#this took less time than i thought it would

[thesquidgame]

Calm Before the Storm

Hwang Jun-ho x wife!reader

Summary: After your husband's disappearance, he starts to act different.

Warning: Angst, disappearance, gunshot wound, head injury, hospitals, mention of death, marital conflict, mention of divorce, guns

6k words

The worst day of your life happened after one of your husband’s work trips. He said that his team had gotten a lead on what might have happened to his brother and that he had to investigate. That was par for the course, every couple months there would be another potential lead on where your brother-in-law could be, but every couple months Jun-ho would be sorely disappointed. 

This time was different. He said he would be gone for a couple of days, and that he didn’t know if he would be able to get in contact. He left for one day, and then two, then more. His department panicked, apparently, it wasn’t a work trip and one of their detectives went missing. After a week his picture was on the nightly news, and after 10 days you were doing interviews begging for anyone who had any information to step forward. His mother came to sleep at your apartment, and she said she just wanted to help out with her daughter-in-law, but you could hear her sobs in the middle of the night through the thin walls between your bedroom and the guest room. 

At 5 AM, a week after Jun-ho’s disappearance, you got a call. They had found him. He was in a specialized emergency hospital on the outskirts of Seoul, and he was in a coma. You rushed to your car with your mother-in-law and broke speed limits that Jun-ho would never let you break when he was in the car with you. 

The hospital parking lot was nearly empty. The lobby was quiet when you walked in, and the front desk woman almost looked shocked when she saw two women with deep circles under their eyes and hair sticking in every direction. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. She was the receptionist at a hospital, if that was the craziest thing she’d seen she was in for a rude awakening when an actual patient came up to her desk.

She quickly directed you to his hotel room, on the 3rd floor, where his supervisor was already waiting. Time seemed to slow down as you rode the elevator. It couldn’t have taken longer than 20 seconds, but it felt like years. What if he was dying? What if he didn’t wake up? What if he was getting worse? Your thoughts kept racing, and you and Jun-ho’s mother couldn’t share a single word between the two of you between all of the panic going on inside your heads.

The floor was so quiet you could hear the squeak of a nurse’s shoes down the hallway. You should’ve run to your husband's bedside, but you couldn’t. You took one step at a time, terrified of what might await you. His supervisor stepped out the door and closed it. He looked at you with tired eyes. “Mrs. Hwang, Mrs. Park, I’m glad you could make it.”

“How’s my husband?” Formalities could wait. Formalities could go to hell.

He sighed, and your heart skipped several beats. “How is he?!” Jun-ho’s mother yelled. 

“He’s okay, he seems to be mostly stable, but I-” He raised his hand and scratched the back of his head, looking away at the ground, “I gotta be honest. He’s not great. He was shot and fell from a high distance into water. He passed out in the water and the doctors think he breathed in water and fell unconscious. They’re not sure of the extent of brain damage because he hasn’t woken up, but the lack of oxygen to his brain likely caused some sort of impact. There’s more, but they would only tell me the basics because I’m not family.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. What if he didn’t wake up? What if he did and he wasn’t the same? Memories of the last night you spent together raced through your head. It had been a long exhausting day, and he somehow knew how terrible it had been. He brought takeout home and made an extra stop to get your favorite dessert from a bakery. He set the food down on the kitchen table and immediately made his way to you on the couch, leaned down, and kissed you until you needed to come up for air. You turned off the tv and sat on the couch for hours, eating and talking and eventually fucking. Right before you went to bed he told you that he was going on the trip tomorrow, and you just smiled and nodded, thinking it was going to be like all the other times.

You pushed past the sergeant and walked into your husband’s room. His bed was separated from an empty one by a curtain. You couldn’t feel your own feet as you walked towards it, and it almost felt like your hand wasn’t moving at all when you pushed past the curtain.

Jun-ho looked like death. There was a tube shoved in his throat and his skin was so pale it looked translucent, the blue of his veins showing through on his arm next to an IV. The circles under his eyes were deep and dark, and he was in a neck brace, with his head bandaged. 

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. The second his mother saw him, she collapsed at his side and laid her body over his legs. Her cries were guttural and came from something that must’ve broken inside of her. “My baby, my baby. I lost one son, I’ll die if I lose another.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t cry. You sunk to a chair at his side and reached out for his hand. He was so cold. His skin felt like he had just been taken out of the ocean minutes before, and his heart rate was so slow it felt like it was second between beats.

You didn’t hear the doctor come into the room until he spoke. Jun-ho’s mother looked up and stared at him like he was an angel, but you couldn’t look away from your husband’s unmoving body.

“Mrs. Hwang, can I talk to you about your husband’s condition?” You didn’t move, his mother had to beg the doctor to continue speaking. “He was shot in his left shoulder, luckily the bullet didn’t hit any vital organs, but because of the time between the injury and his arrival at the hospital, he lost a significant amount of blood. We think he hit the water head-first, and the impact caused his neck to break, luckily, there was no spinal cord damage. We induced him into a coma once he reached the hospital, so unfortunately we aren’t able to tell the extent of the damage unless he wakes.”

Your mother and law stood up “Unless? What do you mean by unless?!” she screamed. “My son is not going to die, do you hear me?!” 

You felt broken, Jun-ho had to wake up, he had to. You didn’t care if he couldn’t walk, or speak, but he had to wake up.

You could hear fists banging against the doctor’s chest, but you didn’t turn around. Just kept staring at your husband’s pale face, and pale hands.

The hospital had apparently received a large grant during COVID to expand, and when the pandemic had died down they became designated only for acute emergency cases and recovery care, and many rooms were kept vacant. The staff let you stay in the other bed in his room, and there was a shower attached to the room, designed for patients in long-term recovery and their family members. The hospital had a small cafeteria that made shockingly delicious Korean food, and they delivered the meals to the room three times a day. Before long, you became used to the tired routine of late-night check-ups and tired smiles from the nurses urging you to go home and rest. You were terrified that if you left the hospital Jun-ho would die before you could get back, but you couldn’t tell the nurses that. You just told the nurses that your house was far away and it was more convenient to stay at the hospital as opposed to making the commute or getting a hotel room.

It was three weeks before Jun-ho moved. In that time, you hadn’t left the hospital once. He squeezed your hand while you were holding it, and at first, you thought you imagined it. You called the doctor, and she said she would keep an eye on it, but not to get your hopes up- apparently twitching was normal in coma patients. Several hours later you felt the squeeze again, and when you looked up, you saw Jun-ho’s eyes open the slightest bit. 

It was like a month’s worth of fear and pain cascaded over in a heartbeat, and you collapsed on his chest in broken sobs, staring up at your husband. His mother was there, and she leaned over at him, pleading his name. He stared at you for as long as he could, until his eyes closed again, his eyelids twitching like he wanted them to stay open. Once his eyes closed your hand was still holding his in a tight grip, and you reached open to press the button again.

In the next couple of days, he went in and out of consciousness at increasing intervals. The first moment where you felt like you could breathe again came a week after he first squeezed your hand, when you awoke from sleeping laying on his lap while you sat in the chair to the sound of gagging. You heard his heartbeat increase and saw his throat convulse and his eyes flash open as he fought his breathing tube. 

You immediately pressed the call button for the nurse, and when they took too long you went out into the hallway and screamed for a nurse. There were only a couple of patients on his hall, and they could go screw themselves if they thought their sleep was more important than your husband's choking. The nurse and doctor came running and closed the door on you. Within a couple of minutes the nurse opened the door, and let you step inside. The doctor tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t hear anything she was saying as you walked past her toward your husband’s side.

“Baby,” Jun-ho whispered. His voice was hoarse and broken, and you could feel tears streaming down your face.

“Honey, you’re- you’re here.” You cried more and more, and he painfully reached his arm up to you.

“It’s okay (y/n), I was never going anywhere, I’m here.” You tucked your head into his neck and sobbed into his hospital gown. 

He stroked your hair slowly until his hand rested on the back of your head. You looked up to see that he had fallen back asleep, exhausted from the ordeal of choking on his breathing tube. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wet from a single tear rolling down his face, and tucked your head back down to fall asleep again.

You woke up to a nurse gently shaking you away, informing you that you had to sleep in the other bed to prevent infection. You wanted to fight her for doing her job, but obliged. You fell back asleep quickly, too tired to stay awake because of the crying you had just finished doing.

“(Y/n).” You awoke to a quiet voice, blinking your eyes because of the bright sunlight streaming through the window. You immediately looked over at Jun-ho to see your fiance with his head turned looking at you.

“Jun-ho.” You stood up, stumbling out of bed in the clothes you had to have been wearing for at least a couple of days before now, and went over to kiss him on the lips, the same way he had the last time you had seen him before he went missing. He reciprocated with more force than you thought someone who hadn’t moved any part of his body in a month could.

“I missed you so much honey, I couldn’t breathe for so long.” He smiled and wiped a tear off of your face. 

“I know baby, but I’m here now, I’m here.” He looked at you with so much love and life in his eyes, exactly what you had been missing for the past month.

“I was so scared Jun-ho, first I couldn’t find you, and then once I did I- I wasn’t sure.” You paused, another tear streaming down your face. “I wasn’t sure you would make it.” You whispered.

“I know (y/n), and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You- you got shot. You fell from really high into the water far out in the ocean. You have no idea how scared I was.”

His brow furrowed painfully before he suddenly pulled his head back and winced. “Jun-ho, Jun-ho? Are you okay?!”

You frantically pushed the call button and within seconds there was a team of doctors and nurses entering the room. They slowed slightly when they saw the scene in front of them, and quickly determined there was no immediate danger, and quickly began examining him and asking you both questions. Once the rest of the group left, Jun-ho’s main doctor sat in a chair to explain the situation to the both of you.

She explained what the team had seen when they had checked Jun-ho over, and explained the need for another set of scans to ensure there was no serious brain injury. “We also will need to call the police back to the hospital, because of the gunshot wound.”

Jun-ho froze, and his back grew stiff. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You rested your hand in his grip, tightening it around his.

“Nothing’s wrong, just nervous about the tests.” He squeezed your hand back and smiled up at you at your position sitting next to him on the bed. His body remained stiff, and your brow furrowed in confusion. He was likely traumatized and in pain, both physically and mentally.

Once the doctor left, you apprehensively asked him “Honey, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… What happened when you were gone, with the fall, and the gunshot wound?”

He looked away from you and glanced out the window. He paused, “I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened.”

You leaned in and squeezed his hand again. “It’s okay if you do, I just want to help you.”

He remained looking out the window, until he looked back at you, something tight across his eyes. “I really don’t know, can we please talk about something else. I’m going to get enough of that from my coworkers later anyways.” He laughed, but the tightness across his face remained the same.

Smiling a similar tight smile, you squeezed his hand back. “Okay. Just, let me know if you remember anything.”

“Now, is there anything I can do to help you?” 

“Jun-ho, I’m not the one who just woke up from a coma, that’s my line!” Jun-ho smiled a real smile, and you copied him, smiling your first genuine smile in weeks.

After the tests, you wheeled Jun-ho in a wheelchair back into his hospital room, where you were greeted by his boss sitting in your usual chair next to his bedside. He stood up to greet you, “Detective! It’s so good to see you awake again!” He bowed to Jun-ho, and your husband nodded his head in return.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think we could do the interview now? Just so we don’t get more in the way of you and your lovely wife.” He smiled, but there was anxiety furrowing his brow. He was clearly using many tactics that you watched Jun-ho explain that the police force used on victims and their families.

Jun-ho smiled back, “of course.” He looked up at you and smiled a similar tight smile towards you. “Honey, do you think you could go and get some coffee from downstairs for us?” 

You nodded, unsure of what to do as you could clearly tell that the coffee run was just an excuse to get you out of the room. “Of course.” There wasn’t anything you could do about it, and confronting your husband about something he is clearly not ready to talk about would certainly not be a solution. “Officer, would you like me to get you anything?”

He waved you off and you hesitantly exited the room to go downstairs.

Due to the emptiness of the hospital, it didn’t take you long to go down to the cafeteria, pick up some coffee for you and Jun-ho, and come back upstairs. When you reached the floor that the room was on, you hesitated, noticing that the door was cracked and the sounds of him and his boss were still quietly filtering out into the hallway.

You debated for a second staying and eavesdropping, but your moral compass won out in the end. Whatever it was, Jun-ho was clearly not ready to tell you. You didn’t want to betray his trust, and eventually, he would share it with you. The two of you had no secrets between you. If there ever was a night when Jun-ho would have to stay later at work, or was suddenly asked to hang out by his friends, he would call you immediately and tell you what was going on and when he would probably be home. Not that you necessarily needed him to, you trusted him, but he insisted that he never wanted you to worry after him. You did the same in turn, even though your job was far less demanding than his and plans came up far less sporadically for you than they did for him.

As you walked away, you heard a sliver of the conversation “hundreds… shot.” It made you pause in your step. You must’ve misheard. Maybe he had said something else. Maybe you were too sleep-deprived and stressed to think clearly. Still, you turned those words around in your head as you sat in a chair in the hallway next to the nurse’s station.

If you hadn’t misheard- if; what would it mean? Did Jun-ho have a brain injury that didn’t turn up on scans that makes him misremember what happened? Or- or was he telling the truth? Your husband wasn’t a liar, he was the perfect detective because of his strict moral compass, so that must mean… That must mean that if there was no brain injury, and if you didn’t mishear, wherever Jun-ho was he had watched hundreds of people die.

You heard a knock on the doorframe, “Mrs. Hwang, we’re done with the interview.” 

You stood up and walked toward the door when the other detective put his hand on your shoulder while his face grimaced. “I hope everything works out well for the two of you, I really do.” With that foreboding line of encouragement, he walked past you and towards the elevator.

When you entered the room, Jun-ho smiled at you. “(Y/n).” You walked towards him and kissed his forehead, handing him the cup of coffee.

Kissing his forehead, you asked, “How did it go? Are you alright?”

Jun-ho’s brow creased, but he smiled back at you still. “It went well, I just told him that I didn’t know anything.”

That didn’t make sense. You had to have been gone for at least 20 minutes, there was no way those 15 minutes were filled with the other detective asking questions that your husband kept saying no to.

“I’ll have to go into the station later on after I’m discharged and give a longer more formal statement, but for now they’ll leave us alone.”

“Great, I’m glad to have you all to myself.” You leaned over and kissed him on the lips again. You trusted him, and whatever it was that he wasn’t telling you, he would open up about soon. 

He didn’t. After another 2 weeks, the hospital was completely sure there were no long-standing effects. Besides having to regularly come in for check-ups and to carefully not hurt the shoulder where he was shot, miraculously there were no other serious effects.

You had finally gone back into the apartment after he woke up, although you weren’t happy about going back when it was lifeless due to Jun-ho’s absence. By the time he was discharged, the apartment was dust-free, and you made sure that everything was the same as it had been when he had first gone missing.

In the past couple of weeks, Jun-ho had been too calm. He was casual about just about everything. He was smiling, and making jokes, like nothing had ever happened. But, underneath it all, you could tell something was different. When you’ve been with someone for so long, had exchanged wedding vows, and slept in the same bed for years, you just knew them. You knew your husband, and something was off about him. He refused to go to sleep in the hospital room with the door open, and every time you came or went he would make you close the door behind you. He insisted that you spent the night in the hotel room with him (not that you were complaining) even when he was far out of the danger zone. On the car ride home from the hospital he would check the mirrors every time he thought you weren’t looking.

There was something completely off about him, he seemed paranoid, and for the first time in your relationship besides his brother’s disappearance- scared. But every time you would ask him what was wrong, he would just smile and say “I’m alright, just adjusting.”

You carried all of your stuff to the apartment, insisting on doing so even though your stubborn husband wanted to carry luggage even with a bullet recently being removed from his shoulder. But, when you left the elevator and were about to go into the apartment, he stopped you by putting his hand out.

“Baby, I just want to get inside. This is heavy.” You complained.

“I know, just- just give me a minute. I want to check something.” He silently turned the key to your small apartment, took off both his shoes, and stepped inside. He pulled up his pant leg slightly and took out a gun that you didn’t even notice was there.

“Jun-ho!”

He turned back to you and put his finger to his lips, shushing you. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He closed the door behind him, and you stood there shocked. You knew something was wrong, but you didn’t expect him to take out a gun and search your home.

In a couple of minutes, he came back out. “What the hell Jun-ho? What was that!” 

“It was nothing, I’m sorry.” He put the gun back away.

“Why would you search our house? You’ve never done that before. Seriously Jun-ho, what’s going on?” You shouted, exasperated by him saying one thing and acting in a completely opposite way.

“It’s nothing.” He sighed, “I’m sorry (y/n), I’m just scared. It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the hospital, so I’m nervous.” He leaned in and gave you a hug, which you reciprocated. But still, that wasn’t the whole truth.

“I think you should see someone Jun-ho, this isn’t normal.” You said into your husband’s chest.

“(Y/n), I’m fine. I promise.” You leaned your head up and kissed him again.

The first week back was difficult. Jun-ho seemed terrified of just about everything around him. The both of you barely left the house, and when you did his hand held yours in a tight grip.

Your job had given you an extended leave to take care of Jun-ho, but your leave was ending in a few weeks once the two-month mark passed. 

You were laying in bed one night, Jun-ho tracing circles on your shoulder as you spooned after making love. “Jun-ho, I’m worried about you.”

He kissed your shoulder, “what about?” He said casually.

You rolled over to face him. “About everything, you’ve been so scared and stressed. I don’t know what’s going to happen once I go back to work.” 

He propped his head on his hand as he laid on his side, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m starting to feel better. I’m sorry I’ve been so paranoid lately.”

You sighed, “I want you to see someone Jun-ho. I don’t want this to fester and fester.”

He sighed, “I know (y/n), I promise it’ll get better soon. I talked to the chief today, I’ll go back to work next week.”

You shot up in bed, “two weeks? Babe, that isn’t nearly enough time. You still can’t lift anything heavier than a paper clip with your left arm.”

Jun-ho reached back towards you and stroked your arm. “Well good thing I’m right-handed.” He smirked.

Tilting your head, you just looked back at your husband anxiously. “Jun-ho this is serious. You aren’t ready to go back to work.”

“(Y/n), please trust me. This will all be over soon, okay?” He looked at you pleadingly. He didn’t want you to drop it or ignore it, he wanted you to- trust him? There was a secret, but he clearly didn’t want you to know it, and just to wait.

Sighing, you said, “Okay, I’ll wait.” You didn’t know what else to say. You couldn’t make him tell you the truth, and he wanted you to not push it. There was nothing to do. “But I really want you to talk to someone.”

He leaned in to kiss you, and right before he touched your lips, he said “Okay, I will; for you.” Then he closed the distance and kissed you until you needed to come up for air.

Your house was quieter after you both went back to work. When Jun-ho came home from work he would make his way next to you on the couch, lay down, and put his head on your lap. It was nice at first, after so much stress you could simply relax and enjoy each other's company.

Soon after getting home, he would get tired. Sometimes falling asleep on your lap.

After a month of him getting back to work, you were exhausted from the silence. It became oppressive. You grew tired of the same routine, and how your husband never quite grew less paranoid. He became better at hiding it, attaching cameras and extra locks around your house under the guise of burglaries in the building that you had never heard of. He would stand up from his crouch install the locks and wrap his arms around you, kissing you and telling you that he just wanted you to be safe.

Before his accident, he would wake up every morning and make breakfast for the both of you, insisting that it was the most important meal of the day. After the accident, he started to make lunch as well, and whenever you suggested that you go out for dinner, he smiled and told you that he enjoyed your cooking so much more.

Then, after 3 months, he came home completely exhausted. It was later than usual, and you stayed up late to greet him, completely concerned by his lack of response to any of your texts. “Jun-ho, where the hell were you? Are you okay?!” You ran up to him as soon as he opened the door, looking him up and down for any injuries.

“No, I’m fine.” He smiled a lopsided and insincere smile at you. He smelled like alcohol.

“Were you drinking?” You demanded.

“Me and my coworkers went out for a couple of bottles of soju after work, nothing much.” He shook off his shoes and went to hug you.

You pulled away, “why didn’t you tell me? We always tell each other these things.” 

“Baby, I had a long, long day, let’s not do this right now.”

“No, we have to do this right now, what happened? You’ve been so strange lately, and you never went to talk to someone like you said you would.” You paused, tears beginning to well up in your eyes, “I’m really concerned for you. I want you to get tested for PTSD.”

He stepped closer to you, “I don’t have PTSD, I just had a long day.” You didn’t move. He sighed, “(Y/n), please, I’m exhausted. Can we do this tomorrow?”

You didn’t say anything but didn’t move when he closed the distance between you to pull you into a tight hug. You finally reciprocated, pulling him closer, when you heard silent sniffling from next to your ear. In a heartbeat, you felt a drop of wetness on your shoulder. 

The next day, Jun-ho quit being a detective. After he started crying, he pretended like nothing had happened, got silent, and took a shower before going to bed. You barely spoke another word the rest of the night, but after he thought you went to sleep you could feel him trace circles on your shoulder.

He told you as soon as he got home that being a detective was too much work for him after the accident, and he tired more easily, but you didn’t buy it for a second.

“Jun-ho, you love your job, why would you quit? Do you want to go back on leave?” You pleaded at your husband.

He smiled back at you, “Of course I love my job, it’s only temporary.” And he leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

Temporary. Although your better judgment told you otherwise, you put all your faith in that one little word. Temporary, this, like everything else making your husband act so different, would pass.

Jun-ho came home late the next day. Then the next. The first you waited up for him, sitting at the dinner table, your food growing cold. When your husband came in, he didn’t smell like alcohol, he simply kissed you on the forehead and sat down across from you, not confronting his tardiness. You cried yourself to sleep that night, with your husband laying stiff as a board next to you, unsure of what to do.

The next night, when he was late, you didn’t bother to wake up. You left his food in the fridge and went to bed early, tears streaming down your face. You were still awake when he came into bed but pretended to be asleep. You could feel the bed shaking from his silent sobs.

The next month went on in the same way, with the only escape from the monotony of your miserable silence being Jun-ho’s one day off. On that one day, you would pretend that you didn’t have any problems, that you were a normal couple who would go walking through the cherry trees and go out drinking together late at night. You went on a double date with one of your coworkers and her husband and sat awkwardly through one of their arguments. It wasn’t the same, but having some bit of refuge away from your stress was a lifesaver.

But even that changed. One day, you decided to go kayaking out in the bay, and while you were out in the water, Jun-ho stopped for a minute. There was a gap in your conversation, and during it, your husband stopped paddling.

“Babe, are you alright?”

He looked up at you as if startled. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He paused, “Would it be okay if we went back, I need to do something important.”

“Um, yeah sure. What is it?” You hesitantly asked.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Your face sank. Every question you asked your husband ended with him saying ‘It’s nothing,’ no matter how big of a deal it likely was.

A couple of days later, when your husband came home late again, he told you that he would be busy on his day off and that a friend of his needed help on his boat. You just smiled and nodded, because what else could you really do?

Then he was busy the next weekend, and then the next, and the next. You only really saw your husband for a couple of minutes in the morning, and a couple of minutes in the night. Sometimes, you were able to make time. Sometimes, you would go out for a nice dinner, or go out to a friend’s party for the holidays. On your birthday he took the whole day off work and planned every single thing you would do all day. He made breakfast, took you shopping in the morning, went out to a nice lunch, took you out to the countryside to the ocean, and bought you lunch in your favorite tiny spot next to the shore. It was like for just 24 hours you had your husband back.

But other than that, it was like living with a ghost. He got more and more stressed over time. He smiled the same amount, but even with taking a demotion to a regular cop, he was getting worse and worse over time. He felt tenser, and more on edge than he had ever been before.

Every night you would fall asleep crying, you became used to waking up with a wet pillow or having to look at your puffy eyes when you wiped the condensation off the mirror after crying in the shower. Whenever Jun-ho saw the tears, whether you were laying in bed or cooking dinner on one of the rare nights that he came home early would wrap you in a hug from behind, and say, “I’m so sorry honey, I promise this will pass.” 

And you would plead, “Please honey, please, just tell me what’s happening, please be here more.”

And he would press his head into your back and whisper, “I can’t, I’m sorry. I love you.”

Your hopes would drop all over again, “I love you too.”

It was three years before anything changed. You would constantly beg him to do anything, to see someone, to talk to you, to do anything. Your friends asked you if he was cheating, but you knew he wasn’t. You knew, somehow that whatever was happening, was big, and important. And that it was eating you and your husband alive.

You didn’t see him for three days. He answered all of your texts with “Just something for work, I’ll be home soon. I love you.” Nothing else. No explanation for anything.

You slept on the couch and stayed there when you were awake, racked with anxiety. When he finally came home you sat there staring straight ahead. He didn’t speak.

You had pictured a fight, a confrontation. You had begged and pleaded, with tears in your eyes before. But nothing had happened. And after almost four years, you didn’t have any energy left.

“I want a divorce.” You surprised yourself with the words.

You looked up at him, and he stood there, his expression unreadable. 

“If you can’t tell me what the hell is going on, tomorrow I’m going to a lawyer.” 

He stumbled toward you and dropped to his knees in front of you, “(Y/n), please. You just have to trust me. This, this’ll all be over soon. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it, soon it’ll be just like before.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes which were beginning to fill with tears. “I don’t believe you.”

“Baby, please. I can’t tell you, I really can’t.” His head dropped, breaking eye contact as you saw a tear fall down to reach the floor. He whispered, “If- if you know the truth, I don’t know what’ll happen to you. And I can’t risk that. I- I’ve risked everything else. But I can’t risk you.”

You couldn’t cry, your tears were all dried up. You should be shocked by what he was saying, but your mind went back to what you heard him say from outside that hospital room years ago “Hundreds… Shot.”

“I know, I’ve known. I know that you remember, and I know that it’s related to when you went missing. I just need you to trust me. I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks up at you, grabbing your hands and wrapping his around yours. “I know, I’m so sorry, but I need you to just wait a little bit longer-”

You stood up. “I think you should leave.” 

“(Y/n), please.”

You walked away from him, towards your bedroom. “(Y/n), I love you.”

“I love you.” And then you heard the door shut.

As you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but feel empty, like your heart had been torn out of your chest. The brutal calm you had been through was over, but storm had just begun.

Part two will be out with the next season, stay tuned for more!

[syndrossi]

Restoration AU: Robb I

Previous part, Arya I, here.

x~x~x

Robb was not allowed out riding, or to join his father’s knights and men-at-arms in search of the ruffians who had kidnapped his young half-brothers and dragged them to Winterfell for ransom or worse, which meant he had sought the yard instead. Even that was a mistake. He could not thrash the targets the way he desired to, not with all the curious eyes upon him.

Show anger, and all would know that there was strife between him and his lord father, that the dishonor had caught their family unaware. And while it would be satisfying to express his fury at the depths of his father’s disloyalty, it would draw attention to his mother as well, inviting cruel whispers.

Robb lowered his sword, stepping back from the target. He exchanged it for his bow, and although the rhythm—draw, aim, release—stilled his thoughts for a short time, they wandered instead to Bran’s excitement when he had found Robb and Jon in the yard that afternoon, touting his discovery.

It seemed a lifetime ago, rather than mere hours. A part of him had known from the moment he laid eyes upon the boys, the dark-haired twin so alike Jon that it had felt like staring at his brother from across the span of five years. Jon’s own shock had been little comfort.

The rumors had not reached his mother before Robb did, after his father’s curt dismissal, and he had been faced with an impossible choice: let her learn of her husband’s betrayal through the whispers of her ladies or break the news himself as gently as he could.

I do not know for certain, he had told her, still fostering the faintest hope that there might be another explanation, but she had paled nonetheless, her attempt at masking her heartbreak to spare him all the more painful.

She loves him. She has always loved him. Robb had thought the same true of his father, and he did not know how much it would hurt to learn otherwise. That Jon’s mother had not been the tryst of a man who thought he might die in battle, but a bed he eagerly sought out the next time fate took him south for war.

Robb lowered his bow, the arrows of his quiver spent, and stared at the distant target, flickering in the torchlight. For once, he was glad that Theon was nowhere to be seen. His friend would have nothing but crude japes, and Robb was in no mood for such.

He desired answers.

His feet took him past Sansa’s room, where he had gently guided her after supper and promised her, with a kiss to the hair, that things would seem less bleak in the morning. Then past his father’s solar, where he could see the glow of light escaping from the crack beneath the door.

Hiding away, like a coward. It was not how he would ever have described his father before today, but there was no other way of putting it. If he is not begging Mother’s forgiveness, then he should be comforting the terrified children whose dishonorable birth turned them into pawns.

Robb paused outside Jon’s door, then rapped lightly with his knuckles. A few moments passed before the door opened, and it was not Jon who he found himself staring at, but rather his smaller counterpart. Willam, Robb reminded himself.

“Would you like to come in?” Willam asked, gazing at him with such raw longing that Robb found himself torn between tenderness and fresh fury.

Did Father even look in upon them since hiding them away in Jon’s chamber? A glance past him revealed no Jon. His twin sat on the bed, his gaze at Robb more wary, and telltale plates from the kitchen were stacked on the small table in the corner of the room. Their supper, taken alone to spare the family further shame today, when it was their father who should be shouldering its brunt.

His little half-brothers were innocent in this. Had they even known of their origins? They had the bearing of highborn children, but none of Jon’s quiet acceptance of his lesser standing.

“Yes,” Robb said, realizing he had not answered. He stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him, and found that the other child had risen to his feet, though he maintained his distance. “I—” Has Father even told them of their siblings? “I am your half-brother, Robb.”

The boys reintroduced themselves, Willam tripping over his own name. Robb wondered whether their mother had knowingly named another son after her first. Or was Jon’s name of their father’s choosing?

Now that he was in the room with them, Robb did not know what to say. His gaze kept straying to Raymar, who was as unalike his trueborn siblings as Ghost was to his littermates, as though their birth had split them between each parent.

That is what she looked like, then. The woman he traded his honor for. Pale hair, silver as the moon’s glow through the window, his eyes an unnatural violet. They both shared Jon’s slighter build, which must have come from her as well.

A foreign woman, with that kind of coloring. A courtesan, perhaps. That was the fancy name they gave their whores across the Narrow Sea, and bravos fought for the honor of bedding them. But where had his father stumbled across her?

He had been silent for too long, Robb realized. He did not know what to say to them. “Where is Jon?”

“He went to take Ghost back to the kennels.”

“Oh.” He felt almost numb, staring into the face of a strange child who looked like his brother, and another who looked like betrayal. “How are you faring? Did your captors harm you?”

There were no obvious bruises or cuts upon them, but then, his father had said that their captors had dosed them with dreamwine. The twins assured him, however, that they had been unharmed—unbound, even.

“He said that if either of us caused trouble, he would hurt the other.” It was the first Raymar had spoken since introducing himself, his expression haunted. Willam too had tensed, watching his twin with obvious upset.

I should not have asked, Robb thought, chagrined. Not when they have yet to sleep. These are questions for morning.

“Father’s men will find him,” he said, offering his best reassuring smile, but it did little to ease their distress. In fact, both seemed on the verge of tears now, and he stood helplessly. If it were either Bran or Arya, I would go to them. Comfort them.

But the circumstances of their relation held him back. They did not know him, he reminded himself. It was not the same as Father abandoning them with Jon, all of them tied fully by blood.

Jon’s return caught them all off guard, his brother quiet as his direwolf pup as he slipped back into the room. He halted in place as he marked Robb’s presence, and they stared at one another for what felt like an age. There was no hiding from Jon, or Jon from him.

What hurt was the wariness, as though his brother was expecting Robb to lash out at him, when he had always strived to intervene whenever Jon happened to draw his mother’s ire. And what cut even deeper was the way his brother’s eyes narrowed as they fell upon the twins.

Jon rushed over to them, then turned back to Robb. “What did you say to them?”

“Nothing,” he replied, unclenching his fists. “We greeted one another, and I assured them that whoever kidnapped them would face justice.”

“Is that why you came at this hour?”

“I came to see how you and our new brothers were faring,” Robb said defensively, but he knew it to be a lie when he spoke it, and by the tightening of his mouth, Jon did as well. “What did Father tell you?”

“About my dead mother?” Raymar flinched, and his twin’s hand grabbed for his, but Jon did not seem to have noticed, his gaze locked on Robb. “What business is it of yours?”

Jon did not often snap at him, and he felt himself bristle in response. “It is my mother who was dishonored by their actions.”

His brother regarded him coldly. “She was beautiful, born to a noble house of Lys, and Father swore beneath the weirwood tree that he loved her.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Robb’s fists clenched again, denial rising in his throat, hot and ugly. “Whatever love he had was for her cunt, or he would not have left every time he stuck a bastard in her belly.”

His vision whitened as Jon slammed him into the door, knocking his head back against it. He could taste blood in his mouth from where his teeth had cut into cheek, and it did not matter that he had deliberately provoked his brother, all he could feel was a betrayal that quickly soured to anger.

“I do not care how beautiful her face, but how rotten her heart,” he said, ignoring the glitter of his brother’s eyes as his grip tightened around the fistful of tunic he had grabbed. “She knew of his marriage and still enticed him into her bed. A woman can be highborn and yet a whore.”

Jon’s right hand drew back, and Robb could feel his brother quivering from the effort of refraining from punching him, so he stared back in challenge, inviting it without knowing why. Let him prove himself to be what all bastards are, said an ugly voice that sounded like his mother. But he also longed for a scrap, to throw his fury at someone if it could not be his father.

The castle itself rattled then, a rumble of what sounded like thunder resonating deep within his chest. But the night is clear, he thought in confusion. Jon took a step back from him, the tense moment broken, his expression equally confused.

He became aware then of one of the twins speaking in a foreign tongue. Valyrian, he assumed, gazing past Jon to find Willam speaking frantically as he held back his fiercely struggling brother, who was staring death at Robb even as tears streamed down his face.

It is their mother too. His anger abandoned him, taking its short-lived respite with it and leaving Robb with a fresh guilt atop the hurt that ached within him.

The castle rattled again, the thunder more distant this time. An apology danced along the tip of his tongue, but he could not force it out.

“Just go, Stark,” Jon said, releasing him. His jaw worked a moment, then he turned his back on Robb, steps quick as he closed the distance to the twins and wrapped his brothers both in a tight embrace. His true brothers.

More words caught in Robb’s mouth, some remorseful and others not. Misery rose in his throat, bitter like dandelion tea, and he swallowed it, feeling worse now, with more answers, than he had before foolishly deciding to come here.

Robb left, closing the door quietly behind him, and stood in the hall for a time, staring at the opposite wall. He could hear crying in the other room, soft and pitiable. Father’s doing, he told himself, but it rang hollow. A few minutes passed, Jon’s voice muffled but audible as he spoke to the twins, and Robb awaited another roll of thunder that never came.

Finally he left, mumbling something he could not recall to Cayn when the guardsman’s patrol crossed his path back to his bedchamber. His nerves danced with the need for action, and he desired nothing more than to court his father’s displeasure by slipping out to the stables. He could claim a horse and ride into the wolfswood—find the men in search of the twins’ kidnapper and join their efforts.

But his mother would need him, and Sansa too, so he stared at the ceiling instead and settled into a long, sleepless wait for dawn.

[bestboiraditz]

I was watching some old clips of Raditz and I realized something interesting about this characterization. Yes, Raditz is immediately interesting because he's Goku's older brother, but he's made even MORE interesting in my opinion thanks to the brief characterization he's allowed to have.

Take his first lines to Goku:

He doesn't immediately berate him for his failure to purge the planet, he takes a moment to muse on how much Goku has grown and how he looks just like their father Bardock. Keep in mind, Bardock wasn't even a spark in Toriyama's mind, so for him to have Raditz say this when he's supposed to be a throwaway villain shows an unusual level of fondness for family, especially considering what we later learn about Saiyans

Raditz, upon realizing Goku doesn't remember him, isn't just annoyed that Goku forgot his mission, but seems distraught that his little brother doesn't remember him.

It's a small detail, but again, cements that Raditz shows an unusual level of attachment to family bonds, especially for a Sayain.

And then (and this is something important to keep in mind) he declares that he will find a way to recover his little brother's memories because Goku is NEEDED.

His priority isn't to get the planet purged or punish Goku for failing, it's to regain the only biological bond he has left, however little of it there may be.

I find it interesting Toriyama wrote this piece of dialogue. It just seems odd he would write such layered dialogue to characterize a villain he always intended to kill off ASAP. I guess it was to play into the whole "subverting the brother trope" but still, it doesn't make the characterization any less interesting

When Raditz tells Goku how their planet was destroyed and how everyone died, he AGAIN emphasizes that this means their parents died too.

Again, Raditz really seems to put value on his family. Note he says PARENTS not just father. Even Vegeta, for as long as we've gotten to know him, never talks about his father King Vegeta that much (if at all? He's thought about him, but not really talked about him) I find Goku's reaction interesting too, as if deep inside, despite not remembering Bardock and Gine, his heart still feels the pain of losing them. (Could it be possible Raditz noticed his reaction and took that as a sign that Goku felt the bond too, hence his following actions?)

Like @masakoxtra said, Bardock's line seems to be unusually empathetic for Saiyans. (He talks about it at 3:30)

Even Raditz, despite living his whole life under Frieza's boot and submitting to the bullying and callousness of Vegeta and Nappa and hardening his heart because of it, hasn't completely lost his sense of empathy, it's part of his nature albeit incredibly suppressed.

Raditz then has an unusually distressed response when he realizes Goku doesn't have a tail.

He doesn't mock him for losing it or immediately gets disgusted by his weakness, he is outright horrified and then gets mad at Goku for letting others just remove his tail (From Raditz's perspective, It would be like if Goku just let his arm get cut off to fit in with a race of one-armed aliens).

For Raditz, he views it as a form of betrayal, not just of his race, but the idea that his own brother would rather pass as a lowly earthling than embrace his own heritage (family being something Raditz clearly values) really gets to Raditz on an emotional level.

Now that I think about it, Raditz kinda goes through 4 out of 5 of the stages of grief for the brief time he's alive.

His first reaction is denial that Goku had forgot him and accepted life on earth, then anger that he would rather live as an earthling than be with his Saiyan kin, and then he starts the bargaining phase, trying to entice Goku with the idea of fighting saying that he's a Saiyan and it's in his blood.

When that bargaining doesn't work, he resorts to a different form of bargaining.

Blackmail.

Raditz steals Gohan trying to force Goku to join him. He tells Goku to kill 100 humans by tomorrow as proof of his submission, but pay attention to the wording:

Raditz says "when you decide to join us, and you WILL decide to" that's how much confidence he has in Goku's devotion towards his son EVEN THOUGH Goku's a Saiyan.

Raditz doesn't have a shadow of a doubt that Goku will do everything in his power to protect his son, even if he is a weak crybaby. Saiyans don't typically care much for their kin as shown in several flashback material later on (in fact it's later explained that they'll completely disown and abandon babies that are too weak to be considered useful. They have a very Spartan-esque society).

But Raditz knows he can use Gohan as leverage because Raditz actually understands emotional connections between family members, something he would've likely valued all the more being considered weak himself.

A lot of times people are able to use emotional manipulation because they either understand or were a victim of similar manipulation.

He then warns Goku that he might as well comply because everyone is going to die anyway, the earth being scheduled for purging. He hammers home the point that Goku's defiance is pointless and he really doesn't have a choice anyway so he may as well submit.

But what Raditz is doing here is almost an act of compassion (for a Saiyan). The way he sees it, Goku will die if he doesn't comply, so joining them is the only way he'll be able to survive. If he didn't care about Goku's life, why warn him? Why give him a chance to prove himself?

In fact, why would Raditz need Goku to prove himself when he was willing to take him without that before?

This is just an idea, but could it be...because of his scouter?

Remember, his scouter was open the entire time so Vegeta and Nappa are listening in. If Vegeta was listening it, after hearing about Goku's weak power level and his defiance and kind-nature, Raditz probably knew Vegeta might just dispose of Goku when they returned, considering him a disgrace to the Saiyan race. So Raditz has to have Goku prove himself by killing a bunch of humans to show Vegeta he's worth keeping alive.

It's horrific in Goku's eyes, but to Raditz, the lives of a few humans is inconsequential compared to his brother. This again is why Raditz says Goku has no choice, Vegeta won't give them a choice.

This also might be desperation on Raditz's part. If we are to consider the opening of Dragonball Z: Kakarot canon, Vegeta and Nappa mock him, Nappa going as far as to declare it's why he's called "Raditz the Runt", apparently a knickname he's saddled with in the Frieza force.

Raditz, instead of responding angrily or protesting as most Saiyans would, bows his head and pathetically apologizes, promising things will be different next time, showing that not only is this bullying common, but Raditz has just accepted it at this point. The way Raditz treats Goku when meeting him may stem from this treatment, he's trying to sway his brother the only way he's seen, through brute force and intimidation.

But Vegeta, getting sick of Raditz's weakness, promises to kill him if he screws up again, and if Vegeta promises death, you know it's coming. Raditz, panicking as his self-preservation instincts kick in, mentions his brother, saying he can help make things easier, but really Raditz just doesn't want Vegeta to kill him. Even then, Vegeta scoffs "The fact that he's YOUR brother doesn't exactly fill me with confidence" It's possible that Raditz did actually forget his brother and it was only in his panic, scrambling mentally for any way to save his life, that in that moment of desperation he at last remembered Kakarot.

Again, if we are to consider this conversation canon, Raditz needs Goku to survive to better the odds of his own survival, it's only after he's in a pod heading to Earth that he has time to think about Kakarot and wonder why he hasn't tried contacting them after so long.

But back to the OG manga, After Raditz gives Goku his ultimatum, he says this:

Again, he could've stopped at "I hope you don't disappoint me" but to follow it up by emphasizing it's for both his and Gohan's sake is noteworthy.

And even though Raditz clearly doesn't have much of a connection with Gohan as he does with Goku, I find this bit particularly interesting:

He barks at Gohan to stop crying and states that he possesses the proud blood of Saiyans. Yes, he is annoyed by Gohan's crying, but he also feels that he's better than that since he is still a Saiyan and wants him to be strong.

I like to imagine that Raditz is repeating something Bardock told him when he cried as a child, it feels like a very Bardock thing to say.

I particularly like the english dub of this scene, Justin Cook gives such an interesting and tender delivery of the line.

Also I really like how Raditz pauses to look at Gohan before walking away in the anime, I like to interpret it as Raditz seeing a bit of himself as a child in Gohan, but quickly burying those feelings.

There's a little fancomic I found that really drives that idea home.

When Goku and Piccolo show up, before they even fight, Raditz says this:

Again, why warn Goku? This feels more like Raditz is still in the bargaining mindset, he's trying to get his brother to give up and now must resort to brutally beating him to get his point through.

And then followed by this.

Remember, his scouter is open, so it's entirely possible he's acting ruthless and declaring they'll die so he won't look soft to Vegeta. I mean, he'd kill Piccolo without a thought, yeah, but Goku...? It may still be a bluff.

Plus, if he was serious about killing them, why stand around and let them plot instead of finishing them off?

The tail scene is where we see Raditz's cowardly nature on full display. But I think this moment really enhances his character because most Saiyans probably wouldn't beg for their lives, at least not to the degree Raditz is doing, they're too proud a race.

Raditz starts rambling about how he'd never actually kill his brother and his death threats were just bluffs.

Yes, we know it's a ploy to get free, but could there be an iota of truth in there? The fact he could've cut off his tail but was waiting for Piccolo to fire off his second Makenkosopo shows that Raditz is a quick thinker and very calculating.

Plus he probably didn't want to have to lose his tail unless he absolutely HAD to.

Goku was NOT stupid for letting go.

After Goku releases him, Raditz mocks his softness stating that he, a Saiyan-warrior wouldn't hesitate to kill their own brother, only to confusedly ask if Goku wants "a demonstration".

Like, if he wouldn't hesitate to kill his brother, why is he hesitating to kill his brother?

He's not killing him, he's torturing him, he could easily end it.

Remember that Double Sunday he shot off with ease earlier?

And of course after Raditz and Goku get turned into donuts, Raditz says one of the saddest lines in retrospect:

Like, he is relying on Vegeta and Nappa to save him, believing that they'll value him as a Saiyan and bring him back because HE HAS NO ONE ELSE TO RELY ON.

Right before he dies, he's in a sort of stage 4 depression where he can't believe this is how his life is going to end, dying alone and disgraced on some backwater planet at the hands of his own brother, their family line coming to a miserable end. He's never allowed to come to stage 5: acceptance (which is often where the change in a person's perspective/character tends to happen) because he dies and is forgotten.

Another thing that makes me sad Raditz didn't survive is cuz he's the perfect medium between Goku and Vegeta.

Goku rejects his saiyan heritage while Vegeta clings to it, but Raditz feels like he could easily straddle both worlds. He'd cling to his saiyan heritage out of love and respect for his parents (He'd still call Goku Kakarot, not because "it's a Saiyan name" like Vegeta, but because it's the name Bardock and Gine gave, his reason a much more personal one).

However, Raditz would have plenty of things NOT to like about Saiyan society, especially with how he and his father were treated as low-class warriors.

Being on earth, surrounded by kind people who don't belittle him and show basic kindness and respect would quickly endear Raditz to earth (remember, Bardock's kin are unusually empathetic for Saiyans).

Plus, being around Goku, who'd no doubt encourage and be proud of Raditz whilst training, would do a lot to boost Raditz's confidence (Goku looking like Bardock a way to ease his yearning to prove himself to his father) and further make him enjoy earth.

I like to imagine that, while Goku always wears a training gi from earth and Vegeta always wears some semblance of saiyan armor, Raditz would probably have a saiyan breastplate resembling Bardock's (as a kind of tribute to his dad) and go with loose pants like Goku which is good for training, visually symbolizing his willingness to find the balance between two worlds.

If Raditz had survived in the canon, this could've played even further into Vegeta's sense of isolation post-Cell arc. During his whole Majin Vegeta vs Goku fight speech, he could've said something like "And imagine the frustration I felt, when the only other pure-blood of my race left, your brother, that low-level trash who'd trembled for years under my elite warrior might, not only obtained the power of a super saiyan, but deemed me, ME the prince of all Saiyans UNWORTHY of his time! UNWORTHY FOR HIM TO FIGHT!"

Oh, and...

Must run in the family.

[missarchive]

bed chem 𐙚

elle greenaway

fem!reader

cw; +18 minors dni, kind of dom!reader, multiple orgasms, fingering & oral (elle receiving), tribbing, fade to black smut

wc; around 3k

an; i've been meaning to write for elle for a while and finally got around to it. dt to my lovely @reidsstargirl thank you for being my little proof reader <3

The conference room was silent except for the soft hum of the projector. Crime scene photos flashed on the screen, each more unsettling than the last. Victims frozen in snapshots of terror and tragedy. Couples, always women, always the same methodical precision to their deaths.

Hotch stood at the head of the table, arms crossed. “This unsub is methodical, patient. He takes his time earning the trust of his victims before he strikes. What we know is this: he targets lesbian couples in rural areas. He chooses women who are isolated, who he believes won’t be missed right away.”

The room was heavy with tension. You felt the weight of the case pressing against your chest. The details were chilling, but what made it worse was the pattern. He was escalating, and the longer it took to catch him, the more women would die.

“Given his methods, we believe the only way to stop him is to draw him out,” Hotch continued. His sharp gaze swept over the team. “We need to create a scenario that fits his profile—a couple he can fixate on.”

Your stomach flipped as the implication settled over the room. Before anyone could speak, Elle leaned forward in her chair.

“You’re asking us to go undercover,” she said, her voice steady.

Hotch nodded. “Yes. It’s our best chance to lure him out. He studies his victims carefully. He’ll be watching for any cracks in the facade, so whoever takes this role will need to sell it completely.”

The room was silent for a moment before Elle spoke again, her tone decisive. “I’ll do it.”

You hesitated for half a second before following her lead. “I’ll do it too.”

Hotch’s gaze softened slightly, his approval evident. “Good. Garcia will handle the backstory and setup. You’ll be moving into a rental property in a small town where the unsub has been active. The rest of us will be nearby, but once you’re in position, you’ll be on your own.”

Elle turned to you with a faint smirk as the meeting ended. “Guess we’re partners now.”

“Looks like it,” you replied, trying to ignore the knot of nerves in your stomach.

The rental house was small but cozy, nestled on a quiet street with neighbours who barely glanced your way as you unloaded your bags. It had all the makings of a perfect trap. Garcia had created a backstory that was seamless: photoshopped couple’s photos, social media accounts filled with playful banter, and a fabricated history of moving here for a “fresh start.”

Inside, Elle surveyed the living room, her hands on her hips. “Garcia really thought of everything,” she muttered, gesturing to the picture frames on the mantel. Each one showed the two of you in carefully staged moments—smiling on a picnic, laughing on a couch, holding hands in the park.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “She’s thorough, I’ll give her that.”

Elle glanced at you, her expression softening. “We’re going to need to lean into this. If the unsub’s watching, we have to make this believable.”

“I know,” you said, meeting her gaze. “But let’s be clear—this is just for the case.”

“Obviously,” Elle replied, but something in her tone felt less certain.

The bar was dimly lit, filled with the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses. You and Elle slid into a booth near the back, her hand resting lightly on your arm as you both scanned the room.

“We need to act natural,” she murmured, her lips barely moving as she leaned closer. “What do couples do on dates?”

You smirked, trying to ignore the warmth of her breath against your cheek. “Hold hands, flirt, make each other laugh. Think you can handle that?”

Elle raised a brow, her lips twitching into a small smile. “Watch and learn.”

She laced her fingers with yours, her touch both firm and surprisingly gentle. You felt a jolt of electricity at the contact but forced yourself to focus. Across the room, Morgan and Reid were stationed inconspicuously, their eyes occasionally darting your way.

Elle leaned closer, her voice low. “Smile. You look like you’re about to get audited.”

You laughed softly, her teasing easing some of the tension. “I didn’t realise you were such a comedian.”

“You’d be surprised,” she replied, her eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade.

The unsub appeared not long after—a man who blended seamlessly into the crowd but whose eyes lingered on you and Elle just a moment too long.

“He’s here,” Elle murmured, her hand tightening around yours.

The unsub didn’t approach right away. He watched from the bar, nursing a drink and pretending not to stare. You and Elle had to play your roles perfectly, every glance, every touch calculated but natural.

Elle leaned into you, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, “He’s watching us. We need to turn it up.”

Your heart pounded as you nodded, your breath hitching slightly when she placed a hand on your thigh. It was nothing overt, but the intimacy of the gesture sent a shiver down your spine.

“Relax,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours. “Just follow my lead.”

You forced yourself to smile, leaning in closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “You’re enjoying this too much,” you teased, trying to keep the mood light.

Elle’s lips curled into a smirk. “Maybe a little.”

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she tilted her head and kissed you. It wasn’t a quick peck or a hesitant brush of lips—it was slow, deliberate, and entirely convincing.

Your heart raced as you kissed her back, the line between acting and reality blurring with every passing second. When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but her composure remained intact.

“He’s biting,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the tension crackling between you.

The unsub finally made his move, approaching your table with a disarming smile. His presence was unsettling, but you and Elle maintained your facade, playing the part of a happy couple caught off guard by a friendly stranger.

Every word, every glance, every touch was a calculated move, a delicate dance to keep the unsub engaged while the rest of the team moved into position.

By the time Morgan and Reid swooped in to make the arrest, your heart was racing for reasons that had little to do with the danger and everything to do with the woman sitting next to you.

The motel room was small and unassuming, its decor an uninspired mix of beige and muted floral patterns. The adrenaline of the night had begun to fade, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that made your limbs feel like lead. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your reflection in the darkened screen of the television.

Your mind raced, replaying the events of the evening: the way Elle had touched your hand, her voice low and warm in your ear as she coached you through the act. And that kiss—God, that kiss. It was supposed to be for the case, to sell the ruse, but the way her lips moved against yours felt too natural, too genuine to be just acting.

You shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. It was the job, you told yourself. Nothing more.

A knock at the door pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. You hesitated, staring at it as if it might open on its own. Another knock, firmer this time, broke your paralysis.

When you opened the door, Elle stood there, barefoot and dressed in an oversized FBI sweatshirt and loose sweatpants. The harsh glow of the hallway light cast soft shadows across her face, making her look younger, more vulnerable.

“Elle?” you asked, your voice rough from hours of silence.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, her tone soft but edged with something unreadable. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, stepping aside to let her pass. She walked into the room, her movements slower, more deliberate than usual.

She stopped in the center of the room, crossing her arms over her chest as if to shield herself. “I just... needed to talk,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You closed the door behind her, leaning against it. “About the case?”

Elle turned to face you, her eyes meeting yours. For the first time all night, her composure cracked. “No. Not about the case. About us.”

The weight of her words settled between you, thick and heavy. You pushed off the door, moving closer but keeping a cautious distance. “Elle, I—”

She held up a hand, cutting you off. “Let me finish.” She took a deep breath, her hands dropping to her sides. “Tonight… that kiss… it wasn’t just for the case. At least, not for me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, her words catching you off guard. “What do you mean?”

Elle took a step closer, her eyes searching yours. “I don’t know when it started. Maybe it was tonight, maybe it was before, but being with you... pretending to be something we’re not...” She paused, her voice trembling slightly. “It didn’t feel like pretending.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken tension. You wanted to say something, to reassure her, but words failed you.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she continued, her voice stronger now. “And I know it’s complicated. We’re colleagues, we’re supposed to keep things professional, but I can’t ignore this anymore.”

You took a step closer, closing the distance between you until you were standing inches apart. Her eyes flicked to your lips, and you felt your resolve slipping.

“Elle,” you said softly, your voice barely audible. “I felt it too.”

Her breath hitched, and in that moment, the tension that had been building for weeks, maybe months, finally snapped. She reached for you, her hands tentative at first as they settled on your shoulders. You leaned into her touch, your arms wrapping around her waist as her fingers slipped up the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

Her lips were soft against yours, warm and inviting. It felt like coming home, like this was where you belonged. Her tongue darted out, running over the seam of your lips before dipping inside, meeting yours in a sweet kiss.

You deepened the kiss, pulling her closer, feeling the press of her breasts against yours. Her hands slid down your back, pulling you into her as her leg lifted, brushing against your thigh. You felt your pulse quicken, the heat between you building as her lips parted beneath yours.

You broke the kiss, needing air, needing to focus on her, to commit every detail to memory. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her hair a little mussed from your touch. Your eyes drifted down to her breasts, the curves pushing out against the fabric of her bra.

You moved closer, dropping a trail of kisses down her neck as she arched into your touch. You felt her shiver, her fingers digging into your shoulders. Her breath came in short gasps, her body moving against yours.

You caught the edge of her bra between your fingers, pushing it down to reveal her breasts. They were even more beautiful than you imagined, soft and round. Your mouth settled over one peaked nipple, and her hands cupped the back of your head, encouraging you as your tongue circled around her skin.

She tasted sweet, like cherries and honey. Her nipple pebbled beneath your touch, and you sucked it into your mouth, eliciting a soft moan from her lips.

You let out a soft laugh, smiling against her breast. She was so responsive, like her body was made for this, for you.

You trailed your fingers down her stomach, feeling her skin quiver beneath your touch. Her hips jerked, and you chuckled again, loving the way she reacted to your every move.

Your hand slipped beneath her panties, cupping the curve of her ass as you nipped at her breast. Your other hand joined in, sliding over her pussy as you rubbed your thumb over her clit. She gasped, her body jerking beneath your touch.

You felt your own arousal build, your panties growing wet as you imagined the possibilities. Elle was more than you ever could’ve asked for, more than you deserved.

But you were taking it, taking her, taking this moment to make it yours.

Your fingers slipped inside her, feeling her pussy stretch around you as you pumped in and out, your thumb still rubbing circles over her clit.

Her legs started to shake, and you could feel her pussy tightening around your fingers. “Fuck,” she moaned, her nails digging into your shoulder. “Y/N, fuck.”

The feeling of your name on her lips was the hottest thing you’d ever heard. You fucked her harder, feeling her pulse beneath your fingertips. She felt so good, so wet and tight.

Her muscles clenched, and her pussy contracted around your fingers as she came. “Fuck!” she screamed, her hips jerking as she rode out her orgasm. Your fingers stilled inside her, your thumb slowing to a gentle pet before slipping away completely.

You pulled back, giving her a moment to catch her breath before you dropped to your knees in front of her. You hooked a finger around the waistband of her panties, tugging them down over her hips, her thighs, leaving them bunched around her ankles.

Her pussy was even more beautiful than you’d imagined, pink and swollen and dripping wet. You ran your thumb along the slit, feeling your pulse quicken as you dipped it inside.

She let out a little mewl, her hand tangling in your hair. You took it as a good sign and leaned forward, running your tongue along the wet line of her pussy.

She tasted so fucking good, sweet like candy and sharp like citrus. Your mouth moved over her, licking and sucking as you devoured every inch of her. Her hands tightened in your hair, pushing you closer until your nose was buried between her thighs.

She smelled like vanilla and coconut. It made your mouth water, made you want more.

You licked harder, moving in short quick strokes as your tongue flicked over her clit. Her body jerked with every touch, her muscles tensing as she neared her climax.

Your fingers moved, joining your tongue as you fingered her hard.

She came fast, her pussy pulsing around your fingers and tongue as she screamed your name. You let her come down from her high before pulling back, your mouth moving in one last swipe before you stood.

You were covered in her arousal, but you didn’t care. Elle’s eyes were hazy, her cheeks flushed pink as she gazed up at you.

“Y/N,” she said softly.

You didn’t need her to finish the sentence. You knew exactly what she wanted, because you wanted it too.

You stripped her down, removing her dress and bra until she stood before you completely naked. It was a sight you’d never get tired of, all smooth curves and long legs that were just begging to be tangled with yours.

You took your time undressing yourself, teasing her with every movement. Her hands came up, her fingers tracing over the curves of your breasts as you pushed them free from your bra. You dropped the fabric to the floor and stood before her, letting her touch wherever she wanted.

Your body was warm from your exertions, flushed pink and trembling with desire. Elle’s hands roamed over you, feeling your every contour.

You leaned into her touch, wanting it to last forever. Her fingers teased over your nipples, and you bit back a moan.

“I want you,” she whispered, her voice low and raspy.

You didn’t know if she meant she wanted to fuck you or be with you, and for now, you didn’t care because you wanted it all.

You kissed her again, your tongue tangling with hers as you stumbled toward the bed. You fell in a tangled mess of limbs and sheets, laughing and kissing as you fought for dominance.

You pinned her beneath you, your hips settling between her legs. You ground down, rubbing your pussy against hers as you kissed her neck.

“You're so beautiful, Elle,” you groaned, your body already starting to build.

You rubbed faster, your clit aching for friction. Elle’s mouth latched onto your neck, sucking and biting as you rocked over her. You felt her lips wrap around your nipple, sucking it into her mouth, and your vision started to blur.

Your hips moved on their own accord, grinding faster and harder. You were getting close, too close, and you didn’t want it to end.

Elle let out a soft gasp, her hips starting to jerk with her own orgasm. Her mouth found yours again, her tongue dipping inside as you came.

It was like the entire world had exploded in a wave of heat and colour. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but Elle and the way her pussy felt against yours.

You rode out your climax, feeling her come against you as well. The feeling of her pulsing against you was almost too much, and you couldn’t help the soft cry that escaped your lips as another orgasm hit you.

You came in waves, clenching and releasing as Elle ground down against you.

You collapsed on top of her, your body trembling with aftershocks as your breathing slowly returned to normal.

Elle’s fingers traced over your spine, petting and soothing you as she held you close. It was comfortable and intimate and everything you wanted from her.

“Y/N?” she murmured softly.

“Stay here tonight?”

You lifted your head, gazing down at her. Her hair was mussed, her face still flushed pink from their exertions. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”

You settled back against her, holding her close as your bodies intertwined. For tonight at least, you’d have her, and that was all that mattered. The rest could wait until tomorrow.

[writing-zelda-brainrots]

Listen. Re:Zero is my favourite anime. Let me just yap about this for a minute.

One idea that I keep finding myself returning to when thinking about Linked Universe fanfics is the idea of [Name] having Return by Death from Re:Zero. I have many thoughts.

For those of you unfamiliar with the series, Return by Death is Subaru’s ability to return to a specific, predetermined point in time every time he dies. The user of this ability cannot change or choose where these ‘savepoints’ are, they change automatically at seemingly random (basically, think of them as the world ‘autosaving’ from time to time).

The user of RbD cannot tell anyone about this power, as the one in control of this authority can punish the user by squeezing their heart (basically giving them a heart attack) or by killing the person the user was talking to. Though it is important to note that this restriction goes for telling about RbD directly, so if the user speaks about it indirectly (for example in riddles/confusing metaphors) or if the listener does not understand/think much of the user's mutterings/ramblings, the curse will not take effect.

The user of RbD is almost always marked with a stench of ‘evil’ that makes them irresistible to monsters, leading them to lock onto and attack the user. Though the smell is mostly faint (not even noticeable to most people) a majority of the time, it becomes stronger when RbD or the curse activates. So, the more recent the death or punishment, the stronger the smell.

You better hope that none of the Links find out about this power or how many loops you've gone through (not that the curse would let you tell anyone, anyway). It would shatter them. All they know is that when you suddenly start tweaking, it’s time to lock in. It’s not that they ‘get used to’ your odd (to put it mildly) behaviour, but they do learn to back off and kind of just let it happen after you tell them to not worry about it. It’s still unnerving, but they don’t know what to do other than offer their concerns, since you never want to explain yourself.

Time realises quickly that something is up with you. You seem to know what’s going to happen ahead of time, even if you try to not make it obvious, you’re constantly planning ahead and removing yourself from the group to ‘collect your thoughts’ when you think no one would notice. He’s seen your mood shift dramatically at the drop of a hat. One minute you’re fine, laughing and joking, and suddenly you look like you’re about to have a mental breakdown or you wake up screaming bloody murder. Eventually, it all starts to feel awfully similar to how he was whenever he travelled through time. And all the pieces start to fit into place when he realises this. You have some ability related to time travel/clairvoyance, he just doesn't know how it works. But he is determined to figure it out, even if you never want to give him an answer, always avoiding the topic and trying to lead his attention somewhere else.

Despite how much Warriors teases you for being a ‘scaredy cat,’ he honestly thinks you’re irreplaceable. You’ve gotten the group out of many sticky situations, so much so that you must have some kind of future sight or the goddesses have gifted you with the most brilliant strategic mind in history. You always have a plan, you’ve never made a mistake, you can come up with an idea that’ll get them the best possible outcome all in the blink of an eye. If only they knew… Now if only he could do something about that stupid ‘self sacrificial’ habit of yours.

When forming a plan, he wants your input. When you say that the group should avoid an area, he takes that into consideration, even if when questioned, you say that it’s because you just ‘have a feeling.’ You have yet to be proven wrong in his eyes. He’s almost jealous of you. You unmasked a whole group of Yiga soldiers after being in town for less than a day, all based on tiny ‘hints’ that you noticed (little does anyone know that it took you about 8 loops to figure that mess out). Maybe you should be the head strategist of the group, huh? Not up for it? Alright, fine, but at least try to not steal his thunder, okay?

Hyrule is like Warriors, but way more. He believes you’re the coolest person to ever exist, even more worthy of the ‘hero’ title than him. You’re undoubtedly the weakest in the group, but you never give up, you’re still out there fighting because you believe you all can win. He’d trust you with his life if you asked. Travelling with the Chain made him realise how much he needed positive connections with others, so he wants to be there for you too, especially given he’s seen your ‘mood swings’ and self worth plummet. He is your number 1 supporter, just like you’re constantly inspiring him and others around you.

He also finds that he’s often healing you. He’s noticed that on days when you’re really out of it, you inflict harm onto yourself for reasons he can’t fathom. You’d scratch yourself until you begin to bleed, usually on your arms, but sometimes on your neck as well. He’s tried to snap you out of it, and while it does usually work, he can never get you to stop for good.

Hoo boy. Twilight. So you know how he almost died? Yeah, turns out that that injury was a ‘canon event’ that you cannot change. When you forced a RbD (in other words, you killed yourself), you found out that the fight had already happened and your last respawn point was set afterwards. That was the first time that Twilight realised that there was something seriously wrong with you. While Rulie was passed out from using too much magic, and the others wouldn’t dare enter the room for various reasons, and he was falling in and out of consciousness, you stood by his bedside, hardly able to choke back tears, apologising for ‘not being able to fix this.’

Of course, he had noticed that smell on you, how it seemed to fluctuate at random but still sticking to you, and how monsters were drawn to you like moths to a flame whenever that smell spiked. It reminded him of the Twili magic that clung to him. Could you have been affected by something similar? But by what and what did it do to you other than make you an irresistible target to monsters? This and other factors cause him to be very protective of you, similarly with how he is with Wild.

Wild is down for your crazy plans, even if he has to admit that some of them sound dicey at the very best. But you have the devil’s own luck and he’s honestly thankful that you’re the lucky one out of everyone.

While he is glad that others (including himself, of course) have high opinions of you, he’s keeping a close eye on you and how much pressure is put on you. While he might not remember much of his ‘previous life,’ he’s all too familiar with what happens when expectations are piled onto someone. Because of this, he’s trying to joke and laugh with you, telling embarrassing stories because he wants people to remember that you’re a person, not a walking list of accomplishments. But should you ask for his help, he’s not going to say ‘no.’

I want you to know that of all of the links, Legend is the one most determined to know what is up with you. Yes, he teases you the same way that Warriors does, but he recognises that you are deeply messed up (takes one to know one, bitch). He’s seen that faroff, dead look in your eyes and it felt so real that - if it was not for you blinking - he could swear he was looking at your corpse.

He once cornered you (literally) in an attempt to get you to tell the truth, but when he noticed that genuine fear in your eyes, he backed off. He swears that he’ll get to the bottom of it, but knows that forcing it out of you won’t help. Even if your ‘stubbornness’ is wearing his patience thin.

Sky is basically your therapy dog. You know how his Zelda was always standing up for him? Well, now he’s doing that with you. He knows a bullying victim when he sees one. He sticks close to you when in new places and should you show any signs of discomfort, tries to distract you.

One thing that makes him nervous though, is what happens when you come into contact with the Master Sword; it burns you. With some help from Twilight, Sky knows that there’s a ‘curse’ on you, which would explain some things about you. He doesn’t like how the sword’s power isn’t enough to get rid of it, like it could with Legend’s transformations. Whatever this curse is, it’s powerful and won’t be easy to get rid of. Not like he’ll give up on finding a cure.

Four is surprised at how quickly you begin to pick up on swordplay. Did he teach you some of those moves? He’s sure he would have remembered it if he had. Maybe Sky taught you? The Skyloft knight was the best swordsman in the group, so it’s possible. But something keeps nagging at him that that wasn’t the case.

You’re hiding something. Something big; he’s absolutely certain of it. And he knows that the others know too. Still, it’s not like none of them have secrets they’re sitting on. But what could possibly be so important that you won’t tell them? It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, you’ve shown time and time again that you’re an amazing person. It’s just that he feels a little hurt that you don’t trust them enough to tell them what’s going on with you. They’re all worried about you, but if it really means that much to you, he’s sure that you’ll tell them eventually.

Wind wants to make bets with you on basically anything and everything. Is it going to rain today? Who will be the first to trip on a rock and fall flat on their face? Will the next portal lead the group to his era? Yes, these questions are often silly, but he genuinely wants to keep you happy. That’s why he’s constantly sticking to your side, telling jokes and stories, inviting you to play some stupid game of chase. Wind is a lot more emotionally intelligent than many assume (mostly because they underestimate him due to his age), so he can tell when your mental health is about to take a nosedive, despite the happy ‘mask’ that you put on.

One person who you never thought would ‘understand’ you is the Fierce Deity. You have no idea how or why, but it seems like he holds you in very high regard. Not necessarily for your physical strength or weapon skills (lord knows you could never match him or any of the Links), but he seems to ‘get’ you, like he… Respects you? He can’t help but see you as a warrior in your own right. He looks at you and he sees that look in your eyes; the look of someone who has seen death many times. It’s a trait that is highly valued among warriors (because it shows experience) and often even seen as ‘attractive.’

He is actually the only one who learns the truth about you. Fierce has seen Time repeat the day night cycle over and over so many times, so he’s more than familiar with the concept of time travel. But when he learned the method behind your power - when, in a last ditch effort, you put the mask on and his mind and memories fused with yours - his respect for you shot up sky high, but he’s also incredibly worried about you. The toll that your ability has already taken on you is immense and he knows that it’ll only get worse as the group gets closer to defeating the one behind the portals. It’s times like these that he wishes he had the knowledge and ability to give you comfort. Yes, he has more than enough strength to protect you in a fight, but being locked away in a mask (one that his host refuses to use), leaves him useless.

All he can hope for is that you two could get a moment alone, where he can tell you that ‘he knows,’ and let you let out all the emotions that you’ve been forced to bottle up for much too long. If you want to use him as a shoulder to cry on and vent out everything you’ve gone through, he’ll let you. As for why he can’t be killed by the curse, it’s because his status as a literal deity is protecting him.

[notlhecxzsa]

Down The Caliginous Road - A.H

Summary: Finally working for Agatha Harkness is a whole lot of conversation to be talked about, but finally working with Agatha Harkness is another conversation you weren't ready to speak up about. Maybe, it's because of how much she confuses you, or maybe it's just because of how much of your time seemed to be so consumed by her. What's wrong with her? You didn't know. But, one thing's for sure, she's something else than what those sleazy tabloids pictured her to be.

Author's Note: Ahhhh, here comes the 2nd part of CEO!Agatha, hope you'll enjoy it! It's starting to become more... of a rabbit hole (I'm TRYING my best), dark fics aren't my pursuits in writing. 5,5k words.

Warnings: Mean!Agatha, Red flag!Agatha but is really a Green flag, Simp! Agatha ahhhh, Buff!Tall!Agatha (enough to manhandle you and break your bones), Sexual Innuendos, cursing. (Tell me if I missed something)

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

3rd Person's POV:

"Come in." Agatha called out through the room when she heard a knock.

Waking up today, it felt like her responsibilities were taken off of her shoulder, as if she was floating in cloud nine. She didn't know whether it was because of waking up on the right side of the bed or maybe it was because of the message she received from Wanda.

Ms. Y/L/N just emailed back. Gosh, I'm over the moon that she accepted. I almost thought she wouldn't since it's been three days already. Be good, Agatha, or you'd lose two people. Yes, two means that includes me.

She didn't even know why she was smiling so much that time, but maybe it's just because she knows she'll get less of Wanda's earful scolding here and there.

Though, there was a certain disappointment that haunted her insides. Hoping for a certain message to come through and pop up, but received none. Of course, Y/n won't be able to message her, she didn't know her personal email—especially her number.

What could she expect? She could only hope that Y/n liked the laptop she gifted and that she didn't had to borrow from anyone anymore. She could just only imagine what the girl's reaction was, almost giggling like a high school girl at the thought.

"Hey..." Wanda went inside the room, rummaging through her bag without looking up at Agatha, missing the smile that immediately turned down from the older woman's face. "Here's the papers you need for Ms. Y/L/N. Are you sure you don't want me to fill her in?" Curiously meeting her boss's gaze, she finally caught something unusual on Agatha's face.

"Thank you, Maximoff. And yeah, I got it, don't worry." Giving her a tight lipped smile, Wanda's eyes narrowed as Agatha kept the envelope on one of the drawers underneath her desk.

"Well, I hope you don't scare her off on the first day." Crossing her arms, Wanda took a seat on the chair in front of Agatha's desk.

The same chair that Agatha's eyes would unconsciously stare at as she thought of you.

"You're over exaggerating everything, Wanda." The roll of her eyes didn't go unnoticed by Wanda, just as the faint curl of her lips.

The usual annoyance that would lace through her tone was absent, only playfulness and something that Wanda couldn't pinpoint. "You seem... a little vibrant today. Did you fire someone that I didn't know?" Wanda blurted out, watching as Agatha's gaze snapped at her with a frown, a frown that is not too deep for Wanda's liking.

"Now, you're over analyzing things. Maybe you're the one who might be feeling a little different today." Agatha bites back before focusing her attention on the laptop in front of her.

Frowning, Wanda acted as if she was offended at the assumption. "Hey! I'm not-" Wanda was cut off by the sudden knock on the door, making Agatha let out a small chuckle with a shake of her head.

"Come in." Wanda only rolled her eyes while looking at the window, anticipating what would come out.

One of the employees peeked her head inside, seeing the two women in the room before also letting her whole body in. "A woman is requesting to see you, Ms. Harkness. She seemed persistent and said that she has something important to discuss..." Wanda frowned and looked back at Agatha.

"God, it's too early for another scandalous scene. What did you do this time, Agatha." Wanda didn't only ask but demanded a question.

Agatha who was wearing a stoic expression, visibly not caring as she looked back down on her laptop, continuing on what she was doing. "Who is it?" She asked.

The woman looked behind her, peeking her head on the other side of the door, getting the name of the girl behind her, making Agatha's eyes roll in annoyance. Nodding, she turned to put her attention back on her boss. "Y/n Y/l/n, Ms. Harkness."

Wanda surely didn't miss the way that Agatha's head almost broke with how fast she looked back up at the woman, almost making the whole floor rumble with how fast she stood up. "Invite her in, now." Slowly, a curl on Wanda's side of the lips formed on her face, gears seemed to finally be running inside her head.

She watched as Agatha anticipated, staring at the door with an expression she hadn't seen before. Her eyes help a glint that sprinkles a curiosity in Wanda's insides.

Soon enough, the same girl from four days ago, clad in some simple jeans with a coat that seemed to be her only protector from the gloomy weather of the city of Westview. Her flats paddled towards the woman whose eyes seemed to have the ability to brighten up the day with how her eyes gleamed up.

"Ms. Y/l/n, glad to see you here." Agatha greeted, wearing an unusual smile that made Wanda smirk knowingly. Agatha could only hope it didn't sound as if she was already expecting the girl to come.

"Good morning, Ms. Harkness..." Continuing her walk towards the woman with her gaze glued to hers, Agatha cursed mentally, only then realizing how big her office is—only then, hating how big it is. "Oh!" Almost coming out as a quiet yelp, Y/n stopped walking, turning to the other woman in the room who stood up.

"Ms. Maximoff, I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't see you, Good morning." Bowing her head, she looked between the two women, her cheeks heating up as her heart started beating loudly, almost fearing that a couple pair of ear might hear it. "I'm so sorry, did I interrupt something?- Oh god... I'm really sorry..." Her feet moving slowly back to the door, as if attempting to carefully escape a horror room with her eyes wide and still stammering.

"Hey, no, no-" Agatha didn't know if she should be thankful that Wanda cut her off or pissed that she did. At least, they won't have the chance to hear her almost desperate tone.

"No, sweetheart, it's fine, we're done here anyways. Come, sit here." Y/n looked at both of the woman, cautiously walking further back inside the room.

Cheeks are still flush, while her hands gripped at the handle of a paper bag that she was holding. "I-I'm really sorry, I should've- I didn't..." She stammered while taking a seat, regretting it as she suddenly felt more nervous as both of the women seemed to overtowered her with their height.

"Don't worry, darling." Offering her hand, Wanda smiled at the girl who took it and shook their hand. "Nice to see you again..." Turning back to Agatha, missing the way that the older woman had unconsciously swallowed roughly while gazing at their hands that are entwined. "Agatha." Bowing her head slightly towards the older woman who did the same, offering a silent farewell.

"Thank you, Ms. Maximoff." Agatha said.

"I'll be outside if you need me." Wanda said before turning back to the girl and gave her a smile, receiving a coy smile in return.

"See you around, Ms. Y/l/n." Wanda said before she started walking.

"Just Y/n." Y/n offered, nodding her subconsciously.

"We often use professionalism around her, Ms. Y/l/n." After missing a certain small frown on Agatha's forehead, she heard the older woman suddenly talk.

Now, not noticing the smirk on the red head's face, as Wanda shook her head, finally getting the answers she needed for a certain curiosity that ran miles in her head.

As soon as the other woman took her exit, Agatha sighed, as if grateful to be left alone. Sitting down, she looked back at the girl who was already looking at her with the same coy smile. "Well?"

"The laptop..." Y/n started, not knowing how to form the things she wanted to say.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, the same small smile playing on her face. "Which I hope you liked." She filled in immediately, her smile now becoming more visible.

"So, it really is for me then?" The sudden amused expression from Agatha's face made the girl nervous as she almost flinched from her seat, jumping it to ramble. "I love it! I mean, thank you, really. I just- it was... I didn't... I didn't expect you to buy me one- it's too much, and it's- it's so much, I thought you might've put the wrong address..." Shrugging as she trailed off, carefully scanning the older woman's face who seemed to be looking so... entertained.

"Hmm, if I did, one thing's for sure is that I put the right name. Y/n Y/l/n, that's your name, right, honey?" Blush seemed to be creeping up again as she looked down, hoping to hide it.

"Thank you, really..." Looking back up, Agatha had never seen something so... genuine—so pure. She was stuck between wanting to ruin it or take care of it. "I don't know how to repay you—I mean, I could, but it might take me months, that laptop must've cost you a fortune." Y/n rambled and all Agatha could think is how adorable she looked, but she would never admit that.

"A number that comes back to my bank account per minute, don't mind it, okay? It's for you, use it. I expect no payment. Thought of it as the company's welcoming gift." Agatha playfully moved her eyebrows, almost cringing herself with how she was acting and trying to reassure the girl in front of her.

Y/n wondered if it's only her or did Agatha also gave the others something like that. "Oh, so your company gives away... laptops?" Y/n asked curiously, Agatha chuckled before answering.

"No, no. It's from me, Y/n. I gave it to you because I wanted to. Now, enough questions, sweetheart." Agatha directly confessed, only leaving the girl in front of her wanting more answers.

Another wishful thinking formed inside the girl, for her to be the only one that Agatha had given something like that, but she would never come close to accepting that she thought of something like that.

"Oh, I- uh..." Holding up the paper bag that contrasted the aesthetic around her. "I was gonna message you personally but I didn't think it was enough. I baked you cookies last night, I hope you'll like them." Standing up to give the bag to the older woman who accepted it with so much ease.

"Oh wow, honey. You didn't have to, really." Standing till by the table, she watched as the woman took a peek of what is inside, her legs almost trembling with how nervous she was.

"They look delicious! Oh god, they smell so good too! I can't wait to try it, sweetheart." Again, she wondered if the air-conditioning inside the office was shut off or is it just her.

"I know it's not enough- but I could bake you some more if you would like." Y/n rambled once again, stammering as she did so.

Agatha looked up, smiling as an idea popped inside her head. "It is more than enough!" Putting the paper bag aside, she stood up, circling around the table to walk towards the girl. "I don't usually eat sweets, but I know I'll love them."

"Oh- I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't know." Y/n blurted out, her heart seemed to be beating more faster as the woman came close to her.

"You couldn't have known, but how about you accompany me for breakfast?" Agatha blurted out, noticing the way Y/n's eyes widen and her motor thinking seemed to stop for a moment.

"Breakfast?... Like, eat... out?" Seeming like a lost child, she asked.

What boss would invite a person who hasn't started working for her yet to eat out?

"Yeah! I know a delicious diner at the corner down the street." Seeing the confused expression that the girl was wearing. "Think of it as a business meeting..." Shrugging, Agatha put up an unbothered face as if she did not just practically ask the girl out.

"I also have to fill you in with the job, anyways..."

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

Y/n's POV:

"How was it?" I looked up to see Agatha looking at me, a smile on her face that almost hid behind the lid of her cup of coffee.

"It's good." I said, grinning at her to show just how much I loved the latte I ordered. "How much was it?" I asked, putting down the cup before turning to rummage my bag for my wallet.

"It's on me, don't worry. You should try that cupcake, it's the best one they have here." She said, pointing at the cupcake she brought to the table, the same on she also has.

I frowned, noticing how she tried to change the subject. "What? No, I can't let you do that, Ms. Harkness-" I was cut off when she spoke so suddenly, putting down her own cup, flatting her hands beside it, almost close to my hand.

"Agatha. It's fine, really. Don't worry about it." She smiled at me, leaving no room for an argument but I kept staring at her, confused but feeling a certain coil in my stomach.

As soon as we walked inside, I noticed how her hands stayed around my back, and with so much persistence from her, I let her hold my bag as we walked through the busy highway of the big city of Westview. She told me to find is a seat while she ordered for the both of us, not even giving me my bag as she did so. Keeping it in her hold.

"I thought you said you guys keep the professionalism around?" Settling back on my seat, I look at her, my eyes narrowing as I do so.

I noticed how her tounge pushed on the side of her inner cheek, a smirk visible in her face as she tempted what to tell me. Sipping on my coffee to hide my sly smile which I doubt she couldn't see.

"Did I say it applies to the boss?" She replied.

I rolled my eyes at her, regretting it as soon as I did it and I watched her face as I pursed my lips, not knowing whether to laugh at my own stupidity or start saying sorry. "Did you just rolled your eyes at me?" Playfulness was lacing through her voice, but it didn't stop the way my heart started beating so loudly inside my chest.

Not knowing if it's because of the action I made or the way she was looking at me.

"Sorry-" Cutting myself off with a short airy giggle as I put a hand overy mouth to stop myself, only for her to grin more widely at me while raising her eyebrows in what I hope is an expression of amusement. "I didn't- sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm really sorry." I rambled, it stopped as soon as her hands went clasped with mine, encasing it with her bigger hand.

"It's fine, Y/n. Careful though, I might give you something more interesting to roll your eyes on." Words seemed to got caught up in my throat as I look at her with eyebrows blown and cheeks flushed.

"S-sorry?" She only laughed, pulling away but leaned into the desk, our face would touch if I were to do the same.

God, since when did they started making such small tables like this.

"I would like to know more about you." There was a moment of silence, not knowing what to say as I look at her like a deer in headlights.

"There's... not much to know about me." Shrugging, I held the cup with both of my hands, grateful for the warmth it brings to me. Looking away, her gaze felt like it was burning holes into mine.

"You said in your application you're interested in English literature? Tell me was it Charlotte Bront, Jane Austen or Thomas Hardy, who made you fall in love with literature?" She asked, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, once again, I found myself answering.

"Hardy." I replied, my shoulder finally becoming less tense.

"I would've guessed Jane Austen." Shrugging she soft lips turned up a little before taking a sip of her coffee. "What are your plans for after you graduate?" She rounded with another question.

"I'm just trying to get through my finals." I answered truthfully, finally getting more comfortable.

"And then?" Warmth spread through my whole body, hearing her asked so fondly, gentleness visible in her voice.

"Well..." Leaning towards the table where I put an elbow on and used it as a stand as I put my head on my hand. "I really love working, so I'll find a permanent work that fits me well. I would like to take masters also, but I know that would cost me much, I'll probably just... work and save up for it." I rambled, her eyes stayed on me, almost making me feel conscious with how much attention she seemed to be giving me.

"Well, you'll be working in my company, you can always continue if you want." She offered as if she was just letting me sleep in her office.

Frowning, I almost let out a giggle, finding her ridiculous. "I wouldn't fit in there..." I started, almost regretting it with the look she gave me, frowning so deep as her eyes seemed to be shooting lasers into my whole face.

"I wasn't even really expecting that... you'll take me in." I confessed, looking down at my latte, not knowing what to do with how she was looking at me as if I just offended her in so many ways, as if I just robbed her of millions. "I mean, look at me..." Looking back up as I moved my shoulders, smiling as I try to lift up the mood that seemed to gloom.

"I am." She said, with voice so low as if it was only for my ears to hear.

Now, her eyes holding a certain look I couldn't seem to fathom as her gaze soften, making it more comfortable for me too look back in the. Never did I once wished to see or hear what the others thought of until now.

"I bet you $20, she's interested in you!"

"Miya, stop. That's impossible."

"Doesn't mean it can't happen. I mean, look! She just gifted you a laptop! You haven't even started working for her and what? She bough you a laptop just because she wants you to answer the application?"

"Miya, I swear to god. You're over exaggerating everything right now. Do you see me? We're so... far from each other."

"Hmmm, whatever, the deal still stands, just wait for it."

I was snapped out of the memory I recalled with Miya the night before, mentally cursing myself for even remembering that much. God, don't get my hopes too high.

"So... you're romantic?" She suddenly asked, ignoring how we just satred at each other for several minutes that felt like hours, and did I just noticed how blue her eyes were.

Clearing my throat, I answered. "I grew up with my Mom, she's an incurable romantic. Guess I got it from her..." Giggling, I rolled my eyes at the thought. "Though, I never really... explored that much." I added, coyly smiling up at her.

There was an expression that caught in her face for a moment, I almost didn't catch it but the gleam in her face was gone, momentarily before she smiled. A smile that seemed forced, but I took a bite of the cupcake, not minding too much about it.

Moaning at the taste, I look back at her, only to find her gazing at my lips with her own that is gaping a little. "God, you're right! This is so good." I expressed.

"I'll walk you out." Stopping mid bite, I gaze at her confusedly before my head followed the way she stood up abruptly, so I followed, almost running as I tried to catch up to her.

Her sudden action brought so much confusion inside my head, my heart started beating loud as I called out her name.

"Agatha." I called out for the third time, only then she turned back to me, almost hesitant to do so.

"You should steer clear of me." She said out of nowhere, looking down me. The weather seemed to be getting more colder at each passing moment.

"What does that even mean? What happened? Did I said something-" I started rambling, getting nervous at the distant look she's giving be, but still looking straight to my eyes, betraying what she was trying to show.

"Do you even deal with girls?" She asked. I didn't know if it was for me or for herself.

"What? I don't- I don't understand. I-" Suddenly both of her hands was wrapped around me when I attempted to follow her again, a sudden fear creeping up inside me at the thought of disappointing her in anyway.

"Watch it!" She yelled with sudden dominance that I almost cowered, the bike that passed through us, which almost collided with me stopped and started apologizing.

"Dickhead, fuck people these days!" She said, and my hand immediately went to her biceps, holding onto her as if I feared she would do something. And I did.

Her head snapped to me, and I looked up at her with eyes that pleaded for her to no do anything. Once again, something crossed her eyes as her face relaxed. Our face are so close to each other that I could feel her breath fanning ever so slightly on my face while her arms stayed connected around my waist protectively.

Her mouth agaped as her eyes stared into my lips. Before I knew it, she was pulling away from me and backed away a little. "I'll see you at work, Ms. Y/l/n." With that, she was gone, leaving me with an empty feeling floating around my chest.

So much for filling me in about work.

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

2nd Person's POV:

Monday. You started working for them. Grateful for the asynchronous class schedule you have at the University, the same one that—suprisingly, your boss owns. This week, is your turn to do modules and online classes in the morning, while next week is face to face. It goes on like that.

You didn't even bother eating breakfast, not even taking medicine for the cold you might have caught last night, only focusing on dressing well. Not for anyone, of course, just... for yourself... to fit in.

Wanda Maximoff, the kind person that she is, filled you in with everything that your boss might have forgotten last week. The same boss who sent you that new book of your favorite author in hardcopies and first editions.

As much as it frustrates you to receive such treatment towards her—confuses you, even. You couldn't help but think about her when the night rolls on and the moon's light seeped through your curtains.

Everything around you seemed to be in order, the people, no mess around, you almost thought that you might be the only trash left in the room. You haven't seen this part of the building, but it seems like this is where most of the works are done.

Receiving a lot of good expressions and comforting welcome was not what you expected, but grateful to have received them. But, still, nothing could calm the nerves from seeing the same pair of blue eyes that hunted you in the middle of your sleep.

Maybe, you'd be more lucky today and won't cross paths with her, you thought.

But, as everyone stood up straight, facing the same door you went in earlier, the sound of chairs squeeking and rolling on the floor, you did the same. Remembering what Wanda told you earlier.

"Ms. Harkness often walk pass this room to get to her office. To check the people and all. The guys would consider themselves lucky if Agatha is lazy enough to walk through here."

Of course, since when did luck stuck with you.

As soon as the door opened and a tall figure clad in a dark colored suit came out, a wave of greetings came showered the atmosphere. But, all you could seem to muster is a mumble as you stared at the woman, not sure if you wanted to hide or get her attention on you.

As walked throught the hallway, picking conversation with people, criticizing their works and almost scolding some. It seemed to be years but the people around you started getting back to work, sitting in their designated seats and stalls and continuing what they were doing.

As you were about to do the same, your name was called. Only then did you remembered that you'll be returning something from her.

Turning and looking up, the first you noticed was the visible smirk on her face, it wasn't there when she came in. You almost thought that it was reserved for only you.

"Ahhh, Y/n." So much for professionalism around her.

"Y/l/n. Good morning, Ms. Harkness." You didn't even know where that courage came from. You felt pair of eyes from the people that are near you looking at you, but you couldn't turn away from her gazing ones. You felt glued.

"Hmm..." Her eyes circled your stall, narrowing with meaning behind that you couldn't seem to figure out what, then she smiled at you—mischievously. "Did Maximoff forgot to tell you that you're gonna be my assistant?—Personal Assistant." She asked, walking a little more towards you.

"She-..." You head curved a little to follow her eyes. "She did, Ms. H-Harkness." You stammered, almost cursing yourself mentally, wondering how pathetic you might've looked.

"Then, who told you you'll be working in this area?" She pushed even more.

"She... uhm... she did...?" You blurted out, not knowing what to do, almost fearing that you've done something wrong or missed something from earlier.

"Oh, so change of plans that I didn't know?" Agatha only received a confused coy glance from you, making her roll her eyes as she turned on her heels, ready to take off. "Bring your things and follow me in the office..." Looking at you one last time, she muttered. "Y/n."

As soon as she strides with lengths that would be considered as a jog to you, you scrambled and followed her, taking a mental note to check what you left later.

It was silent as she lead you to a couple of more hallways before a pair of big doors welcomed you—Agatha opening the door for you to come inside, making her almost roll her eyes with how her movements seemed to be automatic.

She could only hope that deep down nobody had seen that, not even from the security footage.

"Maximoff never told me that you'll be working for her or with her. Your little office back there? No use." You didn't know what to do as she moved with grace around the room, taking out her coat and putting it on one of the expensive looking racks next to the big doors.

As she talked, she moved to the cabinet that looked so fragile and beautiful. You thought she was going to get some water, but soon regretted it as you watch her pour an alcohol which you couldn't name over the glass. "You will be working for me and only with me." As soon as the her eyes was set on you, it felt like a glue once again as she walked passed you, leaving you in the middle of the room, clutching you bag as she took her seat on the big office table, where she was days ago.

"You are mine to work for. That means, you'll stay here." Her point finger bumped on her table.

"..." She watched as you looked around, confused gaze as your eyes wandered around while she sipped on her whiskey that she had caught you eyeing earlier but made no comments about. "Where exactly... Ms. Hakrness?" Looking back at her, you wished the ground would eat you or just randomly get thrown out of the building.

"Wherever you want, Y/n." Once again, she received the same questioning gaze, almost making her laugh—not even sure if it's because of how adorable you looked or how much it entertains her, maybe both, she couldn't find it in her to choose.

"Sit down, you'll get tired standing there all day." She demanded.

"But, there's... there's not an office table here other than... yours." Yoe hesitated as you carefully walk and took a seat in front of her.

"There's a comfortable sofa right there..." Her head pointed out to the sofa. Not something that workers should be working at, especially not in some kind of sacred company like hers. You made a face that almost looked offended... surprised? Agatha couldn't figure out but it made something in her flutter as her gaze soften, her smirk now less sharp.

"You could work right there, in that chair you're sitting on, or..." You head turned to look at her in question. "Here." Her head bent down to motion beneath her.

"That's not possible, Ms. Harkness. " Thinking that you got what she was pertaining she laughed, only for it to stop at the next word you said. "I won't be taking your seat from you, that's not... ethical." The look of amusement she gave you told you enough that you were wrong.

"That's one thing we could do, but I was talking about my lap, honey." She sipped on her whiskey as if what she said was a normal thing.

"That... that's even more inappropriate!" You couldn't help the high pitched tone you let out as you tried to hide your blush away.

Did your boss just offered you to sit on her lap to work? You'll be questioning your existence this day later, that's for sure.

"Not when I say so." Shrugging, she started opening her laptop. "Now, how about you fetch me some more ice and refill my drink?" She started, not even glancing at you, which took her almost all of her energy not to.

"That's... alcohol. You shouldn't drink alcohol this early morning, Ms. Harkness." Blurting out, Agatha couldn't help but stop what she was doing, looking up as she narrowed her eyes at the girl who immediately averted her gaze to the alcohol in front of the older woman. "It's not healthy... and definitely not good for you—especially in the morning."

"Hmmm, then what do you think I should drink?" Agatha asked, a certain softness and a playful tone in her voice. This is the first time she's had someone to tell her something like this. Not that anyone has ever tried to. Or will she let anyone try.

Something about one of the habits she's grown used to, even knowing how bad it is for her.

She immediately caught the younger girl's gaze. Something inside those pairs of eyes that seemed to calm the raging storm inside of Agatha. Her insides fluttered, immediately thinking that maybe it was the alcohol doing "bad" things in her stomach, but she knew better.

Standing up, Y/n smiled at Agatha, an idea coming up to her mind. "Let me bring you something good and healthy to drink then, Ms. Harkness." With that, she turned on her heels, ready to leave the room with a mission.

"What- Wait, no." Y/n's steps haltered as she turned to face the voice. For a moment, they were just looking at each other as Y/n waited on what her boss will say. "Here..." Taking out a black card, Agatha motioned for Y/n to take it. "Use this."

Looking at the card, Y/n looked back up at Agatha, "The coffee on my first day is one me, don't worry, Ms. Harkness. It's all I can pay for the treat you gave last time." Y/n explained, ready to turn on her heels but stopped when she saw Agatha started walking towards her.

"No. Take this. It's the company's card. Besides, you don't have to pay me back for everything that I gave you..." Agatha trailed off before a thought came running in her mind. "I mean, unless you give me those cookies again. I would accept those."

She could only remember how she devoured those box of cookies in just a day, only eating the thing from breakfast to dinner—the only cookies she'd pair with her whisker and wine.

"Uh... I-" Agatha took Y/n's hand, putting the card inside it before going back to her seat. Looking down at the card, Y/n read the name written on it. Agatha Harkness. "Ms. Harkness, I think it's not the company's card-" Y/n started, only to be cut off.

"Huh? What? No, I can't hear you, now go fetch me those healthy drinks you're saying and get yourself one too." Opening her mouth, but no words came out, leaving her to decide that it's finally time to leave and go get the food for her boss before Agatha could decide to cut her paycheck for the lack of time she's worked on at her first day.

"I'll get back quickly, Ms. Harkness, don't worry." The small soft voice piqued around the room, but Agatha's gaze stayed on the empty space on her computer.

"Hmm, that, you should." Whispering into the nothingness, Agatha's head turned to look at the door just in time as it shut close. Her mind whirling in her deepest thought, only thinking of the certain pair of eyes she'd gladly look at for forever.

And, into the air, she whispered.

"Flung out of space..."

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

Author's Note: Ahhhhhh, I love this type of Agatha. A soft tease who's dark but softie for her girl (GIVE ME AN OLDER WOMAN LIKE THIS, PLS) I hope you guys liked this! And, Yes, that's a Carol reference at the end! (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

[pastafossa]

Do you think Matt would make a good dad?

THIS IS AN INTERESTING THOUGHT.

Ok, so.

On the one hand, I think a baby would be a special kind of hell for Matt. The smells. The chaotic sleep schedule. The heavy care needs when Matt is already busy as fuck between the law firm and Deviling. The sounds, oh god, the sounds. Babies crying are designed to be impossible to ignore, to hit a specific pitch that sets off every alarm bell in your head. With Matt's senses, that'd be absolute nightmare. Even happy screams are going to hit those poor eardrums of his like a gunshot. And on the emotional side, Matt's got... a lot of self-loathing and trauma he'd struggle with, along with a heaping dose of fear that his very touch might taint his child with the same darkness he struggles with every night on the streets. As a result, I don't think he would think he'd be a good father.

However.

That last bit is why I think, if he did wind up with a kid, he really would be pretty good at it. Why? Because he'd try. He'd fucking try with everything in him, and he'd do whatever it took to make it work. He's not going to run and abandon you and his kid, he's not going to tap out when things get hard (and they will), and he's not going to be a dad that says he's 'babysitting' while you're gone. When he's able to be there, he's in, 100%. He's no stranger to walking laps around the apartment at night with his baby held against his chest, the child dozing as he sings hymns or practices his opening statements, because sometimes the low, rumbling sound of his voice beneath their head seems to be the only thing that allows his child to sleep. He never hesitates to change a diaper or do the feedings. He's the dad who reads all the books with you during the pregnancy, the dad who goes with you to the parenting classes, and seeks out advice from various folks in the Nelson clan (along with Foggy who, due to being born into a massive family encompassing no less than 628 family members at last count, can give a fairly thorough lecture on the mechanics of baby care. Foggy also ensures the child is inducted into the Clan upon their birth so that the Clan can give Matt and you a break when needed).

He'll move heaven and earth to avoid fucking things up, to avoid letting Stick's abusive voice and influence come slithering out of his mouth. There will be no cruel comments about 'the devil in you' when the child is angry, not like what Matt heard from his own grandma. That stops with him, even if he has to build the dam himself by hand. His child will have all the support Matt wishes he had.

Despite his best efforts, he does make mistakes. It's true, and unavoidable, which you'd have to remind him of regularly - 'Parents are mortal, Matt.' There are moments he would miss due to being so busy, moments - especially early on - where the noise or sensory input would become too much and he'd have to retreat just a little. He'd beat himself up for it every single time, and he'd have to work through that too, this reminder that no matter how hard he tries, he'll never be perfect.

But overall, just like with Jack, any child of Matt's would grow up knowing that they're loved from start to finish, and there'd be nothing they could do that would ever change that.

[nicverse]

i can't lose you

maybe being a journalist is less dangerous than being a vigilante, but that doesn't stop jason from worrying about you.

jason todd x journalist!reader

warnings: small mentions of violence, bombs and wounds. flush

ノㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤㅤㅤㅤׅㅤㅤ✩ㅤㅤ˚ ♡

ㅤׅ ㅤㅤㅤ𝅄ㅤㅤ꒪ㅤㅤ꒱

Police lights and sirens decorated the city, as always. The sound of your fingers against the keyboard filled your living room, tired eyes fixed on the screen as your next work started making some sense now. There had been a few bomb attacks in the city, the police weren’t able to notice the pattern yet, but you already did. So, naturally, you spent the last few hours typing on your laptop, trying to connect everything before something worse happened. 

Writing for the Gotham Gazette was your weapon, your power— you didn’t go to fight the criminals on the street every night, but you discovered their secrets instead, publishing them to the people so they would know who were the ones that provoked so much damage and fear to the city. It certainly gave you a sense of satisfaction to know that you were not standing idly by in the face of crime. 

But, god, it did tire you out sometimes. With countless nights of sleep deprivation and caffeine, you haven’t visited your family in a long time—and let’s not talk about vacation. Now, even the crime in Gotham knew your name very well, and it was a matter of time before they started to act against your sense of justice. You wanted to say you were afraid, but you would rather be persecuted for speaking the truth than remain silent all your life. 

Your body needed rest and you ignored it as much as you could yet it was harder to stay awake when your eyelids closed on their own. Fingertips got lazier with each type and without noticing, your head fell on top of your laptop as you dozed off. It wasn’t the first time it happened, so you would wake up in the morning, ready for another round of exhausting investigation.

But that used to happen when you had no one to look after you; until you met Jason Todd. 

His body stepped into your apartment. You wouldn't be able to notice him even if you were awake, he always moved so slowly, like a ghost tracing its path on Earth. The first thing his eyes looked at was your body sprawled on your desk in front of your laptop. Jason walked slowly towards you, taking off his mask, blue eyes shined with adoration as he observed your slightly opened lips, hair fixed in a messy ponytail that you probably did unconsciously. 

He chuckled, you always scolded him for taking so little care about his well-being, yet you did the same with yourself. His fingers fixed your hair behind your ear, taking a deeper look at your face. Jason always thought you were pretty. From the first time he met you, he hadn’t been able to get you out of his mind, and it scared him. He never liked having that kind of vulnerability, the kind of vulnerability that would have him tearing his heart out of his chest if you simply asked him to.

You were a weakness to him, and it was dangerous because he would burn the whole world down to save you. 

He looked at your investigation on the screen, reading what you had been writing. If there was any sign that this thing was dangerous to you, he would deal with it quickly. 

He could be a deadly person in the streets, but he was always so tender with you. His fists were made to punch, to kill, but every single drop of blood that lingered in his mind disappeared when he entered the warmth of your home.  So there he was, taking your soft body in his arms and carefully placing it in your bed as he touched your body so softly like you were a precious broken crystal, covering you with a blanket. His heart warmed with the sight of you. 

You took his wrist, lazily opening your eyes as your lips greeted him with a smile that he returned. Your fingers burned against his skin, not in a way that made him flinch, but in a way that turned him a mess, wanting nothing more than to melt his body into yours. 

Did you know how much you made him feel? 

“Hey” You said, your voice still sleepy and tired “Hey” Jason responded, sitting next to your body. You looked at him, his blue eyes pinned in yours with longing, like a tired puppy who just wanted a bit of affection. Without speaking a word, you tapped the side of the bed and invited him to rest. Jason took off his boots and curled up next to you, your fingers tangling in his hair as his head rested on your chest. He loved these moments when nothing existed but you and him in the silence of your room. 

He felt the need to say something that had been on his mind for some time. Although your job was the reason the two of you met, he didn't like it very much, it was too risky for you. People started to mutter your name in the darker alleys of the streets, angry whispers of the worst in Gotham, and how you started to be a complication thanks to your articles about the crime in the city. He knew what they meant, and every day felt terrified of something happening to you and he wasn’t there to protect you. Yes, he would happily die in your arms, but he couldn't bear the thought of seeing the slightest scratch on your skin. 

“Your job is too dangerous” he murmured and you furrowed your brows at his affirmation. “I’m not the one running every rooftop of this city while shooting criminals at night.”

He leaned in his elbows to look at you, trapping your body between his and the bed. He had the kind of serious look that made you listen with attention “Those guys don’t know my real name. And even if they did come after me, I can fight back. You can’t.” Jason spoke, his tone a little bit more serious than usual. 

You knew he had a point, you were a writer, not a fighter, but that didn’t make you completely helpless. You grew up in Gotham too, you learned how to defend yourself before high school. 

But that wasn’t enough for Jason. As you said, he was the one who fought those criminals every night, so he knew how much of a threat they could be to you. Yes, he could risk his life every now and then, but he would never let you do that. Never. 

You sat in front of him, looking directly into his eyes. You would have been upset by his comment if your heart hadn't been touched by his desire to protect you. Jason was a dangerous man, and you knew that perfectly well, but deep down he was a man you had grown to love too much—more than you would like to admit. Sometimes, you felt like one of the few things keeping him sane. 

And you were right. 

“Jason, I won’t stop doing my job,” you said calmly. Your fingers searched for his warmth, slowly crawling towards each other for comfort, intertwining as a wave of emotion washed over your mind. He was close, so close that it was intoxicating. “I know I can’t stop you from worrying about me but… That’s kind of the way I feel about the things you do too.” With a shaky voice, you continued, turning to face Jason instead of looking at your hands tied together.

And it was true, you thought about him all the time, and you worried all the time too, afraid that one night he wouldn't be able to reach your window, his wounded body would be lying flat in an alley, and you wouldn't be there to heal him, maybe one day he will step out of your door to never be seen again. The thought terrified your mind, creeping into your worst nightmares. 

“I know I can’t convince you to leave it,” Jason looked at your intertwined fingers, and a hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “just… promise to be careful, alright? I can’t be saving your ass every day” he chuckled, and you laughed too, rolling your eyes. 

“One day I’ll be saving your ass too, Jason,” you replied, knowing that if you ever saved him, you would never let him forget it. 

What you didn't know was that you had already saved him so many times with your love, and your words, holding the fallen pieces of his being with your loving arms and keeping them together when he needed it most. 

He took your chin, tilting it upwards so you could see his face, gently holding you. His eyes were pinned in yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite name yet. His hands were rough but hot against your skin, calloused fingers reaching out to touch the forbidden skin of an angel they desired. Jason leaned your head closer to his lips, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. 

"Let's get some sleep, okay? Can't save the world if you keep like this" his voice murmured against your skin, taking in your scent and the softness or your hair.

You nodded, too flustered to even speak as you took your usual side of the bed. He got up to go to your couch, but you called him, signalling to the empty spot beside you. Jason couldn't have been happier and rushed to rest his body against yours.

Gently you moved closer to his body, smiling warmly as you opened one of your arms for him to come closer. Jason accepted and wrapped himself around your body, blending into each other like a perfect jigsaw puzzle, as if they were made for one another.

Perhaps both of your jobs were dangerous. But that would never stop you from coming home to each other every night.

sorry, but I'm such a fool for x and journalist!reader, especially with jason todd

𖥔 ࣪ ˖    ꒱

another one from my fic (which i haven't posted yet, but I will, promise) I love them so much

just kiss already

i'm also accepting requests! please send them, I'd love to write them

this was a little bit longer than usual, but I think I like it.

[samgirl98]

Connecting a Family 1/?

Next

Jason and his small family go to Gotham to reconnect with the Waynes during his birthday week

This was supposed to be a one-shot. It didn't turn out that way.

“A little to the left. There! Perfect!” Bruce exclaimed.

He turned and talked to the cleaning company manager he had hired.

“And everything is finished? Are the rooms done?”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne. Everything has been done to your and Mr. Pennyworth’s specifications. You are more than welcome to check.”

“Thank you. I'll check in a bit—oh, that banner needs to go over the doorway, not the window!”

Dick went up to the manager Bruce had been speaking to.

“I apologize for this. Bruce is a little nervous,” he said sheepishly.

“It is no problem, Mr. Grayson,” he said, not looking up from his iPad. “He’s not the worst I’ve had, and he's polite even in his demands.”

With that, the manager left.

Dick sighed and went to stop Bruce from harassing the decorators.

Bruce inspected the balloons on the balloon arc for any flaw he thought they might have. What flaws can balloons even have, Bruce?

Still, Dick understood Bruce’s nervousness.

Jason and his small family finally agreed to stay at the Manor for Jason and Alfred’s birthday week. It had been a surprise for the family in Gotham but a pleasant one.

And then Bruce went off the rails, trying to make sure everything was “perfect.”

Again, Dick understood. He wanted Jason and his family to have a great time in Gotham so they would be more inclined to return and visit, but Bruce was taking it to another level. The best Dick could do was follow Bruce around and try to rein him in. It wasn't working.

Maybe he should bring Mar’i to Bruce to see if she could calm him down. If Dick could figure out which of his siblings had his daughter.

“Bruce, can you help me look for Mar’i? It's time to give her lunch.”

Dick grabbed a hold of Bruce and dragged him away from the decorating manager. Bruce had harassed the poor employees long enough.

“Wait, I have to make sure they got the ballroom!”

Dick rolled his eyes.

“Bruce, you hired them for a reason; they're the best. Let them do their jobs and help me find my daughter. Besides. I doubt Jason and his family will care if the balloon arc is three inches off center to the right.”

“I don’t know. Jason has always been a stickler for details,” Bruce tried to argue back.

“Not to this extent, Bruce. Chill.”

“Fine. Fine!” He took out his phone, “Maybe I can use this time to see if J’onn and Clark will still come. Oh, Kory is still invited. Make sure she shows up.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose.

Since Bruce learned that Danny liked space and aliens, he had been trying to bribe him with autographs, telescopes, and other space memorabilia. When Bruce found out that Jason was coming to Gotham with Danny, he called in a favor from his teammates to come over to meet Danny. Still, bothering his teammates will make them less inclined to come.

“Give me this,” Dick said as he took the phone out of Bruce’s hands, “Stop harassing people!”

Batman didn’t pout, but Bruce was close to doing so.

“What if Jason calls?”

“Then I’ll answer. Help me find my kid.”

They eventually found Mar’i in the kitchen eating a sandwich.

Alfred didn’t get frantic, but he was close when they entered. He mumbled to himself and checked over the food. All of which were Jason’s favorites.

“C’mon Alfie, not you, too.”

“I have no idea what you mean, Master Dick.”

“Alfie had been freaking out since this morning,” Mar’i said, “It’s funny.”

“Really, Miss Marie, it’s not funny at all to laugh at this old man’s distress.”

“Mar’i,” Dick said, “apologize.”

“Sorry, Alfie.”

“Apology accepted,” he said even as he read a recipe that Dick knew Alfred had memorized. Dick sighed—this family.

“Alfred, Jason is going to love whatever you make him.”

“Hmm, that may be true, but I’m trying to impress more than just Master Jason. After all, I’ve heard his son is a bit of a hard case to get to one’s side.”

Dick said nothing. Alfred wasn’t wrong. Danny could be a bit prickly. Dick still remembered Danny’s glowing green glare and tried to subdue a shudder. He didn’t think it worked.

“I’m sure Danny will love whatever you make, Alfie,” Dick tried to reassure the old butler. Besides, Dick needed Alfred on his side.

A chime made everyone jump. Dick pulled out Bruce’s phone and read the message.

“Their plane has landed.”

____

Jason took a deep breath, taking in the rancid, smoggy Gotham air. The clouds threatened rain.

It was home.

As much as he loved his little haunt, there was just something about Gotham that made him feel welcomed. It was almost like a mother opening her arms and welcoming him back home.

“Ugh, what is that smell,” Jazz asked while holding her nose.

“That’s Gotham,” Jason said proudly.

Ellie held her little hands over her nose while Jazz made retching noises. Jason laughed.

“C’mon, let’s go get that car. I’ll show you around later.”

“Does the rest of Gotham smell this way,” Jazz murmured. Jason ignored her.

They had opted to rent a car instead of allowing Alfred to drive them or use one of Bruce’s cars. It gave them a sense of freedom to know they could get up and leave in their own vehicle if things went south.

Jason hoped it didn’t. He wanted his two families to get along.

They got in their temporary car and took on Gotham’s traffic.

Jason pointed out landmarks and gargoyles he would hide in when he was Robin. He even pointed out his favorite one. He wondered how many times he had hidden by that gargoyle to get away from it all. It knew all of his secrets, fears, and hopes.  

Jazz and Ellie stared at everything with wide eyes while Danny stared out the window. He looked like he was contemplating something, and Jason hoped it wasn’t something bad, like how he would annoy the family…or scare them.

Because of Gotham traffic, it took them a little over an hour to get from the airport to Wayne Manor. They had seen a few accidents along the way. Gotham never changed, which was comforting in a way. Gotham would always be the same, no matter how long he was away.

They reached the manor and stopped in front of the gates decorated with balloons and lights. Jason smiled. He bet Bruce was going crazy trying to make everything perfect for his prodigal son's return.

Jason put in his codes and watched as the gates slowly opened.

Ellie and Jazz stared with huge eyes as they took in the estate and the manor. Danny was glaring at everything with glowing eyes.

“Behave, Danny,” Jason said in a warning tone.

“I’m not doing anything,” Danny retaliated back.

“Cool it with the spooky eyes, baby brother.”

Danny glared one last time. Then his eyes returned to his usual baby blues.

“Thanks, Danny. It means a lot to me,” Jason said.

Danny nodded once and looked out the window, his chin resting on his hand. He looked very unimpressed by the luxury surrounding him. They stopped in front of Wayne Manor, where the whole family stood waiting to greet them. Lights were decorating the doorway even though it was daytime. It was a bit intimidating, if Jason was being honest. After all, he hadn’t met most of them, and now they were standing before him to judge him and his family. He hoped they didn’t find them lacking. Not that his small family wasn’t anything but perfect…Well, for the most part.

Jazz got out first. Jason followed. Jazz took Ellie from her car seat while Jason opened the door for Danny.

“Behave,” he whispered at his son.

Danny rolled his eyes, “They better behave, too. They have only one chance to impress me.”

Jason sighed. Well, that’s the best he could do. Danny was a stubborn boy, after all. It was all up to the Wayne Family now. He wouldn’t help them if they wanted Danny’s trust and love.

Jason took Danny’s hand and went before the family. His palms sweated as he stood in front of them. Jazz stood by him, holding Ellie in her arms.

“Jason, Jazz, Danny, Ellie, welcome to Wayne Manor,” Bruce said. He walked up to Jason and put his arms around Jason. “Welcome back, son.”

Jason soaked in his father’s touch for a few extra seconds before he started squirming to be let go. After all, he was still holding Danny’s hand, and he felt how uncomfortable his son felt. Bruce let go and got down to Danny’s level.

“I have a surprise for you later.”

“Oh, now we’re trying to buy a kid’s love.”

“Danny,” Jason reprimanded sharply, “apologize.”

Bruce laughed, “It’s okay, Jay lad, I’m not offended.”

“He should be,” Danny whispered under his breath. Jason only caught it because of his super hearing. Even Jazz turned and gave Danny a look. His sweet son didn’t look cowed and jutted out his chin. Jason sighed. He’d have to talk to Danny later.

“Come, let’s greet the family.”

Danny dragged his feet as he walked up.

Alfred was the first one to introduce himself. He bowed to Danny.

“Welcome, Master Danny, to Wayne Manor. I am Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne Family’s butler.”

Danny stared blankly at Alfred. Jason nudged Danny. Jason wanted this to go well but knew it was up to them. He could try to facilitate things but nothing else.

Danny sighed, “Hello, Mr. Pennyworth. Dad has talked great about you. I like the recipes you taught him.”

“Please, call me Alfred. I’m glad I could please you even while far away.”

“Heh, okay, Alfred,” Danny chuckled and then turned to look at the rest of the family. Everyone started squirming at Danny’s stare. His eyes weren’t glowing, but his stare was intense. Tim even hid behind Cassandra. Danny smirked at Tim’s actions. Duke Thomas walked up first. His stance was relaxed, and he had on an easy smile.

“Hey, I’m Duke,” the newest member said, shaking Jason and Danny’s hands. “I have powers, too. It’s nice to have more people who know what it’s like.”

“Hey, Duke, I’m Jason; this is my son, Danny, and my sister, Jazz, and niece, Ellie.”

“Nice to meet you! It’s fun to have more niblings!”

“I’m not your nephew, and you’re not my uncle,” Danny said quickly.

Duke’s smile didn’t fall.

“Of course, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. I hope you see me as a family member in the future, even if you don’t see me as an uncle.”

Danny said nothing and looked at the rest of the family. Stephanie Brown introduced herself next, followed by Barbara and Cassandra.

“Call me Cass, though.”

“Cass,” Danny repeated as he studied her, “You’ve been touched by death.”

He doubted anyone else noticed; she didn’t flinch or react, really, but Jason knew, he could feel it in his core, that Cass was perturbed when Danny mentioned death.

“Danny, don’t mention death to other people,” he reprimanded his son. It was one thing to talk about death in their small family, but he doubted others would be comfortable talking about that subject.

“Sorry,” Danny said, sounding sincere.

“My name is Damian Al Ghul Wayne, heir to the Cowl and League.”

“Damian,” Bruce hissed at his youngest.

Danny blinked at Damian, “Okay. Nice to meet you, I guess; I’m Danny Nightingale. I’m not an heir to anything, though.”

“Tt, whatever.”

Damian said nothing, and everyone else introduced themselves. The last one to introduce herself was Mar’i.

“Hi, I’m Mar’i. I heard you can fly, too. That’s so cool! Maybe we can race.”

“Cool. I heard your mom is an alien princess. Have you ever been to space? Have you been to your mom’s planet? It’s so cool that you’re half-alien!”

“Yeah, my mom is from Tamaran. I’ve been there once with my parents. It’s nice. Why do you wanna go?”

“Yes,” Danny breathed out, his body vibrating with excitement.

“Before we plan to let you go on extraterrestrial travels, let’s settle here first, yeah, Danny lad?”

Danny walked with Mar’i, asking her questions. The little girl seemed to be enjoying all the attention. Jason and Bruce brought in the luggage, ignoring Alfred’s insistence that he could do it. The old butler wasn’t getting any younger, and Jason could carry his stuff.

Jason gave one last look toward Danny and watched as he listened to whatever Mar’i was telling him with rapt attention. Jason couldn’t help but smile. At least his son was enjoying himself with one family member. It was a start.

“I’ll go put our things in our rooms. Alfie, where are we going to stay?”

“In the family wing, of course. I have prepared rooms for you and put a crib where Miss Jazz will sleep in case she wants the little one with her.”

“Thanks, Alfie.”

“Come on, Danny. I’ll show you where we’re staying.”

Danny seemed reluctant to leave Mar’i behind. His little boy had gotten attached to his cousin quickly.

“Can’t you show me later?”

“I can show you,” Mar’i quickly interrupted, “You can tell me about yourself now.”

“Okay,” Danny said while following the little girl.

“I’m glad Mar’i and Danny are getting along,” Dick said.

“Me too.”

Dick smiled at Jason, “Welcome back, Little Wing, welcome back.

____

Bruce couldn’t help but hover over Jason.

It was a miracle to have his son back in the manor, and Bruce was enjoying it as much as he could. After all, Jason was only here for a finite time. He was also enchanted by Ellie’s sweet, mischievous smile and Danny’s curiosity about all things space. He couldn’t get a good read on Jazz, but Tim’s warning to stay away from her if they didn’t want to be psychoanalyzed by an intelligent and competent person.

He remembered the wary look his children and children adjacent had given at Tim’s words.

Bruce didn’t want to be psychoanalyzed by anyone, but for the sake of his son, he wouldn’t mind having his mind prodded. Jason loved Jazz like a sister, and he doubted Jason wouldn’t notice if people tried to ostracize her. Bruce would lead by example.

Jason had found happiness with his own family, and Bruce couldn’t help but feel pride and joy for his son. He could only hope he would be allowed to be a part of Jason’s family.

“The drawing room is ready. I have prepared refreshments for everyone to enjoy.”

“You’ll join us, Alfie, right,” Jason asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything, Master Jason.”

Danny stared at the drawing room with disdain while Ellie pointed at all the balloons and decorations.

“I think dad went a bit overboard, huh, Dick?”

Bruce flushed while still feeling a deep sense of joy deep in his heart. Jason called him dad. Bruce tried to keep the tears out of his eyes.

“I wanted everything to be perfect,” he said instead.

Jason rolled his eyes and turned toward his siblings.

“Let me guess. He harassed the workers in his quest to make things ‘perfect.’”

“Oh, you should’ve seen it, Jay; he couldn’t leave the poor suckers alone. I had to apologize for his behavior.”

“He was trying to find fault with the balloon arch,” Tim added, “What imperfections could balloons even have?”

“They could’ve been different sizes,” Bruce added mulishly, “I had to make sure they were all the right size.”

“How many arcs are there,” Jason asked, “’Cuz I’ve seen five already. Were you planning on inspecting them all, B?”

Bruce crossed his arms and raised his chin stubbornly.

All his children shook their heads, their expressions a mix of amusement and exasperation.  

“I can show you videos later, Jay,” Barbara, the traitor, said.

“Yes, please.”

“Alright, why don’t we eat? I’m sure everyone is famished.”

“I don’t know, old man, I’m kind of enjoying poking fun at you,” Jason said.

Bruce ignored his miracle child and went for a cucumber sandwich.

Danny went up to the table and inspected everything. He finally decided on a blueberry scone and bit into it, his eyes widening at the taste.

“Daddy, they taste like yours!”

“More like mine taste like Alfred’s. He taught me everything I know about cooking and baking.”

Danny stuffed the rest of the scone into his mouth while looking at Alfred. Danny picked up a cookie and sandwich as he swallowed the scone.

“Danny, you’re going to choke.”

Danny smiled mischievously and stuffed the cookie into his mouth.  

“It’s not like it’ll kill me,” he said with his mouth full, “I’m already half-dead.”

The room got silent; everyone held their breath. Bruce could tell what everyone was thinking: Died? Danny had died? He’s half-dead?

Bruce knew a little about Danny and Jason and how they had gained powers, but he hadn’t told anyone else in the family, trying to protect Jason’s and his family’s privacy. Looking at the horrified looks on his children’s faces (except Tim’s), Bruce couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake in not giving his family a heads-up.

Danny looked around the room. Then his eyes widened in understanding.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that so casually. I’m so used to joking about my death and resurrection in my old life, and within our small family, I forget that not everyone would look at it as a joke.”

“It’s okay,” Bruce said, “Let’s not dwell on it and eat.”

Jason walked up to Danny and ruffled his hair. It was only then that Danny seemed to untense. Danny said something to Jason, and Jason smiled at Danny. He whispered something in the little boy’s ears and hugged his son.

Mar’i showed up to talk to Danny, and the two of them scampered off.

“Is he okay,” Bruce asked.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I know death is a taboo subject to most people, but Danny tends to cope with jokes. I do, too, to be honest.”

“I understand. I wish he didn’t have that trauma and had to cope, but we all find different ways.”

Jason nodded.

“So, what’s the surprise? ‘Cuz you already have the manor decked out from top to bottom, and the food is delicious. Don’t tell me you got him a rocket or something,” Bruce could tell Jason was only half joking.

“I’m not that out of touch, Jay lad.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked at the balloon arches and hanging banners.

Bruce sighed. Okay, maybe he went a bit overboard with the decorations.

“I asked Clark, J’onn, and Starfire to come. They’ll be here a little later.”

“Oh, Danny is going to freak. He loves Martian Manhunter. He says he’s his favorite superhero.”

Bruce almost pouted. Why did none of his children or grandchildren say Batman was their favorite? It was always someone else.

“Why’re pouting, old man? No one will say Batman is their favorite because we know you too well.”

Bruce actually pouted before smiling.

“I’m glad you’re here, Jay lad. I missed you.”

Jason tackled Bruce with a hug, “I missed you, too, dad.”

Happy New Year!

[tipsynight0]

For the life we never knew

Parings- Jeff the killer x female reader

Word count - 975

TRIGGER WARNING - Miscarriage, blood, grief, child loss, trauma.

Summary - a quiet night takes a devastating turn.

Authors note - As you can probably tell, I’m not your typical Creepypasta fanfiction writer. My stories lean more toward real-life experiences—raw, messy, and unfiltered. Writing has always been more for me than anything else, a way to process what I can’t always say out loud. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, maybe it’s just a need to put pain into words.

I know I haven’t updated in a while, and for that, I’m sorry. Life has a way of pulling us under when we least expect it. But for those of you still here, reading and supporting, thank you. It means more than I can express.

I guess I’ve always found comfort in heartbreak—in taking a story and twisting it until it feels real enough to leave a mark. So, as you read this, don’t be afraid to cry, to feel. That’s what it’s meant for. And maybe, when you’re done, we’ll both feel just a little less alone.

Hopefully, I’ll have more for you soon. Until then, take care of yourselves—and try not to cry too much.

Becoming a dad was never on the radar for Jeff. Not for someone like him—a serial killer with bloodstained hands and years of unresolved trauma. Jeff wasn’t the kind of man who would teach his kid how to throw a ball or give them advice on their first crush. Hell, he barely had any idea how to take care of himself. But when Y/N came to him that day, clutching the pregnancy test in trembling hands, terror written all over her face—not the kind of fear he was used to, the kind he relished in—it was different. This fear was raw, uncertain, vulnerable. And for the first time, Jeff felt it too.

The conversation that followed wasn’t pretty. There was shouting, tears, accusations, and a silence so heavy it crushed them both. But somewhere in that mess of emotions, there was a spark—something small and fragile. A seed of hope Jeff never thought he’d feel.

As the days turned into weeks, that seed began to grow. The thought of a child, their child, burrowed its way into Jeff’s cold, damaged heart. He found himself imagining things he never thought possible: a tiny hand gripping his finger, a toothless smile, a giggle that echoed in the halls of the mansion. He didn’t just start to accept it; he started to want it.

The house was alive with a strange excitement. Even the others couldn’t help but marvel at the idea of another child joining them—another innocent soul like Sally. Jack stole prenatal vitamins and a doppler, and Jeff had spent hours with Y/N listening to the faint sound of their baby’s heartbeat. He painted the nursery himself, his hands steady in a way they’d never been before. For once, the chaos of their lives didn’t seem so suffocating.

And then came the night that shattered it all.

Jeff barely stirred when Y/N slipped out of bed. She’d been getting up a lot lately, her small trips to the bathroom almost routine. He was half-asleep when he heard her call out, her voice trembling with something he couldn’t quite place.

“Jeff... come here... something’s wrong.”

The fear in her voice jolted him awake. He stumbled out of bed, heart pounding as he rushed to the bathroom. The sight that met him stopped him cold.

Y/N was sitting on the floor, her hands trembling and slick with blood. It was everywhere—on her thighs, pooling on the tiles, staining her nightshirt. Jeff’s breath hitched, his stomach turning in a way he hadn’t felt since the first time he took a life. Blood was supposed to excite him, but this... this made him want to vomit.

“I’ll... I’ll be back,” he stammered, his voice cracking in a way that felt foreign and wrong. “I’ll get Jack. Don’t move, Y/N. Don’t move.”

He didn’t wait for her reply, didn’t dare look back. He sprinted down the stairs, nearly tripping in his panic. He found Jack in the kitchen, dragging him by the arm before the other man could even ask what was happening. His words tumbled out, frantic and disjointed, but Jack didn’t need an explanation when he saw the scene for himself.

Jack knelt beside Y/N, his usually steady hands trembling ever so slightly as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Stand up,” he said softly. “I need to see.”

Y/N obeyed, her body shaking as she clung to Jack for support. Jeff stayed rooted to the doorway, his nails digging into the wood as if it could somehow anchor him to reality.

Jack’s expression was grim as he straightened, his voice heavy when he finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

The words hit Jeff like a physical blow. Y/N let out a strangled sob, her knees buckling as Jack caught her and eased her to the floor. Jeff moved without thinking, dropping to his knees beside her and grabbing her hand.

“No,” Jeff muttered, shaking his head. “No, no, no. This—this isn’t happening. Fix it, Jack. Do something.”

Jack looked at him, his hollow eyes filled with something that almost resembled pity. “There’s nothing I can do, Jeff. It’s already happening.”

Y/N’s grip on Jeff’s hand tightened, her face pale and glistening with tears. “Jeff... it’s my fault,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that. This isn’t your fault.”

She sobbed harder, her free hand clutching her stomach as another wave of pain wracked her body. Jeff could only watch, helpless and furious, as the person he cared about most suffered in a way he couldn’t stop.

Time seemed to crawl, every second dragging like a knife through Jeff’s chest. He wasn’t supposed to care like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel this kind of pain. But as Y/N finally passed the tiny, lifeless form of what could have been their child, Jeff felt something inside him shatter.

He stared at the tiny, fragile thing Jack gently took away, his chest heaving as he fought to keep the scream building inside him at bay. Y/N was limp against him now, her strength spent, her sobs quieted into hollow, hitching breaths.

Jeff pressed his forehead to hers, his hand still gripping hers tightly as though letting go would mean losing her too. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

In that moment, he hated himself more than he ever thought possible. He wasn’t supposed to care, wasn’t supposed to feel this. But as he held Y/N and felt the life drain from the future they’d dared to hope for, Jeff realized that maybe, just maybe, he’d wanted to be a dad after all.

And now, he never would be.

[pyramid-of-starrs]

Saturn pt 1

“Life’s better on Saturn, got to break this pattern” -SZA

Pairing: Ex Situationship San x Black reader (reader has locs as well :3)x Maddox

Submission from: @reosbabygurl

Summary: You and San were in a long term situationship that ultimately led nowhere. Time goes by and you're in a new relationship, but how will San take that?

Word Count: 4.2Kish?

Warning: Cheating, toxic behavior, manipulation, gas lighting, rude/mean behavior, clingy, possessive, cursing, arguing, bad relationship, pregnancy mentioned

Smut warning: This chapter  there will be a small smut scene with Maddox, kissing, boob play Eventual - Breeding, kissing, pussy drunk, body worship, needy boy San, Dom San, a bit subby San, dry humping, some anal (Just fingers), phone sex, masturbation,

A/N: I had to tweak it a bit and I don't mention the reader being black with locs until a bit deeper into the story. This story has such a good plot and dialog imo so please give me lots of feedback.

Also, this is not at ALL what I think Maddox acts like T-T, I actually love and adore that man so much but wanted to switch it up with who I added into the story. This is not a representation of how anyone acts, just fun :3

Minors dni

All you ever craved was love, you just wanted to be loved properly, thoroughly, genuinely. Nothing more, nothing less. You spent a good chunk of your 20s in a situationship that ultimately led nowhere. You and San were a perfect example of “right person, wrong time”. You both wanted more from the relationship but in the end you both could never find the right time to commit. It started with you wanting to date him first but he “wanted to get to know each other more” then when he was ready you needed to focus on school. There were times when you both were ready, you both wanted to ask, but the fear of rejection held heavy on both your hearts so ultimately you both decided to fuck your feelings away. Spending endless time with each other, going on dates, kissing, hugging, having sex like any couple would. Just no real title.

But now, you were 24, he was 25 and you wanted more. You wanted to openly and happily be someone’s girlfriend. San had just started his small business, a local toy shop, something you found adorable and admirable. He had finally turned his hobby of collecting plushies and other trinkets into a business, you were proud, but still hurt when he told you he didn’t have time for a relationship at that point. You tried to understand, you wanted to convince yourself that you could wait but realistically, you couldn’t.

His friends threw him a celebratory party, that’s where you met his friend's friend, Maddox. A sweet long haired man, he was 2 years older than San and honestly didn’t even know him. He only came because his friends wanted him out of the house. You spent hours of the party just talking, you could admit, finding a replacement at your situationships probably wasn’t the best idea, but it’s not like you were doing it on purpose. San noticed, how couldn’t he. Even with the many other people begging for his attention, his eyes were fixated on you and the man that got your attention. He had enough of watching and waiting for you to be done and stormed over to you and asked for you to speak to him privately.

You argued. You argued loud enough for the party to start to hear. At that point Wooyoung thought it would be best to end it on Sans behalf. After some hours you broke things off with San, screaming that you never wanted to see him again and that you were done. And you were, you were fed up.

It took time to get over San, it was hard but Maddox really made it better. So now here you are, 2 years later, and you got what you wanted. You got someone who would be serious about you. Maddox was so serious about you that after the first year he proposed. You were not only someone’s girlfriend but now someone’s fiancé.

You stood over the stove in your shared apartment, you were cooking dinner for you and your fiancé. A firm ringed hand snaked its way around your waist.

“Mmm, it smells so good baby.” Maddox said as he planted a kiss on your cheek, his curly bang pieces tickling your face as you giggled.

“You’re actually home, I had to go all out for dinner!” You said with a big smile on your face. Maddox spent a large portion of his time working, he was a producer at an up and coming music company. You loved his passion but hated that that meant less time together, but you stayed understanding.

Maddox nervously released your waist, a weak smile painted on his face. You looked out of the corner of your eye and noticed his strange expression.

“What is it?”

“Well… about that…”

Your expression of comforted happiness immediately changes to disappointment.

“Maddox… you’re kidding right?” You had really hoped he would say he was just messing with you.

“Baby I’m sorry. I swear it’s not on purpose, I promise.”

You fully turned to face him.

“But I was really hoping to spend some time with you, we have so much planning to do, we have so much that needs to be picked out-“

“I know Y/N, I know. I just have to finish this project and I promise my attention will be all yours.” He grabbed you by your shoulders and gave you a reassuring smile. “I promise.”

“I keep hearing promises and not seeing action behind it, Maddox. You promised with your last project that you would help me plan. Our wedding is at the end of the year and it’s already March.”

“Y/N I know when our wedding is.”

“Then act like it.” you shot back.

“If you would just let me focus on getting things done then I could do that, I have to work Y/N, I have things I want to do with my life. You knew what this was when we started dating.” He released you, the tension started to build in the room.

“Whatever, hopefully marrying me is one of the things you want to do in your life eventually.” You turned away from him, returning your attention back to cooking.

“Don’t do that Y/N, don’t act like you’re not my priority. I’m not San-“ Maddox stopped in his tracks. Yes, you told Maddox all about you and San, he wondered why your were at his party that day, so you told him. He knew how much San had hurt you, he knew the situation was hard to move on from, yet every argument San was being mentioned.

“Wait, I’m sorry Y/N.”

“Just go do your project Maddox.”

“Whatever.” He scoffed. Maddox said no more, he left. No fight back, no continued apology. He packed a bag quietly. “I’m going to stay at Eden’s, call me when you’re over it.”

You hated that this wasn’t the first time this had happened. Maddox had a tendency of being hurtful but you were understanding. You knew he was just under a lot of pressure and stress with work. He put up with a lot of your baggage and you wanted to do the same for him, so you did.

The next morning you sent him a text apologizing and asking him to come home, to which you got no reply. You sighed and looked at your laptop to continue your wedding planning. You checked your emails and at least got some good news. You and Maddox had custom ordered small bears with your last name on their bows as wedding favors for your guest and they were done. You were even lucky enough to find a local toy store that sold them. “Mountain of Plush.” They were ready for pick up as soon as 12pm. Since you worked from home that day you figured you mightiest we’ll make the trip. It wasn’t a far drive, only 15 minutes, it would take your mind off things.

You got in your car and headed over, on the way you tried to call Maddox and your call was sent to voicemail on the 3rd ring.

“Give me space Y/N.” Was all Maddox texted you. You sighed. You wanted so badly to be upset but you knew what you signed up for.

You arrived at the store and parked. You walked up to the entrance and looked over the store name again. “Why does this name sound so familiar?” You said to yourself. You ignored it and walked in anyways. You looked around, the store was adorable, various toys and plushies decorated the walls and shelves. There were even some anime and cartoon figures. Just as you were looking around, a voice could be heard.

“Can I help you?” That voice. That voice made your heart stop, it made your palms sweat, it made time move in slow motion. Your eyes followed the voice and there he was.

Choi San.

You both locked into place for a moment, feeling like you saw a ghost. You hadn’t seen San since a month after you broke things off with him. He would invite you over to try to fix things, you would talk, then yell, then have sex, then leave before he woke up. One night when he tried to contact you he found himself blocked on everything.

“I-, Y/N? What- What are you doing here?” He asked.

“Uh. I’m picking up an order I placed. San, is this your shop?”

“Yeah, you don’t remember the name I picked?”

“Well yeah I remember talking about it but I was hoping you would pick something else.”

That’s when the tension was cut with San laughing, you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Well everyone loves my name thank you very much.”

“Yeah, sure.” You playfully rolled your eyes. You both smiled at each other, you felt warm. Even with the colder spring air outside, you felt warm at this moment. “So, how have you been San ? I see your business well.”

He returned your smile. “Yeah, I’m really lucky, business is good and this place keeps me kinda happy.”

You wanted to question the kinda part but you felt like it wasn’t your place anymore.

“Here, follow me, I’ll take you to the counter to pick up your order.” You followed him to the front of the store. He got behind the counter and looked through the orders on an iPad. “It’s funny I didn’t even see an order under your last name at all.”

That’s when you remembered why you were there. “Right… it’s actually under Moon.” You said softly.

“Moon?” San chuckled while scrolling through order names. “That’s funny, what is that a fake name you use no-“

Before he could finish that’s when he saw the reason line, he gulped, his breathing picking up.

“It’s… it’s my fiancés name… I’m getting married.” You said, chewing on your lip and keeping your eyes on the ground. Why did you feel so nervous telling him that? Why was this awkward?

“I see…” he licked his lips. “Couldn’t go to any other toy shop huh? Had to rub it in?” He nervously chuckled.

“N-no! I swear I wasn’t trying to be like that! I genuinely forgot-“ you nervously tried to respond.

“Y/n, relax it’s a joke.” He smiled, he found your reaction cute. “Hey they don’t call it “the one that got away” for nothing amiright?”

“San… I… I don’t know what to say.” You felt bad for some reason. Why did this make you feel so terrible? You broke things off with San, why did you feel like you were hurting him? It had been 2 years.

“It’s okay Y/N, I’m happy for you. I swear, I’m glad you finally found the person who could do what I couldn’t.” San was genuinely happy that someone was making you happy. Even after being blocked, being angry, being heartbroken that he lost his chance with you. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy. He was hurt that he couldn’t be the one to do it but was happy it was getting done.

You smiled. “Thank you Sannie.”

“Anyways, this order is heavy, where is the lucky so and so? You’re definitely gonna need help carrying this out.” He said tapping away on the screen then walking to the back room.

“Oh, he’s working right now. I’m sure I can handle it.” You said as he placed 2 large boxes on the counter.

“He’s making you do this by yourself? You always told me if I didn’t help with wedding stuff you would push me into the ocean.” San said with a questioning look.

“Haha, what can I say, things change.” You smiled. You were lying. Of course Maddox should be here but you were currently getting the silent treatment so there wasn’t much you could do. “Like I said I’m sure I’ll manage.”

You attempted to pick the rectangular boxes up and San lightly smacked your hands away.

“No way, here I’ll carry it for you.” San stacked the boxes and picked them up with ease.

“No, I can't ask you to do that!”

“You didn’t ask, I offered. Come on, show me to your car.”

You wanted to stop him but you knew San, he has always been chivalrous and nothing was going to stop him at that moment.

You showed him to your car and popped your trunk, he placed the boxes in.

“Ooh, fancy car. Still doing math professionally?”

You laughed.

“Yes, San, I’m still an accountant.”

“You’re better than me, I could never willingly do math.”

“You run a business San.”

“Yeah but I just assume everything’s okay, I pay rent and all that on time and can afford stock.”

“San! That’s irresponsible!”

“I’m kidding, I have a math guy too. But if you ever want a new customer let me know.” He winked. “I’ll leave him with no remorse.”

Something about that dimpled smile and wink made your heart drop a bit.

“Well, thank you for helping me San.”

He shut your trunk. “The pleasure is all mine Y/N.”

“And thank you for the bears, I saw the progress pictures and they are beautiful. The Moon symbol for free was so sweet.”

“Yeah well you know me, I’m a sweet guy.” He smiled as he shrugged.

“Well sweet guy as a thank you, how about you come to my engagement party Seonghwa is FINALLY throwing for me.”

“Oh god, he’s that mean gay guy that hates me.”

“He only hates you because he knew how much I wanted to be with you and that we never dated.”

“Yeah, guess I really blew that.” There was a brief awkward silence.

“I’m sure you two are fine now though, right? Since he’s dating your friend Hongjoongs friend Christian?”

“Oh… well. I kinda don’t talk to Hongjoong anymore.” He awkwardly scratched his head.

“Woah, what? You and Wooyoung and Hongjoong were inseparable in College. What happened?”

“Well, it’s kinda embarrassing.” He avoided your gaze.

“Try me.”

“I kinda… blamed him for introducing you to Maddox that night…”

Silence. Again.

“Oh…”

“But it’s fine I swear.”

“Well now I feel like shit.”

“Y/n don’t! It’s pretty sure you were bound to dump me anyways.” San tried consoling you.

“Um… well if you want to come I can text you the address.” You quickly changed the subject.

“Yeah, sure.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and as you watched him that’s when you noticed his body. He had on a pair of jeans and a grey fuzzy sweater with a purple apron that had his business name across it. He was much larger now, the sweater looks comically huge and cute on him.

“Actually I have the same number.” He said.

“Oh okay, I’ll text it now then.” You smiled and pulled out your phone. You texted him over the invite. His name read. “Do not text”. “Did you get it?”

“Um… you still have me blocked y/n.” He said awkwardly.

“Oh my god! I’m sorry.” You unblocked him and resent it.

“Got it.”

“Well that’s about enough awkwardness I can handle so I’ll see you there. It’s this Saturday!” You awkwardly smiled then raised your eyebrows.

San chuckled again. “Guess you’re right. I’ll see you Saturday if I’m free.”

You and San waved each other goodbye and you hated the butterflies that filled your stomach. You dropped your head on your steering wheel with your hands gripping.

“Why, why, WHY DOES HE LOOK SO DAMN GOOD?” You shouted to yourself as you lightly banged your head on the wheel. You connected your phone to your car then began to drive. “What the hell happened to karma, why did the break up make him so hot? I jus-“ Just when you were about to continue to curse the world your phone rang. Your face lit up hoping it was Maddox but instead Seonghwa’s name was plastered across your radio screen, you tapped to pick up the call.

“Hey Hwa what’s up?”

“Don’t what’s up me y/n, why did I just get an rsvp by the name “S. Choi”, this better not be who I think it is.”

You made a face, you knew he would kill you but you just wanted to be nice, you didn’t think San would actually come.

“Yeah, so remember the teddy bear thing? Turns out they came from Sans Shop.” You sighed.

“Ian… Ian…CHRISTIAN!” You could hear Seonghwa yelling for Christian to get his attention as if you weren’t on the phone anymore.

“Yes my love?” You could hear Christian reply vaguely.

“Remind me to fucking kill Hongjoong with my bare hands.” Seonghwa said.

“Of course my love.”

“Wait, why are you killing Hongjoong?” You asked, confused about what this meant.

“Hongjoong is the one that told me to tell you about that shop, I’ll never trust that sneaky bastard again.” You could hear the irritation in his voice.

“Oh calm down Hwa, it’s one night with him.”

“And I’m expected to believe he’s going to behave?”

“He’s changed Seonghwa, I talked to him for a while, he’s mature and sweet and… and-“

“And fine as hell and buff.” Seonghwa said, finishing your sentence.

“Th-that’s not what I was going to say!” You started to feel hot.

“Mhm, yeah, well I follow the son of a bitch on Instagram and I’ve seen him. He’s a sculpted, tan beauty.”

“Just gonna say that in front of Ian huh?”

“Oh I agree.” Ian said faintly.

“And Christian knows I would never leave him for that ass. Anyways, I don’t need that Greek god coming around and breaking up the engagement I worked- I mean you and Maddox worked so hard for.” He softened his voice towards the end.

“I’m not going to leave Doxxie for San, Jesus have some faith! San will come, see how happy and in love I am and then admit defeat for himself and go about his day.”

A deep and soulful sigh left Seonghwa. “Listen, if you want to trust that weasel that’s on you and your simple brain.”

“Hey!”

“But stop candy coating the past and trying to always find the good. You and San never technically dated and yet he broke your heart so bad. Not to mention the possessive nature he had. Me and you could barely talk without him wanting you home. The guy isn’t great!”

Right… you tried to ignore those things about San. Like Seonghwa said you two never dated but towards the end of your situationship San could feel you becoming more and more dissatisfied. The resolution to that in his mind? Love bombing. He would buy you random gifts, take you out more, go the whole 9 yards. But over time, it developed into something else. You would tell people you were single, because that was the truth right? But San would hold your hand and kiss you in public or at parties just to… assert dominance? He would get mad at you talking to other men, he would cling to you everywhere you went. It became suffocating after so long.

“I know Seonghwa…” you sounded like a child being scolded.

“…he can come. Just please don’t do anything irrational. I know you’re weak for him.”

When you finally arrived at your apartment, you saw Maddox’s car in its designated space.

“Ah! Sorry Hwa I gotta go, love you bye!”

You could hear Seonghwa try to tell to hold on but you hung up. You didn’t bother trying to get the box from the car and immediately rushed into the house. Upon opening the door you saw a large bouquet of flowers on the kitchen island.

“Hello beautiful.” Maddox said as he appeared from the bedroom.

“Oh Doxxie, thank you.” You met him half way and welcomed him into a big hug.

“Anything for you my love." He pecked your lips. "Are you excited for Sunday?"

You raised your eyebrow in confusion. "You mean Saturday?"

"Oh fuck, right Saturday!" He finally released you. "I have a little work to do then I'll head home and meet you there when I'm dressed."

You folded your arms. "Maddox... we were supposed to be riding together..."

"Oh shit, sorry, yeah we'll ride together, sure."

"...are you sure?"

"Yes, Of course baby." He gave you another kiss to get your mind off things, this one lingered. He held your waist as the kiss got deeper.

"Mmm, Doxxie, hah, wait." You said as his kisses traveled down your neck.

"Why? We have to make up, don't we?" He said as he sucked your brown skin on your neck, his hands were already moving your locs to the side so he could have more access.

You giggle and take his hands off your neck to hold one and lead him to the bedroom. "Come on, let's go to our room."

He laid you down softly, the soft blanket against your skin. He crawled on top of you and before chasing you down he looked over you.

"My beautiful girlfriend."

Girlfriend? Your arms reached up to wrap around his neck. "You mean fiancé and soon to be wife."

"Oh I know, just wanted to hear you say it." He smiled before finally kissing your lips again.

Your lips both passionately danced on each other, you could feel Maddox's hand coast the side of your torso until he found the end of your shirt then slid it inside. The feeling of lace met his fingertips as he cupped one of your boobs. He began to massage the pillow like mound of fat while his lips made their way down your neck. In a swift movement he released your chest to remove your shirt and helped take off your bra as well. He gave one of your nipples a few kisses before he latched on to it with his mouth, his other hand gripping the other. Soft moans continued to escape your lips while your hips mindlessly moved, wanting more.

His hand made its way into your leggings to begin to rub your clothed heat, wetness already building up.

"Already ready for me baby?"

"Always."

You two exchange the few words then lock lips again. You both rushed to remove the remainder of your clothes. You laid on your back, bare, in front of a naked Maddox while he lined himself up with your entrance. Just as he was about to begin pushing inside of you his phone began to ring. The loud default ringer going off on the bed while it shook due to the vibrations, his eyes darted to it.

"oh fuck." He whispered to him.

"Doxxie..."

Maddox looked between you and his phone.

"Could you just give me one-"

"Maddox!" You shouted as he winced while grabbing the phone.

"I swear I'll just be a second!"

He saw the look in your eyes, the look of sadness and disappointment, all you wanted was a moment with him. You just wanted to feel prioritized.

He swiped the bar to answer the call while mouthing an apology.

"Hello?" He said while taking his stance, you swiftly grabbed his arm.

"At least stay with me."

"Y/n, let go." He whispered away from the phone.

You deeply sighed and let him walk away, like a kid throwing a temper tantrum you decided to pull the covers over your head and pout.

After about 30 minutes he finally came back looking satisfied.

"Alright sorry about that-"

He found you still balled up under the covers.

"Just go Maddox..." Your voice filled with sadness as you knew what was next.

"I haven't even said anything."

"What are you going to say then?" You continued to keep your head under the cover.

"...I have about 15 minutes, do you maybe wanna-"

"It's fine Doxxie, just go to work." You kept telling yourself that you knew what this was, you knew what Maddox's job was. But how much more could you really take?

"...fine." He began to gather the rest of his clothes, you were going to just let him go but you would be doing yourself a disservice if you didn't speak up.

"When are we going to have time for us Maddox?" your voice is weak and unstable.

Silence, he opted to not respond and left.

Part 2 is coming very soon...

[nightlyrequiem]

Would it be possible to get Valeria with a homebody writer (specifically romance writer maybe) partner?

This is totalllly not self indulgent at all, but I feel like the scenario you write where she broke into the readers house (which I loved btw) and becomes her stowaway would probably be the only way they meet lol, it's also possible that she could see the writer in a coffeeshop somewhere and have a meet cute but that doesn't really seem like her style to me :(

Feel free to change this up in any way you want I'm just throwing my ideas out from my mind palace

Yeah, I feel like meeting Valeria would be a little difficult unless it was some kind of home invasion type of scenario. Meet Cutes aren't her style sadly

Tags/Warnings: Kidnapping, WLW, Reader Gets Knocked Around, Fangirl Valeria

Meet Cute

Human error is unavoidable, like misspelling a word or grammatical errors. Even with a proof-reader, things are bound to slip past notice. Mistakes will be made eventually, no matter how careful a person is. You're tossed to the cement floor harshly, pain blossoming in your ribs from the impact. The sac over your head prevents you from seeing anything. Your ears ring, making it impossible to make out the low muttering of male voices.

No one is truly aware of how quickly things can change. Having four walls and a door often provides one with a false sense of security. Of safety. You thought you were safe. You were a bit reclusive. Preferring to be inside where the variables of life are easier to control. Even in a city like Las Almas. The environment that night was perfect for writing. Dark and slightly stormy. You were curled up on your couch, laptop in your lap with inspiration flowing from your pores. The first draft for your latest sapphic romance novel was almost completed.

Without any warning your front door was kicked open. The locks proving to be completely useless. You screamed and fought as masked men stormed inside. However, it was a short-lived battle. One punch to the temple was all it took to take the fight from you.

You're not given any time to catch your breath or get your bearings. Your grabbed by rough hands and dragged somewhere else. You're lifted and placed into a chair, hands tied behind you. Footsteps fade as the men leave you bound and blind. The only sound now being your own breathing and the frantic beating of your heart.

Waiting is the worst part. The dread of what's to come will never compare to what will actually happen. You're never going to finish your book. The second in your series. Your readers will never get to know what happens to the two main leads. Maybe it's your writing that got you here. You had gotten death threats before. As well as other types. As was the risks of writing the things you do. The situation almost reminds you of the story you posted to the internet when you were too young to be on it. A flawlessly witty girl is kidnapped by a stereotypically masculine guy. They fall in love.

You doubt there will be any love here though. Love doesn't flourish where death and decay feast. Finally, you hear footsteps approaching. Firm and confident. The door slides open and people enter, the room becoming heavy with tension.

"You thought you'd get away with stealing, hm?" A woman asks. You frown. You don't recall stealing anything. "Thought you were smarter than me?"

The bag is ripped from your head, and you recoil at how bright the lights are. You blink at the sight of the visibly angry woman in front of you. Reeking of violence and danger. Maybe it's because of all the questionable romantic leads you've written but there's something alluring about her. Though her being attractive doesn't make you less frightened.

She almost looks as confused as you feel. Brows furrowed into a frown. She says your name, which doesn't bode well for you.

"... I didn't steal from you." You say softly. Hoping to pacify the situation. "At least not knowingly, if I did I can replace it or give it back." You promise. The woman doesn't respond, just continues to gawk at you.

The silent staring is beginning to get uncomfortable. The two men she brought with her exchange confused glances. Clearly something isn't going the way it should.

"You wrote Stardust." She says finally. Your face warms with embarrassment. You're proud of what you write but it still feels... weird to have people talk about it. You furrow your brows. You didn't think a woman that looks like her would be in your audience.

"... Yeah, I uh, did." You nod awkwardly.

She puts her gun back into its holster. "I have all your books." She says. Surprising you.

The woman turns to the men beside her. 

"This isn't the right woman you fucking idiots! I even gave you a picture how did you mess up?" She hisses at them. You almost deflate with relief at those words. A mistake. A simple case of human error. "Get out." She snaps. The men nod and leave quickly. Ashamed or afraid that they messed up. She turns back to you with an appraising eye.

"... Do you like them?" You ask.

Her brows furrow. "What?"

"My books." You clarify nervously. 

She walks behind you.

"One of my guilty pleasures is romance," She starts. "it's a nice escape from the grueling, bloody reality of my life."

"That's... nice." You reply. She didn't really answer your question.

"I'm picky though, I'll drop a book easily if the characters do something I think is stupid."

Oh. She's probably going to chastise you for writing idiots - which admittedly, you have. In some of your earlier books. The ropes loosen, freeing your hands.

"But I like the way you write people." She praises. "They're realistically stupid."

You bring your hands to your lap and inspect your wrists. The soft skin is a little red.

"Oh, thank you." You say, blinking gratefully. She walks back in front of you.

"This was a misunderstanding." She says, voice soft and placating. You look at her and wonder if this is a trick. You rise to your feet.

"All good." You smile. Though it's actually not all good. You're shaken. Your home was broken into and you were kidnapped. However, saying that might not bode over well.

"... So is Stardust getting a sequel?" She asks, narrowing her eyes at you.

She has a very intense stare. You have to look away because staring into her dark brown eyes is starting to make you uncomfortable.

"I'm in the process of writing it, actually." You tell her. "Well, the draft."

She continues to stare at you. "Do you think you could add me into the book?"

You frown. "Yeah, sure I could do that." You nod reluctantly. This woman scares you and you'd hate to disappoint her.

"I shouldn't tell you my name, but I just love you and your writing so much," She admits. "I'm Valeria."

You nod.

"Valeria." You repeat. "Nice to meet you, I suppose."

Valeria nods and cracks a small smile. "Great. Why don't I take you home now then?" She says, herding you towards the door. You try to protest against that, not really wanting her to know where you live. Though considering her people had taken you from your home in the first place, she probably already knows. Your words fall on deaf ears. Valeria is determined to escort you home safely. Wanting to spend a little one on one time with her favourite author.

[amyoffline]

In Defense of the Phandom (Mostly): Dan, Phil, and Our Parasocial Social Club

Refer to my previous pinned post for an explanation of and outline for this project. Now that I'm done going through my old reblogs (god, it took forever), it's time to actually research and write this script! Finally, my favorite part of any project. This will be my pinned post for the foreseeable future, so you can come back to by clicking on my blog for the current status of this part of the process. There will be a similar post for filming and editing once I get to that point, but for now, you can glance at how "full" the bar below each section is for a quick idea of where the script is. Or you can expand the post to see more details.

Script word count: 2,350 | Last updated: January 9, 2025

Research

Peer-reviewed or published literature: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Social media, forum archives, and fanwork: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ The great rewatch: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Discussions with other phannies (hey! that could be you, if you want!): ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎

Writing

Introduction, background, and conclusion sections: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2009-2013: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2014-2018: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2019-2025: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Long tangents (fandom, RPF, and PSIs/PSRs): ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Editing: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎

More details below the cut!

Research → peer reviewed or published literature:

I read a few things (like Haidt's The Anxious Generation) while I was in the process of searching academic databases, but most of the 403 works I have saved to Zotero for this are currently unread. They're not all the same length or will take the same amount of time to read, so the completion proportion is just getting updated based on vibes. I'm absolutely not referencing all 403 of these things in the script - I just cast a wide net for materials I thought might be relevant. Furthermore, there are some things I didn't save that I know I'll be referencing, like some of the Pew Research Center's work in the early to mid 2010s on teenagers and technology, or the journalistic coverage of what got my school district in huge trouble in 2011.

Research → Social media and forum archives:

The collection of posts, art, and fic (other than mine) to reference in the video. For regular posts and art, especially by people who have long since abandoned their accounts or whose content went pretty viral, I feel comfortable just showing things in the video with credit as examples. For fic, I intend to just discuss trends more broadly and vaguely since, as a fic writer myself, I know we tend to get more flack and less acclaim for our work and therefore prefer to stay out of the spotlight. Let me know if you think I should handle this differently - the academic impulse is to credit sources and reproducible searches for every single thing you do, but that's definitely not best practice for phandom history since we have so much "forbidden" lore. I'll also be reading the IDB forum front-to-back, listening to things like the phandom podcast, reading the current generation of phanzines, and looking at recent (and historical, if anyone has any) surveys done of phannies within the community. I'm assuming those folks would appreciate credit and/or a shoutout.

Research → The great rewatch:

Rewatching everything DNP-related so I can talk about it from more recent memory (and read what's left of the original comments for DNP videos that are still up at their original locations). I know there's a playlist for this but I also know it's incomplete, so I have been doing some poking around myself and will probably continue to.

Research → Discussions with other phannies:

I read a few things (like Haidt's The Anxious Generation) while I was in the process of searching academic databases, but most of the 403 works I have saved to Zotero for this are currently unread. They're not all the same length or will take the same amount of time to read, so the completion proportion is just getting updated based on vibes. I'm absolutely not referencing all 403 of these things in the script - I just cast a wide net for materials I thought might be relevant. Furthermore, there are some things I didn't save that I know I'll be referencing, like some of the Pew Research Center's work in the early to mid 2010s on teenagers and technology, or the journalistic coverage of what got my school district in huge trouble in 2011. The first task is to sort that whole Zotero collection into more manageable sub-collections (on PSR on PSIs, on mental health, on YouTube platform history, etc), which is what I'm currently working on.

Writing → Introduction, background, and conclusion sections

See old pinned post for the outline. Will expand details here once research is mostly done (I plan to read and watch everything in the research section aside from talking to other phannies, then complete the script's rough draft, then talk to others on call, then integrate that with and finalize the script).

Writing → 2009-2013

See above.

Writing → 2014-2018

See above.

Writing → 2019-2025

See above.

Writing → Long tangents (fandom, RPF, and PSRs/PSIs)

See above. These tangents are kind of mini video essays in and olf themselves, so I may write them while I'm reading through my saved stuff in Zotero and before I rewatch all the DNP videos.

[earthlybeam]

Could you describę,how Thranduil's beloved has a problem with accepting her own body. Thinking that,Thranduil loves her less,which of course is not truę. Because of this,she starts to eat less,less,and less meals,and she starts to lose more and more węight. Her dress starts to hang. She is getting weaker,frailer. Thranduil sees this after a long timę,when she is already very bąd,assuring her that she is for him,the most beautiful elleth everewherę.🥺🖤🌌🧝‍♂️🔥

Trigger Warning: Anorexia

This story touches on themes related to anorexia. Please proceed with caution if this topic is sensitive for you. Your well-being is the most important, so take care of yourself and prioritize your mental health.

I’ve written this from the perspective of “she” (you, the reader), but it’s not overly detailed as I want to remain cautious and considerate. As someone in recovery from anorexia, I know firsthand how challenging it can be to navigate these topics. Writing this was both personal and difficult, but I wanted to create something meaningful for others who might be struggling or healing . I apologize if it doesn’t delve deeply into specifics—I intentionally kept it this way to avoid triggering myself or anyone else.

To anyone reading who is struggling with anorexia or disordered eating, please remember you’re not alone. Recovery is possible, even when it feels out of reach. Be kind to yourself. ❤️‍🩹🫶✨

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Thranduil is often lost in his own duties and the responsibilities of his realm, but even he cannot miss the gradual change in his beloved. At first, it wasn’t as noticeable—small things that he might have dismissed had his keen senses not been so attuned to her presence. She would push her plate aside at meals after only a faint nibble, offering a quiet explanation that she simply wasn’t hungry or had eaten earlier. Her tone was soft and convincing, so much so that he hesitated to question her further. It was not unusual for elves to sometimes abstain from food when preoccupied, and he attributed it to fleeting restlessness rather than anything deeper.

But her habits grew more peculiar over time. More often than not, she would skip meals entirely, assuring him in gentle words that she had already eaten. Though her words seemed sincere, a faint doubt lingered in his mind. When he pulled her close during the night, wrapping her in his arms as they rested, the growing unease took root. His hands, brushing feather-light against her body, began to notice the subtle yet undeniable change in her. Where there had once been soft curves and warmth, there was now a startling firmness—sharp edges that made him pause, his brow furrowing slightly in the dim moonlight. Even then, he said nothing. Thranduil was no stranger to sorrow, to burdens that weighed heavily on the heart, and he respected her autonomy too much to press her before she was ready to speak. He told himself he would wait, that she would come to him in time. But as the days turned into weeks, his concerns only deepened.

In an attempt to ease her struggles, he began encouraging her to share breakfast with him in the mornings. He framed it as a small moment for them to spend together before the demands of the day pulled him away. She would comply, sitting across from him with a faint smile and picking at the food before her. She ate just enough to appease him—small bites that seemed painfully measured—but he watched her closely, noting the deliberate pace with which she moved. It was enough, or so he thought, to convince him she was eating, and he allowed himself to be reassured, if only for a short while. But the truth was far more troubling than he could have imagined. Once he left to attend to his duties, satisfied that she had eaten something, she would retreat to the privacy of her chambers or the nearest restroom. There, the food she had carefully consumed was discarded, her fragile body rejecting what little she had allowed herself to take in. This hidden ritual became her way of maintaining the facade, of keeping her pain and self-doubt hidden from him.

Over the course of months, her decline became impossible to ignore. Her once vibrant frame, so full of life and grace, seemed to shrink before his eyes. Dresses that once fit her beautifully now hung loosely, their fabric billowing around her as though the wind might carry her away. Her face, which he adored for its soft glow and gentle features, appeared hollowed, the light in her eyes dimmed. Even her movements, always so elegant and assured, began to seem too light, as though her body no longer held the strength to move with the same vitality. Thranduil noticed it all, though he told himself at first that it was not yet time to speak. He convinced himself that perhaps it was just a passing phase, that her appetite would return with time. But the weight of his doubts grew heavier with every glance, every moment spent by her side.

It wasn’t until a shared dinner one evening that the reality of her condition struck him fully. She sat across from him, her head slightly bowed, her hands trembling faintly as she held her utensils. He watched her take only a faint nibble of her meal before pushing the plate aside, her expression calm but distant. His piercing eyes, so often unreadable and aloof, softened with a mix of confusion and deep concern. As she rose from the table and quietly retreated to her chambers, Thranduil’s gaze followed her, his heart aching in a way he had not felt in centuries. The realization hit him with a force he had not anticipated: he had let this go on for far too long. Whatever pain or fear she was hiding, whatever thoughts had driven her to this state, he could no longer stand idly by. Though his duties had often drawn him away, he could no longer ignore the truth staring him in the face. His beloved, the one he cherished above all else, was slipping away from him. And this time, he would not let her fade.  

That night, Thranduil does not let her slip away into isolation as he has unwittingly allowed her to do before. His duties and the weight of his crown have often occupied his mind, but this time, he casts aside all else. His steps are purposeful as he ascends the stairs to their chambers, his heart heavy with guilt and determination. He has been blind for too long, content to wait, to let her come to him when she was ready—but now, he understands that the waiting has cost them dearly. He will not lose her to this. Not to her own self-doubt. Not to her pain. When he reaches their shared quarters, the soft glow of candlelight spills into the hallway. Pushing the door open with a deliberate calmness, he finds her standing before the tall, ornate mirror by the window. Her arms are crossed tightly over her middle, clutching herself as though trying to shield her reflection from her own eyes. She stares at her image, her expression a mixture of sorrow and silent disgust. Her gown, once tailored to her graceful frame, now hangs loosely off her shoulders, the fabric falling limply where it once hugged her figure.

The sight of her, so lost in this quiet torment, tears at his soul in a way no battle or grief ever has. For a long moment, Thranduil cannot speak, his breath caught in his chest as he stares at her frail form, illuminated by the soft candlelight. Her gown, once fitting her like a second skin, hangs off her frame as though it were meant for someone else. The sight of her hollowed cheeks, the way her arms wrap around herself tightly, makes his heart constrict with a pain he has no words for. He feels as if the ground beneath him has shifted—this is not the woman he adores, the one who once stood strong at his side. This is someone drowning in a silent, invisible battle, and he had not seen it. He finally steps forward, his voice trembling with uncharacteristic vulnerability, shattering the heavy silence. “Why?” he asks, his tone laced with anguish. “Why have you done this to yourself, meleth nîn?” At the sound of his voice, she flinches, her arms tightening across her middle as though trying to protect herself from the weight of his words. She does not turn to face him, staring instead at her reflection, the shame and self-loathing in her eyes unbearable even to herself. Her voice, when she finally speaks, is brittle, as if it might break under its own weight. “Because… because I thought if I could just be better—if I could be worthy—maybe you would—” She cuts off, swallowing hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her.

Thranduil’s chest tightens as her words sink in, each one a dagger to his heart. “Stop,” he commands gently, though the sorrow in his voice makes it a plea more than an order. He takes another step closer, his movements slow, as if afraid she might break apart before his eyes. But she still doesn’t face him, her shoulders shaking as silent tears fall. “I look at myself,” she whispers, her voice breaking with every word. “And I see someone… weak. Someone ugly. Someone you couldn’t possibly still love. You deserve better—someone beautiful, someone strong, someone—”

“Someone like you,” he interrupts, his voice unsteady but firm, his own pain now laid bare. His hands rise, trembling as he gently turns her to face him. The sight of her tears, of her fragile frame, threatens to undo him, but he holds steady. He cups her face, his thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks. “You do not see what I see,” he says, his voice low but thick with emotion. “You do not see how every part of you—the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way your very presence lights my path—makes this world brighter. You are not weak, nor ugly, nor unworthy. You are everything to me. You are my heart, my light. You have always been enough.” His voice cracks on the last word, and for the first time in an age, Thranduil’s regal composure breaks.

Her hands come up to grip his wrists as though anchoring herself to his words, but still, she shakes her head. “I… I don’t feel it,” she admits, her voice trembling, her tears falling harder now. “I don’t feel like enough. I feel broken, Thranduil. I feel like I’m fading away, and I don’t know how to stop it.” Her confession cuts him deeper than he ever thought possible. He pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly as though his embrace alone might keep her from slipping through his fingers. “Then let me hold you together,” he whispers, his voice raw. “Let me remind you every day, every hour, if I must. If I have failed you—if I have not shown you just how much I love you, how much you mean to me—then it is I who must ask forgiveness.”

She sobs quietly into his chest, her fragile frame trembling in his arms, and he holds her as if she is the most precious thing in the world, his heart breaking for her pain. “But promise me,” he whispers, his voice shaking, “promise me you will not fade from me. I cannot lose you, meleth. You are the root of my heart. Without you, I am nothing.” For a long moment, they stand there in the quiet of their chambers, her tears soaking into his robes as he holds her as though his very life depends on it. And perhaps it does—for in her, Thranduil sees not just his love, but his purpose, his joy, his everything.

In the days that follow, Thranduil becomes relentless in his devotion. He refuses to let her battle this darkness alone. Meals are no longer solitary; he invites her to eat with him, crafting each moment with care, ensuring she feels cherished rather than scrutinized. His words are tender, laced with love and affirmation, as though he is weaving a tapestry of reassurance around her heart. When she falters—when the doubt resurfaces like a shadow in her mind—he does not let her fall. He takes her hand, guiding her into the sunlight of the forest, walking with her through the golden glades and quiet streams. He speaks not only of her beauty but of her spirit, her strength.

“You are no less a part of this world’s beauty,” he tells her one day as they stand beneath the sunlight streaming through the canopy. “You are its center. Without you, the stars would dim, the forests would fall silent, and my heart… my heart would break.” Day by day, she begins to heal. The despair that once gripped her loosens its hold as his love surrounds her, unwavering and infinite. He does not rush her, nor does he expect perfection. He meets her where she is, every moment reminding her that she is enough, that she is loved, that she is his. To Thranduil, she is perfection—not for her outward appearance, but for the light within her, the love she has always given so selflessly. He remains steadfast, a king brought to his knees by the one he loves above all else. For her, he would wait an eternity. For her, he would give everything. And in time, as the shadows lift, he knows she will see herself as he does: beautiful, strong, and deeply, endlessly loved.

Thranduil, with the depth of his love and devotion, took it upon himself to help his beloved heal, piece by piece, moment by moment. Each day, he made it his mission to remind her of her worth, to show her that his love for her was unshakable and infinite. He didn’t merely speak his love—he lived it, weaving it into their daily lives with a quiet intensity that left no room for doubt.

The Mornings: Each morning, Thranduil would wake before her, lying still so as not to disturb her rest. As she stirred awake, he would press gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and the corners of her lips, whispering softly, “Good morning, meleth nîn. You are my first thought of the day and my greatest joy.” If she resisted joining him for breakfast, citing a lack of hunger, he would never pressure her. Instead, he would bring a tray to their chambers, filled with small, carefully chosen foods he knew she liked. “Just a little,” he would encourage, sitting beside her and eating with her so she would never feel alone. He never commented on how much she ate but celebrated each bite with soft smiles and warm words, making the experience gentle and unthreatening.

The Midday: As his duties called him to the throne room or council chambers, Thranduil would often find ways to keep her connected to him, even when they were apart. He sent her small notes, written in his elegant script, left where she would find them—a book she had been reading, a favorite resting spot by the window, or even tucked among the blooms of her favorite flowers. Each note carried his thoughts, like: “The world feels lighter knowing you are here.” “Your smile outshines the sun, meleth. I will see it again today, won’t I?” But it wasn’t just his words he offered. On days when her strength waned and she couldn’t bring herself to join him outside, Thranduil would bring the beauty of the forest to her. He would gather blossoms from the woods, arranging them in delicate patterns on her desk or beside her bed, whispering, “Even the most perfect bloom pales beside you.”

The Evenings: The evenings were sacred to Thranduil—time he could dedicate entirely to her. He would often draw her a warm bath, filling it with soothing oils and the petals of her favorite flowers. He would help her undress, and though she hesitated at first, he would take her hands in his and kiss her palms, whispering, “There is nothing here that is unworthy, meleth. Nothing I do not love.” When she let him, he would kneel beside the bath and gently wash her, his fingers tracing over the parts of her body she had grown to loathe. Her collarbones, once hidden, now too sharp in her eyes, he would kiss with reverence. Her arms, which she thought too thin, he would cradle, pressing his lips against them softly. “Each part of you is a piece of my world,” he murmured. “Without one, I would be lost.” Afterward, when she was clothed and resting, he would take her in his arms, trailing kisses over her skin. If she tried to turn away, he would stop her with a hand on her cheek, his eyes piercing yet soft. “Do not hide from me,” he would say, his voice heavy with emotion. “You are mine to love, wholly and without condition.” Every night before bed, he would kiss every part of her that she had grown to feel insecure about. Her wrists, her shoulders, her ribs—wherever her own fingers lingered in shame, his lips followed in devotion. He would press his lips gently to her stomach, his hands resting there with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Here,” he would whisper, “is where life and beauty dwell. Here is perfection.” He would trail his kisses lower, over her thighs, her knees, and down to her ankles, his lips brushing the places she thought unworthy, as though he could erase every doubt with his touch. He kissed the curve of her hips, the small of her back, her collarbones, and even her fingertips, murmuring soft words of love with every press of his lips. “Here,” he said with quiet reverence, “is strength. Here is grace. Here is the one who keeps my heart beating.” No part of her was ignored, no inch of her body was left untouched by his worship. And in his touch, there was no hesitation, no doubt—only love, pure and unshakable, reminding her with every moment that she was cherished beyond measure.

The Small Things: Beyond the grand gestures, it was the little, unspoken acts of love that began to rebuild her confidence and trust in herself. Thranduil was attentive to her smallest needs, anticipating them before she even realized. If she shivered, he would wrap his cloak around her shoulders. If her hands trembled, he would take them in his own, rubbing warmth into her fingers. He began to guide her to the world outside their chambers again, never pushing but always encouraging. Together, they would walk the forest paths, and he would tell her stories of the ancient trees, the history of the land they walked upon. But always, his words would circle back to her. “These trees have seen thousands of years,” he once said, standing beneath the great canopy of the Greenwood. “And yet, it was not until you walked beneath them that they truly knew beauty.”

The Nights: At night, as they lay together, Thranduil would pull her close, her body pressed against his as he stroked her hair. “I will always love you,” he would whisper into the quiet darkness. “There is nothing you can do, nothing you could be, that will change that.” When she cried, overcome by the weight of her emotions, he would hold her tighter, his voice steady as he whispered reassurances. “You are not broken,” he would say again and again. “You are healing. And I will be here for every step, for every moment, for as long as you need me.” Sometimes, when words weren’t enough, he would sing to her, his voice low and melodic, the ancient elvish songs of love and light filling the space between them. These were his prayers for her, his promises woven into melody.

The Healing: Thranduil knew the path to healing would be long and fraught with setbacks, but he never faltered. When she doubted herself, he reminded her of her strength. When she pushed him away, he stayed. When she felt unworthy, he held her and whispered his love until she could no longer deny its truth. Through his daily acts of love—his unwavering attention, his patience, his gentleness—she began to see herself through his eyes. And though the darkness did not leave entirely, it no longer held her captive. Slowly, with Thranduil’s steady hand and boundless love, she began to find her way back to herself. And to him.

[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Stars in Her Eyes, Part 2

Part 1 here

*reads old decrepit spell book* “if you write the trauma in the fic, maybe it will fix it in post” hmm yes of course of course.

More of whatever the hell this is turning out to be. I looooove Price and I waaaaaannnttt him to fix me and you and all of us together. The worms in my brain won’t leave until it happens!

—

“Well, you’re cleared for field duty.”

“Hooray.” A listless response.

A huff from the nurse. As she cleaned up, she paused. “I know I’m generally pissing in the wind when I say this, but maybe a woman will believe me this time. Take care of… whatever’s on your mind. The head trauma, the noise, the explosions, it wears you down. You don’t need old demons eating away at what’s left.”

As you got up from the chair you paused. “What do you mean? I’m fine, I’m clear, right?”

“The, wait, shit hold on maybe I’m wrong. You’re the one with the concussion, reports of hallucinations in the field.” She said, flipping through your chart. “Yeah, reported by your captain. May want to ask him about it before you—“ A click of the door closing. “—go back out there. I don’t know why I thought this would go any different.” She muttered to herself, getting ready for the next patient.

—

You thought that was a dream. You were SURE that was a dream. Shit shit shit. No fucking wonder they came to see you so often. Gaz brought flowers from all of them. Soap brought cookies and his loud mouth. Ghost brought complaints from the nurses, saying he “lingered too much” and “wanted reports that didn’t belong to him”. Price however brought nothing. Radio silence there.

You made it back to barracks a little before dinner. A shower and refresh from everything. Sneaking into the shared break room, angling to see if anyone was mad, worried, feeling… wrong about you. You’ll fix it. The last thing you wanted was them thinking you weren’t anything less than capable. Surely you weren’t perfect after this. But capable. That was achievable.

“Oi, look who’s back amongst the livin’!” Soap jumped up first and came to check you out. As rough and tumble as he was, he put the breaks on, opting for grabbing you by the shoulders instead of picking you up. “Thought we scrambled you somethin’ fierce this time.” He said, grabbing your chin and giving you a once over.

Huffing, you slapped arms away and composed yourself. You did offer a smile as you smoothed out your shirt. “Morphine cures all wounds, cognitive and otherwise.”

“So I heard.” Gaz’s voice behind you, alongside Ghost as they entered. His smile could stop traffic you thought to yourself. “Thanks for the flowers.” You said quietly. “Anytime.” He replied, gently rubbing a thumb across your knuckles.

Ghost took a big, typical stoic stance against the counter, arms crossed. Eyes big and soft for you. Oh. He’s worried? That never happens, you thought, a needle of panic through your chest. A big, warm hand on your shoulder. “Price wants you in his office when you can. Glad you’re back.” The tail end was more of a rumble than words.

The panic bloomed as three sets of eyes stayed on you. Too much, you thought. Too much care, too much consideration. You were the one who was supposed to worry, not them. You fussed with your nails, looking down. “Thanks for the help, guys. I’m, I’m sorry.”

“We’re a team, it’s what we do. Now go, he’s waiting.” Ghost demanded.

—

You shook your ankle absentmindedly. Sitting on the couch in his office. The same sick feeling in your throat and nerves as the principals office. He waved you in, cigar in hand, on a phone call with papers and documents strewn around. Life didn’t stop for him, you thought. You took to staring at the back of a framed photo, disassociating about who could be on the other side, listening to the drone of his voice. A loved one? A sibling? No, he never talked about brothers or sisters. It’s warm in here. Smells like him. Maybe you would too when you left. Maybe he—

“Sergeant.”

A gasp left your chest as your eyes refocused. Just silence, now. A cigar now crushed in the ashtray, the last hurrah of smoke and scent and spice wafted in the air. Relatable, you thought.

You cleared your throat. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

His eyes roamed over you. Again. And again. Like he was lost in his own thoughts. “You back with us?” He finally grunted.

“More or less.”

He stood up, a little too quickly. Made your heart beat a little too loudly in your ears. Made you feel like you were in the dark room again. The fear and the unknown smothering everything. “I’m sorry about the mission, it was my fault, I wasn’t there, I wasn’t—“

A raised hand. The rambling died in your throat as he made his way over to you. Two bourbons poured, one placed in your hands. A seat taken next to you. The crystal tumbler cool in your hand. A gift for his 10th year in the SAS. Back to the silence.

You two had always navigated the silence together. Normally it was more comforting than this. A quiet nod of understanding in a debrief. A roll of the eyes in a meeting. Notifying that there were enemies in the area on missions. He always knew you better than you knew yourself it seemed. That’s why he was the captain. He did this for everyone. Didn’t he?

The hassle of talking about it, this, whatever this was, never reared its head. Rules, optics, whatever the excuse was. But he knew. What you were. What he was. A lit candle in your dark room. One you held with both hands when the dark was too much. Whispering and praying it would stay this time. A prayer to a deaf god, you thought.

Maybe not so deaf after all. He swirled his glass in his hands, staring straight ahead. “I didn’t throw you away. I need you to know that. More were coming, I needed you elsewhere.”

A grip in your chest. A swallow of your drink. “I know. I was distracted on the mission, I know that, but I had it handled, I should have been there to have your back.” You rushed out.

You feel a hand in your hairline, and for a moment, you’re back in that room. Half a room. Humming, praying to your deaf God. “I’m sorry about your head.” He rumbled out. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not as much as you leaving.”

A broken sound comes from him as you close your eyes and finish your drink.

A flurry of motion. Your glass taken from your hand, his arms bringing you in, fighting, grunting, till stillness as he pins you on your back, holding your cheek in his palm. It’s been too long since he’s seen your stars.

“Tell me about the song.”

“No.”

“It can be an order if you want.”

“No.”

“… please.” His resolve breaks and you see desperation in his face. “Jesus, let me fucking take care of you like you deserve, tell me about the bloody song.”

“It was someone else’s mom.” You say, returning his gaze, tears flowing freely now. “You read my fucking report. Home was shit. So were the parents. It was another girl, she, she hurt herself playing. Her mom came over and sang the song to her. If, if I hurt myself, I just got another be—“ a hiccup shakes your chest. “I sing it to myself since… no one did it for me.”

Price expected something like this, but his heartbreak took him by surprise. The tear that rolled off of his nose onto your face broke the spell, his hands now wiping away the tears and the pain. And for the first time, you let him. You let him see it all. His candle now a fire in your dark room. With any luck he’ll burn it all fucking down, you hope.

[anonomouslyabanana]

for some reason hate crimes md grabbed me by the throat randomly -- snippet based on a post (if anyone finds it pls lmk) that presented a canon divergence au that was essentially: Wilson freaks out when House start seeing Stacey again bc he made a move once and House rejected him on the basis that he was married (rly it was bc he couldn't handle being one of Wilson's one-offs):

For the millionth time, Wilson wonders if this is one of House’s elaborate pranks, if at some point he’s going to break and say “gotcha! I was playing the long game, what do you say we get outta here?” 

Which is ridiculous, because House would never say that. Then again, Wilson thought House would never sleep with a married (engaged) man (woman). And then he takes a second to wonder why the hell he thought that and realizes it’s because House told him so and he took him at his word. Which is somehow the most humiliating part of this whole ordeal. 

Maybe House didn’t care that he was married, just didn’t want him. Maybe he did want him but didn’t think it was worth the trouble. Maybe he’s secretly a Boy Scout at heart and somehow the difference between engaged and married is actually enough to change his behavior. That last option is a lot less likely, but Wilson is desperate, at this point. He feels like one of House’s ducklings, desperately throwing out hypotheses about the undiagnosable patient du jour while House looks on, blandly unimpressed but secretly loving it because there’s nothing he loves more than an impossible mystery. Wilson might be going crazy. He briefly has a vision of himself commandeering House’s whiteboard and scrawling “he doesn’t want me” for the fellows to puzzle over. Differential diagnosis, anyone? He feels a little hysterical, so he’s impressed with himself that he’s been having this little breakdown while conversing with House on autopilot.