#some vomit references

[jenna-louise-jamie]

thinking about yassen gregorovich instead of sleeping (because i love him) and how he is a catalyst. yassen stabbs ash -> ash kills john rider -> ian rider raises alex -> yassen kills ian rider -> mi6 blackmails alex into becoming a teenage spy.

i have so many thoughts that i can't properly articulate. obviously this is a simplified chain of events, but yassen and his choices set off a chain reaction of the world's most unfortunate dominos. especially when you read russian roulette. to be clear im not necessarily trying to blame him for everything because that feels very mean. he was also just a 14 year old kid when everything in his life went wrong, just like alex. only difference being yassen literally had no one.

i think i should write an essay about this because i haven't even gotten into my thoughts about what yassen and alex's dynamic would look like past eagle strike. i would imagine it'd be similar to ellie and joel from the last of us part 2.

where obviously yassen loves alex and alex on some level cares for yassen back but struggles to reconcile that with the fact that yassen is responsible for his uncle's death. a very unforgivable act. it would be so messy and complicated and angsty, because on one hand here is an adult who truly cares about him and has a connection with him through his father. yassen could tell alex about john, and trust that yassen truly wants whats best for him. but he killed ian, and he cannot take that back.

while alex reels from those feelings, yassen is also trying to reconcile his love of alex with the knowledge that he on some level is responsible for the suffering alex endured at the hands of mi6. and possibly even the fact that alex's godfather is the one who killed john and helen.

[sparring-spirals]

There is a universe in which i was caught up properly on CR whenever what the fuck went down and Imogen verbally and definitively declared that- after everything leading up to this and the back and forth and indecision- that she'd be willing to take down her mom if need be. and i would have been deeply insufferable and writing 20+ separate meta posts and liveblog yelling posts and shitposts. This is not that universe so instead we will put this post here where i can have wildly uninformed (aka 20 eps behind) Emotions about it until someday i actually catch up.

(I know. i accidentally wrote potentially wildly off base/deeply out of date meta again. what can i say. i like shaking the concept of An Imogen (even if it is Outdated Imogen) in a jar. sorry.)

Because i was watching long enough, I think, to see Imogen in the throes of the hope for something better, to understand that Imogen was viewing her mom was a figure and an idea and an answer, that would make things easier. Her mom was- gone, so early. And so her mom, in her mind, was not a person she was an idea, and there was so much hinged on that! Dogged determination and anger at her father and a deep seated dislike of the powers in her hands and head even as they gave her a guilty rush. There were promises there that maybe no one else had made, but Imogen believed. Things built up. Expectations made. Lore crafted, even unconsciously, around someone who was, yes, important to Imogen, but more importantly: Missing. Gone. A blank slate to be filled in. A promise of an answer guide to open questions.

And then she meets her mom, and Liliana Temult goes from a figure to a person- with all the bells and whistles and rough edges. She meets her mom and her mom turns her away. Tells her to run. Tells her she should go. Tells her to leave.

And Imogen doesn't. In the same way she kept visiting libraries, keps asking, kept pushing for answers when it was just about her magic and her headaches and the voices. Imogen always, always wants to know. She keeps digging, she keeps trying, she reaches out, over and over and keeps trying to touch this figure in mist until she's real under her hands, and. Evidence piles up- of deeds gone wrong, blood on her hands, a figure standing next to Otohan (her friends bodies scattered, lifeless, around Otohan). She keeps reaching out, keeps trying, and is rebuffed, over and over. Things get worse and the skies get redder and magic goes dead and she's still- unsure, because what if there's a better reason, what if there's a better way, there has to be a reason, why. There has to be, right- maybe if- maybe. Maybe-

Its just like- a person as an idea. As a symbol. As a promise. One you build yourself up around and towards. One you talk about, not talk to.

And then the fog clears, and they are a human.

(And she's your mom, and she's not what you imagined. She's done you wrong. She's done your loved ones wrong. She's hurt you. She's hurt others. She's going to keep hurting you. She is going to keep hurting everyone. She is too far gone to reason with. She is not listening to you. She is flawed. She is. dangerous. She looks so much like you. You look just like her. You are so similar. You have always known you were similar. You always hoped. You.

Are not her. You are not hers. She is not yours. She is not who you thought she was. She was always someone else. So are you.)

Imogen walks through the bases pretending to be her mother. Liliana is a known face- a powerful one, a figure people fear. A well known silhouette. Imogen slips into the shadows of it, sometimes, when it serves her, but we know- she knows- its all an act. All a lie.

Liliana, after all, is alive, and well, making choices that she believes in and fighting for things with a dogged determination maybe only matched by her daughter.

Imogen knows this. I think. There's a part of her that maybe wishes that wasn't the case.

"There is no loyalty with this blood." And after all- only living people bleed.

[chronal-anomaly]

Thinking about recalls and the automatic recall function on the accelerator. How the accelerator alone burns so much energy, but especially after Recalls is when it hits the worse.

Basic, easy recalls come with routine side effects. Exhaustion, after too many, hunger, dehydration in some cases. Not unlike going for a moderate jog. While she doesn't like to recall in training, she will, and that's usually when you see these the most.

The side effects worsen a bit more when it's more of an extreme recall, occuring either after a long recall or an automatic one following a fatal blow. It will trigger milliseconds before she would die, sending her back anywhere from 3-10 seconds before whatever it was that would kill her (explosion, bullet wound, etc). It's not an exact science, but it usually tries to put her out of immediate harms way again (recalling to empty space, in front of another bullet, etc). It still happens but less so.

The other area where she might see worse side effects is long term recalls. They're highly recommended against by Winston and the rest of the design team, so it's incredibly rare that it happens. While she can recall to any point in her Overwatch timeline life, Winston designed a governor to limited how far back she can recall to.

She overrode this exactly 5 times. 3 of which were spent on going back to watch the Zurich base collapse, look for answers, and try to find survivors. This was a dark, manic point in her life, where she was clutching for any kind of answers ever, at all. The first time it happened, it was only a few days after the explosion. The second, on the one year anniversary and the third, about 4 years after the collapse of Overwatch. Still seeking answers, still failing terribly. There would probably be more, if she wasn't taken into "protective" custody by the UN shortly after clean up efforts were concluded.

The other two visits were to the Slipstream launch, with very similar goals. Those ranged from 2 years after her return and 2.5 years after her return. Trying to understand what happened, how it happened, etc.

The longer she recalls, the more harsh the consequences. Anything within a 3-10 minute recall is fine, with very little side effects. An hour - 10 hours leads to more exhaustion, but barely. That means she can immediately get back up and into the fight. Anything beyond that, things get worse.

Worse side effects include blurred vision, bleeding from the nose and sometimes the ears, vomiting, fainting, stints of incorporealness where she's present but unable to touch anything, and unconsciousness.

Following her last trip to Zurich, Lena slipped into a coma for four days before waking up, as her body tried to replenish depleted energy sources. Winston had a lot to say about that one. Following a particularly nasty ultimatum when fighting omnics one day, Lena was left with the option to run a weapon out of town or let it explode in the middle of everything. Once the automatic recall kicked in, she was out cold for 7 hours, requiring search and rescue from the rest of her team to find her on the empty beach she landed on.

These are all treatable, and not deadly unless the accelerator is overtaxed, like we see in the trailer short in the museum. In that case, the accelerator will go dark until it is charged off her energy to go again, and is usually a pretty terrible moment until she's back. Lena usually finds cover in these rare situations, radioing out to give her 10 until the accelerator is back online. If she can, she'll retreat, but that's not always possible.

[vaugarde]

"i just dont understand how a sane person could think of this" in response to a perfectly cute little piece based on a silly little image. i am attacking people with hammers

[cupophrogs]

Woe, random character design be upon ye

[crowcussion]

guys i’m going to comic con in canada tomorrow is anyone else going there :3

(if so, look out for a sammy lawrence cosplayer!!)

and also they fucking BETTER HAVE GENSHIN STUFF (specifically itto, gorou, and bennett, my favs, im sorry i fell into the genshin rabbit hole IM SORRY)

[softquietsteadylove]

Hii, how are you?, i have a little idea for the Mermaid Au:

Thena gets sick for the first time, she is feeling really bad and scared but thankfully her boyfriend Gil is there to take her of her.

Thank you so much for all of your writings they are sooo amazing and perfect, i love them. 😃🖤

"Angelfish?"

Thena's groan echoed in the tub as she turned over.

Gil sighed, setting down the tray and leaning on the edge of the tub. He looked at her tail, sitting limply out of the water. "Still not feeling great?"

Thena whimpered, her face still contorted as she rolled over in the shallow warm water to look at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were ghostly pale. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Thena," Gil whispered, reaching into the tub to help pull her out. He had even added sea salt to the bath in hopes it would soothe something in her.

At least she wasn't throwing up anymore.

They still weren't sure what she had eaten, or if it was simply a stomach bug going around (humans). But she had never experienced vomiting before, and the sensation had both hurt and scared her half to death.

Once she had completely emptied her stomach, the sickness of it still hadn't left. Gil had immediately called in sick to work. Thena had almost told him not to, but the painful cramping in her stomach made her grateful for his usually comical worrying.

"Come here, Cuddlefish," he soothed, holding her in his arms as he kissed her clammy forehead.

Thena buried her face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him in hopes of soothing her nausea. "Why?"

"I don't know, baby," he cooed, pushing her dry hair away from her temple. "But I'm right here. I promise I won't go anywhere until you feel better."

She sniffled. After all her work to become better at wearing her legs and be more independent from Gil, she was back to lying in his bathtub with limp fins. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he nudged her to look at him. He kissed the tip of her nose, "you have nothing to apologise for."

She disagreed with that, but she didn't argue. Her head felt foggy (and not in a fun way). Her whole body ached and she was both way too hot and way too cold. She lifted her tail somewhat but it felt inordinately heavy. "Cold."

"Okay," Gil rubbed her back. He knew what she meant every time she uttered just a single word. He moved carefully, letting her lean against the edge of the tub. "I'll bring you some warm clothes, you use a towel to get the salt off you. And have some of that!"

Thena smiled as he rushed off for her comfort. He really had been perfect through all of this. She pulled a towel over her, wiping off the salt in the water that crystallised on her body instead of being absorbed into her skin. At least her legs were a little lighter than her tail, at the moment.

She licked her lips; the drink Gil had brought her was sweet, and it tasted like ginger. He used a lot of ginger in his cooking, although it was usually more subtle. The first time she had seen it, it looked a little like an anemone, or a sea sponge. She had taken a big ol' bite out of it at her own risk.

"Here," Gil smiled as he came back with one of her favourite sweaters of his and some soft pants she had seen him wear. He kneeled down close to her feet, "shirt first."

She pulled it over her head, letting the towel fall into her lap as she did.

"Now these," he held up the pants. She knew how they were worn, but she still wasn't very good at putting them on. "One leg at a time, just lean on me."

She smiled as he turned, letting her brace herself on his strong, warm shoulder as she pulled them up her legs.

"Got 'em on?"

"Hm," she confirmed, giving his arm a squeeze. He turned slowly, careful not to knock her off balance. "Here."

She let him wrap his belt around her hips. Any pants of his had no chance of fitting her, after all. "Soft."

He smiled at her, kissing her forehead between her brows. "They are, huh? Ready?"

She nodded, melting into him as he picked her up. He had carried her around the house ceaselessly since she became ill. It was rather like when they first met. The nostalgia was comforting, through the dizziness.

"I made you something," Gil said gently as he walked downstairs with her in his arms. She buried her face in his neck and hissed. "I know, Angelfish, but you have to try and eat something."

She whined again. She didn't want to experience that expulsion of food anymore. She would rather dry up completely on a hot rock.

"I know," he whispered, trying his best to assuage her fears. "Just a little bit, Thena, please? I'm worried about you not eating."

She pouted as he laid her down on the couch. She knew he was just as scared about her condition as she was. He had called Sersi in a panic, regardless of the unspeakable hour it was when she had first expelled her meal. "Fine."

"I promise, it'll be gentle," he pressed his palm to her forehead before running it over her hair on his way out.

Thena sighed, snuggling back into the blankets he had laid out for her. She had never tried and failed so terribly to retain warmth in her more human body.

"Here we go, Angelfish," he said gently as he walked in with a clay pot he often cooked food in. It wasn't sizzling and bubbling though, steaming gently as he set it down. "This is just rice with a little seafood broth. I even put some anchovies on it."

Thena smiled at the little bowl, her favourite snack sprinkled over the top enticingly. She blinked, swiping at her cheeks with a frown.

"Hey, it's okay," Gil rushed from kneeling in front of her to beside her, swiping away her tears more gently. "It's okay, Thena. I'm right here, sweetheart."

Thena leaned against him, soaking up how warm he was. She pressed her face into his sleeve again.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he rubbed her other shoulder, kissing her hair again as she trembled faintly beside him. "I know this must feel awful."

She pulled away, looking at him with blurry vision. "Will you get sick if you kiss me?"

His brows rose, and she would be embarrassed if she had the energy to spare. He blushed faintly, "uh, n-no, I don't think so."

She pouted.

He smiled, tilting his head at her, "do you...do you want a kiss?"

She nodded, her eyes tearing up again.

Gil just smiled, leaning forward and kissing her so, so gently. She could cry with relief, but she was too focused on kissing him. He pulled back, just barely, his breath hitting her lips as he asked, "better?"

She nodded, feeling a familiar fluttering in her belly that was much more pleasant than what she had been feeling the past few days. She looked down at her food again, "much."

"Good," he sounded quite pleased, watching as she took a tentative bite.

"Hm," she blinked, trying another spoonful. She really was hungry, and it tasted nice. It wasn't as boldly flavourful as some of his cooking, but it was still delicious, and it was nice and gentle on her tongue.

"I think this might help soak up what's hurting your stomach and your throat," he explained gently, gesturing to the broth-softened grains of rice. "There's lots of ginger in it, too, which should relax the muscles that are hurting you."

Thena just nodded, taking another bite. It was good, and she could practically feel her unruly stomach calming. She looked at him, "can I have more anchovies?"

Gil kissed her cheek, "you can have anything you want, Angelfish."

She watched him stand from the couch for more and immediately felt his absence. She shimmied a little closer to his spot, which was much warmer than hers. Once he was sitting beside her again, she would have everything she needed.

[clemencetaught]

"Here," it's... it's just bread. It's a bun, sure large enough to still some amount of hunger, but it's just bread. And yet, María holds it in front of Patrick with the face of someone who'd consider it a criminal offense to refuse it. Nevermind that she's stolen it from one of the banquets. "Just making sure you're eating." ((RUH-ROH it's Len again~ and I promise I forgot about the Peeta bread thing until I re-read this IGNORE THAT--!! FDKLGJDLAJSGF Hope you didn't end up getting sick BUT IF YOU DID HOPE YOU'RE RESTING AND FEELING BETTER SOON 🥺)) || okay but panem is also known as the nation of bread & circuses– ( unprompted w/ @mythvoiced )

He doesn’t eat much in the Capitol. 

Which is ironic, seeing how most of his life before the games, Patrick was always hungry. Always trying between schooling and factory shifts to figure out when his next meal was going to come. Why else would he and Hyuk have taken out tesserae all those years ago? It was preferable, playing the odds in the Reaping to starving for the rest of the year.

Nowadays, food is the least of his concerns. Whereas there is still a dearth in District Three, there is surplus in the Capitol. No surplus isn’t the right word; a surplus would mean the Capitol keeps the extra for the future. No, there is an excess of food in the Capitol, an excess that is dumped and left to rot after the pigs have had their share, have had their fun.

When he remembers that, food in the Capitol, no matter how finely it’s been prepared, becomes disgusting. Repulsive when it is combined with the thought of the districts, his people, still starving and fighting one another for the Capitol’s ‘scraps’. One plate is enough for Patrick to feel the bile swish in his stomach and even crawl back up his throat– how is he supposed to enjoy this filth now?

(But of course the Capitol has a way of perverting everything. Who else would have invented a liquid that makes one vomit what was just digested to make room for more food?)

“You didn’t have to,” is the first set of words to come out of his mouth, however. It’s such a childish gesture on her part; as a victor, she and her family should have more than enough riches to cover for food whether she’s in the Capitol or her own district. That and it’s considered normal to take leftovers from these banquets.

And yet, she’s staring him down like they are in covenance– it’s odd…strange how the things the Capitol deem sacred, she’ll approach with the irreverence of a foreigner and yet with the most mundane of objects, like a loaf of bread, most likely one of the hundred baked today and will be replicated tomorrow, like it is worth the weight of gold. He takes a hold of María’s loot. The loaf is still warm, freshly out of the oven, he wants to believe. Like it came from one of the bakeries in say, District 12, rather than a Capitol banquet table. Does she look at the Capitol and its elaborate feasts the same way? District Eight is probably just as bad if not even worse than his own district when it comes to food shortages so maybe her thievery makes sense.

When one has gone without food for long enough, no amount of surplus is enough to satiate the insecurity. He knows that feeling all too well. His stomach growls in anticipation. “…Normally, the Capitol likes to have this with caviar.” A delicacy from District Four along with butter shipped from District Ten. He splits the loaf in two, the inside crackling and breaking into two crisp pieces. “But I think…I think it tastes just as delicious on its own.” He hands María one half while taking a bite out of the other. “Take the other half; I can’t finish it on my own.”

It tastes delicious. 

[schadenfreude-whump]

Cecilio (Tithes for Utopia)

You don't get context for this. It does exist, and will be established. Eventually.

Big thanks to my beta reader, @brutal-nemesis!

CWs: Vomiting, "It" used as a dehumanizing pronoun along with some general dehumanization, religious themes, food.

Characters: Cecilio, Carlow, Cyrus, (Ilma, mentioned)

Cecilio woke up as he did every morning - aching, sickened, and exhausted. Trying to sleep on the thin pile of musty hay that they called his “bed” was a torture in and of itself (but, as always, that was the point, wasn’t it?). Despite being here for… however long he had been here for, he had yet to find an even semi-comfortable way to sleep in his glorified concrete closet. There was no position that didn’t leave him sore or covered in splinters or cold or vulnerable or any mixture of those. 

If there was one thing he had figured out though, it was their pattern, and when the door unlocked and groaned open, he was not surprised to see Carlow. He wore his ever-present warm smile, which would deceive anyone that didn’t know him. The warmth was not directed towards anyone but himself. The coolness of his eyes were for those around him.

In this specific moment, it was for Cecilio.

“I don’t have all day.” He said.

Cecilio sat up at attention, holding back a groan as he did so, trying to hide the soreness in his body. He wouldn’t put it past Carlow to use it against him. 

He limped behind Carlow through the compound, remembering to keep his head lowered, Carlow was the one who would punish him the most severely for not showing deference, after all. He noted that they passed the “special room” meaning whatever Carlow had planned for him today did not require a lot of set up, or maybe it did, but he wanted to hurt him in a new way while he did set it up. The only thing at the end of this hallway was the workshop.

Cecilio was allowed to use the restroom in the back of the workshop, a “privilege” for which he had to thank Carlow excessively for. He tried not to lick his lips too much while he washed his hands. Carlow would know if he drank any water without permission, so his thirst would have to wait.

When he returned, he was directed towards a foam mat in the center of the room, where he obediently sat, wondering what sort of new way to torture him the priests of the compound had cooked up.

“Now,” Carlow said, turning to address him, “close your eyes.”

Cecilio obeyed.

“You are going to keep those closed until I tell you, explicitly, that you are allowed to open them. If I see them open, I will glue them shut. Understand?”

Cecilio nodded.

That seemed enough for Carlow, who, by the sound of it, turned heel and walked over to the workbench directly across from where Cecilio sat. There was a metallic sound, and then something like sawing, and he strained his ears, trying to figure out what it was.

Truly, it could be any number of things. The “special room” was for tortures that needed a dedicated space, like the puzzles and challenges they enjoyed forcing him to do, but it wasn’t the only space they used. There was a reason the workshop had drains on the floor, and anchors for chains and manacles throughout the room. They kept the hammers and batons side-by side in here, and both could be used to hurt him.

The sawing sound abruptly stopped, and Cecilio stiffened as he felt Carlow’s footsteps approaching…

Only to go right past him to throw something in a drawer behind him, rummage, and walk back.

Apparently there was some kind of preparation involved here, but Cecilio had no idea what it was. Was he preparing or modifying one of the tools? Which one? Was he building something?

Keeping his eyes closed and being still was as difficult now as it would be if he were in a cage of starving alligators. His instincts told him that fleeing was the best option here, but this wasn’t a large predator trying to eat him. Worse, in fact, because then he would be killed, but the creatures who inhabited this lair would never let him die so easily. No matter how he begged.

He took a breath, trying to calm his mind, at least a little bit. If he could figure out what Carlow was doing, it might make today a little more bearable. He could mentally prepare for it, as much as one can do such a thing.

There was that ever present sawing noise, one he realized sounded actually closer to filing. Carlow was sharpening something, perhaps? A knife? A saw?

“They say thinking too much causes wrinkles”

He almost jumped up and opened his eyes at that. He was so deep in thought he hadn’t noticed that Carlow was now standing right over him, judging by the sound of his voice and the way Cecilio’s hairs stood on end. He could practically picture his amused face at Cecilio’s reaction.

He felt Carlow’s attention divert from him as a door opened to Cecilio’s left.

“I brought the stuff.” Came a voice, Cyrus, he recognized quickly.

“Thank you.” Carlow said, taking something and setting it down on a table somewhere along the wall in front of Cecilio.

He felt a new presence in front of him, Cyrus was likely crouching down in front of him, their eyes burning his skin as they looked him over.

“It’s kept its eyes closed so far?” They asked, and he could hear the amusement in their voice. Everything was amusing, everything was a joke. The world was a show for them to watch, and Cecilio had found himself playing the part of comedy relief.

Carlow must’ve given some sort of affirmation.

“Good Cici” Cecilio jerked as Cyrus began “petting” his greasy hair.

“Please don’t tell me you’re adopting Ilma’s nickname for it, too.” groaned Carlow, and it seemed like he was talking with his mouth half-full.

“It rolls off the tongue a lot better than ‘sacrifice’, don’t you think?” Cyrus said, “Plus, it’s so cute, it matches it perfectly.”

Carlow gave no verbal response, but took a few steps forward until he was once again right next to Cecilio.

The sound of chewing. Ah, so he was eating. The smell of peanut butter and jelly wafted down, and despite himself, Cecilio’s stomach growled.

“Awww,” Cyrus cooed, “the doggy’s hungry.”

“That’s a given, considering it hasn't eaten since yesterday morning.” Carlow responded before walking away.

“I don’t see the point in feeding it today, it’ll probably throw it all up anyway. I bet Lana it would.”

“Why you ever imagined you could win a bet against Lana is beyond me.” Carlow said, now back at the table from the other side of the room.

Cecilio felt Cyrus’s presence leave his vicinity, and Carlow’s re-enter it.

“There is a bowl of water in front of you,” Carlow said, finally addressing him. As though he hadn’t been discussing him like an interesting lamp for the past few minutes.

“You may drink from it, but you are still not to open your eyes. Understood?” Carlow continued.

Cecilio nodded.

“Good. Drink.”

With that command, Cecilio began lapping, grateful that it was actually water that met his tongue, at this point though, he wasn’t sure if he would’ve stopped if it wasn’t.

Lapping up water was, of course, a terribly inefficient way for a human to drink. As much water as he got in his mouth was flicked off his tongue.

The water bowl was pulled away, and he almost followed it, suppressing a whine. He had only had enough to wet his tongue and dull the headache he didn’t know he had.

He didn’t have too long to mourn though, as a sliver of metal pushed past his lips. He opened his mouth obediently, the grainy taste of dry dog food meeting his tongue when the spoon was pulled away.

“Chew.” came the command, and he did so, though much less enthusiastically than when he had lapped at the water. Admittedly, he thought as he swallowed, it was nice to have something in his stomach again.

A few grueling, sandy bites later and he was allowed to lap at the water bowl again, grateful to wash the taste out of his mouth and the grit from his teeth. 

Once again, though, right before he was satisfied, it was taken away again.

His displeasure was not unnoticed, it seemed.

“Don't worry, buddy, I'm sure it'll taste just as good coming up.” Cyrus said, harshly tousling his hair so hard they pulled out some strands in the process.

Cyrus stayed around chatting idly for a while. Whatever they and Carlow said were lost on Cecilio, as he retreated to his own mind again.

Behind his eyelids, light started to dance, and he genuinely couldn’t tell if it was his own mind creating the image, or if something was happening before him. A thought slipped through his periphery, maybe they had drugged him? To what end, he didn’t know. It was past lunch time, now, Carlow didn't “do” snacks. Whatever he was preparing took all morning, at least. Perhaps he was building a puzzle. Perhaps Cecilo would open his eyes inside a delicately placed structure, where one move could send him to a world of pain. It wouldn't even be the first time. However, Cyrus thought whatever they had planned for him would cause him to throw up, out of pain, or anxiety, he didn't know. That probably meant it was either something he hadn't seen before, or something so horrible that even if he did know it, there was no way to prepare.

The snippets of conversation happening around him gave him no clue, either. They would speak sparingly, about the weather, their tasks, Cecilio’s other torturers, but seemed equally content to do… whatever they were doing in silence. In fact, it had grown much quieter than it had been all morning. Cecilio no longer had any indication of what it was they were doing, aside from a faint smell he could not place, that made his nose wrinkle.

On top of that, Cecilio’s lower body was starting to go numb. Sitting in one position for hours on end, only a thin foam mat between him and the concrete floor, was worsening the aches from this morning. He didn’t dare shift, not when he still didn’t know if there was something waiting to hurt him should he move. His mouth was dry and his head was light. His stomach lurched, coaxed by the smell and the overwhelming silence that bore down on him.

He had just enough time to lean forwards, hands holding him up on the mat, before the meager contents of his stomach barreled back out, burning his mouth on its way. It took all his willpower to keep his eyes squeezed shut as he coughed up the last of the bile.

A beat of silence.

“I’ve just won a bet.” Cyrus said.

“Huh.” was all Carlow said in response, before dropping whatever it was he was doing and approaching Cecilio.

Despite himself, he whined. He knew he’d be punished for this, but it was almost a relief. He’d take anything they could do to him if it meant an end to this horrible waiting.

He felt a rag swipe roughly over his chin before a hand grabbed it, lifting it up.

“Open your eyes for me, Sacrifice.” was Carlow’s command.

He frantically glanced around him, finally hoping to know what they wanted to do to him that would take so long.

There was nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary save for some of the leather whips that Cyrus appeared to be polishing.

He looked back at Carlow, whose face was full of mirth. 

“Sometimes the anticipation of suffering is the worst part of it, don’t you think?” He asked.

He wasn’t… it didn’t… he had been fearing all day for… nothing?

“I was actually just planning on getting some maintenance done here in the workshop all day. See how long you could go… after all, why build this up so far just to give you relief? Lady Omelas would not be very happy with that, now would she?”

Cecilio felt overwhelmed. The bile that stung his nose made his eyes wet.

“But,” Carlow continued, “You did sully that mat, and the floor, and I can’t even have you clean it up, you’d just be in my way. I still have a lot to do, you know. However, I’m sure Cyrus would be delighted to chaperone you for the rest of the day.”

Cyrus’s eyes lit up, and they approached Cecilio eagerly, like a dog given a new chew toy.

“I think that that’s a wonderful idea,” Cyrus said, “especially now that all the knives are nice and sharp.”

[itsbrucey]

hihihihihi bruceyyyy as someone who is now interested in monsters/monster people thanks to you/pos i would love to know your oc lore/nf!! (I LOVE BIRD MONSTERS SO MUCH MAN)

EVRRYBODY needs to be madly in love with monsters. Such is my decree /j

Ok my OC lore in regards to my harpies + my slimes ( bc I wanna talk about Dulcie a lil) mainly revolves around species that I'm making/editing. A cut for Sanity.

For my Harpies, I have the three tiers I already rambled about: Matriarch Harpies, Mother's Blood Harpies, and Mother's Tears Harpies. Vali, picture below, is a Matriarch Harpy!

( I'll finish her ref one day)

And again, yadda yadda, the tiers of harpies kinda determine how Bird you are. Matriarch Harpies being the largest and most bird-like, and Mother's Tears Harpies being the most human and typically the smallest. Matriarch Harpies are the most rare bc they're primarily born female and have matriarchal societies/flocks, but there are male Matriarchal Harpies born occasionally! You basically ONLY get a Matriarch Harpy from two of them breeding. They're also the harpies that get hunted/killed the most bc they're considered monster-enough to slay for a bounty by monster hunters.

Mother's Blood Harpies are usually what happens when a Matriarch Harpy ( any gender ) has a kid with a humanoid/non-harpy. They're usually taller/larger than their humanoid parent's race average and still very bird-like, but aren't considered full monsters and therefore aren't hunted legally.

Mother's Tears Harpies are usually from a Mother's Blood Harpy and another humanoid, or two Mother's Tears Harpies. Very unlikely that a Matriarch Harpy and a humanoid will have one, but probably not impossible. They're the least birdlike and tend to be average height and are considered closer to Human than Monster at this point.

Appearance of the Harpies vary wildly depending on the bird species of the Harpy and the other parent, but they all tend to have feathers, wings, and talons; wingspan, size, flight ability, feather patterns, etc. are case by case. In my thing, most current Harpies are seabirds ( Vali being a Laysan Albatross) but there have since been growing populations of inland Harpies due to migration/hunting.

For their origin, it's basically just myths that get passed around from sailor to sailor or merchant to merchant. One origin is that sailor's used to throw women and rebellious crew overboard, but their souls would get trapped within fish when they drowned. When seabirds ate these fish, the souls inside possessed them, turning them into the original harpies. The Harpies would then terrorize sailors and fishermen within their waters as a form of vengeance. ( This myth isn't true but people use it to explain why harpies exist + why they tend to be territorial ).

Matriarch Harpies tend to live exclusively with other Matriarch Harpies while Blood and Tear harpies are more inclined to humanoid cities, but some Matriarch Harpies take up jobs/interact with people. Vali, for example, flies between islands and ports to deliver people or goods! She frequents a lot of human markets as a result, but makes good money to feed her flock .

For my slimes, it's something similar! There's a couple different species, but there was originally The OG Slime which was basically just bacteria and sludge and primordial goo. Over time the bacteria evolved and adapted as the slimes split off, specializing themselves to eating certain things. I've worked less on my slime species but there are Flora, Fauna, and Aqua slimes, with Flora and Fauna especially having offshoot. Aqua Slimes remain mostly water and have a thick gelatinous skin that traps water in and keeps it out at the same time, being like a living water balloon ( and are one of the only species of slime to not dissolve in water).

Flora slimes adapted to be primarily vegetarian and digest/compost plant matter instead of meat, making them kinda slow and docile. Fauna slimes are omnivores and adapted/evolved alongside humans, resembling them the most. They'd hunt animals/people, but also acted as scavengers who could easily absorb rot and carcasses.

Fauna slimes developed quite a few species and subspecies bc of human interference and development, eventually making Food slimes! They lost the bacteria and ability to breakdown rot and raw meat in exchange for cooked food and spices. Food slimes further developed a sub-species of Dessert/Sweet slimes, who have a diet of sugar and carbohydrates. ( This science is all made up by one guy who is kinda dumb aka Me)

Slimes also reproduce mostly(?) asexually, where an offspring is usually made by combining material from two+ different slimes in a container of sorts ( any gender of slime can create an offspring together). From there, it takes a baby a while to knit itself together, but you eventually get one! Slimes can also make miniature versions of themselves but purposefully or accidentally split mass from their body, and they can grow larger again by recombining/consuming relevant for their species and mass.

Ummmmm and Dulcie is an Ice Cream slime, being a Dessert/Sweets slime! I haven't decided her parents yet, but I was thinking a Custard slime ? Maybe? Also her ex-boyfriend is a Flora slime, specifically based on moss balls.

[doyouevermakeasound]

Have some fun facts about post surgery stuff that might help with some whump writing:

Some quick background. My surgery scar starts at the bottom of my ear, extends downward about four inches before curving and extending towards the center of my neck another four inches. Surgery was July 2022 so take that timeline as you will in regards to the nerves.

The area around my scar is numb. It’s quite a large area actually and I can trace the edges of the scar where feeling returns quite easily.

The areas when numb meets normal skin feels weird when I touch it. It hurts sometimes, other times it itches. Sometimes I can touch one part of my face but it feels like I’m touching my ear or cheek when I’m nowhere near that.

Nerves are fucking weird.

This is probably cases by case but my neck scar now causes my neck to be stiff. I have to stretch my neck daily to work through the scar tissue.

The scar itself is pretty sensitive to touch. If I rub anything on it it just gives me the heebie jeebies. I need to either keep sunscreen on it or keep it out of the sun since that area is more sensitive now. I do still have to be careful though because the feeling is still very much off.

I had dissolvable stitches. There were some knots of sutures that were itchy when it got towards the end of my time with them. It took a couple of weeks for them to fully dissolve for me.

When cleaning the surgery scar after surgery it was careful and methodical. The cloth that I was using liked to try to snag on the sutures and while my sense of feeling was off, it was uncomfortable. Also, I had to have someone else check on some of the incision closer by my ear since turning my head wasn’t my best option at that time.

I had a drain in my neck. That was weird. They drained it once or twice a day (my time in the hospital is fuzzy) and it was uncomfortable when the tube moved. It was unfortunately pretty easy to snag it on things but my hospital gown had a pocket in the front that held the bulb of the drain pretty well.

Taking out the drain hurt and I don’t know if it was just because of the nerve damage. There was a lot of pressure for a moment and then it was over. My drain removal was very quick.

I found out that any surgery beyond like an hour makes me wake up vomiting. I apparently am sensitive to the anesthesia. Luckily for this surgery they were able to put some medications on board to help but it was still not fun nausea wise.

You don’t sleep well in the hospital. You get woken up frequently.

If you’re in the ICU it is individualized care. General floor is not so much. If you need anything in the ICU your nurse is there immediately or within a couple of minutes. On the general floor I once waited about 40 minutes so that the nurse could monitor my walk to the bathroom. I started planning out bathroom breaks after that.

Depending on how you’re doing you absolutely will have a bed alarm placed. If you try getting up without a nurse or CNA there to shut it off that alarm will scream at you.

That’s all I can think of for now. Feel free to ask any questions!

[unreadpoppy]

✨it's feeling lonely hours✨

[rowarn]

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT 1

simon riley / reader

FIND PART TWO || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: any triggering acts such as harassment/sa are done by a third party, not simon!!! also the sa is not vague or implied, there is a written out scene so please be mindful when you read! thank u to @allsaiint for reading over this and helping!

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

part 1: 17.8k total: 35.8k

Your muscles were stiff, thighs twitching and trembling as you laid in bed, staring at your water stained ceiling. Your chest rose and fell in time with rapid breathing. You had worn yourself out, caused a wet spot on your bed, yet you remained completely unsatisfied. Your fingers were cramped up and you let out a groan of frustration, rolling over to crawl out of bed. 

It had become a daily ritual at this point, you with your hand between your thighs, rubbing and touching, only to get into the shower completely unsatisfied and embarrassed at your own inability to get yourself off. 

People your age didn’t struggle like this, you convinced yourself.  Your cheeks burned as you stepped under the warm spray from your showerhead, the creaking pipes just background noise to you now. You were broken, that was the only explanation you could think of. 

By the time you got out of the shower and changed your sheets, throwing the dirty ones into the washer, it was evening and a familiar knocking rang through your apartment.

You didn’t even have to answer it before the lock was clicking and the large form of your best friend Simon ducked in. 

“Hey, Simon!” you called cheerfully, excitedly bounding into the room and wrapping your arms around him in greeting. 

He grunted, harshly patting your back in the familiar way he always does before kicking his boots off. When he straightened up, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you. 

“What's with you?” he asked, a thick, dark brow raised suspiciously. 

“Um,” you stepped back, shrugging as you tried to look nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

“You look…” his eyes raked down your body, clearly assessing you, “You look tense.”

Immediately, your cheeks erupted into flames. Your face felt so hot that you had to bring your hands up to cool them before laughing nervously, “That’s no different than usual.”

He was silent for several, long, grueling seconds before grunting and breezing past you to the kitchen, clearly letting it drop. You took a moment to catch your breath before following him, finding him hunched over looking into your barren refrigerator. 

“Where’s all your fuckin’ food?” he snapped, straightening back up with a huff when he heard you come in behind him.

“Didn’t get a chance to shop this week, Si,” you replied stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why?” he demanded, slamming the appliance closed before heading to your cabinets to do inventory there too.

“Paycheck was short again this week,” you answered, speaking quietly in hopes he wouldn’t look into it anymore than that. 

He angrily slammed a cabinet closed and leaned on his palms against the counter, head hung between his shoulders, “Your boss fuckin’ stiff you again?”

“I-It’s not a big deal, Simon–” you attempted to quell him.

“Not a big deal?” he snapped, slamming his hands down on the counter, making you flinch at the noise. You knew Simon would never, ever hurt you but his anger was something to behold nonetheless, “It is a big deal when you can’t even afford to fuckin’ eat!”

“Simon…” you whisper, anxiously picking at a string on your cotton shorts, “I wasn’t going hungry, I have like…ramen and stuff…”

He says your name through gritted teeth, letting out a frustrated sigh, “Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t afford proper groceries?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it, Si,” you mutter, “I-It’s my problem, not yours.”

He gives you a long, unblinking stare. His usual soft, puppy dog brown eyes now felt intimidating. One thing about Simon was that he never hid it when he was clearly upset with you. And knowing he was right now made you hang your head pitifully.

He moves suddenly, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a small stack of clean bills, slapping them on your countertop.

“Simon, no–” you attempt to reach out for them, willing him to take the money back.

He grabs your hand immediately, shoving the appendage away from the money, “You’ll take this and you’ll go to the store tomorrow and get some damn food or I’m going to go to the bar and wrap my fuckin’ hands around your boss’s throat until he coughs up your money.”

“You don’t have to do this, Simon!” you argue, exasperated, “Y-You don’t have to take care of me like this.”

“Yes, I fuckin’ do!” he counters, “You’re my responsibility and I’m not going to let you exist on fuckin’ cup noodles until that shithead pays you properly, not when I can take care of you. Now stop arguing and put this in your wallet now.”

He used that damn Lieutenant voice, leaving no room for argument. You bit your lip and slowly picked up the bills from the counter.

“Thank you, Simon…” you whisper, clutching the money close to your chest as you offer him a wobbly smile.

“Shut up and go,” he huffs, though his voice is much softer and affectionate now. 

You turn on your heel and go to the table by the door, slowly taking the time to place the money safely inside. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You were so, so lucky to have someone in your life that did everything in his power to take care of you, to look after you and make sure you had food on the table. No one had ever cared about your well-being the way Simon did, and your heart felt incredibly full because of it. 

You could hear him still stalking around the kitchen, grumbling to himself in annoyance. He comes out of the kitchen, phone in hand, before he’s taking a seat on your old, creaky couch. His knee is bouncing up and down in that way it always does. It’s like he’s always a live wire, ready and waiting for something to happen.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, still standing by the table.

He grunts, shaking his head, “Orderin' dinner.”

“Oh,” you mumble, “What’re you getting?”

“Gettin’ from that breakfast diner you like,” he responds quickly, not looking up from his phone. 

“You don’t even like that place,” you giggle, “In the mood for a breakfast sandwich?”

“Not for me,” was his clipped response.

“What?” you whine, “Simon, don’t order me food!”

“Did you eat today?” he asks quickly, placing his phone on the table, clearly done with the order.

“I had cup noodles!” you point an accusing finger at him, “So yes!”

“That’s not real food,” he leans against the back of the couch, closing his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. End of conversation. 

You sigh, shaking your head. You debate continuing to pester him about it but you hear your washing machine begin to ring the jingle signaling the cycle is finished. You cast one last, unseen glare to the man on your couch before heading to the washer, methodically taking the now clean sheets out. 

You finish placing it in the dryer and turning the machine on, stepping back into the living room when there’s a knock on the door. Simon is on his feet in seconds and at the door before you can even react. When he slams the door shut, he holds the bag of food up for you to see, dropping it on the coffee table before taking a seat again. He resumes the same position, arms cross over his chest and eyes closed. 

“Are you tired?” you ask softly, taking the empty seat beside him. He hums in response, “You want to spend the night?”

“Guess so,” he responds after a few seconds, “You work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night,” you mumble, reaching for the bag of food, untying the knot so you can get inside, “I hate working Friday nights.”

“I can stop by tomorrow if you want,” he offers, finally opening his eyes.

You think it over for a minute. It wouldn’t be the first time he sat in the bar on a busy Friday night, nursing a half-drunk bourbon, as he waited for you to get off, “I think it’ll be okay. Last week was fine.”

He simply stares at you in silence before sighing through his nose. But he doesn’t argue and you’re thankful for that. 

Simon’s been looking after you like this since you turned 18 and moved out on your own. There have been many, many days and nights that you’ve taken up his time and energy and as you grew older, you tried to do it less. He had an incredibly busy job and life and the last thing you wanted was to add weight onto his already heavy shoulders. 

The evening turned to night and before you knew it you had a full belly and leftovers to store in the fridge for breakfast. You folded your dried sheet and placed it in the hallway closet, acutely aware of the sound of Simon showering in your bathroom. 

It wasn’t a very big shower and you sometimes wondered what it looked like for him in there. Surely he had to hunch down to properly wash his hair and shoulders. But those thoughts always turned into something less than innocent. 

You imagined what he looked like, all wet. How big he surely looked in there, no doubt he would dwarf you. He would be able to easily crowd you in the corner, make it so you couldn't escape as he blocked the exit – not that you would want to escape. 

You slapped a hand against your forehead, shaking your head violently to rid yourself of those thoughts. You tugged a spare blanket out of the closet and slammed it closed, rushing to your bedroom to place it on your bed. 

Your cheeks burned with shame over having such unsavory thoughts about your best friend. As much as you liked to pretend that the crush you had on him when you were children had faded like typical puppy love, you knew your feelings were alive and well deep inside where you had pushed them when he rejected you when you were 14. 

It was just because you were so pent up, you convinced yourself, you would have those thoughts about any man that was inside your shower!

You crawled onto your side of the bed, flopping back into your pillow as you waited for him to come in. You completely ignored the throbbing between your thighs, a feeling you were more than used to by now. But your fingers itched to reach down, slip beneath the band of your shorts and touch your clit, the little bud throbbed so desperately that when you clenched your thighs together, a shiver would go down your spine. 

Just as you started to reach down, just to try and relieve the ache that settled there, the bathroom door opened. You yanked your hand back up and tried to look casual as you heard his heavy footsteps move towards the bedroom door.

He pushed the door open wider so he could come in, having to duck his head down to avoid hitting his head. He placed his towel in the laundry basket and slowly crawled into bed beside you, placing his pillow flat so he could comfortably lay down.

Some people may find it strange sleeping with him like this, but your couch was much too small for him and he would rather cut his own fingers off than make you sleep on the damned thing. It was old and so uncomfortable that it caused you to be sore if you sat on it for too long. Plus, you never felt uncomfortable having him in the bed with you like this. He was warm and safe and he always smelled like your grapefruit body wash after he showered. 

It made your heart thump in your chest, knowing he walked around the next day smelling like you. 

“Goodnight, Simon,” you mumbled, reaching over to turn your bedside lamp off.

He grunted quietly, rolling over so his back was facing you. You smiled in the dark and snuggled down into your own blanket, closing your eyes as well. 

The next morning, you woke up and the bed was empty. As usual. 

Even when he was home, Simon functioned off of the strict military schedule he’d been accustomed to for his many years in the military. You sat up and stretched your arms above your head, tossing your blanket off of you. The floor was chilly against your bare feet, making you shiver. 

After going pee, you ventured out into the living room. Simon was lounging, quietly watching TV – the morning news, it seemed.

“Good morning,” you called. 

“Eat,” was all he replied, not even breaking his gaze off of the TV.

You purse your lips but do as you’re told – not because he said so, but because your stomach was painfully growling and the breakfast sandwich in the fridge sounded delicious. 

As you heated it up in the microwave, you hummed to yourself.

“I’m going to go to the store after I eat,” you called, “Do you want to come?”

“Nah,” he grunted, “Gotta go soon.”

“Oh,” you tried to hide your disappointment, “Will you be back tonight?”

“Probably not,” he responded, your disappointment only growing at that. 

The microwave beeped and you pulled your plate of food out, bringing it back to the living room to eat it beside him. He took up an absurd amount of space given how large he was and how small your couch was – but you didn’t mind being pressed up against him. You didn’t think he minded either because he never bothered to move away. 

You quietly ate your breakfast, finishing up just as the news segment ended. Simon stood, knees popping as he did, patting his pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet before pausing, looking around. 

“You leaving?” you ask, placing your plate on the table as you followed his lead, standing.

“Got to,” he mumbled, still glancing around, “Where’s my phone?”

“You leave it in the bedroom?” you offer.

He sighs and disappears down the hall for a split minute before returning, tucking the device into his pocket. He grabs his coat off the table by the door, slipping it on and zipping it up. You approach him by the door, watching him slip his boots on and tie them. 

“See you later, Si,” you say, trying your best to hide your disappointment at him leaving. 

You never wanted him to leave, always feeling painfully lonely without his presence in your home. Since he was gone for long periods so often, you liked to enjoy his company as much as you can when he’s home. But you would never be the type to ask him to stay when he couldn’t because you knew he would run himself ragged to keep you company even when he was exhausted and had other things to do on top of it. You never wanted to be a burden to him.

He straightens up, stomping his feet a couple times to make sure his boots were on fine. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. You wrap both arms around his middle and hug him tight.

“I’ll come by when I can,” he mutters, pulling back to press a kiss to your forehead.

Then he’s gone, the door slamming closed and leaving you by yourself in the doorway, already feeling an emptiness that would remain until he returned. 

Just as you promised, you went out and bought groceries, courtesy of the money Simon had so kindly given you. You made sure you had some meat, fruit, and veggies, along with some canned goods. You made sure you didn’t buy cup noodles because he certainly wouldn’t be thrilled to know you bought that since he was so vehemently against them being in your diet. 

When you got home, you put all the groceries away and quickly realized that you had some time to spare before you had to get ready for your shift at the bar. 

As you sit on the couch, mindlessly watching some random show you’ve seen a hundred times before, you suddenly realize you’re squeezing your thighs together. 

And your panties are feeling awfully sticky. 

Your body heats up as you find yourself cupping your breasts through your shirt and bra. But you quickly realize that’s doing nothing for you and you strip your shirt off, pulling the sports bra over your breasts to cup them without the fabric restriction. You sigh and relax into the couch as you pull and pinch your nipple, tugging them and rolling them beneath your fingers. Your thighs clench and rub together as you tease yourself. 

But you tire of that quickly, knowing you could do something that felt so much better. 

Your fingers tremble as you tug the button of your jeans open and kick them off, letting your panties go down with them. You take note of the fact the center is completely sticky and wet. God, how long had you been dripping into your panties like that?

You lean back on the couch, placing your feet on the cushions, letting your legs open nice and wide. Your folds flower open, embarrassingly wet and shiny. Your clit is hard and swollen between them and you can practically see the bud twitching. 

With two, shaky fingers, you reach down and swipe over the bud. Your entire body twitches at the contact and you sigh as you slowly circle it, using your own slick as lubrication. 

You bring a finger to your entrance, prodding at the stickiness there. It’s embarrassing how wet you are. Your pussy makes loud noises as you touch but it doesn’t really provide you much pleasure so you bring your finger back to your clit. 

You circle it, pinch it, and roll your fingers over it. You’re quietly moaning, lidded eyes hazy as you watch your fingers play between your thighs. It feels good, a warm feeling settling in your gut the more you touch yourself. 

But then the inevitable happens – it’s like you hit a wall. 

You whine in frustration, speeding up your movements to hopefully reach the edge that you know is right over the wall. But you don’t get any further, if anything you feel that warmth vanishing at an alarming rate. 

Tears sting your eyes, “No, no, no…” you beg no one.

You grit your teeth in frustration, yanking your hand away to watch your pussy clench and throb over nothing, drooling and dripping slick onto the couch. But you’re too frustrated to try anymore. 

You close your thighs and flop down onto the couch, letting a few tears escape.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly complain, slapping the couch out of frustration.

Your lamenting is interrupted by your phone going off. You look at it on the table and see it's the alarm you set to let you know to start getting ready. 

Great, you spent 45 minutes playing with yourself and still didn’t get any further than you had for the last 20-something years of your life. 

You were starting to think you should schedule an appointment with a doctor and find out if you were well and truly broken, but quickly decided against it. That would be fucking humiliating.

What would you say, “Hi, I can’t make myself orgasm and never have, please doctor, tell me if my vagina is broken?” Absolutely not. 

You collect your clothes from the living room floor and toss them in your laundry basket in your room before you take a very fast shower just to clean your own mess up. Then, you get dressed and ready for the shift you know is going to suck at the bar. 

At the door, you make sure you have your belongings. You turn out all your lights and lock the door behind you before setting off to the bar. 

It’s not a long walk, about 15 minutes away. But just the idea of stepping foot inside the bar fills you with dread. 

It was a little hole in the wall place, shady and seedy were the best ways to describe it. You got pretty good tips from the patrons most nights but your boss was the biggest piece of shit you’d ever had the misfortune of being in close proximity with. 

He had a very bad habit of putting his hands where they didn’t belong and cutting his employee’s pay for no reason – or reasons he completely made up. Your last paycheck was short because he claims that you ‘got enough in tips to make up the loss’ – you didn’t. And when you argued, he threatened to fire you. 

You were already living in the cheapest flat you could afford; it was run-down and poorly maintained. But it was better than not having a roof over your head. And it was a fight to even get hired at the shitty bar you worked at now, you weren’t willing to go back to looking for work. 

So you simply bit your tongue and took what money you could get. It wasn’t the first time he did it and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

You got to work as soon as you clocked in, greeting your coworkers with a tense smile that they returned. Everyone was in the same boat as you, after all. No one would choose to work here unless they were down on their luck like you.

The night started slow, slower than usual for a Friday night. Despite the place looking like it was going to fall down around you and the occasional rat that scampered across the floor, the bar was actually kind of a hotspot. The alcohol was cheap and your boss never cut anyone off so patrons were free to get as sloshed as they wanted. 

That also meant the customers tended to get rather unruly. 

Which is exactly what happened when the night inevitably picked up. More people came in, more drinks were ordered, and you were running around the place like mad to get drinks where they needed to be. 

You cast a glance to the clock behind the bar, sighing in relief when you realized you had 10 minutes left of this hell. 

You were sure you were a sight, clearly run ragged and ready to get the hell out of there and go home. Your feet were sore from the old, worn shoes you wore. They looked fine on the outside, cute, but the soles were worn down and provided absolutely no cushion. It was hell. 

“This goes to the corner table,” the bartender called over the loud voices of the bar. He was a nice guy, couldn’t be older than 20, but you honestly couldn’t even recall his name. 

You took the tray of shitty beer from the counter and quickly made your way to the corner table in the back, careful not to spill a drop. You placed the tray down and gave the guys at the table a charming smile.

“Here’s your drinks,” you said, placing a glass in front of all 4 of them. 

“Thanks, beautiful,” one of them slurred, given a drunken wink.

“Um, is there anything else you need?” you asked, ignoring his flirting, as you picked up the tray. 

“Maybe,” another one chuckled, leaning back in his seat, raking his eyes down your body. You wished you could crawl into a hole at the feeling of his gaze on you. Despite being fully clothed, it made you feel incredibly naked – like he could see through your clothes. 

It certainly wasn’t the first time a customer or two flirted with you. It was sort of a rampant problem in this bar, if you were honest.

“What is it you need?” you asked, wishing so badly you could just be free from the conversation. 

One of them pulled out a stack of money, waving it in front of your face, “I’ll tip you this if you show us your tits.”

Your cheeks burned hot in humiliation as the other three laughed and jeered. You shifted on your feet, tapping your fingers anxiously against the metal tray in your hands, envisioning yourself slamming it over their heads. 

“N-No thank you…I-I don’t think that would be appropriate,” you hope that they can’t hear the way your voice trembles over all the noise in the bar.

“Come on, sexy,” the one with the money grinned, licking over his teeth as his eyes narrowed on your chest, “Bet they’re real nice. C’mon, you need the money right? Why else would you be working at a place like this? Go on, just lift your shirt up and let us see them tits!”

“M-My shift is over, I really need to go,” you shakily smile and take a step back, “I-I hope you enjoy your night, boys.”

Your attempt to diffuse the situation and get out of it proved futile because when you attempted to flee, one of them clapped a firm hand around your wrist and tugged you forward. You stumbled on your feet, dropping the metal tray with a gasp, finding yourself nose to nose with one of them. The smell of alcohol was potent on his breath and it made your lip curl in disgust. You tried to tug yourself free of his grasp but his grip was too strong. 

The guy sitting on the other side of the one who had a hold on you reached over his buddy to yank the neckline of your shirt down, the cheap, worn material stretching with ease until it tore at the weakest point. You let out a horrified cry when your bra became visible to the group, all of them cheering and shouting degrading things right in your face. 

The one across the table reached down, you felt his hand against your breast through your bra and a lightning bolt of pure terror ripped through you. It was like everything happened in slow motion.

You could feel his thumb hook under your bra and start to tug, tears flooded your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You raised a hand and as hard as you could, slapped the one still holding you clean across the face. 

The entire table went still but his grasp loosened enough for you to turn on your heel and bolt as fast as you could into the staff room, covering your exposed bra with your arms as best you could. You passed one of your coworkers, her eyes wide in concern when she saw your state. 

She followed you into the staff room, closing the door quietly behind her. You stood in front of your locker, ripping it open as you attempted to collect your things but your mind was running too fast for you to actually make any meaningful movements.

Your coworker called your name and you paused.

“Hey, take a breath,” she whispered softly, placing a hand on your back. You realized you were hyperventilating. You attempted to level out your breathing, wiping the tears off of your cheeks only for more to replace them. 

“What happened?” she asked softly, “Do you want me to call someone? The police?”

You shake your head, opening your mouth to respond but only a little sob comes out. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. She looks nothing but sympathetic, softly patting your back and encouraging you to breathe deeply. 

The staff room door suddenly slams open, making both of you jump. Your boss storms in, completely red in the face and furious. 

“Get out,” he snaps at your coworker. 

She casts an apologetic look to you, squeezing your hand before she ducks her head and leaves the staff room. He slams the door behind her, locking it for good measure – leaving both of you alone. 

He advances on you faster than you can react, he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against the lockers. It hurts but you can’t get a noise past the grip around your neck. You blink back the tears that are still coming, trying to see him more clearly.

“Are you broke in the fuckin’ head?!” he screams, a volume that makes your ears ring. You wonder if the patrons can hear it outside, “You put your hands on a customer?!”

“Th-They put their hands on me first!” you defended yourself, hoarse and choked under his grip, “They touched me!”

He only looks more furious, eyes falling to your ripped shirt and exposed bra. He grabs one side of the already torn shirt and yanks, ripping it the rest of the way. Your eyes go wide and your first instinct is to kick him but you’re panicked and uncoordinated so it misses its mark.

“I don’t give a shit if they forced you over the table and fucked you!” he howls, spitting all over your face in his rage, “You better think fast and hard about how you’re going to rectify this. Do you understand me?”

His grip tightens a bit more around your throat and you hastily nod, blubbering mindless apologies to try and appease him. He doesn’t look any less angry but lets you go nonetheless. Your knees are too shaky to hold you up so you slide down the lockers until you’re sitting on the dirty floor.

“You go out there and you apologize to them,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “Or I’m going to fire you and you’re gonna be out on the fuckin’ streets, got it?”

You nod your head, holding back your sobs but can’t control the tears that fall down your cheeks. He sends you one last glare before turning back to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open. 

You’re left there, trembling on the floor and quietly crying to yourself. Your heart is racing and you’ve never felt more terrified and humiliated in your life.

The door opens again and you look up in horror at the idea of your boss coming back. But it’s your coworker again. 

She quietly crouches next to you and gives you a once over, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I-I have to apologize t-to them,” you manage to choke out. 

Her eyes widened, “No way! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I can’t lose this job,” you sob, pressing the heel of your hands to your eyes as you cry, “I need this job. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t apologize!”

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go with you, okay? You can apologize and then you can go, that’s it.”

You nod your head and stand up, using the lockers as a crutch. Your coworker helps you steady yourself before she sees your shirt is ripped even more than when she left.

She whispers your name, “Are you sure he didn’t…”

“He only ripped it,” you assure her, sniffling softly, “But I can’t go out there like this.”

It dawns on you that you forgot a jacket. It was a little warmer today than it had been in days and you had simply neglected to bring one. 

“You can borrow my hoodie,” she assures, opening her locker to tug it out, handing it to you, “Go on, you can return it to me another day.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, clumsily sliding it over your head. You feel much better now that you’re covered up, you feel less vulnerable. You quickly collect all your belongings so you can leave as soon as you get this over with.

You let her lead you out of the staff room. The second you’re out, the blaring noise immediately proves to be too much. You wipe your eyes, using the sleeve of the hoodie. You make a note to wash it properly when you return it. 

You feel the eyes of strangers on you and it just makes you feel worse with every passing second. You want to go home. You want to shower. You want to crawl into bed. You want Simon. 

You let her lead you to the table, all the men are still there laughing and drinking their beers. They fall silent when you approach, four pairs of eyes falling on you, making you feel humiliated and small. They look expectant, the one who ripped your shirt tapping his fingers against the table. 

“There you are!” the one who had held your wrist grinned. It was a predatory smile that made your heart race anxiously, “Thought you were gonna run away without apologizing for bein’ a raging bitch.”

You flinch at the insult and your coworker squeezes your hand in support, “I-I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” another one jeered, “Practically ruined our night. How are you going to make it up to us?”

“I’ve got a few ideas!” a different once laughed. The other three joined in eagerly.

“How about you stay back late and really make it up to us, huh?” you squeezed your coworkers hand in yours, already feeling the tears returning with a vengeance.

“How about I bring you a round on me, huh?” she quickly intervenes, “I’ll buy.”

That seems to do it for the 4 men and they rambunctiously cheer and slam their hands on the table obnoxiously. You think you hear her promise to be back with their drinks as she pulls you away from the table. You both hide away in the staff room again and she holds both your hands in hers.

“Go on home,” she says softly.

“I-I’ll pay you back for the drinks–” she shushes you quickly when you start.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she coos, “Go home.”

With a gentle nudge to the back entrance, she casts you one last kind smile before slipping out of the staff door. 

You don’t even remember the walk home, your mind completely fuzzy. But you’re sobbing again by the time you stumble into the door. You collapse onto the floor in front of your couch, wailing into the cushions as the weight of the night fully and entirely collapses on you. You can barely breathe through your tears, hiccups and coughs breaking up the endless crying only to resume when you catch your breath. 

You have no idea how long you sit there, crying louder and harder than you have in a very, very long time. 

You hear your front door creak open before the living room light flips on. You go completely stiff, your crying finally going silent as you hear the familiar heavy footsteps step into the living room before they fall still when he sees you.

He calls your name, soft and gentle in a way that is completely unlike him. Simon isn’t soft, he talks to you in a cold, apathetic and teasing tone. He’s always clipped and blunt. Sure, he’s kind but never gentle.

Just the sweet tone makes your lips wobble and suddenly you’re sobbing again. His boots hit the floor fast, taking quick, big strides so he can reach you as fast as he possibly can. Two strong hands hook under your arms and turn you towards him. He takes a seat beside you on the floor and tugs you into lap.

You melt into his chest, secured by his embrace as he holds you. One hand cups the back of your head and the other wraps around your back. 

“You didn’t answer your phone when I called,” he explained his arrival, lips pressed to the crown of your head, “Got worried so I rushed over.”

You grip his hoodie in your hands, anchoring yourself to him as you cry and cry. He remains silent, content to hold you and let you cry out everything you’re feeling. 

Just having him there, holding you and comforting you, is enough to ease your tears until you’re just a hiccuping, sniffling mess. You’re taking those quick, stuttering gasping breaths that signify the end of your meltdown and Simon slowly eases his hold on you. 

He cups your cheek in one hand, raising your head up so he can really look at you. He rubs a thumb under your eye, wiping away your tears. He looks so concerned, brows furrowed and a frown on his lips. 

The sight of his face makes your lips wobble again, “Si…” you finally manage to choke out.

His gaze softens immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your face as well. He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he finally asks, letting go of your face to hold your waist, keeping you curled up in his lap. 

You think about it. You want to tell him all about it, to get it off of your chest and figure out how the hell you’re supposed to move past it. But you know that if you tell him, he’s going to march his ass to your job the second he gets a chance and put your boss’s head through the wall and find those assholes from the table. 

You really can’t afford to lose your job. Your bills are tight enough as it is, you’re scraping by by the skin of your teeth. If you’re jobless for even a week, it’s going to fuck everything up. You’ll never make rent and you can’t end up on the street. 

“Just a…bad shift…” you supply lamely.

Simon stares at you, jaw set and tense, “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact you’re lying in the first place or the fact you don’t think you can tell me what really happened.”

“Simon…” you whine, pushing yourself off of his lap, “Just let it go, please.”

He follows your lead when you stand up. He still hasn’t taken his boots off, still too concerned about you to care. Every step he takes is a loud sound of his weight in those boots. 

You pace back and forth, arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not letting it go,” he responds, “I think you know me better than that.”

“Simon, please!” you feel the tears returning again and you suddenly realize how tired you are from crying. Your eyes are sore and you just want to sleep. 

“I want to know what happened,” he argues, clearly growing exasperated. 

You know he’s not going to let it go. He knows you too well to believe any lies. You press your hands to your face and let out a noise of frustration and despair. You can feel his eyes on you, unwavering and firm. You feel hot, like you’re overheating and suffocated. With trembling hands, you haphazardly tug at the hoodie – you need it off or you’re going to go mad. 

Simon reaches forward to help you, watching your rising panic but you slap his hands away. He looks stupefied at your reaction but retracts his hands. 

But you can’t get the damned thing off, you’re uncoordinated and clumsy, unable to pull your arms through the sleeves so you can get it off. Why won’t it come off? 

“G-Get it off,” you finally cry, completely unaware of the pure horror in your voice.

Simon’s hands are back, “I’ve got you. I’ll get it off ya.” 

True to his word, he tugs it up and it slips over your head with ease. You feel like you can take a deep breath finally, feeling the cool air of your living room against your skin again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to calm yourself. 

He says your name softly but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. You jump when you feel the ghost of his fingers against your stomach – the skin is bare and it makes your eyes fly open. You look down and remember that your shirt was completely torn open, the hoodie had been hiding it, and now Simon is seeing. You can see the realization in his face.

He’s not an idiot. If anything, he’s more intelligent than anyone you’ve ever known. 

Suddenly your stomach turns and you place a hand over your mouth. You’re running down the hallway, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet as you heave. 

You don’t hear any movement from Simon. He doesn’t follow you to the bathroom. You’re briefly thankful for the escape as the nausea disappears before you suddenly crave to have him near you again.

“Simon!” you cry, his footfalls an immediate response. 

He crouches beside you, placing a hand on your back, “You finished?”

You nod, spitting one last time into the toilet, “I-I want to shower.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he stands, stepping past you to turn on the shower for you. He places a consoling hand on the top of your head in passing before he goes to leave you alone. You reach out and grab his hand before he can get too far.

He pauses and looks at you, easily understanding. He brushes his thumb over your hand, “Not goin’ anywhere, love.”

He takes a step outside of the bathroom and stands there, hands held in front of him as if he were on guard, like a security guard. You flush the toilet and shakily strip your clothes off before stepping into the shower, letting the warm spray ease your sore body and clear your sinuses. You’re terribly stuffy from crying so you can’t even smell your grapefruit body wash this time.

You finish your shower, making sure you scrub your body as best you can before you step out and wrap a towel around your body.

“Are you hungry?” Simon suddenly asks.

“No…” your tone is flatter than you had intended and you realize that you’re completely emotionally drained. 

“Alright,” is all he says in reply.

You approach the door, where he’s still standing. You place your hand against his back and he quickly steps aside to let you by. You hear his boots behind you as he follows you to your bedroom. 

You sit on the bed, completely exhausted. Simon makes himself busy with going through your dresser, pulling out some clothes for you to wear before he places them on the bed beside you. You don’t make any movements. 

He sighs, softly saying your name before crouching in front of you, taking your hands in his. 

“Was it your boss?” he asks softly. 

“Him and some assholes I was serving drinks to,” you tiredly answer. You don’t have it in you to fight in anymore. 

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” he pries, squeezing your hands.

“Because I know you, Si,” you sniffle, “You’re going to go down there and put them all in the hospital when you find them.”

“And?” he scoffs, “They fuckin’ deserve it. No one gets to put their hands on you like that and get away with it.”

“Because I can’t lose my job, Si!” you finally cry, “I barely make ends meet as it is! I-If I lose my job, what am I supposed to do? I won’t be able to afford rent. I’ll be on the streets!”

“I would never let that happen,” he says firmly, “You will never be on the streets, love. I will always take care of you, you know that.”

“I can’t do that to you, Simon,” you mutter, sniffling again, “Y-You already have so much on your plate I don’t want to be another problem you have to deal with.”

“Is that what you think?” he scoffs, standing up, “That I deal with you? You’re important to me, I take care of you because I never want anything to happen to you. I’m not going to let you work at that shithole for a minute longer.”

You hang your head, unable to supply any arguments to him anymore.

“I’m going to make you something small to eat. You’re going to eat and drink some water and then you’re going to get some rest, understood?” he gives a satisfied hum when you nod your head in compliance. 

Once you’re alone, you go over his words again. You’re important to him, that’s what he said. It was the most clear he had ever been with his feelings towards you since you confessed your feelings when you were young. 

As you methodically got dressed in the clothes he picked out for you, you reminisced. Memories of him were always something that made you inexplicably happy – except for one memory.

You were 14 and he was 17 at the time. You’d known each other for your entire childhood after his mother had brought him over for a playdate despite the age difference and the fact you were closer in age to his brother. 

He had always looked after you and taken care of you, walking you home after school and simply looking after you when your parents were busy. It was inevitable that you would grow feelings for him. You remember the way your heart would race every time you looked at him. You remember telling your friends that he was your boyfriend, hoping he wouldn’t find out.

You had told him one evening when he was hanging out, having dinner with your family, that you liked him – like liked. 

You remember how you cried into your pillow night after night when he rejected you. Told you flat out that you were an idiot and to drop it and never, ever bring it up again. That he didn’t feel the same. And that was that. 

You never brought it up again. 

But the crush never once waned. You decided that his friendship was more important than your feelings for him so you would never let him know. And that’s how it had been ever since. 

Simon’s voice calling your name ripped you from your reminiscing. You tied the drawstrings of the sweats he had picked out and quickly made your way to the kitchen. 

Simon was washing a pan by the time you arrived but he nodded to a plate he set on the counter for you. It was just a small omelet he made, complete with a light drizzle of ketchup. 

He knew you well, you couldn’t deny. You picked up the fork he’d placed on the plate for you and slowly began to eat. 

After being sick, your stomach was painfully empty so you were happy to have something on it once again. Simon quietly finished washing the dishes he had dirtied before he placed them on the dish rack and dried his hands. 

“Um, Simon?” you called softly, receiving a grunt in reply, “Didn’t you have something going on tonight?”

“Was gonna be out the lads,” he responded, “Doesn’t matter, can hang out with those idiots anytime.”

“You shouldn’t talk about your friends like that,” you said, shaking your head as you took a final bite of your omelet.

“Aint my friends,” he reached down and took your plate from you, tossing it into the sink.

“Simon Riley doesn’t have friends?” you asked, eyes following him as he locked up your apartment and started to turn out the lights.

“Got you,” he said as you followed him down the hall, “All I need.”

A fond smile made its way across your face as he yanked his shirt above his head. You began to make yourself comfortable in bed, trying to keep your eyes off of him as he got dressed for bed. Despite the way you wanted to take the chance to look at him.

Friends. That’s what you were, you reminded yourself. 

Finally, he climbed into bed beside you, making himself comfortable before you turned out the light. 

Yet, despite your exhaustion from the night, you felt like you couldn’t close your eyes. You felt like you couldn’t relax. The tension in your body was so much that you were sore. Like you had gone to the gym instead of went to work. 

“Simon..?” you whispered into the dark. He was silent for a second before he hummed in response, “Can I…tell you what happened tonight?”

He was quiet again but you felt him move, a hand blindly reaching over to you to find your hands. You took it in both of yours, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. 

“This stupid group of guys were sloshed beyond belief,” you began to tell him, aware of his gaze on you through the dark, “They were just chattin’ shit, saying they’d tip me if I showed them my tits,” he scoffed beside you, clearly displeased, “I said no and tried to leave and they wouldn’t let me. One of them ripped my shirt and tried to pull my bra up so I slapped him.”

“Fuckin’ bastard deserved to get his teeth knocked down his throat,” Simon growled from beside you.

“I got away and went to the staff room but my boss came in and he was so fucking angry, Si,” your voice shook as you remembered the way his face had been so red and a look of pure hate had been in his eyes, “He grabbed my throat and pinned against the lockers. He was angry that I had struck a customer.”

“Of course that’s all that bastard would be angry about,” Simon spit, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“I tried to tell him that I was defending myself but he said–” your voice broke and you struggled to blink back the tears. Simon sat up a bit, pulling you into his chest, letting you curl against him, the rapid hum of his heart loud in your ear, easing you immediately, “He said that he didn’t care if they put me over the table and fucked me, he would fire me if I didn’t apologize to them.”

Simon’s arms tightened around you immediately, cursing under his breath, “He made you apologize to them?” 

You nod your head, “It was so humiliating, Si. B-But I just didn’t want to lose my job. They just laughed at me and made a joke of it.”

“Pieces of shit,” he hisses, pressing a kiss against your temple, “They better hope I don’t find them.”

You’d really love to see them blubbering on their knees, crying and terrified like you had been. They wouldn’t be so awful in the face of a guy bigger and stronger than them – someone like Simon. 

“I should have gone to the bar tonight,” he sighed, “Even though you told me not to, I wanted to.”

“It’s okay, Si,” you sniffle, “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

You wrap your leg around his waist and snuggle deeper into his chest, finally feeling content to sleep so long as you got to be in his arms. 

You wake up late, well into the afternoon. You’re groggy and struggle to pull yourself out of bed. Simon isn’t in bed, so you force yourself up in search of him. 

As you left, you noticed that the clothes you were wearing last night were gone and weren’t in the laundry basket. You knew for a fact that you left them on the floor. 

He’s relaxing on the couch as usual. His hair is wet and you can smell your body wash wafting off of him when you crawl onto the couch beside him. He reaches a hand out and pets your head gently as a greeting.

“Sleep well?” he asks. You nod your head, “Hungry?” You nod again.

He huffs through his nose and stands up, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head to go prepare something for you to eat. The sound of Simon bustling about the kitchen filled the apartment and you found yourself relaxing into the couch. 

“Simon?” you called, getting to your feet to make your way to the kitchen. 

He had his back to you as he fried up something in the pan but he hummed in response nonetheless.

“Where did my clothes from last night go?” you ask softly.

He pauses his stirring of the food, “Threw them out. Figured you wouldn’t want to see them when you woke up.”

“Oh,” you respond. 

Your heart feels full at his show of care. It was quiet actions like that that just made you feel so…in love, you think before correcting yourself. Fluttery. Cared for. Loved. 

No, he doesn’t love you.

You shake your head and move to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, going to sit on the couch to wait for Simon to finish cooking. 

The day was spent like that, just you and Simon in your flat. Him just keeping you company and keeping your mind off of things. 

You were curled up against him, listening to the beating of his heart and watching the movie he had decided to play. It was peaceful. He smelled nice, like you. And he was so comfortable beneath you, firm and big. 

His thighs were spread wide, one of your legs thrown over one of his, only serving to make you more aware of how big and firm he was. Solid. Well-built. 

Handsome.

You cast a glance at his face. His brown eyes were half-lidded as he mindlessly nibbled at his bottom lip. They looked soft and shiny. You wondered what he tasted like, how he kissed.

Was he rough? Soft? Did he like to use tongue. 

You’d never kissed anyone before. You wondered if he would be okay with that. You knew some guys liked experienced partners and some liked them inexperienced. You wonder what he preferred. 

Just the idea of kissing him had your heart hammering in your chest and your face burning. You quickly looked at the TV, snuggling closer to him. He squeezed you closer, hand mindlessly rubbing up and down your back. 

Kissing Simon…you pictured him over you, cupping your cheeks in the way he always does. You imagine him pressing his pretty lips against yours, moving them softly against yours. You imagine what it would feel like for him to pin you down, sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned and whimpered beneath him, unable to move anywhere because he’s so much bigger and stronger than you. In charge. 

Your pussy clenches around nothing, already starting to drip into your panties. Suddenly you sit up, eyes wide and cheeks flush. Simon looks perturbed, an eyebrow raised at your sudden movement.

“I’ve got to take a shower,” you shakily supply before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hand over your mouth to quiet your heavy breathing. 

What the hell was wrong with you? How the hell could you be thinking about sex and getting turned on after yesterday? How could you be thinking about Simon like that when he was right there? What the fuck was your problem?

You hastily reached over and turned the shower on, the pipes clanking loudly as the water flowed through them. 

Shouldn’t you be the opposite of horny after what happened yesterday? Maybe you really were broken. 

You strip and quickly step into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would possibly go. You needed it to hurt so you would stop acting like such a freak. Like a slut. 

You fight back tears as you begin to wash up. 

By the time your shower is done, you’re exhausted again. You dry off and wrap the towel around yourself, opening the door to find Simon standing on the other side. You jump and gasp, placing a hand over your heart to calm the beating.

“You scared me!” you whine, slipping past him to the bedroom.

“Wanted to check on you,” he says, following slowly behind you, watching as you pick out clothes.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “I just got really tired and I’d like to turn in early, that’s all.”

“Alright,” he replies, standing there for a second before making his way back to the door, “Just call if you need anything.”

“I will!” you offer him a smile, watching as he leaves, closing the door behind him. 

You quickly dress and climb into bed, turning the lights out before squeezing your eyes shut to will yourself to sleep. Surprisingly, it came quickly and easily – maybe you were more tired than you thought. 

Little did you know that Simon took the opportunity of you sleeping early to slip away and take a little 15 minute walk. 

When you start to dream, you’re acutely aware that it’s a dream. You’re not sure how but, you just know that you’re sleeping and none of this is real.

But god it feels real and you want it to be real so you go along with it. 

Simon is there, you’re both in your bed. He’s got his shirt off and he’s on top of you, kissing your neck softly. Sweetly. 

He doesn’t smell like your body wash anymore, he smells like his – a crisp, musky scent that you love so dearly. And he’s so warm against you. 

You realize that you’re only wearing a pair of panties when his lips suddenly attach to your breast, mouthing at your nipple. His tongue swirls over the bud and it feels so good you can’t help but moan. 

“Si…” you sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. He rewards you by surging up and pressing his lips against yours. He tastes vaguely like mint and it’s intoxicating. So simple, nothing special or poetic. Just mint. Simon. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kiss him back. Kissing is easy, you hazily think. You just move your lips in time with his and it falls into place. 

Simon’s hips move against yours and you cry out when you feel the hard swell of his cock press against you through his sweatpants and your panties. He’s so hard and it's so hot even through the layers of clothes. 

“Si…” you whimper again.

“I’m here, love,” he coos, “I’ve got you.”

He rocks his hips against yours and fuck, it feels good. You eagerly spread your legs and find yourself wishing that the panties weren’t in the way. You’d love to hear the sticky sound of your pussy against his cock through his sweats. You’d love to see the stain of your slick against them, knowing that you marked him as yours like that. 

You feel hot, that tense warmth growing in your tummy. The promise of pleasure that you’ve never been able to experience. Maybe Simon could supply it. You’re sure he could, actually, you convince yourself.

If he just keeps going, keeps rutting his hips like that, you could cum all messy in your panties. Just for him. Only for him. 

Just as you swear it’s going to wash over you, your eyes fly open and you gasp. Your entire body feels hot and sweaty and you realize you’ve thrown your blanket off of your body. The sun is shining through the window and Simon is nowhere to be seen in bed. 

You swallow, your throat feeling painfully dry. 

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open and Simon comes in with a laundry basket. He casts a glance at you and seems to relax when he realizes you’re awake.

“Was doin’ some laundry,” he explains, turning to open your drawers to begin putting the clean clothes away.

“Oh,” you whisper, sounding hoarse, “Thank you, Si.”

As you watch him, you realize he seems tenser than usual. You sit up and bed and watch him put the clothes away until he’s finished. He stands there for a moment before looking over his shoulder at you.

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I’ve gotta go tonight.”

“Go?” you ask, eyes going wide. You don’t want him to leave, “Go where?”

“I’ve got some work to take care of,” he replies, “Paperwork I’ve been puttin’ off. Gonna pull a late one to get it done.”

“I-I don’t want you to go,” you confess softly, trying to blink back the tears that sting your eyes. You feel so pathetic, crying because he needs to leave. But you haven’t been without him since it happened and you’re scared to be alone with just your thoughts.

“I know,” he hums, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, cupping your cheek, “I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” you ask. He nods, teasingly pinching your cheek before you smile and bat his hand away. When he pulls it back you notice his knuckles – bruised and split open. They weren’t like that last night you were sure of it, “Simon…”

He catches you looking and gives you a tense smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

He stands up and kisses your forehead before turning and leaving the room, leaving you to get ready for the day. 

Thankfully, Simon remains around for the day. You notice he’s on his phone a lot more, typing away. It’s unlike him, he’s more the type to do phone calls rather than text. When you ask him about it he just waves you off with an explanation about Soap being on his ass. 

You have a feeling he’s lying but you don’t pry. 

Before he leaves, he makes you dinner. You walk him to the door, unable to stop the pout on your face when he puts his boots on. You can’t help but wish that he’d change his mind at the last second and stay with you after all. 

But he doesn’t. He pulls his balaclava over his face and slips his hood up before turning back to you. 

“Don’t cry, love,” he coos, wiping a stray tear away, “I promise I’ll get all my work done and I’ll be all yours for a good long while.”

“Okay…” you sound so miserable but you can’t bring yourself to care, “I’ll miss you.”

He brings you in for a hug, making sure to squeeze you nice and tight before he pulls back. He can’t give you his normal kiss because of the mask and that only makes you sadder. 

You don’t want him to go. You don’t want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep him close. He makes you feel safe. He makes you feel complete. You love him so much. 

You hold onto his hoodie for as long as you can until he has to shake you off and close the door behind him. And you stand there for a long time. Like a puppy who's been left home alone for the first time, just waiting for its owners to come back because it’s scared it’s going to be alone forever. 

By the time you bring yourself to leave the door, the food Simon made you is cold. That only seems to make you feel worse. 

Then you sit on the couch and watch TV, feeling hopelessly alone. You wished you had Simon to curl into and snuggle with. The tiny couch has never felt bigger. 

You shower and brush your teeth, pouting at the sight of his toothbrush, another reminder that he isn’t there. 

Before that night at the bar, you never would have felt so isolated without him; lonely, sure. But now that you’re experiencing this gut-wrenching emptiness, you feel close to tears every time you think about him. He was truly your rock, the only thing that brought you comfort. You loved him.

You flop against the bed and let the tears fall down your temples. You love him. You do.

You’re so fucking in love with him that it hurts. Your heart aches in your chest. You want him there to hold you. 

You know he doesn’t feel the same, you know it will never become anything. But you’re willing to take whatever you can get. Just his company. You can be content so long as he’s with you, as long as he’s in your life. 

But you can think about him, imagine yourself telling him how you feel. Imagine that when he holds you close that he feels the same too. That he loves you. You want him to love you so desperately. 

You wish that he loved you. 

You curled into his pillow, sniffling pathetically as you closed your eyes. You cry yourself to sleep. 

Your eyes fly open and the gasp you let out changes to a sob. All you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. All you see is flashes of their faces in your head. All you can feel are their hands on you. 

A nightmare, your brain supplies but it does nothing to quell your anxiety and fear.

You reach for Simon, instinctive and desperate. But you only touch the cold mattress and you’re reminded that he isn’t home tonight. 

You fumble through the sheets to find your phone.

I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there. 

He promised.

You can barely see the screen as you look for his contact. You call him, hands trembling as you hold it to your ear. It rings and rings and rings. Then beeps and goes to voicemail.

You hang up and try again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t answer. Why won’t he answer? He promised.

You call him again but it goes straight to voicemail. You can practically feel your heart shatter in your chest. He was ignoring your calls. He ignored you. 

But he had promised he would come when you needed him. And you needed him. 

Your phone becomes completely blurry through your tears as you begin to cry in earnest. You feel hurt, betrayed, disappointed, and angry. You’re fucking angry. 

You suddenly need to let it out. So you take your phone in your hand and throw it, listening to it slam against the wall. It’s loud and the light on your screen goes out. But you don’t feel better. You’re still a mess of volatile emotions. It feels like it’s all bottled up inside you and it hurts. 

You take his pillow and grip it in your fists. You want to rip it to shreds, want to tear it open and release all your anger on it. Instead, you just slam your fists against it. 

Then you do it again. And again. And again. 

You punch the damned thing as you cry and cry. You’re sure you must be a sight. You must be making so much noise as you sob and shriek. 

You were angry at what happened to you, you were angry you had apologize to them for hurting you, you were angry because you couldn’t even sleep peacefully without being plagued by a nightmare the first night you were without Simon, and you were angry he broke his fucking promise. 

Before long, all you were doing was sobbing into his pillow – wailing and crying your broken heart out. You tire yourself out, completely exhausted of all emotions. You lay there, quietly hiccuping and sniffling, just staring into the inky darkness. 

You’re there for hours, unable to fall back asleep. The sun slowly creeps over the horizon and begins to cast an orange glow around the room. 

You can’t even find beauty in it. You’re so exhausted. Your heart aches. It’s agonizing. 

It’s early morning by the time you hear your front door open. You don’t feel excited to see him. You’re not happy he’s back. You don’t feel anything, actually. All you can do is slowly blink, gaze focused outside the window where you can faintly hear birds chirping. 

You wish you were a bird so you could fly away wherever you want. You would fly away from here right now if you could. You wanted to leave. 

You didn’t want to see Simon. You were so angry at him. You’ve never felt like this about him before. You don’t know what to do. All you can think right now is how much you hate him. 

God, you hate him. 

He’s surprisingly quiet as he walks through your apartment. You hear him push the door open, your back to him. But you can feel his eyes on you, can feel how he hovers in the doorway. 

He wanders further into the room before pausing. 

He rounds to your side of the bed and sees that you’re awake, simply staring out the window. He holds your phone up, screen clearly shattered before he places it on the table beside you. 

“You called,” he says softly, shifting anxiously on his feet. Simon’s never anxious. But he is right now, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was just…busy. Had some unruly recruits, you know how it is.”

Your eyes finally move from the window, landing on him. He’s wearing the same thing he was last night. Just some jeans and white t-shirt. It’s a nice one, it fits him well and it looks comfy. 

Simon stands there under your gaze, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He’s not used to feeling scrutinized. And that’s exactly what your gaze feels like. 

Your eyes wander to a strange discoloration on his shirt. It’s tan, just a light stain. There’s a tiny smear of black as well. Then you spot the red on his collar, ruby red. 

He looks guilty. He would look like a kicked puppy if you didn’t know any better. This isn’t guilt because he missed your call. He’s guilty because he was too busy getting his dick wet to answer you. 

That’s why he ignored you? To fuck someone?

You’re no longer numb. You’re angry again. That overwhelming feeling that you have no idea how to let out. It’s like it just boils up inside you, like a pot boiling over. It has no place to go but out. 

You’re moving before you even have a chance to register it. You just need to show him how angry you are. Fucking furious. 

You grab the empty glass on your nightstand and wail it in his direction harder than you thought possible. Simon barely dodges, slamming himself against the wall as it shatters behind him. 

Now he looks angry. Good. Maybe he’ll feel a fraction of what you feel right now. 

“Are you out of your fucking head?” he snarls, animosity dripping off of every syllable. 

You don’t even answer, grabbing a book that you have stacked there before throwing that too. Then the second book. Then the third book. Then you throw your phone at him. Then you take the lamp, rip the plug right from the wall and throw that too. 

When you’re out of things to throw on the table you throw your pillow. It’s when you’re about to throw his pillow that he finally has enough. He rips it from your grasp and tosses it across the room. 

He’s standing there, fists balled at his sides and his shoulders heaving up and down as he tries to calm himself. 

“I hate you,” you finally spit, standing on your knees. You don’t have anything to throw so you slam your hands against his chest. You hit him, crying and sobbing as you wail over and over about how you hate him. You hate him so fucking much. 

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” you scream. You’re so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear but you don’t care. It feels good to let your anger out on him, to punch and slap and claw at his shoulders, chest, and arms. He doesn’t do anything but stand there and let you. He’d never lay a hand on you, even when you’re doing it to him, “I needed you and you were too busy fucking some stupid whore?!”

He doesn’t say anything but he’s trembling now. You’re not sure if he’s just that angry or if he’s holding himself back from wringing your neck. 

You pause to look up at him. His jaw is set hard but he’s staring at you, his usual lazy, lidded look nowhere to be found. He looks enraged. 

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you spit, raising your hand as if you’re going to slap him across the face but you stop. You don’t want to do that. 

“Say what?” he finally responds, voice so cold you swear it drops the room’s temperature, “I have a life that doesn’t revolve around you. That’s the difference between us. You need me but I don’t need you.”

You sit back on your heels at that, the hurt clear on your face. Simon doesn’t seem to care in the slightest now, as tears trickle down your face. You must look a sight, pathetically gazing up at him as he glares down at you like you’re dog shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“You hate me?” he scoffs, “That’s just fine. We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

He turns on his heel at that and storms out of your room, slamming your bedroom door behind him. It practically rattles the walls. Then you hear the same thing from the front door. 

And you’re all alone. And you can’t do anything but cry about it. 

You find it impossible to get out of bed after that. You lay there for the rest of the day. Then all night. You fitfully sleep when you can’t bear to be awake anymore and then wake when the nightmares hit. 

Then you watch the sun come up and decide that it’s a good day to spend in bed. So you do. You sleep on and off, only waking to cry when you’re plagued with nightmares. 

You occasionally think about Simon. More than occasionally, actually. He’s always on your mind.

You think everything over and come to the conclusion that this was all your fault. From the beginning, really. You’d been keen on staying in his life since you were children, attached yourself to his side and weaseled your way into his life. Really, you gave him no choice but to put up with you. 

He was everything to you. He was right, you needed him. You didn’t have anyone else. No friends, no family, not even a pet. Just him. Always just him. 

What choice did he have other than to put up with you day after day? He didn’t need you like you needed him, after all. He’d surely been spending his days in dread of you – of your texts, your calls. 

This was probably what he was waiting for; an escape. He probably wanted to leave a long, long time ago. You were in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with you. 

What were you thinking? Actually believing that he would want to spend his days with you, taking care of you. Who were you kidding, you were just an idiot for letting yourself believe otherwise. 

You wake up one day and realize you’re not angry anymore. Just sad. You almost prefer the anger and emptiness compared to the unending waves of sadness. 

You cry all the time. Day and night. 

You try to use your phone, you want to call him but it’s broken. The screen won’t even turn on. You’re completely alone, can’t even contact somebody – not that you have anyone but him. 

God, that was embarrassing now that you thought about it. There he was going out and getting laid and you’ve been holding out for him since you were a kid. 

You’re suddenly aware of the fact you haven’t showered in days. You’ve barely eaten, only getting up once or twice to find something to nibble on in the kitchen – a slice of bread is what you usually settle on. 

You pry yourself up from your mattress and stumble to the bathroom. The clanging of pipes is louder than it’s ever been but the hot water is completely welcome. 

When you stand there, under the burning heat that makes your skin raw, you slowly sink to the shower floor. You haven’t cleaned it in a while but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

You let yourself cry again, since it’s all you can do. By the time you’re done, the water is running cold and you stand up to quickly wash yourself with soap so you can at least be clean for the next few days until you can bring yourself to shower again. 

It’s when you’re crawling into bed that it suddenly dawns on you that you don’t have a job. You hadn’t shown up to your shift in days. And you don’t have Simon anymore. 

Panic takes shape and you realize you can’t relax. If you don’t find a job soon you’re going to be on your ass and homeless by next month. 

You haul yourself out of bed and begin rooting through your drawers for something to wear. 

Maybe you can go back to the bar and beg for your job back. You’ll do anything if you have to. 

You’re going to prove to yourself and to Simon that you’ll make it without him – and you won’t end up hanging from a fucking rope. 

The sunlight practically burns your skin from not feeling it in a while. Winter is coming in and it’s already damn cold out and you can see your breath. But you ignore it, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself as you book it for the bar. 

You’re filled with utter dread as soon as you open the door. There’s a couple patrons already drinking and you wonder what day it is. 

You look around, searching for your old boss. He’s nowhere on the floor so you make your way to the staff room and ultimately his office in the very back. 

You only realize you’re trembling when you raise your hand to knock on the door. But you bite back your fear when you’re reminded that you need the job. You need it. 

“Enter,” you hear his chilling voice call. You take a breath and push the door open. He freezes the second he lays eyes on you, he sports a black eye and a busted lip, “You.” 

“M-Mr. Dawson,” you shakily whisper, “I-I know I haven’t showed up in a few days and I’m really sorry but–”

“You want your job back,” he finishes, tossing his head back to laugh, “You want your fucking job back? After you sent that fucking lunatic here?”

“Sent who…?” you ask softly, willing your knees to stop quaking. 

“That asshole in the skull mask. Beat the shit out of me and my blasted customers. You think I’m going to let you back in after that?” he laughs again, “You’re out of your fucking mind, you dumb bitch.”

You wince at the insult, “I-I didn’t send him. H-He was a friend of mine and he did it on his own but–”

“You can have your job back,” he says suddenly, making you freeze, “If you come over here and bend over my desk for me.”

“What..?” you ask softly, watching him sit back and lick his lips as his eyes raked down your body.

“You heard me,” he snickers, “Bend over my desk and let me fuck you and I’ll let you have your job back.”

Granted, for a second, you think about it. You really do. To just let him do it. But you can’t. You know you can't, you would never do that to yourself. 

“N-No,” you find yourself whispering, “I won’t do that…”

His smile fades quickly when you say that and his lip curls in disgust and anger, “Should have let those blokes take you out back and leave you bloody in the alleyway like you deserve.”

You leave with your head hanging low and find yourself standing on the street, fighting tears. You only feel worse than before you went in. 

When you get home, you stand there and cry. That’s all you’ve been doing lately, crying. At this rate, Simon’s prophecy is going to come true and you’re going to be hanging from a damn rope. It sounds nice right about now, actually. Anything to stop the horrific pain that you feel. 

You crawl back into bed and don’t get back up that night. Or the next day. 

The only thing that gets you up the day after that is a painful twang in your stomach. You stumble your way to the kitchen and pull out the loaf of bread you’ve been nibbling at but frown when you see some pieces have begun to mold. 

You take a look in the fridge, finding it painfully empty. The vegetables and fruits that were in there have gone bad now. The meat you had bought was all used up from when Simon cooked. You didn’t even have any cup ramens because you opted to not buy any last time. 

So you resort yourself to tearing the moldy parts off the bread and eating what's left. 

As you stand there, you realize you feel so tired. Like your legs can’t hold you up, so you allow yourself to sink to the floor, back leaning against the cabinet. 

You almost want to laugh at yourself over what you’ve become. Eating moldy bread on the kitchen floor and crying to yourself. 

You place the bread in the refrigerator in hopes that that will stop its rotting process but you don’t have much hope. 

Then, you’re back in bed. And you’re so exhausted. It’s impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. So you sleep. 

But then you have another nightmare. You can’t even remember what it was about, you’re too exhausted to even jolt awake like you usually do. 

Instead, your eyes open and they’re already filled with tears before you even get the chance to register the fact you’re awake. 

So you lay like that. For a long time. Just staring at nothing. The tears stop on their own and you’re left exhausted as usual. It’s become your default state and you begin to wonder if you’re going to feel this broken and hurt forever. 

You zone out, letting your mind go hazy and erase all thoughts from it. 

You don’t even hear your front door open. Don’t hear the boots on the floor. Don’t hear your bedroom door open. 

You hear a call of your name and that gets your attention. But you don’t hear anything else. 

Your imagination? You don’t have a lamp anymore to turn on. You’d thrown it at Simon and it broke.

Suddenly, light floods your bedroom and you bolt up in bed. A large, familiar figure blocks your doorway, a silhouette against the now illuminated hallway. 

He calls your name again and your heart skips a beat. 

“Si?” you whisper, choking on a sob when he steps further into the room. 

He’s got you gathered up in his arms faster than you can think. He’s so warm and it feels so good to have him in your arms again. You wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him – hold him so fiercely that you’re worried you may actually break him. 

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, “It’s alright, everything’s alright.”

“S-Simon…” you can’t help but wail, clawing at the back of his hoodie as if you can feel him any closer than he already was. 

“I’m here,” he sighs, kissing the top of your head, “I’m here. It’s okay. Shit, just let it out. I fucked up, sweetheart, I did. Just breathe and we’ll make everything better, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself apologizing through tears, “I-I don’t hate you, Si. I don’t, I promise. I-I was just mad. I’m sorry I was mean.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he consoles you, cupping the back of your head as you sob, “I’m the one who fucked everything up. It was a fuckin’ mistake.”

You can’t even formulate a response, too choked up with your cries that you let out into the soft cotton of his hoodie. You feel nothing but relief at having him in your arms again, you’re almost scared that he’s going to disappear if you let go. 

But he stays there, shushing you and occasionally kissing the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth on the bed. 

Before long, your cries finally quiet and you’re left curled up against him, quietly sniffling to yourself. His grip on you remains firm, unwilling to let you go. 

After several, long minutes, he finally speaks, “Why don’t you go wash up, hm? Nice, hot, shower. I’ll fix you up some food, sound good?”

You sniffle and blearily look up at him, your lashes sticking together from your dried tears, “I don’t have anything.”

“I’ll make you some ramen cups,” he responds. 

He doesn’t like them being part of your diet but it seems he was willing to overlook it just this once so could get something on your stomach. 

“Don’t have any,” you sound completely congested as you talk, sitting up a little to wipe your cheeks.

“None?” he asks, keeping his hands on your body even as you move off of his lap. 

You shake your head, “I didn’t buy any last time I went shopping.”

“What the hell have you been eating then?” he mumbles, slowly standing up from the bed. 

You wince when you hear his knees and back pop from the movement, “I haven’t had much of an appetite but I’ve got some bread…”

Simon is silent after that, nonsensically looking around the room, seemingly taking stock of what's around him. Then he sighs, running a hand through his cropped hair before patting you on the head.

“I’ll order then,” he assures you, “Go ahead and shower, yeah?”

You do as you’re told, eager to wash the drying tears off of your face and hopefully wash away the lingering sadness. You know that you and Simon have a lot to talk about, but you figure it can wait until you’re both mentally prepared for it. 

You feel more refreshed than you have in days when you step out of the shower. You feel a surge of anxiety in your chest when you think maybe he had left while you were showering but when you pause to really listen, you can hear him shuffling about the flat. 

When you slip into your bedroom, you’re shocked to see that your bed has been completely stripped. He also swept up the broken remnants of the glass and lamp you had thrown at him and picked up the books. He had picked up some scattered pieces of clothes and put them in the laundry basket where they belonged. 

You get yourself dressed and place your dirty clothes in the basket so you don’t undo the work that Simon had done. 

You hear a knock on your door and it makes you jump but Simon quickly answers it. He calls your name to let you know the food has arrived and you quickly make your way to the kitchen. 

He’s methodically separating the food he had ordered into two separate groups, clearly having ordered for himself as well. 

It smells positively delicious and you find your mouth watering as your stomach growls. 

You turn to the fridge, opening it to grab a bottle of water out of it. You notice that the loaf of bread you had in there is gone, most likely thrown out by Simon when he realized it was moldy.

You feel your cheeks burn in shame when you imagine him knowing that you had been eating moldy bread because you couldn’t afford to buy groceries – although, even if you had all the money in the world, you were sure you wouldn’t have felt like going out to get any. You wouldn’t have been able to order since you’d broken your phone. 

You open the styrofoam tray and immediately start devouring the chicken tenders he had ordered for you. It was simple, easy, and tasty. He clearly didn’t want to order you anything too hefty given the fact you’ve been existing on bread. 

He had a burger, taking slow bites of it and occasionally nibbling at his fries. You took the opportunity to look him over. 

He honestly looked the same as ever. He didn’t have dark circles or bags under his eyes like you did. He didn’t have red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes from crying for days. For some reason that made a pang of resentment surge through you. He seemed completely unbothered by everything that had happened. Unbothered, even. 

His words ring out through your head like a bell. 

“We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes again but you bite them back, choosing to take a bite of your french fries. You realize now that you can hear the washing machine going. Clearly, he had put your bedding in there to wash. 

Maybe he was right, you couldn’t survive without him. Couldn’t even wash your own damn laundry. 

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he interrupts your self-deprecating thoughts. 

“Oh, um,” you scramble to think of what to say. Something not depressing or something that could upset him, “I was just wondering what you’ve been up to these few days!”

You try your hardest to sound chipper and interested. You’re positive he doesn’t buy the act in the slightest from the soft, pained look he gives you. But he thankfully plays along. You’re grateful because you don’t want to cry again.

“I was uh,” he cleared his throat and took a sip of water, “I was on base, actually. Nothin’ interesting, really. What, uh, what about you?”

You feel your smile falter and you look down at your food, “Nothing interesting. Tried to get my job back but that was a bust,” you chuckled, playing it off like a goofy anecdote, “Turns out your ex-boss doesn’t like when he gets beat to shit because of you!”

Simon drops his burger into his tray and his nonchalant expression turns sour in half a second, “You tried to go back to work at that shithole? Why the fuck would you do that? You know it’s not good for you!”

All over again, you feel your body flush with anger, and you’re shouting at him before you know it, “What the fuck was I supposed to do, Simon?! You left and I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do without you. I assumed you were gone forever,” you voice pathetically broke but you ignored it, tearfully glaring at him, “All you said was that I was gonna end up killing myself and I was doing everything in my power to prove you wrong.”

“You should have known me better than that!” he shouted, slamming his hands on the countertop, “I never would have left you–”

“That’s exactly what you did!” you shriek, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You left me! You ignored me when I needed you to go get laid and then left like I was nothing to you! Look at you for fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking wreck and you look like you couldn’t have fared better! I almost let that scumbag fuck me just to get my fucking job back, Simon! All because you left me.”

For once in his life, Simon seems utterly lost for words. The only sound in the small kitchen was the steady dripping of your leaky sink and you’re stuttering, sharp breaths as you force yourself to not break down all over again. 

“I should have known you better?” you whisper, resting your hands on the countertop, hanging your head so you can catch your breath, “Apparently I should have. Maybe then I would have known better to depend on you like that.”

Simon stands there, across the counter from you but feeling like he was miles away. You could hear his breathing stutter every few seconds, like he was gearing up to say something but he seemingly changed his mind every time. 

The washing machine jingle rang through the apartment and he immediately stepped away. 

Typical. Simon was never the type to truly let himself be emotionally vulnerable so there was no reason for you to expect it now. 

With him out of the room, you took the chance to wind yourself down, taking a few more bites of your tenders. You could hear Simon moving the laundry to the dryer, slamming it closed before turning it on. 

But he doesn’t reappear, evidently hiding out in the tiny room off the kitchen where your washer and dryer were. He was probably collecting himself just like you. But he appears a second later, lingering out of the corner of your eye. You can see him looking at you but you can’t bear to look back at him.

“I didn’t…” he pauses, taking a breath, “I wasn’t…” he lets out a sound of frustration before he tries again, “I wasn’t okay while I was gone.” 

He doesn’t say anything more. It was evident that that was all he was willing to give up in the moment. But you want more from him, you need more. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get past this, Simon,” you whisper, “Everything’s so fucked up. I’m fucked up.”

“I am too,” he says softly, drumming his fingers against the counter, “We’ll fix it.”

His assurance marks the end of the conversation and you both resume eating the dinner he had ordered. But it’s silent and neither of you make an attempt to fill it. 

Once the food is eaten, you take a seat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as Simon takes your laundry basket from your bedroom and puts the clothes in the washer. 

Your eyelids feel heavy and you wish so desperately that you could crawl into bed and sleep. You suddenly realize that you have no idea what time it is. 

“Simon?” you call out when you catch him passing by. He stops at your calling, raising an inquisitive brow, “What time is it?”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it so he can see, “9:20.”

“Oh…” you respond, tucking your head back into your knees. 

Simon walks away at that and you briefly wonder what he’s doing now. But your eyelids are so heavy and you’re finding it so hard to think clearly. 

You’re pulled from your sleep a soft hand petting over your head. Your eyes slowly drift open and you’re met with Simon’s sweet, brown eyes. 

“Made your bed,” he says so softly, thumbing over your cheek, “Go ahead and get some proper sleep.”

You nod your head and sit up, briefly wondering how you managed to flop over on your side without waking up. Simon takes your hands and helps you to your feet.

You stumble down the hallway and immediately toss yourself onto your bed. You don’t even bother to crawl under the blanket, simply drop your head onto the pillow and let sleep overcome you. 

When you wake up next, it’s from a nightmare. You gasp into consciousness, eyes wide open in the inky blackness of your bedroom. Your heart pounds in your ears and you find yourself panting, trying to stabilize yourself. 

A heavy weight tosses itself over your middle and you almost panic before you smell Simon’s cologne. Immediately, you relax and sink back into the bed. 

“You’re okay,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep, “I’ve got you.”

“I want it to stop,” you find yourself whispering, feeling so utterly exhausted, “The nightmares.”

Simon tugs you over to him, tucking you securely against his chest, his arm like a heavy weight draped across your abdomen, “We’ll get you fixed up.”

As you close your eyes and sink into his embrace, all you can think is that you should have never been broken in the first place. 

You finally sleep through the night but you wake up feeling far from refreshed. What’s most shocking is that you’re still wrapped up in Simon’s arms – and he’s still asleep. The sun is well risen now, he should have been up and about a while ago. He never strays from his schedule.

You find yourself staring at him. It wasn’t often that you got the chance to see him so peaceful. His lashes were so long, brushing his cheeks. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing. Your eyes slowly drift closed again and you let yourself drift off to sleep once more. 

When you wake up next, it’s because Simon is trying to carefully move you off of his chest so he can get up. You whine and find yourself clinging to him again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters, settling back against the headboard. He wraps his arms around you and lets you melt against him again, your head resting against his chest.

“You slept late,” you find yourself commenting.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat and softly rubs your back, “I haven’t had the chance to sleep much. Base is pretty loud.”

You want to mention that it’s never been a problem for him before but you bite it back. Instead, you hum in response. 

As you’re left in the still quietness of the late morning with him, you realize that you still have no idea how you feel about him. You don’t know how you feel about him being back. On one hand, you’ve missed him so, so dearly and you feel so complete with him by your side. You feel safer and more whole, like you could actually start healing again. 

But on the other hand, there feels like there’s a wall separating you two. The fight you two had is a heavy weight that seems to continuously pull you under the water despite how hard you fight to resurface for air. 

You love him, you really do. 

But you’re still so angry at him. 

And it feels like neither of you are going to actually talk about it properly. 

The two of you eventually make it out of bed and get moving around. You still don’t have any groceries but Simon simply orders something for breakfast again.

“Somethin’ I need to ask you,” he says, suddenly terrifyingly serious as the two of you stand in the kitchen eating.

Anxiety flares through you but you try to appear calm and cool, “About?”

“You said that,” he takes a second to collect himself, seemingly searching for the right words, “You almost slept with that guy for your job back.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “Yeah…what about it?” 

Simon paused when he heard the defensiveness in your voice, “You really almost did that?”

You frown, “So what? I can do what I want, Simon.”

He sighs softly, holding his hands up, “I’m not tryin’ to fight, love.”

“I don’t know why it’s your business,” you mumble, using annoyance to hide the shame you feel, “I just needed a job is all.”

He nods, “You don’t need to worry about that, alright. I’ve got you.”

You take a bite of your sandwich, intent on trying to take the attention off of you, “There’s something I wanted to ask you too.”

“Go ahead,” he says softly, sipping on the drink he ordered – some kind of soda if you had to guess.

“That night…” you start, pausing when you notice the way he stiffens immediately. He plays it off by going back to his food, “You, um, you left to hook up with someone, right?”

He places his sandwich down and sighs, “Yeah.”

“...Why?” you finally ask, “I mean…”

You trail off and Simon remains silent. The tension is so thick you could practically see it between the two of you. Your heart hammers in your chest, anxiety steadily festering the longer he’s quiet. You think he isn’t going to respond at all and start to give up, hanging your head. 

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he finally says, “It was a…last minute choice and it shouldn’t have happened.”

He says it but you don’t feel any relief. That concrete weight on your chest isn’t eased in the slightest. It’s an excuse, something he’s saying to get you off his back. And that doesn’t feel good.

“I um…” you clear your throat to get rid of the way it sounds thick, “I’m sorry for that time, by the way. When I was throwing things and I-I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that, it was wrong of me. So, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, “You were upset.”

“Simon…” you mumble, food completely forgotten in front of you, “I want to talk. About everything,” Simon seems annoyed immediately but he tries to hide it. You know him too well for that, though, “I-It was a lot and I think we should talk about it – really talk about it.”

He says your name exasperatedly, turning to open the fridge so he can put his leftover food inside before he slams the door. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“But I do,” you say, following him as he storms out of the kitchen, “You said some really mean shit, Si. I want to talk about it!”

He storms into the bedroom, slamming it open as he busies himself with picking up inside. You can tell he’s uncomfortable and simply trying to take his mind off of it. But you’re not going to let him avoid it.

“I don’t,” he snaps, final and harsh.

“I do!” you argue again, “I-I want to know why you said that to me. I want to know how you could–”

“Fuck sake!” he hisses through clenched teeth, ripping his hoodie off of a chair he had tossed it onto. 

He pushes past you, tugging it over his head. You follow him out of the room, watching with wide eyes as he picks up his mask from the coffee table. He tugs it on, painfully silent as he fits it into place. 

“What are you doing?” you finally ask when he gets to the door, slipping his boots on with a grunt, “Where are you going?”

“Out.” he growls, jerking the door open so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“Don’t run from me, Simon!” you cry, grabbing hold of his sleeve to keep him from stepping out, “Are you ever going to tell me you're sorry? Are you ever going to look in my eyes and tell me that you're sorry for what you said to me? For leaving me? Or are you just going to do it again?” 

You can’t fight the tears as you cry out, trying to tug him back into the apartment. But he gives you one final look before he rips his arm from your grasp and slams the door in your face. You’re left alone again, frustrated,  sad and utterly confused. 

You wished he would stop leaving. 

You decide to stay up a little later than you had lately, waiting for him to come home. The oven clock read a little past midnight when you finally called it and crawled into bed. Tugging his pillow to your side, you wrapped yourself around it and tried to imagine that it was him in your arms again. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to fall asleep, no matter how much you want to stay up and wait. 

You’re jostled awake by the weight shifting on the bed. Your eyes flutter open as it creaked under the additional weight. You know it’s Simon, even though your back is to him. He remains silent, clearly trying not to wake you and unaware that he already has. 

The heat radiates off of him in waves, comforting and nice. But despite that, you feel tears welling up until they finally trickle down your cheeks. You can hear Simon’s soft breathing and you can feel him shift every once in a while as he tries to sleep. 

“I can’t do this, Simon,” you find yourself whispering. It’s quiet but you know he hears it, “I want to feel better again. I want to stop being so fucking angry at you but you won’t let me. You just leave me again and I want you to stop. I want…” you suck in a breath and find yourself struggling to continue, simply dissolving into cries. You quiet them as best you can into your pillow.

Simon is painfully silent and still. You’re positive he’s not going to say anything. He’s going to pretend to sleep so he can avoid talking about it because that’s what he does best – avoid. When things get too hard or emotional, he avoids it like the plague. 

You suppose it’s from the way he grew up. A mama’s boy who was punished by his father for showing any kind of emotional vulnerability. It led to him being terrified of it as an adult – he refuses to let himself show that kind of weakness, even to someone who means something to him. And you know that you do – mean something to him, that is. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, just an echo in the darkness of the room. But it draws you to silence, “I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice thick with emotion, “For what I said to you and for the way I acted that night. I fucked up, I know. It never should have happened. What I said should have never–” he lets out a heavy breath, “I never should have said it.”

You roll over, blinking the tears out of your eyes, which tumble down your cheeks. With a sniffle, you scoot closer to him, his warmth welcome and comforting. He opens his arms for you, letting you situate yourself against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your hand rest against his chest. His own hand comes up to take it in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

“You mean…” he trails off again but you remain patient, knowing it’s difficult for him to fight through his desire to flee, “You mean a lot to me. I never want to lose you. You’re…important.”

You nuzzle your head against him, a silent acceptance of his apology. He kisses the top of your head and pulls you more firmly against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again for good measure.

He didn't look you in the eyes and tell you he was sorry but he did the best he could. In the inky blackness of your bedroom, as you shared a bed, and he held you so sweetly, he finally said what you needed to hear. And that's truly all you could ask for.

PART TWO.

do not modify, translate, or repost.

[reidmania]

WHY WAIT | Spencer Reid.

summary; reader works at a childcare and realises she wants kids sooner than she expected she would and struggles to admit that to Spencer after their agreement to wait a few years.

warnings; 16+, slight angst, a bit suggestive at the end. fem reader, childcare worker reader, mentions babies, wanting babies, avoidant reader, guilt, feeling scared to talk about emotions, talks about feeling empty, references sex, makeout, talks about trying for a baby. lmk if i missed anything

a/n ; i imagined this as post prison reid but literally any works

Your head is almost a foggy mess when you step into the bau office out of the elevator. Your hand grouped your hair before tying it up into a mess of a ponytail but you couldn’t find it to care as your eyes skimmed over the room for your husband.

You had finished work almost an hour ago, to where you were supposed to go out with Spencer for a date night — it was an unspoken agreement between you two that no matter how busy you were, at least once a week you would go out for a date night. It was important for your relationship because of how much Spencer was away.

Working at a childcare had its ups and downs, being vomited on, the headaches from toddlers screaming tantrums and annoying parents weren’t always the best or easiest thing to deal with — but you were doing what you loved.

The little letters or flowers you would be given by kids throughout the say, the big grins on their faces in the mornings, and watching their curious faces grow more and more was so rewarding. The job fit you perfectly it allowed you to be able to be nurturing and caring, like you were in your everyday life.

Normally you worked in the toddler room, which you enjoyed the absolute most, having little conversations, answering their hundreds of curious questions, and reading to them. A few weeks ago however, you had to take over the baby room because one of your coworkers were out sick and causing the baby room to be out of ratio of babies and adults, whereas the toddler room was perfect — you were able to help out, it had been a continuous thing, you would go in and help out whenever due to the low staff in the baby room, over the last few weeks you had spent many days in there.

Only it didn’t go exactly as you expected and not at all in a bad way, you had something about you that was so enhancing to little humans, their adored you — It was no different with the babies.

Only holding them and rocking them to sleep, feeding them bottles and watching them coo and smile made you think too deeply. You couldn’t stop your mind from travelling to the idea of kids of your own.

You and Spencer had talked about it, you wanted kids and he wanted kids, that was definite, but you both also agreed you would wait a few years until Spencer was ready to teach. He didn’t want to risk the chance of not coming home to you and his children — he didn’t want to leave you alone.

And you were completely okay with that. You worked around kids all day so there was no rush for you, you were completely content with the decision. Until recently.

Until it was all you could think about all day, and the entire way home, until you were laying in bed thinking about it, until everyday doing anything it felt like there was something missing, someone missing.

You smiled as your eyes laid on Spencer who was sitting at his desk finishing Paperwork, the only reason you were here was because he had some extra work to do and would be here later than he planned but he wanted to see you. So he called you once you finished and suggested you come here to hang out with him until he finished and then you would go on your date.

You walked up to him, hand gently brushing over his shoulder. He tilted his head to look up at you, the smile on his lips arrived almost instantly after seeing your face. “Hey” He smiled, hand reaching back placing itself ontop of your hand that was on his shoulder.

You repositioned your hand, clasping it over his own. “Hi honey” You leant down to place a gentle kiss on the top of his head. You could feel his thumb rubbing back and fourth over the back of your hand.

“How was your day?” He asked, shuffling around on his chair to be facing you completely as he swung your hands together gently, everything he did was so gentle. You couldn’t stop your mind from imagining him holding your baby in his arms, playing peekaboo with them.

Your mind didn’t stop there. You could just imagine your baby wrapping its small hand around Spencers ring finger where his wedding ring stayed. You could see it all playing out in your mind.

“Baby?” He said after your lack of response, noticing clearly your mind was elsewhere. You looked at him— you were looking at him before but you were really looking at him now, out of your daze.

“Sorry, What?” You apologise as you realise you had basically ignored whatever he was saying, making a small puddle of guilt flood through your stomach.

He tapped his knee, encouraging you to sit down innocently. You did so without question after he repositioned slightly in order to make it more simple and comfortable for you. His hand rested gently against your thigh. “I asked how your day was.” He said softly.

You hummed, turning your head in order to be facing him. “Good” You nodded — purposefully not mentioning any details, too scared you may go into too much detail. You and Spencer had agreed on a timeline for your future and you knew how important timing was, and you didn’t want to ruin that for Spencer just because you had a bit of baby fever.

Or what you passed off as baby fever.

“Yeah?” He muttered, hand raising to brush untied strands of hair out of your face. You nodded in response, leaning into his touch as he hand paused, cupping your cheek slightly. “How was yours?” You ask, you hand trailed behind his head to rest gently in his hair.

“Good, I missed you” He said, head leaning back slightly into your touch. You smiled at the little thing, how his body relaxed at your contact.

“I missed you too, Im sorry I had to leave early this morning” You left before he woke up, which wasn’t normally the case but you were called in because a parent needed to drop off a kid extra early.

He just shook his head, bringing your free hand up to place a gentle kiss to your wrist. You heard your name causing you to turn your head, you smiled widely as you saw JJ — looking very pregnant. It had been a while since you had seen her, last time being at the start of her pregnancy, she would’ve been just over half way now.

“Hi!” You smiled widely, lifting yourself off Spencers lap to wrap your arms around the blonde girl, she reciprocated the action, smiling widely. “Hot mama!! you’re looking great” You smiled once you pulled away, referring to how good she looked.

She chuckled softly, “Thank you.” She said, her hand coming down to her belly, rubbing it gently. Your mind traveled slightly to the idea of you in that position, before you brought yourself out of it.

“When you two gonna start a little family of your own? He will need a friend” JJ teased lightly, a smile on her face.

You smile as you thought about your baby growing up with JJ’s, the idea of them having little playdates while you and JJ could mutually support one another, before your smile slipped slightly when you realised that wouldn’t happen.

You tried not to show it in your face as you pushed out a rough chuckle, shaking your head. You looked over at Spencer who’s eyes were on you with a soft smile on his face, before you looked at JJ.

“Oh no, not for a few more years” You said, you wondered if she could hear the lump in your throat as you talked, a lingering feeling of disappointment taking over your stomach as you plastered a smile on your face.

She frowned, looking between you and Spencer. “You would make amazing parents” She said, gushing slightly at the idea. “Seriously you would be the best mum, wouldn’t she?” She asked, looking at Spencer.

Spencer stood up from his chair to rest his arms around your waist from behind you. You hated the way you slightly tensed before relaxing. “She would” He said, placing a tender kiss your temple.

You pushed out a laugh — it all hurt. In a way you couldn’t explain. It was as if they were taunting you even though you knew they weren’t. You wondered why the universe chose today for JJ to ask the question.

The feeling of loss returned, the feeling of something missing. It had been turning up randomly, doing the littlest things like washing the dishes, doing laundry or just laying in bed at night next to Spencer when he was home — it was worse when he was home. You couldn’t stop thinking about how much you craved your baby lying with you and him.

JJ smiled widely, “Don’t you want kids? Why wait?” She was almost joking, you could hear it in her tone there was a hint of seriousness lingering in it.

“We’re gonna have kids.” Spencer said as if there was no question about it. Your entire body tensed and you hoped Spencer didn’t notice it, you silently prayed he didn’t. “Just in a few years, when everything had calmed down a bit” Spencer said.

Your chest ached at his words more than you cared to admit. A few years, just a few years.

You didn’t know if you could wait a few years. The feeling was taking over every aspect of your life and it was already driving you insane — it had merely been a month.

JJ pouted dramatically as she looked at you, “You would make such a hot mum, full milf” She nodded as she looked you up and down, throwing in a gentle wink.

You chuckled, “I don’t know about that” You brought your hand up to your face, rubbing your cheek gently pushing a smile to your lips as JJ looked at her watch before sighing. “I have to go, how about we go for coffee this weekend?” She suggested looking at you.

You nodded your head smiling as she said her goodbyes before making her way out of the building. Spencer spun you in his arms turning you so you were facing him.

“You’re so beautiful” He said, thumb brushing over your cheek gently as he brought his hand up to your face. He leant down for a moment finally placing a gentle kiss on your lips now that the office was basically empty.

You laughed as you pulled away, “Okay boy wonder, finish up — im starving” You said. He smiled, leaning down to place another kiss against your lips, this one softer and quicker before he turned to sit down.

“Tell me about your day while I work” And you did, leaving out the parts that caused your heart to pull on itself.

The thought never left your mind that night, or any night after that.

“So much for our coffee date” JJ joked after you both ordered hot chocolates rather than coffee’s. You smiled widely at her, shaking your head slightly. “Coffee is overrated” You joked.

She groaned, “Im glad you think that, I’m hardly surviving. My obgyn told me I should cut back a little bit — which is all well and good till I actually had to do it” She said, you watched as her hand instinctively dropped down to her stomach.

There was a feeling in your gut, jealousy? Envy? You weren’t sure but you knew it was beginning to get harder to deal with. You just chuckled, “I could imagine”

The table fell quiet as your eyes dropped to the table, almost wishing you had the struggle of not being able to drink a lot of coffee because you were having a baby — you hated that.

“Alright, no more small talk. Whats up”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you looked up at her. You pushed a laugh past your lips as your head fell to the side, “What do you mean?” You asked in confusion.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “You have been all… sad. You’re so sad. Why are you sad? I noticed it the other night at the office— Did Spencer do something?” She started out worriedly before becoming slightly defensive of you at the idea that maybe Spencer did something that upset you.

You laughed, “Spencer didn’t do anything. Spencer is amazing.” You reassured lightly. Although the pit in your stomach deepened — you knew exactly what she was talking about and no matter how much you denied it if there was one person able to get it out of you, it would be JJ.

“It was right after I mentioned you having kids… Do you not want kids?” She guessed, it almost made you laugh because it was exactly the opposite. “Does Spencer know?” She asked — everyone knew how much Spencer wanted kids of his own one day.

You shook your head. “I want kids.” You said but the words held more depth. You wanted kids, you wanted a baby and you wanted them with Spencer.

“I still don’t understand why you’re waiting.” She muttered shaking her head and she distracted herself from the topic at hand — which you would’ve been grateful for besides the fact she was now bringing up exactly what was wrong — waiting.

“Spencer couldn’t do it now” You muttered slightly under your breath but she caught it, furrowing her eyebrows she asked why.

You sighed, shrugging. “He loves his job and he wants to wait a few years before he starts teaching. We decided to wait” You said, you tried to hide the disappointment in your voice but that was useless when sitting across from a profiler.

“You don’t want to wait.” She realised, her lips pulling into a frown. You mirrored the look, nodding your head sadly. She huffed slightly.

“It’s alright, really. Its just working around kids all days, babies and toddlers really makes it difficult for me to just—“ You were cut off when your waitresses came to place yours and JJ’s hot chocolates on the table, you both thanked her before she walked away and you continued. “It just makes it difficult to ignore it.”

JJ nodded her head in understanding. “You shouldn’t have to ignore it! You know Im sure if you talked to him—”

You didn’t mean to cut her off, “He wants to wait. If i bring it up he will agree just because it’s what I want, I don’t want that.” You said, shaking your head as you looked down at the hot chocolate in your hands.

“He wants kids.” She said. You knew this but it felt nice hearing it again. “He wants to be a dad and he wants to have kids — with you. Of course he will do it if you want it, thats not a bad thing. He wants it to, theres ways to work around work — you just need to have a conversation about it” She said honestly.

You pushed a smile to your lips as you thought about her words, still there was an overwhelming amount of guilt in your chest. “Ill see how it goes” You say.

It had been two weeks since your ‘coffee’ date with JJ and you still found yourself unable to admit out loud to Spencer that you wanted kids now. He had been away on a case this week, which didn’t help you being alone with your thoughts — but it made it easier trying to hide the feeling of emptiness that had been present for weeks.

Not because of Spencer, he made you happier than you thought humanly possible. There was just something missing, you kept waiting for the feeling to go away but it never did. You kept waiting to be able to fall asleep at night without the feeling of longing for something more.

You were lying in bed, when you heard the front door of yours and Spencer’s home open and close. It was probably some outrageous time in the night. You had been lying in the same position for hours unable to fall asleep.

You heard footsteps you knew all too well coming towards your bedroom. The door opened and you turned slightly to look at Spencer who was tugging his tie off messily as he walked towards the bed, eyes widening when he saw you were still awake.

“Hi” He sighed tiredly, throwing his tie on the floor. As he began unbuttoning his shirt, after pulling off his suit jacket. “Im so glad you’re awake” He breathed out.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you sat up to look at him properly. His hair was a mess and he was rushing to get changed. He hardly finished taking off his pants before he was pulling on grey sweatpants leaving his top half naked as he got in bed next to you.

“Hi” You said.

He smiled, wrapping his arms tightly around your body as he pulled you in close to him, so much so you found yourself straddling his hips as he laid on his back. “Hi” He breathed out again.

You were confused. Of course you adored the affection — evidently he missed you but he was out of breath and you didn’t know why. You looked over at the clock seeing it was nearing three in the morning. Spencer never had this much energy this late at night — especially after being away for a week on a case.

Normally he would come home and just hold you. That was what he needed after being away. Just you in his arms.

“What-” you were cut off by him leaning upwards, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, you hummed slightly as you kissed him back, melting into the softness of his lips. His hand trailed down your torso before slipping under your shirt — which was actually his shirt.

You gasped as you felt his cold hands against the warm skin of your waist. His hands traveled up your back like a mad man — as if he could hardly get enough, he took your gasp into his advantage slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You made out with him for a few minute before pulling away, he chased your lips but you pulled back, “What has gotten into you?” You breathed out — chest rising and falling heavily as you worked to catch your breath.

He looked up at you, eyes full of an emotion you’d never seen on his face, one you couldn’t place. He let out a breath. “Let’s have a baby.”

You swore your heart stopped as your breath got caught in your throat. You were sure your pulse was going haywire as you tried to process what he said. “W-What? Spence.” You moved to slide off his lap, feeling a sense of hurt in your stomach.

His hands gripped your hips, keeping you in place. “Please.” He said breathily. “JJ told me” He said, looking so deep into your eyes. Your eyes widened and your lips parted as you sucked in a harsh breath. You felt a sense of betrayal from JJ but you knew deep down she was just trying to help you. She hated seeing you so.. Sad.

“Spence” You could cry. You swore you could cry.

“Im serious angel. Let’s have a baby. I want a baby.” He said, thumb rubbing over your hip sending a burning sensation to the place his fingertip brushed over.

You frowned, “But you wanted to wait.” You said.

He shrugged his shoulders, “So did you.” He muttered, leaning up to place gentle kisses down your neck.

You tilted your head instinctively at the feeling of his lips gently brushing over your skin. “But you shouldn’t change your- your mind just because I did” You sucked in a harsh breath as you felt his tongue brush over a sensitive spot of your neck.

“I want a baby with you. I want to raise kids with you. I want to be a dad to our children.” He said, pulling away to look at you. “If you’re ready Im ready, I’ll start teaching. I want a baby with you, now.” He said, looking into your eyes. He spoke genuinely.

“Really?” You asked.

He nodded, “Lets start trying.” He said, leaning back down to kiss your neck again.

“Right now?” You laughed out a giggle as your stomach swarmed with an overwhelming amount of happiness.

He hummed against your skin.

“Why wait?”

[harunovella]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ love language (verse ii); s.g.

synopsis: when gojo satoru first interacted with you content: teen gojo era, fem!reader, hopeless!romantic gojo, 1k+ words of gojo and reader saving a kitten (a moment straight out of a romcom for sure), not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: truly didn't think the first part to this anthology series would gain such attention! thank u for that! again, these can be read as a standalone (or connected to this one, but you don't have to read it); enjoy and lmk if u want more!

It was this specific cherry blossom tree Satoru always found you under. The one Kento mentioned the first time he ever asked him about you. If you weren't busy with training or missions, or enjoying life outside the jujutsu world, he found you there. Although there was an array of trees, there was one specific one you seemed to gravitate towards. 

He wasn't sure if it was the specific spot that had good lighting for when you wanted to read or sketch in your little book, or maybe it was the way the roots formed a perfect spot to sit in between... whatever it was, he knew it to be your tree. Even when you weren't around. There was something... welcoming about it. Whenever he walked by with Suguru and Shoko nearby, or whenever he was aimlessly wandering around, he always found himself peeking in its direction, hoping you were sitting underneath it. 

For a confident young man, it took Gojo some time to make his way to you. Claiming to love you when he hadn't even uttered a word in your direction was bold, even going as far as believing you were his soulmate was quite the exaggeration. So why was it hard for him to simply say hello? 

Maybe it was because he wasn't a simple person. Nothing about Gojo Satoru screamed simple. He was anything but that. Yet, a task as easy as that—which came naturally to any other girl around him—was a hassle. Each time he thought he found the courage to step up, he let his racing heart deter him. 

That was until you made the first move. 

It caught him completely off guard, the way you gently tapped his arm from behind, peeking up at him with that sweet smile of yours. His heart did somersaults, his eyes widened behind his round frames, so big that his shades couldn't even hide them. He had been on one of his little walks, new treat in hand that Shoko bribed him with in order to practice her reverse curse technique on him. He was bored, completing his missions and not having much to train on when he already excelled at everything. 

At everything except talking to the girl of his dreams. 

"Hi," you kindly greeted, smile reaching your eyes. Oh, god, you were an angel. A being descended from up above. How could you exist so easily in such a cruel world? He needed to protect you, right? Even if he could see your cursed energy oozing out so brightly. You must've been powerful, something he never considered, always looking at you like you were some little bunny to keep in his pocket... not one who could possibly kick the shit out of him (if he'd let you and he definitely would). "Can you help me out?"

"Pretty..." the words slipped his mouth before he could even process them. Quickly sealing his lips and clearing his throat as you tilted your head, Satoru straightened his back. "What is it?"

Dismissing the sudden word vomit, assuming he was in his own world, you pointed to the left of you. "I sit under those trees, but I keep hearing soft meows coming from one of them. I'm too short to reach... do you think—"

"Yes," the white haired young man instantly nodded as you blinked. Without a second word, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the tree that you claimed your own. 

You, a bit baffled, were unsure as to how exactly he knew which tree you had been pointing at when it was a general direction. Yet, there he was, approaching the tree you were referring to. "It's quite high up, but you're very tall!" You called out before following after him, lightly jogging to catch up before stopping behind him as he eyed the tree. 

In reality, Gojo didn't think any of it through. He just wanted to say yes to be around you, to hear you speak more. Not... to climb up a tree to save a stray kitten. But, whatever made him look better in his eyes, he didn't mind. 

"Be careful!" You exclaimed as you watched him make his way up the tree, no hesitations. You were a bit surprised that someone so easily wanted to help you save a cat. Maybe he liked animals, too?

Or maybe he was a fool madly in love with you—you wouldn't know this yet. 

"Oh, there! You've got 'em!" You clapped as you watched the uniformed young man gently reach for and latch onto the small, white kitten. 

"Ah, don't worry, I'm only here to help you," Gojo said, carefully pulling the kitten towards himself. "I've got you, you're safe now. I just gotta figure out—"

"Watch out!" You shrieked.

"Shit!" Satoru yelped as he lost his balance, clutching the kitten close as he slipped from the branch. Landing with a loud thud, followed by several groans of pain (and pure embarrassment... when did he ever make himself look like a complete fool?!), Gojo rolled around with his eyes closed. 

"Are you alright?!" You panicked, rushing over and kneeling at his side, gently lifting his head with one hand as your other pressed carefully against his shoulder, eyeing his body for any wounds. 

"Agh... dammit..." he grunted, eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the brightness of the sun. Blinking a few times, blurred vision focusing, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of you. Your hair that was usually held back by its ribbon, cascaded around your face as a few strands slipped out from the ponytail. With eyebrows narrowed and a look of worry on his face, Satoru's embarrassment turned into that of timidness. You were engulfed by the sunlight, glowing like the angel you were. "Gosh, you're so pretty..."

"Are you okay?" You asked in a panic, his mumbled words coming off too slurred to understand. "Did you hit your head too hard?"

Shaking his head as he forced himself to sit up, Gojo rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "No, 'm fine..." he sighed before looking down at his hands to the kitten. "So is this little guy."

Turning your attention from the white haired young man, to the matching kitten, you gasped, "what a hero!"

Grinning and feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, Gojo shrugged, "eh, ''twas nothing..."

"You almost broke a few bones, though..." you frowned, looking back at him. 

"I'm tough," he brushed off before turning to face you. Now eye to eye, the sudden confidence instantly sizzled away as he gazed at you from up close. A sudden silence weaved between the two of you as your eyes locked, nothing but the sounds of nature and the kittens purring filled the air. "I..."

"Um..."

"You should keep it," Satoru suddenly said, handing you the kitten. "Deserves a nice home."

"Oh, me?" You asked as you took the kitten in your hands, caressing its soft, white fur. 

"Yeah, I wouldn't be a good dad," he chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You... You'd be a great mom to it, I'm sure."

Eyeing the kitten, then looking back up at him, you smiled, "we can coparent."

At your offer, Gojo gulped. "Co... parent?"

"Yeah, like, help me out with..." lifting the kitten up, you squinted your eyes, "her."

"I... I don't know much about taking care of animals but I can try and help as much as I can," he offered, scratching his head nervously. 

Smiling, you brought the kitten close to your chest, "you saved her from a tree, I'm sure she will remember that."

"Yeah, maybe," Satoru blushed.

Looking down at the kitten as you pet her, listening to her gentle purring, you happily sighed, "what's your name?"

Quickly pointing at himself, the blue eyed boy asked, "mine?"

"Mhm," you nodded. 

"Gojo. Gojo Satoru. You can call me Satoru, though," he nearly blurted out as you chuckled before giving him yours. 

"Well, Satoru," you beamed as he melted at the sound of his name slipping off your tongue, "I think I'll name her after you."

"Wha— Satoru? But... she's a girl?" He tilted his head with furrowed eyebrows. 

"I was thinking of a nickname," you said before looking down at the kitten. "I'll name her Toru. It's cute, right?"

Nodding slowly, then faster, Gojo agreed. "Yeah, Toru is cute."

Lifting your gaze to meet his, you gave him a toothy smile. "Toru it is."

[wynnyfryd]

@messessentialist told me her friend called to rant about spotting an “upsettingly beautiful boy in a tj maxx” and i vomited 1200 words about it, enjoy

—

fic idea: chrissy and eddie work together at tj maxx. one afternoon a guy comes in who’s so hot that it kinda just pisses eddie off? bc like, who does this gorgeous asshole think he is??? coming in here and popping his hip at eddie’s counter, like, does he even know how uncomfortable it is to start chubbin’ up in skinny jeans?? that shit chafes!

so eddie gets all flustered and responds by getting an attitude with the guy because he has zero chill (and also because the dude’s iced coffee is sweating a ring all over eddie’s counter, and so help him if his manager gets on his ass one more time about keeping his station tidy—)

“did you need help finding anything else today?” eddie sneers. “coasters, perhaps?”

upsettingly hot guy looks confused for a second before he follows eddie’s pointed glance at the plastic starbucks cup leaving a cold puddle on the laminate, and then he sneers right back; adjusts the ray bans nestled in his perfect honey brown hair and looks eddie up and down — long, slow, one eyebrow lifting in subtle elitist disapproval.

“what?” he snorts, “hot topic wasn’t hiring?”

oh, fuck you very much!

so eddie’s all ‘nemesis acquired’ and holds the biggest grudge of all time. makes a sworn enemy and a boogeyman out of the guy, turns him into urban legend, starts blaming the Upsettingly Beautiful Man for every little thing that goes wrong in his life — at work, at home, at band practice; no place is safe from the dreaded UBM.

“he’s not a fucking cryptid!” gareth snaps one day at rehearsal, chucking a drumstick at eddie’s head. “just track him down and bone already so you can shut the hell up!”

“wouldn’t he just talk about him more after they have sex?” jeff wonders, to which gareth narrows his eyes and raises his second drumstick as a threat.

meanwhile, eddie’s cute coworker chrissy (who he’s become surprisingly good friends with, to the point of referring to her as his work wife) gets a girlfriend. robin’s sooooo pretty, and soooo nice, and sooooo tall, eddie, did you know how tall she is?

yes, chrissy, he’s supremely aware of a stranger’s five-foot-eight-and-a-half stature now, thank you.

“you have to meet her!” chrissy gushes, bouncing up onto her toes.

eddie hangs another shirt. “you have to chill.”

“hey!” she pouts, pixar princess cute. “you wouldn’t tell the sun to dull its shine, would you?”

“i mean, i would, but i doubt the giant ball of plasma cares what i want.”

“okay, whatever, eeyore.” she rolls her eyes but she physically can’t stop beaming even as she does it, and eddie finds himself melting under it — some sort of radiant area attack coming from the apples of this girl’s cheeks, he swears, because the next thing he knows he’s agreeing to go to rando new girlfriend’s housewarming party this weekend so he can meet her properly.

only he doesn’t get to meet her properly, because when he shows up to the party the two bedroom apartment is packed with people he’s never seen, and it’s loud as fuck in here and he’s sweating through his leather from the six flights of stairs he had to climb to reach the place, so he steps through a sliding door out to the balcony and lo and behold, if it isn’t Upsettingly Beautiful Man looking upsettingly beautiful — positively fucking divine, actually, the last wisps of fuchsia sunset catching the gold streaks in his hair and dotting the tip of his flawless nose. Seriously, does this dude have any flaws? A scar, a birthmark, an unsightly ingrown hair? Eddie can’t even see a single blackhead for fuck’s sake.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” the dude mutters, turning to look at him, and, “oh, my god, you again?”

“uh.”

“i’ve got a fucking coaster this time,” the guy says, lifting his solo cup and giving it a little shake to point out the cork round sitting underneath it, “so if that’s what you came out here to berate me for, then you’ll have to think of something else.”

“uh,” eddie says again, because he has no idea what brought this on but he’s pretty sure it has shit all to do with him, and pretty boy’s really working himself up now, arms moving in sharp gestures as he paces back and forth on the short balcony.

“not that it even matters if i didn’t have a coaster, because this is my house! i can do what i want with my own fucking stuff in my own fucking apartment, nance, i don’t— uh…”

pretty boy’s face blossoms rose petal red, a heavy blush creeping up his jawline as he catches himself mid rant and folds in on himself, crossing his arms over his chest with a sheepish expression.

eddie’s always had a thing for shepherding.

“i’m listening,” he says, popping a cigarette in his mouth and holding the pack out in offering. “if you care to vent.”

the guy — steve, eddie finds out — tells him all about his controlling ex-girlfriend as they work their way through two cigarettes each, the sun slipping away to reveal a full topaz moon, big and low and close, ripe citrus bending the branch of a tree. nance was a real piece of work by the sounds of it, and eddie feels like an absolute shit for the way he treated steve, who had apparently just gotten dumped the night before they met and had been out shopping for a “please take me back” present.

“like that was ever gonna work,” steve mumbles, ashing over the railing. “pathetic. anyway, sorry i was rude to you that day or whatever.”

“you weren’t.”

“nah, i was.” steve shifts his weight, knocks their shoulders together. “not that you didn’t deserve it.”

“yeahhhh,” eddie agrees, cringing at himself. “sorry.”

“all good. so what’s your story then, huh? who pissed in your cheerios that day?”

eddie blames the alcohol fumes wafting from steve’s cup — a justification that makes perfect sense and would totally hold up in a court of law — for what he says next.

“honestly? you.”

steve’s face is so cartoonishly offended that eddie busts out laughing, eyes crinkling, head thrown back.

“oh, so you’re just an asshole,” steve nods sagely. “first cute guy to flirt with me in six weeks is a lunatic. love that for me.”

“no, i—” eddie laughs, “okay, we’re coming back to how you think i’m cute, but i just meant, uh-”

oh, fuck it. eddie’s never been good at holding his cards close to the chest. more of a 52 pick up kinda guy, historically, and why change now?

“you were so gorgeous it, like, genuinely upset me for a second,” eddie admits, running his tongue over his lip. he stubs out his cigarette; turns to look right at steve. “like, uh, like cuteness aggression or some shit.”

steve mirrors his posture, leaning an elbow on the railing, nearly chest to chest. “so you are crazy,” he smiles.

“that’s correct.” eddie swallows.

steve moves in to close the gap. “good crazy?”

“fun crazy, so i’m told.”

“i’m gonna kiss you if that’s cool.”

“very”

the kiss tastes like ripe citrus