#they will have heard it all before and i will have to remind them that i am old and will probably die soon. just so they will be nice to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

esmeefreckles · 2 days ago

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Distraction | Kika Nazareth x reader

+18 SMUT MINORS DNI

RIMMING. ASS PLAY. CUNNILINGUS. VAGINAL FINGERING. SQUIRTING. PRAISE KINK. STRAP-ONS.

A/N: A huge thank you to @sswed for being the best beta reader and helping me so much even with a broken finger (please if you all can send her some love she deserves every bit of it)

“Morning, babe. I’m gonna take a quick shower and then make some breakfast. Any requests?” you asked as you slowly kissed your way across Kika's bare shoulders.

Kika yawned quietly, reached back for your hand, and then guided it up to her breasts. And you couldn’t resist the urge to trace light circles around one of her nipples before you gave it a hard pinch. She gasped in delight at the sensation and then immediately pushed her ass back into your center, tempting you to grind against her.

“You’re so bad,” you laughed as you gave her breast a firm squeeze and nipped at the base of her neck.

“Who? Me?” Kika replied playfully and from behind her, you saw the mischievous smirk on her lips and the light pink blush that always graced her cheeks when she was turned on.

“Mhmm.” You hum, thinking it through then remember that you’ve got things to do.

“And as much as I would love to spend all day in bed with you, if I don’t finish my lesson plan this morning, I won’t be able to go to the game with you tonight,” you reminded Kika reluctantly.

Kika, still sprawled across your lap, poked at you with a mock pout and declared, “Lesson plans are a scam invented by principals to keep teachers from living their best lives.”

Then added with a grin, “Come on, babe, just five more minutes of irresponsibility.”

“Very funny. You know, I actually have a lot of flexibility with my lessons. And I’m really excited about this next unit.” you deadpan as you reached beneath the sheets and gave Kika a soft smack on the ass.

The sound of her whimper almost made you give in but you stay strong and remind yourself that you have things to do that are far more important.

“Alright! Shower time,” you said with a laugh as you kissed her shoulder and then quickly rolled over and stepped out of bed.

“Can you at least leave the bathroom door open for me, baby?” Kika asked hopefully as she looked up at you from the pillow.

“Why? You wanna watch me again?” you teased as you grabbed underwear, sweatpants, and an oversized t-shirt from the drawer Kika set aside for you in her dresser.

“Yeah, I always wanna watch you,” Kika replied as she bit her lip and stared at you longingly.

The heat of her gaze sent a rush of warmth through your entire body, you might have to rethink your plan if she continues this way.

You guess it’ll be a cold shower, maybe that will calm you down a notch. Before you leave to the bathroom, you wink back at Kika with a smirk.

You finished drying your hair and got dressed, you didn’t even make it out of the bathroom before you heard the soft sound of Kika snoring in bed. You walked over, pressed a light kiss against her cheek, you figured she wouldn’t last long.

Then you grabbed your laptop and made your way to the kitchen. The state of it was slightly questionable, with various cups and plates in the sink. You decide to live in ignorance and avoid washing them. Instead, you make yourself a much needed coffee and someone light to eat.

You had originally planned to make a nice breakfast for both of you, something extravagant that would surely end in a disaster but since you weren’t sure when Kika might wake up, you went with something quick for yourself.

As you sipped your coffee, you realized how distracted you still were by the thought of your very beautiful, very naked girlfriend in the room just down the hall. Still, you were determined to complete your lesson plan so that the two of you could enjoy the game guilt-free later tonight, without the nagging thought of lesson planning. You take a few quick bits of your food and then begin to map out your three-week-long unit.

Once you get started, it doesn’t take long to get into the flow of it. You're done with a few lessons quickly and get on to the longer ones afterwards.

Kika emerged from the bedroom a few hours later. Her curly hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail and she wore a black silk robe. You just knew she had nothing underneath it.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” you said with a smirk.

“Excuse me?” Kika chuckled as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

You said nothing and laughed out loud looking at her.

“What? What’s so funny?” Kika asked as she pulled the creamer from the fridge and then walked over to join you at the table.

She clearly had no idea what effect she had on you.

“N-nothing. It’s just, this… it’s still awfully hot…” you replied with a seductive smile as you stood up and then walked over to straddle Kika’s lap.

Her jaw nearly hit the floor and eyes bulged out of her skull..

“Oh, yeah? Too hot for you, baby?” Kika said as she pulled your hips forward until your center pressed up against her stomach and the brief friction made you moan softly.

“Mhmm…” you replied as your hands slid up her arms, gently caressed her shoulders, and then reached their destination on her cheeks as you guided her lips into a slow, sensual kiss.

“Damn. That’s a real shame. Might need to find some way to punish you while it cools down, huh?” Kika said as her hands drifted up your body and her fingers brushed against the sides of your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. Then she leaned in and sprinkled warm, wet kisses across your collarbone.

“Mm. Yeah, baby. Wanna eat my ass and teach me a lesson?” you asked.

You hoped the request came across as confident and sexy because, deep down, you were terrified of the possibility of rejection.

Kika pulled back slightly and looked up into your eyes. You couldn’t read the expression on her face, and you were concerned that you had crossed a line somehow or made her uncomfortable.

“W-would you be okay with that? I mean, you’d really let me do that to you?” Kika asked as she rested her hands on your thighs and waited patiently for your response.

“I’ve always wanted to try it, but… I-I just never trusted anyone enough to ask for it before…” you admitted shyly as you tried to avoid her gaze.

When you felt Kika reach for your chin and then tilt your head back up to meet her eyes, you realized how safe and loved and accepted you felt in her arms.

“Can I be honest with you? It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, too. And I guess I didn’t mention it ‘cause I was worried it might scare you off or gross you out,” Kika replied.

“It doesn’t gross me out, not at all. It’s just another form of pleasure for both of us. And… I think it could be really hot, actually. Are you sure you’re up for it, though? You haven’t even had breakfast yet,” you said with a quiet laugh.

“Yes. Now go get that cute little ass of yours in my bed,” Kika instructed firmly as she gave your ass cheeks a tight squeeze.

You grinned and practically squealed with anticipation. While you had absolutely no way of knowing that any of this would happen when you woke up earlier this morning, you were incredibly relieved that you had already showered and felt fresh and clean for Kika because you couldn’t wait a second longer for her to take you. You had fantasized about Kika’s face being buried in your ass more times than you could count. Now you could hardly believe you were just minutes away from experiencing something you had been so eager to try with her.

The two of you walked back to Kika’s bedroom and you immediately stripped out of the sweatpants and t-shirt you put on after your shower but you chose to keep your underwear on for now. You wanted Kika to decide when and how your panties came off. She loved being in charge of the bedroom and you loved giving Kika whatever she wanted.

“Lay down for me, baby,” Kika said sweetly as she took your hand and gently pulled you toward the bed. You crawled onto the mattress and then laid down just like she told you to.

“God, you look so good. So perfect,” Kika said as she looked down and studied your body like it was some kind of magical constellation up in the sky.

Then when her eyes lingered on your center, you realized that she could probably see the way your arousal had already begun to leak through the fabric of your underwear.Kika joined you on the bed a moment later and straddled your hips, pressing her bare center down against yours as she settled on top of you.

She groaned at the contact and then leaned down to kiss you passionately, swallowing the needy whine that poured out of you. Kika’s warm, soft lips enveloped your mouth and only deepened the familiar ache that was growing low in your abdomen.

When her tongue pushed past your lips and brushed against your own, you were so overwhelmed by how aroused you felt that one of your hands slid to the back of her head and tugged on her messy ponytail while your other hand rested against the front of her neck and squeezed it gently.

“Mm. Fuck yeah, baby! Harder” Kika grunted, grinding down against your pussy as she wrapped her hand around your wrist and encouraged you to squeeze her neck more firmly.

When you did as she asked, you could feel the vibration of the moan in her throat as it pulsed in your grip. Then, Kika pulled back abruptly and licked her lips as she looked down at you hungrily.

“You’re looking a little overdressed, baby. Get on your hands and knees for me and I’ll take care of that for you” Kika said in a sultry voice.

“What about you? You gonna leave that thing on?” you asked playfully as you nodded toward her robe.

“For now- Just to torture you” Kika replied with a wink and you felt the wetness between your legs practically dripping down your thighs now.

You turned yourself over and got on your hands and knees, you heard the shaky sound of your breath as you tried to contain the nervous flutter in your chest. Kika moved closer and then slowly pulled down your panties. You felt a thin strand of arousal cling to the fabric as she slid your underwear down your thighs and you were almost embarrassed by how soaked you were.

“Christ. Look at that pretty little cunt. So nice and wet for me. I just gotta have a taste…” Kika said quietly as she pulled your panties from your ankles and then leaned in to slide her tongue against your throbbing center.

She started at your clit and then slowly moved her tongue up toward your entrance. The sloppy sounds her tongue made as she lapped up your slick arousal were so vulgar it made your legs shake as they filled the room.

“O-oh, fuck, Kika” you whimpered as you felt your hips push back instinctively against the warmth of her skilled tongue.

Kika’s hands moved up the back of your thighs as she continued to tease your pussy with her lips and tongue. When you felt her squeeze your ass cheeks and then slowly push them apart, you suddenly felt dizzy; overcome by how much you wanted this. How much you wanted her.

“You ready for me, baby? Are you sure this is still okay?” Kika asked sweetly as she paused and looked up at you for permission to proceed. Your forehead was resting down against your hands on the mattress, and you bit your lip and nodded vigorously in response.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me you want it,” Kika demanded softly as she squeezed your ass again, digging her nails in slightly as she shook your cheeks.

“I want it. I wanna feel you there. Please, baby. Don’t make me beg” you said breathlessly as you looked back at her and smiled.

The huge grin on Kika’s face was all the reassurance you needed to know that she wanted this too. She shot you a wink and then moved her head back down between your legs. You felt her tongue at your entrance again and gasped in pleasure when she used her tongue to drag your slick, wet heat up toward your ass. Then when her smooth, warm tongue finally dipped down against your tight hole and then lightly traced along the rim, you couldn’t believe how fucking good it felt.

The sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. The newness of the feeling caused a deep blush to rise to your cheeks.

Suddenly you felt like you were nineteen all over again, like this was the first time another person touched you. Your chest felt hot as you pushed your ass up against each new wide, flat lick of Kika’s tongue and the sounds pouring out of you were practically pornographic.

“Jesus… fucking… Christ! Mm. Oh, God yes, Kika! F-feels so fucking good…” you whined. Your desperate noises and praise were all the encouragement Kika needed to continue to tease and taste your ass.

“Mm,”

Kika moaned into you; her breath warm against your sensitive nerve endings as she lazily dragged her tongue around your rim again before she gently flicked it and then dipped her tongue inside you. She couldn’t get in very deep, but just the tip was enough to drive you wild.

“Oh, baby. Oh, yeah!” you cried out as you began to rock yourself back against Kika’s mouth.

Her fingernails dug into your ass cheeks as she squeezed them again and spread you further so that her tongue could reach more of you.You had wanted this for so long and everything Kika was doing felt incredible. As you felt the arousal from your pussy begin to slowly drip down onto the sheets, you knew you wanted Kika to fuck you while she ate your ass.

“Fuck… please fuck me now. Please, I want your fingers inside of me” you pleaded as you turned to look at her.

When Kika pulled back to check in, you saw that her pupils were dilated and that her cheeks were flushed. She looked like she was having the time of her fucking life.

“You okay? Want me to stop?” Kika asked thoughtfully, though it was clear that she was enjoying herself and would have been more than happy to do this for hours.

“No, baby. Don’t stop. Just fuck me while you do it” you clarified and Kika smiled again before she leaned down again and got back to work.

Kika’s tongue flicked your hole again before she pushed her lips closer and then sucked on you and you moaned so loudly in approval that you could feel the shape of Kika’s smile against your ass. When two firm fingers pushed deep into your wet, throbbing cunt, it felt so good that you reached behind your head and pulled on your own hair in an attempt to keep yourself from floating away.

“Give it to me! Just like that. O-oh, fuck me” you panted as Kika plunged her fingers into you hard and fast.

Each new thrust pushed against that sensitive spot on your front wall, a sensation that was always guaranteed to make you fall apart. Kika was unrelenting as she continued to pleasure you.

She added a third finger inside your pussy as her tongue continued to tease your tight hole. The enthusiastic grunts and moans that escaped her as she devoured you had you seconds away from coming all over her. You reached back behind you, took a handful of Kika’s ponytail and tugged hard.

“Oh! Yes! Yes! I’m there. I’m right fucking there. Oh! Oh, God” you screamed as your release came pouring out of you, drenching Kika’s hand and the sheets beneath you.

“Mm. Yeah, let me have it all, baby” Kika moaned as she gently bit down on your ass cheek and then firmly slapped your clit a few times, which made you come again before your first orgasm had even reached its peak.

A gush of liquid squirted out against Kika’s hand, and you heard the wet noises your release made as her hand tapped against you again and again, you moaned and screamed her name until you were hoarse. Kika eventually decided that you had had enough and went from tapping your clit to gently rubbing your sensitive pussy, soothing you and helping you come down from your incredible high.

“Relax for me, baby. Lay down and rest for a minute- I’ll be right back,” Kika said as she pressed a soft kiss against your ass cheek and then made her way to the bathroom.

You assumed she was going to wash her face and mouth and so you took the opportunity to catch your breath and reflect on what just happened between the two of you.

It was everything you had wanted and more. Kika was gentle, enthusiastic, and not afraid to experiment. She took such good care of you and you always knew how much Kika cared about making you feel good. You could tell how much she enjoyed herself while she pleasured you in this exciting new way.

Kika returned a few minutes later with a warm, wet washcloth and a bright smile on her face.

“Mind if I clean you up, babe?” she asked as she sat down next to you on the bed and you were so moved by the thoughtful gesture.

“Thanks, beautiful,” you replied as you spread your legs and let her take care of you in an entirely different way.

“Was that… o-okay?” Kika asked hesitantly as she gently wiped all your crevices.

“Are you kidding me? It was… fucking amazing, Kika! It all felt so new and… different. But in a really good way. Better than I could have ever imagined. You were incredible, baby,” you replied honestly.

Kika smiled and then averted her gaze for a moment to hide the blush in her cheeks.

“Did you… like doing it?” you asked as you sat up and rested a soft hand against her thigh.

“I fucking loved it! I’ve wanted to do that for so long. I’m just really glad my first time doing it was with you. I swear I almost came just from feeling your ass up against my mouth like that,” Kika admitted as she placed her hand on top of yours and gave it a squeeze.

“Almost came, hmm? Well, mind if I help you get to the finish line, babe?” you asked with a smirk.

“You sure you’re ready for that, princess? Your legs were jelly a few minutes ago,” Kika teased.

“Come over here and find out, smartass,” you replied as you tugged on the collar of her robe and pulled her into a rough kiss.

Kika was on her back seconds later and you immediately ripped her robe open and leaned down to take one of her breasts in your mouth.

“F-fuck, baby! Mm,” Kika moaned as you sucked hard on her nipple and teased it with your lips and tongue and when your hand quickly slid down her stomach and reached the holy place between her thighs, you were shocked by how drenched she was.

“Was all this just from fucking me?” you asked as one of your fingers lightly circled her engorged clit.

“Mhmm,” Kika whined as she pushed herself up against your hand.

“Wow! Impatient, are we?” you laughed quietly as you pressed down a little harder on her clit and then slid two fingers down toward Kika’s entrance.

The sound of her gasping was like music to your ears, a whole personal symphony.

“I’m just gonna warm you up. Then I’m gonna fuck you the way I know you wanna be fucked,” you said as you sucked hard on the top of one of her breasts and then slowly pushed your fingers inside of her.

“Oh! Mm. Yeah, baby. You know what I like,” Kika replied as she pushed herself down against your fingers, searching for the pressure she was so desperate for.

You thrust in and out as slowly as you possibly could, loosening her up nice and slow. And when you saw her eyes roll back in her head before she closed them, you knew she was ready.

You slowly withdrew your fingers and then got up and walked over and opened the nightstand. You stepped into the harness and quickly adjusted the bright green strap you and Kika had picked out together a few months ago. You squirted a little lube on the tip and then rubbed it down across the shaft as you made your way back to Kika. When you saw her lick her lips and spread her legs for you, you felt your clit throb.

“Ready, baby?” you asked.

“Yeah, baby. I want you inside me, now,” Kika begged.

You leaned down over her, aligned the strap with her entrance, and then slowly thrust your hips forward and pushed it inside of her. You watched the green silicone disappear inside her cunt and moaned when you felt yourself bottom out inside her. Kika groaned at the sensation and then immediately reached behind you and squeezed your ass, pulling your hips down against her. She wanted you as close as her own skin.

“Mm. You like that beautiful?” you asked as you jerked your hips roughly and increased your pace.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! God, yes! Just like that! Fuck me just like that,” Kika screamed as her hands moved to your back and she scratched you hard enough to leave marks.

You hissed at the perfect combination of pleasure and pain and continued to push into her over and over again.

“You're gonna be a good girl and come for me now, baby?” you grunted as the strap hit the spot that you knew would push Kika over the edge.

“Yeah, baby! Yeah! I’m close. I’m so close. I’m gonna c-come,” Kika cried out as her hips jerked frantically against yours and her breathing stilled as she came hard all over the strap.

You felt your own arousal leaking out against the harness as you watched her come undone beneath you.You slowly fucked Kika through the waves of euphoria that poured through her body and when her breathing finally returned to normal and she opened her bright brown eyes, you gently pulled out, removed the harness, and tossed it aside before you laid down next to her on the bed.

“God damn…” Kika said with a pleased grin on her lips as she turned to face you.

“Yeah, this definitely beats working on lesson plans,” you laughed as you leaned in and pressed a tender kiss against Kika’s soft lips.

“You’re telling me baby” Kika replied as she moved closer, snuggled against your chest, and wrapped her legs around yours.

You kissed her forehead before you pressed your nose to her messy ponytail and inhaled the familiar and intoxicating scent of her shampoo and perfume.

“Does this mean you gotta skip the game tonight?” Kika asked with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“Not a chance! I can’t wait to be there with you. You’re so cute when you cheer on your team,” you replied and her smile warms your heart.

“But if I see Mapi looking at your tits again, I’m gonna whack her in the head with a ball,” you threatened playfully and Kika laughed.

“Can you blame her, baby?” Kika teased as she gently nipped at your neck.

“Nah- Not really but I can for sure beat her ass,” you joked.

“I love you,” Kika whispered against your cheek.

“Love you too,” you replied.

You sighed happily, nuzzling your head into Kika’s hair. The rest of the day was spent lazing around before the game and you couldn’t ask for anything else.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso smut #woso imagine #woso request #kika nazareth x reader #woso one shot

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ekybrini · 2 days ago

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you're the right one | Will Smith

Request: Hi! I have a request if you are up to writing it. Can I please request a Will Smith fic where he and reader are out on a date, and people keep coming up to ask for pictures and autographs, and she happily takes pictures if asked, but for the most part the fans ignore her or make snide remarks. And she starts feeling bad because she feels that she can’t keep up with his world and doesn’t belong with him. And so Will invites her over and he makes her dinner and gets her flowers, does everything. And he basically praises her and thanks her for staying with him and supporting him through his rookie year.

— ⟡ summary | After a rough night out leaves y/n feeling out of place, Will comforts her with flowers, dinner, and gentle reminders that she means everything to him.

— ⟡ warnings | None (that I know of)

— ⟡ word count | 2.3k

— ⟡ gabs note | hiiii !!!! I finally finished this after like almost a month of it being in my drafts lol. Who knew the last two months of school were actually going to be a living hell. THANKFULLY I graduate in exactly a month so I'll be able to start being more active on here which means more post!! if anyone would like to request something don't hesitate !! I won't get to them right away but I will end up writing it sometimes when I have time.

You tell yourself it didn't bother you at first.

The stares. The whispers. Or how your name gets left out of every “Can I get a picture with you, will?” request.

That is just part of dating him.

You try to focus on the warmth in his eyes. The way his knee brushes against yours under the table. The way he said “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” when he picked you up tonight after the two long roadies.

And he meant that.

The first fan comes by after your appetizers hit the table. Young guy, maybe in high school, nervous, polite, asking to sign a sharks jersey. Will grins, he takes a picture and signs the jersey. He is sweet about it, he always is. You simile and even offer to take the picture. You’ve gotten used to this by now. You’ve known what it meant to be with him since the beginning of your relationship.

You just didn’t expect the stream of fans to keep coming.

Another one stops mid conversation. Then another. And another. You take a couple more pictures. Will never says no. He apologies each time with a sheepish smile and squeezes your hand each time, but you can feel the distance building up with every polite interruption.

Your food arrives. You push it around your plate, your appetite fading like the candle in front of you guys.

And of course it happens again.

You're mid laugh at something Will said, something genuinely funny, something that made you forget about how you two can’t seem to have a private moment when a group of girls passes by your table. They slow down pretending to glance at their menu, but their eyes are on Will.

“He’s even cuter in person,” one whispers.

Another snorts softly. “No kidding. And he’s with her?”

“He could definitely do better if he tried.” The girl replied back.

Will stiffens next to you like he heard it too.

But you don’t wait to see if he’ll say something. You excuse yourself with a bright smile and make your way to the bathroom before your voice cracks.

You stare at yourself in the mirror feeling your chest get tight, fingers gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles ache.

You knew it could be like this. You’ve seen the comments online, the subtle glances, the disbelief in people’s faces when they realize you're together. You always thought you could handle it. You thought if you loved him enough, if he loved you enough it wouldn’t matter.

But tonight, it feels like you’re trying to breathe underwater.

You fix your makeup, though it doesn’t fix anything. You smooth down your dress, though it still doesn’t feel like it fits right. You stare at yourself until the flush in your cheeks fades enough to pass as normal, then go back out there and pretend you weren’t just unraveling in a public restroom.

Will’s sitting up straighter when you return. There’s a shared dessert waiting at your seat, your favorite, a small cookie pie with vanilla ice cream on top.

His smile is small, searching. “Thought we could end the night on a sweet note.”

You sit down feeling your heart twisting.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “That’s really sweet of you.”

He watches you for a moment longer than usual. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

It’s not a lie. You’ve had a long day, but it's not the reason for you shutting down.

He doesn’t push. He never does when you shut down like this. Instead, he forks a bite of cookie and offers it to you across the table.

You take it.

You make it through dessert. You make it through the ride home. He tells you he’ll text you when he makes it home. kisses your temple like he always does, lingering just long enough for you to feel guilty for pulling away.

You go inside and lean against the door, blinking against the burn behind your eyes.

Will hasn’t done anything wrong. That’s the hardest part.

He’s just being himself, kind, open, unaware of every careless comment, every ignored glance, every fan who acts like you’re invisible. He doesn’t know how small you felt tonight. How you keep wondering if people see you and think he settled.

You crawl into bed fully dressed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind looping that one cruel comment over and over again.

And he’s with her?

You close your eyes and try not to cry.

The next morning you wake to the soft buzz of your phone on the nightstand. It will. It’s still dark out, the sky a dull gray that matches the fog in your chest.

“Good morning, pretty girl. Hope you slept okay.”

Your chest tightens. You stare at the message for a while then type back slowly.

“Morning. Slept alright. Hope practice isn’t too rough today.”

You press send before you can second guess yourself. It’s casual. Normal. Exactly the kind of message he’s used to from you. But it feels like a lie, even if the words are technically true.

You’re not ignoring him. You just can’t bring yourself to say what’s really on your mind.

The way the girl at the restaurant looked you up and down like you were some sort of joke. The way you felt more like a shadow than someone’s date. The way Will didn’t seem to notice.

You know it’s not fair to hold that against him. He wasn’t the one who made you feel small, but he also didn’t notice that you were shrinking.

Later, you respond to another one of his texts, something simple about what you’re watching on TV, what you’re having for lunch. You even throw in a little joke. You’re trying. You really are.

And Will is sweet like always.

“Can’t believe you’re watching that without me. Rude.” Will send the message after telling him you’re watching glee.

“You were the one who fell asleep halfway through the last episode. I’m taking initiative.”

He replies with a string of laughing emojis and a gif that makes you smile, just a little.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. At least that's what you’re telling yourself.

Because every time your phone lights up with his name you feel that familiar twist in your stomach. Like there’s something caught in your throat, something heavy sitting on your chest. Like you’re pretending everything is normal when inside you’re spinning.

You want to tell him. But you don’t want him to think it’s stupid about you being upset over a comment. You know it shouldn’t have hurt you the way it did.

So you keep replying. Keep smiling through texts. Keep laughing at the right moments. Because silence would make him worry and you don’t want him to worry.

“Come over tonight?”

Your thumb hovers over the screen. You hesitate not because you don’t want to see him, but because you’re scared he’ll see right through you.

Still, you reply.

“Sure. What time?”

His response is nearly instant.

“Whenever you want. I’ll cook. Something fancy and probably half burnt, but made with love”

That makes your lips twitch, just a little.

By the time you knock on his door, your stomach is in knots. You try to smooth out your expression when he answers, wearing a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp, the smell of garlic and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

Will leans in and presses a kiss to your temple before pulling you inside. “Hey, you,” he says. “I missed you.”

You nod, setting your bag down. You don’t trust your voice to work yet.

“I went all out,” he says as he leads you to the kitchen. “Like, full Pinterest boyfriend levels. There are candles. I obviously couldn't get wine but if you wanted the full experience i got grape juice if not i got sodas. And I even tried to fold the napkins into those little triangle things. Don’t look too closely.”

Sure enough there’s a small dinner spread waiting on the table. It’s simple pasta, salad, garlic bread slightly burnt around the edges but it’s warm, thoughtful, and made by him.

And sitting right in the middle of the table is a small bouquet of flowers. Tulips with a mix of wildflowers, your favorite.

You blink. “Will”

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “I know you’ve had a weird couple of days. Thought maybe this would help.”

You open your mouth to respond, but your throat tightens too fast.

He misreads the silence, smile dimming a little. “I didn’t mean to overdo it. I just I guess I wanted you to know I don’t take you for granted. Not ever.”

Your breath stutters. The lump in your throat threatens to spill over.

You reach for a flower stem with trembling fingers. “They’re beautiful,” you whisper.

He nods, watching you carefully. “So are you.”

Will pulls out your chair and sits beside you instead of across, his thigh pressed lightly to yours.

“I don’t know what’s been bothering you,” he says, voice softer now. “But whatever it is, you don’t have to hide it from me.”

You want to tell him everything. The whispers. The way you felt like you didn’t belong. The way his world sometimes feels too loud, too polished, too far from yours.

But for now, you lean your head on his shoulder and he lets you stay quiet.

After a while of silence you pick at your pasta more than you eat it, but the warmth of the food and the soft music Will put on in the background helps ease the ache that’s been sitting in your chest. Will doesn’t push. He just chats about his last practice, about how one of the guys slipped during warmups, how the locker room smelled like actual death because Macklin left a protein shake in his bag over the weekend. You smile weakly at the stories, letting them wrap around you like a blanket.

But eventually, the words stop. He glances over at you, eyes searching and says gently, “You’ve been quiet lately. I mean, more than usual.”

You stare down at your plate. Your fork scrapes against ceramic, and your voice is barely audible when you say, “Yeah. Im sorry”

Will doesn't rush you. He just waits.

Eventually, you set your fork down and take a breath, fingers curling into your lap.

"It was at the restaurant," you say, voice barely more than a whisper.

Will looks up, confusion flickering across his face. He doesn’t say anything, just waits.

"Our date," you add, still not looking at him. “When those fans kept coming over.”

His expression softens, and you can tell he thinks you’re about to say you were overwhelmed by the attention, maybe annoyed. But that’s not it.

“Some of their remarks are incredibly hurtful sometimes. I overheard someone ask if I was your assistance when I was walking to the bathroom. And then there were ones whose whispers were just too loud.”

You pause, swallowing hard.

“They said you could do better and I know,” you add quickly, “I know people say stupid things all the time. I know it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you still felt like shit,” he finishes for you, voice low.

You nod. “I smiled through it. I laughed. Took the photos. And then I went home and felt like maybe they were right.”

“I wish you had told me,” he murmurs. “I wish I’d noticed.”

“I didn’t want to ruin the night. You looked happy.”

“I was happy. Because I was with you.”

His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles. “Listen to me. I wouldn’t be here with you right now if I thought about what they were saying. I don’t care what some strangers at a restaurant think. You think I could survive this year, this pressure, this schedule, this whole new world without you?”

“You’re the best part of all of it,” he says. “You’re the one who keeps me grounded. Who reminds me who I am. That night, I was proud to have you next to me. I just hate that anyone made you feel like you weren’t enough. Because you are. You’re more than enough.”

Your throat tightens as you finally look at him.

“And I made you your favorite dessert,” he adds, almost sheepish. “It’s in the kitchen. I was gonna wait, but”

You laugh wetly, tears spilling as you cover your face with your hands. “You’re such a sap.”

“I know.” He grins, brushing your hands away gently. “But only for you.”

And when he kisses your lips, soft and unhurried, you let yourself believe it that maybe you do belong here with him after all.

Later that night, you’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, the soft hum of a movie playing in the background. You’re not really watching it, not with Will sitting beside you, one arm around your shoulders, his fingers brushing over your arm in slow, calming strokes.

Will shifts slightly, glancing down at you. “You okay?”

You nod, leaning your head against his chest. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I will be.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. And if anyone ever makes you feel like that again, I’ll personally throw their soup across the restaurant.”

You laugh softly, the sound catching in your throat. “Please don’t start a food fight because of me.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

The warmth in his voice melts something in your chest, and for the first time in a few days, the ache feels like it’s fading.

You trace gentle shapes on the inside of his hoodie sleeve. “Thank you,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t ask what for. He just pulls you closer, holds you tighter. And as your eyes begin to drift shut the rhythm of his heartbeat steady in your ear all you can feel is safe and loved.

The world may never stop whispering, but tonight wrapped in Will’s arms you makes you feel as if you don't have anything to worry about.

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bluntzah · 2 days ago

Text

THE PURGE ੈ♡˳

♫ hole — PETALS. nav ; m.list.

౨౿ ྀ word count. 2.7k

౨౿ ྀ pairing. brother’s bsf!hamzah x fem!reader.

౨౿ ྀ warnings. mentions of blowjobs, very detailed description & foul language. please review all warnings before proceeding. i’m not responsible for what you choose to engage or interact with.

౨౿ ྀ summary. your brother plans a prank to scare you with help from his best friend, hamzah, but you flip the damn script. what was meant to scare you turns into a insane, fucked moment, one that risks exposing the secret you and hamzah have been hiding all along.

“We’re gonna get her sooooo good,” your brother said with a grin, giving a thumbs up toward Hamzah, who was trying to keep the camera hidden: almost like saying: She can’t see it from here. “m’not entirely convinced she’ll fall for this prank,” Hamzah muttered as he walked over and took the mask from your brother. “She’s kind of slow when it comes to life or death situations.”

“True,” your brother muttered, pulling the mask over his face. The plastic stretched slightly as it slid into place, transforming his familiar features into something more creepy. Hamzah caught the edge of the mask’s hollow eyes, making them look even more weird.

Ever since you’d accidentally snapped the arm off your brother’s glasses and flat out refused to pay for a replacement, he’d been planning over a way to get even. He wasn’t out for revenge exactly, just a good scare. Something to remind you not to mess with his shit again.

Hamzah had casually mentioned that you watched ‘The Purge’ last night, dropping it into conversation like it was nothing. But the moment the words hit his ear, your brother’s head snapped toward him.

“How the fuck do you know that?” each word dripping with suspicion. Hamzah froze for a moment. “Heard it when I was leaving yesterday.” Just like that, your brother’s gaze stayed for another second, long enough to make Hamzah feel the fuck out of it, before he gave a small grunt and looked away.

The breath Hamzah let out was as though he’d been underwater and had finally broken the damn surface. The relief that washed over his face was instant. His shoulders dropped slightly, and his fingers unclenched from the edge of the couch. He was lucky, seriously lucky that Hamzah actually came over yesterday to hang out with his best friend before slipping off to your room. If he hadn’t, that quick little lie would've crumbled the second he decided to push further.

Your brother was already plotting something. So, later that day, he dragged Hamzah along with him to a sketchy party store. They came back with cheap masks, but weirdly identical to the ones from The Purge.

You had gone to pick up the food your brother purposefully assigned to you, all part of his little prank. He needed time, after all. Time for him and Hamzah to finalize their plan, throw on the all black outfits, and run out to grab the masks.

And because your brother knew you better than you'd like to admit, he ordered from that one spot located near all your favorite stores. He counted on you getting distracted, staying longer than necessary, just like you always did.

It had become a habit, one that annoyed him more times than he could count. But today, it worked perfectly in his favor.

Hamzah had played ‘The Purge’ broadcast sound on the living room TV, strategically chosen, since it would be the first thing you’d hear the moment you walked through the door.

They had every detail planned out: Hamzah would be the first person you’d see, standing silently in a corner, hidden behind his mask. The second you bolted in fear toward your bedroom, your brother would be waiting for part two of the prank. Both of them closing in on you until you were so terrified you’d start crying: that’s exactly how your brother imagined it going, and exactly how he instructed Hamzah to carry it out.

“What if she tries to run out the door?” Hamzah asked, imagining the door still slightly open when you catch sight of him and run the other way. “Grab her? We’re grown men, Hamzah. She’s a little fuckin’ girl,” your brother annoyingly muttered as he jabbed the volume up button on the remote. “I give you permission to touch her if that makes you feel better, or whatever,” he added with a shrug.

Hamzah nearly laughed at the phrase “little fuckin’ girl,” considering you were only a year younger. And when your brother said, “I’ll give you permission to touch her,” stupidly unaware that Hamzah had already done far more than just touching you.

“Stick to the plan,” your brother said, adjusting his mask. “That bitch is gonna learn not to break my stuff and then act like she doesn’t have to pay for it.” Hamzah pulled on his own mask: the one he’d specifically chosen, the one your brother had called ‘creepy as fuck,’ which was exactly the vibe they were aiming for.

It wasn’t until then that Hamzah noticed your car pulling into the driveway, visible through the porch camera. Your brother quickly jogged to your room, and as soon as Hamzah heard your door shut, he moved to his usual spot in the living room — tucked away in the far corner hidden by the window. It was the perfect place to stay out of sight.

Hamzah heard the sound of your car door shutting, followed by the rustling of bags. He nearly rolled his eyes. Of fuckin’ course, you’d gotten more than just the food. Your brother had called it perfectly. Sure enough, you walked up with four extra bags from different stores. One of them was from a clothing shop, and Hamzah had to stop himself from grinning at the thought: he couldn’t wait to ask you to try everything on for him later.

He heard your keys jingling first, then the creak of the door opening. Luckily, you didn’t notice Hamzah right away, too focused on getting all the bags inside without anything spilling or tearing open. “Got your shit!” you called out, not even bothering to unpack.

You dropped the bags where they landed and turned toward the living room. Only to freeze, eyes going wide the moment you saw him. Or rather, the masked figure you thought was a stranger.

For a singular second, panic flashed across your face as Hamzah stood there, having to chase you to your room — the one place you were supposed to run to. But to his surprise, you let out a quiet sigh. A sigh of relief. Hamzah took a step forward, bracing himself for the sprint he thought was coming. But you didn’t move. You just stood there, frozen in place.

You bite the inside of your cheek, shaking your head as you step toward Hamzah. You slowly close the distance until you’re standing right in front of him: so close that your nose brushes against the cold surface of his mask.

“Cute,” you muttered. “Watching The Purge while you fucked me into my bed last night gave you the idea, hm?” You hummed, knowing full well what you were doing. Even though you couldn’t see his face, Hamzah’s neck flushed red. He had a weird way of blushing, and this was definitely it. You’d made a point the night before to mention how hot the girls in the movie looked in those “KISS ME” masks. And sure enough, that’s exactly the one he was wearing now.

Hamzah prayed on anything and everything that your brother hadn’t heard a word. And as if the universe decided to mock him, the TV kicked on right then: “This is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the first, official Purge. Sanctioned by the New Founding Fathers. A nationwide experiment of violence and crime is now in effect for twelve hours. All crime, including murder, is legal.”

You glanced over your shoulder when the broadcast started playing, but that was all. A blink, then your eyes were back on Hamzah.

He was still frozen. Not because the plan called for him to chase you into your room but because he physically couldn’t move. He couldn’t risk your brother seeing just how hard he was for his sister, how your casual teasing about last night made his heart pound like a drum.

You turned back with a sweet smile, reached up, and gently lifted his mask: just enough to see his face one last time before you slowly dropped to your knees.

“Your brother…” Hamzah finally managed to say. You shrugged, completely unbothered. “What about him?” Hamzah nearly choked on a gasp as your fingers started trailing along his belt.

“He’s… in your room,” he muttered, guilt creeping in. He knew damn well that if your brother found out he threw the whole prank by giving in to you, he’d probably slam Hamzah’s head into the nearest wall. You looked up at him through your lashes, innocent and dangerous all at once. “Why is he in my room?”

You began unzipping Hamzah’s pants, making his eyes flick toward your bedroom door: closed, but far too close for comfort. He knew your brother, his best friend, was waiting just behind it. “We were… uh… doing a prank,” he mumbled, trying to focus. You hummed, encouraging him to go on.

“Thought we’d scare you… after you broke your brother’s glasses…” His words trailed off, dissolving into silence as your fingers brushed against him through the thin fabric of his boxers. He inhaled, chest rising with the struggle it took not to make a sound.

“And you agreed to help him?” you asked with mock disappointment. Hamzah nodded, a little breathlessly. You shook your head slowly. “That’s so mean.” Just as the words left your mouth, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down, his dick springing free the moment it was released.

“Your brother—” “Then you better stay the fuck silent unless you want him to hear you,” you cut him off instantly, eyes locked dead on his. After all, they were the ones who planned this whole prank, now it was just about to blow up right in their faces.

Hamzah doesn’t protest. How could he? He doesn’t want you to stop. Who would? You’re on your knees, lashes fluttering as you look up at him, and now all he can think about is the heat of your mouth.

His cock throbs, just inches from your face, the tip already dripping with pre-cum. You lick your lips, hunger written all over your expression, desperate for the smallest taste.

You wrap your hand around his cock, your fingers not quite able to meet around him. You stick out your pink tongue and swipe up the drip of pre-cum, savoring the salty sweet taste, not givin’ a fuck at the slight bitterness that hits your tongue.

A soft hum escapes you: you like it. You part your lips and take the tip into your mouth. “Easy… mm… m’sensitive,” Hamzah stuttered, his voice shaky as his hand found its way into your hair, fingers curling. He loved the way your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him, how he could feel your saliva with every movement. Your tongue swirled around the head, gathering more pre-cum, like you were smacking on every drop.

You began to gently suck on his tip, and the reaction was instant: he twitched in your mouth, jaw tightening. “Mm,” he barely managed, biting down on the inside of his cheek to stay quiet. He was doing everything he could not to make a sound, everything. But it was nearly impossible with the only noise in the room being the sirens from the ‘Purge’ broadcast from the TV, the prank long gone from his mind.

You take him deeper, your lips stretching wide to fit his size. The head of his dick presses against the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex. Your eyes begin to water, tears welling up at the corners and slowly spilling over onto your puffy cheeks.

Forcing your jaw to relax, you push him impossibly deeper until your nose buries itself in his abs. "Sohh guhd," you try to say around him, but it comes out muffled and garbled, sending vibrations down his dick.

You arch your neck, pressing your throat and chin against him, creating the perfect angle for him to start face-fucking you. He grabs a handful of your hair, using it as force to snap his hips forward, driving his dick out and in, in and out of your mouth.

You pullback, lips sliding off his dick with a wet pop. A string of saliva stretches from your mouth to his meat as you gasp for air, your chest heaving as you look up at him through watery eyes.

Snatching the white mask with the grotesque smiling mouth from where you had perched it up on his head, you secured it back over Hamzah's face. You drop back down to your knees, wrapping your lips around him again, immediately picking up speed. Your head bobs faster, creating a wet sound as your mouth stretches around his thickness. Saliva bubbles at the corners of your lips, making the blowjob all the more messy.

Your cheeks hollow as you suck harder, creating the tightest seal with your lips. You watch in a trance as the masked Hamzah throws his head back, stretching his strong neck. You swirl your tongue around him, feeling every throbbing vein, sending trembles down his overstimulated body.

"Squeeze me right here, please squeeze... Mhm!" Hamzah's eyes roll back as he starts to lose control, his hands gripping your head tightly as he fucks your mouth. He knows that if his best friend walked in right now, he would be met with a beating. The sight of you on your knees, taking his cock so deeply down your throat that tears stream down your face, would enrage him. However, Hamzah can't stop, and neither can you.

You love the taste of him, love the way his cock throbs and twitches against your tongue and throat. Each movement brings him closer to the edge, and you can feel it building with every suck and swallow. His approaching orgasm is obvious in the way his dick pulses and jerks in your mouth.

His cock bulges noticeably before releasing the first hot spurt of cum directly into your throat. You gag slightly as the first wave hits you, immediately forcing you to swallow. The taste is amazing - creamy and salty, flooding your mouth and coating your pink tongue.

Hamzah quickly grabs the pillow from beside you on the couch, pressing it firmly against his face. He bites down hard, muffling his loudest moan. You stand up gracefully, carefully placing the pillow back where it belongs. Hamzah's breathing is heavy, rising and falling rapidly as he recovers from the mind blowing orgasm you just gave him.

He quickly pulls up his boxers and zips his pants, attempting to compose himself as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, you storm towards your bedroom, slamming the door open with a loud bang.

There was silence before Hamzah heard your brother’s frustrated voice. “How the hell did you know? Did Hamzah say something? Hamzah! What the fu—” but he was quickly interrupted by you. “Hamzah didn’t tell me anything. You and his height aren’t exactly hard to notice, dumbass.”

The next time the two of you came out of your room, Hamzah overheard your brother mutter, “You’re fuckin’ irritating.” You just shrugged, offering a small smile. “I don’t know, Hamzah doesn’t seem to find me irritating.” The only reason you said that was to get a reaction from Hamzah, knowing he was still recovering from the aftershocks of what you had just done. With your brother also in the room now, he couldn’t fully relax.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Your brother’s gaze immediately shifted to Hamzah, who quickly flushed and shrugged nervously, a slight panic evident in the back of his neck.

“I just mean,” you continued, “he doesn’t seem upset that the plan didn’t go as planned… right, Hamzah? You’re not mad?” Hamzah caught the playfulness in your eyes, recognizing the smile tugging at your lips as you recalled the moment you had taken care of him, made him feel so good.

“Whatever,” your brother muttered, signaling Hamzah to follow him as he began heading back toward his room. Hamzah let your brother walk ahead for a moment, then jogged over to you quickly, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before running to catch up with your brother.

#🍋‍🟩🪴bluntzah!masterlist.#brothers!bsf!hamzah #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzah angst #hamzah the fantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah imagines #hamzah x y/n #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah smut

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dismalflo · 14 hours ago

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…it’s me again from the last req. maybe you could do one where it’s like one of the pure blood boys(I was thinking maybe Sirius or barty) and it’s like they don’t realise how deeply rooted like the misogyny of how they grew up is in their brains. Maybe they make an offhand comment or action towards the reader that’s like almost passive aggressively sexist and she like totally calls them out on it and is like y, u can’t talk to me like that. did that make sense? I don’t think that made sense but oh well

thankyou for requesting!! i struggled with this one for a bit but its such a good idea. i hope you enjoy <3

Barty Crouch Jr. x fem!reader where he can't quite understand why you're upset ✩ 1.6k words

cw: misogyny, little bit angsty, hurt/comfort, Barty is a dick (but he tries to learn from it), reader plays quidditch.

an: sorry i made your fave a piece of shit (with redemption) it hurt to write

“ –you agree with me Reggie, surely.”

“I do not, thank you. And do I have to remind you that your girlfriend–”

Regulus cuts himself off when he sees you approaching, but the scowl directed at Barty doesn’t shift. Barty doesn’t seem to care as he, noticing your arrival too, turns to smile so wide, you’re sure it hurts his cheeks, forgetting the conversation all together.

“Treasure!” he exclaims as you sit yourself beside him, before planting a lingering kiss to your temple.

“What were you guys talking about?” you ask before nodding to Regulus, “Heard you mention me.”

"Barty’s an idiot, Y/N, I’m sorry." Regulus sighs heavily, standing abruptly from his seat. "I'll see you at practice, yeah?" His gaze flicks to you, not a single word is directed toward the boy beside you, his arm comfortably wrapped around your waist. The snub feels sharp, though you're not entirely sure why.

“He’s become bloody dramatic since he started seeing potter.” Barty says cheerfully, as if he’s not the most melodramatic man you know. The only times you’ve seen Barty drop his theatrics is when it’s only the two of you. He’s still impulsive and daring but the fire gets dropped for sweetness and he's lovely. You’re his and he’s yours.

“What did you do to rile him up, Bee?” you tease, leaning into his side with a gentle smile.

He squeezes your waist briefly, pulling you in closer before responding.

“We were talking about Quidditch, and he complained about one of your beaters. I said that it must be annoying trying to get the girls to listen, poor bloke.”

You blink, processing his words, and a cold chill starts to creep down your spine. It takes a moment for the reality of what he's said to fully hit you.

"What did you just say?" You ask slowly, your voice steady.

Barty doesn't notice the shift in your demeanor. His grin only widens, his eyes sparkling with affection as he watches you. To him, it’s just another offhand remark; playful, maybe teasing, but never meant to hurt. It’s the way he’s always been.

"I said, it must be annoying trying to get the girls to listen," he repeats, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Y’know because girls never stop talking.” he nods.

Your smile falters, and you pull back from him slightly. His arm falls from your waist, the space between you suddenly feeling miles wide. Regulus’s parting words echo in your mind, but you focus on Barty now. His face morphs into one of confusion, a flicker of amusement still lingering, but it’s clear he doesn’t understand why your mood has shifted.

It’s laughable, really, coming from a boy that says everything that flashes through his mind, always loud and known. That’s just Barty and you’d never complain about it or ask him to change –you love him–but this rubs you the wrong way.

“You’d prefer that I didn't speak so much, then?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Tres, I didn’t say–”

“But you did, Barty! I'm on that team! I'm one of the girls Regulus has to deal with!”

Barty blinks, clearly thrown off. His smile falters for a moment, and he opens his mouth, likely trying to smooth things over with some careless, half-thought-out joke. But when he sees the sharpness in your eyes, the edge to your voice, it makes him falter.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he begins, his tone defensive but still a little unsure, his hand coming up to run through his hair–because he’s frustrated or nervous you can't tell. “It’s just that, well… y’know, girls can sometimes be a bit more, uh, talkative than the guys–”

“Are you serious right now?” You cut him off, your voice not loud, but steady with the kind of controlled anger that makes Barty’s stomach twist.

Barty opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of how to proceed. An uncomfortable feeling taking hold, but there’s also something inside of him—a deep-rooted, unexamined part of him—that wants to dismiss this as you being too sensitive. He’s never really thought about his own words that deeply, never had to. Growing up, he was surrounded by a very particular brand of masculinity.

"I didn’t mean to offend you, honestly," Barty says quickly, his voice softer now, though still with that edge of defensiveness. "I just meant that—"

"Yeah, I know what you meant," you interrupt, voice icy. "But the problem is, Barty, you're so used to saying whatever comes to your mind without thinking about it for one second. You don’t get to say things like that and just get away with it. "

He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing again, looking as though he’s trying to piece together exactly where he went wrong. His brow furrows, a flash of frustration crossing his face.

"You're making it sound like I hate women or something. I don’t. You know I don’t. It was just a joke."

“No, I don’t think you hate women,” you respond coolly. "But you clearly don’t get how ingrained some of that shit is.” You stand up suddenly, ready to walk away. “I’ll see you later, Barty.”

It’s just past curfew when you hear the knock on the door of the girls' dormitory. You open it, bleary-eyed and ready to tell whoever it is to sod off—only to find Barty standing there, hair a mess, eyes wide, hands full of... flowers?

They’re awful. Wild, lopsided things that look like they were pulled from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. And he’s holding them like they might explode.

“Hi,” he says, voice tight with nerves. “I—I brought these. They’re not from an actual florist or anything, but I thought maybe you’d like them anyway because... well, because I’m sorry. And I didn’t know what else to do.”

You raise an eyebrow, but you don’t close the door.

“I was a dick,” he continues, words tumbling out now like he’s afraid if he stops, you’ll shut him out for good. “A stupid, arrogant, loud-mouthed dick who didn’t realise that he’s been spoon-fed this idea that making fun of girls is just ‘harmless banter’. But it’s not. Not when it’s you. Not when it makes you look at me like I’m someone you don’t recognise.”

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“I don’t want to be that person,” Barty says, voice breaking a little now. “Not with you. You make me want to be—better, not just louder.”

The silence between you stretches.

“I hated how quick you were to dismiss it. To dismiss me,” you say, voice softer now, but still firm. “You’re smart, Barty. You should know better.”

“I do now. I was thinking about it and then I went to talk to Reg about it. He said it's something about the way we were raised, some batshit thing that goes hand in hand with my fathers bullshit, but I know that's not an excuse, tres.” He steps forward slightly, holding the scraggly bouquet out like a peace offering. “Please let me make it up to you.”

You hesitate. But in his eyes, you see none of the easy arrogance you’d grown used to. There’s only sincerity.

You sigh and take the flowers, fingers brushing his as you do. They're prickly in places, uneven, with leaves still clinging to the stems—but they’re honest. Wild and untamed, just like him.

Barty doesn’t grin. Doesn’t make a joke. He just walks in slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his robes, like he’s afraid to breathe too loudly.

You sit on the edge of your bed, the flowers resting in your lap. He stays standing.

“I’m not good at this,” he says after a beat. “Like… not just the apologising part, but the learning part. I've been told I’m clever all my life, and it’s made me lazy. I don't question things unless they get in my way.”

You nod, watching him closely.

“But you’re not just someone in my way. You’re the person who makes all the noise in my head worth it. So if I’ve got to unlearn everything just to not lose you, I’ll do it.”

A breath catches in your throat. “This isn’t just about keeping me, Bee. It’s about being someone better. For you.”

His eyes flicker, glassy for a moment, and he sits down—tentatively—beside you. “I know.”

You glance down at the flowers again and then up at him, lips tugging into a small, reluctant smile. A silence settles between you.

“These are hideous.” you say finally. “You can’t just fix things with flowers and guilt, Barty, It’s not that simple.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet, sincere. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

Barty reaches over, tentative, and places his hand over yours. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t try to pull you closer. He just stays.

“I’m gonna mess up again,” he says softly. “But I’ll listen. I’ll learn. And I’ll apologise when I do. Properly. Not with jokes.”

You glance at him, heart aching with something complicated and warm and stubbornly hopeful.

“You’d better.”

His smile is small, a little broken around the edges, but real. “Does this mean you’re not going to dump me?”

You pretend to consider it, then lean your head on his shoulder with a sigh. “You’re on thin ice, Junior.”

He huffs a laugh, and for the first time tonight, it sounds like him.

“I’ll take it,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against your hair.

masterlist <3

#flo'sfics #marauders au #marauders fics #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch jr x you #barty crouch jr x y/n #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr fic #barty crouch jr drabble #barty crouch jr angst #barty crouch jr fluff #barty crouch jr fanfic #barty crouch jr imagine

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mediumgayitalian · 3 days ago

Note

Found this on YouTube and thought I send it to you :)

see this is interesting. ive heard this take before and im honestly not sure how i feel.

part of it is like.....i love percy. i have a very hard time criticizing him for much of PJO (although there are few choice things -- his treatment of annabeth and rachel in the later books, for one) because of the sheer amount of good he did, intentionally, while enduring so much active and hostile sabotage. like, nobody told percy SHIT. he was confused all the time in a way no one else was because no one told him anything ever. and when he asked he was ignored or, worse, mocked. percy is at the core of him a deeply kind and caring person who was given the worst possible hand in every possible way.

every time percy is framed as the villain i really just think of sea of monsters tbh. frequently the least favourite book in the series, somehow, but that whole novel was percy desperately trying to work with the information he had to keep the people he loved safe, while his peers and friends were actively turning against him. i think people forget that, for the vast majority of his time at camp, percy was NOT beloved. he had friends, and he liked it there. but people turned on him pretty easily! they blamed him for thalia's tree poisoning, they scapegoated him for the gods' bullshit, they made his quests harder and belittled his accomplishments. percy was and always has been expected to save everyone's ass and then expected to sit there and take it when people list all the ways he could have done a better fucking job. i don't buy it.

percy was friends with michael. he was hurt when he died. he was hurt when ALL his friends at camp half-blood died; he considered the deaths of even those he didn't like as personal failures. percy always TRIED to help, even people he couldn't fuckin' stand. think of how often he has saved clarisse's ass, even though she actively tries -- and, over time, he learned to like the challenge -- to make his life miserable. like, percy didn't personally kill michael yew. he didn't disregard his life. he watched his friend die, too. all while the closest person in his life was bleeding from a poisoned dagger she took to protect him. and while the living embodiment of the end of times was destroying his home and every person he loved in it.

maybe im missing something. was michael not the one to know his own death coming? did he not die laughing, having asked percy to put the events in motion, knowing the sacrifice he was making?

i went back and checked. before michael even died, there was this, from percy:

A hellhound lunged and I sidestepped. I could have stabbed it, but I hesitated. This is not Mrs O’Leary, I reminded myself. This is an untamed monster. It will kill me and all my friends.

and then, a few paragraphs later:

I tried to wound his men, not kill. That slowed me down, but these weren’t monsters. They were demigods who’d fallen under Kronos’s spell. I couldn’t see faces under their battle helmets, but some of them had probably been my friends.

and for michael's death -- i was right. he sacrificed HIMSELF. he was friends with percy, too, and he knew the goddamn cost of letting percy -- their forced savior -- die. michael made a CHOICE. read it for yourself, i'll emphasize some of the more important parts:

I got unsteadily to my feet. The remaining Apollo campers had almost made it to the end of the bridge – except for Michael Yew, who was perched on one of the suspension cables a few metres away from me. His last arrow was notched in his bow. ‘Michael, go!’ I screamed. ‘Percy, the bridge!’ he called. ‘It’s already weak!’ At first I didn’t understand. Then I looked down and saw fissures in the pavement. Patches of the road were half melted from Greek fire. The bridge had taken a beating from Kronos’s blast and the exploding arrows. ‘Break it!’ Michael yelled. ‘Use your powers!’ It was a desperate thought – no way it would work – but I stabbed Riptide into the bridge. The magic blade sank to its hilt in tarmac. Salt water shot from the crack like I’d hit a geyser. I pulled out my blade and the fissure grew. The bridge shook and began to crumble. Chunks the size of houses fell into the East River. Kronos’s demigods cried out in alarm and scrambled backwards. Some were knocked off their feet. Within a few seconds, a twenty-metre chasm opened in the Williamsburg Bridge between Kronos and me. The vibrations died. Kronos’s men crept to the edge and looked at the forty metre drop into the river. I didn’t feel safe, though. The suspension cables were still attached. The men could get across that way if they were brave enough. Or maybe Kronos had a magic way to span the gap. The Titan lord studied the problem. He looked behind him at the rising sun, then smiled across the chasm. He raised his scythe in a mock salute. ‘Until this evening, Jackson.’ He mounted his horse, whirled around and galloped back to Brooklyn followed by his warriors. I turned to thank Michael Yew, but the words died in my throat. Five metres away, a bow lay in the street. Its owner was nowhere to be seen. ‘No!’ I searched the wreckage on my side of the bridge. I stared down at the river. Nothing. I yelled in anger and frustration. The sound carried forever in the morning stillness.

like...i want to know every little detail about will solace as much as the next person. but this post is genuinely in direct ignorance of canon 😭😭 not only did percy stay to search for michael -- he was the FIRST to search. percy cared about him. and he recognised the depth of michael's sacrifice, the risk he undertook. he tried to stop him.

this is no one particular person's fault. i think as the percy jackson universe has gone on, percy, as a character, as been (ironically) kind of watered down. it has been easy for people to forget who he is, how kind he is. but i see it a lot. i see percy as this kind of apathetic, uncaring villain too often and it drives me insane. im BEGGING people to love the side characters and the barely-mentioned as much as i do, but to remember whose voice drew us in the first place.

#THERE WILL BE NO PERCY JACKSON HATE ON THIS BLOG!!!!!!!#percy jackson if no one loves you i love you #percy jackson #analysis #ask

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onestepbackwards · 3 days ago

Note

Requests have opened?🥺 Oohh can I request some domestic fluff with Alucard? He deserves so much love and peace after everything, just maybe some silly things he and his darling do and so much smooches

I FINISHED A REQUEST :D Sorry this took so long ough. I'm working on them, I promise 😅 No smooches this time, but maybe next time 👀

Alucard x Reader fluff

Word Count: 2156 words

CW: slight depressing thoughts at first (On Alucard's end), slight angst, fluff

- - -

Loneliness had always been a part of Alucard’s life.

It was a simple fact of life for him, he’d tell you if you were to ask. Even as a young child, he had always been… alone.

Before he lost his mother and father, he was kept under tight supervision, never allowed to leave his father’s home. His father had a lot of enemies, even before vowing to destroy humanity.

Alucard as a child was nothing more than a target for those looking for opportunities.

Even if he hadn’t been, he was still half vampire. He was stronger and faster than normal human children, and there were never any other dhampir or vampire children for him to play with. Playing with human children ran the risk of hurting them by accident.

Alucard had briefly found friends after he had sealed himself away, eventually meeting Trevor Belmont. However, it eventually became clear he would not age like humans, and would outlive his close friends.

It had hurt.

Losing Trevor, Sypha, and Grant had hurt just as much, if not more than his parents.

They were friends that he made on his own. A bond forged between them from blood, sweat, and tears. A bond created by facing evil in its own lair, and winning by a thread.

Losing them made him believe it was best to lay himself to rest. His blood was not just his mothers, but Dracula’s.

It was cursed.

A forever reminder that he would never live a normal life like a human.

Of course, things never often worked in his favor.

Waking up to the pull of Castlevania had been disorienting and traumatic. Different emotions hit him at once.

Despair, anger, sorrow, just to name a few.

Not to mention the dread of just knowing his father was alive and well again, if the pull to the castle was anything to go by.

Confronting his father, and another Belmont, had been a lot. He considered going back to sleep once more, until Maria and Richter convinced him to stay awake. To try and live with humans once more.

He wasn’t sure he could do it, but he was surprised when he grew to love humanity once again, even if he felt like he would never truly fit in.

Alucard decided after that to try living, even if it meant having to watch his new friends’ passing. He’d cherish every moment he had with anyone he became close with.

It had also hurt. But he was more prepared this time.

After that, he decided to travel as the times flew by. In part to keep an eye on things should his father ever revive, and no one be around to stop him.

But traveling also helped keep him distracted.

If he traveled, he could see all humanity had to offer, and never have to stay and get too attached.

It worked for a while. However, his past had to come calling once again.

Dracula had been officially defeated. So he heard, and the castle had been sealed in an eclipse. It was only a matter of time before a new dark lord would emerge.

Which, unfortunately, it did.

Alucard was at least thankful Soma seemed to be in the right state of mind, and didn’t wish to be the Dark Lord. He’d even praise the teen for being able to fight back Chaos to cut the link to the ancient being.

Of course, after it all, Alucard was now stuck with said teen, and several others who insisted on being friends with him.

Outloud, he called it annoying. Until Yoko simply rolled her eyes with a laugh. She could read him like a book.

Truthfully, he was happy to have some friends again. Even if this go around, they were a little unorthodox. But who was he to be picky?

He was still lonely, but not as much with how his friends kept in touch.

Plus, it’s how he ended up meeting you.

You were a close friend of Yoko’s. Someone who dabbled in alchemy, and worked with Yoko in her free time to come up with different items, spells, weapons and recipes.

Yoko had introduced you both during a mission of sorts. You had been out of town on your own missions any time himself and Yoko had teamed up, so it made sense why he hadn’t met you up until that point.

Almost immediately you had warmed up to him, and decided then and there you both would be good friends.

A part of him wondered if Yoko had you both meet intentionally so he could have a new friend, given how she joked how ‘angsty’ and distant he could come off as.

Regardless, you seemed to make it a goal to get Alucard to open up more.

At first, Alucard thought it was a little annoying. He had purposely kept people at an arm’s distance for a reason. Every time he got close to someone, he eventually lost them. Sooner rather than later, most of the time.

Yet…

He found he wasn’t nearly as annoyed as he thought he’d be. If anything… he wasn’t annoyed at all.

Alucard was used to people walking on eggshells around him. They respected him, were friendly around him, but it was clear he was intimidating to others. Especially those who knew who and what he was.

Julius didn’t know how to act, so he was kind, but distant. Yoko was nice enough, but it was clear there was a wall of sorts between them both. Mina was nothing more than an acquaintance to him that he would see on occasion, both before and after the eclipse fiasco.

Alucard didn’t even want to dig into the tangled mess that was him and Soma, but the reincarnated Dark Lord at least seemed to look up to him a lot, and was ironically the friendliest of the four.

So to have someone constantly reaching out, and bugging him to hang out outside of work?

It was… nice.

In all the years of keeping to himself, he had forgotten how nice it was to have someone want to be in his presence. Someone who wanted to do things with him that didn’t always involve killing monsters.

He didn’t want to become attached. Yet at the same time, he found himself still answering your calls, or your messages. How he found himself still getting up and meeting up with you whenever you invited him out somewhere.

You practically glowed when he’d arrive, always looking so happy to see him.

For the first time in a long time, it made his chest ache. How a warmth would flutter in his chest, along with a strong sense of… something.

Alucard hated to admit it, but he knew deep down it was yearning. How he wanted more with you. More of you. More of anything you had to offer him.

Slowly, he started initiating seeing you more. From asking if you’d like to go on walks with him, or to go eat at various places, his treat. (Even if you insisted on paying.)

Eventually, he ended up just visiting your house on his own, just to see if you were home or not if he was in the area.

Which… he was, often. With how he often found himself thinking of you on walks.

One thing led to another, and you ended up surprising him with a key to your house.

“You visit so often, you may as well have a key so you don’t have to wait for me to get home. You are always welcome here.”

The smile on your face was so bright when you handed it to him, gently putting the key in his hand. All while Alucard had to remember how to breathe.

After that… he was slightly embarrassed to admit that he was over more often than he wasn’t. It was at a point where you practically had given your guest room to him.

But you didn’t mind, happy to let him stay over.

You were happy to have him. Happy to spend nights with him, to hang out with him, to simply be in his presence.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that it occurred to him that he more or less was living with you at that point.

Were you happy? Did you enjoy his presence that much? Would you… want something more than just a friendship or a roommate?

…Was this even just a friendship anymore?

The thoughts ate away at him. Every soft look, every laugh, every subtle touch-

He honestly felt like he was being driven to insanity. Staring into the ceiling of your home as he spent yet another night in your guest room, all he could think of were thoughts of you.

Alucard could barely think, feeling like he was on cloud nine when around you, and left to yearn for your presence without you.

It was beginning to reach a boiling point, and he knew he had a choice to make. Either make the leap, or hide himself away once again.

Would it be worth it? Starting a relationship with you?

Many might say the worst you could say is no, but not for someone like him.

Alucard could easily handle a rejection. He definitely had dealt with a few here and there throughout his long life.

But that wasn’t the issue. At least if you said no, he’d still be your friend.

Unless you decided to become a creature of the night, he would have to watch as you slowly aged. Your human body eventually would betray you, and your soul would eventually cease to exist on this plain.

He would have to watch it happen. Commit himself to doing so, because he loved you.

Could he deal with that pain all over again? When he had kept people at arms length for such a long time for that very reason?

Steeling his resolve that night, he decided to go for it. He’d have to watch you age without him anyway, why not at least give it a try?

He had been with you in the kitchen, helping you cook dinner, when he finally worked up the nerve.

Your name left his lips, and you gave him a soft smile as you chopped up some vegetables.

“Yes?”

Alucard was silent for a moment, the words threatening to choke up in his throat.

“May I… ask you something?”

You gave him a slightly confused look, but nodded.

“Of course. Something on your mind?”

For the first time in your life, Alucard looked like a deer caught in headlights, and your concern was growing clearly on your face as he attempted to muster up the courage to speak.

“I… would you… like to go out on a date?”

You blinked. And blinked again.

“Pardon?”

Alucard slumped slightly.

“I… was wondering if you’d allow me to take you on a date? Is that a no?”

You looked surprised by his question.

“Ah, if you do not wish to or feel the same, it’s fine-”

You sat down the cooking utensil you were using, and picked up a towel to clean off your hands before tossing it aside, and shaking your hands in front of you.

“No, no! I’d love to, but-”

Alucard tried not to let his heart sink in his chest, already feeling the dread as you surely were coming up with an excuse.

“-I thought we already were dating? Were those not dates we went on??”

It was Alucard’s turn to blink at you owlishly. That hadn’t been an answer he had anticipated.

“...You thought we already were?”

Slight panic showed on your features as you grew flustered.

“I’ll be honest, I thought it was something we were taking slow?? When I offered you my guest room and a key, I-I thought- oh dear-”

You continued to try and explain, only to jump when you heard Alucard chuckle, before chuckling.

He slid out of his seat, and walked over to you, gently taking your hands in his own. A soft look fell on his face, as well as a light pink on his cheeks.

“In that case, shall we make it official then, and allow me to take you out on a date- a proper one?”

Eyes wide, it took a moment before you were vigorously nodding your head, then pulling him into a tight hug with a laugh.

“Yes! I- Yes!”

Alucard felt another gentle laugh bubble up through his chest as he wrapped his own arms around you, pulling you closer.

When had he last felt so… warm? Welcomed? Wanted?

Inhaling your scent, Alucard closed his eyes for a brief moment, before parting from you just slightly. Ever so carefully, he held your face in one of his hands, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

“How does Friday night sound?”

Your smile practically glowed.

“Friday it is!”

#castlevania #alucard #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard x reader #castlevania x reader #akumajou dracula #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #request #anon #ask #zed.writes #long post #fluff

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beckyninja · 11 hours ago

Text

Endure

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemOC

Warnings: Implied flogging

Description: Leandros continues to try to break Sera. Vesta, Gadriel, and Chairon realize the difficulty of their position. And Titus experiences a strange foreboding.

Titus is on his way back, everyone! But will he be in time?

Find the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. And feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the Taglist.

(Also, my Asks and DM's are open if anyone has questions or comments. I'd love to talk!)

Leandros’s hand trailed along the hanging implements of correction, caressing them with something approaching affection. He paused at the jagged, steel-corded lashes meant to penetrate the hide of erring Astartes.

A single strike would leave her bleeding out upon the floor. No.

He moved on. Knotted cord. Worn hide. All stained with the holy blood of the penitent. His fingers rested upon one more darkly tinted than the rest.

The serf I caught sneaking away from his post. I remember his excuses. A sick child, was it?

He sneered.

Never will he commit that sin again.

But, still too harsh for her, perhaps. He did not wish to permanently damage her skin. That skin she flaunted before his very eyes. Smooth and soft, barely hidden beneath a layer of sodden fabric.

“Obscene,” he muttered, even as his blood stirred.

Finally his fingers curled around a whip of silken rope, less stained than the others. He could not remember its purpose. Perhaps a relic of the less zealous Chaplains who’d come before him.

Leandros thanked the God-Emperor he had not discarded it when he first took this post.

He lifted the tool, felt its negligible weight. He would need to mind himself as he used it. Rein in his righteous fervor.

Her death, uncleansed, unredeemed… unbroken… would be a waste.

His fist clenched around a single, golden laurel leaf. “She will scream for me before I am finished.”

Not you, Titus. Me.

Saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought.

***

Chairon’s fist left a dent in the steel wall. “We must do something!”

Seated next to him on the cot, the little medica flinched. He softened his tone.

“We should inform the Captain.”

“And tell him what?” Gadriel had not stopped pacing since bringing them back to his chamber.

Chairon struggled to master his rising rage. “And tell him that a vital tenet of the Codex is being broken by none other than-”

“The Chaplain.” Gadriel faced him, face contorted. “The Chaplain, brother! Need I remind you of his exalted position on board this ship?”

Before Chairon could snap back a reply, the little medica whispered.

“No one will believe us, will they?”

The despair in her voice wrenched something within him. Without thinking, he placed a hand upon her shoulder.

Throne, how small she is beneath my gauntlet.

“We will make them believe.”

“How will we do that?” Gadriel snarled.

Chairon bit back his anger when he saw the turmoil in his brother’s eyes. The revelation of the Chaplain’s sins had hit him like a blow from a power fist.

Even now, Chairon watched him struggle to rationalize.

“What do we know?” The Sergeant resumed his pacing. “He carries the woman’s bauble. That proves nothing.”

“But suggests everything.” Chairon spoke through clenched teeth. “And, do not forget, he haunted her steps for Throne knows how long.”

He felt the little medica lean into him. “Her nightmares began just after Lord Titus left.”

“For weeks, then.” Feeling her shudder, he drew her closer to his side.

Gadriel stared at nothing. “I felt his hatred for the Lieutenant. It could have transferred onto the serf woman. But, why?”

“The Captain might know.”

A scoff. “I doubt he would take kindly to any inquiries. Acheran has more important matters to think about.”

More important than the abuse of those under his protection?

Chairon only realized he’d tightened his grip on the little medica when he heard her yelp. “Apologies, Vesta.” A thought struck him. “Would Apothecary Callistus be able to shed any light on the matter?”

She bit her lip and, again, he found himself oddly pleased by the sight. “I… don’t know, my Lord. We haven’t been with the Second Company very long. I could ask, but….”

“Speak, woman.” Gadriel snapped.

Chairon glared at him.

“I’ve heard stories of what the Chaplain does to serfs who displease him.” Tears filled her eyes. “He could be hurting Sera right now! Please, my Lords, we must move quickly!”

The sight sent an old pain through Chairon’s chest, one he hadn’t felt in a lifetime. Slipping off the cot, he sank to one knee in front of her.

“We will do all we can. I swear it. Even if I must force my way into the Chaplain’s personal chambers!”

“Chairon….” He heard the warning in Gadriel’s voice.

The medica smiled through her tears. “Thank you, Lord Chairon. But… maybe, that won’t be necessary.”

He fought a sudden urge to cup her face in his palm. “Oh?”

Her little fists clenched on her lap. “I… think I have an idea.”

***

You awoke to warmth. And light. For a moment you dared hope.

Then you opened your eyes.

No…

The bare, metal room. The barred door. The altar. The corpse-like servitor. The nightmare continued.

But now a brazier smoldered next to you.

With a gasp, you tried to stand, only for a wave of dizziness to force you back to your knees. Undeterred, you crawled to the brazier and curled your cold-stiffened body around it. Blissful warmth soothed your aching muscles.

Thank you, Emperor!

For a long moment, you simply basked in the heat, in the feeling of your soaked clothing drying against your skin.

He won’t be able to see me now. Won’t be able to look.

The memory erased any comfort from your mind. You hunched closer to the brazier, wrapping your arms around your knees as you fought a wave of nausea. Even with his face hidden behind a helm, you’d sensed the change. The coiled tension in his body. The measured way he’d stalked forward.

Predatory.

You’d seen it before. But, with Demetrian, it invoked heat and excitement. A thrill down your spine at the thought of his touch.

Now….

He made me feel ashamed.

Tears pricked the backs of your eyes. You furiously rubbed them away.

I need to think. There must be a way out of this besides… besides….

You could never give him what he wanted. The very thought of betraying Demetrian was unthinkable!

Oh, Emperor, help me!

You pressed your face to your knees and shook. You weren’t a warrior. You weren’t even particularly strong. Or brave. You had no idea what he had in store for you. How could you hope to endure?

Yet, endure I must.

Vesta, Lord Callistus, Lord Chairon, Lord Gadriel. They must know about your disappearance by now. They must be looking for you. You would place your trust in them.

And Demetrian….

He would return.

Wouldn’t he?

Footsteps. You didn’t dare look up as the door to your prison clanged open. You felt his presence like a physical manifestation of dread.

Endure.

“Your perverse resistance is an insult to the God-Emperor Himself.”

Hard hands yanked you to your feet, spun you around, and pressed you against the wall. You yelped as they wrenched your own hands over your head, sending pain shooting through your shoulders. Something cold and hard clicked around your wrists. You couldn’t move.

Endure.

“You spit on my offer of mercy.”

The feeling of your robe being ripped from your shoulders dragged a cry from your throat. You pressed your bare body against the cold metal wall, desperate for a few more inches between you and your tormentor.

Oh, Throne, endure!

Hot breath against your ear. “And yet, I offer it once more. Denounce him.”

Tears ran down your cheeks. “No.”

I love you, Demetrian.

A deep sigh. “You brought this on yourself.”

I won’t break. I won’t! I will en-

Pain.

***

Titus’s eyes shot open.

He lay in the cold darkness of the quarantine cell. Across from him, Metaurus still slumbered. Titus spared a moment to listen to his old mentor’s hearts beating. Regular and strong. The Apothecaries had done their job well.

He felt a brief surge of relief.

I told you our time had not yet come, old man.

The relief faded all too quickly. Letting his head fall back against the cold metal of the floor, he pondered the source of his anxiety.

A dream?

He’d sworn he heard Sera’s voice crying out for him. His body trembled with the need to go to her, to press her softness against him. He’d fought through horrors to return to her.

Soon.

They’d done what he now knew was thought to be impossible. They’d defeated the abominable Sorcerer, slaughtered their way through hundreds of his maddened cultists, and come out alive.

Though not without a heavy price.

The thought of the way his brother Ultramarines had been cut down still sent flickers of rage through Titus’s blood. Had they known it was meant to be a suicide mission? He glanced at the sleeping form of his mentor once more. He’d known.

And yet, Titus could not bring himself to resent the old warrior. He’d done his duty. No, another deserved his wrath far more.

Leandros. He did not wish me to return.

“I can hear your teeth grinding, boy.”

Titus’s eyes shot to his mentor. “You are awake.”

“Thanks to you.” Metaurus groaned as he sat up. “Does our confinement trouble you so greatly?”

“No.” And yes.

He knew the protocol. He and Metaurus had come into close contact with Chaos. His brothers had to be certain they carried no corruption. Thus, the quarantine. He could not very well explain how every day spent locked in this cell was a day he could have spent with the woman he loved.

“Hmmm.” The veteran leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. “You say her name in your sleep.”

Titus jerked upright. His hearts pounded wildly in his chest.

Throne! What have I done?! If anyone else heard-

“Calm yourself, boy.”

“Metaurus-”

The veteran held up a hand. “You are not the first.”

Titus could only stare.

His former mentor continued. “They are not acknowledged, and many Chaplains disapprove, but such… relationships… are not entirely unknown amongst our Chapter.”

“Do you disapprove?”

Metaurus opened one eye. “The woman gave her consent?”

Titus leapt to his feet with a snarl. “I would never force-!”

“Peace, boy!” The old marine huffed. “Time has not cooled your temper, I see. If she consented, I do not disapprove. I only warn you to be discreet, for her sake, as well as yours.”

Silence stretched between them. Titus sank back down to the floor, wondering at the comfort he took in his old mentor’s words.

It seems, even after all these years, I still crave his approval.

As Metaurus’s breaths deepened in sleep once more, Titus allowed his mind to wander. He wondered if any of the Ultramarines he knew harbored such desires. He couldn’t imagine Gadriel turning his eyes away from the Codex long enough to look upon a woman. Chairon, though….

Perhaps. As long as that woman is not Sera. My Sera.

The foreboding of his fragmented dream rushed back. One thought in particular refused to be pushed aside.

Theoretical: Leandros knows.

Practical: He will not shy away from punishing her.

The thought made sleep an impossibility. What could Gadriel, Chairon, or even the veteran Apothecary do against a Chaplain’s wrath?

What could I do?

Only one thing was certain: he must return to her as quickly as possible. Soon, it would become apparent to his brothers that neither he nor Metaurus suffered from corruption. Soon, he would be on his way back to the Second Company.

I will hold you in my arms again, Sera. And God-Emperor help anyone who tries to take you from me.

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@nebulagem

#warhammer 40k #space marines #ultramarines #space marine x oc #ultramarine x oc #demetrian titus #demetrian titus x oc #gadriel #chairon #leandros #metaurus #Leandros just keeps getting worse and worse in this fic and i'm not sorry

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rexhya · 3 days ago

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The Mystical Islands | beach gazing — ✦ ✦

synop — a marine biologist takes a solo trip to faraway islands aquire knowledge on endangered species and what can be done to help them! finding two mythical creatures wasn't exactly on your list of things but you'd never turn a blind eye to a creature in need.

warn — mini series! female reader, merman!suguru, merman!satoru, i ave no idea what real marine biologists do

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

7 AM, it was your third day and a great day on the Mystical Islands. Despite being almost 3,000 miles away from home you were feeling pretty confident about your research. You had already found a great deal of information about the wildlife in the ocean and the locals helped you as well.

It was around 12 PM when hou have first saw something that shouldnt exist. You hummed lightly, typing away at your laptop and enjoying the beach breeze. Your cabin was being rented for all of the three months you'd be staying here and you were glad to have such a nice spot near the beach.

"Suguru look, she's looking this way now. Do you think she can see us?"

"She'd better not or we might be in trouble, theres no telling what a human could do."

"Look it's fine, she went back to typing."

"You sound disappointed."

"I liked it when she was looking at us, i've never seen an eye color like that before..."

The other merman sighed at his partner, flipping his tail impatiently on the rocks. It had been like this for over three days, Satoru insisting he watch this human he found and Suguru being dragged alongside. He'd always been interested in humans but never this intense curiosity was getting dangerous.

There was no garuntee the moment you saw one of them you wouldn't try to hurt and harvest them. (like in the stories he'd heard so much about ) Of course the second you intentions were revealed Suguru would rip you apart and drag your body so far in the ocean nobody would be able to find you.

Satoru didn't budge, he continued staring at your body, giddy for every stretch, and pull of muscle you made after tapping the box that sat in front of you.

"Okay, time to go. We've been here too long, someone may have spotted us by now."

Satoru pouted but graciously relented. "Fine, but tomorrow I wanna get closer."

Suguru scowled, "Any closer and you might loose a fin. We can watch from here, that's final, now lets go."

Satoru couldn't belive it, did Suguru somehow think he was the boss of bim? "Fuck off, I am getting closer and thats final." He could kiss his merman ass.

Thinking back on it now, they probably shouldn't have started a fight on the beach of where a human lived, that's their fault.

"Uhm, are you two okay?" a feminine voice called from behind them. They snapped their heads to where ut came from.

You, more beautiful up close were peering at the two mermans rolling around covered in sand with an almost empty look on your face. You didn't seem to care they were lacking the most essential things a human should have, that being legs and feet.

Satoru was the first to speak, pushing Suguru off him and quickly righting him self into a sitting position, ( which Suguru would have said looked very slutty if he could speak properly ) and replying back.

"Of course we are, are you? I saw you looked quite stresses over there, anything bothering you?"

You sighed and nodded, seemingly reminded of your previous dilemma. "Oh yeah, it's getting so hard make any good progress around here, the seas been so quiet."

"Progress? On what?" Satoru's tail flapped excitedly agaisnt the sand, you were so friendly and man that eye color sure was unique.

Sugur watched as the two of you made conversation, his jaw permanently glued to the floor, did you not see the huge flapping tails they both had or did you simply not care. Or maybe you were one of thoes humans whos screws didn't falls perfectly into place, either eay they needed to take this opportunity and get out of here.

"Wow, your teeth look so sharp." You were talking to him now and he snapped his mouth closed embarrassed.

"Yeah they have to be sharp so we can chew through humans like you." Suguru was being mean he'd admit you hadnt done anything to them but he and Satoru seriously need to get out of here.

"Really! That's fascinating, do you eat all parts of a human just some. Does our meat taste good? I've always wondered."

Satoru cackled as Suguru's jaw fell back open. You couldn't be serious.

They would soon find out, you were complaining serious.

"W-we, We don't eat humans." Suguru choked out.

You pouted, "Oh, well they what do you eat? I can't be anything tougher than a seal I'm sure?"

He was starstruck, not only did you guess right but you were completely unconcerned about their still flipping tails.

"Hey you know were mermans right?" Suguru blurted, stopping the cackling Satoru.

Your eyes comically slid from their faces to their tails. "Well, yes I guessed that pretty quickly. What do yiu take me for huh?"

And now you were offended he undermined your knowledge? What was happening right now? This felt like a dream.

Satoru resumed laughing, this time even harder.

You were completely serious.

note — hope you enjoyed part one to this lil series!

#i have a vauge memory of someone else writing smth like this before #jjk gojo #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk geto #jjk x y/n #geto x reader #gojo x reader #satosugu #gojo satoru #geto suguru

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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 days ago

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Crimson Ties ~ 14

CRIMSON TIES MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,710ish

Summary: You try to find a normal routine in all the madness.

Warning(s): talk of abuse, time jumps

Notes: I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Tony came home exhausted. Yelena and Clint were whispering near your bedroom, causing Tony and Steve to head over there.

“Is she still in there?” Tony wondered, growing concerned.

“We can’t even get her out to eat,” Clint explained. “She hasn’t responded to us in a while. We’re discussing breaking down the door.”

“If you do that, she’ll never trust any of us,” Steve said.

“Why do you think we haven’t yet?”

“Let me try.” Steve moved for the door and knocked. “Y/N? It’s me, Steve. I’m just checking in. We’re worried about you.”

Inside the room, you were sitting on the bed, trembling hands still grasping the note. You’d basically been frozen like this for a few hours. Salty tear trails had dried up on your cheeks. You had flinched at the sound of Steve’s voice, clearly dripping with concern.

“I— I’m f-fine,” your voice cracked as you tried to speak loud enough to be heard through the door.

Steve shook his head. “I’m not buying it.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Slowly, you slipped off the bed and opened the door. Steve, Clint, Yelena, and Tony were all standing there. They watched you carefully as you lifted your arm, handing them the note. Tony was the one to grab it.

“He was in my room,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “My father was a distraction.”

Tony’s jaw clenched as he read the note before passing it to Clint. His eyes met yours. “He will not hurt you,” Tony promised.

“He already is.”

Your words hurt more than they should have, causing everyone to stand in silence. Yelena was the first to move, taking a step towards you.

“Let’s get you something to eat,” she suggested softly. “Come on.”

You allowed Yelena to lead you to the dinning room table before she got a cook into the kitchen to make you some food. The men watched, unable to pull their eyes from you.

“He came in when Obadiah did,” Tony murmured, still processing the information. “It was a set up.”

“They are going to use Y/N as something to fight for, you know that right?” Steve said.

“And they don’t even truly want her,” Clint added.

The three men watched as one of the hired cooks moved quickly around the kitchen. Yelena was sitting by you, sharing some small talk that you were willing to give. Once you had food in front of you, Tony came over and sat on the other side of you.

“What do you need?” Tony asked you, trying to figure out what to do.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, focusing on the food in front of you.

“We’ll do whatever you need us to,” Yelena said.

“Can I just… Can I eat in my studio?”

“Of course,” Tony quickly said. Tony grabbed your plate and stood up. He went through the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle before heading towards your studio.

You shared a look with Yelena. She rolled her eyes. “Just let him feel useful,” she whispered.

You huffed out a small laugh. “Okay.”

When you and Yelena reached your studio, Tony had set everything down on one of your tables. He looked back at you.

“What else do you need?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” you told him.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Push yourself aside. Not here. Not with us.”

You swallowed nervously. “Space… I need space.”

“How about we let you eat and work and we’ll leave the door open,” suggested Yelena. “I’ll be outside the room, close by.”

“As will Steve,” added Tony. “I have some work to do, but you can interrupt me anytime and my door will be open.”

You shook your head, hating like feeling you were a burden. “You don’t have to go out of your way—“

“We all want to— I want to. Okay? So don’t worry about it. Everyone here will take care of you.”

~~~

Yelena and Steve watched you eat and then work on your latest projects.

“You’re going to be her first student,” Yelena suddenly stated.

“What?” Steve questioned.

“Classes. It will take her mind off things. Everyone wants to learn from her anyway. Figured you could be the first.”

“Have you talked to her about any of that?”

“I will talk to her about it…. After dinner. I’ll let her sleep on it. But you’re scheduled for a class right after breakfast.”

“Fine.”

~~~

Tony couldn’t help himself. He kept peeking into your studio, checking on you. On the outside, you seemed fine, so Tony could only assume that was a front. But he didn’t know how much damage Brock and your father had done before. You were clearly a master at pushing it all down, and it concerned him that you were doing that again. It was only a matter of time until pushing everything down broke you and Tony wouldn’t even know what to do or how to help you. He hated that.

When dinner time rolled around, Tony left his office to go check on you again, only to find you in the kitchen.

“Hi,” you shot him a soft smile as you continued to work.

“Hi,” he responded, nervously standing at the edge of the kitchen.

“Do you, uh… do you want to join me for dinner?”

He nodded, almost a little too quickly. “Can I help?”

“Can you set the table? Or the island, wherever you want to eat.”

“I’m good with whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“It’s your choice.”

Tony’s eyes moved from the island to the table and then repeated the motion a few times. Grabbing the plates he decided the table. It would give you the space he assumed you needed. Tony set the opposite stands of the table for you to sit on one and for him to sit on another. You put the food in serving dishes and placed them in the middle of the table.

“What would you like to drink?” Tony wondered. “We have all sorts of wine and other alcohols. There’s juices and soda.”

“I’m good with just water,” you told him.

“You sure? I can even make you a cocktail of your choice. Wouldn’t take me long.”

“I—I’m fine. I…” You took a moment, wondering if you should say what you were about to say. But when you looked at Tony, he was looking at you, patiently waiting for a response. “I don’t drink alcohol… I can’t afford to be on it with my father and Brock.”

Tony much appreciated that you were open up to him more, but he also hated it. It only made him grow more angry at your situation and at himself. He should have been better to you from the get go.

“I’ll have water too then,” Tony said. “Steve and Happy keep getting on me about my drinking habits anyway.” Tony grabbed two wine glasses and filled them up with water before placing them on the table.

“Water in wine glasses?” You questioned.

Tony shrugged. “We have them, might as well us them.”

The two of you them sat on your sides of the table. You dished yourselves your own food and then quietly got to eating. Tony moaned in appreciation as he took another fork full of food.

“This is so amazing, Y/N,” he said. “Seriously.”

“Thank you,” you replied softly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Tony paused, realizing that it was the first time he had made you laugh. He couldn’t help but smile. The two of you continue to make some small talk while you eat. Once you both were done, Tony offered to clean up and sent you back to your studio. That’s where Yelena decided to talk to you.

“You have classes that start tomorrow,” Yelena told you.

“Classes?” You questioned. “What classes?”

“Ceramics classes. Steve will be your first student. Happy, Rhodey, Maria, Natasha, Peggy, Clint, and I have all signed up as well. I have an organized schedule here.” She lifted up a clipboard. “You have a few a day at various times.”

“I— I don’t know, Yelena…”

“This will help you keep your mind off of things and just help everyone in general.”

You knew that she had a point and she had worked so hard to get this all figured out for you. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Yay! Everyone is so excited!”

“I just hope I don’t disappoint.”

“You could never. You’re so talented, Y/N.”

~~~

You were glad that Steve was the first one signed up for classes. It made you feel more at ease. He was kind and a quick learner, who asked questions if he needed. Steve wanted to make a small dish for Peggy’s rings. He told you about their relationship and how he was thinking about proposing.

“That’s wonderful, Steve,” you said with a large smile.

“Yeah, I have a ring picked out but I haven’t bought it yet,” he continued to tell you. “It just needs to be perfect, you know? Like I only want to do the marriage thing once and she’s it for me.” You nodded, silently focusing on your own ring dish. Steve realized that he should have been more careful with his words. “Y/N… shit, I’m sorry. I should have been more careful talking about marriage and proposing.”

“It’s fine. Really, Steve. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I should have—“

“I’m going to have these dry out and then I’ll put them in the kiln. Yelena will schedule another class to paint.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. Okay.”

~~~

Weeks pass, with everyone still on edge, waiting for Obadiah and Brock to make their next move. Howard hasn’t stopped making moves against them though, blocking them from business dealings and turning other people against them.

You continued to teach small classes to everyone that signed up. You actually found yourself enjoying it. Yelena had been right, it did take your mind off of things. In the evening, you and Tony had dinner. You would make it while Tony would set the table and clean up. The two of you had small conversations, nothing too deep, and barely enough to get to know each other.

It’s been weeks since Pepper’s been over and randomly, after another one of your amazing dinners, Tony decided to call her over. She came over, dressed to the nines.

“You’re all dressed up,” Tony observed. “Why?”

“I thought you could take me out tonight,” she said. “I think I deserve it.”

“I can’t take you out. I can’t leave in case something happens.”

“Something happens? To who? That little girl you keep as your wife?”

“Don’t talk down about her like that. She’s been through too much.”

“Well, she should get in line then.” Pepper pulled Tony in. “Just take me out, please? I’ve been such your good girl. Waiting so patiently for you.”

“We are not going out, Pepper. I called you over for company tonight. But we are not leaving this house. I cannot.”

Pepper pulled away with a huff. “You’re changing and I don’t care for it.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. You know what? I’m actually not in the mood anymore. Go home, Pepper. Maybe we’ll try again later.”

Tony left the room, heading to his garage. Pepper stayed put for a second, growing angrier, before she exited the bedroom. She had memorized the information that she had stolen weeks earlier and knew where guards were placed and how to unlock doors. She snuck over to your side of the house and easily entered your studio.

Instead of flipping on the lights, Pepper opted to use her phone to not draw too much attention. She looked around. There was so much she could break in here, but she needed to break something close to home for you. Her eyes fell to your pottery wheels, most specifically the one that was the dirtiest. That meant that it was the one you used the most. Pepper waltzed over to it and dragged it over to the far side of the room. She flipped it over and kicking it over and over. As soon as a fews pieces were loose, she grabbed them and took them with her when she left.

~~~

After breakfast, you went into your studio to set up for your next class. You shut the door and turned around, gasping when you saw your favorite pottery wheel broken. You walked over there, looking for any sign of who may have done this. Your heart was beating rapidly against your ribcage at the thought of Brock coming in here and destroying your safe space. You knew that if the others found out about this, they would lose it. You couldn’t handle that right now. So you pushed the broken wheel under the counter, hoping that no one would notice.

As you were doing that, Tony glared down at the copy of your schedule Yelena had handed to him. She had been really good at keeping him in the loop of who would be coming in and out of the house. But something was bothering him. Basically everyone in Tony’s inner circle was taking a class from you except for him. He had also noticed that you gifted the others random objects you made, but not him. Everyone, including on the staff of the house, had a personalized mug. He didn’t. Everyone had a personalized bowl or plate. He didn’t. And Tony was jealous of it.

“Hey, Tony, need anything before I head to my next class with Y/N?” Steve asked, stepping into Tony’s office.

“What do I have to do to get a mug?” Tony asked.

“What?”

“A mug. Basically everyone else in the family business as a personalized mug from her except for me.”

“How you tried asking for one?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you?”

Tony ignored the question. “And everyone’s taking a class. What if I want to take a class?”

“Then ask.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just can’t.” Tony waved Steve off. “Head to your lesson. I need some time alone.”

Steve rolled his eyes and headed to your studio. He noticed the door was closed, which was unusual as of late, with Yelena leaned up against the wall.

“You’re late,” she commented.

“Sorry,” Steve apologized. “The door is closed. Why?”

Yelena shrugged. “She wanted to set up for her class.”

“Is she alright?”

“As far as I noticed.”

Steve nodded before knocking on the door. You said a small, ‘come in’ and he wasted no time slipping in. He took you in, studying you for something wrong but he couldn’t tell if something was. The two of you quickly got to work on painting while you chatted.

“Have you ever thought about making something for Tony?” Steve wondered.

“Oh, uh… I— I don’t know… I guess that I don’t want to bother him with my silly little presents. He probably wouldn’t like anything I made anyway.” You’re father and Brock never did, you thought.

“I’m sure he would appreciate anything you made for him. Trust me. jUst think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

~~~

It took another week of Tony listening to you laugh and chat with everyone else for him to finally gain the confidence to come to you. It was late, after dinner since that was the only time Rhodey was available. You were cleaning up your studio before bed. Tony came up to the doorway and leaned against it. His hands were stuffed into his pockets. You noticed him, immediately sensing his nerves.

“Are you okay, Tony?” You asked. “Do you need something?”

“Where do I sign up?” He responded.

“Sign up for what?”

“Your classes. Seems like everyone is having classes with you now and none of them will stop talking about it. I kinda want to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Are you— Are you sure?”

“Cause if you are, then you’ll need to go through me,” Yelena inserted herself into the conversation. “I’m in charge of her schedule.”

“I’m sure,” Tony confirmed. “I’ll schedule with Yelena if that’s okay with you.”

“I’m okay with that,” you nodded.

“Great. Then, goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

next chapter >

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rosewiltd · 7 hours ago

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rpc trends i have lived through: a compendium

this is by no means hate to trends ( "trends" in this case being something a large majority of people have participated in at some point, whether they're good or bad - not for me to judge ) bc i am a slave to the aesthetic as much as the next person. i've just been in the trenches, is all.

no promos, no formatting, no icons, no tagging system. we live in the wild west and if you can find someone to write with? godspeed.

small text and that's it for formatting. maybe a little italics for flavour. the beginnings of "omg you're so elitist for this" surfaces.

themes by manatopia ( if you were in the anime rpc ) or octomoosey ( if you favoured the rl fcs ).

simple one-word straightforward tagging system with no fancy text or symbols. ( ie. appearance, musings, closet, etc )

more complex tagging system, with symbols and quotes/lyrics using a generated font the tumblr tagging system can't actually read

one-panel simple promos with full resumes in the description ( ie. 10+ years experience, literate, etc )

2-panel simple promos

3 and 4-panel promos of varying complexity

the signerica font

text promos with icons

big, unedited gifs of varying sizes and colorings used interchangably

smaller gifs, but same as above

no icons

simple icons with simple one-line borders and whatever the fuck that checker texture was that everyone and their grandmother used

triggers? and you tag them???? wild. never heard of. we stumble blindly through content like god intended.

follower milestone/giveaways - essentially your speech at the oscars and here's a little incentive to keep following me. usually for large milestones like 100, 500, 1k, and 3k followers. if you had more than that, you had killed god.

photoshopped replies - as in, we wrote up replies into a graphic

fancy image dividers, usually something small and ornate and centered, the precursor to the dividers we use today.

container themes, with the containers getting progressively smaller. if you didn't use agirlingrey's themes, were you even an rper? quickly followed by container themes with pop-ups. look out. don't forget the floating orbs. or the little banners on the side that told you who the blog was for and the writer's name.

which reminds me, if you weren't using the spark/fire overlay on promos/graphics/etc, you were excommunicated from the rpc and sent to the dungeons.

magic anons. usually of the sexual variety. no, my muse will not be horny for 24 hours straight and they sure won't have an orgasm every time someone says their name, thank you very much. sometimes it was fun though. your muse as a neko? like, nya.

y'all i haven't even gotten past 2015 yet.... the rest is under the cut. feel free to add your own. im sure im forgetting so much.

burn blogs. enough said.

positivity blogs to counteract the burn blogs, but ultimately became a breeding ground for jealousy because the same three people were endlessly complimented. it's the thought that counts though!

memes/sentence starters, but they were made on your own rp blog and if it garnered 20k notes, there was nothing you could do to stop it. rip your activity feed. we learned. boy, did we learn.

prompt/aesthetic sideblogs.

missing e, the predecessor to xkit.

xkit. then new xkit. then xkit rewritten. missing e let us down, but we won't let this fucker die.

url trends im lumping together: latin urls, "of___", urlisms, random 'x's tacked on before and/or after the url or in place of a vowel. 'c's tacked in place of e's and o's. numbers in place of letters. changing your url just for holidays/seasons.

graphics that were either desaturated or so vibrant they were crispy

themes by eternalworks

themes by hyruleshop, isaworks, or other major creators.

the rise of callouts, for better or worse

the rise of purity culture, for better or worse

receipt/callout blogs

purple prose

extra af formatting ( no hate ), coloured text, spacing, etc.

elaborate graphics.

mains. affiliates. people you should be following. the successor of 'follow friday' and milestone 'thank you' announcements.

dni lists, for better or worse.

multimuse blogs

rp sideblogs

the current trend of ripping a canon from their og universe and re-writing them as an oc bc shut up that's why

probably a whole heck of a lot more i cannot remember. i've blocked out the trauma.

#✧ ❬ 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 ❭ putting the fae in faeilure. ❜#did this need to be made? no. did i make it anyway? yes.#okay to rb.

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faithinus · 2 days ago

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Invisible - Part Three

Summary: Quinn is convinced that he lost Alayna for good. A small, forgotten object sparks a desperate attempt at reconciliation.

Read Part one here, Part two

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x OC Barzal!Sister

Word Count: 1.1K

The next few days were a blur of sleepless nights for Quinn, the ghost of Alayna’s tear-filled eyes haunting the edges of his vision. Grand gestures felt wrong, a gaudy distraction from the quiet intimacy they’d always shared. Flowers blooming in a dramatic display, apologies echoing through a crowded space – that wasn’t their language. Their connection thrived in the unspoken understanding, the shared glances, the comfortable silences punctuated by inside jokes. He had to find his way back to that space.

Quinn started with a ritual he’d neglected for far too long: cleaning the apartment. He tackled the mess with a methodical determination. The rhythmic scrubbing and wiping was a strange form of penance. Dishes piled in the sink now surrendered to soapy water, countertops gleamed, and the persistent grit on the rug vanished under the vacuum. Each act felt like a small step towards his lost order, a fractional loosening of the knot in his chest.

Quinn drifted into the kitchen, his gaze snagging on the spine of a familiar book tucked amongst his own sparse collection. Alayna’s recipe book. He pulled it down from the shelf. The cover was faded, softened by years of loving use. She’d left it behind. A wave of unexpected tenderness washed over him, another poignant reminder of their shared life. He flipped through the pages, finding loose notebook paper tucked inside. Quinn’s fingers traced the smudged ink beside “Alayna’s Famous (and Easy!) Sundried Tomato Pasta.” Her handwriting. Their favorite comfort. A sudden impulse seized him, sharp and clear. Keys in hand, he was out the door and into the fading light.

The digital clock on his dashboard glared 4:57 PM. Just enough time to spare. Quinn’s palms were slick against the leather steering wheel, a nervous energy coiling in his stomach. He didn’t allow himself to imagine all the different ways this could play out. He watched the steady stream of people exiting the sleek office building across the street. His gaze darted from one face to another, a frantic search, anticipation building in his chest. And then he saw her. Alayna. The familiar slope of her shoulders, the way she slung her tote bag across her body, the subtle swing of her dark hair.

He was out of the car before he consciously registered the movement. The relief and anxiety of seeing her was so potent that it stole his breath and threatened to buckle his knees. Quinn clutched the worn recipe book in his hand like a lifeline. “Hey,” he managed, his voice betraying a tremor he hadn’t intended.

Alayna stopped on the sidewalk, her expression a careful mask of surprise. Her eyes flickered from the book in his hand to his face, then down to the delicate silver watch on her wrist. A familiar crease formed between her brows, a silent question. “Quinn? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at practice?” Her tone held no accusation, just a weary curiosity, a hint of the resignation he’d heard in her voice the night she left. He knew exactly what she was thinking: The team. Always the team. He shrugged, attempting a nonchalance that felt foreign. “Missed it.” The words hung in the air, a blatant disregard for the very thing that had become the wedge between them. But it was the unvarnished truth. He had skipped practice. He had chosen this moment, this sliver of possibility, over the never-ending needs of his team.

Her gaze sharpened, a flicker of disbelief replacing the weariness. It was obvious to her, as it should have been, that this wasn’t a casual encounter. He closed the small distance between them, the recipe book held out like a fragile offering. “Alayna, I… I’m sorry. For everything.” He met her eyes, willing her to see the raw honesty in their depths. “For being so consumed, for making you feel invisible. You were right.” The admission felt like a physical weight lifted from his shoulders. “Hockey became everything, and I let everything else that mattered - you - fade into the background. That was selfish and unfair, and I am truly sorry.”

He paused, giving her the space to absorb his words, the silence of the bustling city momentarily receding. “I brought your recipe book back.” He held it out a little further. “You can take it, and I’ll… I’ll leave. I won’t keep bothering you if that’s what you want.” The thought was a raw ache in his chest.

Then, he offered the fragile tendril of hope he desperately clung to. “Or… or you can come back to the apartment with me. I’ll make your favorite pasta.” Quinn slid the folded piece of paper out from his pants pocket. “It’s not a grand gesture, I know.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of his car. “But it’s a start. A start to me actually showing you, day by day, that you are my priority. That I know how incredibly lucky I am to have you. You’re the reason I can show up every day, not just as a hockey player, but as the person I want to be, the leader I need to be. It’s because you believe in me, even when I don’t deserve it.”

He held her gaze, his own stripped bare of the usual guardedness, revealing a vulnerability that felt both terrifying and necessary. The roar of the city traffic faded to a dull hum, the setting sun casting long shadows around them. The only sound that truly mattered was the unspoken answer he searched for in her eyes. He waited, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Alayna reached into her purse, her movements slow and deliberate. She withdrew her keys, the metallic jingle sharp in the tense silence. Then, her shoulders set with a resolute air, Alayna began walking straight past Quinn. The bottom dropped out of his stomach, leaving him unsteady. He heard the rhythmic click of her heels on the pavement as she wandered further into the parking lot. Each step was a small and decisive retreat. The fragile thread of optimism that carried him this far now snapped.

“I’ll follow you there,” she called over her shoulder, her voice surprisingly even. Quinn spun around, confusion warring with the lingering ache of rejection. He watched, his breath caught in his throat, as she approached a familiar sedan. She started to slide into the driver’s seat. “What?” he rasped, the single word laced with disbelief.

Alayna leaned across the passenger seat, looking at him through the open window. A hint of a familiar spark, a playful glint he hadn’t seen in what felt like an eternity, flickered in her eyes. “I’m gonna get towed if I leave it here overnight. You know that.” A small, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of her lips.

#faithinus writing #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x barzal!reader #quinn x alayna #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #hockey rpf #nhl #quinn hughes angst #quinn hughes fanfiction #nhl fic

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flowercrownsandherondales · 1 day ago

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Against the Odds pt. 25

Alexa play “Fresh Out The Slammer.” In all seriousness, plz enjoy and let me know all your sad thoughts on this one. Love y’all, sorry this took so long.

XXV: Now Pretty Baby I’m Runnin’ Back Home to You

It took them two weeks to get a team together. Two weeks of constant planning, under the threats from Katniss, Finnick and I. We would not move a muscle for the revolution until our loved ones were extracted.

Our days of waiting were filled with nothingness.

It took around a week for Plutarch and Coin to ban us from attending meetings detailing how to get into the Capitol. Citing we were too “emotionally charged” to be helpful.

There weren’t many children in 13. I’d overheard that there was some sort of illness that went around a few years ago and had taken most of them. With the new influx of children arriving from 12, though not many, there was still enough for some kind of school to be held.

Twyla still hadn’t spoken a full sentence, but she did repeat one word over and over again, her little eyes bloodshot and full of unshed tears.

Mommy.

Everytime I looked at her I felt my throat close up, my nose start to burn and I pushed down for her sake. My little girl had already lost her mommy, the last thing she needed was for me to fall apart on her. There wasn’t anything I could do but hold her close to me and rock us both through the night. Y/N would have been better at this, would have said something soothing, sang a sweet song under her breath, anything at all would have been better than what I could provide.

But I was all she had. And I hated myself for it.

She craved her mother’s touch, her comfort, the soft scent of vanilla that clung to her clothes. She needed Y/N’s steady hand on her back, not mine that shook heavy with aftershocks of alcohol withdrawal.

Astrid and Prim had started helping with the medical ward, which left me no choice but to drop Twyla off at the makeshift school. She’d clung to me, shaking her head as little sobs wracked her body. It took a few days before I could leave the room without her screaming her head off. The first day I was able to leave without a meltdown I found an empty corridor, put my head in my hands, and attempted to muffle my tears. The kids weren’t learning much, most of them too traumatized to focus for more than a second. Instead they drew, read stories, or met with one of the therapists who would come in and speak to them.

That’s one job I didn’t envy. I couldn’t imagine what those therapists heard, and what they had to sleep on.

The rest of my days were spent in either mine, Katniss, or Finnick’s quarters. The three of us would just sit, not speaking much, just holding space for someone to fall apart if they needed, knowing the other two were there to put them back together again.

Finnick stuck to his rope, tying knots over and over until there was nothing left but a ball.

Katniss fiddled with her mockingjay pin, muttering her mantra to remind herself where she was and where Peeta was.

And I stared at the wall like I could burn a hole in it, bouncing my leg to try and distract myself from the shakes rattling my body, and the desperate need for a goddamn drink.

The minute the clock hit 5 I was racing out of the room to get Twyla, scooping her up and forcing her to eat whatever borderline paste 13 gave us for dinner. It’d been a challenge to get her to eat anything for awhile, now she just grimaced and swallowed it down.

The evening was spent cuddling up in bed, her between my legs as I read a book I’d swiped from the school. A year ago she would have begged me to read another, then another. Now she just sat in my lap, staring blankly at the page, letting me finish and closing her eyes softly, no protest.

I tried to get her to speak. I knew the therapist was working with her, attempting to gain more information about the day her mother was taken. She refused to open up about it, shaking her head at him and staring at the door until he gave a sigh and left.

I asked her about her day, about the other kids, and what she drew. I joked about the shitty food, made little puns that used to make her hunch over in giggles, anything at all to get her to speak.

Still, absolute nothing but downturned lips and a blank stare.

I often fell asleep wondering if she blamed me for her mother’s absence. It was either that or a nightmare about the terror she faced when Y/N told her to hide under the couch while several peacekeepers came into our home and dragged her away, apparently trashing everything we owned in the struggle.

Finally the night came.

I woke to the sound of our door opening, my body instinctively pulling Twyla’s little frame under me, other hand reaching for a knife on the bedside table, only to find nothing.

“Haymitch, it’s me.” Finnick’s whispered voice cut through the dark. “It’s time. Hovercraft just left, everyone’s in the control room waiting.”

I jumped out of bed, not bothering to change out of pajamas, leaving a kiss on Twyla’s head. Katniss stood outside the door, Prim by her side.

“I’ll keep an eye on Twy.” The blonde girl’s voice was soft and sweet, giving me a half smile before ducking inside. I nodded, clasping a hand to her shoulder as she passed, muttering a gruff thanks.

Katniss was a bundle of nerves, as we all were. We collectively took a deep breath and made our way to the control room, shoulders squared.

I took a deep breath from inside my cell.

The night’s beating had taken more of a toll. I couldn’t tell how long I’d been here, or what the final goal even was.

If they were going to kill me, when were they going to just do it already?

The screams had stopped for the night.

“You need to start getting ready.” The boy said, tossing his coin in the air and giving me a pointed look.

“Ready for what?” I groaned, attempting to breathe again, the rhythmic ache of broken ribs making every breath or word excruciatingly painful. Still it was better than what I felt in my hip. They’d decided to take a baton to it tonight, easily cracking bones like they were pencils. They’d made me crawl halfway to my cell, before finally taking mercy and hauling me up by my bruised arms.

The coin in the air stopped.

“To go home.” was all he said, the glint of a smile appearing. My brows furrowed, sweat collecting from the pain.

The lights flickered above us.

I felt a hand come to my back, a larger one on my arm. Wyatt and Wiley, attempting to help me stand.

Wyatt and Wiley. Wyatt and Wiley. My lover and my son.

I blinked at both of them. “Finally.” Wyatt said, a grin breaking out on his face.

“C’mon mama, we gotta get you outta here.” Wiley added, nudging my back, getting me to my knees, my hip giving out on one side. I bit my tongue to stop the scream, leaning towards my good side to get the pressure off.

“Any minute now.” Wyatt, ever the strategist, glanced to the door, having a silent conversation with Wiley. My boy nodded, a smile starting on his small face as they helped me get towards the door.

It was gruesome, probably the top three worst moments of my life, only challenged by childbirth and the whipping. Still, I made it, grasping at the bars, waiting on my good knee for help.

Wyatt rubbed my back, Wiley placing his hands over my hand, leaning down to kiss my ironclad fist.

“Twyla’s really strong.” Wiley whispered, attempting to distract me while we waited for rescue. “She didn’t even cry once, when they came to the house. I hid under the couch with her, held her hand, promised her our mama was gonna be fine.”

“Haymitch has been taking good care of her. Lenore Dove gave him an earful, he isn’t drinking anymore.” Wyatt added, moving to swipe sweat from my brow.

My mind was in a pain filled haze, but still, I managed to nod. “You aren’t mad at me, are you?” My voice was rough, rougher than I’d ever heard it. The question wasn’t really to a specific person, more generalized guilt.

Wyatt let out a deep laugh, shaking his head. Wiley’s brow was furrowed, looking so much like mine. He shook his head hard at the question. Wyatt moved my face towards his, his eyes, seam grey but differing from Haymitch’s, darker to match his features, peered deep into my soul.

“God no. Y/N, the time we had, it was more than anything I could have asked for. But it was borrowed. I love you, I will always love you. I miss you more than anything, but it was always him. You two, you two have something you and I will never have. Something deep. The odds are always going to be in favor of him. Both of you were crafted from the same clay, it was only a matter of time before you made your way home to each other again.”

Wiley tightened his little hands around mine. I moved to look at him. My first born, my sweet baby boy.

“Mama, we could never be mad at you for livin’. It wasn’t in our cards. I’m sorry you had to see me go, that you had to see daddy go. I know you feel guilty for Twyla, but she’s everything. She’s going to see everything, grow up, live a good life. And I’ll get to do it through her, beside her, even if she doesn’t know it.” Tears fell down my cheeks for the first time since I’d been here, my baby boy, always by his sister’s side, protecting her like a big brother should.

The girl with the curls and red dress knelt in front of me, reaching forward through the bars and cupping my cheek in her soft hand, giving me the most gentle smile I’d ever seen.

Lenore Dove.

“He’s all yours, Y/N. You had his childhood, I had our teens, now he’s ready for you to have the rest. Take him all the way, honeybee.” I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

And with all their strength, with all of them behind me, holding me straight, I banged my fist against the cage, the lights cracking off as a man suited up unlocked my cage, another coming with him as they hauled me to safety.

I looked back one single time, just long enough to see Wyatt holding Wiley to his side, his fingers flipping a coin one more time before putting it on the ground in front of him, as if fate had finally decided the winner. Lenore Dove on my son’s other side, running her hand through his hair with a teary smile.

Wyatt let a tear fall down his face, a shaky grin as he mouthed.

Against all the odds, I’m glad I got to love you.

And I knew that’s the last time I’d see them.

It was like seeing her for the first time all over again.

After some of the single handedly worst hours of my life, she was here.

Johanna had been brought in first, thrashing against the wires as they tried to pump her with fluids. Annie was next, immediately tearing off her blood pressure cuff and bolting to Finnick, crashing herself into him, the typically charming and composed man sobbing into her wild hair.

And then she was wheeled in.

Y/N was broken. I looked back to Annie and Johanna for a brief second, both looking worse for wear but nothing compared to my wife.

Her hair fell lifeless, matted with blood in certain spots. Her eyes were sunken in, deep circles around them. She was thinner than I’d ever seen her, ribs uneven and jutting against her skin, which was almost completely covered in bruises. She was sitting up, but it was awkward, as if all her weight was shifted to her right side. Then I noticed the large mass of swollen tissue around the hip she favored, certainly broken. Her hands gripped the sheet, her right hand only having her thumb and pinky, index, middle and ring finger bloody stumps haphazardly stitched up.

I couldn’t contain my yell of anguish, the immediate sobs that overtook me as I took her in.

My feet were moving towards her, her frail body unable to meet me as Annie had. Nurses slapped an oxygen mask on her, attempting to lay her back, unable to as she whimpered for me, reaching out her disfigured hand.

I caught it instantly, gently pulling her body in and cradling her head to my chest, sobs nearing screams as the both of us enveloped each other. I ran my hands through the ends of her hair, careful to avoid any of the scrapes that caused the matting in her scalp.

“Haymitch…” She sobbed, body convulsing in my arms. I just shushed her, holding her like porcelain to me.

The nurses eventually pushed me away, begging me to let them work on her. I nodded, standing just outside the glass window, watching every movement they made like a hawk.

Katniss came up to me, her hand sneaking its way into mine and squeezing tightly.

“Her and Peeta are the worst out of all of them.” She whispered, trying not to cry and failing, hot tears coming down her cheeks.

I just nodded, squeezing tighter.

“I need to see him, I just–” I turned to her, hand instinctively wiping the tear away.

“Give them a minute to check him over. Once I know Y/N’s stabilized, I’ll come with you.” She nodded, leaning her head on my shoulder as we watched the nurses work.

Y/N had been knocked out, the nurses finally finishing up nearly an hour later. Katniss continued to stand next to me, waiting for any news.

“Mrs. Abernathy has sustained multiple injuries, but should make a semi-full recovery. She has 6 broken ribs, 3 on each side, A few lacerations to the head, several whip marks along her body, specifically her back, and three severed fingers.” I nodded shakily, letting a whimper turned sob out.

“What else?” Katniss demanded, eyes hardening. The nurse seemed unsure, biting her lip and looking back down at the chart.

“What is it?” I whispered, voice horse.

“She sustained some sort of beating to her left hip. The bone is fractured in several places, as well as part of her tailbone. We expect she will walk again, but likely it will be with a cane for the rest of her life.”

Katniss let out a gasp, I let out a sob.

“We have her in a medically induced coma for the moment. Her body will need a few weeks to recover. We will wake her in a few days, and after that she will be allowed to go back to your quarters with a wheelchair. We expect she will use a chair for around 6 months before we are able to get her on a cane.” The nurse explained, holding the chart to her chest. I just nodded, utterly in shock.

Three hours later I found myself at her bedside again, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the beeping of the machines keeping her alive, but asleep.

Katniss had been strangled by Peeta.

Peeta had been “hijacked”

But my wife lay beside me, my hand clasping her bandaged one, still breathing, still remembering me, still alive.

And I let myself cry myself to sleep.

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sequinsmile-x · 1 day ago

Text

Adorn

verb /əˈdɔːn/

to add something decorative to a person or thing

It was a beautiful nursery, but it isn’t what she would have chosen herself.

In which Elizabeth and Emily are, as always, not on the same page

-x-

Hi besties,

Hope you are okay <3

Not entirely sure where this one came from, but as always it kind of grew and got out of hand.

As always, let me know what you think! -x-

Warnings: Pregnancy

Words: 4.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She was fussing.

He’d never say it to her, would never want to make her any more on edge than she already was, but she was fussing. Fiddling with the trinkets and picture frames scattered across the surfaces and walls in their home, adjusting everything only to stare at it for a few seconds before she moved it back, acting as if the President himself was on his way for dinner.

In some ways, Aaron wondered if his fiancée would be less stressed if it was the President coming over instead of her mother.

He hated how Elizabeth had the power to make the brilliant, beautiful, intelligent woman in front of him start to collapse in on herself. Bits and pieces of her usually well-constructed shields cracking under the pressure and giving way under Elizabeth’s uncanny ability to always say or do just the right thing to upset her daughter, carefully and pointedly pressing buttons she’d sewn on herself.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Emily says, not even turning to look at him. She’d noticed the second he’d walked into the room, had heard his familiar footsteps on the hardwood flooring that had made her fall in love with this house, had heard him sigh unconsciously as he watched her from across the living room. “I’m fussing.”

He smiles to himself and walks over to her, his hands on her hips as he kisses her temple, “I’d never say that.”

She hums and raises her eyebrow as she turns her head to look at him, “You’re thinking it, though.”

“I plead the fifth,” he quips, and he’s rewarded with a chuckle. He kisses her cheek and moves his hands, letting them follow the curve of her belly - another source of her stress when it came to seeing her mother - and he smiles against her cheek when he feels a sharp kick. “How can I help?”

Emily blows out a breath and turns in his arms, hooking her arms around his neck, her lips pressed together as she shrugs, “You already are helping,” she says, leaning in to stamp her lips against his, “Just by being you.”

“We can always tell her not to come,” he says, and it makes her smile, the way he says it so earnestly, and she knows if she changed her mind at the last possible moment, he’d turn her mother away even if she was already on the porch.

“No, it’s okay,” she says, and she runs her fingers through his hair. “It’s just…it’s her first time coming here. It’s her first time seeing me since…” she drifts off, one of her hands unhooking from around his neck to rest on her bump, “She’s always had a lot of opinions when I have big life changes,” she smiles up at him, happiness peeking out from behind the cloud of anxiety, “And I don’t think anything gets more life changing than all of this.”

It had been 6 months since she’d last seen her mother. They’d got together for dinner in a restaurant of Elizabeth’s choosing, and Emily had seen it through by squeezing Aaron’s hand under the table and by smiling tightly everytime her mother tried to get a rise out of her, reminding herself every time she was tempted to take the bait that her mother was about to be out of the country for half a year.

Emily had been pregnant then too, but just barely and even she and Aaron hadn’t known until she took a test a few days later. So much had changed since then. They’d bought the house they’d fallen in love with just a few weeks later, nowhere near the first one they’d seen, but the first one that had felt like home the moment they walked in. She remembered the way Aaron smiled at her when the realtor mentioned that the room closest to theirs would be a good nursery, and she started thinking about how she wanted to decorate it there and then.

Aaron smiles softly and squeezes her hips, drawing her attention back to him, “I know it is, sweetheart. But she knows about the baby,” he kisses her forehead, “It’s a beautiful house, and I think this is the cleanest it’s been since we viewed it.”

She chuckles dryly and nods. “I know, but…I just want her to like one thing about me. Even if it is just my house. Or my baby.”

“She loves you, Em.”

Emily smiles sadly, and the roll of her baby under her skin makes her breath catch in her chest, painful and sharp as it catches on every rib. Every milestone she’d hit in her pregnancy made her think of her mother, made her wonder what she’d thought when she was carrying her, when she’d feel her kick and move. She wondered when she’d first realised Emily wasn’t the child she’d wanted, that she would never fit herself into whatever box had been made for her since well before she was born.

“I know she does,” she replies, blowing out a shaky breath, doing her best to swallow back down tears she didn’t want to shed because she knew if she started, she wouldn’t stop, “It doesn’t make it any easier though.”

He nods and rests his forehead against hers, “I know.”

The doorbell rings, and Jack runs past the living room, his face wide with a smile as if he’d been poised waiting, “Grandma Liz is here!”

“Answer the door, buddy,” Aaron says, knowing it would buy Emily a little more time to pull herself together, to sew herself back together where her edges had started to fray. Jack doesn’t need to be told twice. He nods and runs towards the front door, tearing it open with excitement that Elizabeth matches, her voice travelling down the hallway as she greets him.

Emily sighs and rests her forehead against Aaron’s shoulder, taking one last bit of strength to store away for later, before she pulls back, “God, I wish I could have some wine.”

Aaron chuckles and kisses her cheek, “I won’t drink either.”

She chuckles and pats his cheek before she steps away, hooking her arm through his as they head for the front door, “Oh, honey, I would never ask that of you.”

___

Emily huffs out a breath as she gets to the top of the porch steps, taking a moment to lean against a nearby wall as she looks back at Aaron and Jack. They’d gone away overnight, just the three of them - had spent some time at the beach and cherished every second before their life changed forever.

“Are there more steps than used to be?” She asks, smiling, when Aaron kisses her cheek when he makes it to her side.

“I think the baby is just bigger than it used to be,” he says, and she raises her eyebrow at him, fighting a smile when he realises what he’s said, and he digs through his pocket for the house keys, “What size did the app say the baby is this week Jack?”

“A pineapple,” he says excitedly, smiling up at Emily. She’d worried at first what he’d think about becoming a big brother, but he’d been excited since the very start, always able to find another question he wanted the answer to. “Pineapple is better than when it was the size of a cabbage.”

She chuckles and runs her fingers through his hair, “I prefer pineapple too, honey,” she says, and she looks up when the front door opens, “Why don’t you go see what Sergio is up to?” She says, and Jack runs off, leaving just her and Aaron on the porch, “Nice save.”

He winks at her and kisses her cheek, “I thought so,” he says, his hand on her back as he guides her into the house. “Do you know what you want for dinner?”

She furrows her brow as she walks a few paces into the house, and she sniffs the air, the usual smell of home nowhere to be found, replaced by a familiar scent of chemicals that distracts her from all thoughts of eating. “Can you smell paint?”

Aaron sniffs the air too, “Maybe a little?” He says, smiling softly as he looks at her, “Are you sure that the baby hasn’t messed with your sense of smell again?”

She hums, “Maybe, I don’t know,” smelling the air again, but the faint smell of paint had already gone, “I could have sworn-”

“Mom, Dad,” Jack calls from the top of the stairs, “Someone has painted the baby’s room.”

She frowns as she looks at Aaron, and he follows her up the stairs, his hand on her back to keep her steady as they go, and she gasps when she walks into the nursery, the smell of paint back in full force. When they’d left it just yesterday, the walls were still the cream colour they’d been when they moved in, and all the furniture they’d bought was still in its flat pack boxes leaning against the wall. There had been bags full of clothes and toys they’d bought bit by bit, just waiting for the closet to be built to be tidied away until the baby was born.

Now, it looked like a different room. The lower half of the walls were painted in a sage green, and the upper half was white. There were intricate paintings of zoo animals on the far wall, clearly done by hand, not a stencil, and there were family photos of her, Aaron and Jack hung on the walls. All the furniture was built and placed around the room, organised in a different way from how she’d pictured. The armchair was too far away from the crib, and the changing table was too far away from the closet.

It was a beautiful nursery, but it isn’t what she would have chosen herself.

“Who…who did this?” She finally says outloud, her eyes wide as she turned to look at Aaron.

“How did they get in?” He asks, and she can see the tension in his jaw, the wave of anxiety washing over him as he remembers the last time someone had broken into his home, and she can see him looking at the framed pictures, looking for the boogeyman he expected to find in the reflection of the glass. She reaches out and touches his arms, her gentle squeeze of his skin enough to bring him back to himself, to remind him that they were here in their home, that they were safe. That the men who had chased both to the edge of everything were both dead.

“There’s a card,” Jack says, handing it over to Emily before he continues to look around the room, thankfully unburdened by the panic both of them had felt.

Emily unfolds the card, and she sighs, shaking her head as she passes it over to Aaron for him to read.

“I should have known,” she grumbles, her arms crossed over her chest as she steps deeper into the nursery. Aaron frowns as he looks down at the card, and he clenches his jaw, his hold on the card so tight that it crumbles.

From the desk of Elizabeth Prentiss.

One less thing for you to worry about.

“How did she get in?”

Emily scoffs and shakes her head, “I would put money on her asking Jess for her spare key and told her she was sorting out a surprise for us,” she says, “She never thinks. She just…” she throws her hands up as she looks around the room, “She just throws money at stuff and thinks that it’s okay,” she swallows thickly and her eyes start to burn, tears she feels nothing short of ridiculous for pressing at the back of them, “She never stopped for a minute to think that maybe I wanted to decorate my own baby’s nursery.”

Emily thinks she should have seen it coming, that she should have thought twice when her mother had asked for more details about their trip away and their plans for when they’d be home. She never really cared about the details; she never had unless they benefited her, and Emily should have seen it coming.

Aaron can tell she’s getting overwhelmed, he always could, so he ushers Jack out of the room, tells him to find the cat, that he’s probably curled up at the end of his bed waiting for him, and the moment they are alone, Aaron tugs her into a hug. She feels stupid for crying, but she can’t help it, her control over her emotions left somewhere in the past around the time she peed on a stick and saw a positive result.

“I know this is screaming spoiled,” she says, pulling back to look at him, her lower lip trembling as she looks up at him, “I know so many people would love-”

“Don’t do that,” he says, wiping tears from her cheek, “It isn’t spoiled. If she’d listened to you for even a moment, she would have known how important this was to you.”

She hums and nods, because he’s right. When her mother had come over to see the house the week before, Emily had said they were planning on decorating when they came back from their night away with Jack. She’d made a brief comment about finding the time to do it, which is what she’s sure her mother latched on to, but then had talked about how they were looking forward to doing it as a family - her, Aaron and Jack.

“I should go see her. She knows we got back today, so she’ll be expecting a reaction,” she presses her lips tightly together, “And if I don’t do it now, my baby brain will kick in and I’ll forget everything I want to say.”

He sighs, and he isn’t sure that he wants her to go, not really, but he knows she needs to. “Want me to come?”

She shakes her head and kisses him, “We’ve never done well with an audience,” she says, kissing him again, “You stay here with Jack and sort out dinner, okay?”

Aaron nods and squeezes her hips. “Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The drive to her mother’s house has never been quicker. Every light turns green as soon as she approaches, and she finds herself almost wishing for traffic just to buy herself a little more time. She types in the code for the gate when she arrives, and sighs when she parks up, unable to stop herself from smiling when she feels the baby kick particularly hard.

“This is your first run in with your grandmother,” she says, stroking back and forth over her bump, “It likely won’t be your last, but remember no matter what, I’m always on your side, okay?” She feels another kick, something that feels oddly like agreement, and her smile gets wider, “Okay.”

She makes small talk with her mother’s housekeeper before she walks to Elizabeth’s office alone. It’s where she spent almost all of her time when she was in DC, and Emily remembered walking down this same hallway her whole life just to speak to her mom. To get small trinkets of her attention or affection before she started looking for it elsewhere. She knocks on the door out of habit more than anything, and waits for Elizabeth to welcome her in. When she walks in, Elizabeth is working, her head buried in files in front of her.

“Mom?”

Elizabeth looks up, her eyebrows furrowed together, “Emily? What are you doing here?”

She clears her throat, gives herself a moment before she walks over, lowering herself into the chair facing her mother, “We got home about an hour ago. We saw the nursery.”

Elizabeth stares at her, “Is that all you’re going to say? No ‘thank you’ or anything like that.”

Emily presses her lips together. “I told you that I wanted to do it myself.”

She rolls her eyes, “Emily, please-”

“Not to mention, that coming home to find out that someone has broken into our home wasn’t the best way-”

“No one broke in. You’re being ridiculous,” Elizabeth says, her hands folded together in front of her on the desk. It reminds Emily too much of countless conversations that they’d had over the years, and she starts to feel her patience unravel, the first threads of it fraying, “The decorators had a key.”

“That you got from someone else,” she replies, her eyebrow raised as she crosses her arms over her chest, a strange attempt to protect herself. “Let me guess, you asked Jessica for her key? Told her you were planning a surprise?”

Elizabeth’s jaw tenses, and Emily knows she’s right, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. “She seemed to think it was a nice idea,” she says, “Plus, I don’t know why Aaron’s ex-wife’s sister gets a key and I don’t.”

“Because she…” Emily stops herself before she says something she’d feel guilty about later, no matter how true it might be. “She’s Jack’s aunt, and she helps out a lot with him. It makes sense for her to have a key.”

“I can admit that I didn’t consider the…implications that someone being in your home without you knowing would have for you and Aaron,” Elizabeth says, the closest she ever came to apologising, “But the nursery itself is lovely. Well, as lovely as it can be, seeing as you won’t find out if you’re having a boy or a girl.”

Emily swallows thickly, “It’s nice, but-”

“Then I fail to see what the problem is, Emily,” Elizabeth says, huffing out a breath as she shakes her head, “All I’ve done is make sure you and Aaron don’t have to do it now.”

“We wanted to.”

“Emily-”

She cuts her off, something about the way she says her name, the tone with which she says it, making her even tense, “This was important to me.”

Elizabeth sighs, shaking her head as if Emily were a rebellious teenager told she couldn’t go to a party, not a grown woman irritated at how she’d overstepped. “I was just trying to help Emily. You’ve got a lot on your plate at the moment with the new house and planning the wedding, not to mention being pregnant at your age-”

Emily feels the final thread of her patience snap, all of it unravelling and left at her feet as she asks herself why, even after all these years she still lets her mother get to her like this, why she still lets her sneak under her skin and linger there like a bruise that would never quite heal.

“Mom, just stop. Just stop.” She shakes her head and sighs, closing her eyes for a moment as she tries to calm down, “I know that you meant well, but you didn’t listen to me. You didn’t stop for a moment to consider if this would be something I wanted.”

Elizabeth stares at her, and it’s as if she’s truly looking at her daughter for the first time in a long time. She sighs, “Well, it can’t be undone.”

“No,” Emily says, once again not missing the lack of apology, the lack of accountability, but she knew it would be the best she was going to get. “It can’t be. So maybe next time you’re tempted to pay for someone to do some home improvements for me, you check it with me first?”

Elizabeth nods, clearing her throat as a small smile flashes across her face, “I think I can agree to that.”

___

Aaron finds her in the nursery after dinner. She hadn’t spoken much about her discussion when she came home. She acted like it was any other evening in their home and wouldn’t let him fuss over her. She ate the dinner that he and Jack had made for her, and she let the little boy talk her into a movie - something they never usually allowed on a Sunday evening. They snuggled on the couch, and when Jack and Emily inevitably fell asleep during the movie, Aaron sat there by himself and happily watched it, sandwiched between them both.

When the movie ended, Aaron woke them both up and helped make sure Jack was ready for bed. When he didn’t find Emily in their bed when Jack was asleep, he knew he’d find her in the nursery, the smell of paint still lingering in the air.

She’s sitting in the armchair with her hands on her bump as she looks around the room, her lips pressed together as she looks over at him, her face giving way to a small smile, “Baby is moving a lot.”

He smiles as she walks over and he sits on the arm of the chair and puts his arm around her, letting her guide him where to place his hand so he can feel the baby. He smiles when he feels the now familiar rolls and kicks, “I think baby is trying to tell you everything is going to be okay.”

She hums and turns her head to look at him, “Mom…understood. Kind of?” She laughs when she realises she’s posed it as a question, “Honestly, I have no idea if she’s learnt anything from this. She didn’t apologise, she didn’t admit she was wrong, and I didn’t have the energy to argue about it any more than we did.”

It somehow made him angrier than any other part of it, but he swallows it down, knows now isn’t the time or place for it, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Me too,” she replies, sighing as she looks around the nursery, “It is nice, it’s just…”

“Not what you would have chosen,” he says, finishing her sentence for her.

“Yeah. It just doesn’t have our touch, you know?” She smiles wistfully, “I imagined us getting paint on us and having fun and laughing whilst we did it, and I thought that it would be nice to think about that during all the middle of the night feeds and tough moments of having a baby.”

Aaron nods and then he smiles, thinking of something as he stamps a kiss to her forehead, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She frowns as he stands up and disappears, and she shakes her head before she looks down at her bump, “What’s Daddy up to?”

He’s back in the room a minute later, a tin of paint in each hand, “I found these in the garage whilst you were out,” he says, placing them down on the floor before he opens the lid with a screwdriver he pulls from his pocket, revealing a tin of yellow paint, “I’m guessing the decorators left them here.”

She watches him curiously and bursts into laughter as she watches him press his hand against the surface of the paint, “What are you doing?”

He stands up, careful not to drip any paint on the floor, and he stamps his hand against the wall near where he knew she’d want to move the crib to. He turns to look at her, sees the delight spark in her eyes at the yellow handprint standing out against the white wall.

“Putting our touch on it,” he says, and he walks over, offering her his clean hand to help her up, “You want a go?”

“Yes,” she says, feeling like she’s impossibly more in love with him than she was just a few seconds ago. She looks down at the pot of paint on the floor, “You’ll have to lift it for me, honey.”

“Right, sorry,” he says, lifting it for her, smiling as she presses her palm against the paint before she stamps her hand against the wall next to his palm print. “I thought we could get Jack to do his in the morning, too. Maybe we could make a pattern out of it.”

She laughs, her joy unable to escape in any other way, and turns to look at him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she walks over to him. She presses her lips against his and pulls back, shaking her head at him, at the way he loved her.

“Thank you,” she says, kissing him again, “You…I’m so glad you’re the person I’m doing all of this with.”

He leans in to kiss her and as he pulls back he presses his thumb against her cheek, leaving a smudge of paint he’d wipe away in a few seconds, smiling to himself when he does the same to him, her outrage fake as she laughs and presses her finger against the tip of his nose.

“I’m so glad I get to do all of this with you, too.”

#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss

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witheredwritings · 20 hours ago

Text

Hollow Places

previously <- -> next part

Summary: In an AU where joel never met Ellie, he shows up one day to his brother’s town, unannounced, unwanted. Though he keeps to himself, you seem to have caught his attention.

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: Blood, gunviolence, stalking, creepy!joel, kidnapping, stalker!joel, AU!joel, age gap (reader is in her early 20s and joel in his late 50s)

A/N: Really just messing around with this idea, without working out. But i hope you like it!! P.S. I posted this in french class so enjoy :)

He shouldn’t have shot her.

Christ.

He keeps seeing it. The way her mouth fell open. How her knees folded first, like she forgot how to stand. That flash of red blooming under her jacket, too fast, too much. She looked down at it like it betrayed her. Like he betrayed her.

Which, maybe, he did.

She’s sleeping now. Still breathing. He counted—forty-two times in the last minute. Shallow but steady. That’s good. That’s real good.

The cot creaks when he moves. He sits in the corner of the shed, back pressed against the wall, rifle across his lap. He hasn’t blinked in what feels like hours. Doesn’t trust the dark to stay still. Doesn’t trust his hands not to tremble. One of them is still stained—just a little—with her blood.

Not the way he wanted this.

Not the way it was supposed to go.

He hadn’t planned to hurt her. Hell, he wanted to protect her. She reminded him too much of—

Don’t say her name. Don’t you say it.

He rubs at his temple, skin already raw from doing that too often. Tries to slow his breathing.

It wasn’t supposed to go like that. She was smart. She would’ve understood, eventually. Jackson wasn’t safe. Not for people like them. Not with Tommy poking around, always asking questions, always needing things to be neat, fair, moral.

Tommy didn’t get it. None of them did.

She looked at him like he wasn’t a monster. Not at first. She saw something else. He was sure of it. And when she spoke to him, it was like he was human again.

But then she started pulling back. Asking too many questions. Watching him with that same suspicion he saw in her friends. Like he was gonna snap any minute. Like he didn’t know what he was doing.

And then he heard them. In town.

Dina whispering. Jesse’s voice too close.

“She might talk to Maria.”

“She might go to Tommy.”

“She’s afraid.”

He saw it playing out before it happened. Always does. Like some goddamn filmstrip rolling behind his eyes.

Tommy would drag her in. Maria would pull her aside. Then what? They’d take her from him. Lock him up. Kick him out. Make him leave again.

And he doesn’t do that.

Not anymore.

So he acted. Before they could.

A mistake. A misfire. He meant to scare her. Meant to stop her from leaving.

Instead he nearly—

No.

Doesn’t matter now.

He cleaned the wound. Stitched it. Held her hand through the fever. Even sang a little under his breath that first night, like he used to. She didn’t wake. Didn’t move.

But she stayed.

That’s what matters.

He looks over at her now, curled under the quilt, face pale but calm. Her brow furrows like she’s dreaming something hard. He hopes it’s about him.

Tomorrow, they’ll leave this shed. It’s too close to Jackson. Too close to Tommy.

They’ll hike upriver. Over the ridge. He knows a spot—a cabin, half-rotted but standing. No one goes that way anymore. He’ll fix it up. Make it safe. Cozy, even.

She’ll heal better out there. And in time—well. She’ll understand. She’ll come to see it.

He’ll treat her right. He already has. Cleaned her wounds. Kept her warm. Kept her safe.

That’s what love is, isn’t it?

She just don’t know it yet.

The boys her age wouldn’t know how to keep her alive in a storm, let alone in this world. All soft hands and loud mouths, eyes always looking for the next thing. She needs something real.

Needs him.

Eventually, she’ll come around. He can feel it, deep in his chest like a promise.

You treat a girl right, keep her safe, hold her when the nights get long—what else is there?

She won’t want to leave.

She won’t need anyone else.

And if someone ever comes?

If some man so much as looks at her?

Joel shifts his grip on the rifle.

No one will.

Because he’s gonna take her somewhere they’ll never find.

And this time, he won’t lose her.

Not like her.

Never again.

You wake to the sound of riverwater running nearby.

And birds. Distant, mournful. Like they know something you don’t.

Everything hurts. Your side throbs like a slow drumbeat, and your throat feels scraped out. For a moment, you think you’re still in the woods—that the pain, the blood, the heat in your gut—it was all some nightmare you got lost in.

But then you feel the bandages. Tucked tight. Clean.

You blink hard, and the world comes into focus in thin, brutal slices. Wood beams above you. Rust on nails. A single lantern, flickering in the corner. Dust motes hang like little ghosts in the air. The cot you’re on groans when you shift, and then it hits you—sharp, slicing pain tearing through your middle like something fresh and alive.

You gasp. A half-formed scream chokes in your throat. Your hand flies to your side and lands on fabric—your jacket’s gone. You’re in someone’s shirt. Too big. Smells like oil and old leather.

His.

You sit up too fast. The world swims. Your vision tunnels and goes black at the edges. The pain nearly folds you in half.

“Easy.”

The voice is slow, low.

You look toward the sound—and there he is.

Joel.

Sitting on an overturned crate in the doorway, like he’s been there for hours. Elbows on knees, hands loose between them. Not moving. Not blinking. Like a stone pretending to be a man.

“Where the fuck—” Your voice is hoarse, dry. It burns. “Where the fuck am I?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches. His eyes drift across your face like he’s checking for something, some crack or signal.

You push yourself back against the wall behind the cot, your breath coming short. “You shot me, you sick bastard!”

“I patched you up.” His voice is flat. Like it’s just another fact, like he’s explaining a weather report.

You throw the blanket off—instinct, panic—and immediately regret it. The wound howls. You scream, raw and involuntary, but you’re still trying to get up, to stand, to run if you can, even if it means crawling with broken ribs.

He rises slowly.

“Don’t,” you say, voice splintering. “Don’t come near me. Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Joel stops. Two feet away, maybe less. A shadow, a wall. You feel small and shaking and ruined.

“You need to rest,” he says.

“I need to get the fuck away from you,” You whispered.

You hate how your voice wavers, how weak it sounds. You wish you were stronger, louder, someone else.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look angry. Just quiet. Watching you like a puzzle he’s still working out.

“I couldn’t let you go,” he says after a while, like that explains it. Like that fixes anything.

“You shot me, Joel.”

“I aimed low.”

The tears come fast, hot, stupid. You’re not crying because you’re weak. You’re crying because you’re furious. Because this is hell and he’s standing in the middle of it like he belongs.

“You don’t get to do this,” you whisper. “You don’t get to decide for me. You have to let me go.”

He says nothing. Just studies you with that dead stare that used to pass for concern. You try to read him—to find guilt, regret, anything, but it’s like staring into stone.

You realize then: he feels something. He must. But it’s buried. Twisted. Mangled into a shape that looks nothing like love, but thinks it is.

“I hate you,” you spit. “I hate you more than anything.”

Joel’s jaw twitches. Barely.

Then, calm as ever: “You’ll feel different, soon.”

He turns away. Picks up a tin cup from the table. Pours water.

“You’re gonna eat. Rest. Then we move. You need to heal up first.”

“Move where?” you snap. “What the fuck does that mean?”

But he doesn’t answer.

He just sets the cup down on a crate beside your cot and walks to the doorway again. Sits. Rifle in his lap. Back to watching.

As if that’s all he has to do.

As if this is normal.

As if you're already his.

He never meant to hurt her.

That lie scratches in Joel’s skull like a rusted nail as he feeds dry bark into the wood-burning stove. The flame catches slow, reluctant—then blooms too fast, too hot, like it’s hungry for something it shouldn't have. Like it knows what he’s done. What he’s still doing.

He told you it would be warm here. Safer. A sanctuary, pulled from the bones of an old world rotting beneath the trees.

A lie, too.

The flame flutters. He closes the stove door soft, as if gentleness could erase the wound under your ribs. You’re in the back room now. Sleeping, he hopes.

Though he knows better than to hope.

He checks the bolt on the door again. The steel clicks loud in the hush.

Not to keep you in.

That’s what he tells himself, again and again.

It’s for the wolves. The raiders. The rot of this world.

Not for you.

Not because you’d run if you could.

Because of course you would.

He sits on the porch with his rifle across his knees, watching the trees. The pines loom tall and skeletal in the moonlight, all ribs and shadows and crooked limbs. The river hums a low dirge just out of sight, its voice cracked and endless.

His hands twitch. They were made for building, once. For holding. Now they shake when they’re empty. And all that’s left to hold is memory—and that’s heavier than any steel or stock.

He hears you through the wall.

Crying.

A thin, broken sound. Not loud. Not wild. Just worn. Like something unraveling.

Like something giving up.

He doesn’t go to you. Doesn’t speak. He listens. Soaks it in like penance. Like letting your grief wash over him might baptize what’s left.

I aimed low, he’d told you. Like that absolved him.

Like mercy and madness were just a matter of angle.

When the crying stops, the silence howls.

He waits an hour before going back inside. Long enough for your grief to dry on your face. Long enough for his to settle into bone again.

The lantern’s still lit, trembling against the walls. The lock on the door groans into place with a finality that sounds like coffin-lid. He tells himself it’s precaution.

But the truth hisses in the back of his mind like a wound that won’t clot.

It ain’t the world he doesn’t trust.

It’s you.

You, with your sharp eyes and younger bones and all the chances he never had.

You, with your voice that’s still yours.

And you will stay. You have to.

He glances toward the bed. You’re curled against the wall, thin and pale and stubborn even in sleep. Like something that still believes in doors opening.

Your fingers are tight against the bandage. Like you might reach inside and tear it out yourself.

Joel stares too long.

He hates the blood. Not just yours—his, too. The part he poured into you without meaning to. Like a curse handed down, generation to generation.

He lays down on the couch. Stiff. Cold. Not too close. Never too close.

The fire moans low in its iron cage.

He watches the ceiling. Counts the knots again.

One for every sin. One for every time he blinked and lost someone.

You’ll learn.

He’ll teach you to take, to shoot, to endure. He’ll give you what the world won’t.

One day, maybe, you’ll look at him with something that isn’t hate.

Something like need.

Like love, if there’s still such a thing.

You’ll see what he’s done for you. You’ll thank him.

He has to believe that.

Because if you don’t—if you spit his name like poison, if you look at him the way Sarah did when the light left her eyes—

He’s already halfway dead.

And if you leave, what’s left will follow.

Because you’re breathing in that room. And that’s the only thing keeping him human. The only thing left to burn.

You wake too still.

The air’s close—thick with the scent of smoke, damp wood, and coffee boiled down to tar in an old tin pot. It clings to your skin. Crawls into your lungs. Smells like rot and something older than fire.

You don’t move at first. Just breathe. Slow. Listening.

The river’s still out there, a low murmur past the wall. The stove ticks behind you—metal shrinking back into itself, full from a long night of burn. And under all of it, you hear the sound that unthreads your spine:

Humming.

Low. Tuneless. A man’s voice, just above a whisper. Not cheerful. Not anything like that.

Just steady.

You open your eyes.

The shed is small. Smaller than you remember from the night before. Wood warped from years of rain. One window, nailed halfway shut with rust-bitten hinges. A cot under you. Quilt tucked to your chin like a child’s, and that makes your stomach twist. Someone did that.

He did that.

Your eyes cut sideways to the couch across the room. Blankets there. Rumpled.

He slept right there.

Right by the door. Right by you.

Every part of you tenses. Blood under the bandages surges like it remembers who put it there. You’re aching deep—ribs, shoulder, jaw—but none of it hurts as much as the thought of being watched while you slept.

Your mouth tastes like copper and bile. You swallow it back.

And then you see him again.

Bent over the pan near the stove, sleeves rolled up, one hand steadying the cast iron while the other stirs. There’s something wrong with the sight of it—something warped. A man like that shouldn’t move gently. Shouldn’t cook. Shouldn’t hum.

But he does.

Not soft. No, never soft. Just… deliberate. Every motion carved from stone.

He doesn’t turn when he speaks.

“You're up.”

Flat. Not warm. Not cold. Just there. Like a wall.

You don’t answer.

He doesn’t ask again.

You sit up, slow. Pain lances through your side and back, but you don’t let it show. You don’t let him see it.

He plates the food. Eggs—powdered maybe, or stolen. Half a tomato. A heel of hard bread. Meat you don’t recognize. A lot of it. Too much. All for you. He makes a second plate—smaller. Sparse.

He slides yours across the table, closer. Doesn’t speak.

“Eat.”

That one word hits like a slap.

You don’t move.

He leans against the far wall, arms crossed. Watching you like you’re a wire stretched too tight. Waiting to see where it snaps. His face is carved in quiet judgment. Not cruel. Just worn. Like he’s already seen the worst and is just waiting for you to realize it too.

The plate steams.

Your stomach twists. Not from hunger—something else. Something meaner. More primal. Like defiance. Like grief.

But your hand still reaches for the fork.

Stupid.

It clinks against the tin plate.

Joel doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches.

And for one flicker of a second—just one—his face shifts. Not a smile. Not a frown. Something in between. Something lonely.

Then it’s gone again.

Like it never happened.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and stay tuned for more x

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