, just as distracted as you, didn't notice and was unable to stop the impending mistake.

Pipettes were made to measure precisely, but they don't all measure the same. So you'd royally fucked up the experiment by adding 10x the amount you were supposed to. And thanks to the stir plate the beaker was on, the solution was rapidly mixed together.

“Is it supposed to smell like that?” you asked nervously. It was a sharp, acrid smell, one you surely would have noticed earlier when your classmates were on this step.

Spencer was abruptly snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the beaker, the stir bar still spinning wildly within. He noticed the smell you were speaking of and instantly pulled you backwards. “No, no it's not. Don't breathe it in.”

He covered the lower half of his face with his elbow and grabbed the beaker from the stir plate with his other hand. He made his way to the fume hood as quickly as he could and shut the beaker within. But it was too late. You’d both inhaled the gas already, and, thanks to your biology major, you were more than aware of how sensitive the lining of the lungs is. It was literally designed to allow for gaseous exchange. Whatever you’d accidentally created was already making its way throughout your body.

As Spencer was making his way back over to you, he noticed that he was beginning to feel incredibly hot, and his breathing was becoming shallower. It was shortly after the onset of those systems that he realized his pants were progressively getting tighter in the crotch. This could not be happening. What in god’s name had you created? He was practically panting when he got back to your workbench and found you in a similar state.

You immediately began to spew apologies, but Spencer wasn't listening. No, he was far too focused on keeping his hands at his sides and not on you. He held a hand up to stop you rambling and swallowed harshly, trying to get himself under control. “It was an accident. Are you feeling okay?”

“Feel like I have a fever and my heart is beating way faster than it was a minute ago.” Your panties were also becoming wetter by the second but he didn't need to know that.

Spencer’s normally sharp mind was in a flurry. Even though you hadn't told him in words, your body betrayed the fact that you were just as aroused as he was. The subtle rubbing of your thighs together was a dead giveaway. You had your back to him, hands braced against the edge of your workbench. If Spencer was thinking straight, he never would have acted on his inappropriate thoughts; but he wasn't thinking straight. He closed the distance between the two of you, leaving no space between your bodies. He placed his hands on either side of yours, effectively caging you in his arms. Your breath hitched at the intimate position you found yourself in.

“I know you feel what I do,” he said, slightly pushing his hips into yours, his hard cock straining against its confines. “We can help each other out. Or, you could tell me to fuck off and I’ll let go as soon as you tell me to. Whatever we do or don't do, it's your choice. Just tell me what you want.” His voice was breathy and high-pitched by the end, and his self control was splintering by the second.

You adjusted your stance, the movement causing you to brush against Spencer’s front. He gasped and his hands flew to your hips, gripping them tightly and holding you in place tightly against him. “Don't-,” he panted. “Don't do that. Not until you answer me. I won't be able to stop if-”

You cut him off. “I don't want you to stop.”

And that was it. Throwing caution to the wind, Spencer spun you around to face him. “Are you sure?”

You surged forward to kiss him. Your goggles clacked together and you pulled away with a giggle. “Very sure,” you said, pulling your goggles off. Spencer followed suit.

He nodded. “Ok. Ok.” He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself that this was really happening. Despite his nearly painful erection, he tried to be as gentle as he could with you. He reconnected your lips in a tentative kiss as he wrapped his arms around your waist, but with the strange gas the reaction produced was still in the air and still wreaking havoc on both of you, it didn't stay gentle for long. What had started as a hesitant kiss devolved into a harsh collision of teeth and tongue.

Spencer’s hands migrated from your hips to your ass, pulling you flush against him. He couldn't stop the involuntary thrust of his own hips, desperately seeking friction. His mouth separated from yours as he dragged his lips down your jaw and reattached to your neck, sucking harshly and surely leaving dark marks all along the column of your throat.

He lowered his hands just enough for his fingertips to brush the back of your thighs, squeezing twice in a silent indication to jump. You tightened your grip around his shoulders to give you leverage. He hoisted you up to sit on the countertop and pushed your shirt above your breasts. You removed it entirely to give him full access. He groaned as he took in the sight of you breathless before him. “You're so pretty for me,” he praised before roughly pulling the cups of your bra down, exposing your nipples to the chill air of the lab, a stark contrast to the heat that had spread throughout your body so rapidly. He latched his lips to the newly exposed skin, his hand groping the other one. You reached behind your back to unlatch your bra and tossed it aside.

You threaded your fingers through his hair and tugged, pulling him off of your chest and back up to your lips. Both of your patiences were wearing thin, and neither of you could get the other undressed fast enough. You tugged on his tie and it soon joined your bra and shirt on the floor. You continued to unbutton his dress shirt as his eager hands groped at every part of you they could reach. When you’d finally gotten his dress shirt open, he didn't even give you the time to admire his physique and instead pulled you from the counter top to stand again.

He tugged on the waistband of your pants and pushed them down, leaving you to kick the material off of your feet. He quickly spun you around and placed a hand between your shoulder blades, urging you to bend over. You did as he wanted and felt his hands caress and grope your behind before his fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and pulled them down just enough to expose your cunt to his hungry eyes. He groaned at the sight. “You're so wet baby. All for me.”

Spencer dropped to his knees behind you and immediately pressed his face between your legs. You squealed at the sudden contact, his tongue doing wonders for the built up need you had for him. He licked a broad stripe up your pussy before alternating between suckling and licking the sensitive flesh. Your whines and whimpers only spurred him on further, becoming more vigorous with his ministrations. The increased intensity had you gasping for breath and calling his name. “That’s right, angel. Who's making you feel this good? Hm? Whose face are you going to cum all over?”

“Yours! Please, Spencer, don't stop!”

He chuckled briefly before resuming his eager lapping at your core. He hummed against you in affirmation, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until the pleasure was just too much to bear. You came with a cry of his name, and he didn't stop until you were begging for a reprieve.

The unnatural heat that had spread throughout your body upon inhalation of the fumes was finally dissipating, leaving you with the normal flush one would expect afterwards. But Spencer was nowhere near recovered, and he had no intentions of letting you go until he was satisfied. He stood from his place on the floor and made quick work of his belt, only pushing his pants low enough to free his aching cock, dripping with precum. He stroked himself as he spoke. “We’re not done yet, angel. Not by a long shot. Not until your sweet cunt is dripping with me.”

His words sent heat racing to your core. Who needs aphrodisiac fumes when Spencer can talk to you like that.

He swiped the tip of his cock through your folds a few times before lining his tip up with your opening. He pressed forward and groaned at the sensation of you squeezing around him so deliciously. He pushed further and further until he bottomed out. His jaw fell slack in complete and utter bliss. “Oh, you feel so good, baby. Can I move? Please, please, I can’t wait any longer,” he begged. You’d let him do anything if he begged you as prettily as he did then.

You hummed in assent, and he wasted no time in pulling out until just the head of his cock remained buried in you and then thrusting back in. You let out a loud moan, already completely overwhelmed with just how good he felt inside of you. The more he thrusted, the needier he got and the more that unnatural heat in his chest smoldered. His hands gripped your hips tightly and he pulled you back to meet him with every thrust into your sopping cunt.

“I'll bet none of those silly little frat boys can make you feel like this, huh. I’ll bet they always leave you unsatisfied. But you're gonna cum for me again, right? You can do that f’me, can't you? Be my good girl and cum all over my cock.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin increased in tempo as he chased his high, wanting nothing more than to feel you clench around him as he emptied himself inside of you. You moaned shamelessly, the deep and harsh thrusts of cock almost too much to bear. You couldn't speak even if you wanted to. The only word you were capable of uttering was his name.

His grunts were turning into whines the closer he got to his impending orgasm. “Cum with me, baby. C’mon, you can do it,” he said, moving one of his hands down to rub circles on your clit. That was all it took to have you creaming around his cock, your orgasm triggering his. The moan that came from him was pure sin as he spilled himself inside your cunt, just as he had promised. He collapsed on top of you, cock softening within you as it twitched with every flutter of your walls around him. When you had both sufficiently caught your breath, he stood back upon and gently pulled himself out of you. You winced at the loss of contact, still extremely sensitive. You pushed yourself off of the workbench and turned to see Spencer tucking himself back into his pants. It was then that you realized you were stark naked in a university laboratory. You saw your panties lying near your feet and you hastily put them back on, followed shortly after by the rest of your clothing, which Spencer helped pick up from the floor where they had been unceremoniously discarded.

“Would you want to get coffee with me sometime?” Spencer asked suddenly, the words spoken so fast they nearly blended together.

You were taken aback. You had expected him to want to pretend this never happened but here was asking you on a date. You grinned, a prominent blush on your face as you accepted his offer.

He beamed, a broad smile overtaking his face. “Great! I’ll pick you up Saturday morning?”

“Yeah, sounds good. I think I can safely assume it won't be the coffee shop on campus?”

“Even though we're the same age, you're still one of my students. So until you finish this course…” he trailed off.

You grabbed his tie and pulled him closer to you until your faces were a hairsbreadth apart. “I’m completely fine with being your dirty little secret until then as long as you fuck me like that again.”

[deuteragonists-mismatched-socks]

Living Mirage - Gregory House x Amputee!Reader

Warnings: Amputee reader, possible medical inaccuracy, angst, arguing, House being House, I'm not an amputee so unfortunately I can't accurately convey the experience, symptoms of heart attack described briefly

Word count: 1.5 k

"Why do you choose not to feel anything?" The question is abrupt, out of place, as you open the door to his darkened office. You should be at home right now. Instead of driving, you've spent the last half hour chewing on a hangnail in the break room and thinking. That was always dangerous.

House looks at you quizzically, feet balanced on the desk and magic 8 ball in his hands.

You expect some sort of pithy remark that deflects the question and brings it all back down on your head. You don't care. You didn't ask the question just to be cute.

Instead, he just shakes the ball, eyes locked on the result as he answers. "I'm in pain," he says, which is obvious. "Given the option, most people would choose not to feel that."

You shake your head. You're a rheumatologist, you're no stranger to people in pain. "You're not most people," you argue, starting with a point you knew he couldn't disagree with. "And that's not what I meant."

He gives you a look that says, 'get on with it or get out.'

You take a deep breath. "I meant you run away," you say, and for some stupid reason the words sound small. You can already see him sneering and calling you pathetic.

You had some big speech and some well thought out argument all fleshed out in your head. But just like every discussion you've had with a boyfriend, every fight you've had with your mom, it flies out of your head the moment you open your mouth.

"Every time you get close to feeling something that isn't euphoria or misery, you shut down. You pop another pill. You get high."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Did Wilson recruit you?"

"Believe it or not, there are people beyond Wilson who are capable of caring about you," you say before you can think it through. You fidget with your fake hand—it's starting to feel heavy, and if you had thought of it, you would have taken it off before you came in here.

He levels you with another look. "Well, quit it," he demands; there isn't much fire to be had in the statement. "I already have Cameron's pity, and that's plenty."

"This isn't pity," you correct him. "It's concern. House, like it or not, we've worked together a while. People tend to… Develop attachments in that sort of situation. I've come to see you as a friend. Friends worry about each other."

"I don't worry about you," he shoots back, raised eyebrows challenging your perceptions—trying to hurt your feelings, trying to push you away.

"You're doing it again," you say, your voice becoming less confrontational.

He rolls his head to the side dramatically, rising from his chair. He doesn't reach for his cane. He just stands there. "What? What am I doing?"

He's irritated.

"You're trying to piss me off so I leave and you can wallow," you explain calmly, and you can tell by the flicker in his blue eyes that he knows you're right. "So you can feel guilty instead of reflecting."

"And you're, what? Altruistically trying to help someone who so desperately needs it but won't ask because they're embarrassed? What's in it for you? Am I gonna run into your arms for comfort and understanding?" He spits.

You fold your eyebrows at him. You want to tell him that yes, you will be there for him. You will help him. You will stand by him. But you know he'll twist it. "I'm not Cameron," you remind him.

At that, he does head for you. But he must not plan on leaving—his cane is still left balanced on the edge of his desk. He stops an foot away from you, right leg just barely trembling. If you weren't looking, you wouldn't notice.

"I don't pop pills because it's fun," he grates out, and you notice the way his hand discreetly kneads his thigh. "If I didn't, my patients would die. You know that. You saw it."

"You refuse to let yourself be anything but miserable," you insist, stepping closer. "And this self-pity is fake and a poor excuse. You and I both know it's because you're afraid," you say, emboldened and a little angry.

"Sure, you are genuinely addicted. That week was hell for you and everyone around you," you admit. "You almost killed your patient because you couldn't stop sweating and being an irritable piece of crap."

Maybe you were more angry than you thought.

"But you refuse to wean yourself off with the proper assistance because then what? Your withdrawal symptoms are lessened, and one day you might actually do it," you say surely. "You might actually, physically, be able to live without those stupid little tablets that control your whole life.

"But mentally?" You ask, taking another step towards him. "You wouldn't be able to take it. You'd be forced to be happy, God forbid. You'd be forced to confront the miserable emptiness of your life and realize it's a sham. Because we care about you. Me, Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, Cameron, we care about you. Probably as much as you care about us," you remind him. "Don't think we all just forgot how you were ready to burn this hospital to the ground if it meant saving Foreman's life. Don't think we all just forgot that you just about let your heart get crushed just so you could have Cameron back at work. Don't think that I forgot that you spent weeks reading literature on phantom pains after I complained," you say more softly, flexing your elbow where your prosthetic attached. You massage it for a moment—it seems to be aching in sympathy with his leg.

"And for some reason that I can't wrap my head around, you don't want to know that all those gaping voids in your life aren't there at all," you huff. "Because then you're just boring. You're just experiencing life like a person who has friends that care what happens to him. You're miserable and in pain because you're numb," you conclude. "Not the other way around."

He's had his eyes on the floor while you talk at him. The anger in you has faded, but your heartbeat stays quick. You breathe quietly, waiting for him to say anything.

"Being happy makes me a bad doctor," he says conclusively when he finally looks up at you. His hands are clenched, but he doesn't sound angry. "And love," he says derisively. "Ain't gonna fix my leg."

You sigh in defeat. He shuffles away from you, back to his chair, back to his ball, back to his wallowing. You can't… damn it, you can't make him believe you just because you want him to so badly.

The thought makes a tear fall from your eye. You try to swipe it away before he notices.

"And that," he points at your face. "Is why feelings make you a bad doctor," he says, and you know he's trying to hurt you. He's trying to push you away, again. You wonder if it'll work this time. "What if you have a patient next week that you can't crack? Are you gonna bring him to me and save his life? Or are you gonna stubbornly refuse because you're trying to teach me a lesson, because you just care so much," he pouts at you. "And let him die?"

You don't have the energy to argue with him. Suddenly, you can't remember why you tried. Why you stayed. Why you aren't at home in bed right now with a bowl of mac n cheese.

"You are… The worst," you say, your voice reedy and thin. You can feel your chin trembling and figure there's no point in stopping it.

"I'm the worst? Or I'm misunderstood and in a deep cycle of self-destruction that I need help for?" He questions sarcastically. "Can't have it both ways, sweetheart."

"You won't help yourself or let anyone else do it," you make your logical, rational argument for your conclusion. "It's both."

"That's sweet," he says drily. "Thanks for taking the time to let me know all that."

You don't want to turn around and head for the door. But you have nothing left to say, and he's wanted you gone since you showed up.

The thought makes a dull pain overcome you, like the emotional hurt has become physical. "If I have a patient I can't help, you'll be the first to know," you promise, finally moving to leave. "I won't bother you again."

You hope he'll feel a little guilty at that, but you hardly expect him to do anything about it. He'd die before admitting he did something wrong.

You have one foot past the glass wall when it happens.

It's as if your legs are taken out from under you, your lungs are wrung out, the lights above go from dim to strobing.

House calls your last name. When you don't respond, you think you might hear his cane and your first name.

Well, then, it must be bad.

You want to say something, but your mouth clamps shut and your arm grasps at your chest instead. It isn't long before House's blue eyes fade into nothingness.

[mulletmitsuya]

Tokyo Revengers Groupchat (Final Timeline)

Warnings: suggestive (i might have to change this warning to "mentions of sexual content" bcs it's too tame of a warning for the stuff that's actually in here), swearing, the word "pedophile" is mentioned, mentions of substance abuse

Desc: Everyone finds out Takemitchy and Mikey are time leapers, which leads to some...interesting questions

Mitsuya: so let me get this straight

Mitsuya: you're a time traveler, and you've lived dozens of timelines to prevent Hina from dying but she kept dying anyway but then when you got to one where she didn't die, Mikey was some deranged criminal lord and was miserable and depressed and tried to kill himself so you had to go back in time again to make sure everything was fixed but ended up dying while fighting Mikey but then somehow you both went back in time and rewrote all of our entire lives??

Takemitchy: yeah...

Baji: cap

Mikey: it's not

Mitsuya: so Mikey's a time traveler too?

Mikey: yeah it's crazy i know

Draken: do you guys have any way to prove this?

Chifuyu: this explains why i keep getting random visions of me in alternate universes. holy shit

Haruchiyo: weird ass prank

Takemitchy: i think it happened since you're close to me and we basically did everything together. i'm not sure

Inupi: we're just gonna believe this?

Koko: wait, i kind of do

Kisaki: this...defies all logic of anything ever.

Mikey: shut up Kisaki

Mikey: i'm sorry it's just that in ever other timeline you've ruined my life so it's difficult to be nice to you sometimes

Kisaki: so you don't like me because of something i did in another universe?

Takemitchy: *timeline

Mikey: yeah. my bad

Baji: i'm gonna entertain this cause i'm bored but what was i like in other timelines

Mikey: dead

Baji: ...all of em?

Mikey: yeah, it kinda drove me to insanity

Baji: damn

Baji: why?

Mikey: you killed yourself to save Kazutora

Baji: what was the context

Mikey: long story

Baji: there wasn't any other way?

Mikey: you're kinda pissing me off cause that's what i was wondering, actually

Baji: damn

Kazutora: thanks man. appreciate it🙏

Kazutora: i'll slobber on your meat later, as a proper thank you

Baji: i'd appreciate that. thanks homie🙌

Koko: what about me?

Baji: you wanna slobber on my meat? i mean i won't stop you. as long as i can call you kitten.

Koko: ...i was talking about me in alternate universe's😐

Takemitchy: i don't think we should go there guys. there's too many timelines, and not everything was exactly the same. and also in general it was a really traumatizing experience for me and i kind of want to end my life every time i think about it

Hanma: womp womp. what about me???

Mikey: murderer

Hanma: YESSSSS 😭😭😭😭😭

Hanma: THANK GOD, I KNEW IF I COULDN'T DO IT HERE, MULTIVERSE ME WOULD HAVE LIVED THE DREAM

Hanma: are me and Tetta-san together in every universe

Mikey: surprisingly, yes

Hanma: and he denies we're soulmates😔

Kisaki: i will not hesitate to get another restraining order

Hanma: a piece of paper won't stand in my way. let's get married

Kisaki: i will call the police

Draken: guys are we really entertaining this?

Mikey: you went to jail in one of the timelines and you were bald LMAO

Draken: sure

Baji: why'd he go to jail?

Mikey: these guys killed Emma and Ken-chin took revenge

Baji: respectable

Mikey: he was given a death sentence

Baji: that's tough fr

Ran: i'm kinda curious

Ran: humour me, what was i like?? was i famous?

Mikey: you were a criminal. killed people

Ran: sounds about right if i'm being honest

Ran: and Haruchiyo and Rindou?

Haruchiyo: leave me out of Takemitchy's psychotic episodes

Haruchiyo: i think you have a hallucination/delusion disorder or something

Mikey: but don't you believe me?

Haruchiyo: ...

Haruchiyo: Mikey, you're also pretty mentally ill

Mikey: says you???

Haruchiyo: i just have substance abuse problems and i'm getting clean so...

Mikey: GUYS I'M TELLING THE TRUTH I SWEAR

Mikey: I'VE BEEN GOING CRAZY KEEPING THIS A SECRET

Draken: when was the last time you slept?

Mikey: ☹️

Baji: guys just play pretend.

Rindou: what about me?

Mikey: same as your brother just uh, less gay and slutty?

Rindou: story of my life

Inupi: you didn't do Koko

Mikey: criminal

Koko: the whole time?

Mikey: yeah

Mikey: Inupi got normal at some point because he and Ken-chin got close and they fixed bikes together and had sex

Inupi: Draken????

Draken: you're really starting to piss me off.

Mikey: Akane died in the fire though like she was BURNT

Takemitchy: uh Mikey-kun...

Mikey: she was a crisp i'm telling you

Mikey: Inupi you had an ugly red scar on your face and no one wanted you

Mikey: Izana i know you're reading this, you were fucking insane dude like you killed Emma for some fucking reason then Kisaki shot you 3 times in the chest and you died while having a really bad mental breakdown. it was a major L on your part

Chifuyu: Mikey why are you leaving out the fact that the common denominator in every single timeline was that you killed every single one of your friends in the most brutal ways possible🤨?

Mikey: no comment

Smiley: how'd he kill me?

Chifuyu: uhhh

Chifuyu: Takemitchy help me out here

Takemitchy: i don't want to talk about it😐

Chifuyu: I REMEMBER

Chifuyu: backshot

Smiley: ...

Smiley: he killed me by giving me backshots..?

Smiley: i would NEVER take it from behind

Smiley: especially from MIKEY

Smiley: small dick having ass

Smiley: my bootyhole is not to be messed with

Smiley: i'm so pissed off right now holy shit

Smiley: how did i even die???? dick so good it killed me?

Smiley: i'm so angry

Angry: and i'm Smiley😂

Baji: 3/10 joke 👎, poor delivery, fell flat

Smiley: i hope you kill yourself, Mikey

Mikey: trust me, i've tried

Chifuyu: ???

Chifuyu: he shot you in the back with a gun?

Chifuyu: what's wrong with you

Smiley: oh my bad i though you meant like, he was taking me doggy style

Smiley: i'm no bottom

Ran: what is happening

Chifuyu: i'm moving on😐

Chifuyu: Hakkai was tied to a chair and burnt to death

Hakkai: wha-

Hakkai: WHAT DID I DO??

Hakkai: jesus 😟

Chifuyu: why am i getting all these memories, i'm freaking out

Hakkai: Mikey please tell me what i did to deserve that ☹️

Mikey: idk Hakkai i was going through a lot

Draken: have you been diagnosed with anything?

Mikey: i don't need a diagnosis bcs i'm fine now, you're all alive and i don't have any murderous intent!!! yippee🤗

Mikey: isn't this great Takemitchy??

Takemitchy: well, yeah no ones dead so that's great

Izana: this is obviously completely fabricated

Izana: are you guys that bored?

Senju: man for all that time traveling you sure are a shit boyfriend😭

Takemitchy: how????

Takemitchy: did Hina say that☹️??

Senju: it's an observation

Senju: you've had way too many coincidental close calls with other woman💀

Draken: yeah you pissed me off when you thought i was gifting you a prostitute. you had a whole ass girlfriend. shame on you

Senju: and you also almost slept with Emma and you "don't remember"

Smiley: Mitchy's low-key funny as hell because what do you mean you stripped yourself and another girl down to your underwear by accident

Baji: wouldn't Takemitchy be a pedophile then?? Emma was 13 dawg🤨

Mikey: he was 14 though😭

Baji: you're gonna ride Takemitchy's dick to defend him from trying to sleep with your 13 year old sister??? crazy

Baji: wasn't be mentally 26🤨?

Baji: bro i'm gonna beat your ass actually

Mikey: hmm

Mikey: you know what Mitchy, why did you do that 🤨?

Smiley: LMFAOO

Mitsuya: why did i come back to Takemitchy facing pedophile allegations, like what's going on right now

Kazutora: is it not enough that he changed the space and time continuum just to be with his girl?

Kazutora: cheating this cheating that, my boy deserves all the pussy he wants

Kazutora: he's been beaten, shot, stabbed AND killed

Kazutora: i personally believe he's the goat

Baji: ?

Chifuyu: goat is an acronym for "greatest of all time", Baji-san

Baji: what's an acronym

Chifuyu: i'll dm

Kazutora: bro you're so fucking stupid😭

Draken: i don't care if he was skinned alive by an orangutan, there's no excuse to cheat on someone

Rindou: i think being skinned alive by an orangutang warrants having more than one girl. idk that's just me tho

Ran: not the point that's being made rn

Rindou: what exactly is the point that's being made

Rindou: is this real. are we being serious.

Rindou: i don't think i get the joke

Haruchiyo: i think we should all stop talking now

Mikey: Mitchy we need to talk a bit

Takemitchy: i told you this was a bad idea

[teaboot]

I hope it's okay that I took a screenshot, cause I felt that this deserved it's own post.

It's a good question, and as someone with a needle phobia myself it's one I have some experience with and feel I can speak on.

It's going to sound stupid, but it's this:

First, keep facing your fear. I personally elected to start donating blood, which sucked ass, but helped me get used to the feeling of having a needle in in safe environment, and celebrating the small victory every time I finished was a good motivator to keep going back.

What I did then was focus on what my body was doing. Was I breathing fast? Tensing up? Sweating? Going cold? Was I shaking? Where? Was it better to fidget, or hold still? Did closing my eyes help? Plugging my ears? I got familiar with my own physical reactions so I could start to separate them from my mental reactions.

Now when I experience a panic response, I'm not just objectively aware that my body is doing it's own thing- I genuinely feel that my body is acting on it's own. I'm stressed, but not SCARED, because my brain doesn't just know that it's safe- it FEELS safe. I'm emotionally strung out and on edge, but I'm not totally losing myself anymore. I can have a conversation while it's happening.

Now, sometimes I can see someone use a syringe for small procedures without flinching and closing off. Not often, but it's miles ahead of where I used to be. I can hold an epipen. I can use safety gear to dispose of abandoned needles outside my work. I don't think I could give myself an injection if I needed to, because I know I still lock up, but the idea of someone else doing one on me isn't viscerally repellant.

So... not cured here yet, but better.

TLDR: Baby steps, keep trying, pay attention to your body, celebrate successes.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Taking steps to confront a phobia has to be a choice. Forcing someone else to confront their phobia when they ARE NOT READY, WILLING, OR PREPARED is incredibly distressing and can make things way worse. And with how completely fucking miserable and exhausting a panic response feels, choosing not to "just confront it" is a totally valid and understandable choice. Like choosing not to run a 100 mile marathon barefoot. If you find yourself tempted to trick or pressure someone into amateur exposure therapy, don't. I'll fucking find you

Again, this is just what's been working for me, but if you wanna try it, I wish you luck! ♡