#everything he’s been calling Link in his head all spills out when he’s desperate

[alvojake]

Those Eyes | P.JS

「paring」 : dad!jay x fem!reader 「word count」 : 6.6k

「synopsis」 : after finally getting out of a very toxic relationship you desperately needed a restart. your brother offering you just that, letting you live with him until you can get back on your feet. when you get all moved in heeseung throws a little get-together, or as he would call it, a celebration for you leaving the asshole of an ex. meeting your brother's friends again after so many years was a little nerve-racking but once you see them all walk through the door with wide smiles and open arms it all disappears until your childhood crush comes walking through the door with a little girl on his hip.

「genre」 : fluff, humor, romance, a tinge of angst

「warning」 : light cursing, mentions of a toxic relationship, mentions of abuse, small mention of blood, talk of unwanted pregnancy, drinking, tooth-rotting fluff, lmk if I missed anything!

「note」 : here's a cutie little jay fic until I finish the first part of the demon sunoo fic! I hope you enjoy this because I absolutely love the dad jay agenda

You flopped down on your brother's couch with a huff, wiping some of the sweat off of your brow. You guys had spent the majority of the day moving all of your stuff out of your apartment, well mostly you taking everything and getting out while your ex was gone. Thankful that he hadn’t decided to come back early not really wanting to bail your brother out of jail for getting into a fight.

Heeseung then walked into the living room with two cups of water, taking the empty space next to you. “You okay?” His voice was soft as he handed one of the glasses to you.

With a nod you took the drink, downing half of it before wiping your lips. A laugh left your brother’s lips causing you to glare at him. “I was thirsty, leave me alone.” You bumped your shoulder against his before glazing out the window, worry and fear etched in your veins.

“He can’t get you anymore,” The dark-haired male next to you put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Heeseung took in your glistening eyes when you turned your head to look at him, causing his heart to lurch. He never truly knew what your ex had put you through but when you showed up on his doorstep a few days ago, covered in bruises and blood he knew he needed to put an end to it. You still refused to talk about that night or the extent of what he used to do to you, but he wasn’t going to push either.

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on his lips when you held your pinky out to him, “promise?” Your voice was shaky, a clear sign that you were holding back tears. 

“Promise.” Heeseung linked his pinky with yours, pressing the pad of his thumb to yours, sealing the words. 

That’s when the tears finally spilled past your eyelids, all of the emotions you have been holding in for the past few days coming out in your sobs. Heeseung was quick to pull you into his body, wrapping you in his warmth, letting you cry until your heart's content. You hadn’t realized just how much you have missed your brother, his soft touches and playful personality. It left you feeling guilty knowing that you had pushed him away because of your ex, you let someone drive you apart despite your childhood promise of never leaving each other's side. Yet you were the first to leave, it made you cry even harder clutching onto Heeseung’s shirt, scared that if you were to let go that he would just disappear.

After you had finally cried everything out, you lay against your brother, the room filling with a comfortable silence. A few moments later, Heeseung shifted causing you to sit up. He reached forward to wipe a few stray tears that were stuck under your eyes before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Come on, let's get you to bed.” He stood from the couch then turned to you, holding a hand out.

Placing your smaller hand into his, he pulled you to your feet before letting you lead the way to the stairs. 

Once you made it to your room, you stood in the middle of the room still unsure how to feel. Noticing your slight discomfort he walked forward, rustling a hand in your hair, “Give it some time pipsqueak, you’ll get there.”

You let out a deep sigh before nodding, you knew he was right, this wasn’t going to be something that you would just get used to overnight. Though you were going to try your best. Walking over to the unmade bed you sat down on the edge, looking at the picture you had sitting on your nightstand.

It was of you and Heeseung just right before you met your ex. You had come home from college for a break so Heeseung decided to drag you out to the arcade they had just reopened. Heeseung had managed to win you the giant dragon plush that you had been eyeing the whole day and when he gave it to you he could have sworn you had won the lottery.

You smile fondly as you reach out to grab the frame, fingers running over the cracked glass. Your ex had tossed a bunch of your stuff, especially the things that tied to your brother. You, however, fought with him for this photo which resulted in him cracking the picture frame in the process.

“Get some sleep, I’ll be right across the hall if you need anything.” Your brother’s voice startled you seeing as you had almost completely forgotten he was still in the room. You looked over at him with a small smile, nodding your head.

However, your nerves spiked as soon as he walked out of the room, leaving the door cracked. Your hands shook slightly as you placed the photo back on your nightstand. Thinking maybe a shower would help you relax, you stood from the bed, gathering the things you needed before heading to the bathroom.

The shower seemed to help a little bit until you were lying on your bed after turning the lights out. You lay on your side, facing the picture hoping that it would give you some peace to try and sleep. However, no matter how hard you tried you just couldn’t fall asleep. Tossing and turning until you were sure your hair looked like a bird's nest. Biting the inside of your lip to the point that it was swollen. 

Giving up you laid on your back, staring at the white ceiling above you. Then your brother popped into your head, though you didn’t want to bother him you knew that he would give you the comfort you were seeking.

So you tossed the blankets off of your body before making your way out of your room. Walking quietly, not making a sound, a habit you’ve picked up from having to walk on eggshells around your ex. When you got to Heeseung’s door you noticed that he had left it cracked and you could see light seeping out of the seam.

Knocking softly you pushed the door open, peeking your head in and seeing him lying on his bed, phone in hand. His eyes flicker up to you when he notices the door opening, he knows why you were here and quite frankly he had been waiting for you to make your way into his room. Hitting the power button on his phone he set it to the side, giving you his undivided attention.

You encased your body with your arms, eyes looking anywhere but his, feeling a bit embarrassed now that you stood here. Your bottom lip was once again trapped between your teeth, chewing on the irritated skin.

“Come here.” Heeseung’s tone was sweet as he moved back in his bed, making room for you before holding the blankets open. Tears unintentionally brimmed in your eyes as you shuffled over to your brother's bed, climbing inside of his blankets.

You wrapped your arms around his midsection before snuggling your face in the crook of his neck, his warmth instantly relaxing you. Once you were comfortable Heeseung let the blankets drop, covering the both of you. He said a quick good night before placing a kiss on top of your head.

Not even five minutes later you were fast asleep, small snores escaping your parted lips making Heeseung chuckle before closing his eyes to sleep.

“Okay, so let me get this straight…” You leaned against the counter opposite of Heeseung who had just revealed a plan he had, “you want to throw a party-”

“A get-together, there’s a difference.” Heeseung interrupted you with a pointed look causing you to roll your eyes.

“You want to have a ‘get-together’ in honor of me leaving my ex?” You made sure to empathize the ‘get-together’ part while raising your eyebrow. Heeseung just looked at you with a wide smile and nodded his head as if you just acknowledged he passed a huge test. 

You looked away apprehensively, you couldn’t tell your brother no, not with that huge smile on his face. So taking a second to think you nodded and looked back over at him, “who’s gonna be here?” You were mainly worried about who was going to be invited rather than the party itself, you weren’t too sure about being around so many people at once after everything.

“Just the boys I swear.” Heeseung informed you and you just nodded softly, “they were super excited when I told them about it.” 

Your tongue jutted out wetting your lips as you looked around the kitchen. It’s not like you weren’t excited to see the boys you had grown up with, it’s just you weren’t really sure how they felt after you left them hanging for so many years.

That little voice in the back of your head was telling you that they didn’t want to see you, that they would find any and every reason not to come, and you wouldn’t blame them. You would only blame yourself for your actions, that didn’t mean it hurt any less though.

“Y/n.” Heeseung called out to you, placing a hand on your arm snapping you out of your thoughts. His face held nothing short of concern as he looked down at you, “We don’t have to, I can tell the guys another time and we can just chill here and watch movies or whatever.” He knew that it would probably trigger your anxiety and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, you appreciate your brother so much, but as much as you would love to take him up on his offer you knew you’d have to face the boys sooner or later. So quickly shaking your head you told Heeseung that it was fine and that you would love to see them again. Now that wasn’t all a complete lie, you were excited to see them after so long, but you were also nervous.

A bright smile erupted on Heeseung’s face causing your heart to jolt. You had almost forgotten how happy he got when you agreed to any of his ideas. Though most would get you in trouble when you were younger. That didn’t stop either of you from doing it again so it was safe to say that your parents were always kept on their toes.

“Don’t worry too much about it pipsqueak, we’ll just do something small,” Heeseung reassured you and he reached forward to ruffle your hair, but you smacked his hand away. “How does ordering in and watching movies sound?”

You couldn’t help but smile as you nodded, remembering all of the times the five of you would build pillow forts in the living room for movie nights. Jake would always get a little too excited and knock down one of the walls before sheepishly apologizing while trying to desperately fix it only to further destroy your imaginary castle. All of the boys would tease him while you sat to the side with a wide smile watching with an endearing gaze. 

Though there was one movie night that would forever be etched into your brain, the night that you realized that you had feelings for one of your brother's best friends. It was your sophomore year of high school and it was a weekend when all of you guys weren’t busy with work or school so you decided to plan one of your beloved movie nights. Jay was the first to show up and being the gentleman he was, he helped your mom finish dinner while you were in the shower and Heeseung finished up the round on his game.

When you had finished getting around you made your way downstairs walking into the kitchen to ask your mom when dinner would be done. However, you were met with Jay standing over a pot, mixing the contents inside. His blonde hair slicked back while a few loose strands framed his face. You watched how his muscles flexed under his shirt sleeve, before watching him cook. There was something so domestic about it, something that finally made you realize that maybe you were falling for your brother’s best friend.

He turned his head and flashed you his signature, charming smile which always made you weak in the knees. 

“Dinners almost done, why don’t you set the table bug?” He suggested as he moved back a little bit to turn the stove off. You stood there staring for a few moments longer before Jake walked into the room loudly greeting you and Jay. He swung his arm around your shoulder to which you groaned and pushed his arm off, jabbing his side with your finger. 

You quickly set the table just like Jay had requested and when he brought the pot of food over he smiled widely. 

Your eyes went wide when he placed his hand on top of your head, “good job bug.” It was the twinkle in his eyes when he smiled at you that confirmed it. You were in love with your brother’s best friend.

“Hey, pipsqueak… earth to y/n.” Heeseung waved his hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your reminiscing. Heat rushed up your neck, dusting your cheeks a light shade of red, realizing you had been caught daydreaming. “There she is.” Your brother chuckled as he took a step back, “what were you thinking so hard about?” There was a teasing undertone in his words that made you squint at him.

“I was just remembering all of the times we used to have movie nights.” You rolled your eyes before standing from the bar stool with a yawn, “when are we doing this?”

“I told them Saturday afternoon,” You nodded at his words, stretching your arms above your head, letting out a small groan before letting them drop back to your sides.

“Cool, so I have time to take a nap.” You covered another yawn before heading towards the entryway of the kitchen.

“You do realize it's three in the afternoon right?” Heeseung raised an eyebrow, pointing to the clock that was hanging on one of the walls in the kitchen. You just glanced at it before shrugging and walking off, but not missing his small ‘weirdo’.

You sat on the bar stool with a glass of wine your mother had brought over the other day watching as Heeseung laid out all of the takeout that had just been delivered, making sure everything was there. However, you couldn’t help but notice that there was an extra box, far too small to be one of the guys. Before you could start questioning your brother you heard the doorbell ringing.

“That’s probably the guys,” Heeseung told you as he wiped his hands off before making a beeline for the door. You stayed put looking down at the crimson liquid that swirled around in your glass, trying to gain some confidence to face your childhood friends.

Deciding that it would just be best to rip the bandaid off in one swift go you just stood, downing the rest of the wine. Walking to the entrance of the kitchen you could hear their voices a little more clearly.

“Where’s Jay?” You heard your brother’s voice before another, familiar voice followed.

“He should be here soon, Minji was being difficult I guess.” Sunghoon shrugged his shoulders before looking around, trying to find any sign of you, but you had stopped dead in your tracks at the mention of another girl. Someone with Jay nonetheless.

Did Heeseung really forget about your feelings for Jay, or did he think you finally got over him? Also, why hadn’t he told you that Jay was bringing someone with him? Is that why there was another container of food? So many questions rushed through your mind at once making your head hurt.

You rubbed your temples half tempted to just run off to your room and say screw it, but they were already here it wouldn’t be fair to the boys. So you shook off the feeling before putting on a brave face. 

As soon as you rounded the corner, arms wrapped around your smaller frame causing you to let out a small sound of surprise. The familiar scent of his cologne had your body relax instantly, and you wrapped your arms around his body, pulling him closer.

“Hey, Jakey.” Tears involuntarily filled your eyes as his warmth surrounded you, if there was anyone besides your brother that you felt instant comfort in their hugs it would be Jake. He always managed to spill all of his emotions in just a simple gesture, no words needed.

“Hey, pipsqueak.” Jake pulled away from you, hands holding you at a distance so he could look over you. His eyes scrunched a little at the still healing cuts that were on your face and jaw, wanting nothing more than to beat your ex into the next life and then some.

Noticing where his gaze was, you smiled softly, “I’m okay, don’t worry.” Your words seemed to have reassured the boy a bit, but before he could open his mouth a black-haired male came into view.

“Quit hogging Jake,” Sunghoon hissed before bumping the older out of the way. Once Jake was out of the way Sunghoon smiled down at you, his canines poking out from under his lip. You couldn’t help but laugh as you saw Jake grumbling off to the side before you opened your arms, offering Sunghoon a hug. He was quick to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close, scared that if he let go that you would disappear. His chin rested on top of your head as you hummed contently.

A cough interrupted your hug causing Sunghoon to pull away, looking over at your brother who stood there with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest.

“What? We all know we won’t get a chance once Jay shows up.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but his words caused your face to heat up. Out of all of the boys, Sunghoon had been the first to figure out your feelings for Jay. Though his words did confuse you, because why would Jay focus on you when he was bringing a girl with him?

Just then another knock was heard at the door and your heart dropped, it was Jay. That’s the only person it could be seeing as everyone else was already here. Sunghoon moved to stand next to you while Heeseung opened the door revealing the tall dark-haired male, and a… little girl.

“Hey sorry we’re late, someone could pick a bow.” Jay teased the child on his hip causing her to burst out in giggles. The sound alone made a smile creep onto your lips, but who was she? His daughter? You suddenly felt sick at the thought, that if she were his daughter that could only mean that he was with her mother. 

Your mind swirled and you didn’t even notice Heeseung’s gaze on you, worry gleaming in his eyes as he watched your face fall. But just as soon as it was there, it was gone and a smile spread on your lips.

Jay’s eyes then landed on you, a smile pulling on the corner of his mouth, his eyes holding that same twinkle from years ago.

“Hey bug,” There it was, that same little nickname he has called you since fourth grade. Your heart fluttered as you waved at him before your eyes flickered over to the little girl. Jay placed the girl down on her feet where she latched herself to the male's leg, eyes looking up at you in curiosity. “This is Minji, my daughter.”

You swallowed thickly but continued to smile nonetheless, bending down so you were a little closer to the girl’s height. “Hi Minji, I’m y/n, your dad’s friend.”

Jay couldn’t help but feel his heart drop a little when you so easily said ‘friend’, but the word seemed to have comforted his daughter enough for her to move towards you. She walked forward until she stood in front of you.

“You’re really pretty, it’s no wonder why daddy talks about you all the time,” Minji spoke clearly while playing with her fingers, however, her words nearly choked both you and Jay while the other boys stifled laughs.

“Oh, um… thank you Minji. You’re very pretty as well.” You gave her a soft smile besides the raging red that colored your skin. 

Minji smiled widely before grabbing your hand to pull you somewhere, “Uncle Hee we’re gonna go color!” The little girl announced before dragging you off into the living room to pull out her stash of coloring books and crayons.

The boys stood there with an adoring gaze as you and Minji started talking about her week at school and how nice her teachers were. Heeseung then turned to look at Jay, noticing the small smile that was tugging on his lips. He walked over and clapped the younger male on the shoulder.

“Just go slow, she’s been through a lot.” That’s all he said before walking into the living room, “Now where’s my coloring page at Min?” He crouched down in front of you two and the little girl quickly grabbed a book and picked a page out for your brother.

Jay hadn’t thought that you felt the same as him, at least not anymore, but Heeseung’s words still rang in his ears. Jake was soon to follow after Heeseung and loudly complained about being hungry which resulted in a fit of laughter from Minji’s lips.

Sunghoon looked over at his older friend, who seemed to be lost in thought, “Don’t overthink it, man, just let it flow naturally.” And Jay nodded, because he was right, all he can do is see where the night takes you guys.

After you all finished dinner everyone decided that it was movie time, picking something was relatively easy, but the seating arrangement was another story. Minji grabbed a throw blanket before completely dodging Jay who was reaching out for her and climbed her way onto your lap. You couldn’t help but giggle at the look that fell upon Jay’s face at his daughter's betrayal.

“Aww Minji I think you hurt your dad’s feelings.” You told the little girl who was too busy unfolding the blanket to really care.

Her boba eyes looked over at Jay, “Sorry daddy.” She apologized before snuggling into you the moment she was able to cover you both with the blanket. Your lips curled inward to keep from laughing at Jay’s wide eyes, he then looked up, meeting your eyes.

“You’ve done stole my kid.” His tone was one of faux hurt causing you to laugh softly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Not my fault she likes me more.” Your words only had Jay rolling his eyes playfully before you got comfortable and watched the movie.

Not even halfway through the movie, Minji had fallen asleep in your lap, her hand wrapped around your finger tightly. You were also on the verge of falling asleep, eyes dropping as you laid your head in your hand that was propped up on the arm of the couch.

Jay glanced away from the TV for a split second, looking over at you two, his heart swelling. His daughter was never one to trust so easily, especially another woman, so seeing her warm up to you so quickly was a pleasant surprise. He smiled fondly as he watched your eyes falling close, your lips parted slightly as you fell asleep.

“Are you gonna tell her about Minji’s mom?” Jake’s sudden question caught all of the guys by surprise and they all looked over at him with wide eyes, “she thinks you’re with someone Jay, you could see it on her face the moment you walked in with Minji.”

There was one thing that the boys hated the most, that being those rare moments where Jake got a little too serious and started giving out facts straight. Heeseung and Sunghoon knew he was right, they had seen the way your face fell for a split second before you covered it. Jay, however, didn’t know exactly what he meant.

“What are you talking about?” Jay’s eyes flickered over to you and Minji, had you really been worried that he was with someone? He could admit that it was a reasonable thought, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“She still likes you, Jay,” Heeseung said flatly as his eyes went back to the forgotten movie. Heeseung knew you like the back of his hand, even after the years of barely seeing each other he still knew you. He knew that deep down you still harbored that same undying love for Jay, whether you’d admit it or not.

Jay looked at Heeseung surprised, did you really still feel the same after all these years? Though now he couldn’t be sure that you’d want a relationship with him, not after all of the hell you went through. That and he came with more commitment than normal.

Glancing over Heeseung caught Jay’s gaze on you, how his eyes twinkled when he looked at you, the same way they have always done. He could see the longing in his eyes, knowing that you were so close yet so far away. He sighed before shifting on the couch, growing a little tired himself.

“Just don’t fuck it up this time.” Heeseung’s words struck Jay hard, he knew that he screwed up when you guys were younger. In his hopes of letting you down easy, he only shattered your heart into pieces. It’s not like he didn’t feel the same, but the fact that you were both leaving for college and he didn’t think he could handle the distance. However, now that he had another chance, even if it was very slim, he was going to take it. This time he was going to win you over in the end.

After the move was over it was pretty late so the guys decided to wrap it up seeing as everyone was getting tired, well besides you and Minji who were still passed out. Jake and Sunghoon were the first to leave, quickly bidding Heeseung and Jay bye before walking out of the door. Heeseung walked into the kitchen to clean things up before heading to bed while Jay worked on trying to get Minji out of your lap.

“C’mon baby girl we gotta go home.” His voice was soft as he tried to coax the little girl awake, but she wouldn’t budge, jerking away from Jay which caused him to stumble forward. Thankfully he was able to catch himself on the back of the couch, but the movement had woken you up. Opening your eyes you were met with Jay’s face barely inches away from your own.

Neither of you said a word, eyes conveying enough for both of you to know. You saw his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes once more. You wanted nothing more than to lean forward and connect your lips to his, but you knew you shouldn’t, not when he had to go back home with Minji to her mother, his girlfriend, and possibly his wife. The word left a bitter taste in your mouth, your stomach turning.

“I’m sorry, she kinda just pulled me forward.” Jay apologized lowly, his breath fanning your face leaving a chill to go down your spine. 

You just nodded, curling your lips inward, “It’s okay, are you guys leaving?” You asked as Jay shifted away from you, standing back on his feet. He nodded watching as you bit at your bottom lip, a habit you’ve had for as long as he remembered, and wanting nothing more than to kiss you to get you to stop.

“Yeah, it’s getting late.” He looked over at the clock on the wall once more, as much as he would love to spend more time with you, he knew he needed to get Minji home and in her bed otherwise, she’d raise hell tomorrow.

You shifted a little, moving the girl so Jay could pick her up. She protested with a whine until she was fully in Jay’s arms. Once she was settled on his shoulder he turned back to you only to find you avoiding his gaze, abusing the irritated skin on your lip once more.

“Hey, we’re gonna be going to the park tomorrow, did you want to join?” He extended the offer to you hoping you would take it, so he could have an actual chance to talk to you. Your eyes flickered up to his, eyebrows scrunched together, why would he ask that? Wouldn’t her mother be there?

“What about her mom? I don’t think she’d be comfortable with me there.” The words tumbled from your lips before you even had a chance to stop them, face burning red.

Jay looked down at you with wide eyes, the boys hadn’t been lying when they said you thought he was with Minji’s mother. He licked his lips before looking off to the side, the topic of Minji’s mother wasn’t one he liked to bring up very often, but he knew he had to with you, or he’d lose his chance entirely.

“She’s…” Jay cleared his throat before meeting your eyes once more, “she’s not in the picture, it’s just Minji and I.”

It was your turn to look at him with wide eyes, embarrassment creeping into your gut. “Oh I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“No it's okay, but please come tomorrow, I can explain everything then.” He begged and you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter, his pleading with you to agree. So you did, you agreed with a nod and Jay couldn’t help but smile. However, you had pulled your lip between your teeth once more, but this time he reached forward cupping your face and using his thumb to pull your lip away from the assault it was receiving, “And please stop biting your lip.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip making your heart hammer in your chest as you looked up at him, sure that your face resembled a tomato right now. Realizing what he just did Jay pulled away, a nervous smile adorning his features. “I’ll see you tomorrow y/n.”

Hearing your name fall from his lips like honey was making your brain mushy so all you could do was nod and watch as he walked out of the house, Minji fast asleep on his shoulder.

Heeseung walked back into the living room after seeing the two out only to find you zoned out on the couch, “you okay over there pipsqueak?”

He watched in amusement as you nearly jumped out of your skin at his voice before you told him you were fine before rushing off to your room, the earlier scenes replaying in your head.

Though in truth Heeseung knew you weren’t, in a good way of course, but not okay at all. He shook his head to himself as he turned the lights off before making his way to his bedroom for the night.

The next morning you had woken up groggy, not really getting much sleep the night before. However, you weren’t about to let that stop you so you got out of bed and started getting around, not truly knowing what time you were supposed to be there.

Just as you finished doing your hair your phone dinged on the counter and when you picked it up you noticed an unknown number. A sense of dread filled your senses as you feared the worst when opening the message, but relief flooded your system as you read the message.

‘Hee gave me your number but we’ll be at the park around noon.’

A silly smile tugged on your lips as you sent a quick ‘Okay see you soon’ before turning your phone off. Sitting it back on the counter you looked back up to check your makeup one last time only to have your soul nearly snatched out of your body when you saw Heeseung’s reflection behind you.

“My lord Hee! Announce yourself for fuck sake.” You turned and chucked one of your beauty blenders at him, hitting him square in the forehead. He burst out laughing and you couldn’t help but join in, a hand on your chest trying to calm your racing heart.

“Sorry, sorry, you just look so cute smiling like a love-sick puppy.” He teased, causing you to glare at him.

“Go away Heeseung,” You pouted but he didn’t move an inch and you narrowed your eyes at him once more, “Go.”

“This is my house, you can’t kick me out of my bathroom!” He exclaimed, a playful smile on his lips as you marched up to him, pushing him out of the doorway.

“Don’t care, go away.” With that, you shut the door in his face and he just chuckled, shaking his head. He was happy to see you finally gain back that smile that he loved seeing so much, he only hoped it was here for the long run.

You pulled up to the park a few minutes before noon, looking around trying to spot Jay and Minji. Your hand came up to shield your eyes from the harsh rays of sunlight so you could see. Though you didn’t see them anywhere, maybe you showed up a bit too early…

Jay walked into the park with Minji’s hand in his, his eyes searching everywhere for your figure. When he did see you he had to stop in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat. There you stood a few feet away, a purple floral dress wrapped around your body perfectly, the wind making the skirt sway softly. The light shining behind you made you look like an angel in his eyes, you were breathtaking. 

“Y/N!” Minji exclaimed, slipping from her father’s grasp to run up to you as you turned to face her. A smile crept onto your lips as you greeted the young girl, asking where her father was to which she pointed behind her to the man that was still frozen in place.

As soon as your eyes met his Jay could feel his heart pound against his ribcage, a lump in his throat. You grabbed Minji’s hand and walked over to Jay, a smile adorning your features still and he could have sworn he died and gone to heaven. 

“Hi.” You greeted the male while Minji swung your joined hands, singing some tune that was stuck in her head.

“Hi.” Jay smiled sheepishly before looking you over for the nth time, “you look good.”

Your face heated up, “thank you… you don’t look too bad yourself.” You laughed softly which only caused Jay to laugh as well, until Minji was tugging on your hand.

“Come on, I wanna go play on the playground!” She exclaimed before tugging on your hand harder causing you to giggle before nodding.

“Alright, alright, let’s go.” You nodded before motioning for Jay to follow, which he did.

Once you and Jay had the blanket situated under a tree Minji took off to the playset, while you and Jay sat down. The tree blocked you both from the harsh rays of sunlight, the wind blowing softly while the birds sang above you.

The silence was comfortable between the two as you watched Minji play with all of the toys, but Jay knew he would have to break it at some point. So he swallowed thickly before releasing a deep breath which caught your attention.

“About Minji’s mom, it was an accident that wasn’t meant to happen, we were just getting to know each other and had a few too many drinks.” His eyes averted yours, but you just let him continue, “When we found out she was pregnant she wanted to get an abortion, but I begged her to think it over. I knew I had no right to her body so the decision in the end was hers, so we ended up keeping the baby.” Your eyes studied his face, watching all of the emotions that flickered there. “But we fought constantly, like there wasn’t a day that went by that we didn’t argue and it drove me up a wall, but I stayed for Minji.”

You felt your gut wrench while he spoke, all of the pain in his voice and how defeated he sounded. You wanted nothing more than to take that pain away, but you knew it was all in the past and that there wasn’t anything you could do.

“We actually fought about you, ironically.” His words caught you off guard, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Me?” 

“Yeah… I was always wondering how you were doing and if you were doing okay, she would always berate me about how I didn’t love her at all or how if I could I would leave her for you, but it became worse when you dropped off the face of the earth,” You felt guilty as his words sunk into your soul, not only were you hurting him, but also his relationship. Seeing the thoughts go through your head Jay reached out, grabbing your hand in his, “don’t blame yourself bug, none of it was your fault. She was right about a few things though, I didn’t love her, there was no love in our relationship, it was just coexisting until the baby was born.”

You glanced over at Minji who was talking to another little girl, a huge smile on her lips, “what happened after Minji was born?” 

Jay followed your gaze, landing on his daughter, “After we got back home I woke up one morning and there was no sign of her anywhere.”

Your eyes went wide, looking over at him, “Please tell me you went to court and got her guardianship revoked.”

Jay couldn’t help but laugh at your statement, but nodded nonetheless, “I did with the guy's help, Yeji was actually my lawyer and we both know how she is.” You giggled at the mention of Sunghoon’s little sister, she was always a persistent one.

“But that brings me to her other point.” Your head tilted at his words, not entirely sure what he meant, “that I probably would have left her for you if there wasn’t a baby involved.” Your heartbeat started to accelerate as he met your eyes, “but now it’s different and I want to try, I want to give us a try bug.” His voice was pleading as well as his eyes, the hand holding yours was shaking.

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness and excitement at his words. A wide smile pulled on your lips as you clasped your fingers around his hand bringing it to your lips, pressing a light kiss on the inside of his wrist causing his heart to swell.

“I’d want nothing more Jay.” Your words sung loudly in his ears, a smile almost as bright as the sun adorning his face as you watch in adoration. 

He then moved forward, cupping your face in his hands, eyes glancing from your eyes to your lips. “Can I kiss you?”  A simple nod from you was all he needed before his lips met yours.The kiss was sweet, but so full of need, of want, of longing, of promise, and you melted into him sealing that nonverbal promise

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @heesitation @jaeyunology @luvyong2z

#alvojake writes ^^ #enhypen #enha #kpop #enhypen jake #enha x reader #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen sunoo #enha imagines #enhypen imagines #enha jay #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen jungwon #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #park jongseong #jake enhypen #lee heeseung #sunghoon #heeseung #ni ki enhypen #jay fluff #enha jay park #enhypen niki #jay x reader #jay park x reader #jay park enhypen #jay park imagines #sim jaeyun

[enhafilthandfiction]

thoughts on jungwon jerking himself off when he misses u 👀

https://i.imgur.com/whVIUOH.jpg (picture link cause I can't upload pic when ask anonymously 😔✊)

A/N : Aww, this is cute omg, he's so cute omg. Yeah i see it in the pic.

Warnings : Masturbating (jerking off)

Word Count : 633

Masterlist

You were gone away on some family trip which your mom didn't allow you to bring your boyfriend with unfortunately. Unfortunately for your boyfriend, Jungwon, he was missing you way too much it was driving him insane.

Even though you called him everyday and facetimed him, he still missed the way you felt, smelled, talked- everything about you. He missed the way your hand felt when your stroked his hair or how your hand felt when he held it.

He also missed the way your hand felt when it was touching him, fingers wrapped around his cock as your stroked him up and down, making him spill all over himself.

He knew he couldn't do what your hand did. His hand could never feel like yours. But now, with a raging hard on tightening his pants, he was desperate.

He lay back on his bed, back pressed against the mattress. He closed his eyes and images of you immediately flooded his brain. God, he was obsessed. His hands slid down his body slowly, taking his time like you usually do, subtly teasing him.

He makes sure to rub his fingers over his sensitive nipples, whimpering out when he does. He can feel his cock twitch in his sweats as he moves his hands closer to the waistband, dipping in his fingers, too impatient to even palm himself.

His breath hitches as he grabs the base of his length, freeing himself from the uncomfortable sweats. His cock springs up, almost hitting his abdomen as he shivers from the coldness of his room.

Precum leaked from the red tip, he was so aroused its almost embarrassing. He started off by fucking into one of his fists, which, felt nothing like your hand. He sighed in disappointment but kept going nevertheless.

At one point, he closed his eyes again and tried his best to imagine you on top of him with your hands on him "You're doing so good Won" he remembered you saying that last time you got intimate and he realised just how much he loves it when you praise him.

He tipped his head back as he sighed out in pleasure, slightly tightening his fist around himself. His hips bucked up as he thumbed at his slit like you do, his brain fuzzy with sensitivity.

After about half an hour or so, he was still pretty hard, chasing his orgasm. He was so pathetic, he couldn't even make himself cum. He opted to text you but didn't want to disturb your vacation.

He suddenly remembers of the picture you sent him not so long ago, hastily grabbing his phone and scrolling through his photo album to find it. His eyes shine as he opens the saved image, your tits fully on display for him.

"Fuck" he curses under his breath, taking in the image before closing his eyes and focusing on the pleasure again. At some point, his hips get tired of trying to fuck his fist and he almost gives up, relaxing back into the mattress, trying to catch his breath.

His hands find his length again, this time he pumps himself with both of his hands (just like the pic >_<) as he moans out at the new feeling. Its more intense and he can feel his orgasm getting closer.

All he needed to do was take anther look at your picture before finally spurting all over himself. His cheeks redden as he thinks of what he's just done.

He couldn't care less about the mess, instead leaning back against the pillows to try and catch his breath. He just made himself cum he smiles to himself in proudness, until he realises that he didn't do it without your help.

He still used your picture because he just can't cum without you.

Hello, I'm back after a longggg time, I'm so sorry for not being active, I've been going through a horrible writer's bock so yeah. Also, sorry if this isn't that good, it the best i can do during a writer's block 😩

#enhypen #enha #enhypen masterlist #enhypen smut #jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon smut #enhypen jake #enhypen hard thoughts #enha smut #enhypen hard hours #jay smut #jake enhypen #jay enhypen #lee heeseung #nat writes : enha #nat writes : random

[bitbugbites-re]

𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 | ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔬𝔰 𝔒𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔦𝔯𝔞 𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔬

Second-chance/rekindled relationship scenario headcanons ft. Carlos Oliveira!

a03 link

character: Carlos Oliveira

gender: fem! reader

cw: NSFW, ANGST, (eventual) FLUFF // hate sex, second chance, jealousy, miscommunication (resolved), hints of depressive behaviors // ktober

a/n: i'm so eepy. that's all, just thought u guys should know 1!1!11!

𝕮𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖔𝖘 𝕺𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖎𝖗𝖆 (re3r)

Who's at fault:

Both of you could have responded better. Carlos doesn't always know when to stop, so when you weren't in the mood to indulge his pushy behaviors, it created problems. You started to view his enthusiasm as not understanding that you were busy or needed to be alone sometimes, and eventually, it morphed into you thinking that he just didn't care. Because of this, you started becoming quick to anger, often leaving Carlos confused as to what he did wrong.

The split:

The day you called it off, you were working on a very important personal project of yours. About a week beforehand, you told Carlos that you had a free time slot for a once in a while, and you stressed that you wanted to spend it working on your hobby. He was not to interrupt you at all costs.

Well, he did. He hadn't seen you for a while due to your mismatched work schedules, and he missed you greatly. He knew you wanted to work on your project, and he did know how important it was to you, but he thought it would be nice to surprise you by dropping off some food. He didn't intend to keep you -- just a quick drop by, kiss, and leave.

You were not happy when you saw him. In fact, you were pissed. This is because he hadn't texted you beforehand that he, who has a key to your apartment, would be coming to see you. So when you were completely concentrated on completing your project, music blasting in your headphones, you didn't hear him come in. You only felt him stalk behind you, tapping you abruptly on the shoulder.

Scared by the sudden intrusion, your work was ruined -- if it was a painting, there was now a giant smear across the canvas; if it was writing, your documents were no longer readable from spilled coffee either breaking your PC or staining the paper; if it was knitting, the thread was now ripped and torn in two, and so on.

That was the final straw. While he apologized profusely, trying to offer suggestions on how to save the work, you snapped. You very angrily told him it was over, that you were sick and tired of him doing whatever he wanted, and that you hated how clingy and desperate he was. You hated how you never had any peace around him.

Carlos didn't take it well. He was still in shock. He didn't fully believe that this was happening and tried to defend himself. You simply stormed over to the drawer with things for nights when he slept over, grabbed articles by a bunch, and handed them to him. "There's the door," you said, forcing the pile into his arms, watching him stand still for a second before stomping away, locking yourself into your bathroom. He banged at the door for a while, pleading for you to talk about it, but after he realized you wouldn't relent, he left and that was that.

How you handled it:

You held yourself together okay. Much better than Carlos did. You cried some nights, missing how things were before you argued almost every day. Missing him. It felt lonely without him pestering you anymore, and for a while, it was unbearably difficult to get used to the new silence. But you did. Eventually.

How he handled it:

Carlos was a mess. Inconsolable. He shut out pretty much everyone around him, and whenever someone asked if he was okay, he told them he didn't want to talk about it. Carlos, who had usually been a pretty charismatic and extroverted man, shut himself off. He stopped leaving the house as much, often spending most of his free time either sleeping or idly watching shows he didn't even care about. Anything for him to stop replaying everything in his head, wondering what he could have done differently your entire relationship.

Meeting again for the first time:

You walked into a bar together with your friends, six months after the break-up. Immediately after being seated, you noticed Carlos at the bar with one of his friends, Tyrell. Carlos was face-down on the bar's counter, his wide back on full display, with Tyrell attempting to comfort him with a couple pats on the shoulder.

Stressed, you began slapping one of your friends on the arm, urging them, telling them that you needed to leave. Confused but understanding of your situation after you explained it to them -- you all got up to leave.

As soon as you stood, though, you noticed a woman walk up to Carlos, sitting next to him. To you, she had the most lustful look in her eyes, and something about that didn't sit right with you. You were jealous.

You stopped in your tracks, thinking for a moment. You watched as she placed a soft hand on his bicep, feeling it up. Suddenly, you told your friends that you would be back, and left them to walk up to Carlos. They were even more confused than they had been before.

You approached the two with a burning fury, placing one of your own hands onto Carlos' free shoulder, leaning down next to his head as you looked her in the eye. "He has such nice arms, doesn't he?"

Carlos froze, recognizing your voice. Tyrell watched, ordering another glass. As for the girl -- she removed her hand, apologizing for, "misunderstanding."

As soon as the girl left, you took her seat, ordering the strongest drink on the menu. Carlos didn't dare to speak first.

After a couple moments of silence, Tyrell excused himself. When he did, you began conversing with Carlos in a very agitated manner. Carlos seemed nervous.

The two of you talked about many things -- how you'd been, what you were getting up to -- and, most importantly -- "did you miss me?"

You were the first to answer -- and you did so truthfully. Carlos then followed along, answering honestly as well, informing you of how the past few months had really been for him. You felt a mix of emotions upon hearing it -- anger, guilt, sadness -- and flattery?

Start of NSFW:

Eventually, after downing drink after drink, and the mysterious disappearance of both side's friends, the two of you got drunk enough that you were becoming touchy with one another. You were the one to initiate most of the flirting, and ultimately, you were also the one who invited Carlos to come back to your place for sex.

He agreed, still in love with you, and the two of you used a rideshare service to get to your apartment. As soon as you arrived, locking the door behind you, your hands were on one another almost immediately.

Carlos was pretty rough with you, which was much different from how he had been when the two of you were together -- you had known him as a very soft, gentle, passionate lover. Tonight, he would be passionate, just in the opposite way.

There was a lot of very intense kissing when you first began your escapade. The kind of kissing that feels feverish, very vigorous and uncontrollable. Both of you are fighting for the lead and losing -- it's almost like the two of you are trying to prove something by it. For you, it's that you want to convince Carlos that you're the only one he should look at; for Carlos, it's that he wants to convince you that he's good enough that you'll take him back.

Eventually, the two of you move on to something more. Carlos is the first to break the kiss, going down toward your lower half, ready to start pressing his tongue in between your folds as soon as he possibly can. You let him lick, and suck, and kiss, and lap at your sensitive areas as you roughly tug on his hair, pulling his head up into you as hard as you can. He can barely breathe by the time you cum, riding his face with broken breaths.

You then decide it's his turn next. You push him down, pinning him in whatever position you choose: if it's 69, you flatten your lower torso to his chest, forcing him in place; if it's traditional standing-up, you press your forearm against his hip-stomach area, holding him to the wall; if it's traditional laying-down, you hold a firm fist and out-stretched arm at one half of his ribcage, straightening his body out. No matter which you choose, he cums pretty quick, his seed spewing out in thick loads. He seemed to have been pretty pent up, but for how long, you weren't sure.

Neither of you were ready to call it quits yet though, despite the two of you already cumming once. As soon as Carlos caught his breath, you were fighting with your tongues once again, dragging your hands all over one another's body. You took the initiative in mounting him, while he took the initiative in making sure you were comfortable, grabbing your hair into a makeshift pony and pressing his thighs together for you to bounce on. The sex you had was pretty vocal with both sides moaning, grunting, and egging the other on. You came at the same time, thanks to him timing your orgasms (something he had gotten pretty good at during your relationship) by rubbing your clit as his cock drove in and out of you. As you came, you scratched up his chest pretty harshly, and as he came, he gripped on your hips outstandingly roughly. Both of you left marks on one another, and funnily enough, both of you were happy about it.

Reconciliation:

Once the two of you were finally satisfied with one another, and had a sufficient amount of oxygen in you, you got half-dressed and began to talk. Carlos didn't bother to throw his shirt back on, while you didn't bother putting on a bra, and instead of wearing your bar clothes again, you wore some clean pajamas.

You both explained things from each of your point-of-views. You went first, explaining that you thought he hadn't cared what you would want, steam-rolling you with whatever he wanted to do. To which, he apologized, admitting he probably did get carried away sometimes.

He then explained his side of things, telling you that he didn't do things because he didn't respect you, but because a lot of his actions were made with the intention of making you happy -- he just didn't know how to execute them well. You said sorry to him as well, acknowledging now that you were wrong for blowing up at him without talking to him first, assuming things.

After you had both forgiven one another, Carlos was the first to pull you into a bear hug. It was slightly suffocating, but it was the good kind of suffocating. The two of you agreed then that you would get back together, however first implementing some ground rules on how to prevent miscommunications in the future. And that was that.

For the rest of the night, you lay in his arms, listening to his heartbeat thump wildly until falling asleep.

For the official and original Kinktober 23 prompts, check here. Credits to @kinktober2023 for the ideas!

#carlos oliveira #carlos resident evil #carlos oliveira smut #carlos oliveira angst #carlos oliveira fluff #carlos oliveira x reader #carlos oliveira x you #resident evil #resident evil smut #resident evil angst #resident evil fluff #resident evil fanfiction #smut #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #re3 remake #re3make #re3 carlos #resident evil 3 remake #resident evil 3 #re3 #kinktober #kinktober 23 #kinktober 2023 #ktober #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fanfiction #re fanfic

[rat-typewriter]

l,,link with a really clumsy male S/O who can barely walk straight,,,,pls,,,

Note: Good grief i am so sorry this has been chilling in my inbox for a YEAR oops,,, anyway im sorry its late and not the best quality but we tried and ive just done 4 hours straight of biology cramming soooo

Proofread: did shakespeare have time to proofread???? I think not 😌😌

Clumsy - Link x GN!Reader

You stared at your hands, which gripped the sword tightly - to the point of whitening your knuckles. It was heavier than you had expected; it didn’t help that your palms were drenched in sweat, leaving you readjusting your grip every few seconds.

A few feet away, sitting in the grass, Link watched you carefully as he sharpened his own sword. It had been his idea - after an uncomfortably close call with an angry moblin - that you should learn to defend yourself. It definitely wasn’t a bad idea, but you could practically feel Link’s watchful gaze and his tenseness each time you took a swing at the scarecrow in front of you. 

You lunged forwards, taking a jab at its limp straw body, just as he’d taught you. It was satisfying to watch the dry grass guts spill out of the torn scarecrow; it was even more satisfying to see that you were actually improving.

“That wasn’t so bad!” you grinned, turning to Link - who nodded and gave you a thumbs up and a smile.

A gust of wind ruffled his hair as he turned back to his work. Pausing, you watched him for a moment. Over the last year that you had travelled with Link, you had always been amazed at how calm he seemed - even when faced by a Linel or hoard of Bokoblins; even on the night that he kissed you for the first time. Nothing ever fazed him; that was always something you thought you could be certain of.

At first, his silence had puzzled you. In the quiet moments you found your mind racing, were you bothering him? Was he listening? Would he rather you didn't say anything? The more time you spent together, you had grown to enjoy his company - you learned to read his expressions and pauses and silent laughter and suddenly he seemed to come to life. You found that he wasn’t mysterious or dangerous, but he was, in fact, the biggest dumbass you’d ever met. With everything he did came an air of mischievousness; everything was an adventure. And before you knew it, you were falling for the blonde-haired soldier. 

You smiled to yourself, as he knit his eyebrows together with focus. Another sudden breeze sent his hair into his face and he shook his head - attempting to flick it away. As he did so, he caught your eye. It didn’t even last a second, but it was there.

You quickly turned away, hoping that he hadn't caught you staring. Nearly three months ago you had confessed to Link - on an overcast summer night, as you waded through a river. His face had been unreadable; you stared at him - desperately searching his face for an answer. All the words that you’d held in spilled out like blood pouring from a cut - yet suddenly you had nothing to say at all. His name was on your lips - then, all at once, his lips were as well. It had been three months since that night, but he still made you nervous.

A quiet snicker came from behind you and you looked back over your shoulder at the smug-faced boy.

"What?" You said - your voice several octaves higher than normal - feigning innocence.

He raised his eyebrows and returned to sharpening his sword - still smiling to himself. He barely had to do anything to make your heart skip a beat. And he knew that. 

You huffed in a pointless attempt to mask how flustered you were. Sometimes you wished you could do something to make him as nervous as he made you. 

You turned back to the scarecrow and adjusted your stance, ready to take another swing.

I’ll figure it out one day, You decided. I will make him blush.

Sweeping your sword, you cut away at the shredded scarecrow - watching as tatters of fabric tumbled to the ground. 

You took a step back and - without warning - you lost your balance. Letting out a yelp of surprise you wobbled for a moment before landing in an awkward heap on the ground. As you hit the grass, a dull thump seemed to resonate through your body - leaving you aching slightly as you lay still on the ground. 

Not only had the fall knocked the air out of your lungs, but it had apparently also knocked the coherent thoughts out of your head. 

“Ouch,” you said, stupidly, as you stared up at the clear, blue sky. Before you could heave yourself up, a very-worried Link appeared at your side. His eyes were wide as he crouched beside you, frantically scanning you for any signs of harm.

You watched him, slightly confused - it was hardly a particularly dramatic fall, just the type of thing that seemed to happen to you at least three or four times a day. 

“Hey, I’m fine,” you said softly, moving to sit up. “You don’t need to worry-”

He pushed you back down and reached behind him, grabbing his bag. He rummaged through it, pulling some bandages out.

You giggled, shaking your head, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Link, I’m fine - really!"

He pointed to your hands - which you had scraped slightly. 

You laughed again, swatting him away. "Oh, it's all good - that's nothing."

It was true, it really was nothing. You tripped and knocked yourself all the time; your arms and legs were littered with cuts and bruises.

He sat back on his heels, raising an eyebrow - his expression still laced with concern. 

"Seriously, I'm alright!" 

He tilted his head at you worriedly. No matter how many times you stumbled or slipped - he never failed to panic.

You smiled softly and reached forward, putting your hand on his wrist. "You don't have to worry, I promise."

He glanced at your hand and then back at you. You suddenly saw the pinkness in his cheeks and a pang of excitement in your stomach brought a grin to your face.

"Are you blushing?" You leaned forwards, taking your head - watching as he looked away and scoffed. 

You sat up fully and pushed a strand of hair from his face. "Awe, you do care!" You joked.

He rolled his eyes, but smiled anyway.

"I'll have to fall over more often." You grinned.

He cocked his head as if to say, more often?

"Yeah, yeah, I know I'm clumsy." You giggled. "But you love me anyway."

He rolled his eyes, but was unable to fight off a smile. 

Yeah, you didn't mind being clumsy.

#link #botw link #loz link #legend of zelda breath of the wild #botw #breath of the wild #loz #loz botw #loz breath of the wild #botw link x reader #link x reader #loz link x reader

[infinite-riches]

In Every Lifetime

Summary: In all their time working together– being together– Soap had only seen Ghost cry a handful of times, mainly after nightmares.

He saw the tears and he knew.

It's just a lot of angst featuring a MCD... I'm sorry? <3

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Word Count: 673

Warnings: non-graphic depictions of gore, MCD

A/N: This lovely one-shot was inspired by a prompt from adhd_coyote on the CoD babygirls server, much love to her!! <3

And as always feel free to leave feedback/constructive criticism <3

AO3 Link (if you prefer): In Every Lifetime

Ghost knew pain. It had never been like this before.

A strangled cry into his radio. Pavement still warm from the last light of day. Stars mockingly bright in the night sky. Crimson never meant to be seen outside his veins. A blinding heat and then mind-numbing cold.

He knew. 

The moment it happened, he knew. 

Everything was so loud followed by an almost painful silence when his head hit the asphalt. A wave of nausea hitting as the stars blurred together.

They stayed blurry too long, shaking hand lifting to find wet skin– tears.

In all their time working together– being together– Soap had only seen Ghost cry a handful of times, mainly after nightmares. 

He saw the tears and he knew. 

There was so much screaming all around him and… and fear in Johnny’s voice.

“Johnny?” Ghost’s voice was soft, a barely there whisper as he tried to make the world stop spinning.

“‘M here LT…” Johnny was a blur of motion, ripping into the med kit on Ghost’s vest, desperately pressing gauze into the gaping wound in Ghost’s stomach. Blinding pain lit up every last nerve, an anguished whine slipped from the Brit’s lips.

“Johnny…” somehow his voice was even softer, tear-slicked hands stilling blood-slicked hands. “Lie to me, Johnny… Tell me it’s gonna be okay…”

“It- it is going to be okay, LT. P- Price is calling for exfil now… Nik… Nik will be here soon and… and-”

“Johnny…” his name was like Simon’s last prayer. Johnny could hear the desperation in Simon’s voice now, fear starting to spill out through the cracks in the armor of his ever-strong Lieutenant.

“Simon…” Johnny’s free hand cradled Simon’s face so gently, blood staining the fabric with ease. “Everything… everything’s gonna be okay, Mo ghràidh…”

Simon’s lashes fluttered at the soft pet name, not needing a translation to understand what his Johnny was saying. “The mask… take it off, love…” His eyelids felt heavier now, each blink lasting longer than the last. Johnny saw it, knew there was nothing he could do but ease the pain and fear, so he obliged.

Gentle hands softly bunched up worn fabric, carefully peeling it away to reveal pale skin littered with silver scars. Moonlight over top the buildings made his tears look like stars.

“You’re so beautiful, my love… always so beautiful to me…” The tears fell easily down Johnny’s face, making no move made to hide them or brush them away. 

“Kiss me one last time…?” there was a waver to Simon’s voice and it snapped the last ounce of strength Johnny had– seeing the strongest man he knew be so quickly cut down, made small again.

“Never for the last time… I’ll find you in every lifetime, Simon.” 

Simon’s lips felt cold on Johnny’s. A silent sob racked his body as he kissed his lover, tears melding together on flushed cheeks. 

“I love you, Johnny. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better for you…” his words were broken up by rattling gasps for breaths, Johnny dug his fingers deep into the thick fabric of Simon’s useless vest, trying to hold back his own pain. 

“Shh, shh, shh… none of that, my love. I love you. More than you could ever know.” 

Simon set a shaky hand down atop Johnny’s, “I want you to have my tags… and… and there’s a box in my desk for you Johnny… if you want it…” Simon was gasping for breath now, every minute more was an agonizing fight.

“Just rest, my love…” Johnny pulled his lover into his lap, bloodied hands gently playing with soft blonde strands, listening, waiting for Simon to take his last breath.

One more. Barely audible. It felt like Johnny’s death sentence. 

The real death sentence came when Johnny got back to base. 

Took a week for him to work up the strength to go into Simon’s office. There, tucked in the top drawer, was a simple, forest-green, velvet box.

Johnny wore two sets of tags and one golden ring from that day on.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #ghost x soap #simon riley x john mactavish #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

[glazesunflower]

Them Snapping At Their SO And The Apologies That Come After. Pt. 2

Characters: Kaeya & Yae Miko (separate).

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, verbal fighting and heavy emotions. With comfort after!

Notes: This is my first time writing for Kaeya, and all I have to say is that he’s very hot and he desperately needs therapy.

Part 1, in case you’re interested, is in (this link!)

To say Kaeya was having a bad day would be an understatement.

He’s a professional man, so he can handle whatever problems he encounters in his line of work quite well, always ready to manage the situation before any problem escalates enough to be a bother for him later on, all the more so before Jean even hears of it.

So after a long (and exceptionally tiring) day of being the renowned Cavalry Captain, he thought he deserved a proper rest, so he headed to Angel’s Share with Rosaria to unwind, like he usually did.

Make it a quick drink, Rosaria had said, and Kaeya nodded. He had a date with you, after all.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence for the both of you to have dates, even after your honeymoon phase had long since ended, but you still enjoyed each other’s company and Kaeya insisted on adding his special touch to all of your meetings, so the two of you always ended up calling it a date and having a wonderful time together.

This one was special, of course. It was your anniversary. So Kaeya promised himself he’d have a quick drink and he’d head home to you.

It had started as a simple discussion, as it often happened whenever Kaeya walked in Angel’s Share and Diluc was behind the counter, serving for another night. To say the two of them had a complicated history would be another understatement, and Kaeya has never been too open about his emotions towards his brother to you, if at all. He liked to keep his secrets.

But the argument with Diluc grew, and soon they were throwing spiteful words at each other over the counter, Kaeya’s drink spilling and Diluc’s face getting redder in anger by the minute. Rosaria was too used to the situation to try and intervene, so she stood aside and let the storm rage and pass on its own, as it often did.

Let’s go to the Cat’s Tail. I’m yet to enjoy having a drink today, Kaeya told Rosaria as he stormed off Angel’s Share, Rosaria following closely behind.

It’s late. You should go home, Rosaria tried to argue back to no use.

Let’s go, Kaeya insisted, and Rosaria wasn’t one to engage in pointless confrontations.

It was well past midnight when you heard the door creak open. At that exact moment you learned three things. One, Kaeya was home very late. Two, by the careless way of him opening the door, he was clearly drunk. And third, he had stood you up on your anniversary to get drunk and arrive home late.

So you walk up to the corridor and switch on the lights, your arms crossed on your chest and resentment boiling inside your chest.

“I hope you have a good excuse.” Your voice is cold as ice.

“I’ve had a terrible day, okay? I apologize for the state I’m in, but— Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“No. We absolutely can’t, Kaeya.” You block his way, feeling every nerve and inch of your skin light on fire. “What were you even doing? Did the thought of me waiting here for you even crossed your mind?”

“You’re always on my mind, my love.” He tries to flirt his way out of the situation, but your stern expression doesn’t flinch even a little, so he sighs. “If you must know, I had an unpleasant encounter with my brother. It’s him you should be blaming, really. He kept me at his bar sputtering nonsense.”

“Kaeya—” You take a deep breath. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t possibly keep blaming your brother for everything that’s wrong in your life. At some point you’re going to have to take responsibility—”

Kaeya freezes, his eyes growing darker as he frowns, looking down at you with his eyes overflowing with disgust. 

“What do you even know about us, huh? You have no idea of what he did, no idea of what I went through. So don’t talk as if you knew anything!” He raises his voice, sending chills down your spine. He walks up to you with big steps, and somehow he looks bigger, like the anger bubbling in his chest is making him larger, the smell of alcohol stronger the closer he is to you. And for a moment, you’re scared. “You’re too privileged to even phandom what kind of horrors I’ve had to witness, how much pain I’ve had to bear. But then again, you’re not that interested in knowing, are you? After all, your world revolves around you, doesn’t it, darling?” The twist in his voice, from anger to sweet and frivolous makes you sick to your stomach. He’s too close to you, leaning over your face like a predator, and you’re shivering. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

He says, and he stomps to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. You’re left in the corridor, your blood frozen inside your veins. You run past the front door, not looking back.

Kaeya wakes up the next morning with the worst of headaches. He makes it to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast when it hits him. Everything he said last night to you, the look of utter terror written all over your eyes, and he feels positively terrible. He knew he wasn’t a good person, he’s always been painfully aware. But whenever he brought it up half jokingly, you’d hold his face in your hands, fingers in his hair as you tell him, No. You have a good heart, Kaeya. And he never wanted to believe anyone’s words until you arrived.

And now, he’s been a terrible person to you. He’s hurt you deeply, and the worst part is, he can’t excuse his actions and promise he won’t do it again.

So he waits for you to come back, his chest heavy as he cleans the house, scattering his brain to find some words of comfort, of absolution, anything to make you stay. That is, if you ever come back to him. A small, cowardly part of him would understand if you didn’t, though it’d crush his soul into a million pieces.

It’s not until the seventh day that you decide to return. 

Kaeya finds you on the couch, waiting for him. It’s late at night, and Kaeya is afraid of approaching you. Or hurting you again with his words.

So he watches in silence as you turn around, your eyes big and sad all over him.

“You didn’t mean what you said.” 

It’s what leaves your lips, and Kaeya takes a second to gather his thoughts. He takes a big breath.

“I could agree with that. In fact, I should. I should say that I didn’t mean what I said, and that I’m sorry. Would that make us even?” He lets out a weak chuckle, too embarrassed of himself to even look at you as he speaks. “The thing is, I believed myself to be more chivalrous than that. I owe you the truth, at the very least. The ugly truth, if I may add.”

“And what is that ugly truth you fight so hard to always keep to yourself?”

You don’t even sound mad anymore, and that’s what breaks Kaeya’s heart the most. Maybe that’s what pushes him to make his way to you, one step at a time, until he’s right in front of you.

“There are many things I haven’t told you. Some of them because I’m ashamed of them. Most of them because they don’t represent the man that I am anymore.” He says. “All of them because I don’t want you to change the way you look at me. But I supposed I ruined that on my own, didn’t I?”

“Kaeya.” He closes his eyes, his name sounding so achingly familiar coming from your lips. He can almost hear you say, You have a good heart, Kaeya. He feels his fingers trembling. “I love you for who you are. Not for who you’ve been, or for who you are with somebody else that isn’t me. I love you. In the good days and on the bad ones. But you have to stop pushing me away. Please.”

Kaeya sits on the couch by your side, and he swears he might just crumble down when you place your hands on his cheeks, softly brushing the skin that meets you under.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Kaeya says, melts into your touch, his frozen heart melting in your hands, a thousand flowers blooming where you’ve touched him last. “I will tell you everything, but do something for me as well. Don’t change the way you look at me after. It’s a promise.”

I know it’s selfish, but don’t leave me. 

Don’t change the affection in your eyes when you look at me. 

Don’t stop holding me with your small hands. 

Don’t stop smiling like you’re the sun, and all I’ve ever been is the moon that circles you until the end of the universe.

“I won’t. I promise, I won’t.”

You say, and that night, Kaeya discloses all of his demons for you. His monsters and all their angles and shapes, their scars and their hidden memories. You help him through it, your hands gentle on him, leaving butterfly kisses over his cheeks. 

Despite the sorry state of his heart, Kaeya would swear he has never felt happier.

The rain was pouring over the Grand Narukami Shrine. Miko watched the raindrops rush from the heavens to the soil beneath their feet, crashing to the ground and dissolving into tiny puddles of water. How pitiful.

The other Shrine maidens knew better than to speak to the Guuji when she was angry. And she was, oh, she was angry.

They were planning a huge festival, one to lighten up the town and bring joy to the residents of Inazuma. But of course, it had to rain. And of course, they had to leave all the decorations outside of the Shrine, right where the rain is pouring right now. Miko doesn’t think there’s anything useful in those boxes. Not anymore, at least. We’ll have to start over.

It’s no one’s fault it started raining, Miko knows this. Still, she can’t help but feel her blood boiling down her veins. She was looking forward to that festival.

She makes it home to a delicious smell tickling her nose. She finds you in the kitchen, cooking her favorite meal - Fried Tofu, just the way she had taught you how to make it. You can’t really explain why, but you felt the urge to make something today that Miko would especially enjoy. How fortunate of her.

Miko walks up to you, slowly wrapping her arms around your waist, hiding her face in your hair. It smells like home.

“Had a long day, my love?” Your voice comes out gentle, soothing her heart at the sound. 

She nods to your hair, “Unfortunately so. Incredibly gifted as I am, I still happen to not be able to control the weather. This devilish rain has undermined everything I’ve worked for for the past weeks.”

“Hm, if it’s the weather you’re having trouble with, why don’t you ask the Raiden Shogun to dismiss of it?” You say, innocent and gentle in your demeanor. “You’re friends with her, aren’t you? It shouldn’t be too hard for her to do this one thing for you.”

There’s a silence.

Maybe it’s the simple-mindedness in which you said it, maybe it’s the rain drilling on the kitchen window reminding her of her useless efforts, or maybe it’s the fact that yes, she’s friends with the Raiden Shogun, the same Raiden Shogun that hasn’t left her plane of Euthymia for eons, the same friend that didn’t bother to say her goodbyes before disappearing without a word, to this day.

It shouldn’t be too hard for her to do this one thing for you, Miko can almost laugh at the thought. What has the Raiden Shogun done for her, besides push her away with not so much as a word of apology, an explanation?

Maybe it’s the rain outside, or maybe it’s her own kind of storm raging on inside what bites back at you.

“You think it’s that simple, little one? Hah, you must be right.” Miko lets go of you, taking a step back. There’s something in her voice that sounds almost dangerous. You feel your fingers shivering. “Now I have complete certainty that, were I to have a word with my dearest Ei, all the things I worked so hard for won’t be rotting under the rain anymore, isn’t that right? You must think I’m a complete moron for not thinking of this before. Am I wrong, little one?”

You turn to her, and you’re met with lilac eyes sharpening around their edges, piercing you with her stare. You feel a shiver run down your spine.

“I don’t think I understand…” You try, your throat dry. “Did I say something wrong?”

“You must think I’m some kind of fool. And maybe you’re right, hm? Sharing my precious time with lowly humans who can’t even begin to comprehend the endeavor us Yokais must go through in order to live, our efforts often easily discarded. How utterly disheartening.” Miko goes on, her gaze sharp and threatening on yours, her blood boiling with too many unsaid things, things she knows you’re not even a part of. But you’re here, and it’s just so easy to let the words fall down her lips, one after the other. “You speak of the Raiden Shogun as if you knew anything. Your very existence in the first place is but a fleeting moment in our presence. Do yourself a favor, little one, and never speak again if all you have to share are witless words. Ugh, why am I even wasting my time here.”

Miko turns on her heels and leaves the house, leaving you there shaking, tears running down your face, wondering why in the world she would treat you like that.

By the time Miko returns home, her hair and clothes drenched in the rain, her raging heart much calmer now, you’re nowhere to be found.

Miko knows she overstepped and went too far. She dragged you along with her rushing emotions and half-assed accusations, knowing full-well you’re the only one who has been by her side through thick and thin, through her sunny days and her storms inside.

That’s why she’s confident that you’ll return. You’ll cool off and come back home, like she has. And then, she’ll wrap her arms around you, she’ll kiss the shell of your ear and, well, you’ll get the apology, won’t you?

Miko is not surprised when she doesn’t see you on the next day, either. A little annoyed, perhaps. She’s gone over the situation in her head all over again, and again. Every time she remembers her mean words to you, she feels a small stab pain in her chest.

She would apologize, if only you came home to her!

You’re just making this harder for yourself than it needs to be, really.

On the third day, Miko starts growing annoyed. How can she possibly wish to repair things with you if you just won’t come home to her?

And it’s not like she’s going to go out there looking for you. She’s the Guuji of the Grand Narukami Shrine, and as such, she has a great deal of responsibilities to attend to. She can’t just leave all of that and go after you, and you know this. 

She just can’t be that irresponsible.

Or can she?

It’s the fifth day and her bed is starting to feel a little too big for her liking. She once liked to have space for herself, but now it just feels suffocating. 

Why aren’t you coming back? You’re trying to punish her, surely.

Well, Miko won’t play along with your games. She can be just as mad as you are. Let’s see who breaks in first.

On the seventh day, Miko isn’t able to sleep. She’s tossing and turning in her all too big bed, the thought of you plaguing her mind in a way she won’t ever admit out loud. 

When she hears the front door opening, her fox ears fling up. She follows your steps down the corridor, but she makes no move when you sit on the other side of the bed, the mattress sinking under your weight in the darkness of the room.

Miko waits. And waits. And waits for you to say something.

The silence grows deafening in her beautiful pink fox ears. So she swallows her courage and opens her mouth, only a little,

“You’re late.”

Your response came after a big pause, so long that Miko thought you’d never say anything to her again, her heart clenching at the thought.

“I thought of never coming back, actually. I was mad at you.” You sound so tired, Miko feels something small stir inside her chest. “Then, I wasn’t anymore. But I thought you’d be better off without me. As you said, I’m a human. I can’t understand you to the extent that I’d like.” Miko frowns at your words. She almost opens her mouth again to fight you back, when you speak again. “But then I thought of you. I thought of the way you smiled when you dressed me up as a Shrine maiden. I thought of the spark in your eyes when you tell me about the new light novel you’re publishing. And I thought of how you’d probably think that this bed is too big for you alone, if I’m gone.”

That’s why I came back, it’s what you don’t voice, but Miko hears it loud and clear. For you.

There’s a silence that follows, one that Miko doesn’t know how to fill. She’s never been good at apologies.

“I am mad at you.” She says, her back turned to you in the darkness of the room, but she doesn’t sound mad at all in your ears.

You don’t say anything, and Miko feels the bed dipping when you lay next to her. She lets you wrap your arms around her, doesn’t voice how good it feels to be back in your arms. She feels a strange tightness in her chest, her vision growing blurry at the corners; like a kid that’s been lost for too long and is finally able to return home.

How utterly close she’s been to losing that home forever.

Miko turns in your arms, and you let her find her favorite place in the world - tucked under your chin, in the gap between your jaw and your clavicle, all too close to the beating of your heart underneath your skin.

Miko stays there, her ear pressed to your chest, and she’d swear she can hear the sound of windflowers blooming.

“I must apologize, little one. My words came rooted in despair, a fate that I’ve been carrying for longer than I dare to voice.” Her voice comes out muffled by your skin, and you let your fingers lose their way into her silky pink hair, listening to her words. “Still, nothing in me is as deeply rooted as the affection that I hold for you. I trust that you know of this, of course.”

“Of course.” You leave a kiss on the crown of her head, closing your eyes in the motion. “I wouldn’t leave you, Miko. Not now, and probably not ever. I love you too much to let you go.”

“Is that so?” You can hear the smile in her voice. “Hm, then I suppose I shall grant you my love as well. Make good use of it, little one. After all, it’s meant for you only.”

If you enjoyed this, please consider liking or reblogging it <3!

You can check more of my writing on (this link!). Thank you!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #kaeya #kaeya x you #kaeya x gender neutral reader #kaeya x reader #yae miko #yae miko x reader #yae miko x you #yae miko x y/n #kaeya x y/n

[holdmytesseract]

Daddy Takeover 》 Baby Fever AU

Request:

"Daddy Loki idea twoooo

Y/N is having a well deserved night out with the girls so dad loki is in charge for the first time." - Requested by @lokisgoodgirl ! 😁

Summary: Natasha and Wanda take you on your first girl's night out since ages. That means Loki is on dad duty this evening - and he's been never alone with Ella before...

Warnings: fluff! Hopefully not too many typos... I edited this very late yesterday... 😅 Also, sorry Winnie the Pooh! I actually love it, I swear! 😭

Word Count: 3k

a/n: Thank you for that wonderful request! I had so much fun writing this! Ella and Loki are SO freaking cute together... 🥰💚

Tagging: @lokisgoodgirl @lovingchoices14 @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @acefeather2002 @lulubelle814 @vbecker10 @theaudacitytowrite @lady-rose-moon and I think @michelleleewise could like this one, too! 😉

If you want to be added to my Loki Taglist, please let me know! 😁

Link to the Baby Fever AU Masterlist

It was quite early in the morning, when Y/N slumped into the big communal kitchen of the Avengers compound like a zombie, yawning. Her feet led her straight to the coffee machine. Nooo, she and Loki didn't forget to buy new coffee pads when they were out, grocery shopping last week... Totally not… Y/N was only halfway awake, when her fingers pressed the buttons of the coffee machine, in hopes she pressed the right ones. What the young woman didn't notice, was Natasha, watching her from where she leaned against the kitchen counter. "Hey Y/N/N, are you alright?" "Huh?" She turned around, on search for the origin of the voice, urging to her ears. "Oh, hey Nat." Y/N smiled tiredly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired, y'know... How life is with a baby..." She said with a yawn, then reached for the cup of coffee - but didn't grab the mug by the handle, what caused her to burn her hand and dropping the mug. The porcelain clattered to the floor, shattering into a million pieces; the coffee spilled on the tiles. "Oh damn it..." The Y/H/C haired woman mumbled and bend down to clean the mess. Natasha was quickly at her side, helping her. "Girl... You desperately need a break... And a decent night of sleep." "I know," Y/N huffed, picking up carefully the shards. "What do you say, if we make a girl's night out? Just you, me and Wanda - like in the old days." "I'd love that, Nat, but... Let me first talk to Lokes. Someone needs to look after Ella and I want to make sure that he's okay with being alone with her." "Wasn't he alone with her before?" The red-haired beauty asked. Y/N shook her head. "No, not directly." "Then talk to him and let me know. I'll ask Wanda." The women smiled at each other. "Thanks, Nat." "That's what friends are here for, sweetie."

"Lokes?" Y/N stepped back inside their apartment, closing the door quietly behind her. When she got no answer, she called out for him again and walked inside the living room, where she had left him. "Babe?" He wasn't there, but rounded mere seconds later the corner. "Shh, darling. Ella's asleep. I just put her down. Apologies, that I didn't answer you sooner, but I didn't want to risk her waking up again. It's been a rough night after all..." The God said with a small smile, running a hand through his messy curls. Yeah... It had been a rough night, indeed. Ella just didn't want to sleep, was fussy and whiny almost the whole night. They had tried everything, but nothing had helped. Ella just didn't budge, refused to calm down and sleep. Y/N blinked. "She's asleep? As in sleeping peacefully in her crib?" A low chuckle left Loki's lips at the unbelieving words of his lover. "Yes, as in sleeping peacefully in her crib." He whispered, quoting her and stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Y/N's waist to pull her close against his strong body. "Time for us to get some rest, too, darling." Y/N smiled, relieved that their daughter had finally decided to take a trip to dreamland. "You're the best dad, do you know that?" Loki nodded, confidently. "Well, yes. I am very aware of that." His words caused the Y/H/C haired woman to roll her eyes with a smile. "I love you and your godly ego." Another amused chuckle left the God's lips. "I love you, too. Now off to bed with you, my queen." Loki stated and swept his wife off her feet, carrying her bridal style to their bedroom, causing her to giggle. "Usually, you mean with that sentence something entirely different than just a nap." A smug smile spread over the prince's face. "Darling, you know very well, that I'd love to do something entirely different with you, than taking just a nap, but there's a very sweet baby princess sleeping just down the hall and I do not intend to wake her - not after the past night..." He set Y/N gently down on the bed. "No... Me neither. We need to relish the hours of sleep we get, before Ella wakes up again." Loki joined Y/N in bed, yawning and cuddled close to her, face buried in her chest, using her as a pillow. "Definitely. Good night, my love. Sleep well." The Y/H/C haired woman witnessed how her God's eyes closed shut already, on the verge of sleeping in.

"Uhh, Lokes?" "Mhm?" "I wanted to ask you something." "Is it important? Can't it wait until later?" He huffed out in playful annoyance. She giggled, shaking her head. "No, because I am afraid my sleep deprived brain is going to let me forget it." "Fair enough." Loki turned, oceanic eyes looking straight at her. "What is it, my love?" "I saw Nat earlier in the communal kitchen... She said I am in desperate need of a break and a girl's night out like in the old days. Just me, her and Wanda. I thought about this and came to the conclusion that she might be right... I think I could really use a break. Not that I don't enjoy being a mama, gods no! I love it, but..." "You need to see something else than baby bottles, nappies and puke-stained onesies... I understand, love - and you definitely deserve a break. You worked so hard in the last few months, bringing our princess into this world, nurturing her, being the best mama possible..." The sweet words of her husband almost made the woman cry right then and there. Her hormones were still a bit on a rollercoaster ride. "R-Really?" Loki nodded, giving her a loving smile. "B-But... Is that okay for you? I-I mean you've never been alone with Ella before and-" Loki interrupted her immediately. He sat up in the bed and took both her hands in his. "I'm more than positive. I have absolutely no problem with taking care of our sweet girl one evening alone." The God said, pausing for a moment. "Especially if it means I am going to miss one of our Captain's utterly annoying and unnecessary eight o'clock team meetings." "Lokes!" Y/N exclaimed, but giggled. "What?" The prince shrugged his shoulders. "It's the truth..." The woman shook her head and smiled. "So... It would be honestly okay for you to watch Ella alone for one evening?" "Of course, darling."

Two days later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror in their bathroom, applying some makeup. It was the first (girl's) night out for her since... Yeah, since a few months into pregnancy? Of course, weren't the girl's night out's very wild back then. No alcohol, no partying. They mostly consisted of late shopping trips and cinema visits. The last wild girl's night out was quite a few weeks before the pregnancy with Ella. So, it was the very first time in ages for Y/N to step inside a bar - and she was looking forward to it.

The young woman was so in thoughts, that she didn't hear the bathroom door opening cautiously. Only when two big hands landed on her hips, did she notice that someone had entered the bathroom. "You look ravishing, darling." Loki purred in her ear, pulling her closer against his chest. "Yeah? I don't know if I still look good in it..." He shook his head immediately. "No, don't even start. You're the most attractive woman I have ever laid my eyes upon. In that dress as well as out of that dress. Always." Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words. Oh, how much she loved him. "Thanks, babe." She said, blushing. Y/N wore a beautiful blue, strapless dress. Nothing too sexy, rather casual, but nevertheless fitting for a night out. The God placed a soft, delicate kiss on her neck, before letting go of her again - in order to prevent any... issues to happen. "Wanda and Natasha are here." Y/N nodded. "Tell them I'll be around in a few minutes." "Very well, darling." He left the room again, letting his wife get entirely ready.

A few minutes later, she stepped out of the bathroom, down the hall and into the living room, where Nat and Wanda waited for her along Loki, who held a drowsy Ella in his arms. "Ready to go, girl?" Natasha asked with a big smile on her lips, while Y/N hugged her two best friends. "More than ready!" "Then let's go!" Wanda smiled as well. The Y/H/C haired woman nodded, "Let me just say goodbye to my baby." and turned around again towards Loki and Ella, hugging them both. "Bye bye, baby girl." She said and kissed the little girl's chubby cheeks, causing Ella to smile tiredly, eyes already halfway closed shut. "Mommy loves you. Keep daddy a bit on his toes, yeah?" Then Y/N looked up to her husband, kissing him goodbye - and not just once. "See you later, darling. Have fun and enjoy your girl's night." She nodded, but bit her lip. "Are you really sure you got this? Is it really okay when I-" Loki interrupted her by pressing another kiss on her lips. "Yes, of course. Don't worry. Now go." Y/N smiled at Loki. "Love you, Lokes." "I love you, too, darling." With those words, the three women left the apartment and compound together, leaving Loki and Ella alone.

"Alright, Ella... What are we two going to do, now that mommy is on her night out?" Loki asked the small baby girl, before noticing that she was asleep in his arms; the tiredness overcame her. "A nap. Wonderful idea, princess." He went to her nursery and laid her gently down in her crib, taking the baby monitor with him, before he closed the door quietly behind himself. The God pondered on what to do, decided then to try to get some sleep as well - what didn't quite work out, so he went to the compound library. With the baby monitor firmly attached to his grey sweatpants, he searched through the shelves for something to read. Of course, had Loki enchanted the small, very helpful device, so he could hear Ella crying, even if he was miles away. Once he found a book, he flopped down on one of the sofas.

Time was passing by quick - especially when a book makes it to capture your imagination. Loki was so lost in the story, that he didn't hear the door of the library opening and closing again, followed by footsteps. Peter Parker had sauntered inside the room, backpack slung over his shoulders. The young man's gaze landed immediately on Loki's. Of course, would the God be here... "Oh, hey Mr. Loki!" That caught the raven-haired man's attention. His eyes shot up from the book, meeting the face of the teenager, smiling quite a bit awkwardly. "Peter." Loki gave the young Avenger a nod, before returning his gaze back to the pages of the book in his hands. Peter wanted to walk past him, as he noticed the baby monitor, which was still attached to Loki's sweatpants. Peter adored Ella and fell in love with the tiny girl the first moment he saw her. Okay, but... Who didn't? A smile spread over the brown-haired boy's face. "Are you on dad duty tonight, Mr. Loki?" Peter said, referring of course towards the little device. A silent sigh left the God's mouth. Sometimes that boy was too chatty for his liking. He just wanted to read that book in peace. His oceanic eyes travelled up to meet the brown ones of Peter once again. "That I am, yes." "Awesome! I was-" He wasn't able to finish his sentence, was interrupted by the sudden crying noises, coming from the baby monitor, signalling Loki that his daughter must be wide awake again. "Well... I have to go. Duty calls." The God stated, his seidr letting the book in his hands magically disappear. "So, if you would excuse me... My daughter needs me." Before Peter could even answer something, Loki had vanished into thin air.

Within seconds was the God in Ella's nursery, immediately taking her into his arms. "Hey, hey, princess, it's okay. I'm here. That wasn't the longest nap, was it, baby girl?" Loki tried to calm her down, rocked her softly - but it didn't quite help. The tiny girl's face was red from crying; angry tears streaming down her face. A quick look on the watch told Loki that she might be hungry. "Are you hungry?" He asked Ella, still gently bouncing her up and down in his arms. "Or do you need a fresh nappy?" She didn't answer, of course, but rubbed her face against the fabric of his t-shirt, rather angrily. "Both?" Loki stepped over to the changing table and laid her down, quickly discarding her old nappy and changing her into a fresh one. Résumé... She indeed needed a change. Ella calmed down a bit, but not entirely, was still whining and whimpering, while her tiny mouth latched on Loki's shoulder on the search of something to eat, signalling him that she was hungry as well. So, he went into the kitchen with her and sat her down in the high chair; bib loosely wrapped around her neck. Y/N and Loki had just started to accustom her slowly to baby food. He grabbed the jar of applesauce, Y/N had prepared this morning. Without the sugar, of course. He sat at the table, took the plastic spoon and tried to feed Ella the delicacy. "Here you go, princess. Let's see if you like this more than mashed bananas." Loki had tasted the applesauce, of course, since it was a Midgardian thing - and loved it. Unlike Ella. As soon as the first spoonful was in her mouth and the applesauce came into contact with her tastebuds, her face contorted - not in delight. "No?" Loki asked, chuckling amused. Her face was priceless. A small whimper in discomfort left her lips, before she opened her mouth, causing the applesauce to drip down her chin and onto the bib. "Well..." Loki sighed. That didn't go as planned. He scooped up again a spoonful and tried to offer it Ella the second time, but as soon as she saw the spoon nearing her face, she turned her head away. "Princess... Come on... It's really delicious. Look, daddy likes it, too." He ate the spoonful himself, showing Ella that it was eatable. The next spoonful he had given to Ella, came straight back. She spit it out, causing the applesauce to land all over his t-shirt. She didn't like it and certainly didn't want to eat it; was now full on crying again. "Alright, alright... I give up." The God sighed in defeat, packed the delicacy away again and grabbed one of the bottles Y/N had prepared as well - just in case. He heated it up a bit and took the baby back into his arms, giving her the bottle. She started to latch on the rubber tip immediately, like a starved girl, causing Loki to chuckle once more and shake his head. "Mama's milk is better than applesauce, got it." While he walked out of the kitchen with his eating daughter still in his arms, the God's his gaze fell on the Midgardian books Y/N had prepared for him as well. Baby books to occupy Ella a bit. He didn't think of them, forget that his wife left them there, but decided to give them a try.

After Ella was done devouring her dinner, he got rid of his dirty t-shirt and the bib and sat down with the small girl on the sofa, taking the books with him. Now, she sat on his lap, one of the books in her hands. It was one with a lot of different colours and made crinkly and squeaky sounds. Ella wasn't that intrigued. For a short moment, yes, but then she lost interest. Just like with the two other books. "Why is there a speaking bear, who eats honey and is best friends with a piglet?" Loki frowned at the book, while Ella's little hands tried to grasp the pages. She gave a whine and huff in return. "Yes, you're right, Ella. Those books are rubbish. The Asgardian ones are way better. Come on." He put the books aside again and went with her to the bedroom, dimmed the lights and laid down on the bed, Ella on top of his bare chest. "I'm going to tell you an Asgardian story now. They are way better, believe me." Loki grabbed the blanket and covered Ella and his torso, making sure that she was warm enough. "Once upon a time, in a realm not far from this one, lived a young prince with his oafish older brother..."

About two hours later, it was already almost midnight, opened Y/N quietly the main door of her and Loki's rooms. She noticed, that the lights were out, except the one in their bedroom. Taking off her black heels, she tiptoed down the hall, towards the room and opened the ajar door silently. "Lokes?" Y/N peeked inside. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight in front of her. Ella was still on Loki's chest, blanket wrapped around her, just like the hands of her father, keeping her from falling off his upper body. Both of them were fast asleep. A smile spread on the woman's face. Love ran through her veins, engulfed her completely. As much as she loved the girl's night out's with Nat and Wanda... There was nothing more wonderful than spending time with the two most important people in her life, laying right there on the bed in front of her. She wouldn't trade what she had for anything in this life.

#the baby fever au #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x female reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x female reader #loki x pregnant reader #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston characters

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 12

CW: PTSD, drug abuse, recapture, regretful Whumper, mention of past torture, Lima syndrome

PART 11 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 13

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"Now comes the best part!" Brooke whispered, quickly sliding the pot from the stove top onto a coaster. The golden liquid inside was bubbling up to the rim, but without a chance to spill over, it was already poured down onto a blanket of crushed ice.

She had to be steady now, line for line of sticky syrup was traced back and forth, patiently waiting for her guest to join in.

Elliot did, eventually, by placing popsicle sticks down and coiling the already hardening candy around them. Although he always kept his left hand in his pocket, far away from any curious eyes, he managed to roll them along the lines of syrup quite well, until a stack of sweet rewards was formed.

"And you never did this when you were younger?" Brooke mumbled while her teeth were desperately trying to unstick from each other.

Elliot nibbled at the corner of his taffy, clumps of ice were still stuck to it: "I don't think so, our snow was too dirty. My uncles took me to winter festivals, though."

He wouldn't have come, if his guilty conscience hadn't forced him this time. He declined invitations and outings over and over since he moved back home, so many had stopped prodding after a while. Except her, she was stuck in his messages like a tick, coming up with all sorts of reasons to meet up again.

When asked if it wasn't a bit early for winter traditions, without any snow to be seen in August, Brooke was determined that it was never too soon for maple taffy. She didn't wait for the seasons.

She didn't question his absence either, and they never talked about the job - how it used to be. As the days grew shorter, so did his hope to join her once more.

All in all, Brooke hid her interest very well, even after he had to take his daily meds in front of her: little chalky pills he swallowed down with the help of tart and sticky candy.

"So, I thought," she started after they cleaned up all the dishes, "we could watch a movie, to get the Christmas spirit going."

"No space for Halloween in your holiday plans?" Elliot asked with a tired smile, though he wouldn't mind leaving horror movies on pause this year. Or however long it would take until he felt like himself.

Brooke shook her head: "Not really my thing, but we could call it even and watch Nightmare Before Christmas."

A part of him wanted this more than anything, this comfy sliver of normality, but a glance out of the window was enough to tell that Elliot had overstayed his welcome.

"It's getting dark already," the quiet apology towards his host was rewarded with a scrunched brow, "My, uh, mom wants me to help with dinner."

She didn't mind the shitty lie, that's what she got for gossiping around with strangers in the restroom. Brooke was sure Elliot had been told about the quick chat in every detail.

"No problem, what about next week?"

He agreed eventually, planning to cancel if he felt like it. Or maybe they could do it at his place, his parents would love this sign, him linking-up with friends again.

Elliot was a bit embarrassed by it, more so scared, but Brooke even walked him to the train stop. Standing engulfed by a crowd should've made him feel secure, at least he desperately waited for it.

I'm safe, I'm safe, nothing is going to happen. Nevertheless, Elliot recognized him sometimes: in advertisements, in the bus, as sneaking shadows at the corner of his eyes.

It was nice being out again, exhausting, but nice. He waved Brooke goodbye.

Everything is okay. It hadn't been a bad day, so why did he feel so uneasy? It's been fine so far, no need to start whining. Especially back home, I'll just upset mom too.

Another pill should soothe his racing mind, but that's it, he didn't want to act plastered in public. It was all agreed upon, he could increase the dosage as-needed: doctor's orders.

It. Is. Fine.

He could taste the rumbling heartbeat in his throat, and his left arm woke slowly from its medically-induced slumber. Too much, just too much at once.

Home- a bad idea. If whining upset her already, a full on panic attack wouldn't help either.

He tried to tune the people around him out; were they staring? Of course, they were. Sour spit collected at the back of his mouth, begging to be let out, but no matter how much he tried to keep focus, he stumbled out of the train one station too early. 

Elliot needed air, a second to breathe.

Automatically, he started fidgeting with the cap of the pill bottle. How many did he take by now? Whatever, one more wouldn't make him hurt any worse than he was now. Elliot finally got a grip on it and forced the tablet down dry.

There he was again: climbing out of the station to stroll along a lonely sidewalk in the dark. Exactly what he was trying to dodge.

Great plan, fucking brilliant.

A forced calm finally started to spread. Fatigue hit him with a gentle fist, but it was welcome, the better of the two moods.

A new message popped up on the phone display, making Elliot jump weakly:

Are you home? 

So to speak. He sent a thumbs up for Brooke because "- she seems so well organized."

Illusions made his head spin with every step.

Don't think about that, look for a place to rest.

Elliot was sure he fell at some point, but was right back on his feet, stumbling over to a bench. An inviting offer in the abandoned street.

What did dad tell me? Five things you can see- five things you can...hear...five thin...gs...

Tired breaths began to calm his system slowly, and the tight warmth in his chest kept his pain down.

He closed his eyes to rest for a bit, just a moment of-

--------

Elliot woke up slowly. Keeping his eyes softly closed, he tried to assess how bad it hit him this time.

After a night out in the cold, he counted himself lucky if his feet were still attached to the rest of him. It would take hours to shake the frost out of his bones, to creep back home for breakfast, but that's what one gets for overreaching.

He waited for the biting cold on his face, for the wind licking at the shell of his ears. But every painful itch turned out to only be a passing tickle, not even the traffic noise had woken him up.

His body felt warm and relaxed, covered by a soft blanket. He still couldn't manage to peel his eyelids open, too confusing was the silent murmur that this was off. That something was wrong.

First, both his jacket and shoes were missing. A sigh of relief echoed through the room.

Elliot had made it home, thank goodness! No future adventures in the evening for him, he knew being with Brooke had been a bad idea; not because of her, of course not, but he just wasn't... made for this anymore. As new waves of anxiety tried to stir up, a heavy weight pressed down on his chest: weird, he would never let Ginkgo run around at night.

Oh, quick, I need to feed her and clean up the cage.

While at it, his mother was in dire need of a hug until she would forgive him for still keeping up with his bullshit. Making her worry to death about her son, Elliot knew better than that.

Finally rubbing the grainy dust from his eyes, the first thing Elliot noticed was a blurred shape at the foot of his bed. The more his vision cleared up, the louder his heart pounded against the blanket and the hand above his own. No face was needed to recognize the person sitting next to him, he knew exactly who decided to haunt him today.

Oh, this again. Elliot quickly shut his eyes back to familiar darkness, cursing his stupid brain for dreaming up these memories. Sleep paralysis, very original, thank you.

They would fade, like they always did. He was home, he was safe...

...

..

.

Something was wrong.

Maybe the sun shining through the window that made his eyes water in face of brightness, an impossible task in his own windowless bedroom; maybe the fact that he'd rather die in a ditch than sleep without his wrist brace.

He had to know, and opened his eyes one final time - this was not his room, not his home. A trick of the tired mind, it simply had to be, Elliot prayed while looking the man of his nightmares straight in the face.

"Hi," Morris whispered, hand on top of broken hand.

No.

Not this.

Not again.

That wretched man slowly leaned forward to let his elbow rest on his knee, an expectant smile on his lips.

Staying horribly numb, Elliot's left arm automatically jerked back to his waist. He felt himself being dragged to that house and if he finally dared to be honest with himself, a part of him had never left.

--------

His guest gave Morris nothing, maybe he just didn't hear him right. Even though he specifically refrained from sitting on the bed and gave him some space to breathe, all the effort didn't seem to be enough. Elliot snapped up to sit ramrod straight under the covers, his breathing hastened to let his restless stare stop on Morris. 

Here they were at last, and this time nothing would go wrong.

"Uhm, do you want me to start or-" Morris said, a bit flustered and picking eagerly at the sheets. The answer came instantly: "I don't know where she is!"

"Who?"

"Wha-"

"Are you still high? It's been hours, that can't be right."

Much to Elliot's relief, Morris let go of him to turn around with a worried frown and fumbled for something at the foot of the armchair he was sitting in. Through blank fear, getting up and walking out was not even considered yet; but one thing came to Elliot's mind despite it all. The thing the world spun around.

"Amber. I don't know-"

"Ohh," Morris cut him off with a small laugh, forehead wrinkled in reassurance, "No, no, this is not about her. I think she had her claws on me for long enough."

Elliot fucked up bad this time. All the simmering fear, anger and helplessness pushed down on him with crushing force. Brooke - the crowd - Morris, it went over in the blink of an eye, his emotions couldn't catch up to the shock and the pills; and he was thankful for it. For letting himself hide inside a little longer.

Still, the icy-blue stare demanded his attention. He had called himself paranoid, laying awake at night to let his fears flirt with this exact scenario again and again, now he knew it had been warranted. Elliot felt it the first time he dragged himself home, just as intense as when he lied to his doctors all those times. Cluelessness spread and made Elliot trip over his own heartbeat.

"I-I didn't tell anyone either." he swallowed thickly, "I know what you said, I didn't forget."

Morris gaze softened, somehow relieved that he wasn't the only skittish one of them.

"You thought about me a lot, huh?"

He meant it to be playful, but seeing how much this comment made Elliot flinch back, he needed to choose his next words more wisely. Nothing but smooth sailing from here on.

He wants to know if I'm still in line. If I fear him more than I look for justice. Elliot would grant him that, gladly so: "Every day."

Much to his confusion, he just needed two words to make Morris empty eyes glow with joy.

This was good, great even, right? Keeping him satisfied, not provoke the anger that cost them so much already. Old survival methods slowly clawed their way back to the surface.

"Really?!“ Morris tone was laced with pure satisfaction, and if asking his guest, it was won out of superiority. Another fallacy that wouldn't be corrected anytime soon.

Instead, he just managed a weak nod above his sweaty hands. Elliot didn't trust his own voice, but still had to push forward.

"I don't really know why I'm here. If it's not about her...can I go then, please? My...my dad will be home in a few days, I miss him so much," his shaky tone somehow pushed out, helpless to stop the tears that started collecting and threatened to flow over. He should've watched that damn movie with Brooke; too late, all in vain.

Somehow, Morris didn't like this at all. Screaming and crying: no fun. How did Elliot already forget that?

"Why are you upset? Don't- no, that's not how it's supposed to go!"

Staying calm to ignore this dreaded feeling took everything out of Morris; if anything, he was the one allowed to be upset! He had been lied to, that old whore kept him away from her son, let him stew in pain for nearly a year. He was deprived of everything he deserved...

But wait, this was perfect: a gradual start. They both had been given time to process, hopefully enough of it to reward Morris for his good behavior. The lean years are over.

"One second," he finally huffed out, a tense hand running through his hair, "this is all wrong, I have a whole plan made up. Wait, wait!"

Knowing how this man's plans usually worked out, Elliot could do nothing but brace himself. Even trying to shrink further under the covers was only commented by a crooked smile: "I practiced, don't laugh!"

Elliot would never dare to, he hadn't in weeks. A quick clearing of his throat gave the go-ahead.  

"I'm really sorry for what happened. I lost control: of you, of the...situation. I'm sorry you were hurt, and I will make it up to you. But first, I just have to know:" stabilizing himself on his twitching knees, Morris finally let the dreaded question out, "Can you forgive me?"

Nothing but static whirred throughout his mind.

"Yeah," Elliot stuttered, "S-sure. It's alright."

In an instant, a pressure inside the room was lifted. Exhaling with a deep sigh, Morris steadied his forehead on his folded hands: "That's great, thank you. You're just great." We can go forward then.

A guilty conscience does weigh heavy, it seemed. That was it? This was no tasteless joke, all he wanted was absolution, granting at least one of them their piece of mind.

Suddenly, Elliot felt unreasonably bold.

"I need to leave."

"No, not yet," came the firm answer.

There it was, the catch. Who needed to call back this time?

Morris read the hollow why off him in a second and replied with a look Elliot couldn't place. Pity, maybe, with an unhealthy glow of hunger.

"Elliot, I know a junkie when I see one."

Don't let it be fentanyl, Morris prayed, otherwise he would tie him to the bed frame and never let him set foot on a street again. But he wanted to keep this topic on the back burner for now, to let new trust sprout.

Junkie - the nerve to even imply that had Elliot heat up in anger. Especially when it came from him.

"In my jacket," all Morris found was a bottle of Tramadol 100, half empty, "That's my medication, my-my painkillers. I need to take them every day, I got a prescription!"

Perhaps Morris' stock was running low. Elliot would help him make ends meet freely, however much he liked. Well, he had to be let go for that first.

"Sure you do. That's how it usually starts."

Elliot hesitated a second too long, thinking of another way out.

Meanwhile, his newest host had talked himself into a passionate monologue: "Yeah, you wouldn't believe how much shit they are stuffing down people's throats, but you're good, aren't you?"

"Yes, it's okay. I-"

"That's why I found you in Yaletown, passed out cold and begging to get robbed, mhh? Because you have everything under control."

This left them speechless. Elliot noticed the urge to cry freely this time, he was out of wits and excuses that wouldn't get cut down in a heartbeat.

On the contrary, Morris seemed triumphant about Elliot's little slip-up. Happy even, if one dared to look closer.

Somewhere at the foot of the bed, a phone started ringing. For the first time during this short waking-nightmare, Morris gave a nervous glance towards the door, biting his lip and clenching his fingers into a fist.

"Doesn't really matter," he decided quickly, "we have enough time to catch up later."

Later? That would imply stretching out this farce.

Finally, Elliot was awake.

"Morris, please listen-"

"Call me Chris."

Elliot was dead, he finally managed to fuck up the rest of his life and go straight to hell.

Make him like me. No, no, stop it. As if that ever helped.

Gathering his racing thoughts, Elliot hoped there was still a chance to steer things in his favor.

"Thank you for..." Abducting me? Helping me? Those words would never leave his mouth, "...letting me crash here. But we both know that I can't stay; with you." Wherever here was this time.

"You're nervous. That's alright, that's understandable. We can work through that!"

The steady anxiety collecting under his heart finally came to the forefront. Five - five things - things I can - His little tricks didn't seem to gain traction, he couldn't even hear himself think through the phone's incessant hum.

"D-don't you want to get that?"

Morris stretched out to snatch and softly cradle Elliot's left hand again. After the medicine's sweet numbness that held him together would fade, every touch will retaliate itself.

Dead focused on him again, caught between seconds that spanned hours, the man calling himself Chris now kept him close. Elliot was never spared, they had never parted ways.

"No, I don't think I will."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

#stack the deck #christoph morris oc #i hope i feed you well with this one #this is a romcom #Morris is still tame here #elliot ribera oc #whump series #recapture #captivity #kidnapping #whump #whumpblr #creative writing #whump community #whump drabble #obsessive whumper #yandere whumper #lima syndrome #disabled whumpee #carewhumper #PTSD #drug abuse #unhealthy coping mechanisms #obsessive behaviour #past torture #emotional whump #anxiety #regretful whumper

[bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love]

Sugar Daddy Shigaraki Part 2 or outtakes

PART 1 Link

Loves pampering his darling. Will make sure she never wants for anything including affection. Lavishes you with praise and soft kisses while muttering how utterly sexy and precious you are to him. 

Would do anything for you. If someone is bothering you he will easily take care of them. You never have to ask him for anything.

Now we know this man has been depraved of touch so its no wonder he becomes sex crazed once he has a soft willing body such as yourself underneath him. Absolutely indulges in all those fantasies that he's stroked it to oh so many times. And how delighted he is when he hears you beg for more. 

Shigaraki is your sugar daddy, you better come running when he calls for you. Have those holes prepared for a good deep pounding. If you aren't there promptly well…there will be a punishment. Daddy will have to bend you over his knee and spank thar ass.

He expects you to obey him like an obedient little toy and take every veiny, throbbing inch of him. 

His uncontrollable thrusts have you sobbing, clutching onto him, digging your nails into his back. You've lost count of how many times you've cum, hell it almost feels like one continuous orgasm.

Insists you call him daddy or Sir, and you can feel him twitch inside you when you do which only makes your walls cling to his rutting length even more. "God you're so greedy" he grunts from above you, that sexy lopsided smirk adorning his handsome face.

Won't stop till he's completely wrecked your pussy, leaving it dripping and sore, your tight ass is gaping and cum is seeping out of both.

Oh yeah he will camp out between those thighs, his tongue lapping eagerly at your sensitive clit. The more your legs tremble and shake the more enthusiastic he eats your sweet cunt. His lips and chin are drenched with your juices. All while teasing you about having such a sloppy, sopping wet pussy. "You must really be in need of dick huh little bunny ? Don't worry daddy will give it to you, I'll give it to you so good babydoll" his voice only heightens your arousal, it's so husky just hearing it ignites every nerve in your body nearly making you cum again. 

You gotta pay for all those expensive gifts after all. Not that you mind. His thick cock fills you like no other. It hits the perfect spot making you lose your breath as your cunt clamps down on him, not wanting him to pull out and leave you empty, craving more. Your needy body shivers under his feral fucking. Hooded eyes flutter underneath heavy lids as desperate moans spill from your mouth begging for more.

He'll call you all kinds of filthy names reminding you that you're his slut, telling you what a good whore you are for him. That no one can please you how he does. He owns your pussy, it belongs to him alone.

He knows no restraint so don't think for one second that he'll hold back. He wants you squirming and writhing under him, so lost in the overwhelming pleasure that you became a babbling, crying mess.

Gets a thrill from having you on your hands and knees, your head laid against the floor, that sexy ass hitched high in the air ready for him to use whatever place he chooses. Submitting so beautifully to your sugar daddy, he gives you everything you want and in return you allow him free access to every part of your body.

Makes sure everyone knows you're his property by having you drop to your knees and milk his cock in front of them. 

Then one day you come to him, telling him there's a really huge gift you want. The last one you say, nervousness clear in your voice. He feels a squeeze in his heart, 'last' he thinks to himself, so she's had enough of me. He knew it was bound to happen. The silence is heavy as you approach him on his throne. He's a bit confused when you sit in his lap and lean in. The pleasurable feeling of your mouth Latching onto his neck has him humming in approval. Then he hears your last request whispered in his ear.

"I want you, Tomura. Be mine, please. I want to be your girl. To wake up to you every morning, to go to sleep in your arms. Hear your heartbeat as I drift off. I…I love you" he couldn't believe it. Without even thinking he spoke "I'm already yours,  my Princess" as soon as the words left him he smashed his lips to yours. Hands sneaking under your shirt. 

@randomconfusedperson19

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x y/n

[papasbaseball]

Secondo x OC (Dead Ghuleh Walking)

+18 CONTENT NOT FOR MINORS. MINORS KEEP SCROLLING

Pairing: Secondo x OC(Libitina)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Blood, Biting, Zombies.

Summary: Sister Libitina's heart has been heavy ever since the Papas died. An innocent paying of respects quickly turns into a graveyard chase as Papa Secondo, back from the dead, looks to make her his Zombie Queen.

Word Count: 3,495

Notes: This is the last of my fics that needed to be migrated over from AO3. Another thank you to @princess-nope for letting me borrow Sister Libitina. She's seriously the coolest OC. Please go check out her stuff.

Translations at the end

AO3 Link

The cemetery was an ugly sight in the daytime. Tombstones were covered in grit and grime, names no longer readable, not a single one of them straight. In the cloak of night, it would scare even the bravest of souls. Gnarled trees played tricks on the mind and looked like hideous twisted demons walking amongst the dead, seeking out souls to steal that dared to leave their graves. The fog that settled in that evening was thick enough that the dead could slip out of their eternal resting places and walk amongst the living, worry-free that their souls might be devoured. For Libitina, however, it made the walk back to the Ministry one of peril. Her boots squished in the mud as she stepped, not even able to see her hand in front of her. The night had been pleasant and clear when she’d gone out to set up for the graveside service earlier.

She had watched with dread as the fog swept over the grave and attendants. While it had lent a spooky aura to the funeral of the late Cardinal Giacomo, it was nowhere near as fantastic as the funeral had been for the three Emeritus brothers earlier that month. Everybody that called the Ministry home was in attendance, the wailing so profound that there had been a late night knocking upon the main door by police to make sure that everything was okay. Papa Emeritus Primo’s gardens had been cleared out of every flower so they could be strewn in a massive pile at the foot of the three ornately carved statues that took the place of tombstones.

Cresting a hill, Libitina could see better. Up ahead stood those very statues. They were remarkable compared to the rest of the bygone papas, still clean and white as if free from sin. Having all three clean at once drove a knife into the congregation's heart. Their deaths had been unexpected, all that is except for Papa Emeritus Secondo. From the tales she had heard of the nurses that attended to him in his last few days, he had been delirious and sickly pale. They would bring him his meals up from the kitchen and he would try to bite the poor serving girls that dared show any kindness to him. His death had not been a surprise.

In a foolish moment of sympathy, she strayed from the path, wandering into the thick fog that shrouded the stone feet of the effigies. She waved and batted at the fog, to no avail, as she got closer. The ground was cold when her knees met it and there were still a few scattered dead flowers left over from the funeral service. Gathering what she could, she made a bouquet and said a quiet prayer for the eldest brother. He had been a friend and mentor, often working with the funeral team at the Ministry to preserve the grounds and provide modest floral arrangements when called for.

“Can you take care of him?” she had asked the other sister who had been assigned to help with embalming that day. “I’m feeling light-headed. I’ll be back in a minute.” Being surrounded by death was one thing, seeing the man who had taken her under his wing lifeless on the table was another. She had run outside the prep room as the walls felt like they were closing in around her, a desperate need to escape overtaking her as her heart pounded against her rib cage. The tears had tried to spill forth, but she tilted her head up and blinked them back. Her mortuary sister was a gossip, most of them were.

In the shroud of the fog, she let herself cry freely for the first time since the day he’d been declared dead. The only people around to judge her were the deceased and everyone knew that they didn’t talk. She pressed a kiss to the stone, setting the flowers at the stone hem of his robe.

“I miss you, old friend.”

She wiped her tears and gripped the cold monument, helping herself up to move to the next memorial. Her stomach dropped and her foot slipped. Her fingers clawed at the rough unhewn stone as she scrambled back up onto the safety of Primo’s grave.

“Lucifer below-” She knelt on the ground once more, this time feeling for where to avoid as she left the gravesite. She sucked in a breath when she felt the ledge and drop off. She crawled along the grave of the second oldest brother, hand following the ledge all the way down the plot.

Grave robbing? It was unheard of, especially for one of the Papas. They had taught her about it in her apprenticeship but always assured her that it would never happen. It was a dishonorable tradition abandoned at least a hundred years ago. Her mind raced as she wondered what to do. If she went to get help, they might question what she was doing straying from the path.

She pushed herself back up once more, realizing there was nothing she could do until that damn fog cleared. There was no way of knowing if they had even taken anything. Dusting her hands together to clean them of the dirt, she resolved to come back in the morning, before anyone else had woken, to properly assess the damage. Slipping between the monuments, she made her way back to the path.

She jumped when she spotted him.

“Brother Gregor, that's not funny! Did you see who did this to Papa Secondo’s grave?”

Brother Gregor stood there silently. He had always been the dark, hulking, and silent type, but was never hesitant when questioned. She swallowed hard, moving forward to question him again. Her palms dampened with sweat, but if anyone knew what had happened here it would be him. Perhaps he was hiding from the culprits?

“Brother-”

He had seen better days. His papal paint was smeared and runny and his cheeks were hollowed from his illness like the nurses had gossiped about in the common room. His funerary robes were soaked and covered in mud, and his hands were as well. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that he had punched and clawed his way out of the ground, but that was impossible. The weight of the earth alone would be enough to keep even the strongest of men buried six feet under. His body must have been propped up against the monument by some novitiate on a disrespectful hazing dare.

“Papa,” her voice broke, “how could they do this to you? It’s not right.”

Her hand reached out to swipe away a wet raindrop full of paint when he caught her arm. His eyes flashed open to reveal both of them flooded with blood, even his signature white eye. The gaze was vacant but hungry and it turned something deep inside her as her mind told her to run. Everyone had thought of him at least once in that way, she had told herself. He was the tallest of the Emeritus brothers and his discerning look had turned more than one sibling’s legs to jelly and flooded their stomachs with butterflies. Even now she could feel the infamous butterflies beating their little devilish wings against her rib cage. Still, she tried to break free.

Secondo, stronger than ever, threw her up against his grave marker. “Ghuleh,” he said, stumbling over the syllables. Whatever had happened to him, he was no longer the Papa that he once was. His grip was iron and inescapable as she struggled against it, his fingers tightening to the point it felt like he might crush her wrist.

“Papa, what happened? I saw them bury you. You were dead. I-“

Secondo growled at this. It was an awful bone-chilling growl, half wounded animal and half stones scraping together. His bloodied eyes flashed with rage leaving Libitina to guess his meaning.

I wonder if he knows he’s supposed to be dead? What if this is some sort of shapeshifter that’s taken his place? But then why would the grave be open? Whether he was really undead or a shapeshifter didn’t matter as she gritted her teeth, pain shooting from her wrist. It would be best not to bring up his death again.

His free hand roamed her body, squeezing the curve and form of it. “Ghuleh,” he groaned again, this time more smoothly. A breathy moan escaped her as he pressed her between his body and the hard stone. He was cold, but that didn’t stop the blood from rushing to her core as those hungry eyes looked down on her, a bloody smile spreading across his lips. “Ghuleh w-want.”

She could feel his cock underneath his robes pressing into her stomach. It was everything she could do to remain standing on her feet, going slack in his grip. She had given up the chance of ever sharing his bed the day they had all died, but it seemed Satan had other plans for her.

He released his grip to slide his hands down her legs, hoisting her up so her hips met his. He paused, words trying to form in his undead brain. “Ghuleh want?” he asked again, this time the inflection more like a question. He loosened his grip a bit and his gaze softened, though the hunger remained.

She smoothed her hands down the muddied and wet brocade, debating the ethical implications of fucking an undead satanic pope. Fuck it. “Yes, Papa. Please fuck me,” she blurted out before she could take the words back. She looked back up into his eyes, asserting her words.

He hoisted her onto the plinth of the monument, gloved hand snaking its way under the skirt of her habit. His fingers curled into the waistband of her panties and quickly tugged on it, ripping it at the side seams away from her body. He was urgent, like a wolf that hadn’t eaten in days, his tongue lapped at the damp spot on her underwear before throwing it to the ground, craving the source of his desire instead. There was no warm breath against her thighs and she jumped when his cold tongue slithered up her folds, flattening against her clit. A gentle kiss was the only warning she got before Secondo growled, slurping at the small trickle of wetness that had already escaped Libitina’s folds. “Ghuleh- G-Good. W-arm.”

She moaned at the praise, letting her head rest against the stone folds of the statue’s robes. Tossing the front panel of her skirt aside to watch him devour her, she couldn’t help but rake her sharp talons against his paint-blackened scalp. “More, Papa. Please.”

He looked up at her, slowly comprehending her words. “More? Ghuleh… Hungry?”

“Yes, please,” she blushed. She pressed lightly on the back of his head, urging him back to his feast. “I’m starving, Papa.”

He latched onto her clit, flicking his cold tongue against her warm bundle of nerves. She shuddered, but pressed his head further in, rolling her hips as he sucked against her. He kissed and nibbled, stroking his tongue slowly down each side of her clit until she was on the precipice, nails digging into his scalp.

“N-Not yet,” he said, out of breath from his attention. He brought two gloved fingers up to her and delved them into her warmth. Drawing them back out, he separated them, undead fingers slightly trembling, to reveal the shiny strings of her slick that spun themselves like a spider web between the two digits. “Ghuleh ready.”

Secondo gently guided Libitina toward the edge of the plinth and supported her as she slid back down the stone block into his grasp. His hands slid down to her knees, groaning at the effort. “Hold…” he managed.

Libitina followed his command to the best of her abilities, wrapping her legs around him and taking hold of his shoulders. Once more he swept away the front panel of her skirt and hiked up his own robe to reveal his cock. A chill ran up her spine at the girth and how the veins seemed to run a dark green of something that was not blood. The flesh itself had the pallor of death and, when he lined himself up with her, she could feel the chill of death begging for entrance into her throbbing cunt.

“Papa-”

“Riscaldami, Ghuleh.”

He sank in slowly, a hiss slurring into a growl as he split her open. She clenched around him, his cock searing her inside. His mouth was slack and agape as he bottomed out.

“Papa, ah! It’s so deep.” She clenched again, her pussy trying so hard to bring some warmth back into the undead intrusion. Her lip quivered as she looked into those blood-red eyes, any human warmth gone.

“Ti rend-erò la… mia reg-ina degli… zombi.” He rutted against her, shoving his cock hard up against her cervix. Intentions made clear, he pulled out to the tip before shoving himself back in. The force of the thrust shoved Libitina into the stone, knocking the wind out of her. She inhaled the fog deeply as he pumped into her deep and slow, the cool mist chilling her lungs. Her exhale was a moan as she relaxed into his grip, letting the pleasure of the stretch take over.

“That feels so good,” she sighed. “Take me. Make me your zombie queen.”

He grunted at her words, quickening his pace. With a rough hand, he yanked her head to the side, exposing her neck. “Vuoi il… mio zom-bi sborro? Vuoi… che ti s-sporchi il grembo, suora?” Groans seemed to drone out of his lips as he neared her neck.

The thrill of him coating her in his seed made her grip his neck, talons pricking the soft decaying skin. She brought him back up to look into those blood-red eyes. His teeth gnashed together in an angry hunger. “Fill me with your filth first, corpse.”

Her heart quickened as she realized the danger she was in, that the rest of the Ministry was in. There would be no use in spreading the word of Satan through groans and moans. She had to get out of there in order to warn her sisters.

Secondo foamed at the mouth as he thrust faster and harder. Libitina kept her grip, not eager to unleash the monster. “Want y-you. Let P-papa h-ave taste.”

Libitina pushed off the plinth, sending them both toppling forward. Scrambling to her feet, she dashed down the cemetery path, groans and yells filling the air behind her. The fog still remained, obscuring identifying tombstones that she would have used to find her way back on a normal night. No time to waste.

“Ghuleh, tor-na quiiiii. A-Abbiamo a…appena iniziato,” he seethed. A roar ripped from him as he staggered after her.

Libitina turned and ran, boots sliding in the mud, but that didn’t stop her. She wove her way through the jagged tombstones, apologizing to the dead for any disrespect or trampled flowers placed by siblings. She had to get to the Ministry. Once she got there she would wake Sister Margery and they could board the doors together and barricade the rest of the Ministry.

“Y-ou can r.. run, but youuu can’t hide… Ghuuuleh. I kn-know your scent.” He was further behind now, but she had to keep running, had to keep going. It wasn’t just her life that depended on it. Her thighs ached, but she pushed harder in the mud when she saw the faint light behind a stained glass window.

“Margery!” she cried out. “Sister Margery! Anyone!” The Ministry became clearer the closer she got. Out of breath, she threw her fists in a dizzy haze against the heavy wooden door to the funerary wing. “Please! Anyone!”

“Sister Libitina, is that you?” The voice was muffled, coming from the open window above, but the high pitch was unmistakably that of Sibling Antina.

“Antina! Let me in! I don’t have time to explain!”

“Don’t you have your key?”

“No! It’s too long of a story, please come let me in! It’s urgent!!”

“Ghuuuleh,” came a groan in the distance.

“Hurry!” Libitina cried again.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!”

Libitina rested her hands on her knees, doubling over as she tried to catch her breath. The damp night air tasted like danger now, and she pulled herself back up to rest against the wall, holding her breath as best she could. The last thing she needed was to alert him to exactly where she was.

It wasn’t much longer until she heard the footsteps on those worn stone stairs, racing down to meet her. The door flung open and there stood Sibling Antina in their nightgown.

“Everyone else has gone to bed. I was on duty tonight. What happened? Where is your key?”

“I’ll explain it all later please just let me i-“

Like being hit by a truck she was knocked to the ground, pain searing through her arm as she saw Secondo’s teeth tearing through her sleeve and puncturing her skin. Glossy blood welled up in the faint light of the open door

“Shut it, Antina! Shut it! He’s a zombie!”

“Wh-“

“Shut the door! Ah!” she winced at the pain as he bit down harder. “Papa Secondo is a zombie! Wake the siblings and barricade the Ministry. Form a hunting party in the morning to come and find us.”

“Hunting? Us? But Sis-“

“It’s too late for me! Save the Ministry.” And with that, Libitina kicked the door shut on Sibling Antina’s face.

“Ghuleh t-aste gooood.”

She turned back to Secondo, watching him lap up the blood that was trickling down her arm and soaking her sleeve. His tongue delved past the fabric tear and into the cut, eyes gleaming with delight when Libitina grit her teeth. “So you want to finish what we started?”

“Yesssss”

“They know what you are. If you want to fuck me you’d better find a new place before someone takes your head off.”

He growled at the reminder of his monstrous form and got to his feet. Strong hands gripped Libitina’s boots and he dragged her the short distance to a nearby monument, stowing them both behind it, away from the view of any foolish rescuers. “Im- Impatient.”

“Go on then: make my death worth it.”

He snarled and flipped her over, ripping her skirt away from her in a flutter of cloth. Rough hands gripped her hips, yanking them up into the air to display her still dripping cunt for him. He hitched up his robes and thrust his cock into her without warning. The soft muddied sole of his papal slipper pressed her cheek into the dewy grass as he snapped into her at a punishing pace. “R-egina de…gli zzzombi è … è un onoreeeee, ma… tu ssscappi, pu..t-ttana innnngrata,” he groaned.

“Puttana ingrata? You fucking bit me, asshole!”

His cold palm cracked against her ass cheek. Her spine arched at the delicious pain shifting the angle of his thrusts. She moaned loud enough to wake the dead as he brought her closer and closer to the precipice.

“Que-Questa trooooia brrrrama.. co-sì tannnn-to il …mio cazzo… e la miiiia s-sporciiiizia?”

“Sì, Papa,” she groaned, drowned out by the claps of his hips bruising hers. “Fill me with your cum. I want all of it.”

He stopped as she was on the edge and pulled out. She whined as the ache took over. He removed his foot from her face and shoved her over so her face was lit by the moon. Her hands spread her thighs in lust when she saw how his thick cock was coated in her slick.

“Vo..Voglio guarrrr..d-dartiii in ffffaccia… quan-quando tiiii me-tto in..inciiinta del …nosssstro e-errrede, Ghuleh.” He hooked her legs over his shoulders and once more impaled her. She whimpered as his new position pushed him deeper than before, deep enough that his seed would take hold.

He was slow and gentle at first but Libitina’s cries every time he bottomed out quickly sent him into a frenzy. Her wails soon had his hips stuttering. “C-Come fffor me, Ghuleh. Letttt… your w-womb driiiiink… my seed.”

Her hands ripped out fistfuls of grass as the waves crashed down on her and she spasmed hard around his cock. The contractions were the final push for him as his cock shot cold ropes of seed deep within her.

She groaned feeling the tingling coolness seeming to numb her inside. Already her brain was fuzzy and she couldn’t help but feel hungry like something was gnawing at the pit of her stomach. “F-food,” she moaned.

He pulled out and she could feel the numbing cum trickle out of her. “R-rest f-irst.” Scooping her up, he staggered off into the graveyard.

“Where are we going? They’ll look in your grave first.”

“O-old ma- mauso-leum. Rrrest. Then f-fill… Ghuleh… again.”

Translations:

Riscaldami, Ghuleh. - Warm me, Ghuleh

Ti rend-erò la… mia reg-ina degli… zombi.- I will make you my zombie queen.

Vuoi il… mio zom-bi sborro? Vuoi… che ti s-sporchi il grembo, suora? - Do you want my zombie cum? Do you want me to soil your womb, Sister?

Ghuleh, tor-na quiiiii. A-Abbiamo a…appena iniziato - Ghuleh, come back here. We’re just getting started

R-egina de…gli zzzombi è … è un onoreeeee, ma… tu ssscappi, pu..t-ttana innnngrata - Zombie Queen is an honor, but you run away, you ungrateful whore

Que-Questa trooooia brrrrama.. co-sì tannnn-to il …mio cazzo… e la miiiia s-sporciiiizia?- This slut craves my cock and my filth so much?

Vo..Voglio guarrrr..d-dartiii in ffffaccia… quan-quando tiiii me-tto in..inciiinta del …nosssstro e-errrede, Ghuleh. - I want to see your face when I impregnate you with our heir, Ghuleh

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #secondo smut #secondo emeritus #papa emeritus ii x oc #secondo x oc #the band ghost oc

[dreaming-of-the-end]

2: a lesson in forgetting, and being forgotten

A/N: Second chapter of “the art of running away (the disaster of returning)“ Fitz pov time!! Comments and reblogs are better than Fitz crying!

Warnings: swearing

Links: [ao3] [wattpad] [masterpost] [prev chapter] [next chapter]

Tags: @an-ungraceful-swan @seulgibabes @gay-otlc @fruity-fintan-fortythree @synonymroll648 @bookwyrminspiration @skylilac @song-tam @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @abubble125 @rainy-nights-and-fairy-lights @kamikothe1and0lny @arsonistblue @daphneisntreal @lemon-girl-in-devil-town @istanrandomfandoms

Keefe ran away.

To a place he can not follow.

Fitz isn't exactly sure what they expect his reaction to be. Sophie stares at him like she's waiting for a bomb to explode. Biana worries her lip with her teeth, a habit she'd broken years ago, and Dex twists his fingers into knots until the knuckles turn white.

"He's gone?" Tam leaves out the word they are all thinking. Fitz hates him for it: he wants to tell him to say it. Remind everyone that this happens all too often. He is rewarded with a dull glance up, eyes widening in mock surprise. "Typical."

This is the part where he becomes a tea kettle and starts screaming.

But Fitz just says, "Let him stay there." His insides twist tighter than Dex's hands. He doesn't think he remembers how to breathe.

"I think he doesn't want to be found this time," Sophie admits. "Last time, we only knew where he was because I hitched a ride. This time, there's no way to know."

"Good. Let him stay there," Fitz repeats. His throat chokes on itself, but Biana's giving him the look that means his face has gone into a mask again, cold and stony, poster child of sculpted stone. "The Forbidden Cities? God, I've told him about being there enough. Alvar's told him enough. He knows plenty. He'll be fine without us."

Without me.

But they've been without each other for a long time, haven't they? Fitz thinks they've been playing hide and seek, lost and found, ever since Keefe left the first time and took a chunk of his heart with him. They've never had the conversation about its safe return, and so he continues with a hole in his heart and the missing piece too close and too far away.

"Fitz—"

"I agree," Wylie says, hands folded behind his back, eyes stormy. "He can always light leap away at any danger." He's perhaps the one who knows Keefe least, and maybe this is why Fitz feels a sudden surge of anger. Who is Wylie to decide Keefe's not worth saving? Agreement feels laced with poison to him, every word an insult and his saving grace.

Maybe he didn't mean it.

But there are nods now. So Fitz nods, forces a smile on his ice-cold face. "He doesn't need us." He's trying so hard not to let his bitterness leak through.

Sophie, he knows, isn't fooled. Not Biana, either. Tam meets his eyes and shakes his head like he knows the push and pull of the maelstrom whisking his lungs around his body, the nausea rising in his throat. But no one says anything. They can't find anything that doesn't call him a liar.

He ran away from you.

"How do you know where he is?" Stina is the one to ask the question, fingers twisting in the loose curls past her shoulders.

Sophie hesitates. "He... he left me a letter."

Another sting, another fire in his head.

He is a liar. Perhaps to himself, because he knows that this time, the cowardice had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the danger of newness and the violence of terror. All of Keefe's worst fears.

I know you, Fitz will say when he sees him again. So why does it feel like you've forgotten everything I ever was?

...

Fitz digs through his bedsheets, under his pillow, under the mattress, inside his pillowcase, fingers flying desperately across gold-trimmed navy blue.

His desk sits in disarray, every drawer spilled out across the carpet he's checked under, every pocket of every item of clothing turned inside out to check for anything, any acknowledgment of his existence. Of his importance.

His bathroom is spotlessly clean, as always. There is no space to hide an envelope. No place to hide a letter.

The fire builds with every moment. Nothing, nothing— Fitz rips the sheets from his bed in vain, the mattress empty—nothing.

He left him with nothing.

Fitz lets himself erupt, punching the wall hard enough to make him leap back, cradling his fist. He needs something broken that isn't him. He needs to be fixed. He needs to be fixed. Keefe needs to be fixed. Everything is broken.

His pillow explodes behind him with a pop, sending brightly colored feathers fluttering all through the air, and Fitz whirls to face it.

He hadn't realized he was outward channeling. His hands shake a little, and he's not sure whether it's from the effort or from all the feelings forced down his throat. He swallows hard.

Fitz sits carefully on his bare mattress. Keefe used to sprawl out on it like he owned it, fingers barely brushing the headboard as he flung them back past his head and mussed his hair a little more—but that doesn't matter anymore. The bed is empty.

He doesn't know why he thought Keefe would care enough to leave him a letter. He would have taken a note like the ones he remembers reading about in human books during younger library visits: Gone fishing. Be back in a few hours, maybe a century. When the world has moved on without me. Moved on from me.

What a fucking coward.

#summer's writing #keefitz #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fanfic #kotlc fic #kotlc writing #angst #angst without a happy ending #alira(taor) #a lesson in running away (the art of returning)

[ko-fanatic]

Perfection (Chapter one: Breathing)

Rating: Teen and above Pairing: DabiHawks Characters: Touya Todoroki, Keigo Takami, Enji Todoroki, Shoto Todoroki (Mentioned: Natsuo Todoroki, Fuyumi Todoroki, Rei Todoroki) Content warnings: Eating disorders, abuse by authority figures and parents, and depersonalisation/dissociation/derealisation Summary: Touya is a ballerino in training at one of the country's most prestigious schools. Keigo is a hockey player and scholarship student who's somehow managed to barge into Touya's life and make him care about him. But that's fine, they're good for each other, always pushing to improve their grades and get better at their sports. They just have to analyse a novel that Touya can't actually stand, but that's fine. Touya Todoroki is his own person, after all, not some character to be analysed. AO3 LINK

It was as simple as breathing for Touya, the hours of hard work and training to get where he was now. A barre and a mirror, both soft shoes and pointe in pale flesh tones, hands stretching him just that little bit further - little bit better. He went after proper form and poise and grace with all the veracity of a predator chasing prey. 

He’d been dancing since the tender age of four, a class he was signed up to in the desperate attempt to get him to socialise like a “normal kid” sparking lifelong obsession. Twelve years and much spilled blood and split nails later, it was still him and the barre. It was still pliés and tour en l'airs and all eight positions. 

The difference was he wasn’t a child stumbling through his assemblés anymore. He was a strong, lithe seventeen year old with the spoils of his rampant, manic fixation at his fingertips. He was in a specialist school with enough funding and resources to make his dreams of becoming premier danseur in The Tokyo Ballet Company a possible reality. 

Well, he should call it a goal. It was a goal. A dream was something for sad people with no motivation to moon over in the privacy of their thoughts. He was doing everything in his power to climb the ladder and improve everything about himself. 

“More height,” His teacher huffed, breaking him from his thoughts, observing his Grande Jeté as if it’d personally offended her. 

It probably had. 

“Land like an elephant in front of an audience, and they’ll know you are not worth the satin of your shoes,” She continued, her Russian accent thick as she picked him apart, “And Touya -”

“Yeah, yeah,” He huffed, crossing his arms as he cut her off, “You can see my lunch.”

Probably as he had eaten lunch. But that was common sense, and when something came between him and perfect form, that went out the window. 

He used the short walk to his duffle bag to catch his breath and steady himself somewhat.  Swan Lake’s Siegfried variation (third act) wasn’t exactly lengthy, but it was taxing - particularly when you were made to do it over and over again in the hopes of perfecting the less than two minute long routine. His stomach was beginning to flip with every leap, also.

Perhaps he was actually slightly grateful for the excuse to stop for a minute, he supposed as he pulled his black hoodie over his head. He snuck a split-second drink of water in, also, blinking hard and refocusing himself for the task ahead. 

“No, no,” His teacher dismissed as he retook his starting position, “You’ve made Reisinger turn in his grave enough for today. If you need basics, we work on basics.”

Heat flared in Touya’s cheeks at that, his teeth gritting as to not allow himself to spew the venom on his tongue at the Хуй in front of him. She was his ticket to greatness, after all. He insulted her (learned Russian specifically to do so), he gave her attitude and bared his teeth - but he didn’t push his luck. 

If he was going to perform like some second-rate hack, then she was going to treat him as such. It was his own damn fault for the humiliation he felt closing up his throat, and so he simply scratched at his forearms as he awaited further instruction, swallowing hard. 

“Arabesque,” She ordered with a snap of her long, thin fingers, and Touya complied immediately. 

His back was straight, leg lifted behind him with a practised ease and face placidly neutral. Any less control, and he probably would’ve bitten his lip. He knew exactly what was coming. 

Holding one hand on his chest, ever so close to his throat, she placed the other around his willowy thigh in a strong grasp. Practice was the only reason Touya gave no visible or audible reaction to what happened next. 

She bent his back into an accentuated curve, bringing his thigh up so high that he swore his scapula and femur nearly kissed. His abdominal muscles stretched and his vertebrae and tendons screamed as they were bent beyond his highly trained limits. 

The only thing he did was close his eyes, resisting the urge to screw them up unpleasantly. He didn’t dare breathe, so the swelling of his lungs didn’t pull the skin and muscles tighter still. 

She simply held him that way, pushing his resistance and flexibility. Testing the strength of his will, his features were practised pleasant. She could break his back, yet it was the job of the danseur to keep porcelain placid. Nothing less was expected, after all, and it could certainly be worse. 

“Good,” She nodded after what felt like aeons, but was likely only a minute, “Not completely useless after all.”

He hated that his chest swelled at the back handed compliment the way it would with true praise. 

As was usual, this continued on and on for he didn’t know how long. Stretches changed, running through different extensions, splits and all the usual fayre, muscles being pushed to the limit. However much they screamed, however, not a single sound slipped past his lips. 

He waited, until she’d deemed the practice enough and released him from his position, legs spread apart and chest touching the floor. He didn’t spring up too quickly, the itch in his brain saying that he had to prove this wasn’t a chore or painful for him outweighing any physical sensation. Instead, his torso rose slowly, watching her with a sharp gaze as she bid him goodbye in clipped tones, her handbag over her shoulder and sensible heels in hand to slip on when outside of the studio. 

Touya still didn’t leave. He sat himself up properly, taking a much-needed, deep breath and reorienting himself with the studio around him. The walls were bright white, the sun reflecting off the many floor-to-ceiling windows and directly into his eyes. He barely recoiled, turning his gaze to the floor and blinking hard at the pale, washed out wood below him. 

He still had his slippers on, he noted, making start-and-stop movements to take them off before he arrived. The one he’d waited around for in this too bright room, every day after ballet training for the last three months. Takami “Hawks” Keigo. 

Appearance-wise, they were complete opposites. Touya was tall and svelte with corded, lean muscle, whilst Keigo was much shorter, barely brushing 5’4”, and built like a brick wall. Keigo was strong on the ground, impossible to knock over, whereas Touya aimed to be as high in the air as humanly able. Touya’s hair was smothered in Blackest Black hair dye, and Keigo’s natural hair was a golden blonde - like sunshine or some other romantic bullshit. 

But they got on well. They were both intelligent and quick-witted, both aiming for the stars and chasing those goals with dogged determination. They were both awarded scholarships by their prestigious school because of how well they ran the rat race and improved in their own ways. They debated as they studied, anything from analysing the works of Nakahara or Akutagawa, to politics. 

Touya had attempted to argue physics with Keigo, but the other boy was much better with the subject’s practical applications than the more subjective, theoretical side that Touya favoured. Although the difference of skill in different areas was a bonus, seeing how the studying they did whilst hanging out only served to improve both boys’ already stellar grades. 

That, and Touya got to just… see Keigo… 

Touya bit his lower lip, pushing himself up onto his messy feet, feeling the new bruises overlap the old bruises, but not really caring. He was used to it, after all. It was more important to get himself out of his sweaty shirt and tights before Keigo would arrive. It was probably a good idea to stretch out his overtaxed muscles, also, before he seized and concerned Keigo with his stuttered breath. 

Keigo’s hearing was actually insane. 

He pulled off his shirt and hoodie at the same time, bundling them up ready to shove in his bag when he got his clean clothes out. Reaching for the bottle of deodorant he kept in his gym bag, he side-eyed his bent over form in those massive mirrors beside him, eyes on the small rolls of skin on his stomach. 

Can see his lunch, indeed. Stupid bitch. 

He bodily turned so his back was towards the ostentatious things - no more sun in his eyes - and sprayed himself down. He’d have a shower when he got home, but this would avoid stinking up their make-shift study space with BO. 

Next, the shoes. The shoes were on their way out after five months of rigorous training, but that wasn’t too unusual for soft shoes. His pointes were falling apart after barely nine weeks. It’s not like his actual feet were any better right now, held together with blister plasters, medical tape, second skin and IcyHot ointments. 

The tights slipped off of him easier than they had when he’d first got them, probably from the amount of wear, and he noted a hole in the thigh with disdain. He must have caught it on something whilst going through stretches. Fuck. Those were his favourite, too. 

At least they were easier to replace than his shoes. Hopefully, he could keep them together for another week. Put off asking his old man for more stuff for a little longer. 

Enji Todoroki was not someone he sought out the company of, if given the choice. Father or not. 

He threw his dirtied clothes to the side, a small growl rising in his throat before he could trample it down. Who cared? No one was here but him, after all. 

He didn’t spare nearly as much care putting on his casual clothes as he did removing his ballet ones, tugging his ripped jeans on roughly (and, subsequently, putting his foot through one of the many rips and nearly falling on his face - what a graceful danseur). He threw on his spare, baggy hoodie and began shoving his sweaty clothes in his gym bag. 

There was no clock in the studio - he still didn’t know why - so he had no clue how close Keigo was to being let out of hockey practice. Or how long he’d been staring at the walls. He just slipped on his socks to avoid Keigo seeing his gross feet and retrieved his school bag from beside the door, rifling through textbooks and notes to find what he needed. 

Just in time too, with the creak of the door signalling the other boy’s arrival. 

“Hey-o!” Keigo chirped, a megawatt smile on his face and cheeks flushed with the adrenaline spike of beating up his teammates for the past two and a half hours, and Touya’s heartbeat skipped accordingly. 

“That your mating call or something, birdbrain?” He huffed, although a smile did pull at his lips as he playfully rolled his eyes, holding up the newest book from his Japanese Lit class, “Come sit down, I’m not reading this depressing, misogynist bullshit by myself.”

“Okay, hotstuff, jeez,” Keigo laughed, and the dickhead’s pretty hair caught the sunlight perfectly as he moved to sit down. Prick.

---

“I have never seen such an inscrutable face on a man.”

Touya flicked his gaze up to Keigo’s face once the reading was finished, curious as to the blond’s reaction to this character. Of course, there wasn’t much, considering they’d only read the prologue. Conversely, everything had been revealed at once. 

Dazai uses beginning, middle and something of an end in the prologue alone, making it reductionist and simple. You can interpret the narrator being someone removed from the situation, the use of first person tense present throughout the novel, but this being in reference to photographs of the main character himself... 

“Depersonalisation: the novel,” Touya theorises, hand moving in a sweeping movement, as if introducing a circus act. He knows Yozo calls himself a clown, from his baseline knowledge of the book.

“All that, to say he hates himself,” Keigo begins, and if Touya didn’t know what the other boy was doing, he’d have cut him off there, “A whole prologue to say I act insufferably, but won’t ever change.”

It sounds so flippant, like a critique from a lazy student. From a student one might believe Keigo was, just to look at him and ascribe a stereotype, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

No, it’s a push to elaborate. Touya expects people to infer a lot more into his statements than they do. Awkward in real life, disastrous in literature exams. He does try to treat the examiner as an idiot - an interesting piece of advice from his teacher - but it seems idiots are far stupider than he thought. Keigo lures the intent of his thoughts from him rather expertly, not allowing him to stick to the cryptic one-liners that people only listen to maybe half the time. 

He’s glad he’s not a character in a novel, one teenagers are meant to read and analyse and criticise. 

“Well, it’s a core theme,” Touya shrugs, “You can tell by how the author chooses those particular descriptions. It’s important to give them that level of attention, because the beginning, middle and end are important. The lack of change is important. The knowledge of why and how you’re fucked up, even having some inkling of how to change it, but never implementing those changes. It all just gets worse and worse, yet you stay the same, because you can’t be anything else.”

Maybe he is just a character. The staging is too deliberate, saying these things in a room full of mirrors. 

“And if it is someone else?” Keigo asks, “There’s nothing to say it is Yozo looking at these pictures.”

 “Then even this stranger seems to have contempt for him,” Touya shrugs, leaning back on the heels of his palms and staring up at the ceiling, away from golden eyes that don’t blink as often as they should, “And that’s pitiable.”

Keigo hums in the back of his throat. They’ve only read the prologue, but he shuts the book and lays it to the side, picking up his notebook. 

This one is a dark blue, “Japanese Lit: homework and notes” marked out in neat, small kanji on both the front and spine. Keigo keeps very beautiful notes. Keigo likes notebooks, stationery and organisation. He copies out and gets rid of notebooks that start looking beaten up. He despises mess. 

Touya swallows hard and hates the mood literary analysis brings out in him. Did Yozo hate those notebooks being read as much as he hates this feeling?

One ugly child relating to another.

---

Keigo and he stayed another hour, discussing specific turns of phrases used by Dazai. Keigo writes out the quotations in his dark blue notebook to expand upon the meaning there, whereas Touya annotates in the margins. His kanji is somewhat squished into the small space, but that’s fine. 

His kanji can deal with it.

When he finally returns home, nearing dinnertime, he’s almost bowled over as soon as he opens the door. As usual, Shoto is the culprit, clinging to his waist so tightly that anyone would think this is the first time they’d seen each other in months. 

In reality, they ate breakfast together that morning. Shoto just goes through phases of being clingy, to near-worrying levels. Still, Touya handles it because that’s just what he does for his baby brother. Shoto can cling to his leg as long as he needs, because he can work around it well enough. 

It’s nice to be wanted, too. 

He just rustles Shoto’s red hair, streaked with stark, poliosis-white. Like his own hair, before he smothered it in dye; although his became more and more white with age. 

“Hey, Sho,” He murmurs, reaching around the boy to unzip his boots and step out. As he does so, Shoto stumbles slightly as his brother suddenly shrinks four inches with the lack of platforms. 

Shoto doesn’t answer him, and Touya sets his jaw, because that can only mean one thing -

“Touya.”

He looks up, finding a sight that he’s seen a million times over. 

His father is an intimidating man, taller and broader than anyone has any right being, and a face that automatically settles into something malcontented. His arms are crossed, eyes narrowed, and Touya sneers in the man’s general direction on reflex.

“You were supposed to be home hours ago,” Enji continued, “We were worried.”

Touya huffs a short, obviously sarcastic laugh at that. Because he knows that Enji likes to pick at him, like some sort of blemish that should be gotten rid of. He’ll scratch and pick until blood wells up and smears everywhere. 

On the walls… the carpet… even some on the ceiling… Somewhere, there’s a scream.

“Yet, you didn’t even text me once,” He states plainly, detaching Shoto from his hip but still holding the young boy’s hand, breezing past his father like the man isn’t six foot four and nearly three hundred pounds of muscle, “At least make it believable.”

Enji doesn’t say anything as rebuttal, even as the man shifts his jaw and his eyes narrow further, but that’s not really Touya’s problem. It’s not Touya’s problem unless Enji decides to make it his problem.

“Touya, baby, stay awake. Mommy needs you to stay awake! WHAT DID YOU DO, ENJI?!”

He won’t. Touya’s not even half his weight, and the grown man flinches back first. A few months ago, he might’ve called it pathetic, but now it’s just a fact; neutral, or as near as it can get.

Instead of entertaining his father’s supposed worry, Touya just leads Shoto to the kitchen and lets the little boy shuffle onto one of the uncomfortable chairs. He squeezes Natsuo’s shoulder as he passes, nodding his greeting, but doesn’t actually speak on his way to the fridge. 

“Yeah, yeah - you can see my lunch.”

Touya clenches his jaw, swallows down the flood of saliva in his mouth against a flash of sudden nausea, and opens the fridge. Because Touya Todoroki doesn’t acquiesce to what people want; he does what he wants.  

The lower shelf is stacked with neat tupperware boxes. On each box, there is a label. Each label follows the same format: [day of the week] (meal) - Touya’s - DO NOT TOUCH. 

Meal prepping makes following his rigorous diet plan easier. When he first started, he’d make everything fresh, but that meant more temptations seeped in. Why not add some more butter, more spices? Why not add some dressing? I’m craving croutons, and not the cardboard, low carb ones, real croutons -

He doesn’t do that anymore. He makes all his meals for the week on Sunday night, just after eating dinner so he’s not thinking of all the things normal teenagers can eat. So he’s not thinking of the fried chicken that Keigo probably got on his way home, but his best friend will somehow still manage to make room for dinner!

“Toyomitsu-sensei says it’s good to get every bit of the food pyramid. Fat also helps with shock absorption, so having some padding between your skin and muscle is good when guys are slamming you into walls, y’know?”

But Touya’s not a hocky player, he’s a ballerino.

He takes out the box labelled “Monday (dinner)” and turns back to the table. He sits, he opens the lid as he does every other night, and sees… 

A thoroughly uninteresting dinner. Broiled chicken salad, hold the dressing. He has protein, vegetables, and about a teaspoon of sesame seeds in there… somewhere. The tomato fared fine, as did the lettuce, but looking at it now he just… doesn’t want to eat it. 

He pokes at it instead. He shifts around strips of chicken and, for a moment, pictures them deep fried and covered in sticky BBQ sauce. The lettuce becomes fries and he just stares holes into the food. His stomach growls. Everything looks like he’s playing some first-person video game, half a second of lag between him clicking the buttons and the character following commands.

He remembers Tomura bitching about that, once, seemingly forever ago.

“Touya, you're drooling on the table!”

“Fuck off.”

It’s an easy enough response, his sister’s disgusted tone grates on his ears and spine, but he does wipe the corner of his mouth with fumbling movements. It comes away wet, but not overly viscous - he drinks water constantly, so that makes sense.

“Gross…” She mutters, like he won’t hear her. If he were as cruel as he wanted to be, he’d want her to live a second in his body, play the laggy, first-person video game, and then maybe she’d understand that he just… 

The thought fizzles out, and he’s back to staring at his uninteresting salad.

Shoto makes a small whine beside him, looking down at his own plate, and Touya follows his gaze. It’s a better meal than his own, still full of vegetables and with chicken, but it’s made with… more. It’s made with spices and teriyaki sauce and noodles. 

On everyone else’s plate, they’re mixed together; it’s a stirfry. On Shoto’s, they’re separated. They have their own little sections, and his mother even arranged the vegetables in rainbow order, and it looks like something pulled off pinterest, really. Touya’s focus is on how the sauce is swirled over the dish in a circle, and that the mushrooms are touching the broccoli so the juices are getting absorbed. 

Shoto always hated his food touching like this, even if their mom tried her best. Before, Enji had followed the advice of “eat or starve”, but that was before. That was before Shoto lost five kilos in the course of a month and nearly fainted at school. Because Shoto can’t eat unless certain conditions are met.

Touya shouldn’t eat unless certain conditions are met. That’s where they differ. Even if the protein shakes in the cupboard above the sink are for both of them.

And their father, but Touya refuses to factor Enji into this. 

Instead, Touya simply leans over and fixes the problem as best he can. He scoops up the vegetables that got hit with the sauce, scoops up all the broccoli, and dumps them into his container of disappointment. The noodles should be mostly okay, he hopes. The chicken is touch and go, so he removes that too. The oil leaks from the crispy batter and onto his own blandly pale meat. 

For a split second, he considers both shovelling the lot of it into his mouth as fast as he can, and also throwing up into the garbage can in the corner. He does neither, instead pushing the box towards Natsu with the simple command of “Eat up”, before standing once more.

He gets a protein shake from above the sink - vanilla, he only drinks the vanilla, only one bottle left - and heads off to his room. 

He passes Enji, in his own seat, looking at him with stunned eyes and a slack jaw as Shoto tentatively brings a single noodle to his mouth. There’s half a moment where either of them could say something - anything - but it passes and Touya continues on. It’s not that important, he just doesn’t want Shoto to go without.

---

Closing the door of his bedroom behind him is a relief. He slumps against the wood, releasing a long breath he didn’t realise he was holding, and feels his shoulders finally drop. His head lolls somewhat, for a minute, and his head feels too full of cotton. 

He should fill in his habit tracker. He should listen to some music. He should text Tomura and Shu for the first time in, what, a month?

Instead, he flops onto his bed, and takes small sips of his protein shake. From the end of the room, the mirror reflects his currently shit posture, and the low lighting just exaggerates the dark bags under his eyes. He’s cold, he’s in pain, and he’s hungry - because drinking this shit isn’t the same as eating a meal and he knows that. But it’s fine. Really

After all, ballet is the most beautiful way you can torture yourself, and Touya was nothing if not a porcelain doll with the temperament of a machocist.

#my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #dabihawks #toukei #bnha dabi #touya todoroki #keigo takami #enji todoroki #shoto todoroki #perfection series #my fanfiction

[unfortunately-obsessed]

Reencounters

( Next ) | Part 1 of We Can Make This Place Our Home

Warning: Mentions of violence, Wounds, Canon character death, Weapons, Blood

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle (mentioned)

Word count: +2.8 | AO3 Link

N/A: Let me know if there's any other warning I should add. There's plot aspects of Batman (2022) but I did not write this based solemnly on the movie (⁠づ⁠｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠づ

Gotham is a strange city, after all. The place knows no weather other than the torrential rain and grayness, always coating the night sky, pouring from the heavens. It drowns and burns, it kills.

For those that lost all the hope: who will listen the begging that dies on your throat? When there's blood, must there be bloodshed?

Unexpectedly, Bruce sees a silver lining standing in his living room.

\\~~~//

Bruce always had nightmare. Like a cursed child, the kid never had a night spent in peace.

Most of the dreams are about that night.

The necklace breaking, a cacophony takes place. Pearls hitting the ground, a child crying out as the father is down on his knees. Thomas Wayne fought with all he had. Martha Wayne bite the man's fingers off.

Blood starts to flood, it stains. Bruce's suit was all red with staining blood.

Gotham is a strange city, after all. The place knows no weather other than the torrential rain and grayness, always coating the night sky, pouring from the heavens. It drowns and burns, it kills.

Gotham is built for suffering. It's full of people desperately trying to leave, difficult to swallow, to survive.

Bruce is Gotham's child. Almost suffocating.

Everyone knows this story, how Martha and Thomas didn't die until three hours later because they didn't want to leave young Bruce alone. Bruce didn't want to be left behind either. He crawls and beg into his parents bodies.

Blood and pearls spilled all over the place.

He has been born that night. No child walked out off that alley.

Because Bruce Wayne is no one's son but Gotham's. The place has burned his name and hope, all that his parents fought for. The city holds his faces and asks is this pile of destruction finally enough? will you finally give up?

Gotham is doomed since day one.

"This place is never gonna change," Selina says.

Selina thinks she sees the city for exactly what it is.

"The city can change."

Maybe Bruce is delusional on this crusade, so she can't expect him to grow common sense now.

Her face darkens. "It won't."

But Bruce is not blind to the real Gotham, even when everything indicates otherwise. She looks at him with hope but they both know the answer to that unsaid question.

"I have to try."

Somewhere between having a gun pointed to his head and answering the call, Bruce learned that living people also can leave. He's never the one to turn away first.

She slips through his fingers, driving away. On this city, calamity lay for all, destruction is inevitable, but that means that when there's blood must there be bloodshed? Will nothing ever change?

Gotham burns. Sometimes, Bruce looks like he fell in love with the city, blindly passionate. Even if the city is cold, he is trapped by it's chains with a promise of hope. Bruce Wayne is too stubborn to leave.

So Gotham drowns, it floods. Proud, strangely and rightfully so.

He could watch from above, from up the tower. The exhaustion and the tired people. Bruce could live life simply, unworringly, because he's royalty.

He does seem untouchable, sometimes, but they're all part of this bigger battle.

Up in the sky, even Bruce Wayne can burn.

So Gotham rages, let the smoke of Wayne Tower burning touch the sky. The same way Wayne Manor burned to the ground, water downpours and the fire spreads faster than anyone could contain it.

Vengeance. With a fire worse than what burns the city, feasting into his chest with no mercy whatsoever.

He has been doomed since day one and so, maybe, that's why he is worse than the city itself.

A pariah. A paragon of life and death. He is not mercy or hope. Vengeance run on his blood, he's Gotham's son. His parents too far gone.

A civilian holds up to him, terrified of letting him go. Bruce is not used to someone having him as a symbol of hope, because everything went wrong and he couldn't do anything about it.

(But he can try to be.)

He still wakes up the same. Everyday, up in the sky, tired.

He still has nightmares.

Bruce Wayne gave up half his fortune to reconstructing the city. Batman has been working with rescue teams restlessly. People still find ways to make the crime rate worse.

Even if he has 6 pounds of kevlar in the way, he still managed to break too many ribs with sheer blunt trauma. Alfred, in the hospital for far more lethal damage, would still kill him if suspected Bruce was not resting. Staying still is worse.

He can't rest when it's night because this is when monster lie awake, then he turns into something that makes rogues in Gotham sleep with the lights on. Marked as vengeance, as fear, because he belongs to the city.

So he turns into a monster that lie awake in the night.

So, staying still is worse. His hands need something to do.

Dorothy, at least, listened to him when he said that one of them needed to go see Alfred, and if Bruce couldn't because of the broken ribs, then it should be her.

The penthouse is lonely and quiet. Dorothy only goes after making a sandwich and hearing Bruce starting a shower.

Bruce is eager for the moment she leaves. He finishes the cleaning process to quickly dress anything and go down the stairs.

Aimed to the Terminus to finish the repairs of the car. His brain don't even register what could be a threat.

Bruce sees a silver lining standing in his living room.

He always had nightmares. All of them are about being left behind.

For those that lost all the hope: who will listen the begging that dies on your throat? When there's blood, must there be bloodshed?

Helen Blackwood stands in his living room.

She watches the city below, her hands tucked behind her back.

Powerful, distant. Her eyes are sharp, darker than the power outage that lies into the city. Using a silk dress and diamond earrings.

Gotham is pretty when it's night. Even when the city is flooded. Even when people are desperately trying to build breakages so the city can return to being what it is: a city.

It's much darker when people are fighting to survive.

Does her stomach still drops at the height?

Does she still likes blue?

And does she remember running around those halls?

Playing tag with no worries?

Lost on her own thoughts, her chin tilted up, her eyes are slightly puffy, red.

She's been crying, Bruce connects the dots. His heart sinks down to his stomach.

Almost desperately, he moves. Instinct propels him nowhere but closer to her. Two steps before his brain knocks sense into his legs. But not faster than his mouth.

"Helen."

The voice echoes through the house. He doesn't meant it to, but his voice thunder-strong.

She turns around. Her gaze hit him like the first punch he took. She taught him how to take a punch well.

It sounded too much like a question. So he proceeds:

"What are you doing in here?"

Now it sounds angry. Because he is.

An anger that has teeth, and eats.

Because he was abandoned by water thicker than blood.

Here's calamity given form and purpose, here's chaos given a meaning and a body.

Fierceness lingers on Helen's face, her jaw set.

Concern bleeds into Bruce's mouth, makes him ache. The same way he throws up hot disgusting blood that is not his–

And Helen's eyes turn gentle. A type of gentleness that sink into Bruce's bones, with a beauty of an open wound.

"Dorothy let me in," she answers.

The Tower smells like burning wood, taste of ashes in the air. A fine layer of dust cover over the wood furniture, the main table has abandoned teacups and documents pilling that nobody had the time to keep care of.

The place is a grave up in the sky.

Much like the penthouse, Bruce is exactly the same, yet utterly haunted. Shoulders broader, taller.

Helen finds the knot on her back dissipating, tension releasing from her muscles.

Bruce has exhaustion exhaling down to the marrow and she can't find the blue in his eyes.

Older, more tired, but it's the same face. And he is well, alive and well.

Helen's heart pang.

Or rather, what makes her heart pang is that she imagined this moment several times and none of her scenarios started with his tone being so dry.

His eyebrows, somehow, got closer together.

"The city has been evacuated," he says. And it sounds like why are you here?

All flights have been canceled. She had to land in Metropolis and then take a helicopter down to Gotham.

How much she feared. Utter fear crushing her bones.

Thinking he's dead. He died. His house-

Fear she felt in her ribs and lungs, crushing every bone all the way down to Gotham, because the news didn't talk about anything other than the Riddler and then the burning, and then she was in an airplane trying to get in there, and then the city was flooded-

Bruce proceeds, "Martial law has-"

Helen licks her lips. "So what are you doing in here?" she cuts.

The tone sounds a little more annoyed than she intended. Helen is seven again and he just fell down the well, so her throat starts to hurt.

Bruce doesn't answer. He finally glares somewhere else, eyes falling on the table.

"Weren't you in Beijing?"

Yes, attending a business conference over some technology advancements that never will get out of the paper. Helen doesn't question how he knows that, he always was paranoid.

Instead, her eyebrows also furrow together. "Your house was burning on national TV."

And isn't this enough reason? Her throat is full of reasonings and sorrow but isn't this enough?

Bruce ran a hand through his hair. He would rather ignore how the media broadcasted such a sensitive moment, again.

Dorothy said she was going to go see Alfred in the hospital. The old lady held Helen's face between her hands, a gentle touch Helen didn't know.

Oh, dear. I'm so happy you're here.

And Helen almost cried after the woman left, crumbling in the absence of a warm touch. She didn't know Alfred was in the hospital, but she doesn't think it was because of that.

So she moves closer. One of them has to. It's just then in the tower, untouchable for those below.

Bruce's jaw tightens and all his attention is back on her. Helen has to stop a convinced laughter. He looks like an apprehensive drenched animal.

Pale, even more than when she knew him, dead-eyed staring at her as she moves, Bruce stays still.

One step after the other. She stands too close and, only then, Helen can understand how tall Bruce is now, in such a way that even if she is the one being assertive he towers over her.

He looms, taller, paler, sweating even if he is straight out of the shower.

"Flower boy," Helen appealed, she didn't notice the nickname slipping, "why you're looking miserable?"

(Helen suddenly remembers the short period when she was bigger than him, twelve years old. Bruce would get all the Forget-me-nots for her.)

His face tenses up. "Came to my house to call me miserable?"

A little miserable, yes, but mostly pitiful.

Helen doesn't laugh, usually dead serious when she feels lead on her stomach. "Why are you in pain?"

Bruce scolds his expression into stoicism. Effort is worth nothing when Helen knows him that much.

A fireplace, ornaments, the shelves still have a dent where Bruce promptly ran into as a kid.

He grumbles. "Why are you here?"

The question changed but not the reason behind it.

Helen's eyes narrow. "I asked first."

The smell of smoke mix with pear-scented shampoo. If he wanted her out, she would be in the streets long ago.

"You didn't actually answer any of my questions," he growled stepping away.

Bruce's gait is normal but he can't hide the subtle change of expression. She never saw him flinch before.

Her head pounds heavy. It's utterly dark outside and the Wayne Tower was never a place to find light.

After 17 hours trapped inside a plane, she had a lot of time to think.

And thinking she did.

"I wanted to see you," spills from her mouth before she can make sense of it.

Neither of them expected her voice to crack. Bruce finally let his poke-face melt.

Even when she's using pumps, he is too tall, too imposing, even if she sees a glimpse of a much younger, rawer than this Bruce in front of her.

Her feet hurt. She forgot about it. It's the heels.

It's not the same type of pain Bruce's feeling. His pain seems much more hectic.

Helen's used to it; looking for injuries. Bruce got into fights every other week as a teenager.

Cold stiffness finally missing from his face, yet he doesn't look like he will start speaking anytime soon. He makes her small and isn't even on purpose.

"This answer half your questions," she prompts him.

No more tight expressions or furrowed eyebrows. The man still looks miserable as if he lost blood and sleep over something.

(There was a grand ballroom in the Wayne Manor. Bruce and Helen would run around in a tag game, blue curtains they would hide and seek.)

"Why are you here?" he murmur and it felt very much like not him.

The underlying hurt in his voice tugs Helen's heartstrings. The storms angered outside with the occasional sound of helicopters bringing supplies, Helen concluded she didn't understood what he meant.

Thunder strikes, shakes the whole tower. The storm is roaring outside.

She made so many calls just to get to the tower-

"What do you mean?" Not one to back away, she asks with the conviction of getting an answer.

-And, oh, if they could talk like normal childhood friends...

Angry? She would know if he was angry. There's an emotion in his face that she can't name.

Bruce's mouth open several times, no sound coming off whatsoever. His shoulders tense up, looking to a clock like a late businessman.

He asses the situation carefully. Helen gives him all the time to figure out what he wants to say, stringing the words together.

The man was never one to admit too much, to say too much.

When he does, though, it makes her heart ache so much she could rip the meat out of her chest.

"You left without saying a word."

Ah.

The resonance of his voice sends shockwaves against her body. It felt ridiculous, shameful. Dumb soft heart.

Four years ago, Helen thought that leaving like this was less painful. Now feels like that, if she had a time machine, she would use it.

Helen forces a smile into her face. Makes she look arrogant and self-righteous, but it's better than actually showing any wound.

"I missed you too," she says.

Because the words I'm sorry are too hard to get out of her throat. So she is admitting something but not what she needs to.

What she wants to say is, I didn't want to leave, I'm sorry.

They had an ending that didn't make too much sense, that didn't had a warning.

They knew each other since being toddlers.

A long time ago Martha would peel fresh oranges for them. What a terrible, terrible ending.

Fresh oranges, blue curtains. In silence, down the foyer. Helen still remembers it, but she's a year older than him, so does he? He was too young.

It doesn't matter anymore.

She is seventeen again, soon they'll be strangers again. Helen simply can't bear standing there and having her heart shattered.

"I'm leaving," she says then, she can't manage an apology out.

I'm leaving again. I also don't know why I'm here.

Her mouth feels bitter like the million times she would underage drink, throw up on the carpet of someone's house, pass out in the bathroom because it was better than coming back home.

The smells of pear-scented shampoo and smokes creeps into her nose, a citric tone she might go insane for.

Her stomach turns.

Bruce also seems surprised, holding her arm when she tries to move. His eyelids drooping, staring down at her. (His heart is also shattered over this.)

His hand is cold. Only then Helen is made aware she is still using a silk summer dress she used for the conference – she had no respect for that technology whatsoever.

"Don't." He finally steps closer.

(For the millionth time, Bruce steps into the bathroom to rescue a lost princess. He scoops her out of the dirty floor.)

A heartfelt confession is enough, even if it is one word long. Helen stops every movement and stares back at the man.

She can see the blue. A fling of it.

It's a simple, reasonable request. His hand leaves her arm.

(She couldn't risk him having the opportunity the first time for this exactly.)

Helen stays.

Bruce blinks multiple times, he didn't think this far. "I can make tea."

He looks agonized over it. It doesn't look much like the man on the magazine covers with scandalous titles.

Helen doesn't think he knows how to make tea, because she herself has no idea of the process. She has to inhale deeply to understand the implications.

They would be dead if Alfred caught them burning the kitchen over tea- "Sounds like a plan."

The storm isn't settling anyway.

Maybe it is this easy to be normal.

#Bruce Wayne #batman #bruce wayne #Batman #dc comics #bruce wayne fic #batman fic #batman x oc #bruce wayne x oc #dc batman #blood #death #tw death #tw blood #original character #oc #my writing #arwrites #helen blackwood #me!batman

[elegantmadness]

Seeds of Doubt, Interlude 1.2

Please refer to the first chapter for character and fandom info; otherwise I'll just assume you know what you're getting yourself into!

Rating: For this first chapter, it's M. Please also note lots of blood descriptions.

Pairing : Squall Leonhart/Genesis Rhapsodos

Chapter Summary: After the meeting, Genesis retreats to let loose in the training room. Squall reluctantly joins him. After a fiery duel and some unexpected tension, the pair have a talk about their respective rivals. It ends about as Squall expects.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter -> AO3 Link

In all honesty, Squall felt like he’d been hit squarely in the face several times after that meeting. He felt off-balance somehow, as though everything had suddenly shifted and he didn’t know how to right himself again. He certainly hadn’t appreciated Rufus and Lazard digging into his past, and while the entire concept of being an Ancient was utterly ridiculous, he didn’t exactly have proof to the contrary, did he? And he wasn’t about to ask one of Shinra’s scientists for some type of test to prove one way or the other, not when Hojo or Hollander or someone else might detain him for further study. 

Strife had been the only one he’d been reasonably familiar with before the meeting, but with Fair hanging all over him Squall had wordlessly excused himself and headed for the hallway. A gloved hand made it up to his forehead where a headache was building ominously, the tension threatening to spill over into a full-blown migraine at any moment. His fingers itched as he considered reaching for his PHS to call someone, but he paused before his hand had even broken contact with his forehead. Who was there? Gast was dead, he was avoiding Irvine, and he could only imagine Seifer would laugh before hanging up unceremoniously. 

Rinoa wasn’t a bad option, necessarily, but he really didn’t want the third degree on how he was doing and why he never called her or answered her texts. His hand fell back to his side limply, though he could think of only one option after exhausting the rest of them: the training facility. 

Unfortunately for him, said training facility was occupied, and he wasn’t about to push in on the facilities specifically designated for Thirds and Seconds. 

Still, the facility was… decently large, wasn’t it? There was no reason he and someone else couldn’t both take out some frustrations on holographic targets without getting in the way. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something, and Squall was desperate enough to take it. 

He didn’t even bother with the controls; no doubt whoever was already in there had set them high enough, and even if not, Squall wasn’t necessarily looking for a training challenge. He just needed to work off some steam. 

When the door to the virtual room opened, Squall could already hear angry shrieks and the telltale sizzle of fire magic. When a winged drake came zooming down in his direction, though, Squall was ready. He’d never been a fan of aerial combat, though that didn’t stop him from striking at the creature’s wing joint with a lethal downward strike, the leathery skin giving way until it dissolved and Squall landed on his feet with a quiet thud. His fingers still itched, however, and his grip only tightened as another swell of fire magic disintegrated a copse of virtual trees dead ahead. 

“You. What are you doing here?” 

Genesis Rhapsodos, one of the foremost Commanders of Shinra’s SOLDIER division and a practical war hero of Wutai, cut an imposing figure as he descended from a higher ledge, the folds of his coat swaying from the movement as he landed easily, gracefully even, on his feet. Squall had read several of his reports, though it wasn’t hard to figure him out; he was angry, had been ever since Lazard called him a failed experiment, though Squall didn’t understand why he cared one way or the other. What did other people’s opinions matter? 

At Genesis’ irritated question, Squall could only roll his eyes. “This is still the training room, right?” Genesis bristled further at the caustic sarcasm in Squall’s tone, one of his hands tightening into a fist. 

“I don’t recall asking you to join me,” Genesis answered tightly, eyes narrowing as Squall stiffened in place. 

I don’t have the patience for this. Genesis, frighteningly, was reminding him of Seifer: demanding, fiery, and downright rude at times. The comparison made him lift his free hand to pinch the brim of his nose, his headache returning full force before he realized that another swell of magic was being cast – and this time, in his direction. Squall cut it down with a swipe of his blade before catching Genesis’ gaze, the man’s mako-glowing irises glittering with mirth and mania. 

“Well, if you won’t leave, I suppose I’ll have to settle for a partner,” Genesis practically spat out the last word, though Squall wasn’t even allowed a word in edgewise before a crimson rapier, glittering with magic, bore down on him. He brought his gunblade up just in time to intercept it, sparks flying in every direction as the impact jostled Genesis’ shoulder-length auburn locks. “So, the supposed Ancient isn’t as delicate as he looks.” Genesis smirked over the crossed blades before Squall pushed him back with a grunt of effort, his own eyes narrowing at the reminder. 

“Oh? It appears I’ve struck a nerve. I can’t imagine how that feels.” Fury was exploding in Genesis’ tone: making his eyes gleam as he raised a hand to summon yet more fire to his palm. 

“Why the fuck do you care what those assholes say?” Squall finally shot back, aiming a blast of icy wind to break apart the inferno building in Genesis’ palm. The sudden disintegration of the fire had Genesis momentarily knocked off-balance, though he simply bared his teeth in a growl before leaping forward to another rain of sparks as their blades met. 

“You don’t understand,” Genesis howled, aiming a kick to Squall’s midsection and sending him flying back into a tree. “To be constantly compared to others, never seen as equal no matter how hard you try. Though now I suppose we know why, do we not? Since our dear General was engineered for savagery.” 

For fuck’s sake. How many times would he have to listen to this sort of shit? Seifer had bemoaned not being chosen as the First Class candidate when Squall had been chosen instead, had snarled that it wasn’t fair, had insinuated that Squall was a freak no human could have hoped to match. 

For a moment, Genesis’ form even flickered blond, a mirrored scar appearing over the line of his nose as Seifer sneered down at him. Gritting his jaw, Squall could feel his usually-ironclad restraint beginning to fray. Did he think this was easy? Squall had never tried to make anyone feel inferior, had never done anything but his best; couldn’t anyone see that people were different? No one was ‘better’ or ‘worse’; such were arbitrary words, though as Genesis crept closer, still wearing that infuriating smirk, something in Squall snapped. 

Genesis fell back just as the tip of the gunblade swiped up where his nose had been a moment ago, and for the first time, he seemed to be taking this ‘duel’ seriously. “I never wanted this!” Squall roared, swiping at Genesis with frightening intensity that left Genesis on the defensive; it was a wonder his rapier didn’t go soaring out of his grip when Squall landed a particularly hard swing and numbness spread through Genesis’ fingers for just a few seconds. His eyes widened at the vehement look on Squall’s face: wild eyes, pursed lips, flaring nostrils; his strength could rival Sephiroth’s, but instead of being further angered by it… Genesis let out a breath in a half-startled gasp before his lips curled into a lazy smile.

The next blow sent his rapier clattering to the ground, skidding away several feet, and Genesis only then realized he needed damage control, and quickly. Too bad for him he wasn’t nearly quick enough. 

Squall rounded on him half a second before pain bloomed across his face, and he gasped as it burned his skin; was Squall using magic without materia? Was that even possible? It was only luck that allowed him to evade Squall’s next swing, and he had to bite back a smirk as he landed a fire-laden hand on top of Squall’s, the brunet swearing under his breath before he released his grip on his weapon to cradle the burnt appendage. The gunblade was not something Genesis was accustomed to, and he would relish the chance to look at it more thoroughly later, though for now…

A red-gloved hand balled itself in the fabric of Squall’s shirt and tightened, and Squall went sprawling backwards as a fist connected with his jaw, the taste of blood an unnervingly familiar one as he swallowed, his tongue trying to clear it from his teeth. This… this was almost familiar: the rapid thrumming of his pulse as it pounded in his ears, the slow trickle of blood oozing down the side of his chin, the pinpricks of pain just before he straightened himself and looked up in time to see Genesis watching with an almost gleeful expression. 

“I didn’t think gods bled,” Genesis spoke glibly, his tone, fortunately, now a far cry from Seifer. Squall wasn’t terribly accustomed to this… amusement Genesis favored; Seifer had stuck to sneers and insults and heavy blows that Squall could still remember from the recoil it sent arcing up into his limbs. He couldn’t decide which was worse, though words were spilling from his mouth before he even thought to stop them.

“I didn’t think monsters bled red,” Squall added just as glibly, his turn of phrase catching Genesis so by surprise he almost smiled between his winded chuckles. Squall didn’t even see the next punch coming, though for each blow that landed, he returned it – took almost a perverse pleasure in watching Genesis stagger, in watching him hold his jaw or his nose as blood ran down the sharp point of his chin and over those blood-colored gloves he favored. 

The next time Squall rushed Genesis, though, the redhead was prepared; he shifted his weight to one side, leaving one foot angled out just enough for Squall to trip over. He fell to the ground in a heap, the taste of blood even more pungent in his mouth, though as he tried to stand, there was a sudden warm weight straddling him, wandering hands sliding appreciatively over the supple leather of his jacket. 

“Yielding already?” Genesis taunted, leaning close enough for Squall to feel his breath against his ear, the brush of his hair against his neck, but by far the most distracting was his smell. Blood and leather and something heady, akin to musk, assaulted his nose, and Squall shuddered despite himself. It had been too long since he’d had sex, and that fight had… well, stirred up old memories that usually led to the bedroom – or sometimes a closet or the showers or even the nearest wall. 

“Who knew you could be domesticated,” Genesis continued lazily, a finger trailing up the nape of Squall’s neck. He couldn’t suppress another shudder, though he did bristle at the redhead’s words. He didn’t expect the soft chuckles that followed, nor the sudden removal of that comfortable weight on his back. 

Squall didn’t wait to get to his feet, his balance wobbly for just a moment as Genesis approached, his gaze assessing. It was… almost startling to see Genesis still bleeding, his face purpling with bruises. He hadn’t really intended to hit him so hard, but once his restraint slipped, he’d learned it wasn’t always easy to get it back into place; it was why he tried so hard to stay in control of himself. “Sorry,” Squall muttered, a gloved hand reaching unconsciously for Genesis’ cheek but pausing mid-way.

What the fuck was he doing?

“No need to worry. I always give as good as I get.” An auburn eyebrow curled upward as mischief curved the corners of Genesis’ lips attractively, and Squall could scarcely look away. 

Fuck.

It was a mistake. Of course it was, but there was no stopping him now, especially not when Genesis’ eyelashes fluttered and he took a step closer, his hands weaving their way into Squall’s hair. The kiss hurt, even tasted like blood, but he was loathe to part from it even so, one of his hands splaying against the back of Genesis’ neck as a bloody tongue prised his lips apart. That particular act earned Genesis a groan before Squall chased it back into his mouth and a similar sound rumbled out of Genesis’ mouth, vibrating against Squall’s chest. His hand tightened at the base of Genesis’ skull as he took his time to explore Genesis’ mouth: grazing over his teeth, his gums, and his tongue before coiling around the muscle and sucking. 

He almost missed the soft, whimper-like moans that Genesis offered, smothered by Squall’s mouth as he was, though for once Squall didn’t mind the side effect of his enhanced hearing. What he didn’t expect were sharp, little teeth to bite down on his tongue playfully, the act earning a startled groan before Squall pulled away with a rather accusatory look. Genesis looked almost demure when he deigned to open his eyes, his feigned innocence making Squall’s lips twitch. His playfulness made way for something more sincere, though, something almost curiously fond, and Squall ignored the similarly-curious flip of something in his chest as he glanced around the clearing for his gunblade. 

“In future, please feel free to be my partner.” Genesis seemed to derive some sort of pleasure in double entendre, and Squall snorted at it, the brunet shaking his head in silent bemusement. 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Squall informed him, just a hint of mischief coloring his tone. “For now, we should probably clean up.” Genesis cocked an eyebrow at that, though parted his lips in silent understanding as Squall retrieved a Cure materia from his jacket pocket. It quickly morphed into a curious blink when Squall cast the spell on him first, the bruises and the cut beginning to heal until even the slight throbbing was gone. 

“My turn,” Genesis insisted, wasting no time in grabbing the materia out of Squall’s hand as the brunet heaved an exasperated sigh. “I must have… struck a nerve earlier. You came at me like a man possessed,” Genesis noted, the amusement in his tone slight, as if the pleasant feeling were overwhelmed by something more negative. Was that… contrition Squall was hearing? The urge to tease him was strong, but Squall withheld it, instead focusing on the unasked question.

“I doubt you want to hear about it,” Squall eventually settled on an answer as the materia began to glow and the Cure took effect. 

Genesis’ eyes rolled as he scoffed. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have brought it up.” 

With a sigh, Squall held out his hand for the Cure materia before dropping down to sit, a hand rubbing thoughtfully against his forehead before he pocketed the materia. Genesis seemed to take it as a cue to follow, and sank down to sit at his side, close enough to feel ambient warmth if not direct physical contact.

“Back before I made First, there was an old training partner of mine, Almasy.”

Genesis outright grimaced to hear it. “Oh. Him.” 

Squall chuckled drily, nodding in affirmation. “He was determined to beat me at everything. Materia control, training, missions, even recognition from the Director or superior officers or our fellow Seconds. We got in our fair share of tussles, in and out of the training room.” Genesis was listening raptly, his eyes never wavering from Squall’s face. 

“It didn’t matter what I said or what I did. It was always my fault when he didn’t win, or when he failed, or when he fucked up a mission. And a lot of what you were saying… reminded me of what he used to say to me.” 

Squall paused, unsure what else there was to say; he really didn’t want to get into the tangle of what their relationship had entailed, especially with someone he still didn’t know very well, though Genesis at least seemed thoughtful when he glanced in the redhead’s direction. 

“I’m sure it will come as no surprise for you to learn that I have a bit of a… rivalry with our dear General,” Genesis began, idly picking at a broken flower stem. He let out a harsh laugh rather abruptly, his fingers grabbing the stem and plucking it free. “Or, I suppose it’s more apropos to say that I have a one-sided rivalry with him.” His laugh was bitter this time as he crushed the stem in his fist before letting the remnants drift down from his open, sideways palm.

“He does nothing to bait me, nothing at all, and I suppose that fact alone is what irritates me so badly. Sometimes it feels as though he doesn’t recognize all my effort–”

“He does,” Squall stated plainly, his declaration freezing Genesis in place. “But what would be better? For him to acknowledge that, however hard you work, he still knows he can beat you? He doesn’t bring it up because he’s trying not to rub your nose in it.” 

That gave Genesis pause, though after a moment’s consideration he simply shook his head with a hapless chuckle. “So we’re doomed to be forever at odds.” There was a strange, pained quality to Genesis’ tone, though he glanced up grumpily when Squall heaved a long-suffering sigh.

“Have you forgotten you’re on the same side? Aren’t you, Hewley, and Sephiroth best friends? I’ve heard the stories of all the shit you got up to in Wutai. You’re just going to end up pushing him away if you don't stop, and I get the feeling that’s not what you want. Maybe he can best you in a spar, but I’ve heard – and seen – that you’re pretty handy with the materia.” Genesis’ eyes rolled at that, but Squall was determined. Maybe he couldn’t mend fences with Seifer, but Genesis could mend them with Sephiroth. 

“Have you ever thought about what makes Sephiroth jealous of you?” 

Genesis’ eyes widened impossibly at that. “Don’t be ridiculous!” Genesis shot back hotly, incredulously, color rising high on his cheeks. 

“Sephiroth spent his life in a lab, being tortured and groomed by fucking Hojo. Don’t you have a family? A rich family from a some small town? A best friend from childhood? Sephiroth may have a lot, but he never had a family, and before you and Angeal, I doubt he had any friends – or any meaningful contact at all.”

“So, what? ‘Be grateful for what you have’?” Genesis snorted derisively. 

“No.” Squall stood as he spoke, his shoulders squared. “Maybe stop being such a fucking self-centered bastard. If you took your head out of your ass for a few minutes, you might actually notice how Sephiroth looks guilty whenever you act like this, like he’s the one who’s done something wrong when he hasn’t.” Genesis got to his feet swiftly, hands tightening into fists, though Squall had already retrieved his gunblade and was heading for the door to the training room. 

Genesis stopped trailing after him, only waiting until after the door had shut again before conjuring another Fire spell and letting out an anguished, enraged wail as the magic seethed and roiled around him.

Finally.

There was a storm to match his rage.

#ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #squall leonhart #genesis x squall #my writing #fanfiction #ff7 fanfic #ffvii fanfic #final fantasy 7 fanfic #final fantasy vii fanfic

[emeraldiis]

Pillow Talk

A/N: i will never apologize for being horny on main

AO3 Link

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: After an entire day of staring at you in that bikini, Loki is left utterly desperate for release. Good thing he sleeps with a lot of pillows.

Tags: masturbation, phone sex, pillow humping, needy!Loki, pining

Loki shifted on the bed, mashing his face roughly into the satin pillow case. It was nearly dawn, and he hadn’t slept. Even the tiniest hint of sleep had evaded him, and he’d tossed and turned enough to make his muscles ache in protest. With a frustrated growl, he rolled onto his back and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. This was never going to work.

He had no one to blame but himself for his insomnia. Really, it was pathetic, the way his mind had latched onto one silly little human and made her the object of his obsession. You with your silky hair and soft eyes, keeping him up until the morning hours. Your melodic voice rang in his eardrums, and every time he closed his eyes, he’d see that perfect skin of yours and wish it was pressed up against--

With a gasp, Loki swiftly brought his hands down to grasp the sheets in agony. He wished he could blame it on the fact that he hadn’t bed anyone in at least a decade, but he knew himself. Celibacy had never been an issue for him in the past; he wasn’t a teenage boy, he could control his needs. But you had him feeling like one all over again. The way he gawked at you like it was his first time seeing a pair of breasts nearly spill out of a way-too-tight tank top, it was downright shameful. You were just so innocent, so pure, and he longed to see that smile collapse into a pout as you whimpered against his lips.

Despite his best efforts, Loki could feel his cock throb in renewed need. It had been begging for release nearly all night, and Loki had successfully ignored it so far. He held steady in his determination in not giving in, but his resolve was slipping. Today has been especially tortuous. Tony and his goddamn insistence that Loki participate in team bonding. A day at the beach, one which Loki spent lounging in the hot sand shielding his eyes from the blinding sun. You had splashed around in the waves with Natasha and bounced around in a bikini that seemed specifically designed to torture Loki. The bottoms had shifted themselves to ride up quite a few times, and Loki had taken pleasure in watching you reach back with slippery fingers to pull them out of your ass.

Loki’s cock throbbed again, almost violently this time. He moaned softly into the open air. The sound was pained, and Loki felt his hand begin to drift towards the string of his pajama bottoms. They were silk, and because Loki had chosen to forgo underwear, the soft material felt like heaven against his swollen erection. Before his fingers could slip inside to where he needed them most, Loki ripped them away in defiance and turned onto his side, tangling the blanket between his legs as he rolled. The pressure of the thick comforter into his crotch made Loki suck in a surprised breath. His hips twitched upward of their own accord and Loki’s eyes fluttered in pleasure.

Loki could feel his will dissolving with every jolt of pleasure that swam up his spin. His mind spun with images of you: you curled up against him, reaching back with your dainty hand to pull him closer to you, encouraging him to grind against your backside. As if he was in a daze, Loki grabbed one of the many pillows adorning his bed and shoved it between his legs. The firmness of the pillow was so much more satisfying than the blanket, and Loki groaned.

It was over, he had accepted defeat. Loki was about to hump his pillow like an animal and it was all your fault. He thought of that wet bikini sticking to your skin, your breasts bouncing as you jogged back up the beach to him and breathed out a “what’s up” like he wasn’t about to cum in his swim trunks just from watching you. As the memories danced through his head, Loki’s hips began to roll in more deliberate motions. With every thrust, his cock pressed up against the soft material of his pants. Loki could feel the pre-cum wetting the silk, but it only served to amplify his pleasure as the damp fabric clung to his skin.

The buzzing of his phone startled Loki out of his fantasies, and he nearly wanted to throw the thing against the wall. Tony would get him a new one, as he always did no matter how many times that Loki had insisted they were unnecessary devices. As much as he wanted to let it ring, Loki had learned that calls at this hour usually meant an unexpected mission, and he’d be back on house arrest if he didn’t answer. Loki reluctantly leaned over to his bedside table to grab the vibrating object, keeping the pillow between his legs. His heart came to a near stop as he saw your name illuminated on the screen.

A few moments passed as Loki stared dry-mouthed at the caller ID, wondering when he had fallen asleep. Because the only explanation for you calling him in the middle of the night was that he was dreaming. Sure, you had texted him the occasional internet video that you thought he’d enjoy, but had never called him. And certainly not at five in the morning. With a hard swallow, Loki hit the “accept call” button and waited.

“Hey, Loki?” Came your tired-sounding voice. It wasn’t as gorgeous when muffled by the phone static, but it gave Loki shivers nonetheless.

“What is this about?” Loki tried to sound as irritated as possible, figuring that would be the proper reaction to receiving a call this early. The truth was that he was elated to hear your voice, and was disgusted by himself. A mortal, making him this weak in the knees, it was absolutely pathetic.

You were silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t sleep. I-I’m not really sure why I called you, I’m sorry for waking you up. I’ll just--”

“Wait!” Loki burst out before you could end the call. His loud voice echoed back at him in the silent room and he cringed, hoping that no one had heard him. Loki bit his lip anxiously, uncertain of what to say to keep you on the line. “Um, I was awake. I couldn’t sleep either.”

“Oh, I guess that’s good. Well, not really good that you can’t sleep, I mean good that I didn’t wake you.”

Loki chuckled at your awkward ramblings. Norns, you were so cute. “Don’t worry, pet, I know what you meant.” As the words left his lips, Loki’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d just called you. Pet. It had been a slip of the tongue, but it brought forth a whole new round of fantasies. He couldn’t help but imagine about what it would be like to own you, to grab you by your pretty face and push his cock between your lips over and over. Absent-mindedly, Loki began to move his hips against the pillow again. He had to bite down on his tongue to keep from gasping. As quietly as he could manage, he put the call on speaker and set the phone down beside him so he could lie back on his side and resume his earlier activities. Loki knew it was so, so wrong to do this while you were none-the-wiser, but he couldn’t help it. He had been so worked up for so long and now it was like his body had taken over, hell bent on getting the relief it needed.

“So, why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Oh, just lost in my thoughts, I suppose,” Loki said as his eyes fell shut. His voice was the slightest bit strained, the soft drag of his pants against his cock making it hard to focus.

“Yeah, same here.” You sighed into the phone, and Loki heard a bit of rustling as you presumably got more comfortable. “I have trouble sleeping a lot, actually. I guess I just get lonely.”

A heavy weight of guilt sank into Loki’s chest. Here you were, opening yourself up to him, and he was trying to get off to the sound of your voice. He was truly depraved, that was for sure. But fuck, the tired rasp to your voice and the small sighs you let out were sending him sky high. His mind was running wild with fantasies of you under him, you in his lap, you up against the wall as he fucked you into it. Loki fought to sound normal as he responded to you. “I understand. Most beings are very social creatures, we need company to--ah!” A particularly rough thrust of his hips had caught Loki off guard as the mind-numbing pleasure rocketed through his body.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, pet,” Loki said, panting as he forced his hips to still. “Just stretching.” It was a lame excuse, but Loki was too far gone to come up with anything better. His body quaked as he tried to keep still, like his own muscles were attempting to disobey his brain. Everything in him was screaming out for more. Cum, you need to cum. Once again, Loki was forced to give in as his hips resumed their grinding. The pillow itself was now damp with how much he was leaking, and it felt amazing.

The phone was quiet, and Loki could almost hear how hard you were thinking on the other end. And then: “Loki, are you...masturbating?” Your voice trailed off as you said that word. The sheer embarrassment was evident in your tone, and Loki was almost astounded at how bold you were. Not many humans had the nerve to just up and ask something like that.

Even through the shock of being caught, Loki could not find it in him to be surprised that you had caught on. You had always come across as intelligent to him, it was foolish to think he could fool you with a half-hearted excuse. Still, it was beyond humiliating to have been called out so brazenly. Loki saw no point in denying it; you would not have asked if you weren't sure. “Yes,” he replied, voice cracking as he froze in place for the second time. Despite the embarrassment, Loki’s erection did not not falter. In fact, it seemed that he only got harder. This mortal would be the death of him.

“O-oh!” You seemed surprised, like you hadn’t expected him to come right out with it. “I’m so sorry, I guess I interrupted you, huh? Shit, I’m sorry.” How absurd. Loki was the one shamelessly rubbing himself against a pillow while talking to you, and you were the one apologizing.

Loki found it intriguing that you hadn’t hung up immediately upon learning of his actions. You hadn’t seemed disgusted at all, just apologetic for interrupting his activities. Loki wasn’t sure if your lack of repulsion was what caused it, or if it was simply his need clouding his judgement, but his mouth began to move before he could stop it. “It’s excellent for sleep. I highly recommend it for nights like these.”

There was no sugar coating it; that was a proposition, no matter how poorly disguised it was as simple advice. “Um,” came your faint reply. Loki’s face burned as he pictured the look of horror you were probably wearing at the moment. And then he nearly swallowed his tongue as you spoke again. “Yeah, I tried earlier. Wasn’t really...working.”

A new gush of blood found its way into Loki’s cock at your admission. He couldn’t help but imagine you writhing on your bed, soaked in sweat and your own slick as you tried desperately to get to that crescendo of pleasure. His blush had somehow grown even stronger, and he couldn’t recall the last time he had even blushed at all. This mortal was killing him, you were his executioner and he was begging for you to pull the trigger.

“That’s quite unfortunate,” Loki managed through his reverie. He was still frozen, almost scared to begin his motions again for fear of cumming on the spot. His cock twitched in time with his racing heart, occasionally dripping precum into his pants. Loki was a mess, but he could not bring himself to care in the slightest. All that mattered was the arousal screaming under his skin and your intoxicating voice in his ears.

“Yeah. Sorry, should I go? And let you, y’know, finish?”

Loki racked his brain for an excuse to get you to stay. It was maddening, how quickly you had ruined him. Seduction was one of his many talents, as was manipulation. In the past, he would have had no trouble at all talking someone into his bed and onto his cock, but you were different. Every flirtation died on his lips the moment he was in your presence, and it was all he could do to form complete sentences as you turned his knees to jelly.

After an excruciating period of silence as Loki thought, he finally spoke. “It would be unfair of me to abandon you in favor of pleasuring myself when you cannot do the same.”

This time it was your turn to stay quiet. Loki waited anxiously, half-expecting you to just leave anyway. He had already come to terms with your disinterest in him, you were probably just being polite. But...you had called him. There must have been at least a slight attraction for Loki to have been on your mind after attempting to get yourself off.

“Maybe we could…” There was a tremble to your voice as you trailed off, and Loki held his breath as he waited for you to finish. Whatever your suggestion ended up being, he was ready to enthusiastically agree. Anything that involved you and pleasure was incredibly enticing. “Maybe we don’t have to hang up, then.”

Loki’s eyes went wide. Did you mean…? An involuntary moan fell from his lips as he shivered at the thought. “I would, mm, not be opposed to that idea.” Loki’s body had won over for the final time that night and his hips began to move again. After restraining himself for so long, feeling that delicious friction once again nearly overwhelmed him.

“I don’t really know how to do this,” you said. “I can’t really believe I actually asked you that.”

“Would you like instruction, pet?”

“That might help, yeah.”

Loki began to wonder if he was dead, and this was his version of Valhalla. Whatever the case, he was going to ride this high for as long as he could. Everything else seemed to fade into the distance: the chirping of birds outside as the sun rose, the hum of the traffic down below, all of it meant nothing. It meant nothing because you were on the other side of the phone asking for Loki to tell you how to touch yourself. Loki took a deep breath and tried to get a hold of himself; he needed to let you catch up before he could allow himself to lose control.

“I want you to get undressed, and get comfortable.” That was a simple enough command, Loki figured. If he started slow, maybe he could reign in his pathetic neediness and focus solely on your pleasure.

“Okay, I can do that.” The speaker went quiet as you presumably settled onto your bed and slipped out of your pajamas. “Now what?”

“Touch your breasts,” Loki said. His breathing was heavy, but even as he settled into the role of your instructor. “Rub your fingers across them, tell me how it feels.”

You sighed happily. “It feels really nice. Can you tell me what you’re doing?”

Loki was a bit ashamed to admit that he was currently grinding into a pillow, but figured there was no point in lying. “I’m, uh, I have a pillow between my legs, and I’m rubbing against it.”

A whimper burst from your lips. “Oh, that’s so hot.”

“Is it?” Loki asked hesitantly. He didn’t feel very attractive; slick trousers and sweat coated skin, fighting hard to hold it together.

“Yeah, fuck. Can I touch myself, please?”

Loki wanted to drag it out a bit longer, to tease you, but he couldn’t find it in himself to say no to that pretty voice. Especially when you asked so nicely. “Go ahead, pet. You’re such a good girl.”

There was a faint slick sound, then a drawn out moan. Loki groaned in response, the sound extracting a full body shiver from the god. He had never heard such alluring sounds of pleasure, you were just so far above any other being he had ever met. “That’s it,” he murmured in encouragement.

“Feels so good,” you said, voice growing high pitched. “Shit, I’m not gonna last too long. Ah, fuck. Been needing this all night.”

Loki sucked in a breath and began to thrust with more fervor. His eyes nearly rolled back at the pressure and his thighs squeezed around the pillow. “That’s okay, darling. I, oh--” Loki cut himself off with a strangled moan as his pleasure mounted. “I need to cum, too.”

For a moment, panting and whimpered moans were the only thing coming through the speaker. Loki prayed that you were as close as he was, because the coil tightening in his stomach threatened to snap at any moment. It was all he could do to keep from allowing his release to overtake him before you got yours. “Please, pet. I want to hear you cum,” he ground out as his eyes fell shut.

“So close,” you whined. “Loki, I’m gonna cum.”

He couldn’t help it. Loki’s control disintegrated as he began rutting into the pillow like a wild animal. His hips moved in sharp, quick thrusts, and quiet moans left his lips with every movement. ‘Cum--fuck, mm--cum for me, love.” He was going to cum, he couldn’t stop. He just needed you to finish first.

The phone crackled as you let out a sharp cry of pleasure. Loki listened in a trance, trying to memorize every noise that left your lips as you climaxed. Your sounds spurred him on, and he found himself tipping over the edge, cumming harder than he had in a long time. Pleasure whited out his vision, and Loki could faintly hear himself whining your name in a broken voice. He didn’t get the chance to be embarrassed about the noise; his cock pulsed in dizzying waves of euphoria, spurting out rope after rope of hot cum. It shot into his pants, soaking them all the way through and seeping into the pillow. It wasn’t until the last drop had left his body that he was finally able to stop the groans that had been bubbling up from his throat.

As the pleasure subsided, Loki sagged against the bed and took in the mess he had made. His pants were ruined, no doubt about that. And the pillow? Well, it would most likely need a few good washes. But he felt sated, too relaxed to even care about the cum drying to his thighs.

“Are you still there?”

Fuck, he had almost forgotten that you were still on the phone. “Yes,” he croaked out. “That was…”

“Amazing,” you finished for him. Though you couldn’t see him, Loki nodded in agreement.

The bed suddenly felt very large and very empty after the daze of Loki’s orgasm faded. He found himself wishing that you were here, so he could wrap his arms around that perfect waist and bury his nose in your hair. It was an incredibly foreign feeling; Loki had never been one to cuddle after sex. But then again, everything about you was different. You were special. Loki opened his mouth, ready to invite you to his room, but something stopped him. What if this had been just a spur of the moment thing for you? What if you only saw him as a tool to get yourself off?

“Would it be weird if I came down there?” You asked, startling Loki out of his thoughts. There you went again, calming his anxieties before he even had the chance to feel them.

A relieved grin broke out on his face, and his heart sped up again in excitement. “No, I would very much enjoy that.” And for the first time in a very long time, Loki felt wanted.

#loki x reader #loki imagine #mcu #marvel #smut #needy!loki #my writing #fanfic

[scuttling]

I said I love you, that's forever

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,619 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Fingering, Reader gets drunk, Brief mention of canon-typical violence Summary: This one is sexy, sweet, and fluffy and features Aaron getting used to his new, healthier body. Inspired by @sleepyreaderreads and this ask. Collection: Just The Way You Are Series, Part 1 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (Coming Soon!) Part 4 Link to A03 or read below! Being home when Aaron gets home is the best part of having a flexible work arrangement, you have to admit. You’ve been together for five years, but only living together for four months—for one reason or another, mainly his job, it took you a while to reach the cohabitation phase, but neither of you had minded much. You were always spending time together when he was free, and you enjoyed having your own space, so the arrangement worked out for the both of you.

Now, though, as he walks into your home office looking so handsome in a white shirt, black slacks, and burgundy tie, a soft smile on his face, you know without a doubt that you made the right choice by moving in with him. You wouldn’t give this up for anything.

“Hi. How was your day?” he asks, leaning over you for a kiss. He intends to make it quick, but you put your hands on his body, lengthen the kiss, hum against his lips.

“Hmm. It was good. Better now, though.” You hit the keys necessary to lock your desktop and stand, stretch to wrap your arms around his neck. “How was yours?”

“Not bad.” He says it casually, but you can see the stress in the lines around his eyes, his mouth, and you raise a brow in question. “The unit’s being audited. A percentage of our consultations need to be reviewed, updated psychological evaluations completed—on top of everything else, it’s a lot,” he admits with a sigh, and you nod your understanding, brush your fingers through his hair.

“I’ll call Elena and cancel dinner.” You’d planned weeks ago to go out with one of your friends for Indian food, to meet her new boyfriend, but Aaron is clearly having a rough week and it’s only Wednesday. A quiet night in may be just what he needs. “We’ll stay home, I’ll order takeout. We can relax.”

“No, no. I know you’ve been looking forward to this; it’s really alright.” You tilt your head, something of a frown, and he takes your face in his hands, kisses you twice on the mouth. “It’s alright. I want to go out. I want to take you out,” he says, voice low, pulling you in for a slower kiss, and you melt against him, slide your arms around his back instead, pull him closer.

“I want to keep you in,” you murmur when the kiss breaks, and he raises the corner of his mouth in a sexy smile, presses his lips to your nose.

“And miss meeting the one?” You both laugh lightly, because Elena finds the one every couple of months, but she’s a hopeless romantic, always means it at first. It’s endearing, especially when you and Aaron feel a little like an old married couple. “Let’s go out, have a good time. If we stay home, I’ll be tempted to work.” He takes a step back, lets you head out the door and down the hall to your bedroom, so you can get changed; he follows behind, sits down on the bed while you go through your closet.

“I’m sure I could find ways to tempt you not to work,” you say, pushing dresses down the rack until you find one you like: it’s an emerald green mid-length dress, with cap sleeves and a slit up the front, not too formal and not too sexy, perfect for the restaurant where you will be eating.

You pull your t-shirt over your head, bend to slide your leggings off, and Aaron makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.

“Consider me tempted.” You turn around, roll your eyes playfully, and put on the dress, sit down next to him to slip your feet into a pair of nude sandals; you lean in for a kiss, palm pressed to his chest, and it quickly becomes something deep, passionate. Aaron brings a hand to rest against your throat, and you have half a mind to take the dress back off and cancel those plans after all, but you know he wouldn’t let you do that anyway.

You pull back, bite your lip, and give him a very pointed once-over, then stand to finish getting ready. You can feel his eyes on you the entire time. “I’m just saying, he should be on the side of a tub of protein powder or something,” Aaron says later as he unlocks the front door, letting you step in before him. “His arms are bigger than his head.”

“He’s a personal trainer, baby. It’s his job to work out and look buff—he’s like a walking billboard for his business.” You slip your shoes off, hook the straps around your finger, and stroll toward the bedroom. “Elena really seemed to like him.”

“I give them three months.” He’s just a few feet behind you when you turn to shoot him a slightly admonishing look, even if he is probably right. “She seemed more focused on his twelve pack than anything else.”

You toss your phone onto the bed, remove your dress with a soft laugh. “Their relationship is still new; it’s all about the physical. You remember when we were like that, don’t you?” You aren’t exactly surprised when he comes up behind you and glides his hand across your bare stomach, when he brushes your hair away from your neck and kisses you there.

“We were never like that. It was never just physical for me,” he breathes into your ear, and you close your eyes, sink back against him, tilt your neck for more kisses. “I loved you before I loved you. I always just knew.”

“Fuck, Aaron,” you sigh, and you lay your arm along the one on your stomach, reach back with the other to press him closer to you. You lick your lips, turn your head so your face is near his, and he leans in to kiss you and slides his hand into your panties, rubs his fingers over your pussy.

You’re already a little wet from his hands on you, his mouth, but as always, he turns you on effortlessly; your face heats, your heart races, your breath quickens. Your pussy becomes almost unbearably slick, your moans against his lips gentle and pleading, and he removes his hand and slides your underwear down, guides you onto the bed.

You watch, panting, as he removes his tie, then takes off his belt, his pants; you can’t go without touching him for long, and you move to sit up so you can reach for him, pull him closer. You work at the buttons of his shirt from the bottom while he starts at the top, and you take it off together, then slip your hands into his boxers and push them down.

You immediately want to take him into your mouth, thick and hard as he is, and you slide your hands up his stomach, beneath his undershirt, in anticipation of that; you don’t get very far before he lays you back on the bed again, on your side this time. His forcefulness makes you ache to have him inside you, and he crowds in behind you, slides an arm beneath you and wraps his hand around you, over your breast, holding you tightly. You tip your head back, whimper, because he’s going to be so good to you as always and the waiting is almost too much to bear.

“You know I’ve got you,” he whispers, squeezing you, and you nod in response; he lifts your leg and hooks it back over his thigh, then pushes inside you, sinks fully into your wet heat. You exhale, a sigh of pleasure, and he mouths at your jaw, nibbles at your ear while he thrusts slowly but completely. “Hmm. This may not be new, but you’re always perfect for me. Doesn’t that feel so good?”

“So good, so good.” It’s difficult for you to really move in this position, though you rock your hips almost involuntarily into his thrusts, but he takes care of you, nips at the back of your neck, pounds inside you, brings you so close so quickly you almost forget to breathe. Your hands are on him anywhere you can reach, desperate for contact. “Aaron, mmm, god.”

“I know, baby.”

He puts his free hand behind your knee, bends your leg, folds it up by your chest so he can pump his cock faster, harder, and you feel surrounded by him—his hands on your body, his hot grunts of effort in your ear, the faint smell of cologne that lingers after a long day familiar to your nose. You're a little overwhelmed by it all, but pleasantly so, and when he comes you come, clenching tightly around him as he spills deep.

“Perfect,” he whispers tensely, nuzzling against your throat, and he slides out, brings your leg down, runs his hands tenderly over your body like you’re something delicate. “I love you.” You turn your head toward him, say it back, and he presses his palm to your cheek, treats you to a deep, wet kiss, then brushes his thumb over your lips. “Every time I kiss you, it feels like the first time.”

“For me too,” you say with a tired smile, running your fingers through his hair, and he kisses you again before patting your hip and telling you to go get cleaned up, that he’ll take care of the bedding. When you come back, he’s in his boxers and t-shirt, legs tucked under a fresh comforter, and you slide in next to him and curl up beneath his arm. It’s a couple weeks later when you decide to bring Aaron lunch at the office; things seem much calmer lately, but the team’s cases have been back to back, and he’s been out of town a lot. You have to take the opportunity when you can, and that means showing up with a bag of Mexican food and a smile and hoping he’s not too busy to eat with you.

You get checked into the building and head for the BAU bullpen, stopping to chat with the team for a few minutes. You loosely plan for dinner or drinks in the future, make a promise to pop in and see Penelope before you leave, and then head up to Aaron’s office, knock lightly on the doorframe.

“Hungry, handsome?” Aaron looks up from his stack of paperwork with a smile, then slowly runs his eyes over you—you’re wearing a sweater, jeans, boots, nothing revealing in the slightest, but he makes you feel very warm and very naked nonetheless.

“Yes. For lunch, too,” he says, and you roll your eyes, a little bashful, and enter his office, setting down the bag of food you brought after he clears space on the desk. He stands, pulls you close for a hug and kiss, and then you unpack lunch, spread containers out over the desk. “Burritos? Are you trying to beef me up?” he asks, and you look up at him, lift your brow.

“Were you expecting salads? I’m feeding a super special FBI agent here, you need your strength.”

“We’ve only been living together for five months and it’s already getting hard to button my pants,” he grumbles, but he peels back the foil on the one labeled pollo asado without further complaint, takes the hot sauce when you hand it to him.

“So we’ll go up a size. It’s a good thing you’re not living off of coffee and vending machine protein bars anymore. You’ve been needing someone to feed you up for a while—and besides, I don’t mind if your pants are unbuttoned,” you say, licking sauce off of your thumb. “Nothing hotter than a well-fed Fed.” He rolls his eyes, and you sit down to eat.

When the hour is up, you pack up the leftovers, give him a longer, slower kiss goodbye, and pat his stomach, which makes him groan. “Any harder and the button might pop,” he jokes, and you laugh, shake your head.

“Don’t be dramatic. I love this tummy. Might even grab onto it later, you know?” You slowly wet your lips, then smile, and take a step back, take the paper bag and head out the door. “See you tonight, love you.”

“Devil woman,” he calls after you, and you grin the whole way to Penelope’s office.

“Light in the darkness,” she says when she opens the door to find you on the other side. “How did god know I needed to see an angel today?”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that, but I have some extra chips and guac from lunch if you need a pick me up.” She eagerly accepts your offering, and you take a seat next to her, dip a couple of chips half-heartedly, still full from your burrito. “So how have you been? Busy supporting the cutest group of crime fighters since Scooby Doo?” She laughs, nods her head.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the extent of it. When it rains creepy crimes, it pours, apparently. I think we’re all in desperate need of a vacation at this point—and a puppy.” She hits a few keys, pulls up a screensaver that is just a compilation of fluffy puppy photos, and you both sigh.

“Aw, a puppy would be nice. I don’t even dream about vacations anymore; I’ve come to terms with the fact that Aaron will never be the vacationing type.”

“Not even the honeymoon type?” she asks, looking at you over her glasses, and you crunch on a chip, shake your head.

“I doubt it, and we’re not there yet, anyway. I’d consider myself lucky if he took more than two days off in a row.”

“He’s always been like that—working himself too hard,” she says sadly, as if to let you know it has nothing to do with you. You know that, but can’t deny it would be nice to have more than the weekend with him. “As long as I’ve known him, at least.”

“And I get it: what you guys do is important, and I wouldn’t want him to change himself for me. I guess we all just have our things.” You smile, and she does too, reaches out to pat you on the arm.

“Could be worse, honey. Could always be worse.” She hits a few keys on the keyboard again, and up pops a man’s mugshot. “This guy’s girlfriend had to find out he’s been killing women and chopping them up in an industrial food processor.”

You’re glad you already had lunch, because the imagery is enough to make you lose your appetite for several hours.

Your stomach eventually comes around, and you and Aaron have a quiet dinner—chicken, potatoes, and “a salad, since you’re watching your figure now” you tease—and then you ask if he’d be okay with calling it a night a little early. He agrees, and you take him to bed and undress, then slowly pull off all his clothes, running your hands over his body as you go.

“So big and strong,” you murmur as you brush your palms over his shoulders, press your lips to his bare chest. “Unbearably sexy.”

“Used to be stronger,” he sighs as you trail your mouth lower, sink to your knees, smooth your hands down his thighs.

“I used to be perkier; still want me, don’t you?” You look up at him, wink, and he reaches down to cup your cheek with a big hand; you nuzzle into it, happy, content, just like always.

“I’ll always want you.”

“Good. And I’ll always want you.” Just in case the words aren’t enough, you bring your hands to his stomach, massage it a little, run your tongue slowly over the length of his cock. “Mmm. Lay down for me?”

He does, and you climb on top of him, lean in to kiss him slowly, deeply, skimming neatly trimmed nails over his chest. You kiss along his throat, down to his stomach, and then wrap a hand around the base of his dick and put your mouth on him, the other hand pressed lightly against his stomach while you suck him off.

Your pace is easy, your hand moving in time with your tight lips and hollow cheeks, and you squeeze his tummy, moan your pleasure, and flick your eyes up to his face. His lips are soft around a sigh, but his brows are tensely knit, and he brings a hand to your chin, caresses you lightly when he floods your mouth, when you swallow for him and lick him clean.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, and you crawl up his body, kiss his cheeks and his lips and then whimper when he presses your back against the bed.

His fingers find you soft and wet and open, and he pushes two of them inside, leans over you to mouth wetly at your throat, your breasts. You weave your fingers into his hair, grip his shoulder, moan his name, and he makes you come quickly, expertly, in that practice makes perfect kind of way. He kisses your lips as you sigh, sink against the bed, then rubs his hand over your chest and hums.

“Perky,” he says in your ear, and then you both laugh, and you pull him down on top of you for a quick cuddle before going to the bathroom to get ready for bed. A couple of Fridays later, it’s your turn to host girls night, so you’re in the kitchen putting together a charcuterie board and mixing up cocktails when Aaron walks in, looking casual and cuddly in jeans and a quarter-zip fleece sweatshirt. You know he plans to set up camp in his office, but you kind of wish he wouldn’t just so you’d get to look at him some more.

“Gorgeous man,” you say, peering up at him as you wrap your arm around his waist. “Can I interest you in a paloma?” You lift up a pink cocktail and he laughs lightly, guides your hand back toward the counter.

“You can’t, but I will take a beer for the road.” You shrug your shoulders, let him go so he can walk over to the fridge; you take a sip of the drink you offered him, wince a little—it’s a bit strong for a girls night in, but it won’t kill anyone—and Aaron caches the expression, holds back a smile. “Are you going to end up drunk tonight? Should I prepare for the worst?”

“Ha ha. I don’t plan on it, but if I do, just throw me over your shoulder and put me to bed.”

“It’s cute that you think that works,” he says, bending to kiss you on the cheek, and then the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it, baby. Keep… rearranging your cheese.” He smiles, you smile back, a little exasperated, and he goes to answer the door.

A short time later, you and your friends are gathered in the living room, sprawled across the sectional sofa with drinks and snacks. You’re maybe a little tipsy, and when the topic turns to Elena’s now ex-boyfriend, the personal trainer, you’re just uninhibited enough to weigh in.

“I don’t know what you saw in him anyway. He spent so much time in front of the mirror, I would have been insecure that he was going to leave me for himself.” Your friend Jada laughs, and you preen, take another sip of your drink.

“She just misses his dick; the new guy isn’t working with much. What’s his name? Chester? Charlie?”

“Clifford,” Elena says, pulling out her phone, “and no, he’s not working with much, but he’s really cute. Look at him.” She shows you a photo from her camera roll, and Clifford looks just like the personal trainer, but with brown hair instead of blond.

“Not my type,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand, “but clearly he’s yours, so congrats, really. You can work around the small dick thing.”

“What is your type?” your other friend Michelle asks. “I’ve never been able to pin it down.” You open your mouth to answer but frown after a moment.

“I’ve never really had one, I guess. I know what I don’t find attractive, but what I do find attractive?” You think on it for a minute, and all you can imagine is what you already have. You can’t help smiling wide. “I mean, if I had to say, I guess just Aaron.” Your friends chime in with a chorus of aww, and you shush them. “I just think he’s perfect, you know? He’s smart and sweet and secretly funny; tall, and strong, but not in a ‘spends all day at the gym’ way—no offense. He’s a little softer, I can wrap myself up in his arms. It’s nice.”

“I’m with you,” Jada says. “A hard body might be nice to look at, but I need something to grab onto in the middle of the night.”

“Yes! Something to grab onto, and Aaron is perfect for that. He’s such a good cuddler, and he’s heavy, in a sexy way, like when he’s on top of me.” Okay, so you’re definitely a little drunk, never this loose-lipped about your sex life, but it’s all true regardless. “And he’s nice to look at—so nice to look at. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

You could go on talking about Aaron for the rest of the night, but topics change and you have enough sense not to ramble any further; you don’t have the sense to stop drinking, though, so by the time your friends leave, you’re puttering around trying to clean up the kitchen, and not doing a very good job of it. Aaron finds you, makes a soft sound and puts his arms around you from behind, effectively stilling your motions.

“Let’s go to bed, baby,” he murmurs into your hair, and you sink back against his body, sigh happily.

“I want to go to bed—I want to go to bed with you. I always want to go to bed with you, because I love you.”

“I know, sweetheart, I love you, and we’re going to go to bed right now. We can clean up tomorrow.” You let him lead you down the hall, but you only make it halfway to the bedroom before you turn around in his arms, try to pull him down to your level. He’s so tall it can sometimes be annoying.

“I love you. I want you, always. You’re my type.” He laughs, bends to kiss you softly and tries to walk you backward toward the bedroom.

“Thank you. You’re my type, too, and I want you always.” You nod, because that’s good. You should be his type, since he loves you. That just makes sense.

“I want a puppy—a fluffy baby puppy with you. I’ll be the puppy mom and you’ll be the puppy dad.”

“A puppy,” he repeats, and you make it to the bedroom: you can tell because he sits you gently on the bed, helps get you out of your jeans. “We could get a puppy, if that’s something you want. I can walk it in the mornings before work, you can walk it on your lunch.”

You make a happy sound, because you hadn’t expected him to say that. You figure asking for one more thing can’t hurt, while you’re on a roll.

“I want a vacation, too, please. A beach vacation—I want to see you in swim trunks, your hair all wet, and I want to feel your skin warm from the sun.” He pulls your top over your head and walks away from you; when you make a sound of protest, he assures you he’ll be right back, and he returns with one of his t-shirts, helps you put it on.

“You want a beach vacation?” He turns down the bed, maneuvers you under the covers, then starts undressing himself. “What brought that on?”

“I don’t know. Just want to go away with you,” you say, and you can feel yourself drifting now that you’re cozy in bed, wearing Aaron’s clothes, soft pillows all around you. “A vacation, or a—a honeymoon.”

Aaron says something in response to that, but you can’t make it out, too busy falling asleep and imagining the scent of sunscreen and the feel of thick fingers rubbing it into your shoulders. You wake with a bit of a headache, and a dry mouth, and a warm body at your back, an arm loosely slung around your waist. You groan and press back against Aaron, and he leans forward to brush his lips over your ear and chuckle lightly against it.

“I think you went a little overboard,” he says, and he smooths your unruly bedhead back away from your face. “There’s water and ibuprofen on the nightstand. If you’re feeling up to it, I think a shower would do you some good. I’ll make breakfast.” He presses several soft kisses to your cheek and chin, and you close your eyes, hum your contentment.

“I love you, do you know that?”

“I do know that,” he breathes, and he runs his hand over your hip in a way that makes you wish you had more energy and less aching in your temples. “You said it a lot last night—I also couldn’t help overhearing you say I’m the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.”

“Well that’s true. Incredibly handsome,” you agree tiredly, and he presses his lips to your neck in the form of soft, smacking kisses.

“You also said you wanted a honeymoon,” he murmurs, and you open your eyes comically wide, slide up to a seat, look down at his face to try to read his expression.

“I did?” He nods, clearly trying not to smile at your surprise.

“Yes, you did. I’m not clear on the details, though—would that include a wedding, or were you planning on skipping over that part?” You lean over him, hide your face against his shoulder, and he laughs softly, rubs his hand up and down your back. “We’ve never talked about it, but it seems that’s something I should have at least brought up. We just took our time moving in together, and I didn’t want to rush that if you weren’t ready. Are you ready?” he asks quietly, and you pull back to look at him—his open expression, soft features, curious eyes.

“In theory, or in practice?” You have to ask, because this is Aaron, and he’s amazing, but he’s not a grand gestures type of man—if he’s asking you to marry him, you want to be very clearly on the same page to avoid miscommunication. He smiles, runs his hand down your arm.

“In theory.” You think of what it would mean, how it would feel, being married to the best man you’ve ever met, the kindest, most open-hearted (if occasionally grumpy) person, and the answer comes easily.

“Yes, I’m ready in theory.” His smile grows, and you match it, leaning down for a kiss. Then, he moves out from under you, reaches behind himself, into his nightstand, and rummages around for a moment before returning with a blue velvet box that he just holds, so casually, in his hand.

“How about in practice?” Your heart sinks to your stomach in the best way, and you can’t find the words even though you know exactly what you want to say. You bite your lip, and your eyes water a little; Aaron presses his palm to your cheek, and you meet in the middle for a slow, sweet kiss, exhaling softly when you pull apart.

You nod your head.

“Yes, I’m ready in practice.” You kiss again, a bit less sweet, weaving your fingers into his hair, and he pulls you down, makes you laugh, covers you with his body and kisses your face until you’re both out of breath.

“That’s good, because I want to make an honest woman out of you if we’re going to have a baby.” You freeze beneath him—did you talk about children last night, too, in your drunken haze?—and he chuckles, leans back so you can better see his face. “A fluffy baby puppy, remember? I’ll be the puppy dad and you’ll be the puppy mom.” You smack his chest, which he finds hilarious, and then you put your hands on his arms and sigh.

“Let me see that ring, please.” He props himself up on his elbows, opens the box for you: it’s sparkling, beautiful, exactly what you would have chosen for yourself, and you pluck it out, hold it up, and then hand it back so he can slide it onto your finger. “How long has this been in that drawer?”

“Since you moved in,” he says, and he takes your hand, kisses it, and admires your new accessory. “It was in my sock drawer before that, and I’m honestly not sure how long it was there. Two years, at least.” You frown just so you won’t cry, and he leans in to press his lips to the downturned curve of yours. “I told you, I always just knew.”

You deepen the kiss, run your hands over his sides beneath the soft t-shirt he slept in; his fingers move to the hem of the t-shirt you slept in as if to remove it, and you pause, pull back.

“No, wait, I’m gross. How are you even kissing me right now?” Aaron rolls his eyes, presses his mouth to yours repeatedly despite your half-hearted protests.

“Because I don’t care about morning breath, I’m marrying you.” He puts his hands in your hair, continues kissing, and you know resistance is futile; he wants you regardless, just as you are, and you would feel the same if roles were reversed—you do, every day.

“Mmh, okay but. At least let me. Shower first,” you mumble against his lips, and he rolls his eyes, leans back so he’s on his knees hovering over you, hands on his thighs.

“Would that make you feel better?” You nod happily, and he climbs off the bed, pulls you to your feet. “In that case, you go shower, and I’ll make breakfast as planned. And then, if your conditions are met, princess,” you wrinkle your nose, and then you both laugh, “I think I would like to make love to my fiancée, if that’s something that would interest you.”

“I’m very interested in that,” you agree, winding your arms around his neck, and you allow him one more kiss before you shuffle toward the shower, standing under the spray long enough to feel fully human again.

You drink the water, take the ibuprofen, and throw on his quarter-zip sweatshirt from the night before, and then meet him for eggs, toast, fruit, and kisses. He’s cleaned up the mess from last night, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and you fall a little bit in love all over again.

After breakfast, you make it as far as the couch, flat on your back with the sweatshirt hiked up around your stomach and Aaron’s head between your thighs; you moan, tug on his hair as he drags his tongue repeatedly through the wetness that clings to your pussy, and when he makes you come you close your legs around his shoulders, squeezing tightly, back arching off of the couch.

“Mmm. Should have locked you down a lot sooner,” you pant, encouraging him to climb on top of you. He licks his lips and leans in for a warm, soft kiss.

“I’ve been locked down since our first date. You wore a blue dress and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” You pull his shirt over his head, and he pushes his boxers off, guides his cock inside you and plants his hands, noses along your cheek. “And now you’re mine.”

You can’t remember the last time you had sex in broad daylight—or the living room, for that matter—so each roll of his body, heavy and smooth against yours, is that much hotter as the sun shines in through the window, as birds chirp from the tree just outside. Your moans feel louder, more indecent, and you hold onto his ass, run a hand up his back, while he groans in your ear, whispers things like fuck and baby and mine.

“Aaron, please,” you sigh, digging your fingertips into his hips, and he kisses you, thrusts harder, knows what you need without having to hear it. He’s getting close too, huffs hot breath against your cheek, and you squeeze him tighter, press up against him. “Yes, hmm. I’ve got you, baby.” You move a hand to his hair, carding fingers through it, and he rests one gently over your throat, kisses you deep and wet, passionate, pounds against you until he comes.

He slides his hand down your body, rubs his fingertips over your clit, and this time your orgasm is softer, and you bite at his shoulder just to feel more connected, even though he is still inside you, heavy above you. You cling to him, catch your breath, and then you kiss a little before hurrying to get cleaned up and hoping you don’t make a mess of the couch.

When you reconvene in the living room, windows open, curtains blowing softly in the breeze, Aaron is on the couch with his laptop on his thighs. You plop down next to him, peer over his shoulder, and he raises his eyebrow and smiles.

“What do you think of Golden Retrievers?” You rest your head against him, look at the screen full of fuzzy yellow puppies, and sigh, content.

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