#just in the hope it will make things better

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

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Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

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thanks for reading!

[prettyboykatsuki]

mixed messages | r. sukuna

✮  tags ; gn + afab!reader, unhealthy relationships, not cheating but reader flirts with gojo while tipsy for fun, undefined relationships, fingering / making out, jealousy, modern!sukuna, sukuna and yuuji r brothers 18+

✮ wc ; 2k

✮  a/n ; a snippet / extension of my modern sukuna post for @arguablyferal. i hope it gives a clear-ish idea of what he's like!!

some more like. relationship explanation in an authors note at the end.

✮  synopsis ; you've never been able to get a good read on him. would he really come to a party just to keep you from flirting with another guy ?

somehow you doubt it.

He's hitting on you.

Gojo is, you think. Though you can't be sure since it feels...a little conceited to believe that a guy like that suddenly developed a genuine interest in you. You can think of a couple reasons he would hit on you, all of them to do with getting on Sukuna's last nerve in their never-ending rivalry.

But it's weird because it doesn't really feel like he's just messing around. As in, it doesn't seem like it's just for that reason.

You know Gojo. Not as close as Shoko or Getou might but enough to comfortably call yourself a distant friend. A little more than acquaintance but less then close.

He's facetious—melodramatic, really—totally by design. By necessity, some of it is an act, but you're good enough at reading him to know what's playful and what's not.

That's why you think that Gojo is really hitting on you. He's using the fact Sukuna, your...whatever, isn't here attending with you. He was supposed to be here but he flaked last minuted on coming with you. You ended up taking Yuuji and his friends though, anyhow.

You're letting him do it. He's serious about hitting on you, and he probably knows you're not very serious about returning his feelings.

But you're entertaining it, despite yourself.

Everyone you know is looking the other way while it happens too. Gojo is leaned close, sitting next to you in a plastic chair, and you're just a little bit buzzed. Humid summer air warms your skin, makes you want to sink into the night.

You're not touching, but you're too close for not-quite-friends. Gojo edges on touchy. A soft nudge here and there, the kind of proximity you shouldn't have. Gojo is a breath away, sober because he doesn't like alcohol.

And he's super friendly, which is nice.

A beat of silence settles between you as the night rolls in a little heavier.

Gojo says you what you assume he's been thinking about all night, without any real introduction.

"You should break up with him," He says, just over a can of soda with a kind of sincerity that makes you restless. You feel your nerves flip.

Your mouth moves before your mind has a chance to fill in the answer. You laugh. "I know."

"You're really too good for him, tsk," Gojo laments, clicking his teeth. Playful again, using just enough drawback so that you don't suffocate in the honesty. You shouldn't entertain this but the attention is nice. "And gosh, you're so much more fun without that dark cloud hanging around you, y'know"

You giggle unconsciously at the thought of Sukuna as a dark cloud. Big and broad with a deep voice—it's an astute comparison. Shaking your head, you give him a playful glance. "Am I really more fun? I feel like I'm not as good a conversationalist as a certain someone,"

Gojo smiles at you proudly. "I'm having fun at least."

You close your eyes and take another, much longer drink. "Yeah, me too."

"If you know you can do better, why bother with him? I figure that bastard might be holding you hostage but," He's serious again, brows raised. "You've got more options, you know?"

You shrug, absently. You don't know the answer yourself. It's one thing that Sukuna never quite lets you leave but it's another thing you come back to him every time. You settle on your reply with closed eyes then laugh a little too loud. Gojo doesn't startle.

"Who knows? But you know, thank you anyway. It's good to have options. Maybe it'll knock some sense into me,"

Friendly again. He's a nice guy you think.

"If it doesn't, make sure to give me a call. I'm pretty great too, y'know."

You give him a lighthearted smile.

It's hard to hear much over the loud thump of music. You're not very in touch with your surroundings and the pleasant air around you all but swallows you.

It takes you a minute. Longer than you care to admit, to realize that someone is approaching you. Even longer to realize who.

Sukuna is looming over you and Gojo when you finally look up.

"Having fun?"

You blink, pulling away to make sure you're hearing correctly. Sinking back into your chair, your eyes flicker up to whats casting shadow overhead. His voice almost bellows, deep and coarse but not loud.

"I thought you weren't coming," Is all you can think to say. Sukuna rolls his eyes.

"Yeah. I thought so too,"

He doesn't ask you to get up as much as he tugs you towards him. He's careful not to pull too hard but you come up still on a stumble, drink still in hand, and face in his chest. Your heart thumps, embarrassed by the sudden warmth. His hand sits on your lower back and suddenly there's a conversation happening overhead.

"Quit sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," He spits. He's talking to Gojo you realize.

"Be careful there, nii-san. You're gonna make it seem like you care."

Sukuna tenses under you before he relaxes again - rolling his eyes. He's not happy about it but you can hear that he's trying not to let it show.

"Stay out of it." Sukuna demands. Gojo whistles.

"Sure, sure. You two have fun there."

Sukuna turns you around like that, your face still in his chest as he drags you away. You hear Gojo laugh faintly as you walk further away from the crowd.

__

You don't really get any explanation from Sukuna as he packs you and himself in the backseat of his car.

He's quiet the entire walk there, and the air is so heavy your lungs can't find a breath around it. He doesn't say anything to you even as he opens the back door. He tells you to get in but doesn't show any emotion you discern.

Instead you end up laying in the backseat with Sukuna over you - cramped as his tongue slips all the way into your mouth and his hands grab your waist. All too sudden, without any ceremony at all.

You kiss back because he's being so suffocating and it's all you can think to do to appease him. As soon as he lets you breathe, you put a hand on his chest and push him away.

You make eye contact but he still hasn't said a word. "Are you mad?"

He sneers. "You tell me,"

He ducks down again to kiss you and you let him this time, doing your best to gauge what exactly he's thinking. You know he's upset, rather - but it's weird. Something is different about it.

His mouth is hot as he hands slide underneath your shirt further- his knees keeping your legs apart as his thigh presses against your clothed sex. You shiver, moaning into his mouth and Sukuna swallows the noise. Gasping, you pull back again.

"All you do is piss me off you brat," He tugs your lip back between his incisors as he speaks, voice bordering on a snarl. "You should know better than to cozy up to that idiot."

You squirm. "I wasn't cozying—"

"You think I'm fucking stupid? Think I don't got eyes to see with?" And then, like he's predicting your next question. "Yuuji texted me."

"And you came?" You stop, keeping him from going any further. "You came 'cause Yuu-chan sent you a picture of me and Gojo-kun....?"

He ignores your question. "Take your pants off,"

You make a face at him but oblige, hands unbuttoning your jeans as Sukuna practically tugs you out of them and your panties in one go. He sits back up on his legs and maneuvers carefully to keep his hands between your thighs. His middle finger runs through your slit, palm putting pressure on your clit.

He's rushing more than normal, mouth crushing yours again in a kiss so heavy it makes you gasp. You feel like you're imagining it but each time you pull back - his teeth sink into your lips until they're throbbing from how hard he's bitten them up.

He's possessive. Always has been. He's territorial over you in one way or another over everything, but it's usually only when you threaten to leave. There's a merit to what Gojo said about keeping you held down. But even in that, there's never any emotion stronger than annoyance to follow your little tantrums. You wouldn't call what you feel now desperation by any stretch.

But it's something more then simple possession and it makes you ache.

"I wasn't gonna do anything with him." You say half-way between a breath. You see his jaw tick with irritation at the mere thought. "It was just for fun—"

He quiets you with his fingers. With his hands, rough - spitting hard on your clit from where above making it splatter against your thighs. His fingers fingers the thick layer of spit and drag them down against your throbbing clit to make it wetter. He touches you hard and fast, places kisses against your jaw and collar before sinking his teeth into the clothed shape of your tits.

His fingers find your pussy not long after. Thick, scarred, intrusive - he slips them in one at a time. As much as he knows you can take until he touches that spot inside of you that leaves your whole body tingling. Knuckle deep, he presses his palms up against your clit to make sure you have the right friction. You moan his name loud, eyes rolling up into your head,

The windows are starting to fog.

"Sukuna,"

He grabs hold of your face with free hand, bordering on a snarl. It's mean you think, but more then that there's a genuine frustration to it that makes you shiver almost shamefully.

"You're mine." He sneers. You feel your cunt twitch unhelpfully at but Sukuna doesn't budge. Doesn't even go to make fun of you He just keeps growling, leaning in to kiss you - forcing his tongue into your mouth and pulling away again. "Get close with that bastard and I'll kill him."

Your stomach flutters in arousal at the aggression in it. The unreasonable, unhelpful, trained part of your brain nearly screams. He wants you, he wants you, he wants. It makes you wanna—

"G-gonna—gonna cum, fuck, Sukuna."

He kisses you again, murmuring against your lips. "Cum,"

Your thighs clamp around Sukuna's wrists as he continues to finger you, grinding yourself the edge of his palm as you ride out your high. Your voice pitches into a high whine, spine arching. It's rushed but intense, scratching the itch but not enough to tamp down the heat completely. You squirt around his fingers in a full blown gasp and find you can barely get your head above water.

You cum hard, convulsing. He doesn't move his hand until you grab him by the wrist and shake your head. Surprisingly, he listens easily and pulls away.

You pause and stare at him after you've caught your breath.

"What's wrong with you today?"

"Stay the fuck away from that guy."

You roll your eyes. "He's right. It's starting to sound like you love me or something. I wasn't gonna sleep with him anyway so chill out."

He scoffs. "Don't even fucking dream of it. I'd kill you both."

You take a second to look at him. You can't read him to save your life. But he's looking back at you, into you maybe, in a way that makes you wonder if there's something about him you're missing. You wrap your arms around his neck just to see if he'll tell you to stop clinging.

He doesn't though.

"Did you really come all the way here 'cause of what Yuu-chan sent you?"

He glares at you. "Are you deaf? Didn't I say that?"

"But then it sounds like you were jealous."

He rolls his eyes. "You're stupid."

"....You were jealous? Really?"

"Shut up already," He says. And maybe it's the alcohol but you swear his face goes warm. "And seriously stay away from that idiot. If I see some shit like that again I'm locking you in the house and chaining you to my bed."

"Weird proposal but okay."

"Dumbass."

"You love me,"

He rolls his eyes and goes to kiss you. Doesn't deny it, you notice. You pretend not to be giddy.

"Whatever."

✮ extended authors note ; hi!! i hope sukunas personality made sense here.

my point with sukuna in modern is that i think it takes away a lot of his unsavory aspects but the deep sense of possession and ownership sort of stays. this is a modern au so he's different from canon in many ways.

he has a hard time committing but he also does not do things he doesnt want to so him spending time with you and wanting your loyalty are both genuine desires. he understands why you're entertaining gojo's flirting and rationally knows it's unfair to want loyalty from you.

but he's into you so he gets. fucking pissed anyway. skjsjd. anyways i hope u liked it and i hope it made sense!! i just wanted to add this incase!!!

[syoddeye]

cut me down, level me | ghoap x reader | 3.2k cw: alcohol, jealous reader, nasty+mean ghost, harassment, nonconsensual touching/manhandling, masturbation a/n: title from i wish i was you by creux lies.

it’s johnny’s birthday.

you grouse the entire time you get ready. mood utterly unsalvageable even with the right playlist. the emergency bottle of prosecco in your refrigerator can’t rescue you either—it’s turned sour and vinegary, probably like the evening ahead.

johnny texts, his message asking for your eta littered with typos. he’s sent it not in your private chat, but the one with his worse half. 

he promised, repeatedly, that simon, the principal pain in your ass that—“he’ll be on his best behavior. hand on heart, i swear.”

you’ve heard that one before.

it doesn’t matter what you do. by the time the rideshare pulls up outside their flat, you half-consider staying in the car and heading straight back home. cozying up in bed with your laptop feels infinitely better than the prospect of enduring lousy company.

because for all johnny’s reassurances, you know simon. he’s the thorn in your side. the wedge between you and your best friend.

you were practically raised together after your family moved in next door. you spent as many holidays at the mactavish house as your own. even after johnny enlisted, nothing changed—you were still the first person he’d call with news, and he was still the one you trusted to share things you wouldn’t tell anyone else. 

and then, two christmases ago, simon arrived. six-foot-something stupid, he muscled his way in, taking up more space than he had any right to, crowding into johnny’s life like he’d always been there. 

“simon? it’s good to finally meet you. johnny talks about you all the time.” you’d said, hand extended, trying to make a good impression. neck craned to the man filling the doorframe. simon smirked, something flat and condescending in his voice as he replied, hand already hinging possessively around johnny’s nape.

“i thought only i could call you ‘johnny’. not ‘ow you make a man feel special, is it.”

you remember how he shouldered around you without another word, greeting the rest of the mactavishes with bourbon and presents like some drab mancunian santa claus.

johnny found you seething later that evening and delivered the first of a thousand apologies. said he was embarrassed by simon’s cold shoulder, and you forgave him—not because you believed him, but because you felt sorry that his boyfriend was a territorial buffoon.

a mistake.

you know couples spend most of their time together. you’re not stupid or naive enough to think they’d be any different, but somehow it’s worse. you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve spent with johnny one-on-one since they got together. simon’s always there, lurking. there’s no sharing with him.

you’ve tried to bring it up with johnny quietly, mostly over text, since phone calls and video chats are never private, but it’s like he can’t see his velcro boyfriend at his side. he doesn’t question it, not really. he’ll admit simon’s a bit rough around the edges, that his jokes cross the line or that his comments make your skin crawl, but he brushes them off. there’s always an excuse, some reason to overlook it. you just hope it’s only a matter of time before johnny sees simon for what he really is and breaks it off.

a no-good interloper, pissing on everything–

when you knock, it’s simon who answers the door. music spills out around him, voices rising and falling in the glow of light behind his broad shoulders. he looks at you, slow and deliberate, his eyes dragging from your shoes to your face, as if you’re a stranger. then he tilts his head in a silent well?

you’ve learned that it is you who must move around him, in all contexts. you are the invader. he doesn’t flinch when you cram under his thick arm braced against the door. he mutters a snide comment about the cut of your shirt—can see straight down that—breath fanning over your head. your face burns instantly, blistering hot. as you pass, the bottle of wine in your hand “accidentally” finds his ribs, and for a second, you feel a flicker of satisfaction.

“oops!” 

you flee beeline for johnny.

he’s already tipsy, the lush, but he’s at least happy to see you. 

“there she is.” his face is flushed from drink, and he pulls you into a bear hug, pressing a few sloppy kisses against your cheek. “i was just tellin’ simon it’s no’ my birthday without ye.”

you lean into him, briefly nuzzling his chest, breathing in his grounding scent. asshole boyfriend or not, how could you consider abandoning your boy?

“shameless flirt.”

“dinnae i ken it.”

he pouts when you peel away and excuse yourself, promising to find him after making the rounds.

you count maybe two dozen people spread through the house, a mix of old classmates, distant acquaintances, and soldiers. more arrive in waves, and you’re glad for the buffer. enough bodies between you and simon to keep him at a comfortable distance.

time moves in fits and starts. you drink enough to feel a buzz and resolve, half-heartedly, to enjoy yourself and mingle. there’s no shortage of good-looking men in johnny’s circle, and you might as well flirt a little. it seems like the kind of thing you should be doing, though your heart isn’t really in it.

you meet another john, polite but pointed about the ring on his finger. then kyle, who seems interested until he asks your name and then suddenly isn’t. after a couple more dead ends, you give up entirely, feeling more lousy than when you arrived. but it’s johnny’s birthday, and it’s bad form to leave before midnight. so, instead, you decide to keep to yourself and wait it out.

problem is, you start bumping into simon.

wherever you go—the den, the kitchen, the front steps for air—simon appears. he doesn’t make a show of following you, but you feel it all the same. his gaze finds you like a searchlight, dissecting you piece by piece. just waiting to say shit. his expression doesn’t shift when you glance his way, no shame in being caught staring. it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking, but whatever it is, it doesn’t feel particularly benign. his presence settles like a weight on your back. 

he doesn’t let you find any refuge with johnny, either. of course not. birthday boy is blissfully unaware, wrapped up in his own celebration, probably thinking simon’s sudden surge of public affection and attention are gifts. from across the room, simon’s gaze is heavy on you, his arm draped possessively around johnny’s waist, hand settling unashamedly on his ass for a grope. you catch his eye once, and without missing a beat, he leans in, planting a kiss behind johnny’s ear, making him squirm mid-conversation. 

it pisses you off. curdles your bad mood into a rotten one.

with an hour left until midnight, you try to avoid simon as much as possible. it probably seems petty to slip away the moment he walks into a room or to retreat into silence when he lingers too close, but you don’t care. he’s stifling and unbearable—like he’s decided to babysit you to make sure you’re on your best behavior. and there’s no telling johnny. you won’t ruin the night for him by stirring up trouble.

at one point, you take too long at the makeshift bar in the kitchen, and he corners you mid-pour.

simon clicks his tongue, shifting his weight just enough to box you in with his chest and shoulders. “what’s that now, your fourth? fifth?” his voice is low, a rough-edged drawl, head dipping and chasing your ear when you try to duck away. “keep this up, sweet’eart, and you’ll be sleepin’ it off between us.” the grin that stretches his mouth feels too sharp, his eyes glinting as he leans in, the heat of him unnervingly close, his bulk a deliberate intrusion into your space.

the image his words conjure arrives unbidden, sending a disorienting jolt down your spine. you see yourself there, curled against johnny’s chest, while another, hulking body melding to your back, presence suffocating and unwanted. the thought lingers for a heartbeat before it vanishes in a rush of disgust, leaving you like a dog with its hackles raised, bristling with the instinct to flee.

you shove past, wine sloshing perilously close to the rim as you go, his rasping chuckle drifting after you.

another hour passes in a blur, but you salute yourself—only a quarter-hour to freedom. problem is, all that wine’s caught up, and the door to the downstairs toilet has been locked for a stretch. you cast a casual glance around, your eyes tracking the shape of your persistent shadow, and find him finally occupied with the other john, his back turned to you for the first time all evening. it’s a quick, maybe ill-advised decision to slip upstairs, but you really have no choice. you have to pee before you leave, and besides, it’s a teensy fuck you to the man who’s followed you all night.

the music from downstairs hums through the floor, covering your movements just enough that you don’t bother to tiptoe.

their bedroom is unfamiliar, but johnny’s presence clings to the space in bits and pieces. a framed photo of johnny in his first uniform, his mother leaning against his arm. an old rugby medal, propped against a stack of books, a few of which you gifted him. on the wall beside the bed, a collage of photos: summers at the mactavish cottage, christmas dinners with both your families, johnny mid-laugh with his arm slung casually around your shoulders in more than one.

you spot an old toy soldier from the same set johnny used to make elaborate battles with when you were kids. it sits next to a half-empty bottle of expensive bourbon you don’t recognize, probably something simon probably picked out. the mixture of old and new, of johnny and simon, is dizzying. jealousy wells up in your chest. you were there for all those moments. you knew him when he played soldier in the garden, when he rolled his eyes through family holidays and snuck you out at dessert. you were the constant, long before simon’s shadow overtook everything.

you slink into the bathroom, eyes stinging and chest tightening. it’s the wine.

washing your hands, your eyes land on a half-empty bottle of cologne you don’t recognize. while the rideshare app spins uselessly, you take a whiff and hum. it’s johnny’s. you rub a fingertip over the atomizer, too paranoid to take even a quarter-spray. the residual will have to do. instead, you press a fingertip to the atomizer, then smear a trace behind your ear just as the app pings. finally.

you pull the door open, eyes trained on the app’s countdown and mind tangling with how to say goodbye to johnny. you don’t notice the figure outside until you step straight into it, a solid wall of muscle. you stagger, caught off guard, but before you can register what’s happening, he presses forward, steering you back inside the bathroom. your phone drops to the counter with a clatter. a hand smelling of smoke and salt clamps over your mouth.

“stop fussin’,” simon mutters, clipped with irritation. his fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing your jaw tight as he leans back just far enough to shut the door. you batter his chest with your fists, which he swiftly captures when he swivels back. “i said stop. need to chat.” 

your phone buzzes against the counter, the soft vibration loud against the marble. simon glances down, his expression darkening as he spots the car on the screen. with a tap of his thumb, he cancels the ride, lips curling into something that isn’t quite a smile. “sneakin’ out already? night’s young.”

your words are lost under his palm, protests garbled into nothing. heat flushes your face, humiliation prickling your skin as you try to twist free. glaring, you tell him how creepy he’s being, how weird he is, voice rising even though it’s barely audible. for a moment, his expression doesn’t shift, then something flickers behind his eyes, like a shark finding chum in the water. he leans in, his hips pinning yours, and his nose drags over where you’d rubbed the scent.

“you little thief,” he murmurs, voice thick with disdain. his hand eases just enough to let you speak.

“i thought it was johnny’s.” you finally say, throat tight, pulse fluttering at its base.

“it’s ours,” he sneers. “we share. everything.”

you scoff, the sound bitter in the small space between you. “you? don’t make me laugh.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

for a second, you stare in disbelief, chest heaving in shallow breaths. he still has you held against the counter, and you realize you smell it on him, too. 

you can’t have just this one thing.

word vomit comes out in a rush, spliced with the fury and frustration that’s been building all night, no, for months, mixed with the tang of cheap pinot. “you fucking stole johnny from me. he was my best friend, my johnny, before you. i’ve called him that my whole life. and then you—you show up, sap up all of his attention, and now he never has time for me. it’s never just me and him, you’re always fucking there.” the confession hangs in the air. it is more honest than you meant, but there is no going back.

simon tilts his head, looking down at you like he’s trying to figure something out, his hand firm under your jaw. his fingers press in, not quite hard, just enough to keep you there, and then he leans in close, his forehead nearly touching yours. you try to look away, eyes darting to the side, but he won’t let you.

“’s that what you need? johnny’s attention?” his thumb drags over the curve of your cheek, pressing until it hooks inside your mouth. “my attention?”

“no-awh! no’ yoursth!” 

your tongue brushes the pad of his thumb, a shudder rolling through you before you remember your teeth. he remembers too, yanking his thumb away just as your bite snaps shut, catching your tongue instead. you yelp, the sting immediate and hot.

he coos, low and mocking, his hand sealing over your mouth again. his weight presses you against the counter, pinning you effortlessly in place. your hands, useless against the unyielding plane of his chest, clutch at his forearm instead, desperate to free your face. then his knee jabs forward, knocking a muffled cry from your throat. the impact drives you onto your toes, the cupboard beneath you taking the blow and holding his knee steady, leaving you no choice but to remain perched, precarious and trembling, to avoid putting your weight on him.

“this ‘as been my problem with you since day one. you’re a dishonest and jealous woman. can’t be ‘appy for johnny. can’t be polite to me–”

you hiss and spit at that, outrage starting and stalling. he’s done nothing—as if he’s—unbelievable—but you’re wasting your breath, not merely because his stupid, meaty paw’s lodged over your mouth, but because it’s simon. two years in, and you know better. arguing with him is like shouting into the void. useless, exhausting. your calves burn from holding yourself up, thighs trembling under the strain, but he doesn’t let up, doesn’t ease an inch.

“always whining, always makin’ our boy feel like shit with your desperate, depressing texts–” his knee slides and nudges between your legs, finding the seam of your jeans. “–always runnin’ away from us, not letting it happen, be easy...”

your face finally turns, but he only leans in further, his forehead skimming yours, settling heavily against your temple. chapped lips graze your cheek, words spilling straight into your skin, warm air puffing through his nostrils like a beast. “trying to sneak out, makin’ me keep an eye on you all night…” you squeeze your eyes shut, heat crawling up your neck and over your scalp. this is bad. very bad. it’s johnny’s birthday, and his boyfriend has you cornered in the bathroom. your thoughts snarl in panic and guilt. you hardly register simon’s voice anymore, his lecture breaking into shards your brain can’t piece together.

until he says something that pierces the fog. growls it into your ear, close enough his tongue needlessly flicks the shell.

“i’m not ‘aving it anymore. you understand? you ain’t leavin’ tonight.”

simon unhurriedly tilts your head back, then presses you down onto his knee. you swallow hard, a noise catching somewhere deep and undignified. if he notices, he doesn’t let on.

“i’m gonna let go, and you’re gonna keep quiet. you’re gonna be a good girl, come back downstairs, and not go makin’ a scene. or do i need to spell out what ‘appens if ya don’t, or are ya as sharp as ‘e’s always makin’ out?”

you don’t need him to say it. the threat is there, in between your legs, and if you looked down, you’d see it between his, too. it doesn’t matter what you want. 

it doesn’t matter what simon wants, either, you think. if it did, you’d probably still be in the bathroom with him. 

he’s been abundantly clear. the only thing that matters is what johnny wants.

from where he sat you on the end of the bed, hands fidgeting in your lap, you glimpse movement through the cracked door. grunting. he told you to spit in his palm before he sent you out, and now you know why. his hand sounds slick and furious over his length. your stomach clenches, eyes watering from staring unblinkingly at the rug beneath your feet. you wonder if it’s not punishment but a prelude. or worse, his idea of a favor. a demonstration. as long as you’re good and quiet. as long as you stay.

when he comes, he’s nearly silent. a word or two gnashed between teeth in a whisper. a couple more pumps. then, the flush of the toilet and his zipper.

he doesn’t wash his hands. the animal.

simon lifts an eyebrow, and you scurry toward the door, though the snap of his tongue slows you. he stays a breath behind you as the warmth and noise of the party swallow you both whole, no one any wiser. instinctively, you angle left, toward the door, but his finger hooks through the back loop of your jeans, steering you elsewhere.

johnny’s in a merry state, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed, caught somewhere between shock and delight at seeing both of you settle beside him. you’re wedged in the middle on the couch, their solid thighs pressing yours. across the coffee table, the men you met earlier nod in your direction, and you return a stiff smile, pretending nothing’s amiss. johnny’s hand lands on your knee with a familiar squeeze, his grin boyish and lopsided. behind you, a heavier arm stretches across the back of the couch, simon’s fingers brushing your shoulder lightly. the scent of the cologne mingles with simon’s musk, wrinkling your nose.

johnny leans in, his voice an exaggerated whisper slurred at the edges. his eyes, wide and glassy, flit between the two of you with an almost childlike excitement.

“nice to see ye gettin’ along. just for me?”

simon chuckles. “told ya i’d be good, didn’t i?” his fingers curl beneath your collar, resting there. an ultimatum. “it’s a joint gift. ain’t that right?”

your eyebrows lift in a wider, strained smile.

“yep. happy birthday, johnny.”

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 5

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“You want to talk about it?” Her mate asked her flatly and Mor couldn’t help but grimace.

"No," Mor said simply, her tone clipped. She had been hoping to avoid this conversation, but it seemed as though Emerie was not willing to let her off that easily. "There's nothing to talk about."

Her mate just snorted. “Yeah, absolutely nothing,” she said sarcastically. “How about the fact that the male that spend 500 years being in love with you, met his mate 2 years ago and hasn’t said a single thing about it to any member of his family?”

"What do you want me to say, Em?" she asked with a sigh.

At the start…before Nesta had forced her to actually confront what she was feeling…Before she actually thought about the fact, that no…it wasn’t actually funny for Azriel to keep their mate from them…and it also wasn’t normal for him. Of course, Azriel liked his privacy, it was something that he fiercely guarded, but he was also…he wouldn’t have actually hidden away his mate from his family. He would have introduced her, would have invited her to birthdays and Winter Solstice and Starfall…

But he hadn’t. 

He had rather hidden away every trace of that relationship than actually talk to any of them about it. 

“Nesta told me that she laid into you,” Emerie said with a shrug. “You did use Azriel, you know that, Mor.”

Mor's expression hardened at Emerie's words. 

Emerie was right. She had used him. 

Of course, at the time…she had been desperate, afraid of the feelings that she had been having…willing to hide them… but the way she had gone about it hadn’t been…It hadn’t been fair. 

She just didn’t like to reflect on that. 

"It doesn't matter now, Em," she said flatly. "It's in the past."

“Is it?” Emerie asked, sharply. “You never tried to actually talk to Azriel about it. You just expected him to be alright with it. Alright with us,” she continued. “He has never once been anything but polite to me, but quite frankly he would have had every right to be pissed off.”

Mor just so managed not to grimace. 

Not a single word. Not a single gesture. Nothing but politeness and kindness had come from Azriel after her and Emerie’s mating bond had snapped. Nothing. 

"You don't think I know that? You don't think I'm racked with guilt every damn day?" she asked her mate, turning away from from Emerie, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "I know that I hurt him, Em. I know that I used him. But what do you want me to do about it now? It's in the past, it's done. I can't change it."

Emerie was silent for a moment, her expression softening slightly. "You can apologize," she said softly. "You can try to mend what you broke. And maybe, just maybe, he'll forgive you."

Mor let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Apologize? For what?" she asked, her voice dripping with self-mockery. "For using him? For making him think he had a chance with me when he never did? For breaking his heart when I knew damn well how he felt about me?"

Emerie's expression hardened again. "Yes," she said firmly. "For all of those things. Because at the end of the day, Mor, you used him. And he deserves better than that."

Mor's shoulders slumped, the fight leaving her all at once. She knew that Emerie was right. She knew that she had been selfish, that she had hurt Azriel in a way that could never be undone. But the thought of facing him, of admitting her mistakes and opening herself up to the pain and rejection that surely awaited her…it was terrifying.

“I imagine he had a few very good reasons to keep Irena a secret from all of us,” Emerie said softly. “Regardless of what feelings he once harboured for you…he was always your friend, Mor. And he kept his mate a secret from you.”

Mor sighed, her shoulders slumped. "I know," she said softly. "I know. I thought it was jsut Az being Az but it’s not, is it?”

Emerie reached out, placing a gentle hand on Mor's arm. "No," she said softly. "It's not. It's him protecting something that he loves. And I don't blame him for that."

***

“Are you hungry?” Azriel asked his mate softly.

Madja had checked on her the evening before…had told her to keep off her leg for a few days and plied her with more potions, bandages the bruises again… given her more sleeping draught. It hasn’t stopped Irena from waking up twice with nightmares.

"No," Irena said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have much of an appetite." She looked pale, her eyes dull and lacking their usual sparkle. It was clear that she hadn't slept well, and his heart ached at the sight of her discomfort.

Shock had dissipated and left his mate…grieving and sad and Azriel curled himself tighter around her.

He could feel the weight of her sadness and grief, and it broke his heart to see her this way. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, holding her close and hoping to offer some comfort and support.

“You need to eat something, love,” he insisted softly. “Whatever you want.” 

He really didn’t care if all she had in her stomach were her favourite cookies, at least that would be something. 

Irena shook her head, burying her face in his chest. "I don't want anything," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. "Just...just stay here with me."

Azriel's heart tugged at her words, and he pulled her even closer, cradling her against him. "Of course," he whispered, his lips brushing the top of her head. "I'm not going anywhere, love,” he promised her fiercely. “But you still need to eat something,” he whispered. “How about the shadows get you one of those blueberry pastries you like?”

Irena sighed, snuggling deeper into his embrace. "Alright," she said softly. "I do love those pastries." She looked up at him, her eyes still dull but a small hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He didn’t even need to order the shadows to do anything, they had one of her favourite blueberry pastries on a plate on the bed side table in a breath. *Please tell me you left the money,* he told them mentally.

The shadows seemed almost indignant. *Of course we left it. Do you think we're thieves?* Azriel smiled at their tone."

"Of course not," he said aloud, reaching for the pastry and offering it to Irena. "You're just very efficient." The shadows swirled around him almost smugly at the praise, and he shook his head with a chuckle.

“Thank you,” Irena thanked them softly. The shadows preened.

Azriel chuckled again, watching as the shadows swirled around Irena, as if basking in her gratitude. It was cute how they seemed almost puppy-like in their desire for her attention. 

He was amazed, as always, by how much the shadows adored her.

He had never expected them to warm up to anyone else, especially not as quickly as they had to his mate. 

Suddenly…as soon as he had properly introduced his shadows to her…as soon as it was clear that she wasn’t going to start flinching away from them or from him if they showed up to badger her…as soon as that was clear, they had started to dote on her. Seemingly so pleased that there was another person that wasn’t scared off them. 

The shadows and Irena had formed a bond that defied explanation, and it made Azriel so happy to see the two things he cherished most in the world getting along so well.

(Even if he sometimes got jealous that the shadows never had doted on him like they did on Irena. He got porridge for breakfast but Irena got the ridiculous expensive pastries from the newest high end bakery. Irena got bubble bath, while he only got salt dumped into his bath water and got told that it was good for his muscles.) 

He watched as the shadows swirled around Irena, nuzzling against her like cats seeking affection. Irena laughed softly as they tickled at her ears and played with her hair.

He knew that his shadows were often feared and misunderstood, but with Irena they were playful and affectionate. It was like she had unlocked a whole new side of them, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of them interacting so sweetly with her.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "I never thought I'd see the day when my shadows would be so smitten," he teased, his lips curving into a small smile. "I should be jealous, but I can't help but find it adorable."

Irena laughed, her eyes sparkling for the first time that day. "They're so sweet," she said, reaching up to brush her fingers through the shadows that surrounded her. "It's like they're a different side of you."

Azriel chuckled, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "I guess they are a part of me, in a way," he said. "And they seem to have a mind of their own, especially when it comes to you." He watched as the shadows nuzzled against her cheek, almost vying for her attention.

"They're quite taken with you," he said with a grin. "I don't blame them. Still, it's strange to see them so affectionate towards someone else." He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

"But it makes me happy to see them like this," he said softly, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "It's like you're bringing out a side of them that I never knew existed. And it's a beautiful thing to witness." He leaned in, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead. "Just like you."

There was a knock at the door.

*The High Lord and the Ancient One,* the shadows offered. *And the healer.*

*I’ll deal with them,* Azriel said with a snort.

“Finish your breakfast, alright?“ he told Irena softly as he slid out of the bed. Irena nodded, a small smile on her face. 

"Thank you," she said softly, watching as he got up to answer the door.

“Madja,” he greeted the healer drily. “Irena just had breakfast. The bruises are already lightening,” he reported.

Madja nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Good," she said. "Keep an eye on her for the next couple of days, make sure she takes it easy. The leg needs to heal properly." He opened the door further, letting Madja slip in, and could just hear, "How are you feeling, my dear?" From Madja and Irena’s soft answer.

Which meant that Azriel turned towards his brother. “What do you want?” He demanded from Rhys, his voice sharp. 

Rhys held his hands up in surrender. "Calm down, Az," he said, his voice low. "I just wanted to check on Irena. Amren looked at the spellbook that Merrill was using,” Rhys explained.

“And?” Azriel asked flatly.

Did it actually matter? Merrill had been stupid and arrogant and a thousand other things. The spell didn’t seem to have done anything to Irena…her injuries had been thanks to the debris that had resulted in the spell going absolutely haywire, killing Merrill and seemingly exploding her office. 

“It was written in a language I do not know, but the best match is ancient Illyrian,” Amren gave back drily. 

Azriel's expression darkened at Amren's words. "Ancient Illyrian?" he repeated, his mind racing. "That can't be good."

Not at all. He didn’t even want to think about what his ancestors had come up with. 

"It seems to be a very old dialect," Rhys explained. "One that hasn't been spoken or written in centuries. It'll take some time to decipher it, but we're working on…”

“It seems to be a healing spell. Probably used in childbirth,” Amren cut him off. “When it didn’t find a pregnant female to latch onto, it redoubled back onto Merrill.”

"So Merrill's own spell backfired on her," Azriel mused. "And Irena got caught in the crossfire." He rubbed a hand over his face. “Has the spell done anything to Irena?” He demanded.

“Madja didn’t think so,” Rhys said carefully. “I wanted to check on Irena if that’s alright with you.”

He crossed his arms, not willing to entertain that even for a moment. 

“No,” he said flatly. 

“Let him in, Azriel,” his mate said softly, and he turned towards her, staring at Irena. 

The shadows were already dragging a fur around her shoulders, fluffing the pillows behind her, as Madja bandaged her leg.

Irena met his gaze, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He didn’t want Rhys anywhere near her, Azriel was certain of that. And still…an still…

“Fine,” Azriel growled, stepping aside to let Rhys through. "Don't overstay your welcome," he warned Rhys. 

Rhys nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips at Azriel's protectiveness. He clapped a hand on Azriel's shoulder reassuringly. "I won't stay long," he reassured his brother. "I just want to make sure she's alright."

Amren rolled her eyes, but for once didn’t say another word as Azriel closed the door. 

“High Lord,” Irena greeted Rhys, every inch the perfect lady even while she was laid up in her bed.

Rhys inclined his head, smiling gently at Irena, while Azriel already crossed the room to sit at her bedside, taking her hand in both of his. She reassuringly squeezed it. 

"How are you feeling?" Rhys asked her. 

Irena gave him a small smile, shrugging her shoulders a little. "I've been better," she admitted. "But I'm healing, I suppose." She gestured to the leg, Madja was bandaging once again.  "Madja says I'll be good as new in a few days. And I’ve had worse,” she added flatly.

Rhys chuckled softly, his eyes softening with concern. "I don't doubt it," he said. "But still, it must have been quite a harrowing experience." He paused for a moment, looking at her intently. "I wanted to speak to you about what happened," he said gently. "If you feel up to it, of course."

Irena nodded, steeling herself for whatever questions Rhys might have. "Go ahead," she said quietly.

"I just wanted to ask you about what you saw when the spell hit you," Rhys said carefully. "Do you remember anything after the initial blast? Could you show me?”

“No.” Azriel snapped. “You are not going read her mind, Rhysand.” Not in a million years. 

He nearly bared his teeth at his High Lord in annoyance, already regretting letting him into their room. 

Irena was healing.

Rhys held up his hands in surrender, his eyes flickering to Azriel for a moment. "I wasn't going to do anything without her permission,  brother," he assured him calmly.

“It’s alright,” Irena agreed with him. “It’s fine, Azriel,” she assured him softly.  Azriel tensed for a moment, torn between wanting to protect her and respecting her wishes. "I want to do this." She turned her attention back to Rhys. "Go ahead."

Rhys nodded, his expression serious. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low. "It might be difficult to recall the memories, but I need you to try."

Irena just inclined her head. "I'm sure," she said firmly. "Just...just go ahead."

Azriel watched, holding her hand tightly. Rhys was well trained at using his daemati abilities, but that didn’t mean that…

A moment later a soft shudder run through his mate, and Azriel growled. 

“Thank you, Irena,” Rhys said quickly, clearly already withdrawing from her mind.

“What kind of spell was it?” Itena asked her voice hoarse. 

Rhys sighed, "The spellbook was written in some kin of ancient language, we think some dialect of Illyrian. The spell itself was healing spell, probably used for childbirth," he explained. "The magic was searching for a pregnant female to latch onto, but when it couldn’t find one, it became more volatile," he said, his expression grave. "And that's when it found you, Irena. It was a complete accident, but the effects were still devastating."

“Did it do…anything to me?” Irena asked Madja quietly.

Madja looked up from the bandages she was applying to Irena's leg, her expression softening as she took in Irena's worried expression.

Madja studied her for a moment, her eyes flickering over the various scrapes and bruises on Irena's body. "Not as far as I can tell,” Madja said finally. "You're healing nicely, and there are no lasting effects to your body that I can see.”

It was something. It was reassuring to know that her physical injuries were being healed, and that there were no lasting effects.

Azriel squeezed Irena's hand, relief flooding through him at Madja's words. 

It was good. Some form of healing being found…

And the last thing Azriel had expected, where Irena’s next words, as she addressed Rhysand. 

“I’ll hand over my duties to Madja, as soon as I can,” Irena said softly. “I am aware that after what happened I am no longer suitable to make any more research involved decisions. I take full responsibility for what happened.“

Her voice was even, measured. Calm. 

Even when he could see the storm in her eyes…even when he could see…

She loved her job. He knew that she loved her job. She adored it in fact. And she excelled in it too. Irena seeme to be made for her job in the House of Wind. And to hear her contemplating giving it all up, just because of an accident that hadn’t been her fault at all…

Azriel opened his mouth to protest but Rhys spoke before he could say anything. "That won't be necessary," Rhys said firmly. "Irena, what happened was a complete accident. You had no control over what happened, and we all know that." He shook his head, his expression serious. "You can't blame yourself for what happened."

Rhys leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent on Irena. "If anyone is to blame, it's Merrill," he said softly. "She was the one who was messing with magic beyond her understanding, she didn’t follow your orders and she was the one who unleashed that spell. You were just an innocent bystander in all of this."

He paused, looking between Azriel and Irena, his expression softening. "We will need to take precautions going forward, so nothing like that can ever happen again." he said carefully. "But we can figure that out together. And you do not need to give up your duties, Irena. We need you."

Irena looked down at the blankets in her lap, her fingers fiddling with a loose thread. "But what if something like this does happen again?" she asked softly.

Rhys shook his head, his expression firm. "It won't," he said, his voice filled with conviction. “None of what happened was your fault,” Rhys repeated firmly.

Azriel nodded in agreement, his grip on Irena's hand tightening. "He's right," he said gruffly. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, love. This is on Merrill, not on you. "

“And you can’t quit because otherwise we’ll all drown under paperwork. Well, more than we already do,” Rhys said with a sigh.

Irena chuckled softly, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Well, I suppose I can't let that happen," she said wryly. "I can’t let the high Lord deal with even more paperwork, can I?“ she said drily.

Rhys moved to stand but then he suddenly froze. “You have been doing this on purpose,” he suddenly said, staring at her.

“Doing what?” Irena asked, cocking the head to the side. “Make sure that the library generates plenty of paperwork that needs the High Lord’s personal attention?”Rhys stared at her for a moment, his expression a mixture of surprise and awe. 

"You really are quite devious, aren’t you?" he said with a small laugh. "I never would have thought you’d be using your job specifically to ensure that I spend even more time doing paperwork."

“I don’t.” Irena said flatly. “It was petty revenge.”

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. "Petty revenge?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What on earth did I do to deserve such punishment?"

Irena just stared at him for a moment. “Maybe you should think a bout how you have been treating my mate.”

What? 

Azriel had had no clue that…

Azriel hadn’t known about that. Hadn’t had the faintest inkling. 

Irena had been making sure that Rhys had more paperwork to go through?!

Rhys looked at him for a moment before sighing, rubbing a hand over his face. "I suppose I deserved that one," he admitted. 

Azriel just grunted, his expression flat. "You deserved a lot more than that," he muttered. But there was no real anger in his voice. He was too tired for anger at Rhys. All he cared about right now was Irena. 

“You really are a perfect match,” Rhys said with some amusement. “And I do owe Azriel an apology,” he said simply. "I’ve been harsh on you, Azriel. And I haven’t been fair. I’ve been treating you like a tool, instead of like a brother, and I owe you an apology for that.”

Azriel was taken aback by Rhys's words. He had grown used to the way Rhys treated him - as a weapon first, and a brother second. Hearing Rhys acknowledge his mistakes was…certainly unexpected, and it left him feeling a little off-balance.

He paused for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to respond. Finally he looked up at Rhys, his expression serious. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I appreciate the apology."

Rhys nodded, his expression sincere. "I mean it," he said quietly. "I'll do better moving forward."

[deesseshesca]

PAC: What does my life look like once I hit my full potential?

Hope I make it out of here.

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PILE 1

Oh, bestie, I feel you on this. Balancing hustle and chill vibes is so important when you’re in that “level-up” era, especially with the Lovers card as your overall energy—it’s giving alignment and divine choices. Here’s the tea:

First, trust that this new career opportunity isn’t just a job; it’s a gateway to something magical. Your next lover is literally waiting for you on the other side of this. Like, how iconic is that? The universe is basically screaming, “This is part of your glow-up!”

But let’s keep it real: grinding too hard can mess with your flow. So, schedule your downtime like it’s a business meeting—whether that’s journaling, bingeing your fave show, or vibing out with a playlist that makes you feel main character energy. Chill time isn’t lazy; it’s necessary. You can’t pour from an empty cup.

When it comes to hustle, think of it like this: show up and give your best, but don’t overthink it. Be intentional, not overwhelmed. Remember, the Lovers card is also about harmony—so treat your hustle like a love story. Be passionate, but know when to step back and breathe.

And here’s the real plot twist: this opportunity isn’t just about meeting them. It’s about meeting the next, more evolved version of you. They’ll love that version of you, and so will you. So take the leap, but keep your soul soft. You’ve got this. ❤️

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PILE 2

Okay, imagine this: when you hit your full potential, your life looks like the perfect balance of confidence and rest. You’ve worked hard to know your worth and never settle, and now you’re living in a way that matches that energy. Think quiet mornings in a space that feels so you, reflecting on your growth while sipping your favorite coffee—unbothered and untouchable.

But here’s the thing: getting there doesn’t mean you’re grinding 24/7. You’ll learn that slowing down is the power move. For example, instead of saying yes to everything, you’ll get super intentional about what aligns with your long-term goals. If an opportunity feels off or doesn’t match your vision, you’ll confidently pass, knowing that better things are waiting.

That self-love you’ve mastered? It’ll make you a magnet for respect. People will see how deeply you value yourself and will match that energy—or they’ll fall off, and honestly, you won’t care. It’s like you’ll finally be surrounded by relationships, jobs, and opportunities that deserve you because you’ve set the bar so high.

Here’s the practical advice: stay open to adjusting your plans, even when it’s uncomfortable. Sometimes, what looks like a setback is actually setting you up for something bigger. For example, if one path feels blocked, don’t fight it—pivot. Trust that your ability to choose yourself will always lead you to the right place.

And don’t forget to rest without guilt. It’s okay to take breaks to recharge because that’s when your best ideas will come to you. Picture yourself booking a solo trip, splurging on the nicest accommodations, and using that time to dream even bigger while staying grounded in gratitude. You’re leveling up and protecting your peace, and that’s the ultimate glow-up. 🌱✨

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PILE 3

Alright, picture this: once you hit your full potential, your life is like a perfectly designed blueprint, executed flawlessly. You’re running the show—waking up early, knocking out your goals, and moving through life like you own it. Your schedule is tight but purposeful, and everything you do feels like a step toward something even bigger.

You’ll probably have this fire inside you to keep starting new projects—like launching that dream business or taking on leadership roles that actually challenge you. People will look at you and think, Wow, they’ve really got it together. But behind the scenes, you’ll know it’s because you’ve built systems for yourself that work. For example, you might have a weekly ritual where you plan every detail, from career moves to self-care, so nothing feels chaotic.

That being said, you’ll need to make space for the unknown too. Life won’t always go exactly as planned, and that’s okay. Think of it like this: when things feel uncertain, don’t freeze up. Instead, take a moment, check in with yourself, and adjust. For example, if a big opportunity comes up and doesn’t look like what you expected, lean into it—it might just be the thing that pushes you further than you imagined.

And here’s a practical tip: track your progress. Maybe it’s a journal where you write down your wins every day, no matter how small, or a calendar where you block out “me time” just as seriously as work tasks. The key is staying grounded while keeping your eyes on the horizon.

Your focus on success will still fuel you, but it’ll feel balanced. Imagine being so confident in what you’ve built that you can finally relax a little, knowing that your foundation is unshakable. You’re not just surviving anymore; you’re thriving. And it’s all because you created the structure to let your ambition flow without burning out. 💡

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PILE 4

Okay, so here’s the vibe: when you hit your full potential, your life is gonna feel like this beautiful balance of self-love and success. But here’s the thing—you’ve been carrying a lot, especially with your sibling’s struggles. It’s tough because you want to help, but you have to realize that in order to become the best version of yourself, you have to put yourself first. And I know that’s easier said than done, especially when you love someone so much and want to see them thrive.

You’ve been trying to fix things, trying to heal others, but you can’t keep pouring from an empty cup. You’ve been holding onto a lot of emotional weight, and that’s been draining you. It’s okay to step back and focus on your own growth. I promise, you’re not abandoning anyone by taking care of yourself. In fact, the more you work on you, the more you’ll be able to help them from a place of peace.

But it’s gonna hurt a bit—letting go of that guilt is a process. You’ll have moments where you feel torn, but trust me, your potential and your future are calling you to take care of you. Your dreams, your goals—they matter, and they deserve your attention. It’s about putting boundaries in place, even if it feels hard at first.

You might not have all the answers right now, and that’s fine. You don’t have to have it all figured out, but you’ll get there. Things will come into focus when you start giving yourself permission to live your life without guilt. It’s gonna feel so freeing once you realize that your own peace and happiness are the foundation for everything else to fall into place.

So take it slow. Focus on your journey, even if it means you need to step away from the chaos a little. You deserve to put yourself first, because the version of you that is fully healed, confident, and at peace is going to be the one that thrives and makes all those big dreams come true. Your success starts with you, and you’re worthy of every bit of it. ❤️

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[megamindsecretlair]

Give Me Everything

Pairing: Husband!Terry Richmond x Wife!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FLUFF, cursing, teasing, PIV, oral (male receiving), fingering (fem receiving), dirty talk, use of the n-word, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: Thanksgiving Day was always a hustle and bustle of activity and noise, two things you don’t usually like even coming from a big family. While you flitted around checking in on everyone, you couldn’t help feeling a little selfish. After sending Terry a sexy picture while he was seated next to your father, you sneak off to your childhood bedroom to fulfill a little fantasy of yours.

Word Count: 5,518k

AO3 Link

A/N: Ya'll thought I was gonna let the holiday pass without a little treat? I lost the drabble challenge, but well, can't fight my brain no matter how hard I try. Happy Thanksgiving, happy bank holiday, or however you celebrate, many love and blessings to the greatest group of people ever. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

The rich smells of Thanksgiving food permeated the air and tickled your nostrils. You inhaled deeply as you flitted around the kitchen helping out the Aunties. No one messed with the Aunties on Thanksgiving.

You didn’t know how they managed to stay organized among the chaos. Between one of their husbands who constantly entered the kitchen asking when the food would be done and the little kids running throughout the house, it was a miracle they weren’t yelling and cursing up a storm.

“Fix me my medicine, baby,” Auntie Gee told you.

“Yes, ma’am,” you said. You pivoted away from helping Auntie Aileen with the yams and went over to the small pantry, grabbing supplies. You made a quick and dirty margarita for Auntie Gee and placed it in a glass. You already started in on another one because in one, two, three…

“I want one!” Auntie Mimi called out. You smiled to yourself, knowing your Aunties a little too well. Maybe you spent too much time around them all. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Your big family was a handful at times. But at the end of the day, it was nothing but good vibes and great conversation. The Aunties were currently going on about their favorite man, Denzel Washington.

“That man been fine his whole goddamn life!” Auntie Hope called from the round kitchen table. She cleaned the greens, taking the stems off and putting them into a red bowl, to be soaked in the kitchen sink a little later. Right now, your mom was at the farmhouse sink peeling potatoes. 

“Language, young lady!” Your grandmother, Grammy Alice, called out from the stove. She babysat the white sauce for the mac and cheese, carefully adding cheese and stirring to get the mixture right. 

“Sorry, momma,” Auntie Hope said. She grinned at you and winked. 

You giggled and handed Auntie Mimi her drink. “Thank you baby. You better get outta here before they snatch you to do something else,” she whispered.

And that’s why she was lowkey your favorite Auntie. You hugged and thanked her and then quietly slipped out while the Aunties discussed Denzel’s career. They categorically denounced Training Day as his best role. He was just playing a nigga, that’s all. They were stuck between John Q and Glory.

You left the spacious kitchen in a flash, disappearing around the corner and fell into the background as you soaked everything in. The well-decorated living room held most of the men yelling and screaming at the football game playing on the TV. They sat on the blue couch, lounge chairs, and picnic chairs all crowded around the large screen TV. You didn’t know a lick about the game, but by the sound of it, their team was making stupid ass decisions. 

Kids played Monopoly on the floor, a mix of little kids and the quieter teens who didn’t want to play with the older, rowdier teens outside. You carefully picked your way through the living room, stopping to place a kiss on your Dad’s withered cheek. You patted his shoulder and he brought his hand up to pat yours.

“Everything alright?” He asked.

“Yes, sir. Food coming along,” you said.

He groaned aloud with the Uncles and boyfriends, everyone throwing up their hands and calling the ref out of his name.

“They need to get that blind mu’fucka off the field!” Uncle Cornell said. He was the only one semi-dressed up in a pair of slacks and a button up shirt. You didn’t know where Auntie Mimi found this character. 

Your dad chuckled, returning his attention to you. “Good, good. I’ma just sit here until your mom says it’s time,” your dad said with a secret grin. He made the mistake of entering the kitchen early one year, reaching for a piece of the ham and receiving a swift spoon to the back of the hand from Grammy Alice. He still had a little scar from how hard she popped him. 

“Probably for the best,” you said with a giggle. 

You left the living room, trekking through the raucous house in search for a little bit of peace. As much as you loved how big your family was, you were decidedly the opposite sometimes. You didn’t draw strength from being around so many people. You craved the quiet and silence that came with being by your lonesome. Probably a consequence of being an only child.

Perhaps that was one of the main things that drew you to your husband, Terry. He was the opposite to your family as well. Calm under pressure, quiet and unassuming despite his size; he really was perfect for you. 

You found him on the wide back porch with your cousins, sitting around a table playing dominoes. The teens and older cousins chased each other around the yard playing some game they made up years ago. You never understood the rules and your ass was too tired to continue chasing them around.

Some of the girl cousins watched their younger, baby siblings as they talked about whatever it was kids were into these days. Full. Your life was full to bursting and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You approached Terry and pecked his cheek. “Hey baby,” Terry said, lowering his dominoes to the table. He turned to you and wrapped his arm around your waist from his seated position. 

“Just checking on you, is all,” you said. “You need anything?” 

Terry used his free hand to lift his half empty beer bottle. “Naw, I should be good for a minute. You need anything?” 

“She needs to leave the table so I can get back to whoopin’ yo ass, Marine boy!” Your cousin, Emery, yelled as he slammed down a domino. “Go on and put that thirty-five down for your boy!” He snickered as the game keeper, Darell, laughed and marked down Emery’s points. 

Terry chuckled and shook his head. He peeked over at the scorecard on the notebook by Darell’s elbow. “Maybe you need to go back to math class. I’m still winning,” Terry said. 

A chorus of oooh’s and damn’s and “You gon’ let him talk to you like that, playboy?” rung around the wooden table. Emery waved them all off, a small smile on his face. 

“Alright, alright. Game ain’t over. Why don’t you go on? You killing the mood, girl,” Emery said. 

“I’m killing the mood? Just like a hatin’ nigga to focus on somebody else while he losing,” you said.

“Damn!” Cousin Craig yelled out, his long skinny face cracking into a harsh, wheezing laugh that only triggered everybody else to start laughing. 

You kissed Terry on the cheek once more, admiring the clean beard on his face. He looked good enough to eat himself. He wore a simple powder blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of jeans that really showcased his sexy ass. Just looking at him caused your stomach to do little belly flips.

Terry squeezed your side and smirked up at you as if he saw the direction of your nasty thoughts. He winked at you and you bid your farewell to the men and their little game. 

The majority of the day passed too quickly as you went from group to group, checking in on everyone. The domino game ended and the cousins joined the Uncles in the living room to check on the remainder of the game.

“Girl, don’t you ever sit down?” Your cousin, Robyn, asked. She was in your age group, relaxing with the other girl cousins who laid across multiple blankets, sipping their drinks of choice, and chilling out. 

You chuckled. “Girl no. Between your momma and mine, I keep getting called to do something. And I feel like if I sit down, I’ma pass out,” you said, shaking your head. 

Robyn and Ronda were twins of Auntie Aileen’s and they both shivered at the mention of their mother. “Please, don’t summon her,” Ronda said, shaking her head. “That lady trynna get me set up with her co-worker.” She stuck out her tongue and gagged.

“Not toxic enough for you?” Auntie Hope’s daughter, Stacie, asked.

“Hell no! That girl likes…theater,” Ronda said, making the word sound dirty. You laughed with your cousins, shaking your head at her. Ronda had the worst luck with women. Last year, one threatened to throw herself into traffic if Ronda didn’t come outside to talk to her. 

You and your cousins merely stared at her through the screen door and dared her to do it. You didn’t really mean it, but the girl was dramatic as hell and too full of herself to actually go through with it. 

“Dare I go check in on the Aunties?” You asked.

There was a resounding, “No!”, that seemed to echo even while outside. You laughed with your cousins. You were feeling restless, though. Anxious. You needed something but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

Maybe it was just the holiday. You took after your mother in the sense that you had a strong need to make sure everybody was okay. Everybody had all their toes and fingers accounted for, no bruises, no yelling, or fighting. If everybody else was okay, then all was right in the world with you. 

But sometimes…you got a little impish. Like you wanted to cause trouble just to see what would happen. You wanted to disrupt the delicate balance of the house and festivities and do something wicked. 

An idea immediately came to mind and you didn’t think twice about it. You said goodbye to your cousins, stepping back into the house to check on your dad. Lately, he had been feeling more winded than usual. More tired. You urged him to go to the doctor, but the relationship between men and hospitals needed to be studied. He avoided it like it was a nail in a coffin. 

Terry sat next to your dad, yelling at the TV with him. He brought his beer to his lush lips and took a deep pull. Your core instantly heated looking at your man. There was precious little he did that didn’t absolutely turn you on. 

He caught you staring and winked at you. You grinned and took out your phone, snapping a quick picture of him. He tilted his head, giving you a look. You stuck your tongue out at him and then checked the score. You found a free recliner opposite your dad and sat down, finally taking the load off.

While everyone was distracted, you quickly sent Terry a text. He checked his smart watch and then glanced at you, furrowing his eyebrows in an unspoken question. You smiled sweetly at him while he dug out his phone and checked your message.

💬 You sent a photo.

“Can Big Daddy come play?”

Terry immediately placed his phone down on his thigh, turning wide eyes towards you. You rocked in the recliner, grinning at him. You had sent a thirst trap to him, one you snapped in the bathroom earlier in the day. You had meant to show him at a later time, maybe while he was at work and needed a pick me up. 

He scooted forward on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his beard and tried to suppress a grin, subtly shaking his head at you. 

You continued to rock, feeling pleased as punch. You tried to see if he was getting hard but he was bent too much forward. The men groaned at the latest ref’s call and you turned to the TV to see the teams setting up for another play. 

You glanced back at Terry who kept his eyes trained on you. When you caught his eye, he narrowed them slightly and then jerked his head towards the stairs. You grinned and got up first, heading up to the second floor that remained off limits to everybody. Less rooms to clean up afterwards. 

The great thing about having a big family was that it was easy to disappear with no one the wiser. You headed upstairs to your childhood bedroom, closing the door behind you. The room was just as you left it in your early twenties when you finally moved out. There was still stuffed animals and an overflowing bookshelf in the corner, a wide dresser stretched underneath your TV, and “grown-up” art on the walls. You sometimes missed the B2K and B5 posters had tacked to your wall for years. 

Anticipation churned in your stomach as you waited for Terry’s quiet footfalls to follow behind you on the shaggy, brown carpet. A moment later, there was a soft knock and then Terry entered, looking behind the door for you. You ushered him in and then closed and locked the door, wrapping your hands around his neck.

He had to bend down slightly so that it wasn’t incredibly awkward for you and he groaned. “You trynna get me killed?” He demanded, stepping back to look you in the face.

You giggled and clasped your hands behind your back. “Whatever do you mean?” You asked. 

Terry smirked and advanced on you, causing you to bite your lip and retreat. He crossed the distance in one second, his long legs carrying him forward. He cupped your neck in both of his warm, strong hands and you moaned, eyes sinking lower now that you were back in his capable hands. 

“You think you slick sendin’ that picture while I was right next to your dad?” He asked.

You giggled again. Ugh, you couldn’t help it. He made you feel so feminine and girly whenever he went all big and strong on you. You were working on being more bold, opening your mouth and asking for what you wanted. But sometimes, you got so twisted up with nerves your mouth didn’t work. 

“Did you like it?” You asked. 

Terry squeezed your neck and you sighed at the pressure. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. “You know I liked it,” he said, glancing down at the front of his pants. You followed his gaze and noticed his dick pressed against the fabric of his jeans. You reached out to rub his bulge. 

He lifted an eyebrow at you. “What’s gotten into you?” He asked.

“I can’t just want my man?” You asked. You continued to rub him, watching as his own eyes drooped. His naturally dark eyelashes nearly fanned his high cheekbones. 

“You know, there is one fantasy I always wanted to act out,” you said, forcing yourself to say the words. Even after years of marriage, Terry made you feel like a school girl with a crush. Guess you could never really shake that bit of shyness from growing up in a loud household and seeking only peace. 

“Is that right,” he murmured. 

“Mhmm. I never really got to have boys in my room growing up,” you said. You blinked up at him with a smile hovering over your lips. Terry lightly squeezed your neck, stepping closer, as you continued to rub him through his jeans. His breathing increased, soft pitfalls loud in your ear because he was so close to you. 

“Am I the first boy in your room?” He asked. 

“Maybe. But don’t get a big head about it,” you said. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. His thumbs rubbed across your pulse points on both sides of your neck, turning you stupid in less than a second. You lost your train of thought as the rough slide of his fingers sent electric zings down to the tips of your toes. Your panties grew damp as you sighed. 

You kept waiting for the honeymoon phase to be over, but after a while, you just accepted that you two were just that intense for each other. Growing up, you saw your grandparents, parents, and extended family all find the love of their lives, each carving out a special relationship with their significant others. 

But it was Auntie Aileen’s marriage that you admired. Sometimes she and her husband seemed to communicate with just a look. Like they were the only two people in the world and everything else was background noise. You wanted and craved that. And by some miracle, you found that with Mr. Terry Richmond. 

“And, there’s a few things that I always wanted to do with a boy in my room if I ever got the chance,” you said. Your hands slipped to his jeans, unbuttoning them and then sliding the zipper down. 

“Mm, I think I like where this is going. You know, I had a similar fantasy,” he said. He smirked as you lowered his jeans enough to get to his boxer briefs. His dick was hot to the touch through the fabric, balls heavy, and you slipped your hand beneath the waistband to get to your prize. 

“Is that so?” You asked, palming his dick. He hissed and then released the sigh in a shudder. You grinned, feeling like the most powerful person ever. Just you gripping him caused a reaction. It was heady and intoxicating and you would never get sick of it. 

“Mhm. See, I always wanted to fuck my wife in her childhood home. Like it was a badge of honor or somethin’,” he said, his voice getting deeper and rougher. 

You shivered. Your panties were practically soaked now. Your pussy throbbed at the thought of you both having similar fantasies. You stepped back from his hands around your neck and then dropped down your knees. 

Terry’s eyebrows lifted as you grinned at him. You pressed your nose into his crotch and nuzzled. Terry sighed, petting your head as you tugged his briefs down to expose the long, thick length of him. 

The tip of his dick swelled, pre-cum already beading. You swiped your tongue out and licked it causing Terry to jerk his hips forward. “As much as I love this, we better hurry before one of the Aunties come looking for you,” he said.

You pouted. He was right. A bunch of girls to choose from to handle anything around the house and somehow it always fell to you. 

You sighed and kissed his dick, making it jump. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll make it up to you later,” you said.

Terry laughed and pleasure zinged through you. You loved pleasing your man. Whether it was making him laugh, checking in on him, or pleasing him during sex, you loved it when you could just make him feel good. 

Terry helped guide his dick into your mouth and you looked up at him while you worked in tandem. He pushed in and you sunk onto his dick, wrapping your lips around him. His hairs tickled your face but you kept your mind focused on making him cum as quickly as possible. 

Little did he know, you were in a competition with yourself to make him bust faster and faster. Maybe it was simply the competitive spirit in you. But you swore you’ve come from just a look from him. Turnabout was only fair play. 

Light from your window illuminated Terry through the slats of the blinds. He tipped his head back, mouth falling open as you worked him over with your tongue and hands. You gripped his base, squeezing how he liked while you took the rest in your mouth.

“Fuuck, this mouth of yours,” he moaned. Your pussy throbbed harder, growing wet from the sounds of his moans, the look of pleasure on his face. His eyes were closed, hands around the back of your head to push your mouth further down. 

You took him in and bobbed your head, really getting into pleasing him. You shifted on your knees and squeezed his dick harder. You moaned around his length, getting lost in the feeling of him throbbing in your mouth. His dick poked your cheek and you teased the tip with your tongue.

“Just like that,” he coached so you did it again. You teased the tip while you sucked him off, loud gawking echoing in your ears. 

Saliva slipped from your mouth and drooped down your chin, letting him slip easier in and out. You increased your ministrations, bobbing in a frenzy, watching for any signs of his discomfort. 

You saw none of that. Instead, his face was twisted in a sexy mix of pleasure and pain. Soft moans escaped his mouth as you kept going, kept trying to take him deeper, kept trying to swallow him whole. 

“Fuckin’ perfect. So fuckin’ perfect with my dick in your mouth,” he cooed. 

You moaned, growing unbearably wet at his words. Your jaw started to ache but you ignored it in favor of wanting to get him off. Wanting him to bust in your mouth. You widened your jaw and he sunk in a little deeper.

He groaned and looked down at you. “I’m finna bust,” he whispered.

You grinned around his dick and kept up what you were doing until he gripped your head and spilled down your throat. His moans were their own aphrodisiac, filling you with pride that you got your man off so quickly. You swallowed his cum, something you were still getting used to, and then continued to suck. 

Terry huffed, hips jerking forward, as he couldn’t decide between laughing and moaning. He had to gently push at your head to make you stop and he eased his dick out. “You must think you’re cute,” he said.

You pinched your thumb and forefinger together. “A little,” you said. 

Terry chuckled, grabbing your hands and helping you stand. He kissed you, gripping your face to his to make you stay. You sighed with a moan, wrapping your arms around him. You made out for a good, long while, soaking up each other’s desperate kisses. 

“My turn,” he whispered against your lips. 

You only had a brief moment to catch the devious, nearly evil look in his eye as he lifted your plain gray T-shirt over your head. He didn’t take it off, instead he just wanted the collar over your head to expose your black, lacy bra. 

He groaned, getting a live view of the sexy picture you sent him earlier. He thumbed your nipples through the bra, making them bead up. He backed you towards your closet door, then dropped his head to suck on your nipples around your bra.

You moaned, gripping the back of his neck. “Oh fuck,” you moaned.

“Shhh. We ain’t trynna get caught ‘cause of your nasty ass,” he said.

“My nasty ass?” You asked with a giggle. 

“Your nasty, sexy, delicious ass, yes,” Terry said in between licking and kissing your titties. He used his index finger in between the cups to lower it, exposing your nipples to his gaze. He tucked the cups of your bra beneath your titties and went back to sucking on them. 

Each suckle sent a wave of heat through your body and if you weren’t careful, you’d turn into a raging inferno right there in your childhood bedroom. Your moans only increased, getting louder the more he worked that glorious, hot tongue on you. 

You wished you had enough time to get your pussy licked on. But you were already pushing the envelope at the moment with so many people just downstairs. Risk of discovery only turned you on more, your pussy clenching around nothing. 

Terry slipped his hand down your leggings and past your underwear, finding you soaked. He paused with your nipple in his mouth. “You got this wet from sucking me off?” He asked with his mouth full. 

You nodded. “Sure did,” you said.

Terry closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “Good to know,” he murmured. 

You didn’t have time to ask him about that because he went back to sucking on your titties while he plunged two fingers into your pussy. You cried out, and he gave you a warning look, before working those long, thick fingers in and out of you.

“I-I didn’t suck you off to get something back,” you whispered. As much as you would like to turn this into a full on session, you were also cognizant of the time. Surely, someone would come looking soon, right? You weren’t exactly subtle heading upstairs. 

“Think I’ma leave my favorite girl like this?” He asked. He emphasized his point by plunging his fingers faster, the squelching of your pussy smacked in the room. 

“Oh, baby. Oh, Terry, please, I’m gonna…unnf,” you moaned as quietly as you were able. 

“That’s okay, baby, you cum on these fingers. You cum all over this fingers f’me,” he murmured, still treating your titties like his favorite meal. He kissed, suckled, and nibbled until you turned into a puddle in his arms.

You were only held up by your hands around his neck and his arms around you. You shook violently, trapping his fingers between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. Terry still managed to wiggle his fingers inside, rubbing against a sweet, sweet spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. 

Your nails dug into his soft sweater and you shivered on your way down from it. Terry kissed and rubbed his beard against your nipples. Was the man trying to kill you? 

He leaned back and smiled at you. “I love the look you give me after you cum,” he said.

You giggled. “What look is that, sir?” You asked.

“Like a well-satiated woman. That’s always my goal,” he said.

You smiled and tilted your hand. “You better be careful talking to me like that. I might think you wanna marry me,” you said.

Terry chuckled. “Oh, I wanna do more than marry you,” he said. He grinned and then gripped the waistband of your leggings and panties. He slid the pants down your legs, his hand traveling behind to rub against your thighs. 

You stared at each other, smiles hovering on your faces, as he got them down to your calves. You stepped out of them and Terry wasted no time picking you up. You yelped as he spread you wide open, hooking your thighs around his waist.

Holding his hand under your ass, he used his other one to guide his dick into your slick heat. Your eyes widened at the glorious, burning stretch as you sank down onto him. Your toes curled as he sank in deeper and deeper, your essence making the trip easy. 

Terry maneuvered his arms under your knees, so that he could easily lift you up and down on his dick. You gripped onto him for dear life, turning wide, panicked eyes to him. You didn’t think he’d drop you, no, your husband was too strong and capable for that. You just felt like you were about to rip apart at the seams and he was the only thing keeping you together. 

“You did say you wanted Big Daddy to come and play, right?” He whispered, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, smooth, and so damn hot you clenched around his dick. He groaned and lifted you off his dick just to sink back in. 

“Don’t be using my words against me,” you said.

“Oh word?” He asked with a grin. All the niceties flew out of the window. He started slamming you up and down on his dick, that stretching burn making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, bringing your face closer to his. You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck and held on while he fucked you, stuffed you, and filled you so completely you felt him all over. He was in your heart, your mind, and your soul, writing his name in the threads of your being. 

“There’s my good girl. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you,” he said.

You whined against his face, peppering him with sloppy kisses. “I love you,” you said.

“I love you, too. I like when you get bold. Let me know you want this dick,” he said. He rubbed his beard against your cheek and you moaned.

“I want it. Please, I want it,” you whispered. 

Knocking drew your attention to your door. You turned wide eyes to Terry who stopped moving. He glanced towards the door. 

“Baby, you in there?” Your mom called out. Your heart beat in double time, fear turning your insides icy.

“What should I do?” You whispered. Okay, you lied, getting caught would suck ass right now. There was no way to explain this to your mom. You just didn’t talk about these things with her. As far as she was concerned, you were married but still a virgin.

“If you don’t answer, she gonna send a search party,” he whispered back.

“Yeah, mom?” You called out. 

“What are you doing in there? Food’s getting ready to be done so I need your help organizing the line,” she said.

“Yes, mommy, I-I wasn’t feeling well so I came to lay down,” you called out. 

“Do you need some medicine? You want me to grab Terry?” She asked. 

Terry grinned and started moving you up and down on his dick again. Your jaw dropped, tummy fluctuating between arousal and fear. The normal butterflies in your stomach were having a field day. 

You slapped at his shoulder to get him to stop. Or quit fucking around. He couldn’t think this was a great idea, making you take his dick like this while talking to your mom. He grinned innocently, moving his lips down back to your nipples to suck.

You closed your eyes, not knowing where to focus your attention. “Uh-no! I’m okay! I’ll be out soon, promise!” Oh, fuck, he hit a good spot inside you and you clutched him to you.

“Alright, better come on. Your Uncle Remy ‘bout to work my damn nerves,” your mother sniffed as she presumably went on down the hallway. 

You gasped and tapped Terry’s shoulder again. Terry answered you with a chuckle and then ended on a moan. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he moaned like it was a glorious revelation. His deep voice skated along your nerve endings, making your tummy flip with desire. 

“Terry, please!” You moaned.

“Big Daddy ain’t finished yet,” he said and nuzzled your neck. He placed kisses there while he pumped his arms, moving you up and down on his dick. Your toes curled once more, fast approaching that train to nirvana. 

“Oh, please, Big Daddy, I can’t take it,” you cried. 

“Sure you can. Cum on this dick so I can fill you up. Let me feel it,” he said into your neck. His groans joined yours, hips jerking into you like he was close as well. “Soak this dick, baby.”

You dropped your head to his shoulder and let the orgasm roll over you like a subway train. You twitched and jerked on him, keening whines and cries filling your room as you lost sound in your right eye. 

Or maybe this was that nirvana you were dreaming of. Maybe you slipped into another plane of existence where your souls danced and entwined for eternity. Either way, Terry’s groans brought you back to this side of existence while he stuffed you full of his cum.

The hot, thick spurts throbbed with his dick, sliding against your inner walls. You cried, feeling overwhelmed and thoroughly fucked out. You both panted and huffed as you came down, gathering your senses post-nut. 

You smiled dopily at your man and he flashed you a beautiful, wide grin. “There’s that look I love so much,” he said.

“You are dangerous,” you said.

He chuckled. “Saying I’m dangerous while your pussy feel this good squeezing my dick. Just say you don’t wanna let go,” he said.

You squeezed his dick and he laughed, lowering you carefully to the floor. Once he slipped out, his cum came rushing out of you and you closed your eyes to enjoy the sensation. Terry suddenly pushed his cum right back in.

“Terry!” You screamed. 

He chuckled. “I can’t help it. I like watching my cum slide out of you,” he said. He planted a kiss on your forehead and you smiled at him while you crossed the room to your dresser. Sometimes, you came to spend the night with your parents to help keep an eye on your dad while your mom got a break.

You grabbed an extra pair of panties and a towel from off of your bed. You cleaned yourself up as best as you were able and then slipped your leggings back on. Thank goodness that a bathroom was directly across from your room. You wouldn’t have to trek far to get fully cleaned up. 

Terry stuffed that dangerous monster back into his jeans. You stood, transfixed, watching him slide the denim over his dick and zip up his pants with a little hop. 

“Happy Thanksgiving, Big Daddy,” you said, admiring your man.

“Happy Thanksgiving, baby,” he said, pulling you into a hug and one final kiss before leaving your room in a cloud of marital bliss.

The end.

I love you all and I'm so thankful for you. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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[strwberri-milk]

hiii! can i request reader asking to take a break from the relationship with the lnds boys? <3

Zayne doesn't understand at all what he did wrong. His first instinct is to try and fix it, ask you to tell him what he's done and how he can be better. He clings desperately to the hope that you mean it - it's just a break. He knows he's been really busy at work but you've never told him you don't understand, in fact, you've been telling him that you're proud of how hard he works.

His instinct will always be to cater to you, so he's going to ignore the way his heart hurts at your request. He'll agree, tell you that it's fine and he understands even though he really doesn't. He finds himself constantly holding himself back from reaching out to you, waiting patiently until the day you come back to him.

He doesn't know how to react. He's angry, sure, but also he doesn't want to do anything that would run the risk of you ensuring things end permanently here. You don't really think he's responding when he just nods and tells you that if that's truly what you want, then he'll let you.

Underlining his words is the slightest anger you can barely recognise. He finds himself wanting to be immature, to bully you into telling him what the problem is. He's already asking you, telling you that he thought things were fine because you never told him otherwise. You'd have to promise him you're coming back, but even during your time apart he finds ways to see you. He might not be talking to you or seeming to make an active effort but you get the sense that someone is trying to keep you safe.

Rafayel flips between anger and desperation. He doesn't know whether to beg or scream at you for leaving him again. You thought that he'd pout, or he'd go off and sulk quietly but the look on his face is one you never thought he'd make. He wants to grab you, hold you and convince you never to go but he's furious that you could even fathom leaving him.

He ends up pushing you away, telling you that if that's really what you want then fine, go take your break away from him. He doesn't seem to care, his feelings burying themselves deep in his chest as a way to desperately hide the truth but he's waiting every day for you to show up at his door again.

Sylus seems aloof. He doesn't say anything, simply raising your brow and asking if you really think that's a good idea. You insist, telling him that things are fine you just need a breather. You thought he'd fight harder but he simply waves you off, telling you that if that's truly how you feel then you should just leave.

To the untrained eye it truly seems like he doesn't care but he's losing his mind, just a bit. He can't stop thinking about you, finding himself beating people with a bit more reckless abandon and taking on bigger risks. His mind reels, constantly trying to figure out what exactly it is he can do to bring you back to him.

[oceantornadoo]

mean!simon riley who’s not someone you’d introduce to your family. he’s a bit cruel, likes to see the bird under him crying or near it, scratching his back. he’s not used to watching his tone or putting in effort, simply doesn’t want to. for some odd reason, though, he wants to with you.

first time he fingers you, he’s a bit too rough, doesn’t understand your body yet. “hurts, simon,” and while usually, he’d fingerfuck someone past the pain, he doesn’t like the tears swelling in your eyes. “i’m sorry, baby.” he kisses your forehead sweetly, pulling back his efforts until you’re sopping wet, welcoming him eagerly. funny how it’s better for the both of you when he takes his time.

he’s half an hour late to a dinner date. took longer to wrap things up on base, and usually he’d cancel the date in favor of his right hand or a try at a pub, but he wants to see you, specifically. simon doesn’t stop to question the why behind it, the way he’s rubbing at a space behind his chest.

when he gets to the restaurant, he catches you leaving, wiping at what suspiciously look like tears. “love.” he calls it out gruffly from far away, noting how your head pops up with hope. “you’re late.” he nods, walking closer until he’s in your orbit. “‘m sorry. forgot to text.” you shake your head, looking back at the restaurant. “the waiter had the most pitying look, si. like i’m just one of those people who gets stood up.” he shushes you, tucking you into him. he’s not used to these soft moments and tries to emulate what he’s seen on a screen. “let’s get some takeaway and eat at mine, yeah? let me make it up to you.” there’s a suspicious weight in his chest that lessens when you give him a small smile. simon decides not to question it. too much mental trouble.

-

more bad date simon at the bottom of this

[leahsgf]

DISTANCE - mcfoord

mcfoord x child!reader | struggles of international duty

the irish countryside was calm and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic, bustling energy of london that you were used to.

despite how much during other moments with you that she craved this peace - katie couldn’t help but frown, feeling like something was off as she sat back into the plush of her latest hotel bed, with you curled into her lap, almost like a cat.

you were silent, something incredibly unusual - the irish woman usually having to race around after you to stop you trying to do something like climb the curtains, or pour all of the drinks from the over expensive mini fridge all over the floor whenever she took you with her to camps.

“you hungry darlin’?” she quizzed as she stroked your hair softly, offering you a tiny square of toast for the third time now, having gone against making you sit with the entire team for breakfast when you were having some….rather big feelings.

“no, don’t wan’ that mammy” you could only muster a sniffle and half audible whine in response, causing your accent (a unique blend of english, australian and irish) to shine through as you bury your face into her chest, clinging on to her shirt.

katie sighed, setting the plate aside, running out of ideas as to what on earth was bugging you. you’d been like this for days, ever since you’d both arrived at ireland camp - grumpy, quiet, and clingy in a way that you usually weren’t - typically being quite the opposite, most often found wreaking absolute havoc for such a tiny person.

at first, she’d assumed it’d been the travel. the sheer amount of driving on top of the flight from london to dublin was a bit much for anyone at times, never mind a two year old who despised the car - but it hadn’t gotten any better after sleeping, even when you’d taken more naps than usual, another red flag, you usually fighting them with all of your might.

“what’s the matter, baby, hm? can you tell mammy?” she whispered softly, pushing a tuft of hair away from your face. your eyes had an almost dullness to them, brimmed with tears as your bottom lip stuck out.

you simply shrugged, slumping into her hold even more as your small hands twisted the hem of her jersey, gripping it like a lifeline.

katie pressed a kiss to your temple, humming in an attempt to comfort you, worry gnawing away at her. whilst at times you very much knew exactly how to use your voice, letting anyone within a mile radius know that you were around, there were other times like this where she was reminded of just how young you actually still were - completely unable to communicate your emotions.

as the day went on nothing changed, even after her training session and she collected you from the mini nursery the squad had set up at camps, where she hoped you’d be back to your usual self, and having made the workers want to rip their hair out like you normally do.

funnily enough, being told that right now would’ve almost comforted her. however, being told that you’d been an absolute angel, and not caused an ounce of trouble knowing her little monster, worried her even more.

that evening that followed went a lot like the morning did, with you clinging to her, flat out refusing to move. it was far past your bed time and you were still wide awake (not helping your mood) - having cried hysterically every time she tried to put you down in your travel cot, or even when she attempted to settle you in ‘the big bed’, something she rarely allowed no matter how much you begged.

she’d settled for the singular option that kept you somewhat chilled, scrolling through pictures on her phone and letting you look, making sure to find ones of your favourite people and things, or funny ones to make you laugh, like the incredible action shot of you and kyra scaring steph in the arsenal locker room, one of coopurr with a tiara, and the one of you sat on katie’s shoulders in the park, a picture that caitlin had taken.

she sighed softly, as she swiped on to the next picture, with caitlin being the one holding you, missing her girlfriend more than ever, especially right now. the aussie always balanced her out, and almost always knew what to do parenting wise in situations like this.

your face crumpled instantly upon seeing that particular photo, kicking slightly as you let out a tiny wail - the long building dam breaking.

“mumma” you sobbed, your little voice breaking.

katie froze, her heart sinking in her chest as realisation slapped her in the face. of course. caitlin wasn’t here, and you were finally old enough to register being apart from your other parent - and miss her, without understanding why she wasn’t with you.

“oh baby girl” she cooed, scooping you into her arms, bouncing you softly.

“you miss mumma, don’t you?”

you could only nod against her chest, tears soaking her shirt as she moved to stand up, pacing the room as she continued to bounce you.

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, mumma loves you so much and is just at work for a few weeks, she misses you too, you’ll see her so soon, yeah?” she held you tightly, her accent thickening as guilt washed over her.

you continued to cry as she pulled her phone out of her short’ pocket, immediately pressing on her girlfriend’s contact - praying that she wasn’t in training or a team meeting, or even that it was the middle of the night or something, her head being so clouded with your current state that she couldn’t even think about what the time difference was.

thankfully (seriously, katie could’ve got down on her knees and thanked the lord) the call connected instantly, caitlin’s beaming face appearing on the screen.

“hi beautif- is everything okay?” her voice sounded through the speaker, registering the sound of your wails mid way through her sentence and frowning softly as katie turned her phone to bring you into view.

“m-mumma” your tears halted immediately when you saw her, whimpering softly and reaching to poke the screen.

“hi my pudding, i miss you so much” caitlin all but melted as you babbled, continuing to prod at katie’s phone screen, your mood instantly perking up.

the latter explained the situation with a frown, as her girlfriend’s expression mirrored her own, brows furrowing with concern. “poor little thing. are you alright babe? it sounds like it’s been rough” she murmured softly.

“i’m bloody knackered, but she seems to be settling a little now - lifesaver” she winked playfully at the aussie, shifting you on her hip as your eyelids flutter shut, exhaustion from the days of pretty much crying all day hitting you. “she misses you. so do i, but i think she’s realising for the first time that you’re not here and can’t grasp why.”

“i’ll figure something out, promise”

-

part two anyone?

[flw3rrr]

I love the idea of sevika with a retired brothel worker. Like they fell in love and sevika got her a job at the last drop or smth.

I also love the idea of mama sevika. I would love to give her a child 😭 so maybe domestic fluff around sevika her wife and their child. Lil' Families are my favorite thing

The bright side of things

Parings: Sevika x Retiredbrothelworker!reader

Warnings: Nothing major, Fluff, just full on FLUFF, No mentions of Y/n, and no description of reader. Sevika trying to seem tough around the kid, but fails. (100% let me know if anything is missed!)

Word count: 1.4k

Not proofread! sorry for any typos. I wrote this at like 2 am....oops

A/n: Thank you so much for this request. I loved this idea so much when I first read it, so I had to do this one immediately! 

(I have so many more amazing requests in my inbox, and I'll get to them soon! Thanks so much again for sending this, and I hope you enjoy it)

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

Ever since you retired from working at the brothel, life seemed more simple and comfortable. Sevika, who you met a few months ago before your retirement, had grown onto you. The way she carried herself whenever she would stride around the building made you burn inside a little.

It all got better when you were told you were booked for an hour. Dreading what kind of person you'd have to entertain or boost their ego to make them feel something, but with a big surprise when your face met with Sevika's, she was leaning back, legs spread open as a cigar sat on her lips. That's how everything started for the both of you.

Sevika offered you a job at the last drop when you first told her of your retirement; it got tiring and exhausting physically and mentally. Your heart melted at her offer and took it immediately. It's something you never in your life thought you would work at, but what can you expect? It's a way better job than working at a brothel, body sore and no break.

You always remember to thank her whenever possible; Sevika isn't the type to show affection in public, so you'd always kiss her on the cheek and lips as a way of thanking her. Sharing each sweet moment with one another in your new shared apartment. The undercity wasn't some fairytale place to grow up, but with her presence, it made you forget everything.

Sevika likes that you took her offer on working at the last drop. She now gets to keep an eye on you, especially when she plays poker, and in the quick moment whenever you'd hand her a drink, your eye's lock on hers every time you hand her the glass, a soft and sweet look. Of course her gaze locks in yours in return, but never softens; she can't let half of the undercity that she's practically on her knees for you.

And this is where the both of you are now, still together and head over heels for one another. The two of you sat on the couch that sat in the small living room; you held a sketchbook, drawing random doodles, never being the professional type, though. Sevika just watches you making a game of her own on trying to guess what you're making or stares very confusingly at it. Everything was quiet and calm until a thump was heard from one of the bedroom doors.

The sound of feet padding against the wooden floor became louder until a small girl appeared with a huge smile on her face. Immediately she decided to join the both of you on the couch, but rather than sit, she began to jump and speak very fast.

"Can I please, please, pleaseee come to work with you, Momma? I want to make drinks with you." Speaking so fast, neither you nor Sevika could comprehend a single word. Glancing at Sevika for a quick moment and back to the child before stopping her from jumping on the couch to avoid any possible injuries.

"Selani, remember what we both said about jumping on the couch? You could get hurt easily." Her smile dropped as she looked at Sevika, who spoke about 'the couch wasn't cheap.' Selani gave a nod in return before sitting herself down onto the couch. Both you and Sevika took Selani in after you both found her alone with nobody near; it broke your heart badly, and with not much nagging, you both quickly became her adoptive parents.

You could tell Sevika cared for her just as much as you did, catching moments between the both of them, Selani play fighting with Sevika, who obviously would go easy on the kid knowing her strength would accidentally crush or break a bone. Or whenever Sevika's arm needed to be repaired or a quick fix, Selani was standing right by her, being the best helper.

Slowly shaking your head, sitting down by Sevika once more, both of you would take Selani with you to the last drop, as you had nobody to watch over her. Thank goodness for Jinx sometimes, but you never wanted to pressure her watching over some kid, but she always proves you wrong when Selani is gone, in seconds walking away with Jinx to do whatever.

Sevika did whatever Silco wanted her to do, whether it be cleaning up one of his messes with people or looking scary behind him. But she is graced with time to herself, which is usually at the table playing poker. You'd always say her playing poker was a show just for you because you got to watch her from afar enjoying the smirk her face always held as the other players held a look of defeat.

"You lucked out, kid; none of us are going today." Sevika spoke up, breaking you out of your train of thought. Selani frowned at the news of not going out. She always wanted to be out exploring or at the last drop, whether it be with Jinx or sneaking away and somehow finding Silco and bothering him; he seemed to not mind, you hoped.

"What? Why not?!" Crossing her little arms in frustration, both of her eyebrows slanted. That is the start of a tantrum you've grown to learn from the years you took her in--not fun at all, you remembered. It took both of you time to learn how to be parents to a child, having no prior experience, though Sevika had a tiny bit from when Jinx was younger.

Sevika let out a huge sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose before looking back up at Selani. "Because we both got the day off, and you usually take those for granted, trust me, kid." Selani's gaze just stared at the both of you; confusion covered her face. The both of you never had a day off, so why now all of a sudden? Adjusting your body to sit more straight, you faced her directly, a soft smile placed on your face knowing it's good to talk to her straightforwardly with a few restrictions but to help her feel more validated and that she had your attention.

"It's a good thing not to worry, Selani; it just means me and Sevika have the whole day with you to play or cook, even just relax if you wanted." As soon as those words left your mouth, her face lit up as if she saw a whole pile of candy with a sign that said free. "Really!" A toothy grin appeared with one missing front tooth. Giving her a nod, she immediately shot up, running over to the both of you.

Once she was in front of you both, you could tell many ideas of games were filling her little mind. Taking both of your hands, making you stand. "Do you guys have any game ideas?" Selani asked, pride filled within you, teaching her to always ask her friends if they had any ideas before doing all of hers to ensure a fair game. Within a second, Sevika tapped her shoulder before dragging you away, running. "Your it!" is what you had managed to comprehend.

"That's cheating!" Selani yelled, her laugh heard behind you as you both ran. Now ending up in your shared room with Sevika, you purposely slowed down, letting Selani catch up and tap you. Quietly, you both teamed up to get Sevika and corner her. She went in the other room first, then you followed behind.

Immediately, Selani ran at Sevika, jumping on her; following Selani's actions, avoiding hitting them both, the three of you land onto the bed. Laughter could be heard throughout the whole apartment. And if it was heard by anyone, they would only think how happy you all are. This was your safe spot, where happiness is the love of your life and beloved child. 

Sevika carefully flipped Selani over the bed, and a game of play fighting began. You watched to make sure they both didn't get hurt, and to your surprise, Selani pulled the kick method. "You called what I did cheating. What you're doing is cheating!" She joked, a smile plastered on her face as she managed to get ahold of Selani.

In a moment, Selani whispered something to Sevika, and a grin grew as they both slowly turned to look at you. "Uh oh, what's going on?" With a blink of an eye, they both grabbed you, landing back onto the bed, Selani tickled you on your stomach.

Even if your laughs filled the room, your thoughts only held on how much you adored this moment and would cherish it forever.

Life for you got automatically better and brighter once they both entered your life, and you'd never trade it away.

[monzamash]

★ bargain bin — lando norris

coming clean part II lando norris x you —no warnings, just angst (the spice will be back next time, i promise) read part I here requested by anon; "sex while there is the background noise of a rainstorm outside"

“you can only come in if you promise we’re not going to fight.”

lando nodded, eyes soft. he looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. you didn't know that he had only flown home from a triple header yesterday, you swore once the break up happened that you wouldn't worry about him anymore. but of course you did, secretly checking the race results, betrayed by your curiosity.

“the last thing i want is to fight with you,” he replied, barely above a whisper as you took a step to the side and allowed him into your apartment. 

he was dripping wet from the storm outside, immediately ditching the bomber jacket hanging from his shoulders and kicking off the boots covered in your freshly cut lawn. he was apologetic about bringing the rain into your quaint apartment — he felt safer here than in his own place in monaco. he hated it there now, without you, swearing up and down that nothing but resentment and pain lived in those hallowed walls. 

seeing him in the flesh felt different to what you expected. your heart clenched as he leaned against your couch, hands stuffed into his hoodie and dishevelled curls sweeping across his furrowed forehead. being in the same room for the first time in months changed everything, all the fears you’d built up in your mind melted away and the deep regret of letting go of someone so kind and generous churned in your stomach. 

“you look tired, lan.” 

the nickname caught his attention, eyes locking in on your expression to see how genuine you were — hoping to god you were giving him the same look you gave when you were together. 

“i don’t even know how i managed to drive over here to be honest — just can’t sleep anymore,” lando grumbled, feet shuffling on your carpet. 

“then we should go to bed…” 

his eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion, “wha- are you… are you sure?” 

you nodded and reached out for his hand, “come on.” 

lando followed closely behind, heart thumping in his chest as you closed the bedroom door and walked to your closet, “i still have some of your clothes here,” you whispered, handing him a baggy shirt and a pair of shorts.

“thank you…” he managed to squeak out, tears slightly forming in his eyes, “you always look after me better than anyone else.” 

“i know you’d do the same for me if i was struggling,” you stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world as you exited the bathroom in your pyjamas. 

lando sighed and held his tongue. all he wanted to do was tell you how beautiful you looked and how much he appreciated your caring nature. instead, he crawled into bed beside you and rested his weary head on the pillow. the sound of the thundering storm outside your window would have been enough to lull him to sleep, especially with the warmth of your body so close to his. but he didn’t want to sleep, not with so many thoughts swirling around his busy mind.

“how have you been?” he asked, causing you to look over at him with a chuckle.

“i thought you were tired…”

lando shrugged and attempted to disguise his small smile, “i was but like i said in my text — i miss you a lot. miss talking to you and hearing your voice…”

“sounds like you’re down bad.”

“so bad.” he quipped back, shuffling closer to you like a magnet. 

you shook your head and turned onto your side to face him completely, “i miss you too.” 

“yeah?” he almost sounded shocked, playfully so but there was a hint of genuine scepticism in his cracking voice.

“yeah. miss a lot of things about you…”

“like what?” he taunted. 

“just shut up and kiss me, you dork.”

lando didn’t need to be told twice as he closed the small space between you, scooping your waist into his arms and holding you tight. your noses bumped before your lips made contact, making your both giggle as he kissed you into the mountain of pillows.

a loud crack of lightning outside your window made you jump, instinctively pulling him even closer than humanely possible as his lips travelled down your neck — the rumbling of thunder murmured in sync with your heart beat. it felt like the first time you’d met all those years ago, so young and stupidly in love. 

“i love being with you during storms like this… makes me feel safe.”

“i’ve got you and i’m not going anywhere.” he reassured sweetly in a whisper.  you sighed in relief, relaxing into his touch while bringing his face up to yours with shaky hands. there was a nervous surge of energy when you looked into his sparkling green eyes, slightly darkened by the dimly lit room— you believed every word he had said that night and sealed it with a kiss, slowly melting into the covers as he made you feel like you were the only woman in the world.

a/n — very rarely does this happen but the spice would not come to me for this one. i feel like the vibe just felt different and honestly, i don't know how to feel about it hahaha i realised a long time ago that writing angst doesn't come naturally even though i'm a moody bitch - maybe it's because writing is my escapism lol #end of (f1) season sale!! —see what other customers are buying ✨

[neostellarjpg]

inner mono-dialogue

the more time i spend being davepeta with you the more i realize almost every single problem in my life was caused by my obsession with being this unfeeling cool dude

but youre cool already

like in the way that actually matters

youre chill and friendly and just nice and thats all there is to it

youre shamelessly yourself even if everybody around you is a jackass and gives you shit for it

youre similar to jade and john in that way

i really envied that about them

but its different actually being at the control panel and feeling where that earnesty comes from

it makes me wanna match your energy and keep that pawsitivity ball rolling even if it ends up being weird or cringe or whatever

fuck man do you know how exhausting it is building yourself social hoops to leap through all the time and when you trip up even once its suddenly the end of the world

what kinda dumbass does that its like dealing with life in hard mode for no reward

fuck that noise

i like your way better

Nepeta's heart burns and shines inside you.

:33 < thank you :))

:33 < but you know

:33 < i dont think doing things your way is unrewarding

:33 < its like

:33 < a shield!

Dave scrunches up with discomfort.

X33 < i dont mean that in an insulting way!

:33 < the fact is that shields are just purractical sometimes

:33 < it doesnt make you cowardly to hide behind one

:33 < in the same way that it isnt cowardly for a predator to hide in the bushes when stalking prey

:33 < its just a way to make sure you dont get hurt!

:33 < purrsonally i found shields too cumbersome

X33 < im a hunter after all!

:33 < and i guess maybe the same goes for my personality

:33 < its not really that im purrticularly brave for being myself

:33 < i just didnt have a say in the matter in the furst place!

:33 < honestly if i had a choice i would have loved to be more like you dave

:33 < you can befriend people almost effortlessly

:33 < and its beclaws youre also just a nice person

Dave recoils in surprise, but Nepeta passionately pushes forward.

:33 < fur real! i f33l it inside you! theres a really strong sense of empathy there

:33 < its just like mine! just smarter, and a bit more analytical

:33 < whenever we encounter someone mew, its like i f33l you lock onto them, and you gather so many insights into their purrsonality without even trying

:33 < and you can use that to bond with others without giving every part of you away

:33 < which unfortunately

:(( < i never really knew how to do

Nepeta sours with unpleasant feelings. Your brows scrunch together with both pain and sympathy.

Nepeta has a big and complex heart. She tried her best to keep it from spilling over, but it always did in the end. And it was embarrassing. It was embarrassing when your friends dismissed your hobbies or focused in on your strange quirks. It was embarrassing when they revealed they knew about your crush on Karkat that you'd worked so hard to hide. And it hurt whenever he would say mean things about you. He and anyone else.

But you always puffed out your chest and sucked it up. You stuck to your guns no matter what. Because it was fun! The things you liked, the people you liked, were fun, and they made you feel good. Why couldn't anyone else see that? And why did it seem like they never gave a single thought to who you were?

You curl in on yourself. Your chest hurts. You suddenly really miss Equius.

And you miss Rose. You miss Jade. You miss John and Karkat and Aradia and Tavros and Terezi and all the others. You miss all the people you can go outside and see whenever you wish, and you miss all the people that you have no hope of ever seeing again. You feel the choral echo of all the times you've ever felt this need for comfort, this thrumming pain searing hot inside you, like hunger wracking your stomach.

You clench your teeth. You remember being on your bed, curled in blankets, not having eaten a proper meal in days. You remember holding your stomach and sneaking to the kitchen, turning your shoulder at every step to look fearfully behind you, only for your fingers to falter hopelessly on the handle of the refrigerator, knowing there was nothing for you inside.

You shake with anger. You know that feeling. The feeling of being chased by something much bigger than you, a hulking silhouette of menacing strength following your scent through the thicket. You'd clutched a beast carcass to your chest, barely breathing as you stalked clumsily through the trees, performance wavering from exhaustion and hunger.

You'd almost died. You'd almost died often. And then after escaping death so many times, it one day claimed you. Casually. Unflinchingly. And the world beat on without you, leaving you stunned by your own insignificance. You'd looked out onto every preceding moment of your life, wondering if there was anything to truly be proud of in the face of your friends accomplishing all these fantastical things. You'd felt lonely before, but after that, you were truly walled off from every single person you knew.

And now, despite everything, you're alive again. Twofold, together with someone.

A warmth coats the ache inside your body. The two parts of you swirl together, feeling and tasting each other, trying to understand themselves.

It feels like a hug.

[chithereader]

losing my cool / aaron hotchner

part 2 to playing it cool !!! hope you like it word count: 1.6k pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader genre: angst at first, but fluff!!!!!! cw: more sickeningly sweet and soft aaron x reader, mentions of insecurities

The smile on Aaron’s face slowly fades as he takes in your frozen stance. You’re staring at him like he just shot you in the back and worry starts to fill him, “Honey..?” waving his hand in front of your face, hoping it would be enough to break you out of your stupor. 

 “Hello?” Still waving his hand in your face, your eyes darted to his. Your body is in a state of shock– in your mind, there’s a tiny version of you desperately digging her way out of a landslide of disbelief. Waves and waves of doubts and insecurities hindering you from processing what is happening. 

Aaron watches as your mouth moves with barely any sound coming out. Like a fish out of water, you’re scrambling, “W-what?” That’s… a bit too shaky to be good. 

He pauses to think. The doubts are starting to creep up on him. 

Maybe he was too rash with his question. 

Maybe that wasn’t the best way to spring it on you. 

Maybe he should have waited for a better time.

Maybe he should have planned something. 

Maybe she isn’t ready.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to marry me. 

He tries hard to swallow all these dark thoughts, clearing his throat to fake the confidence that’s slowly diminishing, “I said, ‘Marry me.’” After he says those words again he stills, hoping that this time he’ll get an answer. And that.. it would be the answer he so badly wants. 

But time slows down and his heart soon follows as he watches tears start to pool in your eyes. You’re shaking your head– they’re tiny shakes and you look panicked. This isn’t good. Not good at all. 

He really wasn’t expecting this. It never occurred to him you’d say no. Or ..not yes. Aaron’s mind is running a million miles per hour. He doesn’t know what to do, or say. He barely even knows how he feels. And so he defaults to doing the one thing he does best (as a prosecutor at least): object. 

This is triggered by your movement. You move around him, leaving the kitchen towards your living room. Your goal was to sit on the couch, craving some stability as your legs get weaker the more you’re processing what was asked, how you reacted, and how it could be coming across. 

But Aaron’s legs are longer than yours. Before you even reach the couch, he’s holding your arm firmly and gently at the same time. He’s got that furrow in his brows that makes him look stern, but his eyes betray him as you can clearly see the worry in them. 

“Well yes!” he says in disagreement. He doesn’t understand why you haven’t said yes, and as much as he isn’t the kind of man to ever force a lady into anything, a part of him is scared of what he’ll hear if he asks you why you’re not saying yes. 

Though instead of allowing that fear to paralyze him, he allows it to control him. To bear its face because the softer, more rational part of him is hiding. 

You’re avoiding his gaze, crossing your arms– you’re turning away from him. “No- Aaron, you– I don– I ca–” 

You know he’s studying you. You can feel his eyes roaming your face, your neck, your body. He’s taking in everything he can because you’ve given him absolutely nothing so far. And oh how you wish you could voice it all out. 

You just wish it was easy to say I don’t think I’m enough for you. What if you realize one day that I’m not good enough? Are you sure? Are you sure about this? About me? What if you start to want someone smarter? Prettier? Hotter? What if you want someone who is as accomplished or important as you? What if you get bored of me? What if– 

You’re broken out of your thoughts when he suddenly straightens. He looks as if he’s realized something and the next thing you know you’re hit by a gust of wind because he’s running up the stairs. 

Within an instant you run after him. A dozen scenarios are running through your head, the worst being Aaron packing your things because he’s going to ask you to leave. Your heart beats faster as you reach the top of the steps. You peek into your room and see him rummaging through drawers. 

Your worries quiet significantly when you realize they’re his drawers. And just when you’re about to approach him, he turns around meeting you halfway. You’re both illuminated by the sunlight that’s coming through the bedroom window you’re standing in front of. 

He’s still. He’s got a serious look on his face. You take him in, trying to read him but he’s got his profiler look on– unreadable and determined. His voice rattles you, “I’m sorry. That was a mistake.” Firm and devoid of any emotion. 

Oh god.

You’re shaking your head, reaching to hold him by his arms. You start to cry, “Aaron please, that’s not what I–” but… he’s going down on one knee. 

What?

He watched multiple emotions flicker on your face. Defeat, panic, confusion– “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said that. I– I planned to do it better than that. I don’t know why I let it slip out, you deserve better than that.” 

Before you can process it, Aaron’s holding out a ring. He’s holding your hand in the other while tears are streaming down both your faces. You have no idea how you heard it but you guess it’s simply a testament to how attuned you are to him when he whispers, “Please, please, please. Will you marry me, honey?” 

Time stops. Literally. You can feel your heart in your chest beating louder, heavier. It’s pounding as if begging to be heard. Begging to let Aaron know that it beats for him and him only. You’re lowering yourself to kneel before him. You want to see his face properly. His eyes. His nose. His lips. This is the man you love. This is the man you want to marry. Your eyes are simply capturing every angle of this moment. 

You’re leveled now. Equals. You grab both his hands in yours and you stare into his brown eyes. You want him to know you mean it, as you nod your head slowly and breathe out, “Yes.” A smile breaks across his face, tears starting to stream again. 

You watch him as he tries to put the ring on your finger, getting it on the first try even if his sight is slightly hindered by his tears of happiness and relief. The sun makes the ring sparkle, catching your attention and you look at it properly for the first time. 

It’s beautiful. Aaron would argue that the stone screams you – grace, loyalty, peace. He catches your eye and the both of you start to smile. You start to giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck while his arms snake around your waist. 

He buries his head in your neck, breathing in your scent while silently thanking the heavens for granting him this. You break apart, startled to hear tiny footsteps nearing. The both of you start to stand up from the floor, straightening yourselves out and wiping the remaining tears staining your faces. 

You both look to the door, waiting for the little boy to show himself. You hear a soft knock right before the door opens slowly, a head peeking in, “Daddy?” 

Aaron goes to the door, opening it more for Jack to come in. The little boy goes straight to you and you pick him up in your arms with ease, resting him on your hip. You have your left hand holding him stable, and even though the little boy’s still groggy with sleep he notices the sparkling addition to your hand. 

You take notice of how his little face lights up in excitement and you have no idea what about it he understands, “I help Daddy buy you that!” His voice is full of pride, genuinely proud that he had played a part in picking. 

You’re confused, not fully understanding what Jack means. Looking to Aaron for an answer, you’re surprised to find him blushing. He looks shy and he’s shrugging at you but you can tell he’s trying hard to play it cool. The smile fighting its way on his face betrays him. 

You decide to take your chance on the adorable kid that is now fiddling with your ring, watching in amazement at how much it’s twinkling in the light. Children are the most honest people you know anyway. Pursing your lips with squinted eyes, you investigate “What do you mean, bubba?” 

“Daddy asked me what ring pop you want, so I asked you when we watched Spiderman and you said your favorite is the green one so I tell Daddy you want the green one!” 

Your heart stutters and the tears start coming in again. Aaron asking Jack for his opinion for your engagement ring. Jack thinking it's a ring pop. Jack asking for your favorite ring pop flavor. Jack being proud that you got the ring you want, pop or not. 

Brought out of your thoughts by Jack wanting to leave your hold, you put him down. You watch as he happily walks out of your room, presumably to go to the kitchen. You look at Aaron again, and just as you’re about to say something about what you just found out, you realize one thing. Spiderman.

You gasp. Covering your mouth in surprise, you slap his arm lightly, “That was our third date!”

Aaron laughs loudly, rushing out of the room before you can throw questions at him or even comments about how insane he is. He couldn’t care less. He was right. 

a/n: just want to say thank you so much for the love and support i've been getting for my hotch fics!! as someone who's new here, it all means so much to me <33 i recently made a masterlist as i plan to write so much more and branch out to other characters i've been perpetually in love with!! leave requests of what you want to read or characters i can write about, i'd love to write for you guys ◡̈ tagging the people who wanted a part 2 for this: @pear-1206 @dedicatedfangirl2001 u guys are so sweet

[maplemonarchy]

Honestly, my hope would be finding ways to prevent things from spreading diseases. Like, if we could make mosquitos stop spreading malaria, that'd be pretty banger. They can still bite us and stuff, but making it so they can't carry and spread those diseases would also be nice. Like, if we're going to meddle, that's probably to the extent that I'd be okay with. Even then, I'd rather we just find ways to better treat human populations to stop the spread of disease.

Driving species to extinction because we don't like them/they don't contribute anything is bad and is also the reason that we don't have Passenger Pigeons, Tasmanian Tigers, or multiple subspecies of wolves anymore. Just because you don't like them, doesn't mean they don't matter. Yellowstone is a famous example that the re-introduction of wolves to an ecosystem they were eliminated from has had positive affects on multiple species. Flora, fauna, and fungi flourished the area the wolves were re-introduced to.

We also shouldn't be driving species to extinction that we do like either, just to make that clear.

[innerfare]

Apologizing To You 

Summary: How do they apologize to you? (Similar to Fighting and Making Up but oh well.)

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy: 

You thought it would be more difficult to get Luffy to apologize considering he’s not above bickering and arguing and can be so freaking stubborn. But the thing is, Luffy’s emotional intelligence is through the roof and he always senses when you’re really hurting. That being said, he thinks it’s important for you to say so, so he won’t just do it. If you ask, though, he won’t hesitate. He might even grin and ask you why you took so long. 

Zoro: 

For the most part, he’s not one to apologize. He’s incredibly stubborn and doesn’t let those words leave his lips easily, to the point you’ve had several arguments that were far bigger than they should have been. He’s a stubborn bastard, and he’s very proud. He’s also opposed to giving gifts as an apology as he thinks that cheapens it. When he does feel the need to apologize, he’ll do so verbally and quite simply (and privately, for his pride); he would really never do anything to you that would require anything beyond that. 

Sanji: 

You need only ask. Sanji would do anything for you, even swallow his pride. In fact, he’s so quick to apologize, he sometimes tries to speed run the process and might even get his feelings a little hurt if he’s ready to apologize but you’re not ready to accept it yet, but he’s mature enough not to let that turn into another fight. He’s also one to show up outside your window with a bouquet of flowers or another gift to sweeten the deal. He’ll apologize even if you were in the wrong just to jumpstart the making up process. 

Ace: 

Arguing is tough for him, but so is apologizing- not necessarily because he’s too proud to admit when he’s wrong, but because he’s too scared. He fears admitting that he was wrong will cause you to leave him, and this insecurity can be difficult to navigate. He usually ends up shutting you out rather than rushing over to you to apologize, but once you do approach him, usually offering something to eat as a peace offering, he’ll quickly accept fault and apologize for anything and everything. 

Sabo: 

Such a sweetheart but also competitive. You’re the only one (except his brothers, maybe) who knows just how attentive and caring Sabo can be, a far cry from the reckless young man who never seems to listen to a word anyone says, and you’re most likely to experience it after a fight. The two of you have a chosen spot- a pink peach tree on Momoiro Island- and it’s usually Sabo who finds himself waiting there (let’s face it, he’s more likely to say something insensitive than you are). He usually apologizes with a sheepish grin and a peach he plucked from the tree. 

Law: 

Attempting to wring an apology out of him is no good. He has to do it in his own time, and he will, usually no more than two or three days. He prefers to do it under the cover of darkness, without any eyes watching or ears listening except yours, climbing into bed beside you and muttering an apology into your ear, pressing warm kisses into your hand until you melt and are receptive enough to forgive him. Also not opposed to writing an apology on a scrap of paper and slipping it into the book you’ve been reading because he communicates much better that way.

Kid: 

Really not one for heartfelt apologies. Also not one to notice he did something wrong. Eventually he’ll notice you’re upset, but only because you haven’t been sitting in his workshop as much, and kicked him when he rolled on top of you in his sleep. But he’s at a complete loss as to why and ends up snapping at you over it. When you tell him what’s wrong, he’ll grunt out an apology and probably propose you work out your frustration on him in a way that’s enjoyable for you both. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[soobnny]

it takes two — hyunjin x reader ; comfort fic where he helps you shower due to ur inability to after you’d accidentally wounded yourself (1.1k words)

prompt is very specific but i hope u enjoy

You’re starting to get annoyed.

The gash on the palm of your dominant hand has been keeping you idle. You stare at it with bitter eyes, and while hard to admit, there is self-awareness that you’d done this to yourself.

Had you listened to Hyunjin, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place, but no. You just had to think that cooking at midnight would be a good idea.

It’s a hard pill to swallow. Your best friend was right, you shouldn’t have done it, but you do not want to live in a world where Hwang Hyunjin is right. The ringing of his “I told you so’s” is already echoing in your ears, just like they’d done before, and just like they will in the following years.

But, right now, you’re really starting to get annoyed.

It’s your second fruitless attempt at a shower, but no matter how hard you try, the sting on your hand is too painful to bypass.

The bathroom tiles are tauntingly cold against your feet, and there’s frustration squeezing at your sternum and clenching your chest.

You feel like crying.

It’s how Hyunjin finds you half an hour later, still fully clothed, knees pressed to your chest and face twisted in a sob. Forgetfulness is a feat you’d always had (Hyunjin always had to set up reminders on your phone so you’d remember), and you were too upset at not being able to do anything to recall that your best friend was coming over.

“Hey, hey, why are you crying? What’s wrong?” There’s a prominent furrow to his brows as he rushes to sit beside you, voice laced with concern, yet soft enough to not startle you. He knows it’ll only make you cry more.

“I know I should’ve listened to you. I know.” Your voice wavers. “But I just want to shower. I haven’t been able to do anything today because of this stupid wound, and I just… I just want to shower.”

Hyunjin scoots towards you, taking your hand in his. He’s careful not to touch your scar, and your face twitches at the sight. “Have you cleaned it? Does it hurt a lot?”

You nod, bowing your head to press against your knees so you won’t have to look at him. You prepare yourself to be scolded, but it never comes. Instead, he finds a way to pick you up. You’re overwhelmed by his sudden scent.

“What are you doing?” You say through sniffles and quivering teeth.

“Are you okay with your clothes being wet?”

“What?”

He sucks in a breath. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

At his words, you only weep harder. Hyunjin’s never been the type to do anything remotely close to this. Disdain has always dripped down his tongue when his friends would ask him to do anything that involved levels of intimacy, but here he was.

That usual disdain is absent.

“Hey, stop crying.” He whispers, lips fighting a frown at the sight of your droopy nose and your red, puffed out eyes. “Please.”

He carefully sits you in your bathtub, circling around your bathroom so he can collect the things he’d be needing. It doesn’t take a minute before he’s squatting right in front of you. “Is this okay?”

You can only nod.

Hyunjin starts running your bath, making sure your injured hand is out of contact with the water. “Just keep it out here for now, okay? Just so it doesn’t sting. I’ll clean it again after I wash your hair.”

He’s gentle with you as he wets your hair, fingers threading through the strands. He does this for a while until he’s smoothened it out. He knows how much it can hurt when it tangles.

You hear the sound of a bottle uncapping, and then his hands are back on your scalp, massaging the shampoo into your hair. It feels nice—contrasting to the frustration you’d felt earlier. You’ve almost forgotten why you were so upset. You can only feel his fingers through your hair and the comfort that is distinguishably the presence of your best friend.

“Does that feel better?” Hyunjin asks, eyes soft as he looks at you. His fingers don’t stop digging into your scalp, but it seems that everything else in the room stops when he looks at you like this, when there’s nothing else to hear but your heartbeat and the water running.

There’s a twist in your stomach that had been in your chest earlier. You don’t know what it is.

“Better.” You mumble, and there’s a faint smile on his lips when he hears you.

When enough time passes, he uses your dipper to rinse the foam from your hair. It feels vulnerable, sitting in your bathtub while Hyunjin washes your hair. You’ve never done this before, and there is warmth sitting where shame should be.

You never feel embarrassed around him.

Similarly, Hyunjin faces his own dilemma. He didn’t think about it when he made the offer. All he knew was that his own heart felt like breaking when he saw you crying, and he’d do anything to alleviate your pain. It came over instinctively, like it was the right thing to do.

Ah, my feelings are a lot more than I thought, he thinks.

It was inevitable. It had grown little by little. A smile here, a laugh there. He just never thought he would willingly give up his indifference for the touch of someone else so easily. But it was you, and it will always be you. You are the first introduction of what craving feels like. Every small touch from you is electrifying, and Hyunjin feels himself allowing more room for intimacy as long as it was you.

“I’m gonna wash your face now, okay?” Smooth hands cup your cheeks, moving your head from side to side so he can spread the cleanser evenly on your face. He mirrors the way he applies it on himself, fingers moving in circles and rubbing as gently as possible. “Close your eyes.”

He’s a lot closer now, and Hyunjin feels his breath hitch as he rinses the foam from your face.

“This might hurt a little, okay?”

He dips a cloth into some water, taking your hand and letting it rest on his palm before dabbing it on your hand. You wince at the contact, the sting is as sharp as you remember it being, but the contrast in which Hyunjin treats it dulls the pain a little. While his hands are firm, there’s a softness to his touch that you can’t quite explain.

Your pupils blow up when he meets your eyes. “How are you feeling now?” He asks.

You know it’s over, but you want to stay in the water a little longer.

“Thank you.” It’s not the appropriate response, but it says everything it needs to. There is still that unidentifiable feeling at the pit of your stomach.

He can only smile. His brain hates to bear witness to the romance that’s playing in his head.

So, he lets his heart beat instead.