#that and falling through the floor into the void

[peachdues]

ANNOUNCEMENT: Parts IV and V of In the Netherwood are back in progress!

At first, there was only darkness. A sea of black, utterly devoid of any sound or feeling.

Time stretched on without end while you drifted through the endless void. But then, the faint smell of smoke tickled your nose, followed by the distinct scent of cinnamon and firewood.

Though you could not place it, the scent was familiar; the kind that you recognized deep in your bones, even where your memory otherwise failed you.

You hadn’t known whether your eyes had been open or shut as you floated amidst the black, but a faint orange light glowed dimly some indiscernible distance away. You struggled to move toward it, uncertain of how to move your limbs — or whether you had any to move at all. But the orange light grew larger the more you twisted, growing still until you slammed into creaky, wooden planks.

Not an ounce of black remained around you now; rather, you found yourself sitting upon an old, weather-worn floor before a great, crackling fireplace. One whose hearth was intricately painted with a distinct, hanging floral motif; one that you’d spent many nights tracing over with absentminded fingers.

As you sat up, you leaned back against the edge of a rocking chair you knew would be seated behind you, facing the roaring fire. Any residual alarm or uncertainty you had melted easily away as you looked around; for here, you could never be in danger.

Because this was a place where you were warm. Safe. Loved.

Home.

“How long has Grandfather been gone?” You asked, spinning a small wooden top against the cabin floor. Every time the toy threatened to spin too far out of your reach, you slammed a tiny hand over it, before dragging it back to you.

Warm hands, gentle though wrinkled with age, smoothed over your hair. “Six years, my dove.”

The hands urged you to sit back and lean against the legs of the person perched in the great rocking chair. You followed without complaint, your toy falling to its side, forgotten.

You hummed as those fingers began combing through your hair, working through its knots and tangles. “And my parents have been gone longer?”

“Yes,” the voice spoke wistfully. “Trying to help your grandfather.”

“The Netherwood,” you whispered softly, and you shuddered against the ominous chill skirting down your skin.

The fingers in your hair paused, and you frowned. You turned into the legs against which you’d been resting, peering up at the person sitting behind you.

There, you saw the familiar face of a home that was no more.

“Gram,” you murmured pressing your cheek against her knee. “How did you meet grandfather? Was it love at first sight?”

Your grandmother blinked down in surprise at you, taken aback at the girlish excitement shining in your eyes. But then her expression softened, and she smiled ever so gently as she brushed her hand over your cheek.

“It was,” she said simply, eyes swimming with warmth. “This village is not a welcoming place. It looks down upon outsiders. That was true even when I first arrived here. Outsiders were viewed as undesirable; untrustworthy.”

Gram smiled, and suddenly, she seemed miles away from the cabin in which you now sat. “Your grandfather was the first kind face I met when I arrived here.”

“When you first arrived?” You repeated, brow furrowing before your eyes widened. “You came from another village?” You gazed up at Gram in awe. “But that means — that means you traveled through the Netherwood! You made it through!”

Gram chuckled softly. “It is not an impossible feat, my flower.”

“How did you do it?” You sat up eagerly, leaning forward in your grandmother’s lap. “Were there monsters? Shadows? Nymphs?”

Your mind ran wild with images of creatures of various shapes and sizes from the many stories she’d told you about the cursed, ancient Wood. Ones of dragons and pixies. Of shifters that could take on the form of any animal you could imagine. Ones of nymphs, beautiful nymphs, with voices sweeter than any human melody.

“Hush, child,” Gram tapped the tip of your nose, motioning for you to turn back around and resume your place at her feet. “I will tell you the story of your Grandfather, but you must sit still.”

You groaned. You hated being sedentary, always eager to run, to talk, to find Kotoha and orchestrate some elaborate prank on the village’s crankier residents. But you loved your Gram’s stories more than most anything, and so you complied, rolling your shoulders as you positioned yourself at her feet, limbs held perfectly still.

Gram guided your head into her lap, and began sectioning your hair into pieces, to braid. As her old, wisened hands began weaving the strands of your hair together, she opened her mouth to speak.

But when Gram’s mouth started moving, no sound came out. All at once, the light in the cabin grew dimmer, the memory foggier, until it faded away like smoke in the wind.

And there was only darkness once more.

👀👀👀

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #in the netherwood

[thiniceofeternalyouth]

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER TWELVE

THIEF OF THREE DESTINIES

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~13k

⊲ previous

[July 1, 2020; 02:17am; hunters' hq]

[02:01] You: Megumi's back, he's fine

Delivered.

Unread.

[02:11] You: u ok?

Delivered.

Unread.

Gojo wasn't answering your calls either. You were drowning in an abyss of intrusive thoughts, each one worse than the last. Was he okay? If he was all right, why was he silent? Such silence was like the silence of a dead man - just as endlessly cold.

You stirred, pushing the images away from you and setting the phone aside. Maybe that was your lesson to learn. Wasn't that what he meant by loneliness?

There was nothing left of Kyle, not even his cold corpse was honored to rest deep underground. His image along with the vague tracings of his voice seemed to beg you not to forget him, but you knew that every image and every melancholy has a year later. Eventually, a wave of new memories would erase his still-green eyes. 

The moral compass had been broken, trampled, torn to pieces. In which direction should the lost traveler go now? This entire time traveler had been walking along the dark side of the moon towards the calling sun - towards something bright and warm. Where would the road lead if the sun was stolen?

"Meg," you called out detachedly. "Asleep?"

"No," replied the mechanical voice.

"I have a riddle."

"I'm listening."

"There are two hunters," you began, staring blankly at the black monitor screen. "One is experienced, the other is a newbie. They were surrounded by demons, the experienced one was killed, and the newbie survived. What kinda a case is this?"

"The newbie was with the demons," Meg replied without hesitation or questioning intonation.

"Think again," you said, admonishing more yourself than the artificial intelligence.

Meg was silent, but it was as if you could hear her digging through the informational bowels of universal human knowledge, and she was doing it so fast that it would take you a lifetime to absorb that much information. "Hmm...," Meg drawled. "The messengers don't get killed?"

"The messengers don't get killed," you confirmed in a whisper, watching in the extinguished monitor as your eyes went black.

You didn't even notice that you had chewed your own thumb to a bloody pulp. Those devils knew everything. From start to finish. They knew you'd broken into a settlement, knew which one, knew that Kyle would be going instead of you that day. So where was the rat lurking? Was it one of the people in the void? Or was it one of the people who lived in the house?

Knock-knock.

Your only task was to keep your head down. You knew exactly what they were after, and they seemed to be getting close. Every day it became harder for you to control the turns of the invisible blades embedded in your body. You wiped the moisture from your dark eyes with a sharp movement, and making sure you looked like anyone else, you walked to the door.

A pair of sad, frightened child's eyes greeted you. "Why ya still awake?" you asked Yuuji tiredly, trying to maintain a neutral, if not positive, attitude. The boy looked down at first, before peeking over your shoulder. "Okay, come in," you surrendered, throwing up your hands.

He walked hesitantly over to your bed and sat down on the very edge. It looked like he was about to fall to the floor. "I... I brought something," Itadori began in a shaky voice and reached into his pocket with the same hands. "I think...," he stammered, and you could see him literally chewing the inside of his cheeks. "I'm sorry, but I don't think you should have thrown it away," he stated in an already firm voice, looking you dead in the eye. In his outstretched hand lay a silver bracelet, mockingly sparkling. "Especially in the trash can," boy added more quietly, trying to hide from you again. "It's a memory."  

"I've never complained about my memory," you said, shrugging.

"That's not the point!" he protested, and the bracelet almost fell out of his hand. Itadori immediately pressed it to his chest. "Don't you wanna have a piece of him always near you? It's very precious," he whispered, pressing the jewelry harder against his chest.

"This thing's worth 20 bucks."

"Don't you dare say that," Itadori hissed. His fear faded away, making way for anger at the words you had said. "Take it!" he ordered, holding out the jewelry to you again. "Take it, now!"

It was the one shining thing that didn't make you want to take it or steal it. You walked over to the bed and sat down next to the boy, and you had no time for inner cries and agonizing - you couldn't show weakness in front of anyone. As soon as you took the bracelet in your hands, you felt like the ultimate fool. Why did you throw it away in the first place? It had never been a soulless piece of metal, at least not since you'd put it on your brother's arm.

You glanced around the workroom. Kyle wasn't here anymore, and he never would be. Maybe you'd never see him again, or maybe he'd see you in hell.

Along with everyone else.

"Thank ya," you smiled weakly but sincerely at Itadori. Maybe he sensed it, maybe he heard it in your voice, but he fidgeted restlessly, dropping his gaze to the floor again.

"What are you thanking me for...? I yelled at you. I'm sorry," he mumbled, and the swollen red face was drawn again with sorrow. Where is the artist who painted such things on children's faces? Maybe if you ripped their heart out, you'd feel a little better.

You wrapped your fingers around Yuji's chin, making him look up at you. "For being more mature than me today," you tried to wipe away the tears that had started streaming down his cheeks before you'd even finished speaking. He snuggled into your shoulder, muffling the tearing sobs. You didn't pay attention to how wet your sweatshirt was from his tears and snot, only gently stroking his back. "It's gonna be okay," you repeated the words like a mantra straight into the pink top of his head.

His body was clearly exhausted, and he collapsed in your arms. Yuji seemed to have cried for so long that all the water had gone out of his organism. "Try to get some sleep, 'kay?" you said, adjusting the pillow on the bed with your hand. At his exhausted questioning look, you shrugged. "Ya can go to your room if ya want. It's just that I remember ya saying it's quieter at my place."

You patted him on the top of his head and got up from the bed, heading back to the computer chair. A murmur behind you made you chuckle quietly - apparently Itadori had made his choice. "Y/N?" he addressed you quietly, covering himself with a blanket. You hummed questioningly. "You didn't call sensei?"

You didn't want to disturb an already wounded young heart. "He's busy right now, so I didn't bother him with the news," you said evasively. "Just texted him to say that Megumi is fine. Now go back to sleep."

A fresh morning breeze wandered through the room, taking all the memories with it as it made its way back through the window into the freedom of the bay. There really wasn't much stuff - you only needed three boxes to pack all of Kyle's clothes. Was it always this black and gray, or had you stopped perceiving colors?

You folded another T-shirt carefully, deliberately slow. After all, this was the last day you'd ever been this close to him. As you put the folded T-shirt in the box, you glanced at the unopened men's perfume on the bedside table. Would anyone need it now?

When you picked up the black sweatshirt, the door clicked open. The fresh air in the room was instantly freezing, chilling to the bone. Rachel was like the walking dead, even the large eyes on her gaunt face showed no signs of life. She stood on the other side of the bed, across from you, staring blankly at the sweatshirt you were holding.

You tentatively held it out to Rachel, and she took the sweatshirt in her hands after a few more seconds of staring blankly at the space. "Um...," you began quietly, watching her go through the clothes in her hands. "I packed everything here, so... When ya go to Hopetown, bring it with ya, 'kay?"  

Rachel covered her eyes for a moment, her nose buried in the sweater as if she hadn't heard you at all. You looked away awkwardly and headed for the exit. "Ya're going too," she demanded in a strangled voice.

You sighed convulsively and turned around - Rachel was still standing with her back to you. "Rach, I don't have time to stand by a tombstone that doesn't even have a body underneath it." 

Everything froze. Your ears heard nothing, your eyes saw nothing. Your skin felt neither wind nor touch. Even your memory stopped - all the images melted away, spreading out into the obscurity.

You came to your senses from the impact of your head hitting the floor. Rachel was on top of you, clutching your throat with both hands - she must have been doing it for a long time because your chest was already cramping helplessly. Certain places on your body were aching desperately, especially your ribs and cheekbones. "Rach," you wheezed, grasping weakly at her wrists.

She held it all in not making a sound, and you could have sworn you could see the muscles in her face tense behind the shroud of rage. You tried to reach out to her again, but another pathetic croak escaped your lips, and Rachel let go of your neck, whimpering suppressedly. "Ya're going," she hissed, getting up from the floor.

You pulled yourself up, coughing and rubbing your neck. "Rachel," your voice became an order of magnitude rougher as if your sister's hands were still clutching your throat. "I understand ya feel bad," you watched as she walked back to the bed, looking down at the same sweatshirt and wiping silent tears from her face. "But why ya so angry with me?"

She turned around sharply, meeting your uncomprehending gaze. "Because it's ya who should bear that burden, not me!" she shouted out desperately. "It's-," her own sobbing interrupted her, and she tried to push it away, hiding her face in hands. "It's all your fault, so why am I theone in tears right now?"   

"I didn't ask anyone to follow me-"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" the perfume flew just an inch from your face. When it hit the wall, it left nothing behind but shards that crumbled to the floor. "Shut up!" Rachel gasped and agonized with her own emotions. Despite the fact that she let them out, it didn't get any easier in the slightest. "Ya just an ungrateful bitch," she hissed weakly. "Ya'll go to the funeral. Otherwise your white-haired weirdo will find out-"

"He knows," you cut it off.

"That's how it is," Rachel said, naively slamming her eyes shut. "Then it's strange that he's still with ya. I can barely stand ya, even though I've been around since I was a kid."

"Rachel," you sighed tiredly. "Let's just not fight, 'kay? This isn't really a good time for that."

Wiping the nearly dried paths of tears from her face, your sister straightened to her full height and headed for the exit. "Ya're going or ya don't have a sister anymore either," she mumbled absently, shoving you with her shoulder.

It was definitely her favorite.

"We are gathered here today to honor the memory of our beloved son, brother, friend..."

The weather was clearly mocking. The midday sun brightly illuminated the growing greenery, the black-clad people, and the names on the tombstones. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, just a vast blue. Nature didn't seem to want to grieve with the people. She didn't care about all of you.

You stood away from everyone else, leaning against a tree. There was no place to hide in this cemetery field, and the tree seemed to be your only refuge. You pressed your shoulder against it as hard as you could, smoking your third cigarette.

"Words cannot express the full horror of this tragedy that has touched us all..." 

Tragedy.

Megumi and Danielle stood in the front rows, huddled together as if trying to become one. Both were pale and lifeless, but Dany still had the strength to cry. She stood with her face buried in his neck, unable to look at the closed coffin, and the boy stroked her head inconsolably, unable to take his eyes off of it. It was unclear which of them had it worse, but they decided to deal with it together.

It brought some people together.

Rachel stood beside them, holding Mike in her arms. She kept her hand on the redhead's head, pulling her son closer to her chest as if ordering him not to look. You could see his little body flinch and twitch. Rachel never spoke to you after that fight. She didn't even look in your direction.

Someone was distanced by it.

Frank's skin was the color of his hair and beard, but he struggled to keep that same good-natured expression, though it was completely drenched in sadness. He stared blankly at the empty coffin. How could you look him in the eye now that you couldn't even bring the body?

The people from the void who had come to the funeral were frightened. This man had saved them, fought for them, but if he was suddenly mortal, didn't that mean the rest of you were too?

Tragedy inevitably befalls everyone. For some it prepares them, for others it comes completely unexpectedly. It leaves behind either a hardened spirit or a broken heart - a person must choose for themselves.

"Wherever he goes, I believe he will end up in the arms of God..."

If God didn't have time to keep track of everything going on here, who's to say he had time to keep track of the other side? Did it even exist? You looked around the cemetery helplessly. There was a whole universe under each tombstone, but what would be under your brother's one?

"Y/N," greeted the woman who came up behind you.

"Camila," you said, taking another drag on your cigarette. The woman leveled herself at you and stared through her dark glasses at the spectacle in front of you. "I didn't think anyone from the old generation would come here."

"Can we be judged for that?" asked Camila plaintively. "Kyle's death hardly our business."

"He's Frank's son," you reminded her. "To Frank ya owe a lot."

"I didn't come here to bicker," the woman said sternly, nervously smoothing her already perfectly bunched hair. "I want you to give me my sons back."

"Did that one death scare ya like that?" you raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"One?" barked Camila, but immediately lowered her voice so as not to draw attention to herself. "Whatever. Anyway, I'm expecting Axel and Ryan home tomorrow. If not, we'll come pick them up ourselves," she gave you a meaningful look as if she wanted you to feel like you were nothing.

"Will mom's skirt save them in battle, too?"

There was a resounding smack. You bit your lip and put a hand to your aching cheek.

"It's called concern," she hissed, leaning over you. "You don't know of such a thing, do you? You don't care who you let go to waste."

"Concern?" you chuckled. "It didn't keep your hubby safe," when she tried to hit you again, you intercepted her arm, digging your nails into her skinny wrist. The hiss of bubbling blood eclipsed all sound, so you didn't immediately notice that there was no noise at all. No voices, no stomping. "Hit me again and I'll rip your heart out. Just like everyone else who will come to our house," you had barely finished grinning when a ringing silence that you hadn't sensed earlier hit your ears. Stunned by this, you turned towards the people gathered here to pay their honor. All of them were looking at you.

Shoving the frightened Camila's hand away from you, you strode away from the cemetery to the taunts of the midday sun.

Gojo thought he was doing the right thing. At least for the first couple days. Wasn't it fair to feed you the same pill you kept giving him? If you didn't give it a taste, how else would you know how bitter it was? That's how he reassured himself when he saw another missed call. If on the first day it made him smile stupidly, after a while he grew more and more anxious - maybe you've forgotten him already? He had to hand it to you - in all this time you called only four times, the last call was dated last night. It wasn't enough for him. He didn't want you to miss him only at night, he wanted to be in your thoughts every morning and evening, whether you were eating or fighting.

Gojo didn't miss your messages either. Megumi did well, how could he not? It couldn't have happened to any of his students otherwise.

He muffled the panic rising in his chest by poking curse's eye out with his heel. The eye burst with a squelching sound. He couldn't count how many times it had been these days because he had personally volunteered for mission after mission. "God, that's a lot of yelling," he muttered, tucking his hands into his pockets and pressing down on the ugly head even harder. Whether there was a brain inside the curse head or something else, Gojo's shoes were immediately stained with purple goo.

Gojo didn't hear the phone ring because of the ultrasound, but he pulled it out when he felt it vibrate in his pocket. Biting his lip in frustration, he stared at the caller's name for a while longer before answering. "Hey," Gojo chirped.  

"Jesus, what's that sound in the background?" hissed Megumi. The boy was heard to pull away from the phone.

"Oh, wait a second," Gojo rambled apologetically. He squatted down, and leaning over the curse, grabbed it by something that resembled a throat. When the covers crunched, when the curse froze, opening its mouth in an already silent scream, a mad chuckle escaped Gojo's lips. Clenching his hand even tighter, he ripped the creature's head off with a single tug. Tossing it away from him, Gojo leaned the phone to his ear again. "Better?" he asked carelessly.  

A long sigh sounded from the other side. "Are you really that busy or are you really just an unscrupulous asshole?"

"Hey!" he resented. "It's been so long since we've seen each other, and you don't have a warm word to say?"

"You should come. Anyway, the ceremony's already over, but I think it would be respectful to at least show up here," Megumi muttered moodily, and what was even more surprising to Gojo was the weakness hiding behind the usual scowl.

"Ceremony?" wondered Gojo, feeling his palms begin to sweat. "What did you guys do in there without me?" he asked, trying to suppress a nervous grin. 

"Uh," Megumi began uncertainly. "Didn't Y/N tell you?"

"Told me about what?" he inquired, smiling forcefully. There was silence on the other end, and the longer it lasted, the harder his heart began to pound. It pounded loudly and painfully, breaking all his arrogance and confidence in his own actions. "Megumi, told me about what?" 

Before his heart could stop, there was a rustling sound as if Megumi had pulled the phone as close to him as possible. "Kyle's dead."

They'd never been close. A few insults and promises to kick each other's asses were all they had in common. However, Gojo wasn't hurting for himself right now.

That's why you called him last night. You had called him twice in a row, and while Gojo had hesitated to answer the first call, the second one had made him throw the phone away. He'd been told that many times, directly or veiledly, jokingly or seriously, but as soon as he waved his hand, the words evaporated before they reached his soul. He couldn't even look up now, though. For the first time he felt like nothing.  

Sitting at the empty dining room table, Rachel stared out the window as if there were something more mesmerizing than the everyday sunset. Whether she prayed, pleaded, or argued, the inhabitants of heaven were adamant or deaf. The angels and their arrows did not care about human suffering.

Gojo was sure she heard the front door slam, so why didn't she turn around? The only thing that moved was her fingers, which scrabbled against the tabletop, occasionally touching the crystal ashtray that held at least twenty or so cigarette butts. The ashes smeared awkwardly against the table were like feelings - neither reversed nor returned, only wiped away with a damp cloth. "Hey," Gojo sounded muffled in spite of his ringing voice. "Sorry for your loss," Rachel never turned around. No nod of her head, no greeting. "Um... You know where Y/N is? Is she still in town?"  

"Why would I know where your monster is," she mumbled. Despite her slurred words, there was no bottle or glass on the table in front of her. Apparently, her father's influence was taking its toll.

"Uh? You're her sister," he said with a perplexed shrug.

Rachel clicked her tongue lazily, not taking her eyes off the window. "I wish I wasn't."

"Oh, I see," he drawled, an arrogant smirk in his voice. "So you're the poor unfortunate girl. The only one who lost someone, huh?" he tilted his head sideways, looking at your sister. There was no child sitting in front of him, so where did such childish behavior come from? "Grow up already."

Rachel sat still for a few seconds, then slowly turned her body and stared at Gojo with empty eyes. He'd come to her house, to her family, hung around her sister, failed to show up at her brother's funeral, and dared to mock her.

"Tranquillity."   

Gojo remained standing as he was. He realized that something had happened; even though he wasn't shackled, he felt strange as if the chain did exist and it was beginning to be slowly pulled around his neck. "Is that all you got?" he asked excitedly. There was only one desire burning in him now - to test the limits of his own abilities. 

If she'd had the strength to smile, her face would have contorted into a mad grimace, but right now Rachel just kept watching him. Nothing reflected in her glassy eyes. No surprise, no satisfaction. "What were ya saying about your infinity?" she asked blankly, not expecting an answer. It was not enough for her. If he couldn't feel the mental pain, let him feel the physical.

"Tranquillity."

She was ready to tear him and his equanimity. Thin black strips crawled along her fingers, wrapping around every inch of tanned skin.

It was hard for him to breathe, but the reverse technique was doing its job - it broke the chains time after time, but they were put back on, each one thicker than the last. His hand flew involuntarily to his throat.

"Rachel, that's enough!" shouted Frank, rushing down from the second floor. He hadn't even had time to change - he was still wearing his black suit. "I said STOP!" he howled, and Rachel's head popped up. When the chains of dark energy stopped restraining Gojo, he began gasping for air.

Frank walked over to him, and taking him by the shoulder, looked him over anxiously. "Son, ya okay?" Gojo nodded, rubbing his throat. "And ya," he turned angrily to his daughter. "What the hell ya doing?"  

Rachel showed an emotion other than total absence for the first time in a day. She laughed bitterly. "I'm just wondering why everyone is defending her."

"I don't know who exactly ya talking about," the man hissed. "But we have a duty to protect her because she's our family."

Rachel laughed even harder, and the louder her laugh was, the crazier it sounded. "Mom never carried her under her heart! She's here because you're a hearty idiot! You just felt sorry-"

"Shut your mouth!" snapped Frank sharply.

"I won't!" she yelled, jumping up from her chair. "None of this would have happened if it wasn't for her! I just want to come home and know that Kyle will meet me! Alive!" she gasped, muffling her own sobs. "And now he's gone. All because ya took pity on her once! You should have just left her to them," she whimpered weakly, her head collapsing onto her chest.

"You don't feel well. Go to your room," Frank ordered softly.

She glared sharply at him, for ire gave her strength. "Ya can't tell me what to do!"

"I am your father. Sure I can," he replied firmly, and though he kept his voice low, it sounded much louder than his daughter's screams. 

"Obedience."

Rachel groaned painfully and tried to keep her legs in place, but they were trying to get off the floor against her will. "Fuck you," she spat out, and then she went up the stairs and disappeared to the second floor.

Gojo watched Frank anxiously. The man was breathing heavily, staring after his daughter and rubbing his chest as if his heart were painfully throbbing. His arm was covered in dark, wriggling stripes, and when Frank's legs started to wobble, Gojo picked him up immediately. "Hey, hey, oldman," he gibbered worriedly. "What's the matter?" he dragged Frank to the couch, and sitting him down, poured him some water. 

"Thanks, son," the man took the glass with a shaky hand and took a couple sips. "Sorry for no warm welcome today. We're all on edge right now," setting the water aside, Frank pulled back the collar of his shirt. The dark lines wrapping around his collarbones almost reached his heart. "Shit...and here I thought I can live to fight another day," he grinned grimly.

Frank wasn't a fool. He may not have been the smartest man, but he had a lot of experience under his belt. He saw no anger or irritation on Gojo's face at what had happened, just the faded blue eyes. "Lost someone?" the man asked.

Gojo nodded briefly without looking up. "Yeah," he said quietly. 

"She's in the church now," Frank prompted politely. "She went to give some things away, so... You'll find her there."

"Do you really think I'd leave an old man with a heart attack?" clinging to the remnants of his temper, Gojo glanced slyly at Frank.

He got a fatherly slap, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough to set him straight. "Go already," Frank growled, and Gojo didn't bother to argue or bicker with him. Rubbing his aching heart, Frank barely waited for the door to slam shut. "Ya left too soon, Kyle," he sobbed, digging his fingernails into the blackened skin. "They still need your care."   

You dragged the boxes to the far corner hidden behind the columns and unlit by hundreds of candles. You did it as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb the praying parishioners. On days like this, the church came alive. The hall filled with light from the fire was crowded with people, and those who did not have enough room in the pews reverently said their prayers on the floor, on their knees. Everyone was silent, all those present turned only to God. Paradoxically, it only took one dead person to do this. On other days, the place was not gloomy, but rather empty - all the voices of those who came here echoed off the walls.

You could barely lift the boxes as if each one weighed a ton. When you would sneak quietly into a corner with a box, your forearms would ache terribly and you would want to drop everything or carry it back home. Were clothes always this heavy? Or was it the weight of parting?

When you reached the last box, you took your time putting it down. You held it tightly to you as if you were hugging it, and sat down on the floor next to the rest of the things. Watching the people in the gap between the columns, you wondered - perhaps you should have done the same. No one had ever explained what silent prayers could do. It was something intimate, something that remained only between man and the creature from above.

Man is all-powerful. Man is fragile. A person can move mountains or they can break their heel jumping off the bench. Person loves and hates, misses and has fun, makes mistakes and feats, but they forget that all this exists only because of them. Without them there would be neither conquered mountains, nor love nor hate.

And then the man dies.

"Y/N," a soft voice addressed you. "Don't sit on the cold floor. You'll catch a cold," you looked up and saw the Holy Father holding out his hand to you.

Setting the box aside with the rest of Kyle's belongings, you took his palm and stood up, shaking off your feet. "Kalev," you awkwardly tried to shove the boxes away so they wouldn't get in the way. "Um... Thank ya for performing the ceremony."

"What are you talking about?" wondered the Holy Father quietly. He was still dressed in his ceremonial robes, and unlike the others, it was completely white except for the wide collar - it was embroidered with silver threads. "Of course, I agreed to it. I don't care about the rumors. We're all human, and we deserve to go to the other world accompanied by a God."

"Yeah," you muttered, faltering and not looking up. "I guess ya're right."

"What's troubling you?" he asked worriedly, barely touching your hand. "We can always talk," seeing your gaze flicker around the church, he squeezed your palm harder, trying to reassure you.

You knew what awaited you behind those columns, away from the congregation. A small, cramped room that separated the speakers by a mesh partition. "There's no way I'm going to the confessional," you grinned nervously, feeling the back of your neck sweat.

"I didn't say anything about confession," the Holy Father smiled modestly. "I was talking about ordinary human interaction," the man spoke the most ordinary words, but the aura around him radiated a light-winged warmth as if he really was protected by a god. "I will always be happy to talk to you, Y/N," he continued to hold your hand in his, wrinkled and cognizant of the years that carried not only his joys and sorrows, but others' as well. "But it seems to me that someone else wants to talk to you now."

His kind gaze didn't change a bit as he looked over your shoulder. When he let go of your hand, he nodded softly, ordering you to go. As if it were a command from above, you turned around.

You couldn't see his face in the shadow of the columns, but you knew who it was. You walked past Gojo and sat down on the step without even looking at him. Since it was the will of the shadows, let the expression on his face remain a mystery to you forever. "I'm sorry," came the husky voice that had always been ringing and cheerful.

"Me too," you replied detachedly, watching the deserted town.

He carefully sat down beside you, keeping his distance. "Why didn't you tell me what happened?"

"So ya didn't see the calls and texts after all."

"I saw, but...," the heated tiles beneath his feet began to crumble. Gojo had heard once of that feeling of the ground leaving beneath one's feet, but no one had warned him that it would do so slowly. "If you only texted me about what happened, I would be here right away."

"Why," you couldn't even catch the sarcasm in the impersonality of your voice. "Did something like this really have to happen for ya to finally pick up the phone and say ya 'kay?"

So that was it. You didn't ask for help or pity. You just wanted to be reassured that he was okay. "I really am an asshole," there was none of his usual sass in his voice. Just the realization crashing down on him like a slab of granite, crushing all arrogance and carelessness. "I'm sorry. I'm not- I'm just- God," he buried his face in his palms. "I can't even find the right words."

"Whatever," you said, and your alienation did not catch his despair. "I still have more to think about besides another person being disappointed in me."

"No, no, no. It's not like that at all," he mumbled in a weak voice. He cupped your face. To his surprise, you gave in effortlessly as if you were a rag doll. "Only a brainless idiot would be disappointed in you," he leaned his forehead against yours. "And I'm an idiot, but I have brains. Right?" he asked you, and noticing the faintly familiar wrinkles in the corners of your eyes, he smiled, even though his eyes were glistening treacherously.

"If you had brains, you'd run away," you didn't realize that both his mind and his heart had been screaming to the contrary for a long time. That's why he was here now, in front of you and with you, all broken with naked soul. 

Gojo pressed you tighter against him and even pushed you back a little, so as not to disturb the exiting parishioners, but you didn't notice anything. On the other hand, he noticed everything, right down to the way you burrowed harder into his neck when someone walked past you. "Mochi," he rubbed his nose softly against the top of your head. "Is anyone home?"

"No," you replied without raising your head. "All here in Hopetown."

Not to a grieving Rachel, not to a worried Frank, not to a maelstrom of hissing hunters - he didn't want to give you to anyone. Gojo hoped you would understand his selfish desire. "Let's go home then, 'kay?" he whispered and, stunned by the church bells and the beating of his own heart, he kissed you shyly on the temple - your very first kiss. 

You washed away today - all the water running down the drain, taking the dust, sweat, anger, and pain with it. You tried not to disturb your mental equilibrium, and one way to maintain it was with a routine. After smearing moisturizers on your body and applying balm to your hair, you wrapped yourself in a robe and stood in front of the dresser with your clothes. Gojo wanted you to open up - it was time to start somewhere. 

You had no idea what was waiting for you on the floor above. You'd agreed to just watch something, but Gojo was running around the kitchen trying to make a quick meal. He's already gotten it into his head that you're an omnivore. Maybe there were some exceptions like boiled carrots or something, but he didn't like those things too, which meant you'd find something to your liking from all the things he'd quickly cooked and panic-bought at an unknown store - in his state of chaos, Gojo didn't even realize where he'd teleported to. Garlic croutons, mozzarella cheese balls, baked shrimp in bacon, nachos with chili sauce, a few chocolate bars - cholesterol plaques. Everything just the way you liked it. "Well... Acceptable," he muttered, eyeing the edibles.

"What is it?" you asked, peering out from behind his forearm. Gojo didn't even jump - he was used to living in this house with the thought that you could be behind him at any moment. He was ready for anything. Or he thought so until he turned around. 

You were wearing regular pajama pants. Avocado, kitten, funny writing, or solid colors - he'd seen them all. But instead of the usual closed shirt, you were wearing a top. A little stretched and faded, but it hid almost nothing. "Uh," you drawled uncertainly, noticing the lost expression on Gojo's face. "Is something wrong?" you took a step back.  

Gojo had long suspected what was under your clothes, and his suspicions were confirmed. Scars of all kinds - sunken, bumpy, torn, and stretched - adorned your skin, layered on top of each other. The whitish-pink indentations on your wrists were like bracelets, and your throat was covered with many thin tightened cuts, like a dried bloody necklace.  

That wasn't what Gojo was interested in. He knew that if he gave it a single thought, he would be consumed by rage, which was good only in battle and only if it was cold. However, in helpless rage one could only find the road to self-defeat. Anyway, a trigger clicked quietly in his head.   

Kill them all.

"N-no, it's okay," Gojo mumbled, averting his eyes in embarrassment. Your naked arms, shoulders, collarbones, and neck - it made it seem as if you'd exposed more than just a part of your body. "Y-you just- uh," he panted quietly and tried to brush away the unruly white strands that tickled his burning face with his hands. "You took me by surprise," he mumbled awkwardly, raising his eyes to you again.

"Well, I just wish I could wear something like that sometimes too. At least in your workroom," you shrugged. "When I told ya ya could sleep over sometimes, I didn't think ya'd end up living there," you chuckled, not noticing how the man in front of you was being pulled further and further into the abyss by the shame.

"Sorry, I- Uh, I-I just...," Gojo kept stammering like a flustered teenager, and his hands couldn't find their place - he was trying to shove them into his pockets, then cross them over his chest, then fix his hair again. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think of that," he admitted timidly. 

"Nothing, it's fine," you smiled, seeing his condition. "If it bothered me too much, I'd tell ya about it, so... Let's just take it all to the TV," you suggested, pointing to the food. Gojo nodded, and you walked over to the dining table. Seeing several bars of chocolate, you looked dumbfounded. "God," you whimpered. "Wait here. I forgot something." 

You had no right to do that. He'd been through too much emotion that day, and this waiting during your sudden outburst only made him more anxious. He tried to rub his face with his hands to get the red paint off it or to cool it down a little, but it was in vain. Even his hands were burning.

Gojo was eager to get everything ready. He moved all the food to the coffee table, fluffed all the pillows on the couch, brought a couple of blankets, turned on the TV and searched for a movie, but nothing worked. He was still in a panic. 

"Here," you drawled uncertainly, rising from the workroom and walking over to him, sitting on the couch and tapping his foot against the floor. "It's hardly tasty, so...," you bit your lip, holding out the chocolate bar to him. "Just a souvenir from the void," you chirped, flopping onto the couch and tucking your legs under you.   

Gojo stared dumbly at the bar of chocolate in the weathered wrapper - it had been pink, but there was no lettering or logo. Did you think of him?  Was there really room in your head for him in the midst of the cold and the demons, the half-dead people and the unknown? When you were all alone and didn't know how to get out? "I won't eat it, I guess," he said weakly, though he tried to smile slyly.

"Prissy," you snorted, grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it at him. "Crank up TV."

You've seen several movies, but Gojo didn't understand any of them. The plot, the acting, the locations - he couldn't remember any of it, even though he was staring straight at the screen. Thoughts were rushing around in his head, and his side vision was emphasizing you. You were eating with an envious appetite on whatever he'd cooked or bought, which made him bury his face harder into the pillow he was cradling against his chest. Was it fair that you were so comfortable around him? Was he the only one in this room with a heart that was out of place?    

"That's it," you sighed tiredly, stretching. "I'm full and I can't move," you said, throwing the pillow on the couch and flopping down on it, keeping your legs tucked in so you wouldn't disturb Gojo. 

Okay, it may have been unfair, but it was rarely otherwise in this world. He made that decision on his own. If you were knocked out and made to run away by his attempts to get closer to you, he was willing to back off, but just one step back. No further. Everything was fine as long as you let him stay by your side in this room, on the same couch, eating mozzarella cheese balls he'd made.

"Hey," you poked your foot gently into his thigh. "You're falling asleep," you said, watching his eyelids slip shut. "At least lie down." 

Gojo glanced sleepily at the door; he didn't want to go down to the workroom. He sighed tiredly and lay down behind you. In a strangely familiar habit, he put his arm around your waist - your back was pressed against his chest. "Mochi," Gojo whispered gently into your shoulder, realizing it was time for a risky endeavor. "Look, this might seem weird to you, but... Is it just me or are you and Rachel not getting along?" 

He furrowed his brows at his own insolence, though he hadn't been bothered by those devils pulling his tongue before. You remained silent, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb, an action that made him relax a little. "We fight with her a lot," you finally uttered. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"I just heard something I wasn't supposed to hear," he admitted honestly. "She said things like, uh... It's not like a common fight."

"She rarely watches her tongue," a shaky exhale escaped you, and Gojo, burrowing deeper into your neck, tried with all his might to show he was there for you. "Rachel, she's... She's not the bad person. It was just a bad day, that's all," he felt you squeeze his hand harder as if you were trying to hold him in place. "Besides... She has a right to be mad at me." 

He squeezed your hand in response. "Why?"

"I killed her husband."

You sat in the huge wooden barn, surrounded by sleeping cattle. The thin hay stung your skin even through your clothes, but you didn't dare move; you sat obediently as you had been told. The strong wind made the barn door wobble as if it were about to swing open. Nothing could be heard outside, only the long whistle of the night air through the cracks.

You tried irritably to wipe the dried blood off your hands, your skin itching and aching in places as you tried so hard to get rid of the scarlet liquid. With the quiet sleepy snorting of the animals and the shoving of another straw away from you, you wondered angrily. What had gone wrong? Where had you miscalculated? And where the fuck did Frank go?

No matter how fast or slow the time dragged on, he was already late. Did he really think that if he told you to sit still and keep your nose clean, he could disappear as long as he wanted?  

As irritation began to turn to frustration, the barn door swung open, banging loudly against the wall. "Shit," mumbled Frank to the howling wind that blew in. He examined the door, and making sure it was still on its hinges, closed it back with force.

You immediately jumped to your feet, approaching him. "Well? How bad is it?" you worried.

He put his arm around your shoulders, forcing you back into the haystack and sat down beside you. The stack immediately sagged, nearly flattening to the floor. "I'm not gonna lie. It's pretty bad," Frank admitted on an exhale.

"Hunters?"

"There's less than half of them left."

"And the people?" you asked hopefully.

"Everyone was slaughtered," Frank reported grimly, patting you comfortingly on the knee.

"Wonderful," you said desolately. "They were the first people we brought out of the void, and for what? So that a couple weeks later they could just be killed?"

"It's okay," the man put his arm around you, and noticing the deep cut on your eyebrow, touched it - dark lines immediately began to tighten it. "The important thing is that we're still alive."

"What... What's up with the plantation?" you asked through force, expecting the worst.

Your expectations were confirmed. "Burned down along with the village," Frank said threateningly quietly. "We don't have the black orchid anymore."

You jumped to your feet again, and even Frank's heavy hand couldn't hold you in place. You started pacing from side to side, wringing your hands nervously. "That's fucking bullshit," you bellowed. "Hunters have lived there for centuries, has anyone ever attacked?" at your rhetorical question Frank still shook his head. "Then what the hell? Did someone turn us in?"

"I have no clue," the man shook his head contritely. "We'll have to think about it on a fresh head. Right now it's better to rest."

Because of your worries and the excitement of the elements of nature, you did not hear someone knocking shyly on the barn door. The guest, not waiting to be answered, opened the door themselves.

You turned around, but Frank had already managed to step forward and covered you with his back. "Oh, Noah," he exhaled, and his body relaxed. "Thanks for bailing us out," Frank said, and he wasn't so hard at covering you anymore. Peeking out from behind his shoulder, you met the worried gaze of a man who was wrapping himself more tightly in a fur vest.

"It's nothing," Noah muttered, shivering from the cold. "But you can't stay here for long," he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Don't think I'm chasing you out of here. It's just that they... They might find out through me that you're here."

"Don't worry. We'll wait out the night and leave at dawn," the insider nodded uncertainly at Frank's assurance and took a step backward, slamming his back into the wall. The clattering pitchfork made him jump up and he stormed out of the barn. "I dunno where to go, though," he admitted aloud.

"Then you'll come to our house," you said in a voice that didn't tolerate bickering.

"I doubt the hunters would agree," grinned Frank sadly.

"Let them go to motels then. I don't care," you waved it off, settling back on the haystack. "We ain't done with that settlement yet anyway. Those people need a place to live, and without hunters, there'll be more room in the house."

"Still... The house isn't rubber, after all," the man frowned.

"We have to rebuild the village," you tried to cheer Frank up. "Somewhere on the edge of the Earth. And this time we'll have to think seriously about how to protect it."   

***

Two months had passed since the bloody incident, and you were on tenterhooks again. It was comforting to know that you weren't the only one in that state. Kyle was sitting next to you on the couch in the hallway of the infirmary. He jumped up, walking to the closed door of the chamber, and then sat back down. Involuntarily watching his fidgeting, you began to get even more nervous. Doc had never taken so long to examine a patient before; had something terrible happened to Rachel?

Your brother wouldn't stop - he would pop his head up every now and then when there was a rustling and mumbling outside the door. "Ya're not helping. Sit down," you turned to him exhaustedly as he once again got up from the couch.

You shivered as the doc's replica rushed past you. The same white coat, the same hands that clutched the clipboard and pen, only the replica never had a face. A blank canvas with no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Doc was always good at optimization, but the implementation was sometimes horrifying.

You both rose from your seats as doc left the ward and closed the door behind him. Clutching the clipboard to his chest, he stared at you over his glasses. "Congratulations," he said glumly. "She's pregnant."

"What?" you both simultaneously blurted out, and were reflections of each other - both amazed, right down to your open mouths.

"I mean, it's...," began a panting Kyle. "That's great!"

"Go to her," Doc nodded, but as you took a step toward the room, he grabbed your arm. "Not you. In my office. Now," Doc hissed and immediately rushed off in the direction of his office. You and Kyle looked at each other dazedly, and after a little while, you headed after doc.

As you closed the office door, you saw doc fidgeting with his medical records, and when he found the right one, he began to flip through the pages. "Doc, what's the matter?" you worried, watching as he began to write something down. The pen was almost tearing the paper.

"Sit down," he called out without raising his eyes. You obediently took the chair and moving it closer to the desk, sat down. "I won't beat around the bush," he tossed the medical records aside and interlocking his fingers, stared at you again. "Rachel has uterine hypoplasia. Or rather, she had uterine hypoplasia."

"Uh," you began confusedly, digging around doc's desk with your eyes, not sure why. Maybe looking for answers. "Can we use human language?"

"Undeveloped uterus," doc chided. "Specifically in her case, no bigger than this thing here," he tossed a pencil eraser under your nose. "I examined her from top to bottom just a month and a half ago, everything was the same. And now she's pregnant," he said coldly.

"She never told me anything about her disease," you said wistfully, thoughtfully twirling a pencil eraser in your hands.

"She suspected her reproductive problems, but I never told her anything about her disease," doc explained glumly. "Rob wanted kids too much, and I wanted to find a solution to that problem before I told them everything," he grimaced as he watched you put the eraser back on the table. "But the problem seems to have been solved for me."

"Couldn't ya... Ya know, recover her or something?" you suggested weakly, crossing your arms.

"I can only replicate what is already available. Not create new things," doc shook his head, tapping his fingers restlessly on the table.

"So what ya getting at?" you asked, the corners of your lips involuntarily creeping upward, and there was no way you could stop that panicked nervous smile.

Was it because of this that a few months ago you all literally drowned in blood and lifeless bodies? Was the price of all this something ephemeral, something that had not yet come into this world? You didn't want to believe it, and you hoped that none of you would say it out loud.

Doc was of a different opinion. He was always satisfied only with truth and facts, and it didn't matter what they carried with them. "If you don't believe in God, I suggest you to start," he said, leaning back in his chair. "After all, if this isn't a miracle of God, I'll laugh in the face of anyone who says it's just a coincidence."  

***

Rachel didn't have any of those weird wants - no cucumbers with chocolate, no honey and chips, no chalk - but her appetite was growing by the day. Because of her cravings, you could go to the store several times a day, only to have her tell you afterwards that she didn't want it anymore. Just like that, you were shoving now unwanted strawberries into the fridge. The container crumpled from the force you exerted, and the walls of it turned scarlet - unable to withstand such violence, the poor strawberry simply burst.

When you heard your sister's mumbling from the couch again, you spread your arms out to the sides with all your fingers together, closed your eyes, and took a couple of deep breaths to catch the slipping calm. You weren't supposed to be angry, Rachel was pregnant. This behavior was normal.

"What the hell ya doing there?" whined Rachel, peering out from behind the back of the couch. "The show's already starting."

"I'm coming," you muttered, slamming the refrigerator door shut. As soon as you sat down on the couch, she immediately laid her head on your lap, not caring at all about the way your legs were going to cramp up. Sighing, you started stroking her red curls, realizing where this was going. "Ya can't sleep on the couch forever. It's bad for your back."

"Back off," she snorted, fidgeting and tugging the blanket over her. "What can I do? Rob stinks."

"What's that he smells like?" you laughed softly.

"How should I know?" she whined for the umpteenth time this week. "He just stinks. I get nauseous around him all the time."

"Ya sure it's about the smell?" you asked casually, smirking eagerly, for which you received a hard slap on the thigh. "Ouch!" Rachel only frowned more at your exclamation and squirmed harder into a ball, not taking her eyes off the TV. "Rach... How did ya even realize ya were pregnant?"

"Well...," she drawled thoughtfully. "I got my period first. When it first start when you're thirteen it's normal, but when you're in your early twenties... I had a real panic attack," she laughed merrily, remembering her flighty state. "I thought I had vaginal cancer or something."

"Rachel," you giggled quietly along with her.

After calming down a bit, she continued. "I went to the doc right away, and he calmed me down, saying I was just menstruating. Only he was looking unkindly at my medical records. Dunno, maybe I imagined it. Just a couple weeks later, I got so sick...," she whimpered, placing a hand on her still growing belly. "I thought I had poisoned myself with something, but Rob kept following me around and insisting to take a pregnancy test. So, it just happened," she pressed her palm harder against her lower abdomen, and she could have sworn she felt another heartbeat even though her common sense screamed that it was too early for that. "Ya think I'll be a good mom?" she asked muffled, almost bashfully.

"Uh...," you drawled surreptitiously, playing with a strand of her hair. "I guess so? Actually, it depends on the kid, too. It's a matter of luck," you shrugged, trying to choose your words. "If it's a gifted child - fine, but if it's not... Well, then ya'll be scrubbing shit off the walls," you giggled, which earned you another hard slap to the knee. "That hurts!" you squeaked.

The fact that she was unaware of it was neither comfort nor relief. The deeper you went into your thoughts, the more your hands shook as if your mind were a labyrinth, its icy walls stretching to the edge of heaven, leaving no way out. You didn't know if you had to do it or if you just wanted to, but it seemed like the best solution.

Toxicosis is a terrible thing. Either a woman eats a lot and then vomits, or she eats nothing at all and still vomits. After a few trips to the bathroom with Rachel, she finally fell asleep. You carefully put a pillow under her head instead of your lap and headed to the second floor.

You didn't spend more than a minute in there. All you had to do was walk as quietly as possible past the sleeping Rob, steal his phone, and carry it into the workroom. Trifling matter, but when you got to the desk, you couldn't bring yourself to plug the phone into the computer. You felt like you were shackled, and the more you resisted, the harder the shackles dug into your skin - a familiar feeling that made you collapse helplessly into the chair.

"Need help?" the suave mechanical voice was like a nudge or just a key to all the chains for you.

"Meg," you addressed the artificial intelligence, finally plugging the cable into the computer. "Find something," you sobbed raggedly, watching as his phone lit up, announcing that the connection had been successful. "Find something that says he had nothing to do with this."

***

Vito looked at you as if you were mentally unstable. Everyone else had left to celebrate the completion of Hopetown, and you were the only one sitting in the kitchen, in absolute silence and total darkness. No garland was lit. No crickets were chirping. No cold wind rushing in.

Doc probably only told you about it because he knew Rob was Kyle's best friend. He wouldn't have been able to judge impartially, and there was no telling which evil would show its face. A desperate attempt at vindication, or a brutal, agonizing murder. "Eh," Vito sighed, wrapping elastic bandages around his legs. "I was born to drink beer, not this stuff," he glanced at you sneakily. "And why aren't ya at the party?"

"I felt sorry for ya," you joked back.

"Come on," Vito said cheerfully. "I bet next year someone else will get a shift on those dates, and I'll make up for it then."

After waiting for him to lace up his boots and put on his mask, you got up and went to see him off. When you got to the training field, the same point from which every voidrunner departed, Vito nodded, and after telling you to drink a bottle of beer for him, disappeared in a purple flash.

You walked around the place where the man had been a few seconds ago, took a dozen steps toward the forest, and turned around, leaving footprints in the snow. The clammy anticipation of the inevitable made your palms sweat. The clouds of vapor coming out of your mouth were jagged, intermittent, but not from the cold, for all you felt was desolation.

You could feel his presence, but you couldn't sense his thoughts or his moods. You ran a hundred excuses in your head for him, but none of them fit. Your gut shook more and more as he approached. Before the purple flash was even born, you covered your eyes with your hand.

Rob didn't look hurt or tired, only frantically shaking something off his sides with his hands, unaware that there was someone standing ten paces behind him. Someone with obvious motives, someone with courage and no sympathy. Perhaps if he'd paid attention to the fresh footprints, he might have been able to do something about it.

"Relocate."

There was no longer a field beneath your feet - it was a scaffold. One of your hands rested on his shoulder, and the other, clutching the dagger, was between his shoulder blades. The dagger cut the flesh silently, so your conscience was silent, too. It was very quiet. No sobs, no whimpering. Only when you twisted the dagger and pulled it sharply from Rob's heart was there a gurgling wheeze.

The man tried to turn around, but he didn't have time - his legs gave up before he could. He fell to his knees, and only after a few long moments, collapsed face first into the ground.

You'd always loved the sight of blood running down a back - a sure sign that the reaper had gone unnoticed. You watched blankly as the scarlet puddle spread beneath Rob, desecrating the pure white color, and you never realized that this was the first murder you'd ever committed that didn't make your hands tremble.

Your world froze, but everything continued to live without your participation. To the songs of the white wind under the northern sky, winter was sweeping everything away. The ground, the cooling body, the sins of the living and the dead. The only thing left untouched and naked were your bloody hands.

There were two persons in the field. One was the best friend, the father, the husband. The other was the one who took it all away. 

It was a sudden revelation that was never meant to be spoken, and Gojo froze in place, trying not to scare you away. You took it in your own way, though you tried not to think about how badly you might have spoiled his attitude toward you by telling him about your past. It was better to keep your mouth shut as it had been, and though Gojo was sometimes angry at you for it, you'd never felt like he was about to leave for good before. "Rob never had time to figure out who killed him, and Rachel never found out what happened to him," you continued to drown yourself, forgetting your sense of self-preservation. "I just told her that he never came back from the void," you were disturbed to your shaking knees by this uncertainty - Gojo still had his arm around your waist but remained motionless, you couldn't even hear his breathing above your ear. "I used to reassure myself that it was best for her, that she'd never know what he'd done or how much Mike's life really cost, but... I guess those were just pathetic excuses for a coward like me. That's all."  

"Look at me," though there was nothing commanding in his tone, his hand tugged at your waist, forcing you to turn around. "A real coward wouldn't have done anything and let it go, but not you," Gojo said, stroking your cheek soothingly. He would have given anything for you to look at him now, to feel how sincere his words were, but you only squinted your eyes harder. "I killed Megumi's father," he admitted on an exhale, and you opened your eyelids. "I'm not seeking for attention, it's just...," Gojo mumbled embarrassedly, but didn't take his palm away from your face. "It would be fair of me to admit something in return. And... Uh, he doesn't know about it either." 

"How come?" 

"It's just happened," he grinned bitterly. "He had a person to kill and I was just in the way. To be honest, he kicked my ass pretty good, but it was that bastard that made me stronger," Gojo sighed wistfully at the recollection that seemed to have faded into oblivion. "I never got to protect that person, though," he added more quietly. 

"But ya've protected many others."

"Exactly!" he brightened, burying his nose in your cheek. "So do you. Don't ever forget that, 'kay?" you nodded your head weakly, but it was enough for him. If need be, he was willing to repeat it every day, and it didn't matter that there was a chance he'd pester you to the point where you'd ban him from the workroom forever. He could have come in through the window anyway.

The annoying feeling of worrying for someone had long ago turned to trepidation, and when Gojo felt you fidget once more, there was no way he could keep another question inside him. "How long ago did you stop sleeping?" your stunned stupor made him chuckle. "It's not like I'm a blind fool. You said you were gonna sleep in the other room, but when you're home, you don't leave the workroom at all." 

You climbed under the blanket and pressed your forehead against his chest. "Ya've reached your limit of questions for today," you muttered sullenly, pouting your lips.

The only reaction he had to your behavior was tenderness. You may not have remembered it, but he'd seen you asleep once. In this very same spot, on this very same couch, which was illuminated by the light from the TV. He remembered covering a restless you with a blanket and sitting next to you all night, pretending to watch cartoons. "Come here," Gojo whispered softly into the top of your head. "Come here," taking advantage of your lack of comprehension, he rolled over onto his back, wrapped both arms around your waist, and laid you on top of him with enviable ease. His arms closed around you in case you decided to run away, even though he realized that if you wanted to disappear, you would. But you remained motionless, leaning your head against his chest. "Try to get some sleep, 'kay?"   

The song of his heart was fast and feverish, but it wasn't annoying. In the timid embrace of such a rare guest as a dream, you heard another melody, unfamiliar one. The longer this melody was played, the more embrace became tender and stronger, but did an ordinary dream know how to embrace like that? 

Gojo hummed softly to himself, hardly saying any words. It was a muffled melody, and he doubted you could hear it. Either way, you began to fidget less and to raise your head less often, looking around the space with a blurred gaze. "Shh," he hushed quietly as you jumped up once more and gently returned your head back to his chest. "It turns out you're puffing. You knew that?" after all, he had already kissed you once, would it make it worse if he did it again? Gojo didn't remember himself as his lips covered everything they could reach with tender kisses. "My baby," he whispered softly, touching with his lips the spreading black lines on your forehead. "You're so beautiful," he breathlessly babbled nonsense into your blackened hair and smiled foolishly, but his face changed immediately as if someone was trying hard to take you away from him. "I'll always be there for you. I promise."  

You were pushed from side to side as if you weighed nothing, but it wasn't anyone's fault. There were more people in the bar this time, but everyone was still as drunk and happy as ever. When you heard the threatening creak, you unconsciously bounced. An old wooden sign fell where you had just been standing. A cheeky hooting sounded, profanity was heard everywhere, and a bottle smashed against the wall a few feet away. You ducked as if you were in a battlefield and headed for the familiar staircase.

It was still the same fog of cigarette smoke, but it was a lot calmer. Maybe it was the quiet people who gathered here or maybe it was the influence of the sullen-looking bartender. He was still polishing the glasses.

No one was interested in anyone here. When you walked in, not a single head turned in your direction. The people here were happy in their own way, and they didn't care about anyone else. "Sunshine!" a joyful, familiar voice called out to you.

When you looked over, you saw Kyle sitting at a round table. He had a glass of light beer in front of him, and judging by his blissful look, it wasn't his first glass. He was surrounded by painfully familiar faces, but that pain carried with it only surprise. Vito was slyly pouring more alcohol into Kyle's glass, and your brother's shoulder was gripped tightly by a man's hand. Rob sat next to him, encouraging them both.

"Hey guys," you smiled, taking a seat across from them.

"Hey! Why ya sitting so far away?" whined Kyle drunkenly, holding out his arms to you. "Come here!" you looked at this picture through your fingers. Shifting your gaze to Rob, you saw him raise his eyebrows guiltily.  

"I see ya two are best friends again?" you asked snidely, pulling Kyle's beer glass to you. Kyle was drunk, but he was able to focus and send you a questioning look, even though you thought his eyes were about to drift apart.

"All right, lad, let's go bring ya to your senses," Vito announced businesslike, lifting Kyle by the shoulders in one jerk.

"Oh my," you said meaningfully, watching as Vito dragged Kyle's collapsed body on his back. "It's not even a day later, and he's already on a roll."

"He's been looking out for ya all his life," Rob reminded you, laughing. "He's long overdue for a rest," he sighed as the door to the restroom slammed shut behind the men. An awkward silence hung. You had a lot to say to each other, and only one of you needed the courage to start. "Ya mad?" asked Rob quietly, looking into your eyes.

"No," you replied simply, shaking your head and pressing your lips together. "I'm not."

"Ya didn't tell him?" he nodded his head in the direction of the restroom.

"Kyle's not stupid. I think he figured it all out on his own."

"I just...," he began tentatively, and all his movements seemed awkward, embarrassed. Rob scratched the back of his head thoughtfully before continuing. "I just want ya to know. I don't regret anything."

"Yep," you chirped, sipping from Kyle's glass and immediately grimaced. You sighed heavily, wanting as soon as possible to say goodbye forever to the feeling that made your soul clench into a helpless lump. "Me too."

"That's your style," Rob laughed and immediately relaxed. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. "How's... How's my baby boy?"

"Mike is fine. He's nothing like ya," you stated, wrinkling your nose. "Not in looks, not in personality."

"It's for the best," he said, raising his glass as if his words were a toast. Taking a sip from the glass, Rob set it back on the table with a thud. "And how's my wife?"

"She is okay," you lied, shrugging indifferently. "Ya know her. She can handle anything."

"Oh yeah," he drawled meaningfully, stretching and putting his hands on the back of his head. "I never thanked ya," he started laughing softly again, and you realized what he was getting at.

"Kyle brought ya two together, not me," you tried unsuccessfully to remind him, but Rob was already flying in his memories.

"He just gave me her number and some idiotic advice," he waved it off carelessly. "And ya," he literally jabbed his finger at you. "Ya're the one who told me to bring a bouquet of garlic bread and dried squid instead of flowers on our first date," you clucked your tongue and involuntarily hid half your face in your palms, hoping he'd get your sign and not continue. "And how she chased it all with beer, mmm," he thought blissfully, closing his eyes. "I was all gone," he chuckled again. "Here comes our drunk," he announced, nodding toward a sobered Kyle.

He looked like he was being dragged to trial. His face was still wet and red, and he clutched his clenched hands to his chest with all his might. "I'm sorry," he said quietly to you, sitting down next to you. "I forgot myself a little," he stared guiltily at the table, not daring to look you in the eye.

"You deserve it," you reminded him, shoving him gently with your shoulder. Suddenly, on cue, a thought popped into your head as if your mind was a jewelry box and someone had just put a piece of jewelry in there. "By the way, Kyle," you chirped, reaching into your pocket with your hand. You didn't take it with you, you didn't even think about it, so why did you have it? "Ya left something," you said, holding out a silver bracelet to him.

"Oh shit!" worried Kyle, taking the jewelry from your hands and placing it on his wrist. "I thought it was gone forever..."

"Don't lose it anymore," you jokingly chastised him.

"Thank ya," he wrapped his arms around you and began kissing your face, and you wrinkled unhappily at the touch of wet black strands against your skin.

When he was done with his affection, you unceremoniously pushed the beer glass away from him. You decided to stay out of the men's conversations and musings - they'd been gone too long already. You'd heard stories about their first dates, their first fights, and there seemed to be some generational difference between Vito, Kyle and Rob.

Kyle wouldn't be himself if he hadn't noticed your state of mind even in the midst of a cheerful conversation. He could see your desperate gaze circling the bar, searching for someone. "Sunshine...," he began, taking your hand. "I'm sorry, but she's not coming tonight."

"I thought so."

You're just now noticing that there's been music playing in the bar the whole time. Quiet, but energetic. You only realized this because your brother looked playfully into your eyes. "Shall we dance?"

"Kyle, I can't dance," you protested weakly, flinching away.

"Just a twitch, then," he chuckled, taking you under the arm and pulling you from the table.

There wasn't a single person here dancing. Maybe they didn't know it was allowed or maybe they just didn't want to. Either way, no one paid any attention to you. Everything merged in your clumsy movements, and did so tightly that it ceased to exist at all. You forgot what happened yesterday and didn't know what would happen tomorrow, the only thing that mattered to you now was Kyle dancing and laughing right in front of you. He was alive and whole, and no one tore him apart. He still loved and supported you even when you failed.

The two of you, panting and red, Kyle from the exertion and you from the embarrassment, didn't notice as the bar began to empty. People lingered here for a long time, but they left quickly one by one, and now there were empty tables all around you. "Okay, that's it," he put his arm around your shoulders, trying to catch his breath. Kyle saw Rob and Vito already getting ready, slipping their jackets over their shoulders. "Sunshine," he whispered, looking into your eyes confused. "I'm sorry. But we really have to go."

"It's okay," you cheered him up. "I understand everything. Go."

He pulled you hard against him, but at this point, you couldn't feel how much love he actually put into it. "See ya," Kyle whispered into the top of your head, and he could barely pull away from you as if every inch between you was causing him a tremendous amount of pain.

"See ya," you said after him.

The same bartender was still sullenly going about his work as if he had an endless supply of dirty glasses under the bar. When all the door bells rang out, you looked around and realized you were alone in that corner bar again.

The crackle of burning wood in the fireplace and the smell of smoldering timber brought calmness, one of the few states of mind available to them. Not discerning day or night, sun or moon, love or hate, but only pretending to know everything around them, these creatures sat in corners, in shadows, trying to sort out their own affairs. "It's time to stir up the hornet's nest."

Rei reluctantly raised his head. "Hm?" he lazily uttered, examining the ceiling of the room as if the person speaking was sitting there. "If you meant kill them all, there's a different expression for that. You should be around people more often," Rei stuck back into the fashion magazine and slid the whiskey glass closer to him.

"Who has access to the repository with the artifact?" the creature asked, ignoring the barbed remarks.  

"Frank and his kids," Rei replied nonchalantly, admiring the model's sultry skin on one of the pages. He ran his finger across the page. Why instead of a soft smooth texture he didn't feel even a pitiful semblance?

"How fortunate you killed the lad," the creature hissed

"Do I hear sarcasm in your voice?" grinned Ray, looking up again. "Oh, come on," he laughed, grabbing a glass of whiskey, the ice rattling as if it were afraid. "You're the one who advised me to watch out for the redheaded girl. We didn't need the lad. He just got in the way."

"Any luck finding anything out?"

"Nope," Rei muttered, pouting his lips demonstratively. "Her only weaknesses are alcohol and sex. I like her, by the way," a smile slowly formed on his face, and he turned back to the model. Rather, to her sultry skin.

"You can't be entrusted with anything at all," the creature disappointed, and the glass the demon clutched in his hand crackled. The thin glass shattered into hundreds of small shards, but never broke. "We need someone with powers of observation."

Taking a couple deep breaths, Rei came to his senses. "Stop underestimating me. Even if we did have it, the town is protected by relics," he said irritably, carefully setting the glass aside. "They only protect it from demons and dark energy, though. No one said anything about the rest," the indignation was replaced by a mad chuckle so quiet and short it could penetrate anywhere. Under the skin, under the bones, into the heart.

"Is there someone in mind?"

"Yeah, kinda," Rei chirped, wiggling his leg flirtatiously. Maybe he should have done it for nothing because every movement of that body created an rage in him that he couldn't get rid of. The more he spat it out, the harder he let it out, the more it came back to him. There was only one thing that could do it all.

"You're still not happy about something."  

"Give me one good reason why I should stay in this body or I'll change it immediately," he bellowed, tugging on a shirt that was twice his size.

"Have you tried working out?" the voice suggested sincerely and courteously. "They say it builds muscle."

"Why don't I start eating fucking porridge in the morning too?" Rei clenched his teeth in anger, pitching forward.

"You can't change your body right now," the creature warned. The glass, already battered and hitherto standing peaceful on the table, burst. "Your date hasn't happened yet. She needs to see this," there was a huge upside to each creature seeing and hearing what the other creature saw and heard. At least, if it wasn't hiding. Rei moaned quietly, pitifully in pleasure as he saw your image through the prism of the one who spoke to him. "Calm down. It'll be a while yet, but until then... You need to stay in this body. If you hate it so much... I think you could change it a bit."

"That's right," he said cheerfully, taking off his glasses and breaking them in half. Only one small detail remained. Grabbing the shears from the table and going to the mirror, Rei cut off a long black braid in one motion.

next ⊳

#gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk angst #gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojou x reader #gojo jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojou #gojou fluff #gojou satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x you #gojou x y/n #gojou x you #jjk gojo #jjk gojou #jujutsu gojo #jujustu kaisen

[00fairylights00]

My friends: explain to me again why you spent over $1000 on PC parts?

Me:

✨he✨

#in all honesty my machine was in desperate need of an upgrade #but it was the near unplayable condition Lies of P was in that made me cave #I just want to be bad at the game cause I suck at it not because the game runs at 3 frames a second #the ladders and doors not loading was my main gripe #that and falling through the floor into the void #but now the game runs as smooth as butter😈 #lies of p #oct 2023 #fairy is rambling #🦋 let your conscience be your guide #also pic was taken by a friend while I streamed to her lmao feel free to use it at will

[desolationcleo]

yeah i'm on a watcher lore kick today

#i'm usually on a watcher lore kick but like i'm wearing the shirt and listening to the playlist #though like this is a sillier manner (drawing a scene from bad-traffic-smp-ideas) than what i'm usually doing #which is wide eyes shrunken irises filled with tears screaming inside hyperventilating pacing until i fall through the floor into the void #when i'm not full-on rolling around shrieking and thrashing and destroying things and sobbing

[nerdpoe]

Constantine makes a deal with the Spirit of Kronos.

In return for all contracts he has made regarding his soul being voided, and for Kronos himself to be John's Patron, he has to take a ghost core into himself and nurture it until it's independent.

Easy.

Infinite Realms beings are fiercely independent, and he estimates that one year of hosting and three months of looking after is nothing compared to the headache that he was going to have to go through to get those contracts voided.

The Spirit of Kronos assures him that this task will be on par, and that the payment for doing this is actually equal. He'll have to be sober, not a single drop of liquor or booze, not a single cigarette, for the entire duration.

Which. Okay, yeah, that sounds a little difficult.

So John accepts, expecting this to be kinda hard. But it's not.

The Core he houses is barely noticeable. Barely there. It takes a lot of magic, and eats a lot of ecto, and he's starting to realize that this core may have been severely damaged. This may be more than a year of hosting.

Then it starts to effect him.

He gets cravings, he's a little more emotional due to Realms Spirits being based on emotions, he sleeps more because of the little core leeching off of his magic reserves.

Other heroes start to notice.

He starts getting left out of missions, JLD and JL both checking in on him periodically. They don't know, but they know something is up.

Then he feels it one and a half years after accepting the deal; the tiny core is finally ready to come into the world. Soon, so soon, he'll be able to drink and smoke again, worry free.

The tiny ghost materializes in front of him - and John lunges forward to catch it before it falls to the floor.

Because that's not a ghost.

That's a human baby.

A green sticky note pops onto the kids forehead, and John realizes he may have just been bamboozled.

'His name is Daniel, and the deal stands until he is legally able to be independent per American Law. I look forward to our partnership.

CW'

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #phanfic #story prompt #mpreg #i guess #whatever have this idea #continue it if u want

[bigfatbimbo]

And I saw sparks —

1.2k Words,, Lucifer x reader

a/n — So this was actually a request at some point but it was literally lost to the tumblr void. I cannot find it for the life of me but it had to do with brushing Lucifer’s feathers so here we are.

summary — Date night for the reader and Lucifer quickly turns into a bonding session where the reader grooms Lucifer’s unkept and touch starved wings.

warnings — Fluff, gn reader, obnoxious flirting, getting together (officially), Lucifer being touch starved and sad.

Lucifer groaned as he tried uselessly to comb the feathers on his far back. He didn’t know if he had enough time to finish pruning when he started, and now, barely a third done, he was sure he didn’t. 

His third date with you was in ten minutes. In ten minutes you would show up at his door and expect a fully prepared, well put together, king of hell to sweep you off your feet.

How could he do that when he couldn’t even brush his own damn feathers? What are you going to think when you see him? Maybe, he thought, you’d simply scoff and leave him totally alone with poorly groomed wings.

How pathetic would that be? He grumbled to himself, dreading the last few moments he had to prepare. What was it now, six minutes? If he’s lucky, eight.

Lucifer was so wrapped up in these pessimistic thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching behind him as he scrambled and whined over his knotted feathers.

“Lucifer, you okay over there?” You asked from the door way. 

He jumped back, brush getting caught up in the fluff of his wings and yanking two feathers out, making him let out a yelp and fall over. 

“Jesus christ, Luci—“ you laugh going over to help him up.

A blush spread across his cheeks. “I didn’t know you’d be here so soon,” he explained brushing himself off, “Wait how did you—“

“You left the door open and I heard very loud groaning so—“ You gesture to him, “—I thought i’d figure out where it was coming from. Oh, and you being demon royalty and all, I don’t think you should just leave your door open like that.”

He could tell you were joking and he was overjoyed that your attention hadn’t fallen to his exposed wings yet, so he played along.

“Actually, i’d argue that’s the very reason I can leave the door open,” he puffed his chest in his attempt to gloat his power.

This backfired when your gaze drifted to his roughly unkept feathers. Embarrased, he drew back.

“Uh, I was just finishing brushing them. They’ll be going away now, bye bye feathers,” he awkwardly laughed and rambled as he turned around him to hide his wings. 

“Wait, if you’re trying to groom them then,” your hands hovered over the wings before retrieving the brush from the table, “I can help with that. I had a friend way back when who—“

“Nononono,” he chirped, scooting back slightly, “I’m supposed to be taking you out and— and I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Lucifer, it’s seriously no trouble. Shit, if anything it’s fun. Let me see,” you gently sit him down and take a seat on the floor behind him. 

Your hands find his feathers and begin combing through the unkept bits Lucifer couldn’t reach himself.

He tried with all of his might to stop his wings from flapping about. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel incredibly soothing having someone else care for his sensitive wings. 

“Oh god,” he sighs, letting his head fall back slightly as you work your way through his feathers. He collected himself seconds later, not wanting to seem weird, “Sorry, it’s just been a while since anyone’s…”

He trailed off so you took pity and finished the sentence for him, “No, it’s okay. It’s cute how flustered you get over shit like this, anyways.”

Your teasing smile makes his shoulders tighten and his head snap back in your direction, “I am not flustered,” he corrected, cheeks reddening, “maybe just discombobulated.”

“Uh huh,” you grin, “Of course, your highness. Are you too good for a little flirting, now?”

“Oh, Lucifer Morningstar is never not ready for a little flirting,” he smirked, trying to hold himself together under your gentle touch.

“Oh yeah? Hit me with your best line.”

“I—“ He struggled, “Uhm. Okay, well maybe I’m a little rusty.”

You rake your fingers through his feathers once more, softening them to the touch, “I’m sorry, I was under the impression that the king of hell had game.”

“I do ‘have game,’ excuse you,” he did air quotes with his hands, “You just put me on the spot. It doesn’t help what you’re doing with my wings, either.” 

His snobbish royalty tone was alarmingly present and he had his arms crossed as he pouted.

It’s true, usually, Lucifer was quite the flirt. If there’s one thing he knew about himself is that he was a hit with the ladies, in his experience, at least.

But maybe it’s because you’re the first person he’s been on a date with since Lilith. Or maybe it’s the way you’re softly raking your fingers through his knotted feathers. Either way, it was making his brain feel fuzzy.

“I’ll believe when I see it, Luci,” you laugh to yourself.

“Oh, i’ll get you good when I catch you off guard, believe me.” Lucifer bragged.

After a moment, the laughter died down as you focused on your work. Every now and then you drew long content sighs from Lucifer. 

Although you seemed happy enough with the silence, Lucifer squirmed uneasily. He felt guilt build up in his stomach.

“So this is some date, huh? Curtesy of the King of Hell, you’re welcome,” he said glumly, picking at a scratch in his marble floor, “Sorry I couldn’t have made this more enjoyable.”

You caught him off guard with a deep, warm-hearted laugh. The kind that made him else feel like he’s  missed a totally obvious joke or reference.

“What’s so funny?” Lucifer asked, clearly perplexed by your response.

“Luci, we’re in literal hell. Compared to everyone else in shit-hole, you’re one of the better people I’ve dated.” You smiled, freshening up a few feathers, “There, done. Good as new.”

Lucifer grabbed a mirror from off the table and examined your work before realizing what was just said.

“Dating?” his spirits rise, hands coming up to his chest before turning to you, “Are we dating?”

The surprise on your face makes him smile cockily. “Catch you off guard, with that one?” he brags.

“In your dreams,” you recover quickly, “And, yeah, I did say that, didn’t I?” You look at his expectant face, he grinned brightly.

“Well, you heard it yourself, pretty boy. It seems like we’re dating now,” you laugh and caress his cheek with your thumb.

Completely dumbly, he giggles and leans in your touch.

“Wow,” he simply says. He rests against your hand for a while longer before you pull him in for a kiss.

It’s gentle and sweet while it lasts, and when you break apart, you pepper kisses on his cheeks and nose.

“Stop it, stop!” he laughs as you come to another finish on his lips. “So, uh, do you still want me to take you out?”

“Actually, where’s your tv in this place? Let’s watch a movie, instead.”

And so you do, cuddled up on the couch together with Lucifer’s newly groomed wings draped over you both. 

He nuzzled into your chest, desperate for human contact after being alone for so long. And oh, he was especially glad he was getting it from you.

a/n — Was listening to sparks by coldplay ON REPEAT while writing this, so that’s why the title is like that <3

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #luc

[wileys-russo]

filling the void (5) II a.putellas x sister!reader

prequel one two three four

warning for just like...a lot of angst? but also, some more steps forward and a little comfort filling the void (5) II a.putellas x sister!reader

"because the last time someone i loved when into hospital, he never came back."

after hearing that alexia's blood ran cold and she stepped away, wanting to give you a little privacy as her ears burned from already having heard too much.

she settled herself on the lounge trying to focus on finding something to watch, pretending like she wasn't fighting every temptation to grab you and pull you into a hug and never ever let go again.

a short while later you returned, alexia glancing at you and trying not to notice the obvious tear tracks on your face as you mumbled something about using the bathroom and darted away.

washing your face you spared no time going through your usual skin care routine, trying to shake the piercing anxiety in the back your head about your mami and her condition.

you padded into your room and with the weather taking an oddly cool turn tonight you rummaged around your wardrobe looking for your favourite hoodie.

you let out a squeal as you tugged at something and suddenly a bag tumbled down onto your head. swearing under your breath you bent down to repack its contents, making a mental note that you needed to donate the old clothes inside you'd had sitting there for far too long.

but it was something entirely unexpected that had your breath catching, having forgotten about it all together since you'd stuffed it into the bag intending to donate it alongside your clothing you'd grown out of.

you sat cross legged on the floor holding it in your hands, staring at it as memories flooded your mind and you were so caught up in them you didn't even hear alexia call out to check you were okay after hearing the thump of the bag falling.

when you didn't respond she came to check on you, her head peering around your doorway and curious hazel eyes softening as they found you. calling out again you didn't hear her, only becoming somewhat aware of your sisters presence as she carefully took a seat beside you, not too close but still enough that you knew she was there.

seeing the turmoil of emotions flashing through your eyes as you stared at it in your hands once again alexia wanted nothing more than to wrap you in a bone crushing hug and never let you go again, determined to protect you from the world and all the pain that came with it.

but the warnings of both her mami and her girlfriend echoed in her mind and she ignored the itching in her hands to reach for you, knowing that especially now more than ever she needed to let you come to her.

her own eyes falling on the object clutched tightly in your hands brought forth an entire sea of unique memories and emotions for your sister, at first taking her back to a time in which you needed her and she needed you just as much if not more.

and when you'd all lost him was a feeling that no amount of time passed would ever make alexia forget.

she'd been stood at his bed with alba by her side, holding his hand and telling him about the match she'd played that afternoon and the goal she'd scored and dedicated to him.

he'd smiled tiredly but barely had the energy to hold his eyes open let alone speak, and neither alexia or alba could stand the silence so they made sure never to allow it to grow, filling every quiet pocket with a new story or comment.

eli was sat in the chair on his other side, hand settled on his head and a watchful eye on a much younger you who was sat on the floor playing with a handful of matchbox cars, the small pieces of metal some of the only reminders you'd have of your papi as you grew older.

he had a friend at work whose wife worked in the factory where they were made, and every now and then he'd come home and gift you with a new one.

growing up a family of three kids meant you weren't always rewarded with the luxury of new toys or new books or new games, all three of you lived in hand me downs or homemade clothes for most of your childhood, not that you minded.

"fresa." eli warned softly as you made a rather loud noise mimicking an engine, smashing one of the cars into the leg of the chair you were sat by and nearly toppling it over, catching her eye and falling quiet.

you were again far too young to understand the truth of what was happening, and as you grew older your family all fell into a silent agreement that perhaps they'd kept you a little too sheltered around what was really going on.

which was why when a large group of family members arrived, visitors having been in and out all day saying their prayers or goodbyes, you looked up in confusion. you frowned as one of your tio's pinched your cheek hello and his wife gave you a weird watery smile.

your confusion grew as the crowd of people around your papi all fussed over him, some of them with tears in their eyes as one of your tia's began to pray, tightly holding your mami's hand.

"hey fresita, lets go for a walk?" you met your eldest sisters eye as she now crouched down beside you, a tired smile on her face as she sensed you were beginning to become overwhelmed at not understanding what was going on.

as you nodded your sister lifted you up and onto her hip, aware you were starting to become a little bigger and heavier but still she would hold and carry you for as long as you let her.

"my cars." you struggled for a moment in her grip as she let you down, kneeling and opening the backpack she'd packed for you when eli couldn't, zipping it up once your cars were safely inside and helping you shrug it on before picking you up again

"alba, venga hermana." alexia softly tapped her younger sisters shoulder who had moved aside to allow older family members to be by the bedside, hugging herself and stood in the corner.

eli caught her eldest daughter eye as she finished her prayer, sending her an appreciative smile before her attention was captured again and alexia left the room, you on her hip and alba tucked into her side.

not a word was said between the three of you as alexia tried to ignore the sad looks tossed your way by the nurses at the ward desk as you passed, knowing all too well which room you'd come from and the inevitable outcome which could happen any day now.

"can we get food?" you finally broke the silence, a small chuckle leaving both your sisters mouths as you all stepped into the elevator. "sí pequeña, we can get food." alexia bounced you as you smiled and nodded.

"mami usually brings snacks when we go out." the seemingly innocent and harmless comment had the air sucked right out of the confined space of the elevator, both of your sisters faces hardening.

"mami is just looking after papi right now fresa. but you will always have me and alba to look after you, vale?" alexia promised firmly, kissing your cheek as you nodded, her smile growing just slightly as you kissed her cheek in return.

"thats why you're my best friend ale." you yawned a little tiredly, head resting on her shoulder as the elevator opened now reaching the ground floor. "hey what about me?" alba protested, moving to your other side and poking at you making you grin and push her hand away.

"alexia is my best friend, you're alexias best friend, and im your best friend." you explained as alba ohh'd with an over enthusiastic nod. "what if you're not my best friend?" she teased with a smile as you frowned unhappily.

"only joking fresita, you might be annoying but you will always be my best friend." alba smiled as you huffed. "you're annoying, and old and grumpy." you stuck your tongue out which she returned.

"yeah? well when you're older and grumpier i promise to be just as annoying as you are and we'll see how you like it!" you squirmed as her fingers tickled your sides and you kicked your legs at her, alexia smiling at the interaction and kissing your head.

placing you down she gave alba some money and sent her off to the canteen to get some food for the three of you, noticing that the moment she put you down you hugged her leg, eyes roaming the hospital nervously.

she couldn't blame you, alexia hated it here and she knew what it meant. for you this was probably much more overwhelming, not understanding anything but easily able to pick up on the chaos of it all.

there were women crying, children yelling, nurses and doctors talking in serious tones with serious faces, machines beeping, weird smells, beds with wheels being pushed around and very tired looking people sleeping on them.

just last week you'd accidentally seen a man be wheeled past whose leg was split wide open down to the bone, eli barely able to cover your eyes in time as he was rushed past and you were quickly handed over to alba who raced you outside for some fresh air as your eyes filled with tears.

so as you clung to her leg and stared around clearly on the brink of distress your sister tugged gently on your collar gaining your attention as you looked up at her and she nodded her head forward, taking your hand and walking.

alexia walked the two of you in the direction of the gift store, scooping you back up onto her hip as she entered and sent the woman at the counter a small smile.

"we gettin something for papi?" you questioned with a small frown as alexia shook her head. "no, for you." she poked at your nose, soft smile growing as your face lit up. "really?" you asked happily as alexia nodded and walked the pair of you around for awhile.

"what about this?" alexia grabbed a small red bear she spied hidden beneath a pile of stuffed animals, balancing you on her hip with one hand as she held it up with the other.

"its red like a strawberry!" you chirped happily in approval making your sister laugh. "you and your strawberries. no wonder we call you fresa, you will one day turn into a strawberry." you giggled as she poked at your stomach but handed you the bear.

"will not!" "will too!" "will not!" "will too."

"what are you gonna name it nena?" alexia questioned once she'd paid for the small bear and placed you back down on your feet, one of your hands securely held in hers as the other hugged your new friend and the two of you headed toward the canteen to find alba.

"red." you stated as alexia gave you a funny look. "you are calling it red?" your sister questioned as you again nodded, giving it a kiss and tucking it under your arm.

"thats a colour though hermanita, don't you want to give it a real name?" alexia asked as you shook your head. "red is a real name! its her name." you were undeterred, spotting alba and trying to run toward her but your sisters grip on your hand prevented so.

"no running please fresa, not here." alexia warned gently as you nodded and hugged red, mumbling an apology as your sister brushed a few stray flyaway hairs out of your face.

"look!" you presented your new friend to your other sister who scooted her chair back, allowing you to climb up and into her lap as alexia sat across from her, a tray of food sat on the table in between them.

"her name is red, ale got her for me." you proudly announced as alba snickered. "red? thats just st-" the girl started, hissing as alexia kicked her under the table and shot her a warning look. "thats very cute fresita." alba looked down at your tiny hopeful face and pinched your cheek, kissing your forehead and encouraging you to eat.

once the three of you finished your food you made your way back toward the room, your new little friend working wonders to brighten your mood as you chattered your sisters ears off, your hand again held tightly in alexias much larger one to stop you running off.

though as you all arrived and alexia heard the sound of eli's sobs, clearly taking a private moment with her husband now she was alone with him, alexia stopped in her tracks as her stomach lurched hearing the foreign noise.

of course everyone had cried the moment he fell sick, even more when despite the best efforts it was deemed terminal and there was no longer anything that could be done, it was just a matter of waiting as the days passed and his condition deteriorated.

knowing that not with bad intentions your chatter and questions would likely make things worse alexia didn't continue forward, exchanging a look with alba as they held a quick silent conversation and nodded in agreement.

"hey i wanna see mami and papi." you frowned as alexia turned and headed back for the elevator, near dragging you with her now as you fought to tug your hand free.

"i wanna show them red! ale stop, let go!" your sister winced at the sob you let out when she didn't do as you asked. instead she pulled you with her and alba back to the elevator, your cries echoing throughout the ward as alba nudged her and as soon as alexia let go you tried to run but alba was faster.

"no! put me down! no no!" you struggled in her grip, your arms pinned to your side as you tried hitting out at her, not understanding why they wouldn't let you go back to the room as instead you were back in the elevator again.

"hey hey fresa, look at me nena por favor." your body heaved as you sniffled and choked back a sob, alexia cradling your face in her heads which had gone bright red. "breathe hermana, in and out." she cooed softly as you hiccuped and shook your head.

"i wanna see mami!" you choked out, alba rubbing gently at your back. "mami needs some adult time with papi, you can see her later promesa." alexia promised, swiping at the tears which leaked from the corners of your eyes.

"now." you huffed stubbornly as alexia shook her head. "no fresa, later. there is a garden here, do you want to go see it?" you hesitated at that, albas hand still rubbing at your back as you slowly nodded.

"okay. now can you breathe please hermanita? in and out." again your sister demonstrated as you copied, yours a little shakier as by the time you all exited the elevator you'd calmed yourself down a little with her help.

the three of you walked in silence out to the small courtyard garden in the middle of the hospital, alba putting you down as her and alexia sat down at a bench and you wandered off with red still in their sights.

a sniffle broke the silence which still grew between them, alexia glancing to her side to see her younger sister wiping at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, head turned away from her.

"ven aquí hermana." alexia spoke softly, lifting her arm and pulling the younger girl into a tight hug, her head resting on alexia's shoulder as the sniffles continued, the eldest putellas fighting back tears of her own knowing now she needed to be strong.

alba hurried to try and hide her tears as you returned but you'd already seen them, frowning up at her as she tried to smile. "you sad?" you asked your sister as alexia lifted you up to stand on the bench in between them.

"a little, estoy bien." alba assured with another sniffle, taken a little off guard as you launched at her, wrapping your arms tightly around her neck. "its okay to be sad al." you patted her back making both girls smile.

you had always been an affection person especially when you were younger, your entire family quite affectionate it was no surprise but it was during this time that your hugs meant that little bit more even if you were too young to realise why.

"gracias fresita, te quiero." alba whispered, more tears welling up at the gesture as you hugged her tightly, red clutched in one hand. alexia watched on with a fond smile, still swallowing her own emotions and pushing them down for the sake of her sisters.

she was the eldest, it was her job to look after the two of you and make sure you were okay first, her needs came second and she was fine with that if it meant you and alba were as okay as you could be and knew that she would be there for both of you anytime and anyway needed.

but that didn't mean that you both didn't pick up on her needs every now and then too. which is exactly why when you deemed alba was okay your small form latched onto alexia next, arms slung around her neck as she squeezed you.

"estoy bien pequeña." alexia assured as you let go, your sister moving you to stand on her knees as your hands grabbed at her shoulders to steady yourself. "everyone needs a hug sometimes and you said mine are the best." you reminded making both girls chuckle.

"i did say that didn't i? and they are the very best fresa, the very very best."

your papi passed away in his sleep that night, and it was more than assured to say that your hugs were in high high demand.

"red." you finally spoke, still looking down at the bear in your hands as alexia hummed, meeting your eyes and sending you a small smile before your gaze dropped again.

a soft smile curled into your own features as your finger traced over the faded red bear, tugging gently at the small sweater which it wore that of course had a strawberry right in the centre. "i remember when abuela knitted that." alexia spoke up again nodding to the item of clothing.

"mami had to hand wash it because i kept trying to feed red strawberries and got it all dirty." you puffed air from your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you could manage now still swamped beneath the symphony of memories, thoughts and feelings washing down over you.

"abuela gave it to me at papi's funeral." you remembered, thumb rubbing small circles against a particularly faded patch of fur, just as you used to do whenever you were nervous about something and much much younger, always having red with you through it all.

another bout of silence fell between you two until eventually alexia decided to test the waters.

"can i ask you something hermana?" your sister asked gently as you nodded, still focused down on the bear in your hands not having paid it a single thought for a long time now, the moment you started to feel your sisters pulling away had red shoved out of sight as well, a little too painful in a different way all together than you had felt before.

"is it because of him that you don't want to go and see mami in hospital?" alexia didn't even need to specify who as your stomach clenched uncomfortably and the anxiety returned, your chest tightening a little.

you took a moment and for a second alexia feared she'd crossed a line, readying an apology but you nodded before she could say another word, a cocktail of both sadness and relief flooding her body.

"but i don-" you looked up and started as your sister shook her head, tentatively reaching a hand out to rest it on your shoulder, again relieved when you made no move to push it off.

"we do not need to talk about it now if you don't want to. but i meant what i said, you will always have me to look after you hermana. i have not been very good at showing that lately and i do not know how else to say sorry with words-" her hand moved slowly to rest on your cheek and again you made no move to push her away.

"-but i have to let my actions show it now. and i love you fresa, very much. mami will be okay, but i promise you that you would never ever be alone." you could only give a stiff nod at her words, your sister sensing you were slightly overwhelmed and removing her hand, slowly getting up to her feet.

"buenas noches hermana, i am just down the hall if you need anything." alexia promised softly as again you nodded, sending her a tiny smile but even that was reward enough for alexia as she left you and headed for her childhood room.

as everything crashed down on you your body plunged into exhaustion, forcing yourself up and kicking aside the bag of clothes, tiredly rubbing your eyes and closing your bedroom door with a soft click.

nobody would know but you, but as you slipped into bed and flicked off your lamp, red was clutched tightly in your hands as your eyes slammed shut and you fell into a dreamless sleep.

alexia on the other hand was wide awake, wandering around her childhood room which felt like a time capsule, hardly changed since the day she moved out.

rummaging through her wardrobe she froze seeing a faded nike box pushed up against the back, hidden behind a stack of old textbooks which she quickly moved out of the way, coughing slightly as she blew off the thin layer of dust which coated the top.

taking a seat on her bed she placed the box down in front of her, gingerly opening the top and her body going limp as it was confirmed the contents were indeed what she thought they might be.

before she had time to rifle through and look at anything her phone rang and she jumped in surprise, her girlfriends contact name and number flashing across the screen as alexia clicked answer.

"hola mi amor." the older girl greeted which was returned, the two catching up about their days as olga pretended not to notice that part of alexia asking so many questions about her girlfriends day was to avoid speaking much about hers.

though with some gentle prompting she opened up a little, olga listening attentively as she did. "red is an adorable name." olga chuckled in an attempt to ease the obvious emotional discourse the blonde was feeling after she'd explained the backstory to the small bear.

"its a colour, not a name mi vida." "you could argue that fresa is a fruit, not a name amor." olga countered, stunning alexia into silence for a moment. "see? you cannot disagree." her girlfriend laughed as alexia sighed but agreed none the less.

"then i found a box in my wardrobe, i forgot it was there but i tore my room apart when i moved trying to find it to take with me and i thought someone had thrown it away." alexia admitted as olga hummed.

"its my fresa box." the blonde murmured quietly, switching her girlfriend to facetime and propping her phone up on the nightstand and moving around a little.

"your fresa box?" olga encouraged her to elaborate but gently, not wanting to push her as she could clearly see the pain masked in her lovers eyes, her poker face unreadable to most but olga could always see right through it.

"sí. it has notes, drawings, holiday cards, pictures, all things she gave and made me when she was little." a fond smile curled into alexia's features as she carefully rifled through the box, holding things up to show her girlfriend whose own face was filled with joy at the sight.

"fresa wrote all of that?" olga asked with raised eyebrows and a grin as alexia finished reading out an essay you'd had to write in school about your hero, and you'd chosen alexia.

"oh mi amor." olgas tone softened seeing the singular tear escaped the corner of her lovers eye, quickly wiped away as alexia cleared her throat. "hey, ale. don't do that, you don't need to run away from your feelings with me." olga promised as alexia attempted to change subject.

"i just-" alexia tried to speak but could only shake her head, no words coming out despite just how much she had to say. "you miss her cariño, sí?" olga echoed softly as alexia nodded.

"and this is probably how she has felt if not worse when she thought alba and i did not care about her anymore. i made her feel like this! my fresa." alexia managed out, eyes squeezed shut as she inhaled shakily, her girlfriend encouraging her to breathe slowly while still assuring it was okay for her to feel this way, it was okay for her to cry.

"she loves you alexia, she always will. you know how you made her feel which is why you will not let it happen again, and you have the rest of your life to prove that to her amor." olga promised sincerely as alexia nodded, wiping quickly at the corner of her eye with the collar of her shirt.

"i remember this." alexia was even faster to change topics, grabbing out a drawing as her girlfriend watched three or four different emotions flicker through her hazel eyes before she turned the page.

"your tattoo." olga smiled in recognition as alexia nodded, the drawing in question one you'd done for her not long after juame had passed and you'd returned to school, still not quite understanding that he wouldn't be coming home again.

alexia's head was covered with a hood, ignoring the pitying looks of the parents around her who had obviously heard what happened, hoping the scowl on her face would ward off any attempts at talking to her.

though it melted the moment she locked eyes with you, unable to resist smiling at the way your eyes lit up and you sprinted toward her, seemingly never any less excited to see her despite the fact she picked you up from school practically every day.

"catch me!" alexia bent down and scooped you up as you dropped your backpack and leapt at her, but she didn't spin you around like normal and gently pushed away your hand when you tried to pull her hood down to see her properly.

"you're not going to football?" you asked a little confused as why your sister wasn't dressed for training like normal and she shook her head wordlessly, grabbing your backpack in her free hand and quickly leaving before anyone had the chance to try and talk to her.

though apparently she wasn't fast enough as someone called out her name and she sighed recognizing your teacher waving her down as she lingered at the school gates and contemplated for a moment just making a run for it.

"stay here please fresa." you were placed back down on your feet and the oddly serious tone of your sisters voice had you rooted in place as alexia stepped away for a moment to speak with your teacher.

"lo siento for the bother alexia, i was going to call your mami but i am sure there is a lot going on at home." the woman started gently as alexia gave a tight lipped smile and crossed her arms across her chest, keeping one eye on you over the womans shoulder as one of your classmates had wandered over to chat with you.

"look i just-your hermana drew something in class today, a picture of your family." the woman started as alexia's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "she draws every day." her reply was sharp, clearly thinking this was a waste of time.

"no no lo siento, a picture of all your family. i complimented her on it and she said it was all of you in heaven visiting your papi, and that she really hoped you would all be able to go there to see him there soon." the womans words were much softer now and concern was clear in her eyes for what the younger girls reaction would be who stayed silent.

"i didn't want to overstep by correcting her. but alexia, if you or your familia need anything, please know i am here." the woman promised as alexia swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded, mumbling out a quiet gracias and turning quickly to head back toward you.

"venga fresa." your sister held her hand out which you grabbed, waving goodbye to your friends as the two of you left the school, alexia stuck in her thoughts and only half listening as you started to chatter on about your day as you always would.

"ale." she came to at a tug on her sleeve, looking down at you. "lo siento nena, what did you need?" she stopped walking and bent down to your height with a tired smile which didn't reach her eyes as you pointed to your backpack.

presenting it to you you unzipped it, shoving your arm in and feeling around with a frown before pulling out an apple as alexia made a face. "fresa i packed this for you on monday!" she cringed plucking it from your hand and glancing around before tossing it into a bush.

"i drew this for you." you finally found what you were looking for, offering her a piece of paper. swallowing hard alexia's eyes roamed the artwork and a lump formed in her throat as your teachers words came to fruition.

"its you and me and alba and mami and papi in heaven! you were sad this morning so i drew it for you. maybe we can go see papi in heaven today? i did a drawing for him too." your little face was filled with such innocence and hope it crushed alexia's heart like someone ran over her with a truck as she wanted to throw up.

"no lo siento fresa, we can't go see papi in heaven. but lets go for a walk in the park pequeña, i think we need to have a big girl talk."

"you had to explain heaven to her?" olga asked in disbelief as alexia sighed with a small shrug.

"someone had to. we all agreed as she got older we should have done more when he was sick to explain what was happening but...she was just so little, so happy, so innocent." alexia breathed out with a pained wince.

"she went out of her way even if she didn't understand why everyone was sad to try and cheer us up, i needed her and alba just as much as they needed me. mami was...she was grieving amor. she did her best but there was slack and i picked it up, i had to be there for them." alexia forced out a small smile as olga's face softened.

"but mi corazón, who was there for you?" the girl asked softly as alexia sighed again, fingers instinctively tucking under her shirt to trace the tattoo on her ribs.

the five of you in stick figure form holding hands, your drawing for your sister which was now and would always be with alexia inked to her skin, forever.

~

your day hadn't started as you'd hoped.

when you woke up your sleep last night had been anything but restful, waking up multiple times throughout the night as your chest tightened with anxiety the back of your eyes ached with exhaustion.

you'd quickly called in sick to work, a small smile on your face as your boss had joked he was almost going to cancel your shift if you didn't slow down to look after yourself before promising you'd be able to take all the time you needed.

word spread quickly through the clinic as texts of support poured in from your friends and coworkers, all encouraging you reach out should you need anything which you were very grateful for.

when your door was still closed two hours after you were supposed to have left for work alexias own body relaxed a little, relieved you were finally taking a day for yourself and stepping outside onto the balcony to have a coffee and make a few phone calls.

your sister was surprised that when she returned you were awake, your back to her as you made a coffee of your own. though soon as it was done with a tired smile you headed back to your own room again.

alexia gave you your own space until lunch time, knocking at your door as you responded and she pushed it open.

"do you want to go get sushi for lunch?" your sister questioned, knowing you hadn't eaten all day she already had back ups in mind if you declined but to her shock you gave her a nod, asking for some time to shower and change.

you didn't say a word the entire car ride clearly lost in your own head, barely batting an eyelash as alexia pulled up in front of alba's house and your sister joined you in the car, sharing a look with alexia who subtly shook her head, the radio filling the silence of the journey.

but as you turned down a familiar road you seemed to come more to attention, pulling your head off the window and frowning, a small scoff leaving your mouth as alexia pulled into the hospital parking complex.

"funny looking sushi restaurant." you muttered sinking into your seat once alexia found a park. "i can't believe you lied to me." you shook your head angrily at the deception.

"i didn't. we will get sushi hermana, just after you see mami." alexia decreed as you shook your head again and crossed your arms. "im not getting out of the car." you refused stubbornly as alexia sighed.

"you will." "i won't." "you will." "i won't." "you will." "i won't."

"this is ridiculous. fresa, get out of the car!" alba intervened as you glanced to the back seat and shot her a filthy look which didn't deter her.

"alba." alexia gave her a look of her own as she backed down and got out of the car herself, closing the door and leaving you with your eldest sister.

"she's awake."

your head snapped sideways to look at her with a frown. "you're lying." you decided as alexia shook her head. "no, the hospital called me this morning. but i wanted to give you a little time to yourself first before we came, but she is awake and stable fresa, i promise." alexia assured softly as you wrenched your eyes away.

"she's not going anywhere hermanita, but we shouldn't keep her waiting, she's still very tired." alexia added on, reaching over to gently squeeze your knee before she opened her door.

you watched for a few minutes as your sisters spoke with one another, clearly about you as they glanced back to the car every few seconds with a shake or a nod, likely planning to drag you from the car themselves if you refused much longer.

so with an exhausted exhale you unbuckled yourself, hauling ass out of the car and closing the door, wordlessly following after your sisters toward the hospital.

the closer you got the more your stomach twisted and clearly your apprehension was written across your face as your sisters slowed just slightly to fall into step with you, now both stood protectively either side of your shorter form.

"can i go by myself?" you asked quietly as you all signed in and arrived to the coronary ward, glancing past them both to eli's room as they shared a look. "sure hermana, we'll be right out here if you need anything." alba promised as you nodded and they stepped aside, your legs feeling like jelly the closer you got to her room as they hung back watching you go.

it was as if you were a balloon and someone stuck a pin in you the moment you entered her room and caught her eye, deflating entirely and crumpling as you dragged yourself to her bed side.

"mami." you managed to whisper out, dropping into the chair by her side as she smiled tiredly and reached for you, your face buried into her shoulder as her hands cradled your head.

"mi hija pequeña." she spoke, her voice flooding your body with relief as tears welled up and you hugged her tightly, though still very carefully as you were more than away of the amount of wires which protruded from her skin.

"you're okay." you whispered again as you pulled back and wiped your eyes, eli smiling with a nod. "i am okay. not going anywhere hija, takes more than that to kill me." you knew it was a joke but you frowned, the older woman apologizing and pushing a loose strand of hair out of your eyes.

"i was so scared mami. you just...you collapsed, you weren't breathing, i didn't know what to do or how to help." your voice broke as you forced back the tears which were clawing their way up.

"but you did help fresita, you did everything right. but i am so sorry for scaring you mi hija, lo siento mucho." eli apologised, voice full of remorse as you shook your head dismissing it.

"no. i am just glad you're okay mami." you promised, taking her outstretched hand, your intertwined fingers resting on her mattress. at her request you filled her in on everything that had been going on the last few days, not leaving out many details as you never did, always the most honest with the woman you trusted more than anyone.

"oh nena i am not going anywhere, i promise." the womans own eyes near filled with tears as you managed to force out the story of finding red and all the turmoil of memories which had surfaced being back at the hospital all those years ago.

"mi fresa. i need to tell you some things, about some of my regrets in life." eli spoke softly, giving your hand a squeeze as you frowned in confusion but nodded for her to continue.

"even before your papi was sick i worked a lot, so did he. we needed the money so i took up night work, so did he. it meant i relied on your hermana's to look after each other but mostly after you, you were still so young and...well to look after someone that age can be a lot." eli started gently as you nodded for her to go on.

"then when your papi was sick i relied on them more, alexia especially. your hermana did for you things i should have done for you as your mami, she shouldered the responsibilities of a parent when she was barely a teenager and that was not fair on her fresa, i was not fair to put her in that position." eli paused to cough as you hurried to help her sit up a little more and grab her a glass of water which she sipped at and placed back down.

"when your papi passed i was grieving heavily, we all were. but again, alexia had responsibilities on her shoulders that were far too heavy, far too much for a teenager and a daughter herself. she took on not only her grief but also mine, and alba's, and yours, she stepped in when i pulled back. your hermana pushed her grief down and bottled up her feelings to care for everyone elses, she has always done so." eli explained again squeezing your hand.

"in a way i stole part of alexia's youth with how much responsibility was put on her, i never ever meant to, and i do not blame anyone but myself for not noticing sooner. it is something i have to learn to live with, and that your sister will never understand, to her its just...how it was, how she needed to be." eli continued as you stayed silent letting her speak.

"but fresa, alexia loves you more than anyone in the entire world, she has from the very second you were born. you were a gift to this family and alexia has always maybe looked at you as a little more than her hermana. i am not excusing how your sisters made you feel mi fresita, but if you hear them out you might find they did not mean to make you feel that way." eli seemed to finish with that as you could only nod, choking back tears and afraid if you attempted to speak that dam would break all together.

"so promise me you will hear them out." you again nodded at that, eli raising your adjoined hands to her mouth and softly kissing your hand before you leaned in to hug her again, head resting against her chest and closing your eyes, memorizing the sound of her heartbeat as her hand ran through your hair.

"te quiero hija mia."

~

promising to be back tomorrow and to send your sisters in next you'd quickly darted off to the bathroom to rinse your face and take a moment to yourself, overwhelmed with emotion as you bit down on your shirt to stop your sobs being audible.

after a few minutes you'd calmed enough to regulate your breathing, rinsing your face again and exhaling, wincing at your reflection but leaving the ward bathroom.

you found alba sat where you'd left her, alexia nowhere to be seen.

"i think she went to call olga." alba shrugged as you questioned her whereabouts, checking you were okay as you nodded and she hurried off to see eli, all of you having been warned by the doctor that having just woken up she would obviously be exhausted and likely need to rest soon.

you waited around for awhile but when alexia didn't return you decided to look for her, eventually seeing the back of her tall figure at the end of the hallway where there was a small kitchenette with tea and coffee for visistors, nobody else around.

though as you grew closer you soon realised why your sister had made sure that was the case, hearing the tears in her voice as she held the phone to her ear.

"-and sí i know mami is okay now but its just bringing back all of the memories from before and i was so worried that she would not wake up and-" feeling eyes on her back you shrunk as alexia's head whipped around and spotted you.

quickly murmuring something and hanging up the phone she furiously wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat, trying to cover up the fact she'd been crying as she sent you a forced smile.

"how was-" alexia didn't get another word out before you'd closed the gap between the two of you and your body barreled into hers, your arms wrapping around her in a tight hug as your sister almost fell over not having expected this in a million years.

it took a moment for her to register what was happening before her arms wrapped around you in turn, your face pressed into her shoulder as the two of you just held one another in silence, both needing it just as much as the other did.

"i love you alexia."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i am far too exhausted to proof read this so please be kind toward any typos or grammar errors my friends

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part One

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, Johnny is a flirt, Simon is a basketcase. You meet your new patient, and his ghost.

“Johnny.”

He blinks. 

There’s so much noise now, an overload of sensation ringing between his ears. Ripping and tearing, shouting, booming. The night lights with blue and green explosions, whistles of rockets singing through the sky. 

He blinks again. 

“Johnny, stay with me.” Simon’s calling to him, hands firm against his belly. “Eyes open, Sergeant.” There’s fear there, terror drenching each syllable. White-hot, mind-numbing pain radiates from where a palm presses against his wound, gaping hole torn through his stomach, river of blood spilling from his body. Pint by pint flows freely from him to the dirt. 

He’s never seen Simon like this before, the whites of his eye gleam like bone. Terrified. Frantic. 

It must be bad. He must be dying.

As he blinks, Simon slowly disappears, morphing into someone else, eyes and nose molding into another’s, Price’s face taking the place of his partner’s without preamble. Fire douses the air, red and purple explosions dancing above his head like a halo. Angelic light, falling from heaven to earth, just to take him away.  Fire and blood. Fitting end for a Catholic, he supposes.  Gaz yells something into a radio. A fruitless effort. 

“Si.” He tries to reach, tries to pull him close, but his arm is dead weight, along with the rest of him. “Ah love ye. Tell- tell her, Ah love-” 

“Stop.” The word is barked over another ricochet. “Lay still. You’ll tell him yourself.” 

“Simon.”

“No, Johnny. You don’t get to say goodbye. Not yet.” 

Hospitals are dreadful places.

For most people, hospitals hold the memories of the worst moments in their lives, loss of loved ones, loss of self, painful injuries, frightening medical procedures, or mistreatment by medical professionals. The sanitized, whitewashed walls and off-white linoleum even have a certain scent, a smell that people associate with fear, discomfort, pain. It's globally accepted that hospitals are not well liked. They're not popular or particularly enjoyable. No one wants to go to the hospital.

But to you, the hospital is everything.

It’s where you spend a large amount of your time awake, willingly choosing to be here over anywhere else. Picking up odd shifts on different units, offering to cover for coworkers, staying late or coming in early whenever it's needed. It's your place. Your only place. It's where you make connections, where you're good at something, where you can be seen but never noticed. It’s what you dedicate your life, your time to. It’s what you cling to. It’s where you find your own peace, your own solace. Where you can let go of everything at home and focus on what you’re good at, caring about your coworkers, honing your skills, taking care of your patients. It’s yours. A place where you’re sheltered, where you can be yourself and not have to look over your shoulder, or keep your voice down, or mince your words. Somewhere you know what to expect, where you can predict, most days, the outcome of most things. Where you can feel in control. Its consistent, solid. It’s your safety. Your sanctuary. Nothing can hurt you here.

It's everything to you.

The elevator dings, announcing its arrival, and you curl your hands around your coffee out of habit, warming your palms.

“Good morning?” The friendly face inside greets you, nodding towards your tall mug, steam wafting from the top, hot and fresh from the café. They're a rad tech, you're pretty sure. Day shift. Parker, maybe?  The elevator is always the same. Hellos, goodbyes, floor to floor. No one bemoans their outcomes or tallies their losses here. No one celebrates their successes or accomplishments either. It stays void, unfeeling, unknowing, except for the comings and goings. 

“Hey, yeah. Good morning. Good night?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” They agree, and you bounce on your toes, stretching the front of your new sneakers, trying to get the bridge across the tops of your feet to loosen a little.

“Have a good rest of your day.” You give them a smile, and then hop off, ready to start your morning, as most of this side of the hemisphere gets ready for bed.

“You too.”

“And room two sixty-eight is stable, sedated, for now, but he bottomed out less than hour ago, so keep a close eye. I haven’t had a chance to orient him either, so give it a go, if you can.” Mal taps her passcode into the tablet with one eye closed, spine slowly relaxing downward with exhaustion. “Thank you again. For covering. I wasn’t about to be stuck on another long swing because Alexis decided not to grace us with her presence.” She rolls her eyes, and you incline your head in response, shrugging her off. Mal saved your ass six ways to Sunday when you were a new nurse here, and you’d do just about anything for her, and coming in when your coworker decides she wants to be a slag doesn't even count, considering you prefer to be here anyway. 

Shift change bustles down and up the floor, night shift coming on, days and others leaving. You make polite small talk with everyone, since you don’t know them as well. It’s their Friday. Tomorrow is your Monday; you’re just picking up. Everyone is thrilled to have you though, including the charge nurse, and you allow yourself to sink into the ups and downs of their conversation, back and forth about weekend plans, their kids, their relationships, their issues. 

In a group like this, you're seen. Not noticed. 

Just the way you like it. 

“Oh!” Mal calls out, breezing by the pit with her bag slung over her shoulder, watered down iced coffee in her grip.

“Go home.” You chide, and she sucks in a breath before opening her mouth again.

“I am, but one last thing-“

“Malaya. I got it.”

“I know, I know but this isn’t in the chart. Two sixty-eight, he’s military. There are three others here with him, two kind lurking in the hallway, and his partner is in his room, refusing to go home. He’s…weird. Got special permissions to bypass visiting hours.” She raises an eyebrow. “But they’re all quite fit. Caused a bit of a… stir.” Great. The last thing you needed in the ICU is a stir of any kind. You needed it calm. Peaceful.

“Okay, got it. Thanks. Now shoo.”

You check your email, skimming with speed, skipping over anything HR related, starring skills updates to look back at later, and casually replying to a request for a float to the PACU another day this week- Hi! I’d love to pick up a few hours if I can arrange it. What time are you needing? Before moving onto checks for your patients (too many, if anyone asked your opinion- which they wouldn’t, because why would administration want to ask a nurse their opinion on anything, right?) ensuring that everyone is in good shape, stable, relaxed, resting, or even better, fully sedated. Two of your patients are on vents, and you check in with the RT on shift before heading down the hall to your last, first stop of the day.

Two sixty-eight.

Two men are slumped over and asleep in the hallway chairs outside the room, arms folded, thighs spread wide, chins tucked to chest. One of them younger, probably closer to your age, chiseled jawline akin to Adonis, the type of rich beauty that would make anyone do a double take, and an older, albeit not by much, muscled, broad chested man with a distinguished moustache curling above his lip, eyes hidden beneath the rim of a hat.

These must be the guys causing the stir.

You stop outside the slider of two sixty-eight, drawing a deep breath before knocking and then pulling the slider, fogged glass parting to reveal your patient asleep, sedated, in the bed, and his partner, a hulking mass who sits at attention by his side. He’s broad, clad in black sweats, heavy arms and straight back showcasing his size- massive. The sweatshirt hides definition but judging by the appearance of the two in the hallway and your patient, you’d guess this guy was just as fit. He looks uncomfortable, body too big for the chair, brow creased with worry overtop the black cloth mask that covers his nose and mouth.

There’s something, in his eyes. Something devastated. Something you’ve seen before, in people who sit vigil like this, preparing for the worst, praying for the best, and something else, something that you recognize, but rarely see inside these walls. Something dark and severe, foreboding, even with part of a handsome face peeking out over the mask. 

He's already half lost to his grief.

He could be a ghost.

“Hi.” You whisper your name with a small smile and point to your identification tag. “I’m the overnight nurse.” You imbue the words with sweetness, kindness, but he doesn’t respond, just traces you from head to toe and gives a perfunctory nod. It’s not abnormal for a patient’s loved ones to be less than warm, especially to the graves nurse, the one who ends up interrupting their sleep at odd hours of the night, the one who’s usually here when the worst happens. You never take it personally. You’ve sat in that chair before. You’ve known the pain of this heartache, the way their hearts are cleaving in two, one half desperate to stay beating, the other begging to be lowered in a grave alongside their loved one.

You give the silent man an opportunity to speak when you step up to your patient’s monitor, and then motion to the man in the bed.

“This is John? Mr. MacTavish?”

John MacTavish. 

You’ve already read his chart back to front, memorizing his labs, his last vitals check, going over the scope of his procedure from this afternoon, and the tentative plan for the morning.

He’s a mess. Collapsed lung, hemothorax. Broken ribs, internal bleeding. Perforated liver. Broken wrist. Lacerations all over his body. Third degree burn on the entirety of his lower right quadrant. Shattered femur. Fractured hip. Triaged and treated in the field with less than stellar medical care. Came off the medevac and went right into surgery that lasted nearly ten hours long.  

Lucky to be alive. 

“Johnny.” He corrects, his Manchester accent sharp, rough. You type it into the chart, making a note that Johnny is the preferred name, over John, and duck down to check the bag that’s attached to his foley catheter. The man across from you tenses but doesn’t say anything, tracking your every movement like he’s nervous you might harm your patient.

“I’m just going to check this dressing. I would prefer not to wake him, so I’ll be as gentle as I can, okay?” You explain, motioning to the wrapped portion of his body. He doesn’t respond, just sits still as stone as your fingers nimbly move his gown to survey the would and it's dressing before putting everything back in place. You’re quick once you’re satisfied that it looks okay, tucking the blanket back in around him, careful not to jostle where his leg is immobilized, wrapped in gauze and elevated. “I know this has probably been a very frightening and difficult time for you.” You tell the man in the chair with a whisper. “If you need anything, have any questions, concerns, I’m here. For both of you. I’ll be here at least four, five nights a week as long as he’s on this floor, so we’ll get to know one another.” When he still doesn’t say anything, you try to fight the awkward feeling that’s vibrating up your spine. Okay, he clearly doesn’t want to talk to you. That’s fine. 

Your patient groans. His partner startles, body jolting, and then he’s on his feet, leaning over the bed, eyes searching, anticipating. He looks so… unsure. Worry etches across his face as he waits, and his hand hovers without purpose above the bed, flailing in the air like he doesn’t know what to do.

You stand back for a moment. Your patient, Johnny, will mostly likely be lucid for the first time in who knows how long, and you’d like a chance to orient him, let him realize his partner is here with him, tell him he’s going back in for surgery in the morning, before giving him some more pain medication.

The monitor beeps, signaling an increase in his heart rate, respiration, spiraling upwards until-

“Johnny?” The question is hopeful, nervous, and your patient grunts, tongue darting out to lick his lips before they crack open.

“Simon.” The name is a whisper, heavy with relief, and you make a mental note. Johnny and Simon. Room two-sixty-eight. “Whit happened?”

“You’re in the hospital.” Simon explains, anxiously glancing at you. “Can I… can I touch him?”

“Of course. Carefully.” He lowers his face to Johnny’s so slowly, so gently your heart skip a beat, tapping their foreheads together cautiously.

"Yer here." Johnny whispers, the fingers in his good hand barely lifting, reaching out to try to touch Simon, even though his body won't cooperate. "Thought Ah dreamed ye." You can see it, the heavy burden of love that lays between them, the thing that's brought them to this point, the thing that shines in Johnny's eyes as he tries to drink in the frame of Simon's face, tracing his features over and over, painting a picture to take with him... wherever he goes. 

What is it like, to be loved like that? To be known like that? To be held in someone's heart, cherished and protected? 

You had no idea, but these two did. Just one look, and you knew these two had something people all over the world would kill for. 

“I'm here. I'm right here." Something wet and desperate is caught in Simon's throat, and Johnny’s lips tug into a weak smile before it fades away with a grimace, his partner straightening with a wide hand tight on the bed railing, knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip. 

“Hi.” You tell Johnny your name quickly, eager to get the less important stuff out of the way and start working towards getting him some relief. “I’m your overnight nurse. How’s your pain?” He frowns in consideration before groaning.

“’s alright.”

“Don’t be brave.” Simon says, and you nod in agreement.

“I’d like to get you some relief now so you can sleep, if we can.” Pain management can be a delicate conversation with patients, and you never truly know how they’re going to respond until you get to this point for the first time. You smile down at him, and he gives you one back, sleepy and sweet, bright blue eyes peeking out beneath drooping lids.

“Bad.” He croaks, and Simon glances at you in expectation. You nod to reassure him, reassure them both.

“Alright. Let’s get you something, yeah?” You log his vitals with a few taps on the tablet. The order’s already in the chart, and you ready the dosage, turning your back to give them some privacy.

“Where’s-“

“At the Price’s.” Simon murmurs, voice low, it’s deep rumble vibrating around the room.

“Ach.” Johnny groans something out, but it’s lost to his discomfort, and you wince in sympathy, wiping the hub of his port with an alcohol swab.

“Okay. So, this should go a long way with your pain.” you tell him, disconnecting his line to replace it with the flush. Simon tenses, again, practically flinching in the chair when you approach Johnny with the first syringe of saline. His eyes crease in concentration, watching your fingers, trying to keep up with your movements. “I’m flushing the line.” You explain gently. “Then I’ll push the medication, like this,” You’re quick with your hands, swapping the syringes and then slowing down to administer the medication at the correct push rate. Simon visibly relaxes, only a fraction, after the explanation, and once you’re done, you attach a new flush. “It’s saline. Compatible with the body, we use it to make sure that all the medication is moved through the tube.” He’s focused on your movements, and you reattach the fluids line before patting Johnny’s shoulder softly. “There, all done. He should be feeling much better here in a moment or two.”

“Cheers, bonnie.” Johnny slurs, and you huff a laugh.

“I’ll be back in a half hour for a vitals check, and then after than I’ll leave you be for a while. You do have another surgery scheduled for tomorrow morning, early-“ you glance at Simon, hoping that someone came by to already talk to him, and he nods. “So, I’ll see you before then too. I’m always a click away, if you need something.” You point to the button on the side of the bed. “If either of you need anything, I’m here. Okay?”

“Whit surgery?” Johnny grunts. Simon’s jaw flexes behind the mask, but he hesitates. It’s long enough that Johnny tries to rouse himself, and you rush to answer, to settle him.

“You have a broken hip, and your femur is shattered.” Nothing like ripping the band aid off. “Orthopedics will come by in the morning to talk about the plan, but they have to go back in to continue to work on the repair.” You don’t mention that his leg is still partially open, packed for reentry in six hours, that the damage to his lung and liver took priority when he came in, and by the end of that, the swelling in his leg was too severe to continue. You’re not the doctor, so it’s not your job to advise your patient or his family of his prognosis, really. You need to keep him calm, comfortable. Alive. Advocate for him, for both of them. That’s the job. Simon can tell him what he wishes, when he’s lucid.

Johnny’s lashes flutter, and he mumbles something, fingers curling in Simon’s grip. You take your cue, checking your watch. “I’ll let you get some rest.” You enter a quick vitals check, and then turn to leave.

“Thank you.” Simon murmurs to your back, and you pause half step, head turned over your shoulder.

“Of course.”

Six hours later, you’re slipping back into the room to say good morning to a groggy, but still somewhat alert patient.

“Good morning.” You whisper, and then frown a little at where Simon is still sitting in the same spot, upright with heavy eyelids and mussed hair peeking out from the black hood. He looks like he hasn’t slept for a single moment, blue black circles shining under his eyes, stiff and uncomfortable in the too small chair.

 Maybe we could get a recliner in here. 

A big recliner. 

“How’re we feeling this morning?”

“Alright.” Johnny grumbles.

“He’s in pain.” Simon snaps at you abruptly, insistent, and irritated, and your muscles tense instinctively before you forcibly relax them, un-bunching your shoulders from beneath your ears.

Deep breath. 

Simon’s head cocks, just slightly, and then his attention is back on Johnny, two hands cradling one another, fingers intertwined like they’re afraid to let go.

“Okay, let’s see if I can get you a little bit of medication.” You pull out your phone, flicking open your work app to message his doctor. “They’ll probably order a small dosage of dilaudid, have you ever had that before?”

“Na.”

“Might make you a bit loopy. I’ll have them give it to you when you get upstairs.” You glance at Simon. “Did you get down to the café, grab something for breakfast?” He shakes his head no, and you briefly considering encouraging him before realizing it will probably go over like a lead balloon. You smile at Johnny instead. “Your partner tells me you prefer to go by Johnny?”

“Does he?” He blinks, blue eyes alight behind sleepy lids, looking over to Simon like he’s caught a kid in a cookie jar. “Aye, ah jalouse ye kin ca' me Johnny, bonnie.”

“English, MacTavish.” Simon murmurs, stroking a soft semi-circle into his arm with his thumb.

“Ye can call me Johnny, pretty girl.” He speaks slowly, dragging his consonants and vowels until he gets to the last two words, an impish smile twisting his lips.

Pretty girl.

It’s suddenly incredibly warm in this room.

You roll your eyes on instinct as you’ve trained yourself to do whenever a patient lobs a compliment or a flirtatious quip at you, but it’s usually only ever old men. Or women.

Not beautiful, sculpted Scotsmen with sleepy smiles, stunning blue eyes, and mysteriously handsome, brooding partners.

You clear your throat, self-conscious, and startle just a bit when you hear the door opening, OR team sidling through to bring him upstairs.

“Alright, well. This team will take great care of you, and I’ll see you tonight when I’m back.” You pour positivity into your words, a practice you’ve maintained during your career, thinking good things for your patients, being positive for your patients. A good attitude can go a long way, especially for patients who may have a long road ahead of them, like Johnny.

Slipping out the door, you turn your head to where Simon listens to the surgeon intently, brows lowered, nodding occasionally, and splitting his attention between the (what you’re sure is) a one-sided conversation and where Johnny is half awake in bed, a nurse and two techs busy around him, prepping for the walk and elevator ride, their hands still clutched together. 

Johnny looks over, small sigh expanding across his chest, locking eyes with you for a moment. You freeze, taken aback by the clarity in his gaze, his face shifting from uncomfortable and pained into a small smile, lopsided and sweet.

You give him one back and disappear down the too-white corridor, new soles squeaking against the floor.

Badging out always twists your stomach with the same kind of dread. It's Tell-Tale Heart kind of dread, something that starts in your mind and spreads through your bones, a symptom of malignancy, sickness that ties you in knots, tips you over into dark waters with waves that break too close to the shore. It keeps you rolling your neck and shoulders over and over to release some of the tired tension that’s been building in your back, trying to relax and ease the anxiety that's building up inside you like a tea kettle.

You’re half sleepwalking, mind already wandering when your shoes squeak to a halt outside of two sixty-eight on your way to the elevator, in front of the door parted to reveal Simon sitting in the chair by Johnny’s empty bed, arms crossed, head tipped backwards.

Is he asleep? 

You purse your lips and tap against the glass with your knuckle.

“Hi.” You call to no response. Probably asleep. “Simon?” you whisper his name, and once he doesn’t respond, you turn the dimmer all the way down, satisfied that he’s getting some rest. You set your uneaten banana and protein bar on the little table by the bed before sneaking away, sliding the door shut with a satisfying click.

The weather this morning, this evening, is gorgeous. The sun is a golden orange orb peeking over the horizon, spraying a myriad of colors ranging from pinks to yellows across the rooftops of the city, dipping the morning commute in an effortless glow. It feels good on your face, the warmth, and you roll the long sleeve shirt that you wear under your scrubs up to your elbows to soak it in through your forearms too, stopping to stand still for a moment, for the first time in hours, in front of the back entrance to the hospital. 

In the sun, in the light, it's easy to close your eyes and pretend that you're something, somebody else. Easy to tilt your face to the light and let it wash over you, bathe you in fire, burn you clean like a witch on a pyre. 

Your watch beeps, dragging your focus to where it displays the time, a stark and devastating reminder that you have to get going, and you give the hospital one last look before beginning your trek to the train. 

See you tonight. 

#peaches writes #simple math #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghoap x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #soap x reader x ghost

[petpenname]

Heartache

pairing: Ellie Williams [brother's best friend] x fem reader c.w. : smoking summary: you have had your eyes on your brother's best friend and band member forever, but you'd never think she would actually talk to you? a/n: this was a submission + I'll make more parts if it gets a good response!

The air in your room hangs heavy with humidity. A slight breeze from your open window blows through, fluttering your various posters and decor hanging on your walls. And over you, sprawled across your bed, flipping through social media, you were honestly bored out of your mind. Three weeks into summer and your closest friend was away for vacation, leaving you alone… and bored.

Cycling through your socials again you get fed up with the lack of entertainment and toss your phone on the floor with an exacerbated sigh. You lay on your bed, wondering what you should do to fill the void of dopamine when the sound of music begins to fill the house. A mixture of rock, indie, and midwest emo songs rang out from your garage, conveniently positioned directly under your room. 

Your brother's band got around to practicing, you assumed. You didn’t even realize your brother was home, he had gone out earlier this morning after your parents left for work. The music got louder and you suddenly had an idea of what you wanted to do, and it wasn't staying here and listening to your brother's shitty garage band. You gather your sketchbook, some pens, headphones, and a few other things into a bag, throw on a hoodie and a pair of shoes and head downstairs. You were headed to a river spot in the woods near your house. It was a commonly frequented spot by you, and your friends but not known to many. Perfect for a little seclusion and wading in cool water. 

You walk down stairs and almost instantly are hit with the strong earthy smell of smoke. You linger for a second and decide that your trip would be improved with a joint, hoping your brother would front you something, you enter the loud garage. 

Your brother and his band mates, all two of them, were unaware of your entrance. They were playing as loud as possible (maybe not as well as possible) but they were producing sound! Your brother slamming away on the drums while the guitarist, and bassist/singer were in their own worlds. 

“Hey!” you yell over the trio.

“HEY KAI!” You shout once more at your brother. Who, without skipping a beat or stopping, yells back.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” 

This got the attention of the other two band members who did stop upon seeing you standing there, amps silencing to white noise feedback. 

“Can I get a joint?” you ask.

“You got money for a joint?” Kai laughs.

“Can you just front me one?” you reply back flatly

“Why should I?” 

“If you give me one I wont tell mom you were smoking in the house again.” You counter. 

“It’s the garage so technically not the house and whatever you know they wont do anything”

“She can have one of mine?” a voice sparks up behind Kai, drawing your attention to the guitarist. A girl named Ellie. She and Kai had been longtime friends and bandmates. You barely knew anything about her other than she was in Kai’s grade, one above yours, but you knew her. You knew her eye color, her favorite flannel she wore a little too often. You knew she got a new guitar last year, and a fresh tattoo this year that shined under the garage light as she held up a joint in your direction.  

You also knew that this was one of the only times she had ever spoken to you. Not like you were around each other often but you almost felt like she would try to avoid you when she was over. Shocked, but with adrenaline pumping you took your chance, walking over to Ellie. She still had her guitar hanging around her, flannel sleeves rolled up, her hair was a bit disheveled from playing, strands falling out of her half up hair do.

She hands you the joint with a sideways smile, and her eyes glint a bit.

“Thanks, you’re so much nicer than my brother” you scoff, giving her a smile back. You turn to leave, flipping off Kai as you bound out the door, leaving the band members commotion in the garage. Not seeing Kai chuck a drumstick at Ellie who dodges it with a laugh. 

The success of getting a joint over shined the butterflies fluttering in your stomach from that look she gave you. The sun hit your face as you got outside and you were only looking forward to your solo date in the forest.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was setting slowly, but from where you were in the woods shade had taken over your spot. You had smoked, worked on your art, and walked along the water looking for rocks. Hanging out in the forest for a few hours always rejuvenated you in a way you couldn’t explain. But you started to get cold and decided now was a good time to head home. While packing up you realized you had pretty bad cotton mouth from the joint, so you planned to stop by the corner store. 

It wasn’t a long walk but by the time you got to the corner store it was dusk. Street lights started sparking up like stars in the night sky. You opened the glass door and walked in, perusing the aisles for any snack or drink that could satiate your munchies. You were contemplating between an iced tea or a soda when the doorbell rang as someone walked in the store. You barely noticed the bell, or the girl walking up behind you until she spoke.

“Did you enjoy your smoke?” 

You jump, previously lost in your thoughts, you turn around to see Ellie standing there. She was wearing a hoodie now, her guitar in its case strapped to her back.

“Oh my god you scared me!” you say, almost dropping the bottles in your hands.

“Sorry! Didn't mean to!” Ellie laughs, moving around you to open the fridge door next to you and grab a coke. “Funny running into you here” she says, a little awkward you note.

“I mean my house is only a few blocks away,” you laugh. 

“Mm ya i guess so, you getting both of those?” Ellie looks down at the bottles in your hand.

“Oh um, I'm getting this one.” you hold up the iced tea & go to put back the soda. Before you could think Ellie takes the iced tea from your hand and starts walking towards the front of the store.

“Hey wait!” you look at her confused.

“Oh do you want something else princess?” Ellie turns back to look at you with a smirk.

Sparks ignite in your stomach, confused but now flustered, your mind swirling. You finally get a word out, “no, just that” and Ellie turns back to walk towards the cash register. 

You follow her, not really knowing what to do or how to act. Ellie and you had barely spoken to each other before this. And now she's acting so casually around you, and what did she call you? Everything happened so fast you barely caught it but reflecting back now, did she call you princess?

Ellie pays for the two drinks and you walk out together, taking your ice tea from her once outside. 

“Thank you, you didn't have to do that” you say, unscrewing the top and taking a refreshing sip.

“Don't mention it” Ellie says, “So are you going back home now?”

“Mhm yeah, what about you?”

“Yeah I was, but it's getting dark now, i’ll walk you back home first” Ellie says with a smile. 

“Who said chivalry was dead” you joke, it was a nice gesture, as much as you were confused by Ellie’s sudden intentions you couldn’t help but feel a type of way when she looked at you. Her green eyes danced over your face like she was memorizing your features. You wondered if she always looked at you this way?

She had. Ellie for the past few years had been keeping such a distance from you because when you were around she felt her whole body tense up. She felt like she was on fire if you looked in her direction. And god help her if she tried to speak around you, she ended up tripping over her words and losing her train of thought. Truthfully, she didn't know what magical queer fairy blessed her with the confidence to talk to you today. But she had taken in a chance earlier in the garage, and when she saw you in the store she knew it wasn't a coincidence. 

The walk back to your house was short, only a few blocks. You and Ellie joke together and talk about summer plans in the meantime. Both of you slightly high still, making your balance shifty, occasionally you would brush shoulders, sending sparks down each other's spines. 

When you get to your house you stop at the walk way, a little awkwardly since you knew Ellie had been in your house before. 

“Thanks for walking me home! And buying me this, um and the joint '' you say, taking in all of Ellie’s courtesy today, a little unsure what to do with yourself.

“Any time!” Ellie says with a smile, she fidgets where she stands for a second before reaching her hand up to your face. She tucks a small strand of hair behind your ear, without breaking eye contact.

“Have a good night y/n” and with that she turns around and walks away, putting up her hood. 

She left you solidified on the sidewalk, body unmoving but nerves on fire with a simple touch. You float for the next hour or so, barely registering going into your house and up to your room. Trying to make sense of what had just happened, and why now? And why so suddenly?

Later that night you receive a notification on Instagram

* @www.ellie followed you *

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams smut #ellie smut #the last of us

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (1/?)

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat. Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.” Or the one where you fall in love with the widow of an ex-lover you never knew was married.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6k+ | Warnings: None for now | A/N: I wrote about 30k words of the Succession Wanda but hit a wall in terms of plot progression. So that's on hold. Allow me to apologize with this two-shot. P.S. I've always wanted to write for Leigh, and this idea came out of nowhere. Loosely based on canon.

Masterlist | Next Part

-

Leigh wakes up in a bed that’s not hers for the first time in months, and the unfamiliar scent of freshly cut grass and cedarwood almost immediately overwhelms her senses, suffocating her with its cloying sweetness.

“Jules?” she croaks out, her mind clawing its way through the fog. When it lifts a few seconds later, Leigh realizes where she is and what she’s done.

And how she’s very, very naked underneath the sheets. 

The person lying next to her in the bed starts to move. Right away, she knows it's not her sister, unless she's somehow caught up in a prank she doesn't find amusing at all. And so, she braces herself for her dead husband’s brother's voice to shatter the silence.

But it never comes. Instead, an arm drapes itself across her stomach, pulling her towards warmth. Leigh gets the sudden urge to vomit, except she skipped dinner and there isn’t anything to bring up. Last night, in a desperate attempt to fill the void left by Matt's absence, she had reached out to someone she shouldn't have. Someone Leigh didn’t even like to begin with. A knot tightens further in her stomach as she considers what her husband’s ghost would think. 

Would he approve? Would he feel betrayed or disgusted as she does?

Careful not to disturb Danny, who still sleeps soundly beside her, Leigh slips out of bed with the grace of a cat. She gathers her clothes from the floor and dresses herself with heavy limbs, each garment reminding her of how Danny had taken them off her body. 

As messed up as it sounds, Leigh can't help but draw parallels between him and Matt. They share the same blood, but there's not a single trait in Danny that triggers memories of Matt. With Danny, it's all about his own desires, his movements reflecting his wants. But with Matt, it's like he's always bending to Leigh’s will, submitting to her.

It tears Leigh’s heart anew. 

As she finishes dressing, Leigh glances around searching for her watch. She second-guesses whether she even wore it last night, the disarray of her thoughts mirrored in the disarray of the room. Her eyes scan the bedside table, the floor, and the dresser, but there's no sign of the timepiece.

A sudden sound from Danny startles her, and she freezes in place. She doesn't believe she can prevent herself from literally bolting out of the house if he so much as breathes her name. She’s rooted in her spot however, waiting for his breathing to steady, her heart pounding in her ears. Only when she's certain he's in a deep slumber does she release a pent-up breath, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. In that moment, she mentally curses herself once more, acutely aware of the mess she's created, before tiptoeing towards the bedroom door and abandoning the search for her watch altogether.

As she considers her options, she entertains the idea of escaping town altogether. Maybe if she leaves, she can avoid Danny for the coming days, possibly forever. Leigh wonders if she ever made Matt feel this trapped, inadvertently pushing him to leave in the only way he knew she could never follow.

-

Several days after ignoring Danny’s calls and attempts to talk to her, he retaliates by telling her the most absurd thing about his brother.

He tells Leigh she wasn’t the only one. There had been two others in the last year. 

And the last one, he fell for hard. Or at least that’s what Danny believes.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, her eyes beginning to sting a little. “If you think making me hate Matt would change my mind about us, then—”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you, Leigh,” Danny interrupts calmly, shaking his head. “I just believe you deserve to know the truth. Maybe it'll help you stop blaming yourself and move on.”

“It just seems a little too convenient that this 'truth' works in your favor to tarnish Matt's reputation, doesn't it?” Leigh points out with a humorless smile. She’s always thought the worst of Danny, but she never imagined he’d go as far as fabricating a story just to get her on his side.

“I understand your skepticism, I do. I couldn’t believe it at first either,” he says, his gaze dropping to the ground as if the transgression he’s confessing were his own, not Matt’s. “But think about it. Have you ever walked in on Matt just as he's ending a call? Noticed how he's suddenly started spending more time at work, consistently twice a week? And what about his sudden interest in going to the gym and being conscious about what he eats? These are all signs, Leigh.”

His words push her to think about it, even though she doesn't want to. Leigh starts to reflect on how Matt had stopped leaving his phone unattended during showers, how he had suddenly logged off his social media accounts from her laptop, or the noticeable enhancement of his physique—all juxtaposed against a lingering decrease in his appetite for intimacy with his wife.

“I…” Leigh hesitates, searching for a rebuttal but finding none. Then Danny gives her a look—one of pity and longing that makes her want to crawl out of her skin—and suddenly she finds herself vehemently denying all of it.

“I still don’t believe you,” she says, desperately clinging to the last shreds of the illusion she had crafted around her marriage.

Danny's expression remains unreadable and it drives her further up the wall. “Fine. Believe what you want, Leigh. I'm just trying to look out for you.”

Leigh's jaw tightens. “Regardless of what you say—whether it’s real or not—I know what I want, and it's not to be with you.”

He keeps up the stony facade, opting instead to pull a card out of his wallet and hand it to her. Leigh accepts the card, her fingers quivering, as a solitary tear finally breaks free and trails down her cheek.

Danny begins to reach out, intending to brush away her tear, but hesitates at the last moment, withdrawing his hand. 

“See for yourself. Goodbye, Leigh.”

-

Just two days later, Leigh finds herself in front of the small animal clinic you own, situated a short walk away from Beautiful Beast—the fitness studio her mom owns and where she works. 

Though the sun hangs low in the sky, she's been awake long before it began to rise. She waits for the receptionist to flip the sign from “Sorry, we’re closed” to “Come in, we’re open,” ignoring the curious glance directed her way when the receptionist notices she isn’t accompanied by a furry companion. With a determined smile on her lips, Leigh pushes open the door and steps into the clinic knowing she'll leave it with answers—whatever they might be.

The receptionist looks up from her computer, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern when she sees the look on Leigh's face. “Can I help you?” 

Leigh clears her throat, trying to steady her voice. She tells her she’s looking for you, her words coming out in a rush.

The receptionist furrows her brow. “Do you have an appointment?”

Leigh shakes her head, blinking rapidly as she comes up with an excuse. “No, it's... it's urgent,” she stammers. “I need to speak to her right away.”

The receptionist appears mildly annoyed, but it doesn’t faze Leigh in the slightest. “I'll check if she's available. Please take a seat,” she says.

Leigh nods mutely and sinks into one of the chairs. She clasps her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to quell the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her. She imagines Matt’s ghost watching her this very second, frowning at her doubts about their relationship by coming here in the first place. 

And what if she’s wrong? What if Matt wasn’t cheating on her after all? But Leigh had to come here to put the issue to rest. Matt would understand why she needs to do this. He always did. 

A few moments later, the door behind the reception desk opens and the receptionist emerges from it, motioning for Leigh to enter. 

Leigh finds you standing behind your desk, your back to her, arranging a stack of medical records on the shelf.

“Dr. Y/N?” Leigh calls out softly.

You turn around at the sound of her voice, and when she sees you for the first time, Leigh immediately knows.

Danny was telling the truth. It takes everything in her not to break down in front of a stranger her husband fell in love with.

You, however, don’t recognize the woman standing before you, thinking perhaps she's simply one of your past clients. You offer Leigh a contrite smile. “You wanted to see me? Miss…?”

“Leigh Shaw.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell either, but you keep a friendly smile on your face. 

Leigh hesitates for a moment before continuing, her voice sounding fragile. “I need to talk to you about my husband,” she says, studying your clueless face. You're stunning and accomplished—a doctor and a businesswoman. You have a smile that could brighten even the darkest room.

Matt never stood a chance, did he?

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat.

Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation. 

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.”

-

After leaving your clinic, Leigh heads straight to Matt’s grave, stomping angrily on the sparse sheet of grass that has begun to sprout from his resting place.

“You're such a fucking liar!” she spits out at the unsusceptible headstone, the heat of fury spreading through her veins and to every molecule in her body. The cold wind lashes through her hair as Leigh drops to her knees, feeling like the entire world is bearing down on her. She reaches out to touch the cold marble of the headstone, still seeking solace from the one who caused her so much hurt.

“Why, Matt?”

She knows there will be no answers—only the cold silence of death.

Leigh feels a surge of anger rise within her once more as she recalls the way you looked at her—the pain in your eyes when she revealed to you that Matt had died. What you two had was real, as real as what she had with him. She had been hoping it was at least just a fling, but alas, she couldn’t be further from her assumptions.

“I can't believe I ever loved you,” Leigh mutters bitterly. She wants to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all. But all she can do is clutch at the grass beneath her, her nails digging into the earth as if trying to anchor herself against the torrent of pain crippling her chest. Tears stream down her face as she finally collapses to the ground, assuming a fetal position, whispering, “I can't believe I still do.”

-

You continue to stare at the space that Leigh previously occupied for a good ten minutes, not moving an inch from where you stood—shocked, hurt, confused. Matt, the man you had been seeing, was dead. And not just dead, but married. Married to someone else, someone named Leigh Shaw, a name so important but he managed to hide from you for weeks. 

Matt had never mentioned a wife, never wore a ring, never hinted at the existence of someone waiting for him at home. If he had, you would never have let him get as close to you like he did. You've always respected boundaries and families—and now you've discovered that unwittingly, you've destroyed one.

Leigh's departure was swift, just as soon as you confessed to having feelings for her husband and how Matt reciprocated those same feelings. Leigh, ruthless in her questioning, demanded to know if you had slept with Matt. You swore you never did, detailing how Matt abruptly ghosted you after your first kiss, leaving you with nothing but unanswered texts and missed calls. 

You wanted so badly for Leigh to believe you, and you think she did. However, none of it mattered in the end. He cheated all the same. He hurt the woman he made a promise to love and stay faithful to. 

Because of you.

You feel sickened by your own naivety; by the way you have allowed yourself to be fooled by his lies. And yet, amidst the anger and self-recrimination, there is a profound sense of loss. Despite the circumstances of your relationship, you had cared for Matt deeply. Maybe even loved him.

But how much of it was real? How much of it was not about him running from his problems with his wife and using you as a distraction? The ease with which he slipped out of your life suddenly fits into place.

While his passing deeply rattled you, it's now largely overshadowed by thoughts of his widow.

Leigh Shaw.

Earlier, even though you said sorry over and over, it felt like it wasn't enough, and you wanted to do more to make her feel better. What stopped you was the realization that you're likely the last person she would want comfort from. A sense of helplessness washes over you as you come to the conclusion that there's nothing you can do to undo the damage that's been done. Matt is gone, and Leigh's world has been shattered in ways you can't even begin to imagine. 

Moving on from Matt is something you know you could do. He wasn’t the first person to break your heart, be it through deceit or demise. But the situation with Leigh is unfamiliar territory.

How do you fix this for her? 

Will she even let you?

-

When Leigh tells Jules about Matt’s infidelity, her sister fixates on the detail that she slept with Danny. It’s not the response Leigh expected. She anticipated shock, and maybe even a bit of outrage on her behalf. But instead, Jules latches onto the one detail that seems to pale in comparison to the enormity of Matt's betrayal.

“But how could you?” Jules asks, her voice incredulous as she chews on a dumpling. “How could you sleep with Danny?”

Faced with her sister's disapproval, Leigh finds herself clamming up. “Are you kidding? I just told you that Matt was cheating on me, and your response is to judge me for hooking up with a single guy while I'm single?” Leigh retorts, hastily wiping her lips with a napkin.

Jules just shakes her head, putting down her chopsticks. “Leigh, I get it. Matt’s betrayal is awful, and you have every right to be angry. But the ‘single guy’ you hooked up with isn't just any guy, and you know it. You don't think it's weird? What would people think? That all this time, sleeping with your husband’s brother has always been an option?”

Leigh's eyes widen in shock, and for a moment, she's speechless. She hadn't—didn't want to entertain the idea of what sleeping with Danny would imply. She was chasing a feeling; any feeling that wasn’t emptiness. And with Danny, she did feel something, even if it was regret and shame. At least it proved she was still capable of feeling at all.

“It… just happened,” Leigh murmurs, rubbing her temples. Hollowness and migraines, she's almost forgotten.

“And? Is it going to be a ‘thing’?” Jules probes, eyebrows raised.

Leigh lifts her gaze, biting back a defensive retort. Instead she simply says, “Absolutely not.”

Jules seems satisfied with that, knocking back the rest of her beer. “Good.”

But as Jules moves on, Leigh’s left stewing in her own thoughts. Telling Jules felt like yelling into a void—exhausting and utterly pointless. Now she’s dreading the thought of breaking the news to Drew. If Jules’ reaction was any indication, she’s in for another round of disappointment. 

Being a young widow already sets her apart, but nothing makes her feel more alone than her family's inability to truly grasp her grief. She guesses she's been feeling alone for years, long before Matt came into her life and subsequently left it.

Jules, catching the tail end of Leigh's distant look, leans in and asks, “So, what's the plan now? You still going to that grief counseling group? Danny's been showing up there, right?”

Leigh's gaze sharpens, a bit taken aback by the sudden shift back to practicalities. “Are you asking about my plans with Danny? Because I already told you, that's over. I'm never seeing him again.”

Jules raises her hands in a placating gesture, mindful that one wrong move could tip Leigh over the edge for good. “Not really, no. I'm asking if you're still keen on processing your grief. Now that it turns out Matt was... well, a snake.”

Jules calling Matt a snake doesn't sit well with Leigh even with his cheating coming to light. But she supposes it's Jules' way of being on her side every once in a while. It's a clumsy attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

“Yeah, I'm still going,” Leigh finally says, her gaze dropping to her lap before meeting Jules' eyes again. “Not for Danny, not for anyone else, but for me. Turns out, finding out your rotting husband was living a double life does a number on you. Who knew, right?”

Jules cracks a small, rueful smile at that and says, “Who knew indeed.”

Leigh thinks back to the time when she believed she knew Matt inside and out, a belief so deeply ingrained it felt like a cornerstone of her identity as his wife. She prided herself on their connection, convinced that they shared everything—every thought, every fear, every dream. It was a pride rooted in the belief that she knew him better than anyone else could, and he, her, in the same intimate manner.

It was the kind of recognition that’s not only about knowing his favorite color or the way he took his coffee. It’s deeper and more layered. She knew the exact tone of voice he'd use when he was about to apologize, the look in his eyes when he was holding back tears, the subtle shift in his posture when he was trying to be braver than he felt. And she thought he knew her just as intricately—the silent language of her sighs, the meaning behind her quietest smiles, the small, everyday details that they believed only they could understand about each other.

“It's hard, you know? Feeling like you're mourning someone who never really existed,” Leigh mumbles after a long pause.

“Yeah, I can't even imagine,” Jules responds, reaching across the table to give Leigh's hand a brief squeeze. “But I'm here, okay? Even if I don't always get it right.”

Jules, Drew, Danny, her mom—all of them—rarely get it right. It has always been Matt. 

He has always been all she has and needed. 

Even if Leigh wasn't aware that she was probably just getting his scraps.

-

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps thinking over the next several days. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It doesn’t help that there’s a new member who has also been widowed, and she’s sharing about her late husband who had quite a number of mistresses throughout their eighteen years of marriage.

Leigh listens, her fingers twisted together in her lap, as the woman talks about the signs she missed, the lies she believed.

“I just keep thinking,” the woman's voice breaks, “if I'd been more attentive, more... I don't know, less demanding, maybe things would've been different.”

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps screaming inside. Maybe I pushed him to it.

-

It took Leigh a long time to return to the apartment she shared with Matt after his passing. 

Mostly, it's because Leigh found it difficult to confront the scattered remnants of him that would remain untouched in his absence. No longer would he be picking up his favorite shirt or completing another page of his crossword puzzle book. Yet, these belongings would remain his, just as Leigh felt she still belonged to him.

So it’s ironic that now, surrounded by the same belongings in her bedroom at her mother’s home, she's being overwhelmed by the impulse to turn them all into ashes. In a sudden frenzy, Leigh grabs a box and begins to throw everything inside. The sound of her ragged breathing fills the room, only matched by the soft thuds of objects landing in the cardboard. 

“Stupid fucking toys!” she shouts, tossing a figurine with more force than necessary.

“And this shirt—what were you thinking?” She grabs a garishly patterned fabric, shaking it at the empty air as if expecting an answer.

Her voice cracks, “You're not even here, and you're driving me crazy!”

As Leigh's wrath burns through the remnants of Matt’s life, her thoughts take a dark turn. The things he owned, the pieces of his life flying from her hand—it all leads her back to the one person who had a piece of him, a piece that was never hers.

The thought of your face, the one that belonged to him too at one point, flashes in her mind, and she's on the edge of losing all control. 

If only Leigh could throw you into the box too.

Finally, she finds the book he gave her for her last birthday, the one she never read, and for a moment, her movements pause. Then, with a cry of anguish, she tosses it in as well. When the box is full, she kicks it. Once, twice, thrice—each kick releasing a burst of pent-up fury until she's gasping for breath.

A knock at the door startles her. It's soft but persistent, making it obvious that whoever is outside has heard the commotion in her room. “Leigh, honey, are you done in there?” Amy's voice seeps through the wood.

Leigh wipes at her eyes. “Almost. I, uh… just give me a minute,” she calls back. She’s not done—not really. But she’ll probably set the house on fire if she doesn’t stop here.

Pushing herself up, Leigh opens the door. She knows the sight she presents isn't pretty—eyes swollen red, nose a mess, and those dark circles. But her mom has seen this look more times than either would care to count.

“You okay?” her mom asks, though the answer's written all over Leigh's face.

Leigh shakes her head, no energy to pretend.

“Want some breakfast?”

Again, “No,” slips out.

Then, “Need a ride to the studio?” her mom tries again.

“Yes,” Leigh finds herself saying, clinging to the offer like a lifeline, a small acknowledgment that life, somehow, must go on.

-

The following day, Leigh looks at the box, then at everything around her. She mutters, “Screw this,” and starts pulling everything out of the box, putting it all back where it came from.

-

Leigh's back at running, not because she loves it, but because the sun insists on poking her awake before the rest of the world stirs. It's an old hobby, dusted off to fill the gaping mornings before her first yoga class. 

It’s easy to do because she realizes she’s good at it. Leigh’s only been at it for just a couple of weeks and already she's feeling fitter, faster. She likes the pain too, not being aware before that there are different kinds of pain, and some of them do feel good—addicting even. 

Mid-thought, her routine jog takes a wild left turn: stranded in the middle of the bustling traffic is a French Bulldog, looking decidedly out of place. Ignoring the honks and the near misses, Leigh bolts across the street. It's a bit of a mad dash, dodging cars that are swerving and braking hard. She scoops him up in her arms and doesn’t stop to think about the close calls. 

It hits her then—she's surprised at her own gutsiness, not even pausing to think that she could've been clipped by a car not paying attention. Maybe all this time spent wrestling with thoughts of death has brought her to a strange peace with it and is no longer scared of it. It's like she's danced with death so much, it's just another shadow she passes by—not something that paralyzes her in place anymore.

Leigh’s not sure if being this fearless is actually a good thing though.

After cooling her heels on the sidewalk for half an hour, with no owner in sight, she shrugs and decides he’s coming home with her.

Jules gives her a scrutinizing look the moment she walks in. “What, you went out for a run and decided to get a dog?”

“Rescue mission,” Leigh shoots back, setting the dog down. “Found him in the middle of Second Street. Seems he’s lost.”

Jules doesn't miss a beat, heading straight for the newcomer. She kneels, her hands gently petting the dog, her eyes softening in a way that Leigh rarely sees. The dog, clearly pleased with the attention, wags its tail vigorously. Her eyes are practically giving her away, so it sounds almost funny when she looks up at Leigh and says, “Just don't get too attached, okay?”

“I won’t, which is why I named him Visitor. It’s temporary,” Leigh says with a smile, looking very proud of the name she came up with.

Jules chuckles, standing up and brushing off her knees. “Nerd. Matt would've gotten a kick out of that.”

The room just freezes at the mention of his name. Talking about Matt is like walking into a glass door you didn't see.

Jules tries to backpedal, “Hey, sorry, I—” But Leigh's quick to brush it off with a shrug. 

“Don't worry about it. Let's just figure out where Visitor here belongs, okay?”

As they refocus on Visitor, Jules can't help but notice the way the dog favors one leg as he trots over to sit snugly between Leigh's legs, looking up at her with those big, trusting eyes. “Looks like he's got a bit of a limp,” Jules points out.

Leigh frowns and leans down to get a closer look, her fingers gently probing around Visitor's leg until she finds a tender spot. The moment she applies a little pressure, Visitor yelps, pulling away sharply and retreating a few steps.

Jules winces at the reaction. “Yeah, that's not good. Maybe we should take him to a vet?”

Leigh can barely hold back a grimace as her brain immediately links you to the situation.

“What's wrong?” Jules notices the sudden shift in Leigh’s mood. “There's St. Mary's Animal Clinic nearby. I heard they're great.”

That's your clinic. Leigh's throat tightens at the thought, the memories of her visit flooding back. “Are there others around here?”

Jules looks puzzled at the question. “I mean, I can look it up, but what's wrong with St. Mary's?”

Leigh considers whether she should tell Jules about meeting you. Part of her really knows it’s unfair to dislike you, especially if you genuinely didn't know Matt was married. But she knows Jules too well—tell her, and it'll turn into a whole thing. Leigh's not sure she's up for that drama.

Despite her reservations, Leigh decides to bite the bullet, her curiosity getting the better of her. Besides, if she can’t be brave enough to talk about this in her counseling group, she should probably at least tell Jules.

“Actually, Jules,” Leigh begins, “St. Mary's Animal Clinic is where... where she works.”

Jules's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. “Wait, you mean... you mean her, as in…?” she stammers, disbelief written all over her face.

“Yup,” Leigh confirms, smacking her lips forcefully. 

“Oh my god—that bitch,” Jules spits out, her voice dripping with disdain before Leigh can even brace for impact.

“She didn’t know Matt’s married,” Leigh clarifies quickly.

“And you bought that?”

“I had a feeling she was telling the truth. Besides, I can’t imagine Matt being that brazen to pursue someone while married. He can be a little self-righteous sometimes,” Leigh says, only half-sure of her statement. Recently, she has to remind herself that maybe she never really knew him at all.

Then, an idea sparks in Jules's mind. “You know what?” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Maybe this is a good opportunity. After all, she owes you one, right? Maybe she'll treat Visitor for free, to make up for being... well, you know.”

Leigh rubs her nose, skeptical of the idea. “I don't know, Jules. I don't want to impose…”

Jules leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, if she's the reason you're hurting, maybe she should make it right?”

She isn't hurting because of you, not directly. That's why Jules’ suggestion hangs in the air, unappealing. Leigh remembers the pity in your eyes from that morning, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want anything from you at all. Her resolve instantly hardens like ice. 

“No,” Leigh finally says. “I don't want her charity. I'll pay for Visitor's bills myself. And I'll keep the receipts for when his real owners show up.” It's a decision that feels surprisingly empowering, a small reclaiming of control in a world that's felt off-kilter for too long.

Jules merely sighs; she knows better than to push Leigh when her mind’s made up. 

“Have it your way.”

-

Leigh brings Visitor to St. Mary’s the very next day.

There's a certain set to her jaw, a readiness for something less than pleasant. She doesn’t need to go through reception this time because she spots you right away, escorting a client to the door, cradling their puppy in your arms. Seeing you with a pet makes Leigh realize why you’ve chosen this profession. You fit right in among the animals, she muses bitterly.

It's with a sense of satisfaction that she watches your smile dissipate as soon as your eyes land on hers. 

She strides confidently towards you, dog in arms, forcing you to quickly hand off the puppy back to its owner. Yet, you recover with a swiftness that's begrudgingly admirable as you give her a look that’s equal parts professional and friendly—like you were actually looking forward to seeing her again.

“Good morning, Leigh. How can I help you?”

Without a word, Leigh extends the dog she’s carrying towards you, a silent transfer of trust, or perhaps, necessity. You gesture towards the consultation room, an invitation she accepts with a terse nod, following you into the space where you effortlessly shift into doctor mode.

As you begin to charm her dog, she can't help but narrow her eyes. It irks her, watching Visitor take to you instantly, as if you were old friends. “What's his name?” you ask, looking up at Leigh.

“Visitor.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the name, just in time for your irises to capture the light seeping through the office blinds. They glow a hazel-brown, disarmingly so. Leigh forces herself to focus back on the purpose of her visit. 

Leigh continues, “He’s limping on his left hind leg. I’d appreciate it if you can prescribe him something. I'll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Ignoring the undercurrent of Leigh's insinuation, your attention remains undividedly on Visitor. The well-being of the dog before you eclipses any personal sentiments, as it always does. 

“I'm sorry, but before we can consider any medication, I need to examine him thoroughly. It's possible he might require some lab tests to rule out anything serious,” you tell her. Despite sounding apologetic, Leigh interprets it as your polite way of telling her to fuck off and let you do your job.

As you palpate the dog's leg carefully, you begin your routine questions. “Can you tell me his birthday? Any vaccination history?”

They’re basic, but they seem to catch Leigh off guard anyway. “He’s not mine. I found him on the street yesterday,” she reveals with a reluctant sigh.

The news prompts a more detailed response from you. 

“I see. In that case, we should definitely line up some tests for Visitor. We need to ensure he doesn't have distemper or any other airborne virus that could be affecting his mobility,” you suggest, already mentally cataloging the necessary procedures.

You start detailing the tests you intend to perform, explaining their purposes and associated costs. Leigh is clearly deluged by it all and you decide to take pity on the poor woman by adding that it’s still up to her which tests to proceed with, if any at all.

“Your call, Leigh,” you tell her.

Leigh can't shake off the vibe that you're throwing a gauntlet down in front of her. It's like her inner competitor wakes up, refusing to back down. “Do all of them,” she declares, tipping her chin up towards you. “Whatever you think is best.”

“That’s a good decision. We’ll take care of it right away,” you say, already picking up the phone to call the reception for assistance. 

Leigh's still trying to get a read on you. Was her arm twisted into this choice, or did you genuinely have Visitor's best interest at heart? She's not about to hand out trust like free samples, especially when she could end up misjudging you. It’s a tricky spot, especially because she’s clearly been wrong before.

-

The tests take their time, roughly an hour, after which Leigh finds herself pacing the lobby. An additional quarter-hour trickles by before the receptionist finally calls her back into the consultation room.

“Good news,” you start, making sure to catch her eye. She meets your look briefly before her attention shifts to Visitor. “It's only a sprain. The X-ray revealed no breaks or other issues. But,” you pause, checking to see if she's still fully engaged, “his blood tests indicated a low platelet count and evidence of an infection.”

Leigh listens intently, nodding along.

You explain what this means in a clear, concise manner, avoiding medical jargon as much as possible. “It's something we can manage with medication. I'll prescribe some antibiotics for the infection and pain medication to help with his discomfort. It's important that he completes the course of antibiotics to clear the infection completely.”

You watch Leigh closely, gauging her reaction and ready to answer any questions she might have. “We'll need to keep an eye on his platelet count, so I'd like to schedule a follow-up visit next week. This will also give us a chance to check how his leg is healing.”

“Will he be okay?” she asks without looking up from Visitor, busy scratching behind his ears.

“He'll be just fine,” you reassure her, adding, “Any questions about what we discussed?”

Leigh stays silent and you take it as your cue that she doesn’t have any thoughts on the matter. As she wraps up without saying much more, you realize it's time to wrap things up too. But there's something niggling at you, something that's been on your mind since the last time she was here. You're about to let her go, but then, out of nowhere, you feel this urge to clear the air about that whole mess with Matt. 

“So, uhm, about the other week when you…” you trail off, suddenly feeling like you're balancing on a tightrope without a net. You’re not so easily spooked by confrontations, but Leigh makes you nervous in a way you can’t explain. “I guess I just wanted to say sorry… for your loss, and for—”

“Does he really need to take pain medication for seven days?” Leigh cuts you off suddenly. It’s sharp enough for you to shut your mouth and abandon your attempt to get personal.

“Yes, the full course is important to ensure he's comfortable and that the inflammation goes down properly. It's just as crucial as the antibiotics for his recovery…”

Leigh nods, carefully scooping Visitor into her arms, preparing to leave.

You try one last time. “Leigh, I really am sorry–”

“I’ll see you next week, Dr. Y/L/N,” she says dismissively and then she’s gone.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

[shockmastervoidstate]

The pre-void state vs the real void state — differences, how to enter the real void state and my experience yesterday

Hey, void explorers, there are a couple of things I want to talk about regarding the void state.

Pre-void state vs the real void state — key differences

When you attempt to achieve the void state or shift realities, you might experience typical symptoms which could be confused with the void state.

These include: feelings of rotating, floating, flying or falling through empty space, often while seeing stars and galaxies or other lights and often while hearing buzzing sounds, wind noises, voices, music or other sounds.

Shifters and void explorers used to falsely believe that this is the void state, but it's not. If you experience the symptoms above, you are close and "get a taste" of the void, but you aren't there yet.

There is no failure and no randomness in the void state. If you shift from the void, you are guaranteed to end up exactly in the reality you want to be in.

In the void, there is also no movement and nothing to hear or see — unless you intend(ed) to manifest these things in the void.

It's also impossible to shift back to the CR involuntarily, because when you are in the void, you achieved a complete detachment and separation from your CR and your CR body.

The same cannot be said about the pre-void state. In this state, you haven't fully detached/separated from your CR yet.

You can manifest and shift from the pre-void state, but success isn't guaranteed.

In fact, when I shift from the pre-void state, I usually end up in random realities and can only stay there for a couple of minutes to a couple of hours.

How to enter the real void state from the pre-void state

Use any of the community's methods or your own method to shift or enter the void state.

If you end up in the pre-void state, here's how to enter the real void state. This information is from successful shifters on amino, reddit and Tumblr.

When you are in the pre-void state, keep doing your method and ignore the symptoms. (If your method is no longer relevant, repeat affirmations like "I am in the void state" or or simply "I am")

Ignore the floating, the sounds, the sights, the sensations. Don't react to anything.

Instead, keep going until you are in the real void. Try not to get excited. This will be easy once you've experienced the pre-void many times.

You can try to shift to your DR from the pre-void state, but as I explained, success from shifting from the pre-void isn't guaranteed.

My experience yesterday

Enough of the lecturing, it's story time. I practiced what I preached yesterday.

Yesterday evening, before going to bed, I relaxed and repeated affirmations like "I can enter the void state", "entering the void state is easy" etc.

Did this for one and a half hour and got rewarded for my efforts the following day.

When I went to sleep, I just repeated the affirmation "I am" over and over again until I fell asleep.

I had a random dream and at a random point, I fell through the floor, became conscious of myself and experienced the pre-void state.

Had all the symptoms I talked about. I felt like flying through a black space and saw a white galaxy like the Milky Way ahead.

Kept repeating "I am".

...

Despite my best efforts, I woke up in the CR.

It was still a nice experience. I feel refreshed, because even the pre-void state is therapeutic thanks to the freedom and limitlessness it allows you to experience for a very brief moment.

I'm taking a break today and will attempt to achieve the void state tomorrow. I did a good job of ignoring very invasive distractions I encountered in the pre-void, including voices. Next time, I will do even better.

-shockmaster

#void state #the void state #shifting realities

[foli-vora]

without you, part 2

matt murdock x f!reader

A/N: hey the title rhymes. Hi angels! Part 2 is finally here, by heavy demand! And uh... for those who thought I was gonna fix everything with this part?? No, I'm here to make it worse! Woo! (Don't hate me, I did warn you lmao). So, enjoy the angst! Hope it's worth the wait x

Summary: continuing on from Part 1 - You return after the ‘blip’. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time. Where does that leave you now?

Word count: somewhere in the 2.7k zone idk

Warnings: ANGST. Angst squared, if you will. Broken hearts everywhere. Broken hearted reader. Broken hearted Matty. A brief broken hearted Frank coming in for the rescue. Not a happy ending. Mentions of divorce and the religious thoughts surrounding that, the Blip and the devastation it would've caused, break ups, brief jealousy, heavy denial, anxiety, lots of crying and I just want to hold onto him forever & ever. This is unedited coz I'm lazy and like to just throw things out into the void and die like a warrior.

There’s a vicious, relentless pounding behind your temples when you finally begin to feel the darkness pulling at your mind recede. With the constant stab of pain, everything returns—the apparent lost time, the strange new world that had grown during your absence, the relationships that had also changed during those five years.

Five whole years.

It might as well have been an eternity.

Your whole life, everything you knew—gone. It doesn’t seem real, it’s just not possible, and yet here you are. Here you are in a world that still feels so familiar, and sickeningly not. Your thoughts are a vicious storm in your mind, merely intensifying the throb running along your forehead. Your system flutters between confusion, denial, mourning.

It’s enough to make you want to simply fall back into the blissful void of unconsciousness, until—

“Sweetheart?”

Matt. 

Your heart still jumps at his gentle rasp, a part of you longing to just soften into his hold and cling to him like you’d done so many times before, but you can’t. He’s not—he’s not your Matt. Not anymore. 

It’s hard to pull away from the fingers tracing your cheek, and when you open your eyes, they wince from the light shining through the large windows. He’s knelt on the floor beside you, a frown of concern creasing his brows as you slowly shift on weak limbs until you’re sitting upright on the leather.

You study his features through raw, hazy eyes, and it’s only now you notice the subtle changes you had missed upon your return to the apartment—the few more creases lining his face, the extra spatterings of grey strands amongst his dark tresses. His hair… it’s shorter too, now that you’re really looking. How had you not seen that? Not noticed?

Maybe it was the panic. It had to have been. You didn’t notice anything else when you ran in. Your surroundings had changed within a second, everything was all just so confusing and mad—you had just wanted him, you wanted home. Turns out, you had no home to return to. No one to return to. 

There must be so many others. The pain must be immense throughout the world. Lovers returning to mere memories. Parents returning to kids left behind, now years older and practically strangers. Children returning to homes that were no longer there, lost amongst the new world and without anyone familiar around them to find comfort in. God, they must be so scared.

Matt’s hand returns to your face, the backs of his fingers testing the feel of your forehead before ever so slowly trailing away until they rest where your pulse thrums through the skin of your throat. It’s not necessary—he’d hear it across town. Maybe he’s seeking physical reassurance that you’re really here, right in front of him.

“Talk to me,” he pleads quietly, “say something, anything.”

You find nothing worth speaking. You doubt you’d even have the strength to speak with how dry and heavy your tongue feels in your mouth. His hand moves, fingers hot on your skin as he cups the underside of your jaw and this time, you don’t quite have the strength to pull away.

All you want is this.

His touch, his presence—him.

“Sweetheart, I—” he stops, head tilting ever so slightly towards the door.

You watch him stiffen, tension rolling through his shoulders as he rises from his knelt position before turning towards the door to the apartment expectantly. It takes longer for your senses to catch up, but eventually the dull thud of boots hitting the flooring outside of the apartment hits your ears—

Frank.

Where was he through all of this? Had he been left to carry on with life, trying to make sense of a world left in ruin? Or had he been washed away with the breeze, just like half the planet? Universe? You want to ask Matt, but words seem to fade away on your tongue. 

He doesn’t bother knocking—he never has.

While there had been some stirrings of indifference between him and Matt after everything that happened, there was still a solid foundation of respect, which quickly extended to you the more you attempted to coax the beaten and bloodied man into your clutches for some much needed medical treatment. You were more than acquaintances, a little less than friends—just close enough for him to feel comfortable coming and going from the apartment should he have ever needed patching up.

“Apparently it’s been a while,” Frank mutters gruffly as a somewhat greeting once he’s stepped into the apartment, and you feel the same air of confusion and denial radiating from him.

He had been gone then, like you. How is he handling this? Does he feel as lost as you? As scared? You’d always thought him to be someone not exactly immune to the feeling, but at least stronger than others. As much as you feel for him, hurt for him, knowing exactly the type of thoughts and feelings that plague him, you find comfort in the fact that you weren’t alone in this.

Matt doesn’t respond, and Frank sighs tiredly, eyes flashing briefly to the side under his heavily bruised and swollen brow.

“I ain’t here to fight, Red.”

Matt’s tongue flicks over his lips and he gives a humourless huff, still not relaxing from his defensive stance. Maybe he was expecting Frank to be pissed and burst in like a raging bull with red in his vision, seeing as he and Karen had something brewing slowly between them all those years ago, but Frank doesn’t seem to be interested in any violence whatsoever.

You’re not even entirely sure what he’s here for.

“Well, Karen’s not here—”

“I know, she was with me,” Frank rumbles deeply, head tilting as he appraises Matt, “told me the happy news—congrats.”

It’s not insincere, but it’s damn near close. 

His gaze moves to you.

He studies the way you sit, drawn in on yourself and cuddling your chest in an effort to hold yourself together. You can feel how raw and swollen your eyes are, and when you finally manage to tiredly lift them to meet his, Frank seems to soften.

It’s only slight, imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know his mannerisms well, but you see it.

“I was thinkin’ you might need a place, after hearin’ about—” he swallows, jaw rolling ever so slightly. He exhales sharply and shifts on his feet, “You got anywhere to go?” 

He’s here for you?

Matt intervenes immediately. “She’s staying here, Frank—”

Staying here? In the apartment you used to live in? That he now lives in with another woman? Was his idea to leave you sleeping on the couch alone, while they sleep in your bed together? No, it’s not your bed anymore. It’s their bed. Their apartment.

Five years of Daredevil and regular concussions must’ve really killed some of his brain cells. Is he even still Daredevil? Maybe married life changed his perspective on his dangerous nightly habits. Maybe his perspective changed on a lot of things. Is he even the same Matt you had left behind?

Frank’s head tilts, his eyes narrowing into a scowl as they flick back to Matt. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t askin’ you—was I, Red?”

“No,” you finally rasp in reply to his earlier question before Matt could retort, voice rough and weak in your throat, “no, I don’t.”

He nods, expecting your answer. “You got a bag?”

“I don’t know if I have any things left,” you mutter, bitterly wondering where your belongings went. Storage? Donated? The trash? How long did they leave it, did Matt leave it before tossing it all away? Like you’d never even existed, like you’d never even mattered. “Do I have anything here, Matt?”

Matt baulks at the ice coating your tone, and it’s unfair. You know that. Deep down you know you’re being unfair, a part of your mind gently reminding you that you probably would’ve thought and done the same in his position should it have been reversed, but you don’t care.

The familiar bite of anger, pain, still stirs relentlessly in your system and it trumps all reason and logic.

You had a life, and now it’s in complete ruins.

What are you supposed to do with that?

Frank nods sagely, “We’ll get you some things, ain’t gotta worry about that. You comin’?”

As much as you want to reject the idea of leaving, as much as your heart screams at you to stay with Matt because he’s all you know, he’s all you have, and he was telling you how much he loved you only mere hours ago… you give a minimal nod, and shift to stand from the couch.

It wasn’t hours ago—it was five years.

Five years.

Matt instinctively steps in front of you to keep you from moving any further, his tongue darting across his lips in an apparent panic, “You’re going with him?”

“Can you give us a minute? I won’t be long,” you ask Frank quietly, aching at the way Matt’s anxiety seems to heighten at your words.

Frank gives a single nod, and then slips out, the door clicking quietly shut behind him. Matt ignores it, every sense focused in on you and the way your heart beats a broken rhythm in your chest, the way your nails pick at the cotton of your sleeves, the way fresh tears smell building on your lash line—

“I have nowhere else to go,” you mutter, body now numb to feeling and just utterly exhausted from the onslaught of emotions the day had thrust upon you. “I can’t stay here, Matt. I can’t. Seeing you two—God, it’ll kill me. I can’t do it.”

Why you? Why did it have to be you? 

A part of you wishes it would’ve been Karen in your place, uncaringly and unknowingly torn from her life to leave everything she ever loved behind, only to return to a world that had survived, that had moved on without her… and you don’t even have the energy to feel guilty for such a thought yet.

It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even Matt’s.

“Sweetheart,” Matt pleads softly, hands seeking and taking your hands tightly, “just—just tell me what to do. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

The thought is immediate—would he leave her? Could you ask that of him? Could you expect him to just drop and abandon everything he’s built during your absence?

You want to.

You want to tell him to break it off with her as soon as physically possible, to kick her out so you could be at home where you’re comfortable and with him and just act like nothing happened—

—but you can’t.

You can’t bring yourself to say the words.

What would he think of you asking a question like that? Would he even do it? You know how he feels about divorce, what his religion thinks of divorce. His whole belief system, his life, his God… would he abandon it all for you?

Looking at him now, how he physically pleads with you with those soft, lost eyes looking for guidance, you believe that maybe, just maybe, he would. 

But you can’t ask that of him.

You could never, and would never, ask that of him.

Unless—

“Were you happy?” You ask softly, eyes bouncing between his where they rest just left of your face. 

He blinks, a slight frown forming between his eyes in an effort to make sense of your unexpected words, “What?”

“Before I—” you take a breath, tongue rolling along your lips to moisten the sudden dry skin, “—before I just materialised back onto the street… were you happy? With your life? With her?”

Without me?

Say no.

God, please say no.

You begin to wonder why you asked. Maybe you’re a glutton for punishment, maybe you think nothing could possibly hurt any more than it already does, but when his expression falters, when his mouth opens and nothing seems to make it past his lips, you know that’s not possible.

This… this seems to hit the hardest.

He was happy.

He was happy before you came back.

He was happy without you. 

And it’s… good.

It is.

Of course you don’t want him to be anything but that. He had found what he wanted from life—some normality, some peace, and it’s with that understanding that you realise you have no place here anymore. At least not with him. You have no part in his life now, and it shreds that last little untouched piece of your hopeful heart to absolute ruins.

Denial still pulls at your mind, still blatantly refuses to accept that five years had actually passed. You’d been nothing but a distant memory to him, to your friends, to the world, and yet, everything is still so vividly fresh for you. You only got out of bed, held him, kissed him, a few hours ago—a few fucking hours!

Five years.

“It’s okay,” you mutter, as his saddened eyes flutter in a panic, “I want that for you, Matt. I’ve always wanted that for you, even if that means I’m not—that we’re not—”

You ache at the thought of being apart from him, a feeling he had already experienced and endured. 

“Three years,” he says quietly, brokenly, a slow gathering of tears building along his lash line, “three years I searched, I waited, I prayed… if I had known—if I had known you… I wouldn’t have—”

—moved on. 

You envision Matt lost in the organised pews with dozens of other faceless mourners, on his knees and weeping into his closed hands, begging for the strength to finally let you go. He was granted it, after enduring agony for such a stretch of time, and now it’s all fallen to pieces at your return.

“It’s okay,” you repeat softly, the feeling of your heart beating in your throat choking the words, “it’s okay.”

“No,” he shakes his head, face creasing as the tears begin to make their way down his cheeks, “no, it’s not. I’ve only just gotten you back. You’re back, and now—now I—God. I can’t say goodbye. Not again. I can’t.”

“So don’t,” you say simply, a fresh build of your own tears streaking your cheeks, “we won’t say goodbye. Just… just forget. Forget I ever came back, Matt. Everything will be as it was.”

He recoils sharply, as if you physically struck him. “I can’t do that—”

“Yes, you can. You have to, we all have to.”

“No, I won’t—”

“You told me to tell you,” you croak weakly, the feel of his coarse stubble piercing the soft skin of your palm as you cradle his cheek, “you told me to tell you what to do, and that you’ll do it. Well, this is it, Matt. This is what I’m telling you to do—forget I ever came back. It’ll be easier for everyone. You can keep what you had—what you have, and I—”

And you?

What will you do?

Where will you go?

Your hand falls from his face, only for it to be snatched up and returned to its previous spot with his own pressed tightly against it to keep it there. His tears smear against your skin, the evidence of his heartbreak an obvious reminder that he never let go completely.

There’s something still held for you within him, it just wasn’t the same as when you left.

His forehead comes to rest against your own, and you weaken into the familiar comfort of his touch, just for a moment. You don’t want to let go, don’t even know if you can. There's nothing left to be said, nothing left to be worked out. This is just it.

Why does it have to be this way? Your stomach churns at the idea of walking out for good. How can you? Nothing has changed for you—everything you feel for him is right there, right there where it’s always been, and you can’t do anything with it.

You indulge in the moment a little longer, stretching out to softly press your lips to his with the bittersweet taste of a loving goodbye—one last time. You savour the feel of him, his lips, so warm, so soft and sweet and familiar—

—and then pull away, the air filling the space between you lingering with the memory of what could have been.

He lets your hand fall away this time, pained haunted eyes scrunching closed as you further the distance between you until you’re at the door to the apartment. The quiet exhale of a sob reaches your ears as you open the door, and you dare not look back at Matt falling apart as you close it softly behind you.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock imagine #daredevil fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

[sp1cy-t0ss]

Antares

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45534721

The first thing Nightwing hears upon regaining consciousness is ominous chanting. A man’s voice rings out over the rest, ranting about an Eternal King, infinite power, and -- oh boy -- sacrifices. He tunes it out to assess the situation.

He’s in an old warehouse. Robin’s here too, looking even more annoyed than Nightwing feels, and both of them have their hands and ankles bound in rope. His comm is on silent, just as he left it, like an idiot. The ranting man and his followers in matching robes are gathered around a ritual circle in the middle of the floor. Yeah, that tells him all he needs to know. They need to get out, now.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly when the leader finishes his speech and turns to them.

“So,” the man asks with a cruel smile. “Which of you ‘heroes’ will have the honor of bringing our Lord to this plane?” 

“I will.” Robin’s voice is sharp, unyielding. 

The man is obviously surprised to receive an actual answer to his taunt, but obliges. He pulls Robin away without another word.

“What?! No! Robin, you can’t--” Nightwing’s protest is cut off with a punch to the stomach from one of the robed lackeys.

“I have my reasons, Nightwing; it must be me.” Robin’s face reveals nothing, but he gives a subtle hand signal: I have a plan.

Nightwing forces himself to calm down. They’ll get out of this. He just has to trust his Robin. While everyone’s eyes are off him, he quietly works at the amateur knots.

The leader drags Robin into the circle without a fight. He raises a jeweled dagger, intentions clear... 

But Robin is faster. He bites his own wrist, hard, and spits his blood into the circle. The runes light up in terrible Lazarus green, and Robin pushes himself upright with a malicious grin.

The lead cultist scrambles back from the circle and into a deep bow. The chanting stops as his minions follow suit. Robin continues to look far too smug for his situation. Nightwing feels a headache coming on somewhere under his renewed panic.

This is his plan?! 

There’s a blinding flash of light. When the spots clear from Nightwing’s vision, the Eternal King is floating in the circle, mere feet from the bound Robin.

The Eternal King isn’t quite the grotesque horror he expected. Their body is a glittering black void, a sleek humanoid shadow with misty white hair and bright, bright eyes of toxic green. A cold fog rolls off of their body in waves.

“Antares,” the shadow rumbles, and Nightwing feels static thrum in his bones with the sound. The room is painfully cold, but the King doesn’t seem aggressive yet. Maybe they really can bargain their way out of this mess.

Robin doesn’t flinch. He looks the Eternal King right in the eyes, utterly fearless, and smirks. “Hello, Beloved.”

What?

The King stares silently, floating closer. For a long moment, no one moves. No one speaks.

“My lord, does the sacrifice please you?” The ringleader cuts in, standing up with a greedy gleam in his eyes. 

Something in the air changes as the King turns toward the man. Something cold, electric, heavy under the skin. Nightwing suppresses a shiver as he works through the last of the rope.

“You d̵̢̛a̵̼̽ṙ̴͎e̵͙̐.”

The leader pales and falls to his knees. “My Lord, if this offering is insufficient, we have another--”

The King s̴̱̖̺̺̓͊̕̕ć̵͇͇͔̈r̴̥͐e̸̥̬͌̂̌̊a̴̭̔̓̀̔͘m̵̯͑̋͌͠s̵̗̤̻̭̍̿, a furious howl that blurs Nightwing’s vision and claws his ears. The sound is everywhere, driving him to his knees. Growing shadows seem to absorb his little brother just as Nightwing realizes he’s blacking out. 

They’re falling, they’re falling someone help they’re screaming he’s screaming make it stop dead on impact blood and bones make it stop make it STOP--

When he comes back to himself, it’s quiet. Nightwing blinks tears from his eyes, gasping for frigid air that pierces his lungs like knives. The floor outside the circle is covered in blood splatter. The cultists have all been struck down, and many aren’t moving. 

But he’s not looking at them.

Because the monster is coiled around Robin like a snake, eyes burning as it surveys the room. Robin seems unharmed for now, but he has to get his baby brother away from that thing.

He steps forward, and those endless green eyes lock onto him. It snarls at his approach, revealing multiple rows of teeth. Claws subtly tighten on Robin’s shoulders. Nightwing sinks into a combat stance, and the creature braces itself to leap.

Pure, animal instinct screams that Nightwing won’t survive this fight.. It doesn’t matter. He’ll give his all like he always has, and Robin can escape. The others will find a way to take it down. He just has to buy time.

“Dove, it’s alright.”

To Nightwing’s amazement, the creature freezes. It turns to look at Robin, warbling in apparent confusion before turning back to Nightwing with a hiss.

Robin grabs its face in both hands and forces it to look at him. “No. That’s Nightwing, remember? He will not harm us. I am safe. We are safe.” His voice is steady, soothing as he gently presses their foreheads together. A spark of awareness slowly returns to ‘Dove’s’ eyes.

“Come back to me.”

The monster sags in Robin’s grip, slowly folding in on itself until a nearly-human teen with snowy white hair is left floating gently in its place.

Robin smiles, gentle and shockingly warm. “There you are.”

‘Dove’ is shaking. Their eyes are locked on Robin, as though he’s the only thing in their universe. “Antares,” they breathe, before wrapping Robin in a tight hug.

Robin briefly looks to Dick, gesturing toward the cultists. He then returns his attention to the distraught being, resting his chin on their head and both hands on their back. The obvious dismissal makes Nightwing uneasy, but the kid has a point. They'll just have to check him for hypnosis or mind control back at the Cave.

Now that Nightwing is actually looking at the cultists, their injuries are horrific. Deep lacerations, stab wounds, frostbite, severed limbs...none of them seem likely to die with medical treatment, but every last one is maimed. 

The ringleader is worst of all. His eyes are gouged out, and his hands ripped off and cauterized by the same unearthly frost that burns scattered marks into his skin. An unfamiliar symbol has been clawed into his chest. 

Nightwing looks back to the circle, where Dove is quietly sobbing. Their face is tucked securely into Robin’s neck, and Nightwing hears whispers of I was scared and can’t lose you too.  

This is the same person?

By the time the cultists are all secured and the police have been called, Dove seems to have calmed down. Time to play the diplomat. Again. 

Damn, maybe Steph has a point about Eldest Daughter Syndrome.

“I, uh, hate to interrupt, but we should probably get out of here, yeah? GCPD will be here in a couple minutes,” he proposes with a friendly smile.

Dove wipes their eyes. “Right.” Then they look around the room and wince. “Uhm, sorry you? Had to see that? I...panicked. You’re okay though, right? Not hurt or anything?” The question is disarmingly earnest, and there’s nothing but concern in their eyes. Hm.

“Nah, not a scratch,” Nightwing dismisses. Then he remembers he’s apparently talking to a king. “Thank you for saving Robin, Your Highness,” he adds with a bow of his head. 

“Nuh-uh, no titles. Gross.” The King makes a face, then smiles with renewed cheer. “Call me Phantom. He/him, ghost, and general pain in the ass, at your service!” He floats higher and punctuates his announcement with a midair flip. “You might as well know, since we’re gonna be seeing each other a lot now.”

Crap. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Nightwing ventures.

‘Phantom’ exchanges a meaningful look with Robin. Nightwing barely has time to register the mischief on both their faces before Robin pulls the being down into a kiss. 

A deep kiss now. Really deep. Yeah, they’ve definitely forgotten he’s here.

When they finally separate, Robin looks quite satisfied. Phantom, however, sticks out a forked tongue and scrunches his face. “Blech, blood. What did you...” His eyes land on Robin’s still-bloody wrist, then the droplets still in the circle. 

“You didn’t.” A grin creeps across his face. “You have me on soul speed dial and you still hijacked a whole-ass summoning!”

“Tt. I was making a point.” Robin crosses his arms.

Phantom cackles. “You are literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met!” he crows.

Robin raises an eyebrow and gestures to the warehouse full of mangled cultists. Phantom opens his mouth to retort, but it’s at this point that Nightwing finally manages to pull his jaw off the floor and speak. 

“Robin,” he says with deliberate calm. “What the fuck.”

And then they hear police sirens. Fantastic.

“Crap. Don’t worry, I got it!” Phantom declares as he rips a green hole in existence. Robin is unfazed, which is rapidly getting less and less surprising.

A woman in the corner stirs. Phantom makes a ‘one moment’ gesture before he stalks over and yanks her forward with a growl. “You’ve kept your tongue for a reason. Spread the word: Robin is mine.” (Robin stands taller, obviously pleased by that extremely concerning statement.)  The woman nods frantically, and Phantom drops her to the ground. 

Without further preamble, Phantom zips back over and shoves both vigilantes through the rip.

Just like that, they’re all in Damian’s bedroom. The two boys immediately sit together on the edge of the bed, while Dick remains standing. Dick doesn’t even know where to begin, so he can only give a helpless ‘why’ sort of gesture. Thankfully, Damian seems to take pity on him.

“Richard, this insufferable fool is my Beloved. His name is Danny, and he is seventeen.” Then he smirks. “You may refer to him as High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms; The Tyrant’s Bane, True Balance, Son Of Stars, Pride of Time, Death’s Chosen--”

The ghost groans dramatically, flopping across Damian’s lap like a wet noodle. “Oh my gawd, Dames, why would you tell him that?”

"It is very important that Richard recognizes your position and authority.” Damian says, not even trying to sound convincing.

Danny reaches up and pushes at Damian’s face. It brings to mind a pair of cats, especially with Damian doing his best to look annoyed instead of fond. “Betrayal! I want a divorce!”

That’s the last straw. Dick chokes on his own spit and has to thump his chest a few times to breathe right again. With monumental effort, he manages to wheeze out a strangled “Are you MaRriEd?!”

Danny tries to sputter out a reply, but Dick is distracted by Damian laughing. It’s a low, light sound, with no attempt made to disguise it. 

“Of course not,” Damian says. He cards a hand through Danny’s hair, the other boy sighing contently and looking up at him with adoring neon eyes. “We've only courted for seven months now. It will be another three years before we wed.” 

Dick is just. Gonna ignore that last bit. For his own sanity. “Wait, how did you keep a whole boyfriend secret for seven months? In this family?” 

“Bribery.” “Threats.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. Babs and Duke probably know then.

“Cool, good to know. One more question.” Well, more like a billion, but he may as well start with an icebreaker before the inevitable interrogation. Besides, it’s a big brother's duty to embarrass his siblings. “Why Dove?”

Damian says nothing, but his deep blush is almost audible.

“Because I’m cute and fluffy!” Danny chirps.

“Hardly,” Damian scoffs. “It’s because you are raucously annoying and constantly crash into windows.”

Literally everything about this situation is baffling, but Danny looks so offended that Dick can’t help but laugh.

“You lying asshole!” Danny screeches.

Damian turns to Dick. “He attempted to use a grapple three times and broke eleven windows; four of them with his face. I have videos.” Danny gasps, the two start bickering, and Dick is left to his thoughts once more. 

Even as the pair separate to point fingers and trade increasingly creative insults, their body language is completely relaxed. As much as Dick is panicking about a powerful undead monarch around their family, Damian is happy. He has been for months, now that Dick thinks about it. He’s been loosening up a little, leaving the manor more, and even mentioning a few new friends (though he refuses to use the word.)

Whoever or whatever Danny is, he’s been good for him.

“Well,” Dick cuts in, interrupting an inventive declaration about overripe cheese. “We’ll obviously need to talk about this. But for what it’s worth,” he smiles. “I’m happy for you, Baby Bat.” 

With that said, Dick walks out of the bedroom. Danny gives him a grateful smile, and a quiet thank you, Richard can be heard as he closes the door behind him.

Dick walks away at a leisurely pace until he reaches the end of the hallway, where he promptly breaks into a sprint toward the Cave. Checking the Batcomputer to make sure Damian hasn’t noticed the planted bug yet, he turns on his comms. Unsurprisingly, the entire family is yelling and demanding answers.

Well, at least he won’t be the only one having a heart attack tonight.

#dp x dc #dead serious #they're 16 and 17 #danny says he wants a divorce at every mild inconvenience #danny has dozens of titles and damian has memorized every last one entirely to annoy him #they alternate between adorable cats and those heckling muppets #spice writes #dc x dp #danny x damian

[stnexus]

a slip of the tongue…!

jason todd x fem!black!reader

MINORS DNI, NSFW, 18+

summary: stressful days and sleepless nights, jason has a remedy for that one. just don’t give him any attitude, that’s all he asks.

cw: minor little heated argument (reader literally just has a lil freak out moment), a few mentions of jason’s scars, reader is stressed, insomnia (?), reader thinks jason’s mad for a second but that gets cleared up quick, nsfw, squeaky bed frame(?), praise kink, overstimulation, dumbification, dacryphillia, oral (f!receiving), squirting, creampie, mating press, missionary, cowgirl, this one kinda sensual you guys (i need this man so bad. tonight…we FEAST.)

names used (?): baby, pretty, pretty girl, beautiful, beautiful girl, good girl, daddy (used in moderation you guys)

word count: 3.5k+ (yet i was struggling to write my 1.2k final essay. THIS IS 12 FUCKING PAGES.)

A slam of the front door was all that rang throughout the house, the pitch black darkness was like a cold greeting. One that you had gotten used to when you would come home from work late in the evening. With Jason on his patrol and the house void of  anyone else, you were left to your own devices. Something that you sometimes wish was not the case. 

Dropping your keys on to the side table of your Gotham apartment, you pushed your heels off and kicked them out of the way of the front door. Flipping the light switch up and to the on position soon after. As your bare feet connected with  the cold wood flooring of the apartment, it seemed to ground you just a bit. 

This week at work had been hell, your boss had been working you so much you felt like if you blinked within his line of sight he would scold you for goofing off. So here you were. Sore feet, skirt and blouse cladded body tired as ever. Stripping yourself of your clothes one by one you held the pile of clothing in your arms until you reached your room, gliding through it to the connected bathroom.

Dropping the clothing in the hamper in the bathroom, you glanced at yourself in the mirror above the sink. Your eyes were glazed over from your tiredness, your pretty brown skin was beginning to lack its glow, and the bags under your eyes were getting heavier by the minute. Stressed wasn’t even the word needed to explain your state of being. 

Another sigh fell from your lips, and a yawn followed soon after as you made your way to the shower. grabbing your pink bonnet off the sink where you had left it, you gathered your braids and tucked them into the bonnet, the band laying snug on your forehead. you hoped that the water that would soon come beating down against your skin could help you become less stressed. 

your shower was therapeutic, but not enough to fully ease your mind. no, what you needed and wanted was jason. you had missed him all day — knowing your home would be empty when you arrived home due to him needing to tend to important matters. as you climbed into bed, dressed in pajamas that consisted of an old shirt and shorts, the squeak of the old bed frame that needed to be replaced welcomed you. 

i need to remind jason to help me pick out another bed frame next weekend. your thoughts rang.

grabbing at his pillow on his side of the bed, you pulled it towards you. his scent seemingly pulls you out of the brain fog you were currently in, just slightly. but it is still not enough. soon you would realize even attempting to fall asleep was futile. even though your eyelids were heavy and begged for rest.

you tossed and turned for hours, huffing out a frustrated sigh many times into the dark bedroom. peeling your eyes open you peered at the alarm clock that read ten minutes to five in the morning. it dawned on you that it had been  almost six hours that you had been fighting to fall asleep.

shaking your head as you grumbled, you stretched your limbs as you pulled yourself from the bed. your bonnet slipped off in the process, but you paid it no attention. trudging out of the room to make way to the kitchen. grabbing a cup from the cupboard, you pulled the fridge open as you grabbed the bottle of juice and opened it. beginning to pour it, that's when you heard it—

it was the sound of familiar heavy boots hitting the wooden floors of your apartment. even though happiness played at the edge of your mind, your face barely portrayed it. you slightly jumped as your eyes met his own as he stood in the entrance of the kitchen. jason’s arrival was quiet, surely because he was confused about who was in your kitchen this time of morning. seeing as you were usually asleep.

“what’re you doing up, baby?” 

his question flowed through the air as he began to close the gap between you two. his helmet was nowhere to be seen, most likely tucked away somewhere in your apartment.

“couldn’t sleep,” your words came out rougher than you had intended. there was a beat of silence but it washed away as jason spoke again. his brows furrowed for a minute then relaxed as he rubbed a hand over his face, fingers running over his scars for a mere second. 

“so, before i forget, bruce wants the whole family to come over for dinner saturday,” he informed as he backed away slowly, sitting at your dinner table as he pulled off his boots. “said he’s not taking no for an answer.”

“jason, i don’t know—” you tried to inject, though he had not seemed to notice.

“i’m sure alfred will probably be cooking almost all day tomorrow, in preparation. everyone eats like they’ve never seen food before—”

“jason, fuck, i already have enough on my plate right now. my boss is up my ass every time i walk into the office. i’m up to my neck in paperwork, all because he decided to spontaneously lay off two of my coworkers. i haven’t been able to sleep one bit, even though i’m tired. on top of that, i have to work on saturday. i don’t have the time to worry about a fucking dinner at bruce’s house.”

the kitchen filled with silence as you stood in front of the fridge. jason’s eyes taking in your current state as he sat still after your outburst. your braids cascaded down your back, but the few that slipped over your shoulder to frame your face made him aware of the bags that began to form. you looked overwhelmed, stressed even. he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to realize at first — which usually doesn’t happen.

“…you do seem tired, baby. i’m sorry i didn’t notice,” jason broke the silence. “how about we go to the room, i know exactly what you need to get to sleep.” 

“no, jay i’m sorry– ”

“it’s nothing to be sorry for, baby. i’m not angry,” jason ensured as he stood and walked over to you. grabbing at your free hand and pulling you towards him, taking the cup of juice from your hand. your head laid on his chest momentarily. “how about you go to the room? clothes off for me by the time i get in there, pretty girl.”

the weakening bed frame squeaks once again as you drop onto the mattress, jason grabs onto your ankle and dragged you closer to him as he got on the bed soon after. grabbing softly at your face, he slightly squished your cheeks together as he leaned down towards you to plant a peck on your lips that drifted into a heated kiss. without words, he pulled away, placing slow, open-mouth kisses down your neck — one of his hands grabbing at one of your breasts as he tweaked and played at your nipple. 

you felt completely vulnerable with how he was completely dressed; having quickly showered in the guest bathroom to give you some space. jason had dressed in a simple black shirt and gray sweatpants. his scent flooding your senses

“ you feel so soft, baby,” jason complimented,  “ ‘could play with this pretty body all day, every day.”

his words pulled a moan from your lips. reaching out to brush your hand over his hair you let out a small gasp as his lips wrapped around the nipple he had just toyed with. your hand tightened just a little around his hair, a flurry of black and whitened strands peaking through your finger as your acrylics ran over his scalp. his tongue dragging soft circles around the hardened bud at that moment. pulling away after almost two minutes, jason placed a kiss right above your nipple — then repeated his earlier actions with your neglected nipple. 

“pretty fucking tits,” jason grunts, eyes darkening as he looks up at you with your nipple between his lip, “such a beautiful girl.” 

“shit— thank you, daddy,” you let out as his hand snaked between you two. pushing your thighs that parted to accommodate him apart even more. feeling his rough fingertips part your slick folds in a teasing manner, you whined for some sort of friction and lifted your hips at his actions. to which jason listened as he sat his palm right above your cunt, thumb dipping downward to rub tight and heavy-handed little circles over your clit. 

“ ‘s that feel good, pretty girl?” 

“y—yeah,” you stutter out. 

“you know all i wanna do is make you feel good, right?”

“yeah, you make me feel so good, jay”

“so the next time you feel overwhelmed,” jason began as he began to lay kisses down your torso, stopping just below your navel, “don’t bring that attitude to me. just talk to me, ‘ya understand?”

“yes, f—fuck, i’m sorry daddy,”

locking eyes with you, jason licked a long stripe over your cunt. his tongue caressing your attentive clit. he did it a few more times before wrapping his lips around your hardened bud, taking harsh sucks at it as if he were trying to pull an orgasm from you. 

“ ‘taste so fuckin’ good,” jason spoke as his eyelids became heavy with lust, “nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout baby.”

feeling his hands drag over your inner thighs your hips seemed to move on their own as you attempted to grind against him. only for jason to let out a moan around your clit, hands now close enough to feel a thick finger prodding at your slit. sliding in slowly as his eyes trained on your face. the drag of his finger in and out of you was mind numbing as he found your most vulnerable spot within mere seconds — feeling you clench around him in approval of his actions.

“ ‘you gonna cum all over daddy’s face?”

“yes…!”

your dragged-out and whined confession was followed by almost immediate proof. the walls of your cunt clench around jason as he adds a second finger, tongue still dragging over your clit. a sheen of your cream decorating his fingers as you came crashing down.

“that’s it, baby, let it out,” jason spoke as softly as he could. lapping at every bit of your essence he could take in as if he would be ripped away at any second. though, your release did not stop him. his fingers continued to work you open as he pulled his mouth away from your cunt. watching as you clenched around his fingers repeatedly from the lack of a break. adding a third finger, jason listened to the moan you squeaked out in response. 

he was so attentive towards you, so it had not  shocked him when you declared that you were on the verge of cumming yet again. instead, he buried his tongue between your folds once again. his tongue heavy and wide as he parted your cunt. licking and kissing at your clit as if he were making out without it. 

“j—jay don’t stop,” you begged as your hips chased after his tongue. 

“mhm,” he hummed in agreeance, the vibrations from his response knocking you over the edge. the last moan you drew out hitched in your throat and slowly progressed into a slight whine. your thighs closing around his head, to which jason used his free hand to open them once more.

“there you fucking go, good girl,” jason groaned out a praise, laying a single kiss on your clit before he sat up from his position on the bed. bending down towards you to plant a messy kiss on your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. as he pulled back you took in his disheveled look as he took in your somewhat dazed look from reaching your high twice. watching as he pulled his shirt off, you were greeted by the scar that spanned across his chest and abdomen.

“that was just two,” jason spoke, “i want to see you cum until you can’t think.” 

it was something you knew he would follow through with. especially when he laid you back down, spreading your legs once more as he tugged his sweats and boxers off in one go, getting you to wrap around his waist. with his knees digging into the mattress he slid his cock back and forth between your sticky folds, groaning as his tip met your clit and caused you to twitch due to sensitivity. wasting no time, he lined up his tip with your entrance. sliding in gently, he placed a hand between your breast, slightly pushing you into the mattress, while his other hand gripped your hip.

you could feel him filling you inch by inch, stretching you out as he pushed himself into you. your mouth slightly agape as he reached the hilt and left you with a moment to adjust.

“you’re so tight,” he slurred out, “ ‘thought i opened you up enough with my fingers, baby. loosen up for me.”

“i’m trying, jay— fuck, ‘feels like you’re in my stomach,” you replied in shaky voice. which only caused jason to grin in response. 

“you poor thing, you can take it. i know you can.” 

pulling his hips away from your own he swings them downward onto you, repeatedly. drawing — in his own words — the prettiest sound from your lips. his own moans and grunts slipped through at times, his sounds making you feel just as good as his actions. 

“oh shit, you feel so good daddy,” you swore as your fingers found a purchase wrapped around the hand pushing you into the mattress, the scars decorating them lying just beneath your fingertips. his strokes were sensual and deep — like he planned on driving you crazy. if he wanted you to think of nothing else but him he was definitely on the right track.

“yeah…? i want you to show me how good it feels. cum for me,” jason stated as his hand reach up at your cheeks, “you know what i want. let me see you cream all over me again.” 

“jason you’re so nasty,” you forced out as his hip persisted. you were growing a bit embarrassed at how you were squeezing at jason’s cock, his stamina surely helped him wade off his release. 

“i know you ain’t complaining,” he said with a huffed out laugh. a few swears falling from his lips as he pushed the feeling of wanting to cum far down his list of priorities.

“i—i’m not, shit, i’m cumming…!”

“cumming so good you’re trying to milk me i swear,” jason groaned out as he watched the layer of your sticky orgasm cover his cock, “fuck— not yet though, ‘gotta make sure i take all that stress away.”

it felt like he had already done so, with the way your mind became fuzzy as you surged through your third release. jason’s hips barely skipping a beat as he fucked you through it, prolonging the feeling of ecstasy. your words were starting to fail you as he pulled you down the mattress and stood to his full height at the foot of the bed. he raised one of your legs over his shoulder, the other following soon after as he pulled you into a mating press. 

grabbing at his forearms that he planted firmly on each side of you, you swore you could feel him everywhere as he pushed himself into you again. the feeling starting to become overwhelming as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. kissing at your brown cheeks he stilled for a moment as his eyes softened. 

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” jason spoke as his lips met yours again, “i’m so lucky to have such a hardworking, intelligent girl.”

amidst him praising you, he began to move. feeling as though he was trying to dig you out in the current position. 

“ ‘l—love you,” was all you seemed to let out as your words drifted off into useless babbling. his hips hitting the back of your thighs with each thrust as he planted a kiss on one of your legs.

“you know i love you too, baby.”

the room seemed to grow hotter as the bed frame below you squeaked at jason’s well paced thrusts. the little hair that began to grow in on his happy trail becoming covered in your slick as he rubbed against your clit with each thrust.

this time you were unable to even form the words to warn him of what was to come. you felt a tightness in your lower stomach that seemed to get worse with each movement from him. but this one felt different. the constant rubbing against your sensitive cunt in combination to him stretching you out was like he was trying to break you.

“that’s it, i know. i know, baby,” jason cooes as he reads your face, “all you need is to be fucked out. make a mess for me.”

you swore you saw stars as you gripped at jason’s arms. surely leaving impressions of your acrylics on his skin as you came. spurts of clear fluid bouncing off his abdomen as he continued to push himself in and out. 

“f—fuck, i need you to do that one more time.”

it was not long before you found yourself on top of him, bouncing as good as you could with how tired you were becoming. pushing his cock into your overly spent cunt, he had let you sink down at your own pace. it took everything in him to hold himself back but tonight was not about him. jason wanted to live up to his earlier statements: all he wants to do is make you feel good.

he watched as your bouncing started to become sloppy, your legs weak from the many times you had cum before. reaching his hands out, he intertwined his fingers with your own as he took in your fucked out state. 

“need me to help you, pretty girl?” 

“y—yes please,” 

that was all it took for him to pull you towards him. your head falling onto the white pillows beside his head, your face right next to his. taking a second to place your hands behind your back, he held your wrist together with one hand as he grabbed at your waist with the other. your knees stayed planted onto the mattress as he positioned himself. fucking up into you, his own hips pushing you up and down. the bedframe squealing under his continuous movements seemed to encourage him even more.

“ ‘treat me so good, daddy,” your whines were broken and tired. he was sure you would sleep nice and good when you two were done. but for now a chuckle left his mouth.

“you deserve it,” jason spoke in between his own breathy moans, “you work so hard, fuck—  yeaaa… squeeze me just like that. you are worth everything, baby.” 

the tears that had been playing at your eyes since he had you at the edge of the bed seemed to fall at the ringing of his words in your ears. feeling your heartbeat quicken and your stomach tighten you forced yourself to make sense through your nonsense rambling.

“ ‘wanna kiss, jay.” 

to which he didn’t complain. his hips never faltered as he turned his head towards you, connecting your lips once again. groaning as he felt you gripping around his cock as if he were attempting to leave your soaked cunt.

“want me to fill you up?” he questioned in between the kiss. a question you tried your best to answer but only forced out a mumble of mhm, yea. 

it didn’t take long, as you reached your peak, squirting once more as it dripped down jason’s balls. his lips were still on yours as his hips stuttered, moments later flooding your cunt with ropes of white cum. despite not looking down, you could feel his cum leaking from between your legs as you gushed around him. only for him to fuck back up into you a few more times before slowly pulled himself from your pussy.

“how do you feel, baby?” he questioned as he let your hands go. the hand that was on your waist moving to remove a braid from your vision as it had begun to slip as he adjusted himself under you. he had put his body flat against the mattress and allowed you too just lay on him in your fucked out state. 

“tired,” you replied as much as your worn out body would allow you. 

“how about we go pee, then when we get back we can both sleep all you want? i don’t have to handle patrol tomorrow, Dick’s got it covered.”

“mhm…i’d like that.”

“thought so. and don’t worry, i’ll handle that boss of yours, go ahead and call off for Saturday,” jason smiled fondly as he grabbed at your body. gearing up to pick you up and help you to the bathroom.

#✧ read along #jason todd x black!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd comfort #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd #jason todd x reader smut #red hood x black!reader #red hood x you #red hood comfort #red hood fluff #red hood x reader #red hood smut #the red hood #red hood #red hood x y/n

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello! May I request a reader x Keegan drabble where the reader is an artist in secret?

Sure, they roam the wake of no mans land in a ravaging war, but in the moments they are not on missions they capture the scenery around them. Wether it be on rooftops, surrounding woods or abandoned shelters, the reader revels in the few moments of silence they have before another bombardment of bloodshed is thrown their way to remember places or things around them before they eventually move again

How would Keegan react, let alone if he caught reader sketching him?

Thank you for your time, have a good day :D

—Paint The Dawn; Paint My Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [In the midst of war and death, there's little time for pleasure. All you had was a ripped-up sketchbook to call your own, its contents littered with the rough face of your comrade.] ❞

The camp is quiet, and you are tired. 

Looking out along the wreckage of this wasted world, there seems to be no end to the broken valleys or the craters of rock—this desolation remains as if an angry God had thrown a tantrum, and smashed the earth to bits. Trees grew sideways, wreckage that could be bits of houses or even remnants of bone breed in the little spaces under moss and bush; where the rest died, nature took back what was hers. Thus, the cycle continued.

What breathes, dies, and with that firm and undisputable reality, you find beauty in moments like these. 

You blink down at what still breathes of the patchwork lungs of No Man’s Land, pencil in your hand still for but a moment of red-eyed concentration. The deer was down in the dip below the Ghosts’ quiet camp for the steadily growing night—white where it should be a tawny-blonde shade. Barely breathing, you watch with half of its albino form sketched out in short bursts of graphite on your sun-bleached possession. 

A sketchbook, old, and worn to the very binding of its pages, and yet to you a more prized possession had never been held in your grip. 

So focused on the deer and its white shadow; its lithe body as it grazes along the forest floor amidst a soft rustling of leaves, you don’t notice the man behind you—a man supposed to be sleeping. 

It’s a minute of looking at your awe-filled face before Keegan clears his throat, speaking in a low grumble. “Not every day you see that, huh?”

You startle back so quickly that your pencil slips out of your hand, bouncing off your thighs before clattering to the flat rock that serves as your lookout platform. A clink of metal on stone is all it takes, the pencil falling down into the lower land and striking through greenery as you gasp and snap your eyes away. The flighty heart of the deer all at once sparked in a puff of air from its nostrils and a flair of a raised tail. 

It disappears into the bushes and its white flash is seen until the thick foliage swallows it again. You look back just in time to grace your eyes with one last glimpse. 

A deep disappointment blooms and you level out a sigh as Keegan clicks his tongue, guiltily rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

“Shit, Sweetheart,” he hums, “didn’t mean to…” Keegan tapers off with a low groan. “I’ll, uh, get you a new pencil when we’re back, yeah?” 

You stare at the forest a moment longer before huffing out and shifting—you turn and glance at the Sergeant before grumbling out, “You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on people, Russ. I don’t like it when it’s me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, his body still in gear and armed just like yours. Even sleeping, Ghosts bore the fangs of the living. Keegan’s face is down a mask, though, so you’re privy to see his built jaw and strong features in the moonlight. Black hair like a void. 

He sighs. 

“Again, didn’t mean to. Thought you knew I was there.” Your eyes roll, but a small smirk snaps your lip.

“Of course you did.” Huffing and shaking his head, the man comes to lean against your rock. 

“What ya workin’ on anyways? Seen you scribblin’ in that thing every chance you get. Got curious enough tonight to ask when I saw you up during Ajax’s watch.” He blinks at you, swirling with curiosity and dim intrigue. “You take over for him?”

You smile, shrugging. “Maybe.” Keegan stares and raises a dark brow as your form leans closer, presenting your object of patience and smudged graphite. “You gonna wake him up?”

The man takes the object and studies your half-finished work with an acute eye, taking in the lines and erased bits that indent the paper. He tilts his head at it and a moment later he grunts an answer, lost in thought. 

“Depends.” Blue meets your vision in a slow sweep. “You tired?”

Face burning, you clear your throat and begin to stutter a negative before the worst moment of your life takes place. 

Keegan grabs one page of your sketchbook and starts flipping. Heart lurching and eyes wrenching open to the size of dinner plates, your hand snatches at the old cover—but not before the damage is done.

The dead-gazed Sergeant locks onto a perfect image of his own sleeping body from hours earlier. Drawn face soft and calm in the gray of blended material that you’d had to use your finger to achieve, and limbs loose; he almost seemed to come off the page in an intensive display of detail. 

Keegan pauses and feels his jaw slightly slacken, eyes going that bit wider before his brows lift in shocked pleasure. Your hand latches onto the top of your book and rips it from the man’s grasp easily.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through people’s things?!” Your heart is racing, palms going clammy. At your chest, you hold your belonging with a tight scoff of embarrassment.

Keegan’s lids move up and down three times in quick succession before he replies. A tease is so deep in his words you cringe with a burning face.

“Anyone tell you it’s rude to watch people sleep, Sweetheart?” Glaring, you have to look away. 

It wasn’t exactly common knowledge to others that you liked the gruff man, but if anyone took one look into your sketchbook they’d know the truth. Pages were dedicated to finding the perfect slant of his eyes—that structure of his jaw and his broken-one-to-many-times nose. 

His lips and how his skin looked when he smirked. 

Shame tightens your face and you stare hard at the trees a few feet away; the sleeping forms of your comrades. Until a smooth chuckle leaves you breathless. 

A puff of air spreads over your cheek but you don’t dare turn your head. 

Keegan whispers to you slowly, that gravel in his tone and his lips brushing against your ear as he leans closer to you—arms crossed in front of him.

“If you wanted me to pose there, Doll, all you had to do was ask me. No use watchin’ from a distance…I’ll give you the full tour.” 

He walks off back to his mat of leaves and grass and you’re left gaping and choking on your own thoughts; honied vision dripping shock.

Keegan calls easily over his shoulder as if his comment hadn’t made your pulse pound, “I’m waking up Ajax—go back to bed. Scenery’ll be the same come morning.” 

You breathe in his sly quip, “trust me.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #call of duty x you #cod ghosts x reader #cod ghosts #call of duty ghosts #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ #keegan x reader #cod keegan #call of duty keegan #keegan p russ x reader #call of duty x reader #x fem!reader #cod x female reader #x female reader #call of duty: ghosts

[sinfulscorchings]

𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕦𝕡 . *. ⋆ 𝕛𝕠𝕙𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕖

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ⋆ ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴘʀɪᴄᴇ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ⋆ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ꜰᴇʟᴛ ꜱᴏ ᴇᴍᴘᴛʏ ᴀʟʟ ᴅᴀʏ. ᴊᴏʜɴ ʜᴇʟᴘꜱ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴅʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀɪʟᴍᴇɴᴛ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ⋆ ʙᴇᴡᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴍᴜᴛᴛʏ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx (ᴍ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜰɪxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴡʜɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴏʀɴʏ (ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ꜰʀ), ᴛᴏᴘ/ᴅᴏᴍ/ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴘʀɪᴄᴇ, ɪᴅʀᴋ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ʙᴇᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⋆ 2.7ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ⋆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ⋆ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ -ᴀʀɪᴀɴᴀ ɢʀᴀɴᴅᴇ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ - ꜱᴏɴᴅᴇʀ, ᴄᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀʀɪᴀꜱ

⋆ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ꜱᴏʟᴇᴍɴʟʏ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴢᴇ. ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ.

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 . *. ⋆

Your first day of work after the holiday season is like a douse of cold water over your body.

You’d spent your break on indulgences; staying

Especially since John has been home.

That morning at dawn when you began to stir awake you’d become acutely aware of his body pressed firm behind you, his mouth kissing down your neck and shoulder, practically begging as he mouthed into your skin that he wanted to feel you on his tongue. You gladly let him part your thighs and make you come once before you inevitably have to rise and get ready for work, unbeknownst the ache it would cause you as the day went on.

Since then, all you feel is empty. Incredibly, brutally empty .

The workday ends up melting and mushing into a blend of nonsensical demands from your boss, placid, gossipy chatter from your co-workers, and absentmindedly tapping at a keyboard and thumbing through cabinets until you’re able to return home. No doubt you could return at the end of the day and fall right into John’s arms again. But the day drags and drags and drags , and by the time you’re free, you sluggishly make your way back home without much excitement.

You arrive to a quiet house, the door locked and blinds shut as you turn on the light and slowly take off your shoes.

“John?” You call out, tilting your chin up as you wait for a response. As you get none, you huff and thump your feet as you walk to your bedroom and begin stripping yourself, rather carelessly, throwing your clothes onto the floor and pulling on lazy wear, rubbing your face and looking toward the window.

It’s barely evening, but the sun has already come down in favor of the cold, dark night. You frown and turn on a lamp before returning to the living room.

John’s dark figure with his legs leisurely spread on the couch makes you yelp. He’s positioned casually, holding a cigar that looks freshly lit between two fingers with a hand resting on his thigh, stare already placed on the door as though he was waiting for you to emerge out of it. You gaze quickly to your left toward the kitchen; two plastic bags that weren’t there before are on the counter, probably some snacks from the liquor store just down the street, you see his pretty blue eyes and watch him gently stroke his beard as he lets you process, then finally relax.

“Shit,” you sigh, smiling softly as you rake your eyes over his appearance, taking him in. “You scared me.”

He hums,

“Sorry, love,” he apologizes. You sigh and roll your eyes, paying no more mind as you walk over and wrap your arms around him, sighing gently as you finally feel his body pressed up against yours again.

“It’s okay,” you mutter into his skin, wrapping your arms around his waist. You don’t care for the feeling of his hand barely curling around your back so he could still hold his cigar or the fact he’s still wearing his jacket. Just getting to feel him again after such a long day is all you require.

John’s hand comes to softly brush your hair behind your ear, tracing the curve of your cheek with the back ever slowly, ever gently, before taking your chin between two fingers and pinching it until you look up into his eyes.

“There she is,” he rumbles.

The dark purr of his voice reminds you just how much you need him on a given day. Even more after feeling so void of his touch, his fingers, his tongue, his cock the whole damn day. You whine, melting into his touch and slumping your shoulders.

A grin makes the corners of his eyes scrunch together. He has his other hand resting on his thigh, a dimly lit cigar held tight, and you’re distracted by the sight that the feeling of his thumb on your bottom lip takes you back to his stare.

Your lips part. He presses his thumb past and without hesitation, you suck, slow and unrushed, and flutter your lashes.

John groans and adjusts his stance, nestling your calves on either side of his thighs so you sit curtly on his lap.

“Pretty girl,” he says, tongue darting out to lick his lips, and his thumb leaves your mouth, the slick you leave dribbling down your chin as he trails his hand down. “Talk to me.”

“I felt so empty all day,” you whine exasperated, as if you’d been holding your breath underwater and have finally come up for air. Your breath hitches again when you feel John’s hand slip past the leg hole of your sleep shorts and rubs his wet thumb over your clit. You whine.

“Aw, is that so, baby?” he probes gently, but there’s still that underlying tone of condescension like you’re just this helpless little thing in his arms. Well, you are , sort of; not that you’d say or admit such a thing. You swallow shallowly and nod.

“So empty.” his thumb rubs slow and deep and you buck your hips into it, aching for just a little more. His other hand gently guides yours to grip his shoulders, and you hold to him like an anchor. “‘Just need your cock to stretch me full. In my throat. Pussy. `don’t care.”

“Oh, you poor thing…” he coos, bringing your face closer to his. He leans in so slowly you barely even register that he’s parting his lips to kiss you, gently gliding his mouth over yours. His steady rubbing stops in favor of kissing you firm, and you furrow your eyebrows as you moan sweetly.

“John,” you mutter hot into his mouth.

He pulls away and grins.

“Alright, love,” his insistence to draw this out is no longer a tantalizing tease; it’s just frustrating. “`You want me to fill you up?”

You nod. His free hand, cigar still between two fingers, runs up and down your bare thigh.

“How about you get on your knees for me, then?”

You adamantly hop off of his lap and get into position below, letting your knees hit the floor firmly. John tuts and quickly rises, holding a small throw pillow to you.

“`Want you to be comfy.”

God, this man. 

As you place the pillow on your knees you scoot closer to his inner thighs, hands hovering over his belt. He undoes it for you quicker than you would’ve, but he lets you take out his cock, warm and heavy in your hand, and you gently run a hand over it, thumb pressing to the tip.

With a groan, John’s hand grasps the base and leans forward to place it right at your bottom lip. Your hands curtly rest in your lap, gaze set up to his.

“Rub that little clit if you need to, love,” his voice is low, kindling and steady as the rest of his movements; he relaxes slightly as you remain watching and awaiting his next action, at ease with your submission. “Warm yourself up. Make yourself come if you need it.”

You whine and nod oh so softly, but he grunts; John wants a verbal answer.

“Do you understand?” He rumbles, low, threatening, a deep fire that sets off right in your cunt.

You answer obediently.

“Yes, John.”

“Good.” he relaxes fully into the cushions, barely gripping onto the base and letting it weigh heavy in the air, awaiting your touch. “Now go on. Get filled like you’ve been wanting to be.”

With his permission, you lean forward, grasping the base with one hand as you let your tongue flatten over the bottom and lick a long stripe to his tip. Your lips stay perfectly poised around him as you take your sweet time licking his length, languid as if you had no care in the world. John grunts deep in his throat, barely exhales, and leaves you with no large reaction. You lick a long stripe again, moaning softly as you feel his taste coat your tongue and flutter your eyelashes for extra measure. This time, he simply tilts his chin up and brings his hand up again, curling his lips around his cigar.

A pout droops your lip watching him act so casual and unbothered by any of your actions. You’ve seen him groan and roll his head back in full pleasure and satisfaction before; you’ve felt his hands curl around the back of your neck as he bucked his hips and fucked your face, feverishly close to his finish. But to see him act so casually as if he was watching a football game on the TV and not getting his cock worshipped by his loving girlfriend touches a nerve you didn’t even realize was exposed.

You jerk him forcefully, a little too tight and a little too fast, to try and get his attention. The only thing you get is a hum, and he taps the end of his cigar and lets some of the ash fall into his thigh, dangerously close to your hand. You look up at him; he isn’t looking at you.

“John.” Your words aren’t anything harsh or rude, just a calling to get his attention. His tongue darts out again to wet his bottom lip.

“Thought you wanted to get filled, love,” He quips back, tone harsher than normal as he brings the cigar to his lips, taking in a small puff and finishing his sentence as the smoke trails past his lips. “And I’m giving you opportunity to do just that.”

Well, his statement isn’t incorrect.

“I, I did–” You stammer, scooting your hips a little further. Your voice dies on your tongue as you watch him lock his jaw left and right, left and right, something that borders on disappointment storming in his eyes.

“I don’t understand why you’re demanding more, then,” it’s only a light scolding, could barely even be considered something worth being upset over, but it still makes your stomach uneasy and your headache and overthink with swelling disappointment. “`M giving you my cock to suck and to fill you up, what could be the matter?”

This bastard knows what the matter is. Not that your retorting would benefit you at all.

Wordlessly, you purse your lips together and give his tip a long, wet kiss, as an apology. John lightly grunts in approval.

“That’s better.”

It’s not long before the solemn feeling of hollowness crawls back up to you and you eagerly take him fully in your mouth. Your lashes flutter and you choke out a pleased sigh around his length, sinking further and further, fighting the urge to shut your eyes and just feel the sensation of his cock in your mouth, his bottom vein running against your tongue. But you keep them at least half-lidded to get a good look at the man you’re so piously sucking off.

Your hands grasp his base, firmly rolling your wrists over any part your mouth can’t reach without making yourself gag, breathy noises that border on just gargling as you get filled like you’ve been hoping to be the whole day.

Eventually, you pull away, but not very far as you press another kiss to the tip of his dick and lift it up to access his balls better, closing your lips over one with a little whine.

You look up again.

John continues to finish his cigar and absentmindedly watches the infomercial playing on the television, his gradually more apparent heavy breathing the only indicator you have any effect on him.

The sight isn’t as offensive as you’d thought it be. It’s almost arousing, seeing him pay no attention no matter what you do to him. As you cup one ball and suck on the other, you test his abrasion as you lightly, oh so lightly, run your teeth over the sensitive skin. Something throaty peeps past his lips. He clicks his tongue.

“That’s not a fair way to get my attention, love,” he tells you while a tense hand runs up and down his thigh, watching you still slobbering all over his balls. There’s a physical pout that downturns your mouth as you nod against him, switching over to take his other ball in your mouth and entirely dismissing any idea of trying to rouse his attention again.

Your hands come to stroke his cock while you finish soaking him in your spit.

The pool of heat between your legs gets to be too much. You slither your hand past the waistband of your panties and press your hand to your cunt, lazily rubbing your fingers through your folds. You have no goal to finish at this moment. You only need to satiate the aching need temporarily and get back to getting John to shoot his load right into your mouth and down your throat. The other remains steadily stroking him back and forth, pressing the pad of your thumb to his opening repeatedly when you reach his head.

You sigh pleasantly once again, finally feeling you’re filling that throbbing need for him you’ve had all day. Your hand strokes up and down once, twice, pressing to his tip once, twice, before you finally feel his hips buck slightly to your touch; at last, he gives you just a slimmer of a reaction.

“Good job,” He mutters, and you watch him rub his hand up and down his thigh again. Your mouth disconnects from his ballsac, leaving a trail of spit connecting you two as you position your mouth back to his cock. You keep his hand curled around, doing nothing with your mouth as you watch him bite his lip and look down at you.

“Are you close?” The question comes out way more desperate than you intend. John nods robotically, the hand once curled around his thigh coming back to lay at the back of the couch, puffing out his chest when he watches you take him in your mouth again, stuffing your mouth full until your nose brushes against the hair at the base.

“I am,” He confirms, chunky and gruff as he lifts his hips again to press you in further (you can’t really go much deeper at this point without his assistance, and you’re sure he wouldn’t give it to you tonight) before pressing his ass back down on the couch to allow you to do most of the work. “C’mon, girl. How about you finish me off?”

You don’t need to be requested twice. The hand slowly rubbing your folds and teasing your clit reaches out of your pants and cups his balls, running the pads of your fingers and the blunt ends of your trimmed nails over the tender skin while the other holds his base, acting as steady catalysts while you rock your mouth over his cock, slow enough you can take your time to appreciatively suckle at him when he’s inside fully.

That barely gets a grunt out of him. A gentle, ashamed purr as he tilts his chin down to get a better view. The slightest twitch of his thigh and a gentle brush of it against your cheek. All little, minuscule things that give you little indicators that he’s close to finishing.

When he does, there’s no warning; he takes a deep breath and holds it until you take him down to the base again, and you feel a sudden gush of creamy warmth hit the top of your mouth, tantalizingly close to your throat as he pulls his hips to you one last time, grunting softly. You whine gently, feeling your tongue coated with his warm, sweet finish, and you open your mouth to slowly slide your mouth off of his cock. His cum seeps past your lips, dripping slightly over your bottom lip, and you smile and let a drop drip onto your knee, legs still folded neatly.

John hums contently and leans forward, elbows pressed onto his thighs as he takes the side of your jaw in his hand and angles his thumb press to your mouth.

“Full?” He asks, smugly huffing softly as he rubs his spend onto your lips, smearing it on like some sort of chapstick. You smile brusquely and nod, posture blissfully lax while you press and pucker your lips together, feeling his cum spread over them. 

“Thank you.”

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