#i can actually leave my room without feeling drained or exposed

[labratboygirl]

going on a camping trip with yr grandparents really makes ya think about how unbearable life actually is at home

[causeimhappinesss]

His baby mama, part 1 (Corey Cunningham x reader)

Plot: Corey Cunningham gets his girlfriend pregnant. But since he's too scared of his mom, he doesn't tell her and doesn't fully take his responsibilities. Because of this, the reader breaks up with him, but… Did he really forget about her?

Pairing: Corey Cunningham x reader

Warning: stalking bitch (Corey), pregnancy(?)

Disclaimer: English isn't my native language (I'm french), so you can correct me if you spot some mistakes :) + it’s gonna be a short story, so don’t seek a full development as you would in a novel + read my author's notes at the end

PART 2

---

“Are you sure? Maybe it’s a mistake, maybe the test isn’t working…”

“Corey, I took a blood test. I’m pregnant.”

Your boyfriend’s face decomposes before your eyes. Corey stands there, his shoulders hunched under the yellowish light of the bedside lamp. Fear and indecision disfigure his usually more serene face.

“It’s too soon for us to be parents,” he replies, his trembling voice betraying his dismay. “We’ve only been together a year, and my mother… If she finds out about this, she’ll kill me.”

You watch him, your throat tight and your heart beating wildly.

“I didn’t choose this, Corey. I’m under birth control, I’m taking all my pills, you know that. But now it’s done. Maybe… Maybe it was meant to be.”

Your hands instinctively rest on your belly, a natural protection against the uncertainty of the moment. You’ve just found out about your two-month pregnancy, only the day before. Why weren’t you worried before you missed your periods? For the simple reason that you’ve never had a regular cycle, due to the stress you’ve been under all your life.

He swallows loudly and drifts his eyes elsewhere to avoid your gaze. Obviously.

“What if… What if we thought about abortion? The money I earn will go to my engineering program…” he murmurs, almost ashamed. Yet you know very well I might not be accepted in any university, given his criminal record, even if it was an accident.

The room seems to shrink around you, the walls lined with old floral wallpaper absorbing every word like a secret to be buried. Actually, this conversation was draining all your energy and you felt like it was burying you alive.

“What about the accident with Jeremy? You think that’s just going to vanish from my life? This town… They hate me. And with a baby, they’ll target you when our relationship will be exposed.”

As his voice breaks, he remains unable to finish his sentence.

The air between you becomes electric, charged with unspoken words. Your fists clench to hold back the trembling of your hands, as do your jaws. Tears burn your eyes and fog your vision. Your heart beats painfully. His words feel like a stab in the chest.

“Then go away!”

The words spurt out, sharp and irrevocable. You breathe hard, your lungs struggling against the dense air of the room. He frowns, his eyes on you, in which a glimmer of distress gleams.

“If you can’t handle it, get out! Get out!” you insist in a sharp tone.

His eyes cloud over with tears and sparkle with pain, as if he’s looking for something on your face… Perhaps a retraction on your part? A final confirmation for him to leave without looking back? He seems to be looking for something in your face, a reason to stay or perhaps permission to leave. But he finds nothing, just a reflection of his own distress.

Corey takes one step, then another, moving slowly toward the door. Each movement is heavy, as if he’s carrying the full weight of his choices and fears on his shoulders. He places his hand on the handle, his white knuckles betraying the strength of his grip.

“I…” he begins, but his voice is lost in an inaudible whisper.

With one last look, a mixture of apology and regret, he opens the door. The creak of the hinges seems to underline the finality of the moment. You stand still, staring at the empty space he’s left behind. The door slams behind Corey, a dry, final sound, bringing in the smell of impending rain this October 2021.

If only he could stand up to his crazy mother Joan. If only he could gain confidence in himself! If only he could understand that he was betraying you! After all, right from the start, you’d always opened the door of your house to him so he wouldn’t have to go back to his mother and hear her screaming, belittling him, even slapping him at times. You were the only woman in all of Haddonfield who agreed to give him a chance after the accident, even though you knew about the child’s death. You never judged him. You gave him all the love he needed, building a relationship of trust and pure love. True love.

Yet he’s just proved to you that he’s not worthy. Like father, like son, after all, since his father abandoned his mother when she was pregnant with him.

And as long as he doesn’t rebel and become a real man, no longer a scared teenager, he won’t move on with his life, you were certain. You, however, couldn’t stay stuck at this dead end.

Alone in the silence that followed, you closed your eyes, finally allowing your suppressed emotions to rise to the surface. Silent tears roll down your cheeks, each a promise of struggle and resilience. You breathe deeply, smelling the familiar scent of your great aunt’s house, mingled with the fresher scent of the rain to come. Here, in this house that is now yours, you will find the strength to face what lies ahead. Alone, but free.

*

In the weeks that follow, Corey tries to get back to you with numerous messages and calls, which you reject every time, but also by coming to your house. You never open the door for him. And as soon as you spot him in the town, in the stores, you make sure you avoid him. Better still, you’ve changed garage for your car repairs. In any case, none of his messages or voicemails indicate that he will assume his paternity, oh no. He wants you to understand his point of view. Like a little boy, he’s terrified. He doesn’t want you to stay mad.

As the months go by, his texts become rarer and rarer, until you don’t receive them anymore. From time to time, however, you find a wad of $100 bills in your mailbox, in an envelope signed “C.C.”.

You face your pregnancy and the birth of your child alone, without a father. Yet your few friends are there for you, and when your parents can, they visit you in Haddonfield. When the baby is born, you hesitate, but decide to leave an envelope with the baby’s photo and her name in your mailbox, knowing full well that Corey will pick it up. Did you do this to make him take responsibility? Out of simple kindness so he knows your daughter’s name and what she looks like as a newborn? Perhaps.

Again, the months go by and your daughter is only a few months old. Thanks to a friend, you learn that Corey has found love again in the arms of... Allyson, Laurie Strode’s granddaughter. The news hurts and stabs you in the heart. Deep down, maybe you were hoping he’d come back and finally become a real dad, not just a biological father. Especially since the older your daughter gets, the more she looks like him, with her natural kind of pout, her silky brown curls with golden highlights. Sometimes, she even seems to have her father’s eyes.

What you don’t know is that Corey never completely abandoned you.

He spied on you.

Over and over again.

You became his obsession, despite your many rejections during your pregnancy.

*

The room is plunged into darkness, subdued by half-closed shutters. Only a trickle of light from the street sneaks in through the slits. You gently cradle your daughter, her cries gradually subsiding under the effect of your comforting caresses. Her steady, soothing breath calms you, as you lay her gently in bed. An exhausted sigh escapes your lips, then you let yourself fall onto your own bed, letting fatigue fall on you like a leaden screed. Your heavy eyelids barely lift to glance at the clock, which is blinking mercilessly: 3:30 a.m. How long has it been since you’ve had a decent night’s sleep? You don’t even remember, but the dark circles under your eyes testify to the many nights of sleep cut short and the incessant preoccupations flooding into your brain. Being a single mom was hard as hell.

As you drift off to sleep, reality suddenly catches up with you. You jerk open your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest like a panicked drum. A man stands over the cradle, frozen in the half-light like a shadow, a sleep paralysis demon. He wears blood-stained overalls, his face hidden behind a white mask devoid of human expression…

Michael Myers.

Your eyes widen. Your breath freezes in your throat. A shiver of fear runs down your spine. You panic, but you force yourself to remain calm so as not to wake your sleeping daughter a few yards away. Without taking time to think, you try to throw yourself on top of your daughter, whom you try to press to your chest. Faster than you, the man pushes you away and presses his body against yours, still on the bed. His hands slip around your neck, ready to strangle you… One of the serial killer’s habits, as everyone knows, when he’s not stabbing his victims with a kitchen knife.

You try to scream, to fight against his relentless grip. Your throat tightens, unable to produce the slightest sound. Panic takes hold of you, a burning sensation that consumes every part of your being. Gradually, your strength leaves you. Suddenly, a wave of familiarity washes over you, a fragrance that takes you back to distant memories, forgotten moments of happiness. The sweetness of this reminiscence is swept away by the implacable terror of the present situation.

You try to gather your thoughts, to find a way to free yourself from the grip of this stranger who holds you prisoner in your own bed. Before you can articulate a single word, a brutal shock hits the back of your skull, a blinding explosion of pain that overwhelms you and engulfs you in darkness. Then, it’s pitch black.

“We are finally reunited…” whispers the husky male voice.

[Author’s notes]

Should I write another part? If yes, what do you want to happen next?

Sorry if it’s not developed enough. I would totally do it if I was writing one of my novels… But this story is mainly to satisfy myself lol

My Ko-fi: betrayedwriter

My AO3: BetrayedWriter

My Instagram: carolinemertz_

Want to read my novel if you know some french? Find them in my bio 😉

[zoeykallus]

Hey there! I wasn’t sure if you were still taking requests, but if you are I couldn’t help but send one. How about Hunter when he’s having sensory overload and the reader is trying to comfort him. Bonus if Hunter ends up confessing his crush on the reader at the end! Thanks so much and I hope you are having a great day ❤️

Aloha! Yes, I still take requests, and I'm still behind with them 😅 Sorry for the wait! Hope I can make up for it!

Hunter x Reader One-Shot - You Ease My Pain

Fluff/Comfort/Soft Stuff/Sensory Overload For Hunter

____________________

The boys had been on the road for a few days. This time you couldn't go with them and stayed behind. When the boys come back, they all seem tired, but Hunter in particular worries you.

His brow is furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and he keeps grabbing his forehead. Without saying much, he immediately disappears into the bathroom for a long time.

The shower runs for what seems like an eternity, as if he's trying to wash away not only dirt but stress. His brothers already know this phenomenon and keep some distance. But you worry.

As Hunter emerges from the shower, clad in fresh garments, already dressed in his sleeping clothes he says, "I don't want to hear or see anything for at least the next eight hours"

An approving low murmur goes around and Hunter retreats to the room he currently occupies in Cid's establishment.

Questioningly, you look at his brothers, in particular Tech, who senses you looking at him and looks up from his datapad.

"Can I help you?" he asks matter-of-factly, politely, adjusting his goggles.

"Is Hunter okay?"

Tech makes my deliberative hand gesture and says, "Yes and no."

You raise your eyebrows questioningly and Tech continues, "In the last few days we've been on planets and in places that were either very busy or very run down, we've been in constant activity with little sleep and, for someone like Hunter, exposed to a considerable amount of sensory overload. He probably has migraine-like headaches and generally feels drained"

"Oh," you say quietly, "The poor guy."

Wrecker says smiling, "It's not easy for him, but he'll recover, he always does. He just needs some rest"

When you are in your own room in the evening, the thought of Hunter suffering just won't leave you alone. You walk up and down the room, think for a while, and finally decide to go and see him.

You gently knock on his room door.

Hunter sounds annoyed as he calls out, "Come in."

When you go in, Hunter is lying on his bed in the semi-darkness, one arm over his face, eyes special, one leg hanging out of the bed, he is only partially covered and he still seems tense.

He hasn't seen who comes in, only heard the door open and growls, "I hope for your sake it's important."

Then you see his head move a little and he takes a deep breath. Suddenly, he pulls his arm away from his face and pulls his leg up onto the bed and covers himself properly. You realize that he recognized you by your smell, somehow that was creepy and exciting at the same time.

His words are reprimanding, but his expression and voice are soft as he says, "I thought I said I didn't want to be disturbed for the next eight hours."

You smile apologetically and say, "I know, I'm not here to disturb you either. I brought you some tea and some fruit, you need vitamins".

Hunter blinks in surprise.

"Thank you," he says quietly as you place the items on the small nightstand for him.

"You're welcome."

You dim the light a little more.

"Actually, you should be in the dark all the way, because of your headache" you say thoughtfully.

Hunter sighs softly and explains, "I can't. When I'm overstimulated like I am now, my sense of smell and hearing overreacts when I close my eyes, or it's too dark. And the other way around. I hear people talking outside on the street, I smell the unwashed Weequay downstairs in the bar…. It's hard to fall asleep and get to rest."

You carefully sit down on the edge of the bed, reach your hands out to his head, and gently ask, "May I?"

Again Hunter blinks in surprise, not sure what you have in mind, but he seems to trust you because he nods and says, "Uh, okay, sure."

Your fingers gently move to his temples and begin to gently massage them. Blinking, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"That feels good. Can you do that for the next eight hours?"

You have to chuckle and say, "I'm happy to do this for as long as I can, I just don't know if I can last eight hours."

His eyes are still closed, but a smile spreads across his lips.

"I'm grateful for every minute," he finally says softly, "Besides, you're the only one I smell now, and that's by far my favorite scent"

You feel warmth creep up your face.

"I'm your favorite scent?"

Hunter's eyes open and widen, he looks a little startled, like he just realized what he said.

"Well, um, yeah, I guess you could say that."

He clears his throat, closes his eyes again and says softly, "Sorry, that probably comes across as creepy to you"

"No," you say softly, "I kind of like the idea. I've always wondered, since I've known how sharp your senses are, how you perceive me"

Hunter's eyes open again, and he looks directly at you, your fingers pause for a moment, you sense he is about to tell you something important.

"Your presence has always eased any suffering for me and attracted me magnetically".

You smile and lower your eyes shyly when you feel his hands on yours.

"Would you stay here for a while? I feel better when you are near me," he speaks softly.

You nod and reply just as quietly, "I'd love to."

Hunter slides to the side and makes a welcoming hand gesture. You kick off your shoes and lie down next to him. Almost automatically, your hands find each other and your fingers intertwine.

Hunter gently kisses your forehead.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

He asks with a smirk, "Shall we share the fruit?"

Returning the smirk, you say, "Sounds good to me."

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@starwarsnerd111

[redwinetalks]

I Won’t Let You Sink

Chapter 2

(Previous Chapter)

Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Finnick X Fem!OC

Warnings: slight self harm, angst, fluff kinda, protective Finnick, the Capitol sells them unfortunately, hurt/comfort, pre-canon, young Finnick and Silk, Silk AND Finnick pov, Silk doesn’t understand that’s she’s crushing on Finnick,

Summary: Silk is back a the Capitol and she’s in for a rough night! She’s real stressed and Finnick tries to comfort her teehee.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

~ Silk ~

Only a few weeks have passed and I find myself back at the Capitol. It feels too soon. Like the days sped up so I couldn’t even try to feel the happiness I found back at home. I only was given a few days before any thought of peace was stripped away from my arms.

I feel greatly exposed while standing on the small platform in the middle of a room filled with mirrors. Everyone who’s here to help make me “beautiful” is just staring at me. I wish I could sink through the floor.

My stylist, Bijou, is filled with much more excitement than I am as she rips the last wax strip off my leg. I purse my lips at the pain.

“Last one! Now you’re all silky smooth. Just like your name!” She smiles widely and laughs at her unoriginal pun. I try to smile back at her but I can only muster up a slight twitch of my lips. She doesn’t seem to notice. “Now, you’re going to get your makeup and hair done, then you can just step into your dress! Oh, you’re going to love it! I worked extra hard on this one. I have to make you even more eye catching.”

Bijou has always been very kind just maybe a bit oblivious. She probably doesn’t even know why I’m supposed to stand out more than usual tonight. I wonder if she’d be sick to her stomach like I am if she knew what was happening. But maybe she does know, and that makes it even more gut wrenching.

She continues her rambling while the makeup teams tries to bring back the life drained from my face.

“You know, I’ve always liked District 8. I mean, yes it is very dreary, but your people created the beautiful fabric used to make the dress! And the clothes you all wear look so bright and colorful. It’s such a shame the place has to look so drab.” Her words actually cause me to let out a small laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone speak nicely about 8, especially in the Capitol.

“Thank you, Bijou. That’s very kind.” She smiles widely again and I notice the little jewels on her canines. The people here seem to want to bejewel everything.

I can tell that the purpose of my makeup was to makeup me look more innocent. They used an excessive amount of blush and made my lips look quite pouty. They straightened my hair and curled it just slightly at the ends. A few strands are tied up in the back with a delicate bow. If I didn’t know the purpose of this look was to make me have more “doll like” features, maybe I would like it. But I’m just thinking of the sick creatures who desire me looking like this.

Bijou leads me back to the small platform to put on my dress. She was right, the fabric is beautiful. The light pink dress has a corset bodice adorned with pearls and floral lace skirt that goes to my ankles. It leaves my shoulders exposed which must be why the makeup team made them look so shiny.

I wonder if they were asked to make me look specifically like this, as if by request. Am I wanted to be in pink because it’s someone’s favorite color? Are my lips supposed to look this pouty so they can seem more irresistible? These thoughts fill me with a sickening feeling of dread. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at myself again without wondering what predatory thoughts fill those who see me. Is this how I’ve always been thought of? Someone who can be easily taken advantage of and damaged?

“Darling? Come now.” I quickly turn to Bijou as she takes my hand. “You have a short meeting with Snow before you go to the party.” I look at her with a panicked expression. I didn’t know I was to be meeting with him. “Oh don’t look so nervous! He’s only a little intimidating.” She giggles and leads me out the room.

I walk a few steps behind her, my uneasiness slowing down my pace. I know he’ll probably only give me more information about tonight, but that thought does nothing to ease my anxiety. The corset doesn’t help either.

The walk to wherever we’re meeting is incredibly daunting. Part of me hopes the walk never ends, but the other part can’t wait to get this over with. It’s not even like I’ll be filled with relief once I’m done talking with Snow. I’ll immediately have another thing to worry about. It’s an endless cycle of horrors.

“Here we are!” Bijou stops and opens a door. I struggle to make myself move. “Darling?” She looks at me with her cheery face, but there’s a hint of confusion.

“Sorry, I…” I trail off. She doesn’t understand and I can’t explain it to her. There is no one here that I can express my true feelings to. There is no one to comfort me. I just have to push through on my own.

Apprehensively, I walk through the doorway and there he is. He sits in a large, dark leather chair with his back facing me. Drink in hand, his arm drapes off the armrest and on the floor I can see his foot tapping. Not impatiently, but as if he’s counting the tempo of a song stuck in his head.

The room isn’t at all inviting. What I’ve seen from the Capitol’s style so far has been over the top and extravagant, but this is much different. Everything seems to be curated to Snow’s image, very poised and crisp. He is tasteful, not at all gaudy, and it makes everything intimidating.

Unlike the beginning of his first visit, he isn’t ushering me to sit. He’s letting me take my time to walk around to the chair directly across from him. It feels like I’m walking to my death and the fearfulness radiating off my body is adding to his entertainment. I try to look more composed and unbothered by his presence, but I know it falls flat. He can see me inside and out. I am wrapped around his finger and it’s agonizing.

“Miss Fabelle, you look lovely. Thank you for meeting with me to discuss tonight’s events.” He gives me a small, cunning smile as I sit. He gestures to an envelope on the small table beside my chair. “That, my dear, contains all the details you will need. You are to be on your best behavior and arrive to your room at your scheduled time.” I tensely nod at him. He looks directly into my eyes and I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to talk back to him. It won’t do me any good. Snow does a good job at staying calm and collected, but it’s not hard to see the true evil that’s inside him. He is successfully sucking the life from me.

“Yes, sir.” He stands and then walks to the window behind me. I shut my eyes and put my hand on my chest to try and calm my breathing. The smell of roses fills my senses.

“That’ll be all, Miss Fabelle. I do hope you enjoy tonight’s festivities, but remember dear girl, you are here on business. This party isn’t for your entertainment.” I stand and nervously straighten out my dress.

“Yes, President Snow. I understand.” And I am thankfully dismissed from this suffocating room, on to the next horror.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

~ Finnick ~

The amount of linen my stylist chose to put me in isn’t at all ideal considering the weather. It’s still a bit chilly out and the thin cloth makes me feel practically naked, well that and the fact that my shirt is barely even buttoned.

It’s only been an hour and I’m already fed up with the amount of women that have all but drooled on me. Women that are probably ten or twenty years older than me. It will never not be completely disgust me, the Capitol’s obsession with teenagers that have been forced to murder. Getting aroused by that is fucking psychotic.

“Finnick! It is such a pleasure to see you again.” A woman I faintly remember from one of the last parties walks towards me. Her bright orange feather dress is practically blinding.

“The pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” I wink and kiss her hand. I’d say she’s blushing but it could just be all of the makeup she’s wearing.

“You’re always so charming. I can’t wait to see how you’ll charm me later tonight.” She whispers in my ear and then gives it a swift lick. Her boldness almost makes me jump back. I could gag, but then I’d ruin the facade.

“C’mon now, don’t get me all riled up here.” I whisper back, thankful she can’t see my face. I know the look in my eyes isn’t at all believable. “Save it for later.” I smirk at her before walking away.

I walk towards a table of drinks and finger foods. I’m gonna need to down a bottle of something to get through his night. I see her as she goes to grab a glass of wine at the opposite end of the table. Silk. Wine seems to be her drink of choice. She almost goes for the red, but pauses and then reaches for the rosé. Probably a wise decision considering the color of her dress. The pink really looks stunning on her.

I didn’t expect to see her again so soon, but there she is. They didn’t even give her time to get her bearings before dragging her back over here. She looks like she’s glowing. I’m sure part of that effect is from her stylist, but not all of it. There’s something about her that makes her shine. In a way that’s soft and ethereal, like moonlight. If she is the moon, Silk pulls me into her world like the tides. And I go willingly.

I’m not sure what it was, but when I first saw her I felt immediately drawn in. When she was standing away from the crowd, finally getting away from the vultures, I felt like I had to meet her. It could’ve been my only chance. And she was nothing if not astonishing. I didn’t have enough time with her. I was left wanting more, but there was nothing I could do since I had other obligations. I’m not as busy tonight which is a relief. I may have more time to get to know her.

I walk towards her, looking around to make sure no one is itching for my attention.

“Hello again, Silk Fabelle.” She flinches, not unlike when I first met her, but it’s even more noticeable this time. “You know, I really don’t mean to startle you with every greeting.” I laugh but her expression doesn’t change a bit.

“It’s fine.” Something is off. The air around her is different.

“What’s going on, doll face?” She looks at me and glares. Shit. Why did I say that? Of course calling her by what the Capitol has deemed her as would be triggering. I wish I would think before I fucking speak. She has a way of making me so nervous, something others can’t do so easily. I’m usually more grounded. I’ve gotten so good at this confident facade of flirtations that it’s almost as easy as breathing. But with her…I feel it melting away. Like I’m having to relearn how to communicate.

“Don’t call me that.” She turns away from me and looks at her glass. I swear I can see tears brimming her eyes.

“I..I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve known not to.” She doesn’t look back up at me. I reach out my hand to her arms and she backs away slightly.

“What do you want, Finnick?” Her tone isn’t malicious, it sounds defeated. When she finally looks back up at me I can almost feel my heart breaking. She looks so empty.

“I just…are you okay?” And then it hits me. They’ve started selling her. But It isn’t her time to start. It can’t be. She just finished the games, they can’t be moving this fast with her.

“Just trying to make it through the night.” She gives me a pitiful smile. “You should go enjoy it while you can.” She starts to walk away, but I can’t let her leave yet.

“Silk, please.” She stops and turns back towards me. I wish I could embrace her and tell her it’ll be okay. But I can’t and it won’t. There’s nothing I can do to stop what Snow has planned for her.

“I’ve got places to be, Finnick. People to meet. Maybe another time we can finally have a full conversation.” Sorrow fills her voice. I watch her walk away and the pull that I feel from her just gets stronger. I want to be wrong. I wish that she could just be left alone, but I know how her night will go. I know that in the next few hours she will have yet another trauma. Another nightmare that will wake her in the night. But I refuse to let her suffer alone.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

~ Silk ~

The man that bought my time for the night finally leaves and I’m left on the bed, still face down. Maybe if I lay here long enough I can melt away. I could just become a decayed mess that was left here to rot. My skin burns and I can feel the tears trickle across my face and onto the bedspread. I finally sit up to cover myself with the sheets and make my way the bathroom. I only make it two steps before my legs give out on me and I drop to the ground. I just continue with a slow, pathetic crawl. I can’t imagine what I look like, but the thought is enough to make me vomit once I reach the toilet. Once I finish I continue to sit there and let go of the sobs that I was holding in. I want to scream until my throat turns raw and bleed, but I have to suck it all up. The punishment that my mom would have to pay the price for constantly floats around in my thoughts. It torments me.

I finally try to stand up and I brace myself against the counter. I stare just below the mirror for what feels like hours until I shakily raise my head to look at myself. I don’t even know who is staring back at me. She’s looks broken and filled with dread. I see only a shell of a human being. I feel so infuriated with what she has just gone through. What she has been going through. Before I realize, I grab a candle that was sitting on the counter and throw it at the mirror. My hands are shaking as the shattered glass falls into the sink. If only that had helped release some of my built up tension. All I can do is stand there and look at the mess.

I’m startled by the door to my room opening and I wrap myself tighter in the sheet. An avox enters to fix up the bed, but she notices me cowering in the bathroom doorway. She looks at the broken glass and doesn’t seem phased at all. I feel guilty for her having to clean it up, but hopefully she can forgive me all things considered.

She stands just outside the bathroom door once she’s done making up the bed. As if she’s ushering me to leave so she can start clearing away my breakdown. I hesitantly walk past her back into the bedroom. I see a change of clothes on the dresser for me and since she’s shut away in the bathroom I go ahead and put them on.

I don’t think I can lay again in that bed, let alone sleep in it, so I just sit down on the floor by the loveseat. I feel quite pathetic. I feel angry. I feel like I could burst at the seams, just like my dress did. I wonder how Bijou would feel knowing the dress she worked so hard to make is now ripped up on the floor.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about the mirror that I shattered. I don’t care about her. I don’t care about anyone or anything here. I don’t fucking care.” The saliva built up from my tears and sick spit out slightly as I whisper angrily to myself. Without realizing, I’m also sinking my nails into my shoulders while holding myself. I’ve grown to do that a lot now. Mostly when my anger and sadness builds up. The sight of me is a disgusting mess, I’m sure of it. I didn’t used to feel this weak and despondent. I used to be confident and full of so much life. I was passionate about caring for my district, but I tried to always remain positive. I tried to stay hopeful. But I’m scared that’s all gone. That I’ve lost who I was and I don’t know if I’ll be able to find her again. She has sunken into the abyss and there is no one to bring her back to the surface.

The avox walks out of the bathroom finally and looks at me on the floor. She looks like she has a some pity in her eyes, but it quickly fades away when she turns to leave the room. As she opens the door I can see a figure standing in the hall. Is there going to be someone else? Am I not done? My nails sink farther further into shoulders and I stare into the hallway, not even trying to hide the panic in my eyes.

The avox walks away and I can see that it isn’t someone here to use me, it’s Finnick. But why is Finnick here? How does he even know that I’m here. I know I didn’t even try to hide my misery, but how did he find me?

“Silk..?” He looks at me with that familiar softness in his green eyes. “Is it okay if I come in” he speaks in a whisper.

“How’d you know I was in here?” I say quickly as if I’m accusing him of something.

“I bribed an avox into pointing me to your room.” I can tell he was about to use his suave way of speaking to lighten the mood, but it isn’t the time. He knows to be serious.

“Why?” I say so plainly. He doesn’t have to be here. He doesn’t know me. There isn’t anything to gain from being here. But he looks at me with hurt, but it’s hurt for me. Is it so insane to wonder why anyone would want to be here with me right now?

“Because, I know what happened here. And I said I didn’t want you to have to go through this alone. I meant that. Especially with this.” And the sadness in his eyes is back. The same look from when we met. The illusion has faded and I can see that this is what is causing him to sink. I shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that he is going through this too, I just didn’t think about how many others Snow is forcing to sell their bodies.

I nod at him and move over on the floor, allowing him to come in. He sighs and smiles sadly at me but I look down and continue to hold onto myself. Like I’m scared I’ll float away. He walks in slowly to not cause any sudden stress and then sits next to me. I move over a bit more. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong, but I’m scared to be close to him. I’m scared to be close to anyone. Just him knowing what happened in here is terrifying to me. What if this gets me in trouble? What if it leads back to Snow?

“How…how are you doing?” I huff out a laugh. Like the audacity of the question makes it humorous.

“Fucking fantastic.” I then turn to look at and I know he sees the anger in my face. His entire demeanor shifts from worry to guilt.

“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I just-“

“I know.” I cut him off, “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help.” I look back at him and wish he could just read my mind. The words feel too difficult to say. “It’s just…” I hesitate, trying not to start crying. “…they took my girlhood…that was mine. No one is supposed to just take that from you. But they snatched it up with no remorse. I thought that I’d get to go home. That when I won, I’d get to go home and be with my mom and live my life. I knew I’d still have to relive the pain again every year when mentoring. I knew I would have guilt and nightmares and all of these horrible memories, but I’d at least be home. But I can never go back home. I am trapped in this hell forever.” I no longer try to stop my tears from falling. My shoulders ache from me grasping on for dear life. It’s all too much and I hate it.

“Silk” he tries to calm me. He tries to move my arms.

“Don’t touch me.” I snap at him. I don’t mean to, it just comes out and he immediately withdraws himself.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. Just, please, you’re hurting yourself.” I shakily remove my hands from my shoulders and instead mess with the hem of my shirt. I try to tell him I’m sorry, but I can’t speak. I want his comfort but I’m too panicked. My breathing is rapid and he can tell. He shifts just slightly closer, but he’s cautious to not get too close.

“Hey, just look at me. You’re safe. You’re okay, I’m with you. No one else is coming through that door. Just keep looking at me and follow my breathing.” He takes deep breaths in and out and I try to follow. It’s shaky, but my breathing calms down. I keep looking at him and try to ground myself. “That’s good. You’re okay, yeah?” He gives me a small, reassuring smile and I nod. I timidly reach out my hand. I want to touch him. To feel that he is real. He reaches back to hold my hand, but not before intently looking at me to get the okay. His thumb rubs my palm at the pace that he was using to calm my breaths. I close my eyes and sigh deeply. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, okay?”

I nod and stand up, still holding his hand. His other hand is ready to help if I stumble. When we walk into the bathroom he lets out a small laugh.

“Oh, yeah...I broke the mirror.”

“I can see that. Good work.” He looks at me and smiles. He inspects to counter to make sure there’s no leftover glass, and then helps me up to sit. He grabs two washcloths, one for my face and one for my arms, and runs them under warm water. He hands one to me and I start cleaning up as much of the makeup and dried tears as I can while he tends to my shoulders. The focus that Finnick puts into cleaning my small cuts is so caring and gentle. I can’t help but look at him. He looks so concentrated and beautiful. Like he was carved out of marble, and then I see his dimples forming from the smirk he’s giving me.

“Like what you see?” I roll my eyes and turn my face away from his.

“You’re annoying” His face looks dramatically hurt and shocked.

“You’ve wounded me. I’m heartbroken.” I can’t help my lips from twitching. “There’s that smile, pretty girl.” I turn my head back to face him and sigh. He is so unusual to me. There is so much more to him than what meets the eye. His cockiness and flirtatious spirit is just one of playful banter. It’s not who he truly is. It’s his cover for the Capitolite, but besides that it’s just to amuse. To lighten the mood. The real Finnick is much more complicated and I’m so compelled to uncover his true character.

“Why are you doing this? Being so nice to me.” He rolls his eyes.

“Why do you keep asking me that?” He laughs lightly and I shrug.

“I just don’t understand. You just met me yet you keep being so kind to me. You keep going out of your way and there is nothing to gain.” He sighs and looks down at the washcloth in his hand.

“Remember when you helped that kid in the arena? That girl from 2 got his leg pretty good with a spear and you could’ve just left him there. Let someone else find him. But you helped him up, led him to a place where he could hide, and tried your best to clean up his wound. You even gave him some of your food before you left. You didn’t know him. You had nothing to gain from that, but you did it anyway.” I remember him. He was so small. I didn’t want to help him, I wanted to ignore everything around me. I wanted to shut off my emotions, but he was just a little boy. He didn’t deserve to be left in mud, waiting for someone to kill him. And I knew that if I saw his picture at night, it would’ve been my fault. That wouldn’t have been survival. That would’ve been inhumane.

“He was from 4. He was yours.”

“Yeah..he was a good kid. You didn’t treat him like a tribute you had to kill, you treated him like a person. He was able to survive longer because of you. Your kindness, it meant something to me.” I look down at my hands. I don’t even know if that was kindness. I did it to save myself from the guilt. But, I guess sometimes that’s what kindness is. Maybe that’s why Finnick is here tonight.

“I guess I’ve been having a hard time trusting people’s motives.”

“For good reason.” He lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Come on pretty girl, let’s run you a hot shower.” He holds my hand as I hop off the counter and then goes to start the water. He holds his hand under it to feel for the perfect temperature. He decides everything is ready and steps towards the door. At first, him caring for me made me feel a bit uneasy, but I guess it’s not too much. It is better than doing this all alone.

“Alright, I’ll be just outside if that’s okay. I don’t have to stay, though.” His sweet green eyes look into mine. I can tell he wants to, like he wants to protect me.

“You can. I think..that’d be nice.”

The warm water washes over me and I run my hands through my hair. I wish I could easily scrub away the events of today. The most I can do is scrub away the feeling of disgust. I guess this is supposed to be my future routine. Every few months I go up to the Capitol for a day or two, go through hell, then go home. I’m sure that’s how they think of it. So simple. I can easily get over it. How is someone supposed to get over having their body taken advantage of? They’re not, but I’m not thought of an actual person here. Just a toy.

This is happening to Finnick too. He said he knew what happened. He knew how to calm me and what to do to help. This is all so hard to come to terms with. Finnick won three years ago at just fourteen. Did Snow make him start immediately, like me? If so, he’s been doing this for so long already. All on his own. No one to soothe him after the torture. How is he still standing? Has he become numb to it? That thought doesn’t make it any better.

From how I have felt tonight, I cannot imagine what Finnick felt his first night. Fourteen years old and left to suffer in silence. I can only hope that they weren’t so horrible to him that young.

I could have stayed in that shower for hours and still wouldn’t have felt completely clean. I dry myself off and I’m relieved I can barely see what I look like because of the broken mirror. I don’t know how I’d feel seeing myself naked right now, but I know it wouldn’t be positive. It’d probably set me off again.

When I’m finished getting dressed I walk back into the bedroom. I see Finnick waiting patiently on the loveseat and he smiles when he sees me. He has such a beautiful smile. His dimples and the creases near his eyes make him look so warm and inviting. I sit on the opposite side of the couch, keeping some space between us. I think I’m beginning to trust him, but he still makes me nervous. That feeling I don’t quite understand. It’s not necessarily negative, it’s just…different.

“Feeling a bit better?” I nod and wrap my arms around my legs, giving myself a sense of security. The worst of the night is over, but it’s hard to feel at ease.

“I think so. Thank you, by the way. For being here and being patient.”

“You don’t have to thank me, sweet girl.”

“Maybe, but I want to. Your kindness means something to me.” I smile softly and he looks down at his hands, blushing slightly. I feel like I can see him more clearly. Like I’ve uncovered a portion of his mystery. So much has happened to him tonight too, but I haven’t seen him upset. Like he holds it in. Like he wants to care for everyone else first.

“Finnick?” He hums in response immediately. Ready to help in any way I’d need, but I don’t need anything from him right now. I just want him to know I would do for him what he has done for me. “How are you feeling?” He shakes his head, brushing me off.

“I’m alright. You don’t need to worry about me.” He smiles, but I know this one isn’t as genuine. He is hiding his pain and my heart aches for him.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but just like you have worried over me, I am going to worry over you.” He turns his head to the side, looking out the window at the city below us. He stays that way for a minute and I give him his time.

“They were quick with you. They didn’t give you any time to settle. They didn’t start immediately with me. At least not like this. They gave me the illusion of peace. I would come to Capitol parties every few months or so. Get dragged around by different women, but just to talk. Every now and then someone would touch my arms or my chest while flirting, but that was it. When I turned fifteen, things started to slowly escalate. It was secretive, but I’d be taken to backrooms for quick sessions. Nothing below the belt, but then I turned sixteen.” He takes a breath, somewhat shaky. He still isn’t looking at me, but I haven’t taken my eyes off of him. “Nothing was off the table. They could do whatever they wanted and I had to go along with it. And Snow would make sure of it.” I look at him sadly. I know how he was threatened. How he didn’t actually have a choice. He takes another deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. He’s looking at me now. His eyes are just slightly red. Like he is holding back tears that he refuses to let fall. “Every time I go back home I spend the entire day at the beach. I ignore everyone else and just swim as if I could swim away from this. It’s the only place I can let go. To try and distract myself from what happens here.”

“Tell me about it. The beach, the water.” He tilts his head, but I see his lip twitch slightly. It’s like just the thought of the ocean can bring him some ease. “There’s a place just past the border in 8 that I go to get away from everything. There’s a very small, rocky beach, but the water is too polluted from the factories. All I can do is listen to the waves, but it’s my favorite thing to do. Ever since I found that spot I wanted to know what a real ocean is like. How the water feels on your skin. What it sounds like washing up against sand.” He looks into my eyes and smiles, no longer trying to suppress it.

“It’s my favorite place in the world. Every morning that I can, I start by running to the beach and immediately jumping in the water. It’s so cold when it’s early, the sun is barely even up, but it’s breathtaking. You feel the coolness against your skin, flowing with you as you move. You can taste the salt in the air when you go above to breathe. It’s a feeling of freedom that you can’t feel anywhere else. When the breeze hits your body as you get out of the water. It’s unlike anything you could imagine. It’s hypnotizing.” He looks so captivated by his thoughts. Like he’s been taken to another world. I don’t know if I have anything like that. Something that can bring me so much peace and happiness.

“I hope I can experience that someday” Now it’s me turning to look outside. The hope that I feel is so strong. The hope that one day things can be good. That this world will no longer be suffocating and terrifying.

“Maybe one day you can.” I turn back to him and he’s looking into my eyes so earnestly. There’s a warmth that I feel from him. He thinks the same thing that I do. That strong feeling of hope is what can keep us going.

I keep trying not to fall asleep, but my eyelids have become so heavy. Thankfully, my conversations with Finnick have distracted me enough that I can feel somewhat relaxed. But I can’t get back in that bed. I can’t sleep there.

“I’ll grab some blankets.” He gets up to start turning the loveseat into my bed for the night.

“I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to sleep. I’m sure the second I’m alone with my thoughts I’ll be too anxious to.” I let out a nervous laugh.

“I can stay if that’d be okay. If it would help.” I watch him walk back over to me. The moonlight from outside glows on his tan skin as he stands near me. His golden blonde waves have gotten messier throughout the night, but he still looks perfect.

“You don’t have to do that. I mean, where would you sleep? Unless you’re okay with the bed.”

“I’m fine on the floor. And then, if you need anything…I’m right there.” He says that so casually as puts the blanket over the cushions, but I can see the slight tint of pink sneaking up on his cheeks. I can feel my face heating up as well.

“You can’t sleep on the floor, Finnick.” I help tuck the blanket into one corner.

“Sure I can. I’ve slept on worse.” He shrugs. He’s not wrong and I can say the same, but still. Am I even sure I want him to stay? My thoughts are quick to say yes, the night with him has been lovely, but what if that got back to Snow? Does that actually matter? I was never told I couldn’t develop a friendship with other victors. However, something tells me that whatever happiness I find here will be stolen away from me.

“It’s up to you. If you’re fine with the floor I’m fine with you staying.” He grins so sweetly. I can tell he doesn’t want to be alone either.

I lay on the loveseat, facing Finnick as he lays on the floor. We both talk about home, learning about each other’s district as we grow more and more tired. When I finally fall asleep, my arm is draped over the cushion and I swear I can feel the touch of Finnick’s fingers lightly on mine. As if he’s reaching up to tell me he’s not going anywhere. His protective touch saves me from any nightmares that dare to enter my mind.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

Thank you so much for reading! You all were so nice with my first chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one :) As always I am open to kind feedback. Also let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the next chapter!! <3

Tag list <3 (I again tagged some people who liked the related posts. Hope that’s okay!!)

@ghoulbabs @lusy98 @marvelescvpe @simplymurdock @marcyss @miserablebl00d @wife-of-all-dilfs @mrsnancywheeler @gremlin515 @bruuhky @0ceanautical @princessofyourmom @babypaperwitch @readawaythereality2

Next Chapter!

[folklauerate]

2023 Fic Year in Review

Thanks to @a-regular-jo for tagging me!

List of fics completed

take my hand, wreck my plans, that’s my man series

The Yellow Tulips of Texas

an affair, three ways series

inosculation

cause I’m a mastermind (the west wing au)

in our perfect park

leave the light on

Santa Kate series

fuck it, it’s fine series

I’m on Fire

Modern Omega

Number of words written

502,159 😳

Your most popular fic

The Set Up by a laughably large margin. Although as I checked stats now to answer this question, I see that Bridgerton, Actually (my Love, Actually AU) is now second and it wasn’t before, quite recently actually! It seems it got a lot of holiday readership :)

Your personal fav

This is like asking me to pick a fav child! It’s difficult but I’d have to go with the professor au (take my hand, wreck my plans, that’s my man series). It came at a time where I was feeling uninspired and sort of adrift fandom-wise. Following the completion of Bridgerton, Actually, which was a behemoth and draining to write (though I loved it!), I was in the midst of taking some downtime to just… be. To consume without worrying about creating and to just reconsider. During that time, I read plenty of other things, including fic from other fandoms. I noticed tropes and things I simply hadn’t been exposed to ever/in a while, and found myself really drawn to the idea of an age gap with Kathony. Their fics feature them being near/the same age so often, in an effort to illustrate just how well matched they are. I wanted to do a sort of character study and love story when they had a significant age gap. I wanted to explore the ways Anthony might have been different if he was older, the fears of dying young (perhaps) abated but with no Kate to spur them forward. The Anthony I created in this AU was someone who had lived a bit of a life, hadn’t settled for a marriage for the sake of it, and had grown up and developed his own tastes in between teaching lectures and devoting himself to his family. I feel as though it can be popular to show Anthony devoid of taste or personality in terms of home decor or outside pursuits pre-Kate, and that simply wasn’t an option with him here. I really enjoyed developing this man with cultivated and exacting tastes. I’m getting rambly here so I’ll stop, because I could talk about this oneshot for a while. The point being—this oneshot marked a time of sort of creative freedom for me. When I started writing it, it felt nearly insane. I just wrote and wrote with no real reader expectation because I was writing a daddy kink in a fandom that really didn’t seem to have one. I was writing and entirely possessed by the story and characters and premise itself. I wrote that and nothing else for a while. I wrote it across continents and flights and subways and in my room, alone. I would text Kara about it nonstop and I’d post excerpts and just wrote it and didn’t think about it… and then it came time to post. I genuinely didn’t know how it would be received. And I need to add that it is far from the most popular Kathony fic ever, and it’s not even my most popular Kathony fic ever, but the response was nonetheless astounding. I genuinely couldn’t have expected the way it would be received and I’m so grateful for anyone who spent time with those words and maybe found themselves inspired to push boundaries in their own fic and writing.

Your fav scene

I genuinely can’t pick one. I think I’ve written too much hahaha. I’ll state a few that come to mind now;

In the Texas!Anthony AU I loved writing Anthony meeting Kate’s extended family. I loved giving her an extended family, filled with doting grandparents, noisy cousins, and all the fun hallmarks of Indian American kid life.

The papercut scene in the Prof AU.

Nearly the entirety of the spanking oneshot follow-up to the prof au

And also the Lover inspired fic in the prof au lol

I loved the Balmoral chapter of The Set Up, especially the beginning vignette of three; Charlie/Harry, Hugo/Willie, Kate/ghosts/legacy/history. The moment she lights incense and says a prayer in this really storied, old, English castle is unbelievably significant, I think, in ways that will come to play in the fic now.

So much of the roommates fic is a real love letter to NYC. I did a reread recently and was almost surprised by it myself? I think I’ve had enough time away to be surprised by it and I was. I know those places, I feel those places. I hope the sense of self comes across as significantly for the reader as it does to me.

Writing the aftermath of the shooting scene in The West Wing AU and Kate winning the election as well were really poignant. I cried writing them and I cry rereading them. They’re almost a brilliantly rebellious ode to hope in the face of the perceived hopelessness of US politics. Regardless of whether or not a president like Kate Sharma plausible, I center my politics and general life philosophies around hope. That fic felt like hope and belief in a better world.

A fic or scene that challenged you

Plenty! The Balmoral chapter challenged me a lot until I saw Angels in America and something clicked. I actually can’t think of more right now in a really specific way but I will say anytime I felt challenged I either ignored it or wrote through it. Writing through it was always the answer and right way to tackle it.

A line of writing you’re proud of

There’s definitely a lot I’m a proud of but I am currently traveling and CBA to trawl through over 500k words to find the line I’m proud of. There’s a LOT of prose I’m really proud of though. The recent chapter of Babel where I describe Simon’s party is some of my best work, I think. Sweet Like Honey (stepfather au) has some prose I’m exceptionally proud of. As does the Obsession AU. Some descriptions of Texas in the Texas!Anthony AU are gorgeous. If you can think of anything that stood out to you, let me know.

A comment that touched you

I genuinely treasure every single comment I’ve received and I’m currently working through responding to many (if you get a months late response,,, I’m sorry). I will take this time to impress upon anyone who might be reading that leaving comments can be so encouraging and I do love hearing from readers. Fic really does feel like I’m writing directly for you guys. And so it’s great to get feedback or excited squealing because it makes it less lonely and helps me feel like I’m a part of it with you guys. I love when friends comment, I love when people who I only know through excited screeching on ao3 comment, I really love it all.

Recently, a longtime reader left a comment on my recent update of The Set Up just to thank me for writing this year and it was so moving and so lovely I teared up. It was unbelievably kind and thoughtful. That really snuck in at the end of the year for one that just took the cake for me.

Something that inspired your writing

Everything. Angels in America. Echoing Jo by saying Prince Harry’s memoir Spare. A lot of Haladriel and Darklina works and writers. Bruce Springsteen. Lysistrata. Babel by R.F. Kuang. Little Rabbit by Alyssa Songsiridej. Babylon the film. Singing in the Rain. The West Wing lol. Dachshunds (English cream) and Greyhounds. The British royals. Kafka. Religious trauma. Guts by Olivia Rodrigo (specifically bad idea, right?). Wet Dream and Chaise Lounge by Wet Leg. The people who broke my heart and the people who helped me stitch it back up. My fellow writers and friends, always.

Your proudest accomplishment

Getting over a bad depressive episode and writing slump and purposefully refocusing my attentions to: myself, why I felt compelled to write, and the people who did love me and read my writing and made that clear, as opposed to the people who didn’t.

Do you have any writing goals for next year?

To finish The Set Up. To finish some Perfect Park drabbles and revisit the west wing au for some good election year distraction. And, maybe, to take a little break as I work on original things. I am not leaving, don’t worry. I have set some professional and personal goals for myself that require more of my emotional and intellectual time/space/energy and I need to refocus some efforts there. But I’m not done and I will be back. I’m tentatively planning something quite exciting fic-wise. If it comes to fruition, I’ll tell you all in time.

Tagging @grantairesbottle @amalinwrites who is never on tumblr but I’ll annoy her to do it, @bad-surprise @inkbugfic @ladykettlechips and Rama whose tumblr @ I always forget to do this lol

[sunkissedpages]

instead of you [part eighteen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, mentions of +sex

word count: 2k

series masterlist

“Sam and I will take the bunk beds.”

The room was a decent size. It was definitely bigger than Sam’s dad had made it sound. A large window on the back wall flooded the space with natural light and offered a view of the city below. By the door was a small fridge and a countertop with a sink and a couple of burners built in so that guests could cook their own meals. There was a queen sized bed jutting out from the western-facing wall and built into the adjacent wall were two twin-sized bunks, one on top of the other, making the room feel... cozy.

Harry and Tom traded looks with each other.

“Kidding.”

The boys visibly relaxed and chuckled awkwardly.

“If I ever have to share a bed with Tom again it’ll be too soon,” Harry sighed.

“Is that any way to treat your big brother?” Tom scoffed.

“I’m taller than you.”

“For now.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean? You’re twenty-five, you’re done growing.”

Tom shrugged. “Yeah, but I could always make you shorter.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, cut my legs off?” Harry challenged.

“I never said that.”

“Jesus Christ guys,” Sam said, finally cutting in. “Can we not threaten each other until we’ve had at least a few hours of sleep?”

“Whatever,” his twin grumbled, kicking off his shoes by the door.

Tom slung his backpack onto the top bunk and pulled his sweatshirt off over his head, exposing a strip of his stomach in the process. You looked away instinctively, hoping that you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourself while doing so.

“You always get the top bunk,” Harry whined.

“Yeah, because I’m older.”

“That’s not fair!”

“My brothers are actually ten years old,” Sam explained to you, raising his voice so that you could hear him over the bickering.

“No, I think ten-year-olds know how to take turns,” you said dismissively, not missing the glares from the other two Hollands.

“You’re right,” Sam agreed. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Reminds me of the family vacations we used to take. The six of us used to share one hotel room when we traveled.”

“Four boys... I don’t know how your mom did it.”

“None of us do.”

“I thought we were going to sleep,” Harry muttered from where he was already laying down on the bottom bunk, clearly irritated.

“Give us a minute to settle in, dude,” Sam shot back before dropping into a whisper. “It’s going to be a long week.”

You shook your head, putting your hands on his shoulders. “Everyone’s just cranky because they’re tired,” you reasoned. “We’ll get some sleep and then grab some food and then maybe they’ll be in a better mood.”

“You don’t know them like I do,” Sam warned.

“That’s true, but won’t they tone it down since I’m here?”

Sam snorted. “Wishful thinking.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, I’m going to hop in the shower. I feel gross after being on a plane for so long.”

“I’ll go after you,” Sam replied with a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You thanked him with a kiss under the watchful eyes of his brothers who both groaned in protest.

“Oh, fuck off,” Sam growled against your lips.

“By the way, sharing a bed doesn’t mean you get to mess around because I don’t want to hear that shit.”

“Harry!” Sam and Tom shouted, Tom going as far as throwing a pillow at his younger brother from the top bunk.

“Just being honest! We heard you going at it like rabbits when you had your own room, and I didn’t say anything about it then-”

“Harry.” To your surprise, it was Tom who cut him off, raising another pillow in warning. Thankfully, Harry took the hint that time and shut up, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.

You smiled to yourself with the knowledge that your little Easy A stunt had worked, and looked over to see that Sam was wearing a matching smirk. He winked at you before turning to glare at his brothers.

“On that note, I’m going to shower,” you said, mostly to Sam, and made your way over to where you had dropped your suitcase by the door.

You gathered a set of pajamas to change into and then wandered into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind you. It was one of those rolling doors so you had to be extra careful not to knock it off its hinges or the track and cause even more noise than necessary. You set your change of clothes on the counter next to the sink and began to undress, leaving your worn clothes on the floor.

The shower was kept in a room separate from the room with the sink and vanity, something you had read was common for Japanese washrooms. Inside the second room was a bathtub with a complicated looking panel next to it. With a closer inspection you determined it was used to fill the bath with water and customize the temperature. The showerhead was secured to the wall just to the side of the tub which meant you would have to hold it while you showered, but you didn’t mind. You were used to holding the showerhead for... other reasons.

Your shower was quick. You didn’t want to take too long when you knew other people were waiting for it. You were drained too. Even as you dried yourself off with a towel you could feel your arms start to get heavier.

You wrapped your hair in your towel and put on your pajamas shortly after, trying not to cringe at the way the fabric clung to your still-damp body. Usually you wouldn’t get dressed in the bathroom right after taking a shower because it was always so humid and sticky, you’d go out in the bedroom to do it, but as Sam’s girlfriend the latter wasn’t an option. So you dealt with the discomfort and ventured back into the main room.

It was dark now. Someone, you assumed Sam, had pulled the blackout curtains shut so that the daylight could no longer stream through the window. Harry was already fast asleep, but Tom and Sam were still awake, scrolling through their phones on their respective sides of the room.

Sam was perched on top of your bed, resting comfortably. He wasn’t underneath the covers, probably because he knew you didn’t like to share a bed with someone who hadn’t showered.

He smiled when he saw you and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Shower’s all yours,” you said.

“Thanks.”

You watched him rifle through his suitcase for pajamas and then eventually disappear into the bathroom before finally flinging yourself onto the bed. You still needed to take your hair out of the towel and brush your teeth, but you took a moment to just. Lay there.

Tom didn’t acknowledge you, hadn’t so much as looked at you since you came out of the bathroom, but you still found yourself looking over to him.

At the airport he had seemed at least a little concerned that he would have to share a room with you. Even in the cab to the hotel he kept sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But now he looked completely relaxed and you were second guessing yourself. Maybe you’d been projecting. Maybe he hadn’t been anxious at all.

You, on the other hand, felt like you hadn’t been able to exhale since Dom had announced that you’d be sharing a room with Sam’s brothers.

It had dawned on you as soon as you stepped into the hotel room that you’d never be able to let your guard down. Before this point you had at least been able to take breaks, retreat to your hotel room with Sam and be yourselves without worrying that one of his family members was around. You hadn’t needed to keep up the act 24/7, but now you had no other choice. It was only for a week, but you knew it was going to be exhausting. You weren’t even sure that your current performance was believable, and that was without all of the more intimate interactions couples had in private. The good night kisses, the cuddling in bed together, falling asleep in each other's arms, the good morning kisses, all things you’d have to take into consideration. Most couples you knew moved in harmony, like they were one person, half of a whole. You and Sam were more like the hands on a clock. You were always moving in the same direction, and once in a while you’d overlap, but more often than not you were facing each other on completely opposite sides of the clock. It was what made you such good friends. Best friends. But what would make you terrible lovers.

To be fair, a lot of people misunderstood your dynamic, which you had been using to your advantage. They assumed that since you were always together you were basically the same person- and they weren’t necessarily wrong. You and Sam spent a majority of your time together. You knew each other well enough to finish each other’s sentences, to voice aloud what the other was thinking before they even said it.

The vibration of your phone next to you disrupted your train of thought. It was a text from Sam.

Can you come here rq? I need help lol.

Confused, you pushed back the covers and stood up. You dropped your phone back on the bed and walked over to the bathroom, keenly aware of the way Tom stiffened in his bed.

You rolled back the door and found Sam standing in his boxers next to the tub.

“What is it?” you asked, shutting the door behind you.

“How did you figure out the shower? I can’t get the water to be hot.”

“This is what you called me in here for?” you said, exasperation dripping from your voice.

“Yes! I don’t want to take a cold shower.” He said it like it should’ve been obvious.

“Did you try messing with the knobs? That’s how I figured it out.”

Sam’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as he pursed his lips, thinking about how to answer.

“Not all of them,” he admitted.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s the one on the left, dumbass,” you said and twisted the knob for him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to fuck up the shower or anything.”

Men, you thought to yourself shaking your head.

“I’m going to bed,” you told him. “Before your brothers think I’m in here giving you head or something.”

“Let them think what they want,” he said, shrugging it off.

“I want to preserve what little amount of respect they have for me, thanks.”

Sam just chuckled and thanked you again as you let yourself out into the room with the sink. While you were there you hung up your wet towel and brushed your teeth with your finger and the toothpaste the hotel provided. You were too lazy to go get your toothbrush out of your bag.

“That was fast.”

You jumped, hand racing to your heart when you realized it was just Tom. He was still in his bed, but had rolled onto one side so that he could talk to you.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you hissed.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. “What did my brother want?”

God damn it, Sam.

“Why do you ask?”

Tom shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“He needed help figuring out the shower,” you explained.

“Glad he has you for that.”

You narrowed your eyes at the boy in the top bunk. He was trying to get under your skin. Why?

The ball was in your court. You could be the bigger person and let it go, or-

“He has me for a lot of things.” You pushed your tongue against your cheek so that there was a visible outline and brought your fist up to your mouth, moving it back and forth subtly so that he’d get the idea without being too obscene. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?"

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[blackstarising]

coming back to this post i made again to elaborate - especially as the ted lasso fandom is discussing sam/rebecca and fandom racism in general. there are takes that are important to make that i had failed to previously, but there's also a growing amount of takes that i have to, As A Black Person™, respectfully disagree with.

tl;dr for the essay below sam being infantilized and the sam/rebecca relationship are not the same issue and discussing the former one doesn't mean excusing the latter. and we've reached the glen of the Dark Forest where we sit down and talk about fandom racism.

i should have elaborated this in my last post about sam/rebecca, but i didn't. i'll say it now - i personally don't support sam and rebecca getting together for real. i believe what people are saying is entirely correct, even though sam is an adult legally, he and rebecca are, at the very least, two wildly different stages of life. for americans, he's at the equivalent of being a junior in college. there are things he hasn't gotten the chance to experience and there are areas he needs to grow in. when i was younger, i didn't understand the significance of these age gaps, i just thought it would be fine if it was legal, but as someone who is now a little older than sam in universe, i understand fully. we can't downplay this. whether or not you think sam works for rebecca or not, even despite the gender inversion of the Older Man Younger Woman trope, whether or not he is a legal adult, i don't think at this point in time, their relationship would work. i think it's an interesting narrative device, but i don't want to see it play out in reality.

that being said!

what's worrying me is that two discussions are being conflated here that shouldn't be. sam having agency and being a little more grown™ than he's perceived to be does not suddenly make his relationship with rebecca justified. i had decided to bring it up because sam was being brought into the spotlight again and i was starting to realizing that his infantilization was more common than i felt comfortable with.

sam's infantilization (and i will continue to call it that), is a microaggression. it's is in the range of microaggressions that i would categorize as 'fandom overcompensation'. we have a prominent character of color that exhibits traits that aren't stereotypical, and we don't want to appear racist or stereotypical, so we lean hard in the other direction. they're not aggressive, they're a Sweet Baby, they're not world weary, they're now a little naive. they're not cold and distant, they're so nice and sweet that there's no one that wouldn't want approach them, and yeah, on their face, these new traits are a departure and, on their face, they seem they look really good.

but at a certain point, it reaches an inflection point, and, like the aftertaste of a diet coke, that alleged sweetness veers into something a lot less sweet. it veers into a lack of agency for the character. it veers into an innocence that appears to indicate that the person can't even take care of themselves. it veers into a one-dimensional characterization that doesn't allow for any depth or negative emotion.

it's not kind anymore. it's not a nice departure from negative stereotypes. it's not compensating for anything.

it's patronizing.

it is important that we emphasize that characters of color are more than the toxic stereotypes we lay on them, yes, but we make a mistake in thinking that the solution is overcorrection. for one thing, people of color can usually tell. don't get it twisted, it's actually pretty obvious. for another, it just shifts from one dimension to another. people of color are still supposed to be Only One Character Trait while white people can contain multitudes. ted, who is pretty much as pollyanna as they come, can be at once innocent and naive and deep and troubled and funny and scared. jamie can be a prick and sexy and also lonely and also a victim of abuse. sam, however, even though he was bullied (by jamie, no less), is thousands of miles away from home, and has led a protest on his team, is usually just characterized as human sunshine with much less acknowledgement of any other traits beyond that.

and that's why i cringe when fandom calls sam a Sweet Baby Boy without any sense of irony. is that all we're taking away? after all this time? even for a comedy, sam has received a substantive of screen time over two whole seasons, and we've seen a range of emotions from him. so as a black person it's hurtful that it's boiled down to Sweet Baby Boy.

that's the problem. we need to subvert stereotypes, but more importantly, we need to understand that people of color are not props, or pieces of cardboard for their white counterparts. they are full and actualized and have agency in their own right and they can have other emotions than Angry and Mean or Sweet and Bubbly without any nuance between the two. i think the show actually does a relatively good job of giving sam depth (relatively, always room for improvement, mind you), especially holding it in tension with his youth, but the fandom, i worry, does not.

it's the same reason why finn from star wars started out as the next male protagonist in the sequel trilogy but by the third movie was just running around yelling for REY!! it's the same reason why when people make Phase 4 Is the Phase For Therapy gifsets for the mcu and show wanda maximoff, loki, and bucky barnes crying and being sad but purposefully exclude sam wilson who had an entire show to tell us how difficult his life is, because people find out if pee oh sees are also complex, they'll tell the church.

and the reason why i picked up on this very early on is because i am an organic, certified fresh, 100% homegrown, non-gmo, a little ashy, indigenous sub saharan African black person. the ghanaian tribes i'm descended from have told me so, my black ass parents have told me so, and the nurses at the hospital in [insert asian country here] that started freaking out about how curly my hair was as my mother was mid pushing me out told me so!

and this stuff has real life implications. listen: being patronized as a black person sucks. do you know how many times i was patted on the back for doing quite honestly, the bare minimum in school? do you know how many times i was told how 'well spoken' or 'eloquent' i was because i just happen to have a white accent or use three syllable words? do you know how many times i've been cooed over by white women who couldn't get over how sweet i was just because i wasn't confrontational or rude like they wrongly expected me to be?

that's why they're called microaggressions. it's not a cross on your lawn or having the n-word spat in your face, but it cuts you down little by little until you're completely drained.

so that's the nuance. that's the subversion. the overcompensation is not a good thing. and people of color (and i suspect, even white people) have picked up on, in general, the different ways fandom treats sam and dani and even nate. what all of these discussions are converging on is fandom racism, which is not the diet form of racism, but another place for racism to reveal itself. and yeah, it's uncomfortable. it can seem out of left field. you may want to defend yourself. you may want to explain it away. but let me tap the sign on the proverbial bus:

if you are a white person, or a person of color who is not part of that racial group, even, you do not get to decide what is not racist for someone. full stop. there are no exceptions. there is no exit clause for you. there is no 'but, actually-'. that right wasn't even yours to cede or waive.

(it's also important to note that people of color also have the right to disagree on whether something is racist, but that doesn't necessarily negate the racism - it just means there's more to discuss and they can still leave with different interpretations)

people don't just whip out accusations of racism like a blue eyes white dragon in a yu-gi-oh duel. it's not fun for us. it's not something we like to do to muzzle people we don't want to engage with. and we're not concerned with making someone feel bad or ashamed. we're exposing something painful that we have to live with and, even worse, process literally everything we experience through. we can't turn it off. we can't be 'less sensitive' or 'less nitpicky'. we are literally the primary resources, we are the proverbial wikipedia articles with 3,000 sources when it comes to racism. who else would know more than us?

what 2020 has shown us very clearly is that racism is systemic. it's not always a bunch of Evil White Men rubbing their hands together in a dark room wondering how they're going to use the 'n-word' today. it's systemic. it's the way you call that one neighborhood 'sketchy'. it's how you use 'ratchet' and 'ghetto' when describing something bad. it's how you implicitly the assume the intelligence of your friend of color. it's the way you turned up your nose and your friend's food and bullied them for it in middle school but go to restaurants run by white people who have 'uplifted' it with inauthentic ingredients. it's telling someone how Well Spoken and Eloquent they are even though you've both gone to the same schools and work at the same workplace. it's the way you look down at some people of color for having a different body type than you because they've been redlined to neighborhoods where certain foods and resources are inaccessible, and yet mock up the racial features that appeal to you either through makeup or plastic surgery.

it's how when a person of color behaves badly, they're irredeemable, but a white person performing the same act or something similar is 'having a bad day' or 'isn't normally like this' or 'has room to grow' and we can't 'wait for their redemption arc', and yes, i'm not going to cover it in detail in this post but yes this is very much about nate. other people have also brought up the nuances in his arc and compared them to other white characters so i won't do it here.

these behaviors and reactions aren't planned. they aren't orchestrated. they're quite literally unconscious because they've been lovingly baked into western society for centuries. you can't wake up and be rid of it. whether you intended it or not, it can still be racist.

and it's actually quite hurtful and unfair to imply that concerns about racism in the TL fandom are unfounded or lacking any depth or simply meant to be sensational because you simply don't agree with it. i wish it was different, but it doesn't work that way. i'm not raising this up to 'call out' or shame people, but i'm adding to this discussion because, through how we talk about sam, and even dani and nate, i'm yet again seeing a pattern that has shortchanged people of color and made them feel unwelcome in fandom for far too long.

coach beard said it best: we need to do better.

[dumbikawa]

Taking Care of the HQ Boys

GN!Reader | Fluff | Warnings: None

Characters: Suna, Kuroo, Iwaizumi

A/n: I’m such a simp for these boys it’s insane

SUNA

It took Suna a while to get used to the way you never held back when it came to taking care of him. One night, after a particularly rough practice, he’d sluggishly entered the apartment and practically collapsed on top of where you were laying on the couch. Wordlessly, you positioned yourself so that he was resting on your lap with both his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. It was comfortably silent as you ran your fingers through his hair that was still slightly damp from showering at the gym and in no time at all he was softly snoring.

He'd never admit it aloud, but he loved when you took care of him in little ways like that. From the start, he had always insisted on being the big spoon, obsessed with the way your body perfectly molded against his and the satisfaction of knowing you felt safe in his arms. Ever since that night, though, it became a regular thing for you to see him standing, looking at you like a pouty child, from the corner of your eye waiting for you to take the hint that he wanted you to cuddle him. You'd simply open your arms for him to crawl into without even having to look up from your phone.

Today was no exception.

Suna can feel the physical exhaustion down to his bones as he allows the cool water to wash away the sweat and grime he collected over the course of practice. Mentally he feels the same; completely drained in every sense of the word. He can’t even find the energy to thoroughly dry his hair, opting to quickly rub it with a towel before making his way to the bedroom and collapsing on the bed.

“Rin!” you gently scold, placing the book you’d been reading beside you on the bed. “You’re going to ruin your pillow.”

“I don’t care,” he mumbles, eyes remaining shut as he lets out a content sigh. He did care, actually, but his decision was already made and now that he was in bed there was no way he was getting up. He truly meant that, but when he feels you tugging at his hand for him to get up he begrudgingly obliges.

You’re holding your hair dryer and gesturing for him to sit on the floor. It doesn’t seem wise to disobey when you look so determined, so he slides off the bed, giving you full access to his sopping mess of hair.

His eyes flutter closed as the warmth from the hairdryer and the way your fingers are skillfully brushing through his hair begins to pull him towards sleep. Not to mention, in this position he has the perfect opportunity to use your thigh as a pillow and he makes a mental note to have you dry his hair more often. But, sadly, the flow of warm air shuts off and your voice pulls him back to the present.

“C’mon you big baby,” you laugh, watching him groan and throw himself back up on the bed. He shimmies under the covers, but refuses to place his head back on the damp pillow. Instead, he stares at you with sleepy eyes until you’ve positioned yourself so that you can sit comfortably and open your arms for him.

His arms automatically snake around your waist as he buries his head in your side.

“Do I do enough to take care of you?” he asks softly, turning to look up at you with a vulnerability that he doesn't often display so openly.

“Of course, Rin,” you hum, tracing your fingers down his exposed back. He still seems unsure as he pushes his face against your shirt, but his shoulders relax slightly. “I mean it. I like taking care of you, okay? There’s nothing to repay if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Your reassurance falls on deaf ears, though, as you feel his breathing even out and his grip on you loosening.

“I love you, baby,” you whisper, grabbing your book from where you’d set it earlier and relishing in the quiet as you continued to absentmindedly draw designs against Suna's warm skin. 

KUROO

Kuroo closes the apartment door quietly, finally letting his shoulders droop with exhaustion now that he's inside. He slips his bag noiselessly onto the ground and flicks his watch up to check the time. It was well past midnight by the time he actually clocked out of work and, although he wants nothing more than a dual welcome home/goodnight kiss from you, he hopes you’re sound asleep by now.

However, much to his surprise, you’re curled up on the couch with a book and a warm cup of tea, so enthralled in whatever you’re reading that you don't hear him approach. There’s a strong possibility you aren’t even aware of what time it is, completely lost in another world. He tests this theory by walking behind the couch and wrapping his arms around you, chuckling at the way you jump at the sudden contact.

“Welcome home!” you beam once you recover from the small scare. You press a quick kiss to his upturned lips before he walks around to the front so that he can relieve a proper hug.

“Thank you, babe,” he murmurs against your lips, not wanting to pull away from your warmth just yet. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I wanted to wait for you and then I got to this really good part in my book and just...lost track of what time it was.” The way your eyes light up sends a wave of admiration shooting straight through Kuroo’s heart. “How was work? Why did you have to stay so late?”

Kuroo begins walking you through his hectic day, quickly turning the discussion into an irritated rant about having to fix other people’s mistakes and figuring out schedules for upcoming projects. You listen thoughtfully as you migrate towards the kitchen, your boyfriend trailing closely behind.

Soon, there was a cup of hot tea in his hands and the two of you are positioned on the couch with your legs thrown over his lap as he gently massages your calves.

Your eyes never leave his as he talks, nodding along and asking questions every now and then. He didn’t need nor want any sort of advice or words of wisdom. Simply having you listen to him was enough to have him feeling ten times lighter by the time he reached the bottom of his cup.

“Do you want more?” you ask, beginning to stand up. Kuroo doesn’t answer, instead leaning forward and hooking his arm around your waist so that you fall back into his arms.

“More of you, yes,” he says, smiling into your hair. He can practically feel the way your eyes roll as you let out an exasperated groan at his cheesy comment, but the hint of a blush making its way to your cheeks betrays you.

You make the first move to get up, offering a hand out to him. His hand engulfs yours as you pull him towards the bedroom. The bed has new sheets and the laundry is sitting in a basket freshly washed and ready to be folded. A wave of guilt crashes into him, knowing that you also worked today and must’ve come home afterwards and cleaned up.

“Baby, you should’ve gotten some rest,” Kuroo sighs, gesturing to the laundry and neatly made  bed. "I'm certain it was my turn to do the laundry.”

“Yeah, but when you told me you had to work late I figured I’d knock out some chores since I had the time. It’s not like it’s a big deal, Tetsu.” 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” The words have barely left his lips before he's throwing the covers over the two of you and shutting off the lights. His arms wrap around your middle as he pulls you close to him, relishing in your small giggles. It doesn't take long for you to drift to sleep while Kuroo places soft kisses against your exposed shoulders. He soon follows, matching his breathing with yours and immediately winding down, but until his brain finally shuts off from exhaustion he's thinking of all the ways he's going to show you just how much he appreciates everything you do.

IWAIZUMI

Iwaizumi watches as you begin cooking dinner for the two of you as a quiet pop song plays off your phone. His work day was less than stellar, to put it simply, but watching you dance around the kitchen has already earned the frown from his face and has him smiling like a damn fool.

“Haji!” you exclaim, suddenly noticing the lurking figure from the corner of your eye. He steps out from his hiding place, an amused yet sheepish look on his face as he notices your flustered expression. “Why were you just standing there? Come here and give me a kiss, idiot.” He raises his hands in surrender as he does what you say, letting his lips linger on yours for a moment longer than usual and wrapping his arms around your waist to draw you closer to him.

“Hey, doll,” he murmurs against your skin, resting his face into the crook of your neck. You pull back slightly, ignoring his childlike protests as you do so.

“Are you okay?” you question, eyeing him up and down. Iwaizumi is sure he could get lost in your beautiful eyes that are currently filled with concern. You know him too well, he thinks, as you give him a knowing look. It was still difficult for him to open up about things, especially small things that had bothered him throughout the day. There wasn't a real reason to talk about all the irritating parts of the day because he knows he can handle them himself, or so he claims.

“Y/n, it’s nothing,” he reassures, kissing your nose in an attempt to further prove he’s not bothered. “It was just a very long day, but now I’m back here with you and I couldn’t be happier.” His smooth talking makes it impossible for you to stay mad, but you surely try.

“Alright, well, you know you can talk about it even if it’s ‘nothing.’ In the meantime, stay here and watch the food for a moment while I run you a bath.” Iwaizumi is quick to object, but you’ve already sauntered out of the room and he can hear the faint sound of running water.

It truly did feel nice to be taken care of, he thinks fleetingly as he sinks into the warm water, but it's difficult for him to fully relax when he can hear you bustling around the kitchen. He waits in the bath for a little longer so that you won't bite his head off for how quick he was before changing  into a pair of sweatpants and a comfortable shirt. The sounds of you beginning to set the table echoes down the hallway and he finds himself hoping you'll at least let him help with that.

“You lasted longer in there than I thought," you tease as your boyfriend appears back at your side. "Now go sit down." He opens his mouth to argue, but one look and he finds himself moving towards the table, wondering why you were so intent on doing everything.

“At least let me do the dishes,” he practically pleads, watching you with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude as you bring the warm food over to the table.

“Or, hear me out, we leave the dishes to deal with tomorrow and spend the rest of the night watching movies cuddled up on the couch." He narrows his eyes as he searches through his brain, trying to remember if he'd forgotten an anniversary or birthday because he surely didn't feel as if he deserved this.

As if reading his mind once again you reach out and hold his hand, gently rubbing your thumb in circles against his skin.

"Can't you just let me take care of you? You're constantly going above and beyond for me, so I just thought I'd try and return the favor." Iwaizumi feels his face heat up as you place a kiss against his knuckles like he always does to you. It did feel nice, but he enjoys taking care of you. He never even thinks twice about it. 

"Alright, alright. In that case, you can do the dishes tonight and maybe also get some desert." He can feel your eyes boring into him as if to say, 'Don't push it.' A smile breaks out on his face as he begins digging into the meal you prepared, peppering you with compliments until his plate is clean.

[princecameronlovedacommoner]

Rafebarry Ficlet: The Shattered too Can Be Healed

( Fluff. Just Lots of Fluff & Rafe Snuggles)

Summary: Barry takes care of Rafe after he comes to him straight from having a fight with his old man.

A quarter till midnight and the bastard comes through the front door like the place is his very own, not one knock, no “What’s up, man” from the other side of the screen while he waited for Barry to let him inside. Not even a simple “Hey, mind if I stay around awhile?” before Rafe Cameron barges right into Barry’s trailer, lips bloody and swollen like he’d just got into it with somebody on the drive over.

Barry turned off the local news network on his little tv in the corner of the room. The weather forecast was done with anyway and he really didn’t give a shit about much else at the moment.

Aside from the clearly distressed Kook who had entered his domain and that was behaving in an even odder way than usual. For Rafe that was definitely saying a lot.

“Well, shit. Look at you, Country Club. Look like somebody done took off with that shiny new ride Daddy got you cruising’ in now. They pull your ass out of it first?” He motioned to Rafe’s split lip and expected him to snap at the jest. To snarl at least. Just a little.

But Rafe didn’t say a word. He dumped his things on Barry’s couch, facing away from him to hide the injury, of which he was obviously ashamed.

“Ain’t talkin’ tonight, huh?” Barry’s tone was less teasing and more…well…gentle was really the only word that could properly describe it.

“No.” Rafe muttered, and that was good. At least Barry was getting something out of him, even if it was mostly just sniffles and swallowed down sobs.

Barry sighed, leaning back in his recliner and crossing his arms behind his head, showing off a pair of bare and decently worked muscles. “Alright then, pretty thing.” He agreed to Rafe’s current terms of silence, mostly just to keep the tension boiling within the blonde headed rich boy from rising into a raging fit.

Barry knew Rafe well enough by now. He just needed to relax for a little while to calm down. “Go take a shower, why don’t ya?” He suggested. “Hot water’s back on.”

Rafe went, without another word, down the hall and locked the flimsy bathroom door behind him.

Alright. So this was going to be a rough night. He only ever trapped himself in there when he was feeling pretty worse for wear.

Whatever. Barry was still confident that he could talk him down enough to avoid an outburst. So he reluctantly got up from his cozy chair and went into the kitchen to make them both something to snack on.

The water in the shower quit after about a half hour and once Barry had thrown a couple of grilled cheeses together, Rafe was already sitting on the couch, wrapped up in his warm grey robe that he kept in Barry’s closet, his golden hair still wet from his shower and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Eat somethin’.” Barry insisted, handing him a plate and then setting down a chipped mug of sweet smelling tea upon the cluttered coffee table in front of Rafe. They didn’t need to talk about that and Rafe didn’t need any convincing to drink it. Whatever Barry used to make the stuff usually really helped him to calm down after a tough run in with the old man. The same was true now, his trembling muscles beginning to slow as he sipped at the hot drink.

“You gonna let me clean that lip up for ya?” Barry eventually dared to ask once he felt that Rafe had been gentled enough to not bite the hand that fed him.

Cameron didn’t reply right away but once he’d finished half of his sandwich and the mug was drained, he touched the tips of his own fingers gently to the angry cut that actually ran through both of his lips. “Not much you can do for it.” He muttered.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.” Barry got up again from his chair and came closer, Rafe’s lack of action to repel him being a clear invitation to approach.

“Who did this shit, huh?” He asked softly as he sat down next to Rafe. Rafe, who didn’t cower from him but pulled his robe tighter against his body, as if Barry might try to take advantage of his currently wrecked emotional state. Even if he knew that he never would.

“Don’t,” He hissed. “Just don’t fucking ask, alright? Just-Just get me some Vaseline and some ibuprofen, alright? Stop asking questions…”

“Sure thing, Country Club. I got you.” Of course Barry knew already that Daddy Cameron was probably the assailant who did the damage but he wasn’t going to say that to Rafe. It’d only get him worked up and angry.

After searching through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for awhile, Barry came back to patch his shaky little Kook up, going a step further than Rafe had told him to and first cleaning both slashes in the soft flesh with some cold antiseptic before the Vaseline went anywhere near them. Rafe downed a couple of Tylenol after and after a little while of resting on Barry’s couch, arms still crossed defensively over his chest, Rafe got up and went to the bedroom, leaving Barry to finish some dumb 80’s movie they’d started up together.

The bed was nice and soft against the tenseness of Rafe’s body and he slowly let himself sink into the mattress beneath the sheets. Sheets that smelt like them, only slightly less than the pillows Rafe swapped so he could breath in Barry’s scent without asking for the real deal.

The old rickety floors creaked when Barry came back to slide into bed as well, long calloused fingers shoving dark locks back over his head and out of his eyes. “You been theivin’ my pilla again, huh?” He couldn’t help but grin rather proudly when he saw that Rafe had his face buried in the pillow he’d claimed as his: the one that was stuffed into the Carolina Panthers case he’d found at the thrift shop. “Fork it over, baby boy. You can hang onto me instead.”

Rafe didn’t protest, switching the pillows back. He liked his own better anyway. It was firmer. Not as squishy as Barry’s that was going to give him a life long crick in the neck someday.

“Take the fucking thing if it matters so much…” He muttered under his breath at Barry, who willingly pretended that it was his idea alone to roll Rafe over and hold him close against his warm naked chest.

“Come here, pretty thang. That’s a good boy,” Barry dropped little bits of praise for Rafe to lap up like the love starved pup that he was. “Let me hold ya, baby. Been missin your cute ass around here all day, honey pie. You might as well come on in here and shack up with me full time, ya know? Don’t ever wanna let go of you in the mornins, baby. You just got those wicked little claws in my heart now, huh? My pretty thang. Know how fuckin’ perfect you look right now?”

Rafe relaxes deeply enough at Barry’s words that sometimes, including tonight apparently, he doesn’t really even notice that he’s crying against his lover’s skin.

Barry doesn’t mention it either. Just keeps praising him, rubbing on his back, and kissing at every bit of exposed skin he can find to smooch.

Rafe never feels calmer than when he’s here, wrapped in Barry’s arms, being taken care of and loved so thoroughly.

If heaven truly was a real place, he thought to himself before drifting off to sleep, this must be what it feels like to be there.

There’s never been another place on earth that Rafe could flee to, where the dark thoughts in his head wouldn’t follow. Just here. Just here with Barry in these moments where peace of mind wasn’t just a myth.

[volleychumps]

Ok finally (my last one) a scenario where the Karasuno boys (I will always trade Kenma for Tanaka) are at a Halloween party and their crush comes in wearing the sexiest/hottest costume that boy could ever wet dream of (they’re crush lost a bet and had to wear it). I’d love to see what each boy would want their crush dressed as and to see them flustered when their crush comes over to chat them up. Again you’re an amazing writer and I hope you see these! I’m crossing my fingers.

This request was suuuper fun to write and I chose the costumes off the personalities of these nerds, I hope you enjoy!!!

I wrote for the ones I chose in the mix of our boys considering they’re scenarios, hope that’s okay!!

Karasuno Boys (+Kenma) w/ a Crush in a Sexy Halloween Costume 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Daichi (lmao don’t blame me for the choice of costume Dai is a simpleton)

“Consider yourself lucky I even came.” 

“Boo, no fun, Dai!” 

The captain narrows his eyes at his vice-captain as Suga shares a knowing grin with Asahi and Kiyoko as the first and second years run about through Kuroo’s abnormally large house. The shared halloween party hosted by the Nekoma captain himself consisted of the teams of Fukurodani, Nekoma, Aoba Joshai, and Karasuno along with their managers- a party in which Daichi Sawamura was not informed of the magnitude. 

The Karasuno captain was decked out in a pirate costume, chosen to match with Sugawara, a costume Daichi would have never agreed to wearing had he known the party would be consisting of people outside the team he trusts. 

However, there was no purpose in pouting. Before Daichi could scold Hinata and Kageyama for perpetrating a challenging game of Just Dance against Lev and Yamamoto, Yachi tugging on an arm of someone who had yet to emerge into the entrance caught his attention. 

“Y/N~, come out!” 

“I said I would wear it, not that I would show myself in it.” Your voice snaps, and Daichi involuntarily feels heat rise to his cheeks as he realizes: as a manager-in-training for the Karsuno team, the invite also obviously extended to you.

Daichi looks away from his conversation with his fellow third years to gape at the sight. He had definitely wondered what the girl he liked would look like in one- 

he just wasn’t expecting to see it. In person, and not out of his late-night fantasies of seeing you in his jersey with nothing underneath it. 

Yachi, dressed as a simple princess, giggled as you attempted to pull down the volleyball shorts that clung to your legs so tight almost like a second skin, a Karasuno jersey just barely covering your ass with low in behold-

The number one gracing your back. 

Instead of the standard ponytail or braids, your hair fell in delicate waves down your shoulders, your goregous makeup out of place for the volleyball player costume you wore. You glare at Kuroo’s wolf-whistle and manage a small grin to the first-years that rush up to you- 

“Y/N-chan, you look soooo pretty!” 

“Shut up dobe, it’s not like our uniform is anything special-” 

“It’s still a costume. She doesn’t play volleyball.” 

“Thanks for the analysis, Tsukishima.” You laugh a little, moving through them to get to try and get to your seniors as you glare at the one who made the bet with you. 

“Why Dai’s number, Kiyoko?” You whine, leaning on Daichi with totally platonic intentions as the captain feels himself stiffen. In more places than one.

Daichi keeps his lips sealed shut at the wink from Kiyoko as said woman shoves both Asahi and Sugawara along, claiming she needed their help with getting more drinks with the intention of leaving the two of you alone as Daichi bites back a groan. The usually steady captain leans against the wall, looking away nervously. 

“U-Uhm y-you look-” 

“Nice costume, Daichi-senpai.” You wink once they leave, moving to lean against the wall as well while running a hand through your hair. “Guess you could say I’m you, huh? It’s weird being in the uniform, not being a player and all-” 

“Y/N.” 

You arch a brow at the crack in the captain’s voice, surprised at how flushed the captain’s cheeks were before realization dawns on your features. 

“You look really really nice tonight. The jersey suits you.”

“You think?” You fiddle with the hem of the jersey, noting the darkened expression on the captain’s face: either one of restraint or lust, you couldn’t tell. You smile through a bitten lip, finger tracing up his chest as you glance around, making sure no one could see as your breath tickles the captain’s ear in a surge of confidence. 

“I think I’d look better without it, don’t you think?” 

Daichi’s jaw slackens as you giggle, walking off to watch the Just Dance battle emerge with a sway to your hips, feeling the captain’s eyes bore into you from afar. 

Looks like he could consider himself very lucky he had come tonight. 

Sugawara

“Y/N, I will drag you. Don’t doubt I won’t.” 

“Nooo Bokuto, You never said anything about actually coming in to the party.”

 “You’re making a commotion, sweetheart.” 

Suga frowns, raising the rim of his cup to his lips at Bokuto’s choice of names for you as the Fukurodani captain attempts to drag his manager into the party. Although the vice-captain knew damn well you would never make the mistake of going for the playboy known as Bokuto, Sugawara still felt an itch of jealousy at the close bond the two of you shared, hence the slightly tightened plastic cup in his hold. 

Bokuto smirks at the stare from the gray-haired boy, thinking that the vice-captain should actually be thanking him, as a final tug pulls you into the party. 

Suga chokes on his juice. 

“A-Are you a sexy nerd, Y/N?” Akaashi manages out at the sight of his manager, heat flooding his cheeks at your knee-high socks and short school girl skirt, a pair of frames resting on your nose as your white button up only had two of the bottom buttons buttoned. Your hair had been pulled back into a messy braid, complete with a pair of open suspenders as you groan at all the eyes on you. 

Sugawara moved his damn eyepatch just to make sure what he was seeing was the real thing, feeling sensual emotions wash over him at the unexpected sight. 

The vice-captain remains shocked when you move through the herd of your boys to make your way over to him, a pout on your lips that was so unnecessarily attractive Suga had to gulp as you cross your arms over your chest, covering your red exposed bra with both arms. 

“You’re the only sensible one here right now, Suga.” You sigh to your friend, plucking the cup out of Suga’s hand and drinking from it. “Is this capri sun? You know me so well.” 

Snapping out of his trance, Suga clears his throat before chuckling lightly, tugging you out of the common area of the living room and into a more secluded, yet not completely empty room. Karui and Saeko point at the two of you excitedly, before leaving the room quickly as Suga takes even breaths through his nose- amazed he’s able to keep his composure. 

“This-” Suga pulls you forward by the two sides of your exposed button up, fingers buttoning up the rest of the buttons, covering your bra. “Is dangerous in a house full of men.” 

“Oh tell me about it.” You sigh as your close friend finishes closing up your top. “I lost a damn bet to Bokuto and-” 

“You exposed yourself to these boys because of a bet?” 

You blink at the raspiness and irritation now prevalent in Suga’s voice, suddenly at a loss for words as the look in his eyes makes your knees slightly weak. 

“U-Um...yes? Is there a man to show it to only?” Your tone is teasing, but Suga’s burning stare makes your mouth go dry. 

Suga clicks his tongue, eyes tracing over your figure one more time possessively as he suddenly turns, hand on your wrist. 

“I have extra clothes in my car.” 

He doesn’t have to turn around for you to see the redness on his features as a smile tickles the corner of your lips. 

“Only if you want them.” 

“Oh I do!” You chirp, letting him guide you out of the house as all tension drains out of the atmosphere, and Suga smiles to himself-

his hand moving to clasp in yours just a little tighter with his heated skin. 

Nishinoya

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a ninja. Duh.” 

Nishinoya huffs, wondering why he had to explain it for the third time as Asahi laughs heartily, decked out in a sailor costume that exhibited the definition on his arms vividly. The shorter boy goes to pull his mask back up until the sound of your groaning voice catches within his hearing, the libero’s heartbeat automatically picking up. 

“No! Oikawa, don’t be more of an asshole than you usually are-” 

“Rude. A bet is a bet Y/N-chan~” 

Pulling up his mask can wait. 

Your sexy devil costume was tight in all the right places as your cheeks matched the shade of red your attire adorned as you stepped into the party, a steady silence settling around the room at your entry. Bokuto broke the silence with a sharp whoop from his spot next to Noya, who still had his jaw on the floor as you shyly pull at the leotard that resembled basically a red bikini, your attempt being futile. 

Shoving out of Oikawa’s hold, you rush over to to Kiyoko, pouting all the while as the woman dressed as an angel giggled and adjusted your devil horns as she strokes your hair in a there there motion, making Noya’s heartbeat skyrocket even higher at the sight. 

“N-Noya-san are you alright? You look faint.”

“I can die now. As a happy man.” The libero sniffs, not noticing you come over to the drink table and startling him from his position in front of the coolers. Now suddenly the most timid boy at the party, Noya blinks once to see that Asahi had left with the purpose of leaving him alone with his crush. 

The shorter boy gulps when your finger presses at the bottom of his chin, shutting his dropped jaw as wide brown eyes gape at you, pink dusting over his features. 

“You’ll catch flies.” You say simply, smiling a little through your bright red lipstick as Noya’s cheeks suddenly match your costume. 

“HahAHAH flies. Right.” 

You arch a brow, pulling at your stockings- oh god you were wearing stockings- as Noya tries to find steady ground, thinking that if any deity was ever giving him a sign- this was it. 

As you throw back a drink, Noya does as well, the sound of the shot glass hitting the table. 

“You look extremely sexy tonight, Y/N. I’m saying that in the least pervy way possible.” The words come out rushed as an amused tilt to your lips makes the libero calm a little, hand over his heart as if he was swearing something. 

Your devilish attire had sent a rush of confidence through you as you find yourself playing coy. 

“Well,” you take another step forward, Noya gulping when your fingers find the cloth of his mask. “I suppose this costume did make the guy I wanted to see it most find it that way.” 

Noya remains frozen in shock as you pull down his dark ninja mask to place your lips over his cheek sweetly, winking once before escaping back to Kiyoko right as the adrenaline could rush down-

Noya soon following in your escape path soon after, your scent filling his nose as he wonders if he would be sinning tonight. 

Kenma

“Your parties are lame.”

“Says the guy who didn’t even wear a costume.”

Kenma rolls his eyes as he relaxes more into his seat on the couch, the console in his hand sounding with beeps and the like as he mildly points a finger to the top of his head to an annoyed Kuroo through the heavy music and beer pong. 

“This is a costume.” 

“A pair of dollar-store cat ears is not a costume, Kenma!” 

Kenma blinks at the foreign voice, looking up once to not only see a smirking Kuroo, but you-

your sensual cat costume hugging your figure amazingly along with drawn whiskers, a pair of more appropriate cat ears resting on your head than his as your sheer tights seemed to show even more skin than without them. 

Subconciously, Kenma turned off his console right away, wondering just when the team manager of Nekoma he just so happened to have the biggest crush on walked into the party, much less up to him.

“Great party, Kuroo!” You beam innocently as Kuroo shrugs with an I-told-you-so expression to his childhood friend, Kenma glaring at him with flushed cheeks as the setter tries to find the right place to look. Anywhere else to look, please. 

“What are you drinking, Y/N?” 

“Juice. For Kenma too- and you better not be drinking alcohol Mr. Underage-” 

“You’re not a manager tonight, remember?” Kuroo grins cheekily as you take a seat next to Kenma, ignoring all the pairs of eyes on you. “That was apart of the bet~” 

“I’ll shove your bet right up your ass if you keep it up~” You respond in kind as Kuroo barks out a laugh before taking his leave, leaving you with the brain of Nekoma in the middle of a Halloween costume party. 

Kenma clears his throat, setting his console down before looking off to the side shyly, a hand on the back of his neck. 

“W-What bet did you make with Kuroo?” 

“Trust me, you don’t want to know- I came here in this cat costume and that’s that.” You giggle, crossing your leg over the other as Kenma’s eyes slowly trail towards the movement, looking quickly away again before shyly looking down at his lap.

“Can I take a turn?” You nod over to the shy boy’s console as Kenma mumbles a barely coherent yes, before handing it over, giving him an opportunity to calm his racing heartbeat as he watches you take it excitedly. 

“Parties really aren’t my thing.” 

“...Same.” 

Kenma feels a quirk to one side of his lips as he watches you- something out of a wet dream- excitedly fight against a computer in his game as he suddenly becomes glad he came to this lame-ass party.

“Are you gonna watch all night or play with me?” 

“I suppose beating you once or twice won’t bite.” 

“Did the Kenma Kozume just give me sass?” You raise your brows at the challenge as Kenma brushes some of his hair back, shrugging confidently as the man of the hour breaks your little moment. 

“How are my two favorite kittens doing?” 

“Go to hell, Kuroo.” 

You and Kenma look at eachother before laughing at the simutaneous reply, the Nekoma captain biting back a comment at the fact that they were bonding over insulting him-

honestly glad that his plan had worked. 

Tsukishima

“I really let Saeko help Y/N get ready for this halloween party.” 

“...and why are you telling me this?” 

“Oh you’ll see.” 

Tsukishima spares Tanaka’s shiteating grin another moment of wonder before shrugging and going back to watching Hinata and Kageyama try to outdo each other in a (furious?) game of Cards Against Humanity, finding it wonderfully hilarious that neither of them seemed to be very funny at all as Bokuto won every round. 

“And so she arrives.” 

“Tanaka-san, why are you telling me like I care?” 

“Cut the shit, Tsukishima! The whole team knows you’re a big softie for her.” 

Before the cynical blonde could absolutely deny that claim, the loud cheer of Saeko grabs his attention before doing so. Tanaka’s older sister pulls you into the party with a knowing grin on her face as you embarassedly comply, stepping into Daichi’s house party timidly. 

The nurse costume your body adorned was unreasonably tight, highlighting your upper and lower body parts amazingly, matched well with a nurse hat atop your head innocenly along with knee-high socks that seemed to make your already short skirt even shorter. You wave with a shy grin to the players from Karasuno as Tanaka has to hit Tsukishima to get his attention. 

“I-I’m sorry-what?” 

“I knew it, you softie.” Tanaka snickers, eyes widening when he sees Hinata and Kageyama making it a race towards you to compliment your costume, shoving Tsukishima before he can think about it. 

“Go! Before those two can!” 

Tsukishima goes to deliver a snarky rejection to the wing spiker only to find himself bumping into you, crude words falling on silent lips as your chest presses up against his frame in the process. 

“Oh crap, Tsukishima-Kun, I’m sorry!” 

The blonde moves to speak, but no words come out- only a blush coming instead to involuntarily spread across his cheeks.

“D-Did I hurt you?” You squeak out, and Tsukishima finds it extremely hard to meet your eyes when literally every aspect of your body he had admired from afar before-

was simply magnified with your costume. 

“No.” The blonde rasps, taking his glasses off to wipe them at the bottom of his shirt. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you really? Do you need a check-up?” You joke, doing a little jazz hands pose that the blonde couldn’t help but think was absolutely adorable. 

“Sure.” Tsukishima finds himself saying before he can stop himself. “Give me one. You’re supposed to be a nurse, right?” 

You blink, surprised, as Tsukishima glares at the crowd of Karasuno players looking on from behind you, suddenly wishing he could whisk you away somewhere private as a majority of them giggle like little schoolboys. 

You timidly take out a prop stethoscope, looking down at it and fiddling with it. “I don’t really know where your heart exactly is, much less if this thing works at all-” 

Tsukishima takes the device gently from your hands, moving to put it into both his ears and the circular part over your chest, trying his best to be as gentlemanly as possible. 

“Here.” The blonde arches a brow. “Your heart’s beating out of control.” 

“R-Really? Oh crap, you can tell?” Your eyes widen as Tsukishima continues to pretend to listen, a smirk overtaking his features as you had fallen for his trick.

“Nope. But I now know that it is.”

You squeak when Tsukishima returns the stethoscope to your nurse pocket, leaning down to mumble in your ear, 

“It’s just a prop, but you’re cute for trying.” 

So, as you stood there with a dazed look in your eye and reddened features to match the red cross on your hat, Tsukishima shoved his hands in his pockets before turning and walking off, looking pleased with himself as Tanaka and his sister high five from a distance. 

[kouomi]

Family Secrets

Summary: How long would you be able to keep your relationship with your brothers’ best friend a secret? (F!reader x Suna Rintarō)

Warnings: slight jealously (basically none!)

Word Count: 3,813

A/N: the beginning of this is a little rocky sorry about that(it’s explaining a lil background I didn’t know where to put it)! This is also my first fic for Haikyuu and on this account so sorry if anything is off!

Posted: March 3rd, 2021 6:26 am EST

Having two older brothers isn’t easy for any girl. Especially if those older brothers are twins and especially if you were all in the same year at school.

Everyone at your school knew you as the Miya twins little sister and while you hated the title it was one that you’d had since you were born so overtime you grew used to it. You constantly lived in their shadow, especially when they started playing volleyball so in an attempt to gain your own title you started playing as well. You’re a setter for the girls team at Inarizaki, set to take the position of captain next year once your current third year captain is out of high school.

Your practice had just ended and after taking a quick shower in the locker room you headed to the other gym where the boys team was still practicing, silently slipping in the door and sitting on the bench.

“Little Miya is here!” Akagi exclaims, a few heads turning to face you. You give a small wave without looking up from your phone, rolling your eyes at the familiar sound of your brothers starting a fight.

“Why are you here?” Osamu asks on one of their water breaks, staring down at you from where he stood.

“Mom won’t let me walk home alone after practice and Yaku wasn’t here today.” You explain with a sigh, “So I have to wait for you two.”

“I forgot we’re going home today.” Atsumu groans, “She’s gonna kill me.”

“Why?”

“He failed the maths test.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles past your lips, Atsumu glaring at you and your other brother as you laugh at his expense. He starts going on about how it wasn’t his fault but you don’t pay much attention, instead your gaze meeting another a few meters behind him. Almost as soon as you lock eyes they look away and you do the same, resisting the blush that tries to rise up your face.

After another thirty minutes of their practice they’re finally let go, everyone else on the team heading towards the dorms while you, Atsumu, and Osamu make your way towards the front gate.

“There’s at least two girls on my team that have a crush on you guys.” You add to their conversation after listening in on them talking about their fan girls for the past ten minutes.

“Eh? Why would someone like ‘Samu?” Atsumu asks.

“You literally have the same face.” You blink, watching as he goes to argue but can’t seem to find any words that work in his favor.

While the twins on either side of you kept talking you pulled out your phone, a small smile crossing your face as your fingers danced across the screen to reply to a text. You’d turned down your brightness and tilted your phone closer to your face so your brothers wouldn’t be able to read anything but they still eyed you suspiciously, silently sharing their questions with each other over your head.

“Y/n? What’re ya doin?” Atsumu asks, making you turn off your phone and shove it in your pocket.

“Texting my team.” You answer coolly, “Some of us actually have to put work in outside of practice.”

“Oi it’s not my fault yer a vice captain and we’re not!”

“What about organizing makes you smile like that?” Osamu asks. You cringe at his words; of course he’d be the one to pick up on that.

“When did this turn into twenty questions?” You ask, voice slight squeaking as you spoke.

“Does our baby sister have a boyfriend?” Atsumu grins, resting his arm on your shoulder.

“No, and don’t call me that! You’re not even a year older than me!” You exclaim, shoving his arm off and picking up your pace so you walked ahead of them instead of between.

“Hey, get back here!”

After dinner with your family you sat in your room, repeatedly setting a volleyball into the air above you and occasionally groaning as you hear your brothers through the thin walls of your home. While you were practicing your mind wandered to how close you’d come to being found out by the duo all because of a stupid smile. You’d managed to hide your relationship for nearly five months now but it was getting harder and harder, especially considering your boyfriend was one of your brothers close friends and teammate. You’d wanted to tell them before but it would just cause unnecessary awkwardness and maybe even distrust among the four of you so you decided to keep it secret. It did make things more interesting sometimes but also immensely difficult to find places you could go on dates without risk of being caught, as things as simple as texting nearly exposed your relationship.

Your train of thought is interrupted by a knock on your window, the volleyball above you coming crashing down on to your face when you turn to look at the source of the noise. Rubbing your nose you stood up and crossed the room, gasping lightly when you see the main topic of your thoughts standing on the branch of the tree outside your window.

“Rin?!” You whisper yell after pushing open the glass, sticking your head outside.

He flashes you a small smile as you reach out to help him inside, leaving the window open behind him in case he needed to use it as a quick escape route.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Thought I’d stop by.” He responds, reaching out and pulling you towards him with one of your hands before his arms snake around your waist, “We haven’t hung out in a while.”

“Ya could’ve just waited til tomorrow.” You say though find yourself melting into him, “‘Tsumu and ‘Samu are literally on the other side of that wall.”

“Well I was on my way to the store and thought I’d stop by.”

You shake your head with a sigh as your arms move around his back, one of your hands between his shoulder blades and the other on the back of his neck. He leans down, face hovering in front of yours for a moment before you close the space between you and press your lips to his.

“You really can’t stay.” You mumble, pulling apart momentarily to talk.

“Just for a little bit.” He says, pecking your lips again before lowering his head to the crook of your neck.

“Rin.” You warn though your words lose any authority when he presses a delicate kiss to your jaw making you subconsciously lean closer into his grasp with a slight intake of breath.

“Okay, maybe just a bit.”

You feel him smile before he peppers your neck in kisses, one of his hands moving up to lightly hold the side as his thumb gently pushes up your chin. You turn and press a kiss to his temple before you angle your head up and to the side, giving him more access as you both take a few unstable steps back until the back of your legs hit your bed. Slowly you fall back on to the mattress, Suna following and hovering over you with one of his hands hooked under your lower back.

“Hey Y/n?” He asks quietly, thin eyes baring into your own.

You hum, eyes flickering away for a moment to brush some of his hair out of his face.

“Can we take a nap?”

Your face falls at his question before a small laugh bubbles past your lips, “We can’t, my brothers might walk in.”

The middle blocker gives a disappointed groan before he lays down on top of you, his head resting on your chest as his arms encircle your waist.

“Just five minutes.” He mumbles.

Before you could respond you heard a loud crash from the wall next to you followed by shouting and a yell of your name. The color drained from your face as footsteps approached your room, Suna quickly jumping up and scanning the room for some where to hide. You jester towards the window and he narrows his eyes before climbing out, nearly slipping as he steps on the branches of the tree.

“Y/n!” Atsumu yells as he throws open your door, “Help!”

“What do you-“ Before you could finish your sentence the boy in front of you is tackled to the ground by a flash of grey hair, the two rolling around on the ground of your room.

“Give it back ya asshole!”

“I can’t! I already ate it!”

“What?!”

You watch with wide eyes as they fight, neither paying much attention to you as they carry whatever they’d started on in your room. Even being their sister you had a hard time distinguishing between them with how fast they were moving around, flashes of grey and blonde the only indicator of who was who.

“Stop! You’re gonna knock me over-!” Your words are cut off by the heavy sound of you being sent to the floor, yelling as you’re unwillingly dragged into their fight.

“What is wrong with you two?!”

“He ate my Onigiri!” Osamu exclaims, narrowly missing a punch to the gut, “I spent two hours making that!”

“It’s not my fault ya left it out!” His twin yells back, using his knee to keep down one of his opponent’s legs.

“You’re fighting over food?” You ask exasperatedly, hissing when your hair is violently yanked to the side. As you tried to pull yourself free from their tangle of limbs a swift fist swings into your eye, a yelp of pain leaving you as you reach up to cradle your face.

“Look what ya did now!” Osamu says, reluctantly pulling away from your brother and kneeling in front of you.

“Yer both stupid ya know that?” You hiss, cowering away when a hand reaches out towards you.

“Shit- Y/n I’m sorry, are you okay?” Atsumu asks, any previous fight now long forgotten as they both crouch in front of you with concerned looks.

“Is it bad?” You question, lowering your hand and cringing when you notice their eyes widen.

“Ya think you could pull off purple eyeshadow?”

You groan before taking his hand and letting him pull you up, walking towards the small mirror on your desk and withering at the sight. The area around your right eye was already red and starting to turn purple and swell, reminding all three of you of the strength the brothers had that they often forgot about.

“‘Tsumu, stop eating everything you see, ‘Samu it’s kind of your fault for leaving it out.” You sigh, watching them both deflate and go to argue with you before looking back at your eye, “Now get out.”

“Are you sure? I can getchya an ice pack or somethin?” Atsumu asks but you shake your head.

“Just go, I’ll be fine.”

They reluctantly walk out of your room, flashing you an apologetic look as you trail behind them and close the door with a heavy sigh.

After inspecting your eye a little while longer you pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts for a moment before finding Sunas.

You roll your eyes but still do so, cringing at the sight of the ugly purple that’d started to develop before you hit send.

-

The next day you after you’d gone back to campus you’d gotten a lot of questions about your eye, especially once you went to your morning classes. You’d started to grow annoyed with the persistent, never ending same question over and over and by the time your free period rolled around you were ready to spend the rest of your day in your dorm. On your way to the front of the building you stopped at your locker, unable to resist the smile that pulled at the corners of your lips when you saw your favorite food sitting in a bag next to your books, a small note attached to the top.

Hope you can see this with one eye

-Rintarō

You tuck the note in your pocket before pulling the food out of your locker, making your way towards where you and your friends always met up for lunch. They seemed surprised about your black eye and thankfully didn’t bring up the topic after you explained the story behind the ugly mark.

“You know, some of the boys on the boys volleyball team are pretty cute.” You hear one of the girls say, effectively gaining your attention.

“Especially the second years.” The girl next to you say, “No wonder the twins have so many fan girls.”

“You guys are gonna make me throw up.” You groan, wrinkling your nose at the thought of seeing your brothers in that light.

“Hey, you can’t deny that they’re cute!” She giggles, shoulder bumping into yours as she does so, “Maybe you could set me up with one of them.”

“In your dreams.” You scoff and she frowns.

“What about Suna?” Your other teammates speaks up. You have to resist the urge to shut down the conversation, not wanting to hear other girls talk about how attractive they found your boyfriend.

“Hm, now that you mention it he is pretty handsome.” Another girl weighs in, “His eyes are kind of hypnotizing.”

“What do you think Y/n?”

“I guess he’s cute.” You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant as you refused to make eye contact.

“We should go to the boy’s practice after ours.” Your friend suggests, “We can just watch for pointers.”

“Kori is trying to pick up a new boyfriend!”

As the rest of your team continues laughing and talking about the boys team you find yourself pulled into your own thoughts, worries and insecurities already working their way into the confidence you had in your relationship. What if one of the other girls made a move on Suna? Would he play along with it just to keep the guise of being single? How far would he let her go? Would he realize that he wants to be with someone other than you? Perhaps someone prettier?

By the time you were brought back to reality everyone else was already packing up their things, forcing you to shove the thoughts in the back of your mind though they whispered to you through out the rest of your classes.

-

“Alright you girls can pack up, we’re done for the day!” Your coach announces. You walk with the rest of your team towards the locker rooms with a towel wrapped loosely around your neck, your breathing heavy from the effort from practice. You were excited for it to finally be over and be able to spend the rest of the night with your boyfriend, though your plans are quickly thrown off when someone calls your name from the other side of the gym.

“Y/n, I need you to stay behind with the third years.” Your coach says making you inwardly groan though you still nod and jog towards the small group.

“You know where we’ll be Y/n!” Your friends call out, waving as they close the door to the gym behind them.

The extra practice goes by painstakingly slow, another half hour passing before you were allowed to shower and leave. You practically ran to the other gym, internally panicking at the thought of what you might walk into when you pushed open the doors.

Finally you made it, wasting no time in stepping into the familiar room and quickly scanning the people littered through out. You notice a few groups split off talking to each other, rolling your eyes as you see Atsumu flirting with the girls around him while Osamu stood next to him with an unamused expression. Moving on from them you looked on the other side of the gym, finding your boyfriend standing on the corner of the court.

Relief floods you as you begin to approach him though it’s short lived when you see the girl standing a little too close for comfort. Suna had his signature neutral expression as he spoke to her, not even flinching when she lays a hand on his bicep and steps closer, looking up at him with a coy grin. A sick feeling makes it’s home in your stomach as you watch them and how unbothered he seemed by it all, even giving her one of his rare smiles. You find it harder to believe it’s all an act, that his actions weren’t genuine and he wasn’t actually entertaining her advances. Maybe he was thinking about other options; he had to be tired of how secretive and sneaky he had to be with you and was looking for someone else, someone he could be public with. Maybe you were losing him.

The final straw for you is when you see her hand trail up to hold his face, the action chilling you to the bone and sending you across the room. You’re quickly within range of the two as you approached from behind the girl, Sunas eyes meeting yours and lighting up slightly.

“Oh hey Y/n, I didn’t know if you were going to make it.” Your teammate smiles, her hand still resting on Sunas arm as she turned around to talk to you.

“Yeah. So, what’s going on?” You respond, getting straight to the point as you shift your weight uncomfortably.

“Just having a little chat with Suna here.” She responds, turning towards the man in question so she was practically shoved against him now. You not so subtly cringed at the action which he took notice to, finally taking the opportunity to throw the girl off.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Suna says, peeling himself away from your teammate and stepping closer to you, “Ready to go?”

He tightly loops an arm around your waist, his thumb running up and down on your uniform clad hip. You’re caught off guard by his sudden public display but quickly cover it with a smile, feeling relief flow through you as he distances himself from the girl.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting.” You say as your arm goes behind his back, “Coach had me do extra practice with the third years.”

“It’s fine, Kori was here to keep me company.” He responds, both of your gazes flickering to the girl who stood almost dumbfounded next to you.

“Wait are you two...?” She asks, neither of you quite answering though the answer was heavily implied, “Miya? With someone like you as a boyfriend? Either you’re lying or-“

You notice Suna roll his eyes before he pulls you flush against himself, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours in one swift motion. You melt into him as your hand reaches up to cup his face, pulling away with an ethereal smile.

“Or you’re really good at lying.” Kori finishes, blinking at you both as if she’s trying to catch up to the sequence of events. After a few moments of the three of you intensely staring at each other she gives a smile and walks off to your other teammates by the door, a rapid conversation bursting out amongst them complete with constant glances and gasps.

“Y/n?!”

You cringe at the sudden, all too familiar yell of your brothers as they quickly push through the girls around them and rush over to where you stood. Suna tenses slightly and turns towards them, his arm loosening so you could stand beside him though it still stays comfortably wrapped around your body.

“What was that?!” Atsumu exclaims, eyes dancing back and forth between you and his friend, “The two of you just...”

“Are you... dating?” Osamu asks, narrowing his eyes slightly as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Suna answers, watching as their expressions fall and they look at each other before back at you.

“How long?” The blonde questions.

“Five months.” You respond this time.

“What?!”

“Well it was great talking to you but we better get going.” You say, gently pushing Suna towards the door in an attempt to escape your brothers.

“Hold on a minute,” Osamu says, as they work their way between you and your boyfriend, “Suna, do ya really think ya can get off that easy datin our precious little sister?”

“Didn’t you give her a black eye?”

“That’s besides the point! Ya know if ya do anythin to hurt her I’m gonna-“

“Why would I hurt her?” Suna interrupts, the three Miyas turning to face him, “She’s my girlfriend, I care about her.”

It’s silent for a moment as your brothers stare in surprise, their minds finally catching up as they search for something else to say.

“Tsumu if you keep this up I’m gonna tell em about your little crush.” You say before they can start again, watching as his face loses color and his expression falls, “And ‘Samu I’ll take all of your cookbooks.”

“... Yer safe for now Suna.” Atsumu says quietly, giving his friend a soft glare.

You take this as an opportunity to escape the twins, wasting no time in quickly making your way across the gym and out the double doors. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding finally leaves your lungs, Suna looking down at you and noticing how exhausted physically and mentally you seemed. Silently he laces your fingers together and gives your hand a gentle squeeze in an effort to help you relax even if it were only slightly.

“We don’t have to hide anymore.” You say quietly though it’s loud in both of your ears, the sentence one you’ve been wanting to say for a long time. Suna responds by pulling your hand up to his face and pressing a kiss to your knuckles before letting your interlaced hands dangle between you. It was a luxury you hadn’t yet been able to experience, holding his hand out in public. Something about the simple action made your heart flutter, your eyes flickering towards Suna momentarily before back towards the path. It was as if you were confirming your relationship, announcing to the world and more importantly your brothers that Suna was your boyfriend.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Suna asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Just admiring.” You answer, smiling as he gives you a weird look before squeezing your hand.

“I think I’m gonna like this.” He mumbles, abruptly pulling you into himself by your hand.

You stumble for a moment before relaxing against him, your arms finding their place wrapped loosely around his neck while his hold you firmly in place by your waist. Your hand cups his cheek as you lean closer, stopped centimeters away close enough for his breath to dance on your face and lips to barely graze your own.

“Me too.”

[spencers-renaissance]

this heavy humanness

Summary: Spencer leaves the oven on overnight, and Derek - whose pent-up emotions get the best of him - loses it, exposing secrets neither of them expected to be spilled, for two very different reasons. They get there in the end.

or; Spencer's suffered far too much abuse in his life and Derek knew about none of it. He shouldn't have found out like this.

Tags: est. rel., past abuse, arguing & making up, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, hurt spencer TW: implied/referenced - child abuse, abuse & csa. trauma response that could be perceived as dissociation. misplaced frustration at neurodivergence. nothing graphic but message me for more info if needed.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This fills the "Domestic Violence" square of my Bad Things Happen Bingo. It's a heavy one folks so please heed the tags, but fear not, as always we have a happy ending ahead of us! <3 Title by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Spencer knows it’s ridiculous. Derek will not hurt him: this much he knows for certain. Derek is safe, he is home, he is his person. Derek would die before laying a hand on him.

This objective knowledge does not stop the fear from building in his chest, fizzling through his veins until his whole body is alight with it, simmering under the surface of his cold skin as Derek shouts, his face contorted in anger. Spencer might know that Derek won’t hurt him, but that doesn’t mean he can forget what’s happened in the past when he’s put that same expression on crueller people’s faces.

“How could you be so irresponsible, Spencer?”

He doesn’t know. The sinking feeling of failure, of disappointing someone he loves so much settles deep in his stomach as he watches Derek pace up and down the living room while he stays firmly planted on the sofa, pressed as far into the corner as he can.

He didn’t mean to leave the oven on overnight. Again. It’s just that sometimes he gets so lost in his head, in the studies he reads just before bed that getting ready for bed happens on auto-pilot, and small things like turning the oven off slip through the cracks. Derek’s never got this angry over it before, but that’s probably because he’s never said “yes” when Derek’s sleepily asked him if he remembered to turn it off, not when he actually didn’t.

He answered on auto-pilot. He didn’t mean to lie, but that doesn’t seem to matter that much to Derek as he wears down the living room carpet with his pacing, visibly seething. He tracks him with his eyes. He can’t afford to not see the blow coming.

The blow isn’t coming, he tries to tell himself. It’s not all that convincing when Derek stops mid-pace, turning to look at him dead in the eye.

“We could’ve died, Spencer! Does that mean nothing to you?”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He wants to, he really does, but the words are stuck in his throat, choked by fear and confusion and emotion and regret, God why didn’t I turn off the oven, I should’ve been better, it’s all my fault—

“Do you seriously not have anything to say?”

Spencer stares. He has so much to say. All of it is trapped in his throat, tangled in a mess of please don’t leave me and please god don’t hit me.

“You know, I can’t deal with this right now,” Derek mutters, throwing his hands up in the air, “this is unbelievable.” Spencer watches as he shrugs a coat over his shoulders, pulls on his shoes, pauses only to grab his wallet and keys, and walks out the door without looking back.

The door slams behind him and Spencer jumps at the loud noise, jolting out of his fear-ridden stupor, wincing as he’s forced out of his head and thrust back into reality. It’s only ten past ten in the morning; a nice, sunny Saturday in late Spring, and maybe in a different universe, Spencer and Derek are packing a wicker basket with a picnic, heading off to their favourite park to feed each other strawberries and enjoy jam-filled sandwiches.

In this universe, though, Spencer drags his heavy bones to the bathroom, and peels off his clothes. He feels weighed down, tied to some point of gravity far below his feet as he avoids the mirror at all costs and lets his pajamas lay where they fall instead of gathering them into a ball and throwing them into the hamper like he usually does. He turns the water on and steps under the spray, allowing himself to revel in the warm rivulets of water caressing his cold skin.

Shampoo bottles stand untouched in the caddy to his left. He’s not there to get clean, he’s there to forget and to think all at the same time. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall as the water cascades down his front, but not before he turns the heat up. It’s a small comfort: the water just on the right side of too hot running down his face and his torso and his legs, pooling at his feet momentarily before sliding down the drain, never to be seen by him again.

Today shouldn’t have started like this, and it’s a hard pill to swallow that if he hadn’t left the oven on, it wouldn’t have. Derek would have smiled when Spencer stepped into the kitchen, pulled him into his arms and kissed him gently before making them pancakes while Spencer sat on the counter-top and told him everything running through his head. Derek would listen, enthralled, whether to the sound of Spencer’s voice or the words he’s saying, and he wouldn’t shut him up, not even when they sat down to eat.

They’d finally get ready for the day late in the morning, they’d decide what they would do that day, and they’d make a point to steal as many kisses as they could; making up for the affection lost during long cases.

Spencer knows this because it’s happened so many times before. They may have only been dating for just over six months, but they already live together, having fallen hard and fast; Emily teases them for it, calls them her favourite lesbian couple, and they don’t care because they’re in love.

Despite that, though, Spencer still hasn’t told Derek.

There are nights he lies awake pondering how unfair that is. He’s held Derek as he sobbed over memories of Buford, as he spilled every awful detail of the abuse he endured; he’s comforted him after he’d tried and failed to bottom, falling into a flashback every time, no matter how much he wanted to try it.

But Spencer stays silent. He doesn’t tell him about his dad beating him, or his mom getting confused off her meds and smacking him, shoving him, even punching him that one time. He doesn’t tell him about Matthew, his first real boyfriend, trapping him in an abusive relationship that took him months to get the courage to leave. About how when a third person hurt him, he began to wonder whether it really was his fault. Whether that was the only kind of love Spencer Reid deserved.

He stays silent now, staring at the shower wall. The fear has left him now the threat has too, and a cold type of numbness replaces it, and even once the water runs cold, he doesn’t leave. He traces the same four tiles with his eyes, drawing the same pattern with his gaze over and over again as his thoughts turn to an endless cycle of he’ll leave me, he’ll stay, he’ll hit me, he won’t, until he’s not really sure what he believes.

Derek is a good man, but Spencer knows how he can be. He messes up, he forgets things, he doesn’t read situations right, he doesn’t behave the way people think he should, he doesn’t think like a neuro-typical person does. And a good man can only put up with that for so long.

The proof is in the pudding, after all. Derek has always been understanding of things like this in the past. He’s given him a hug and told him not to worry about it, that mistakes happen, and no one can be expected to remember small things like this all the time. But this morning, he was furious. Spencer’s not sure he’s ever seen him so angry in all his years of knowing him, and it was directed at him. All because of an oven left on.

Eventually, a sound from the upstairs apartment drags him from his head again, and he’s suddenly aware of the cold water, of the way his body is trembling and his fingers are pruning. He pulls himself out of the shower, turning the water off, but he stands in the middle of the bathroom, aimlessly, for a long time. By the time he finally has the sense to wrap a towel around his body, he’s basically dripped dry. His hair is soaking wet and the dripping water is freezing, but he doesn’t have the energy to find a towel for his head, too, so he leaves it.

He walks towards the bedroom and climbs into bed, pulling the fluffy duvet over his damp skin and laying his wet hair on the pillow. It feels awful, being wet and damp under the dry bedding, but he doesn’t have the energy to move, so he stays there, towel still wrapped around his legs, hair still soaking the pillow, and he stares at the wall.

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he doesn’t know when Derek will come back home. If he ever will.

⭐️

Derek slams the door behind him as he storms out of the apartment, rage consuming his every move, his every thought. The force of it rattles the door frame, echoing down the empty corridor, but he can’t find it in him to care as he marches towards the elevator. The buttons are pressed with perhaps a little more aggression than socially acceptable, but the woman already on board takes one look at his face and has the sense to stay quiet.

He gets in his car and steps on the gas, the squeal of his tyres against the floor of the garage as he speeds out satisfying him more than it probably should. His jaw is locked and tight as he drives through the streets of DC, his thoughts going a million miles an hour, quieted only when he turns the radio up loud, a blasting soundtrack to his ferocious getaway.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he speeds down the highway, heading out of the city towards Baltimore. He doesn’t have a destination in mind: he’s just driving straight. Straight away from the apartment. Away from Spencer.

It’s after more than an hour of driving that his jaw finally loosens and the anger that had simmered in his blood so fiercely fades into reluctant rationality. He’s somewhere in the middle of Baltimore, and the traffic — the tangled road system he actually has to focus on — drags him from the absent headspace the highway had allowed him to slip into.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and turns off the road he’s on, onto a quieter one. As soon as he’s able to pull over, he does, and he hits the steering wheel angrily. “Fuck!” He leans forward, pulling off his sunglasses and burying his head in his hands. It’s not the same kind of anger he’d felt earlier, no. This time it’s directed purely at himself, fuelled by dismal regret.

Before he can stop it, his brain replays the fight with Spencer over and over, the wall he’d put up to block it out crumbling down as images of his boyfriend flood his mind. He hadn’t registered it in the moment, but looking back, God. There was something on Spencer’s face, something so broken, so scared and he feels nauseous at the realisation that he put that there.

Over something as fucking stupid as an oven.

Truthfully, he wasn’t really angry at Spencer. Waking up to see the oven left on again, even after Spencer promised he’d turned it off, was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He’d fought with both his mom and Penelope yesterday, and he went to bed feeling like an utter failure, made even worse when Spencer had declined to join him, deciding instead to keep reading the series of papers he’d started earlier that evening. He woke up in a foul mood, and not even the sight of his peacefully sleeping boyfriend could make him feel better.

It’s his own fault. He should have communicated with Spencer: he should’ve told him about letting his mom down and saying the worst thing he possibly could have in his conversation with Penelope, but he didn’t. He silently stewed, and felt irrationally angry that Spencer wasn’t reading his mind. He knows for an absolute fact that if he’d asked Spencer to join him in bed last night, he would’ve dropped his studies immediately, and cuddled him until he felt better.

But he didn’t. And then he’d screamed at Spencer, in a way he never has before, over something he simply forgot to do. Derek swore to himself that he would never shout at or put Spencer down for his neurodivergent traits. Not in the way he’s seen so many people — regrettably, far too many of them on their own team — do before.

He’s always been understanding in the past, kissed Spencer’s hair and promised that it wasn’t a big deal, and he has always meant it. Because as dramatic as he’d been this morning, leaving the oven on wasn’t really the end of the world. He remembers ranting about the electricity bill, about how they were going to afford the house they were going to buy if he kept this up, about lying to him — even though he knew that was clearly an auto-pilot thing — about how dangerous it was. It’s a fan oven. They were never really in any danger.

What a god-awful way to let off the steam he’d built up and chosen not to let go.

As if he’s not already feeling shitty enough, though, his mind won’t stop circling back to the fear on Spencer’s face. The way he shouted back, but instead crammed himself into the corner of the sofa, never taking his eyes off him as he paced angrily back and forth.

He feels sick.

He digs his phone from the pocket in his sweatpants. He’s still in the clothes he sleepily pulled on in the dark this morning, and he hadn’t thought to bring his phone out with him, but luckily he’d picked it up off the kitchen counter that morning.

He clicks on Spencer’s name, listens to it ringing out as he desperately begs him to pick up. “Come on, baby, please,” he whispers, ignoring the tears burning behind his eyes. “Pick up, please.” He tries three more times before throwing it angrily on the seat next to him, allowing one more second of feeling the blind panic and the fury at himself before forcing himself to calm down.

Reaching over to his phone with one hand to turn the ringer up, he turns the ignition on and pulls back onto the road, heading back towards DC.

The traffic infuriates him, cursing as it takes thirty minutes to get back on the highway, but finally he’s back on the open road. It takes everything in him not to speed past the other cars, knowing that getting pulled over would only slow him down in the long run. He doesn’t turn the radio on. He just replays the fight again and again, each time remembering something new: something he said or something Spencer did.

He doesn’t wipe the tears away as they fall, lets them slide uncomfortably down his neck, under his collar, lets them drip into his lap, lets his nose run. It’s the only punishment he can afford himself right now.

Finally, finally, he pulls into their apartment building’s garage, finding their spot and parking roughly, abandoning the car as quickly as possible in favour of sprinting towards the elevator. He curses at the slow moving carriage, but it eventually spits him out on his floor, and he’s walking down the very corridor he stormed down just a few hours prior.

He pushes open the door to their apartment, closing it behind him softly. Suddenly, the nausea swimming in his gut isn’t just borne from regret, now fuelled by nerves and dreaded anticipation.

“Spence?” he calls softly.

He doesn’t know what to expect: he doesn’t know whether Spencer will be sad or angry, whether he’ll be screaming or crying. The kitchen and living room are empty, and the bathroom door is wide open, so he ventures into their bedroom.

Whatever he was expecting, it isn’t this.

Spencer’s tucked up in bed, duvet pulled up to his neck, facing away from the door. He doesn’t move so Derek thinks he might be sleeping, but when he circles the bed to check, he finds his eyes wide open, staring vacantly at a fixed point on the wall. They don’t flicker or blink or move when he steps into his field of vision, and Derek’s heart sinks, panic beginning to grip his chest.

“Spencer? Baby?”

When he still doesn’t move, Derek crawls onto the bed, and the movement or the sound or something must finally catch his attention, because all of a sudden his eyes are widening — in shock, surprise, fear, Derek doesn’t know — and he’s shifting under the covers.

“You’re back,” he says, and it’s so uneasy that Derek wants to cry.

“Yeah, baby, I’m back,” he says gently, “and I’m so sorry about earlier, I—”

He cuts himself off, because when he reaches to tangle his fingers in Spencer’s damp hair, he flinches. His hand freezes, but his stomach twists, because this is the confirmation he was both expecting and dreading. This is the confirmation of everything he prayed he had wrong, everything he wished he’d misinterpreted the whole drive home.

“Spence,” he whispers brokenly, withdrawing his hand, “I would never— never do… I’d never hurt you, God, I—”

A choked sob cuts him off this time, and another follows when he sees a tear sliding down Spencer’s face. A previously blank, emotionless canvas, his face is now full of sadness, tinged with the fear and guilt Derek hates himself for even suggesting was warranted in the first place.

“Derek,” he says softly, and his voice is so mangled with emotions he couldn’t even begin to decipher, it breaks his heart a little. He doesn’t say anything more though, eyes sliding shut instead as tears continue to stream down his face.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. “Anything, I— anything you need, you can have, Spence, I’d give you the world, you know that.”

Spencer’s quiet for a long time, and Derek sits there on the bed anxiously awaiting a response while trying to summon all the patience he doesn’t have as he stares at Spencer’s crying face.

“A hug,” he decides eventually, and Derek almost collapses in relief because, God, he can do that.

He crosses the small space between them, and carefully folds Spencer into a hug, sighing in relief as he melts into Derek’s side, placing his head on his chest and cuddling into him. Their legs tangle together and Derek holds him as gently and as closely as he can, carding his fingers through Spencer’s damp curls while his other hand rests on his waist, his thumb caressing the bare skin there.

He’s still in his towel, he thinks sadly. He didn’t have the energy to properly dry himself before crawling into bed. As if Derek could possibly feel shittier.

They lay like that quietly for a while before Spencer finally speaks. Derek wishes he hadn’t. The words “I’m sorry”, uttered so brokenly, so miserably, have no business leaving Spencer’s mouth.

“Baby, you have nothing to apologise for,” he says fiercely. “This is all on me. I’m sorry. Sorrier than I’ve ever been, Spencer, because this is completely my fault. I wasn’t actually angry at you, that’s the first thing you need to know, and I know that makes what I did so shitty, because you hadn’t even done anything wrong, but I was so pent up and frustrated with myself and I didn’t communicate that with you and— fuck, I’m doing such a bad job of explaining, I just. I need you to know, Spencer, that I’m not angry, okay? And I’m so sorry for losing it like I did, that never should have happened.”

He pauses and takes a breath in, burying his face in Spencer’s hair as he holds him even tighter, trying to keep his grip as gentle as possible.

“I never told you,” Spencer whispers after a couple beats pass.

Derek’s heart seizes tightly and he swallows. Prepares himself. “Never told me what, sweetheart?”

“My dad, he… he wasn’t a good man and he… you know, he hurt me a lot. And then my mom, when he left and she stopped taking her meds completely, she’d get so confused,” Spencer admits, voice so quiet as he murmurs into Derek’s chest that he has to strain to hear him. “She didn’t mean to, but she’d… And then my last boyfriend, he—”

He cuts himself off as a heaving sob that seems to come out of nowhere strangles his words and it’s all Derek can do to hold him tightly as Spencer cries, whispering every reassurance he can think of through his own tears. It shouldn’t be like this, he thinks. I shouldn’t know this just because of an argument we had; just because I lost control. Spencer should’ve been able to tell me on his own terms, in his own time.

He tries to cry as silently as possible, but it’s not easy when the grief of knowing the pain Spencer’s suffered in his life is weighing heavy on his chest, and the acidic taste of guilt abounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Spencer’s hair. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He’s sorry for so many things he’s not sure he could list them all out, neatly and coherently, if he tried.

Spencer fists his hands in the soft cotton of Derek’s t-shirt. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

Derek balks at the guilt in his tone, as if he actually believes he has anything to apologise for. “Baby, you could’ve waited until we were old and grey to tell me and I wouldn’t be mad, okay? Trauma like this… it comes out in it’s own way in it’s own time. I’m not sure how or when I would’ve told you about Buford if everyone hadn’t found out the way they did. And if I’d waited to tell you, you wouldn’t be mad at me, would you?”

Spencer shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry that I triggered you the way I did, Spencer,” Derek says seriously, gently twirling a loose curl around his fingers. “It was inexcusable, and it was a problem of my own making. I know you didn’t mean to leave the oven on and I know you were operating on auto-pilot when you told me you turned it off last night, and nothing I said was true. I was mad about stuff that happened yesterday and I failed to communicate that. It’s all on me. Nothing about this is your fault, you hear me?”

“Really?”

The way Spencer cranes his neck to look up at him, the trusting innocence in his eyes both breaking and warming Derek’s heart. “Really.”

“I want to tell you, Der, it’s just—” He sighs. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone, and it’s hard. I don’t… I don’t know where to start.”

“We have all the time in the world for you to tell me, baby. You can tell me everything all at once, or drop tiny pieces of information when you feel like it, or never tell me anything else ever again, and any of that is perfectly okay. I just need you to know that what happened this morning will never happen again, okay? I promise you.”

Spencer shifts, moving from his position curled around Derek to prop himself up with one arm, facing his boyfriend properly. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, before leaning down to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby. More than anything.” He kisses him again before moving the duvet and making to get up. “Now, how about I order us some pizza for lunch and we spend the afternoon in bed. You can read or we can watch some documentaries or a movie, whatever you want.”

A small smile crosses Spencer’s face, and nothing’s ever felt more like a win.

“I think that sounds like a plan.”

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @moreidtrash @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @enbyspencer @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby

[bonkers-4-hatter]

!Yandere !Vampire Kisumi X Reader - Love Bites

♥ TW: This fanfic has mentions of kidnapping, violence, assault, biting and mentions of blood along with the biting, forced intimacies, forcing self onto the reader at certain points and yandere themes and actions. ♥ If any of the above does trigger you, please do not read. All characters are 18+ as college is mentioned in the past tense. 

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥                                                                                              ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥                                  You were never one to believe in such things as mythical creatures, it was just a bunch of nonsense. Of course, they’re wonderful tall tales to tell and talk about when you were younger, but you’re grown now; out of that phase you could say.

Tall tales, that’s all they were...at least you thought they were.

You could draw everything that you’ve experienced and seen as a lack of sleep, working too hard, or just needing a break to calm your mind, but with the most recent experiences you just couldn’t come up with an excuse for them and that very thought chilled you to your core. The dark figure standing in the corner of your room at night using the darkness as a veil, but the thing that stood out to you was the flickers of pink from the top of the figure's head from the small slivers of moonlight peeking through the closed curtains. 

Not only did the figure terrify you, but the touches were what set you over the edge. The soft touches that caressed your cheeks, head and the curves and contours of your body as the hands glided across your blanket covered body. You would always peek your eyes open only to see the same pink hair in your view.

The only person you knew with pink hair was Kisumi. 

He was your friend, a close friend at that. You guys did everything together, having been friends since College it just made sense for you guys to do things together. His behavior used to be carefree, fun and just free. Kisumi was a free spirit, but you noticed something change within him in the past few years; he was more possessive toward you. Always wanting to have your attention, scaring off potential significant others.

This wasn’t his usual behavior with you. Not only that, but his mannerisms have changed too. Not really eating in front of you, coming over at night only; claiming his new job had him working mornings many days and just being too exhausted to go anywhere with you during the day. Just weird things that have come up that rubbed you the wrong way. 

You hated that your mind went to these tall tales of Vampires, but you couldn’t come up with a normal answer. With his towering figure plaguing your mind, the touches that came in contact with your resting body and the constant fear and shiver of being watched by something unknown, hidden, just lurking in the shadows with their eyes fixated on you. 

Looking at how Kisumi was laughing and socializing with your guys’ group of friends, it’s as if nothing changed with him and he was the same ole Kisumi that everyone knew and had a great time with. He might have been able to fool the rest of your friends, but you knew something was up and tonight you were going to confront him even if you sounded like a lunatic. Taking a final drink of your (favorite drink), you placed some money on the table to cover your portion of the bill along with everyone else as everyone started to get up and say their goodbyes, making plans to meet up again next month as usual. 

Giving a final wave to your friends, you felt an arm snake around your shoulders and pulled you into a firm body. “(Y/N)-chan, let’s get you home.” Kisumi’s smooth voice filtered through your ears as you both made your way down the mostly empty sidewalk, the chatter and lively atmosphere of the restaurant dying away the further you walked away. The only noise that echoed around the silent street was both of your footsteps.

“You know I can get myself home, right Kisu?” He only shook his head and rubbed your shoulder, his cold skin giving you goosebumps as he brushed his fingers against the skin of your exposed upper arm. That was another weird thing with him, he was always cold now. He used to be warm, overly warm actually, always a human furnace. Now though, he was always cold to the touch and it always made you shiver no matter how many times it happened. 

“I know (Y/N), but I have to protect you from all the monsters out there, don’t I?” Another shiver ran down your spine at his question, you knew it was playful. It was Kisumi, he was always playful when it came to you, but this felt like it held an underlying meaning; like he was trying to tell you something. Scoffing, you rolled your eyes at his words. “Sure, the monsters Kisumi, whatever you say.” He laughed at your words as the both of you continued to walk down the street in silence. 

Clearing your throat, you decided to just ask him. “So, speaking of monsters, what do you think about vampires?” Kisumi stopped walking as he grasped your shoulder in a tight grip making you reel back as well. “What the hell Kisumi?!” Your shoulder burned a bit at how hard he dug his fingernails into your skin, but he still didn’t let go. Looking at his face he had a stoic look and his eyes were menacing in a way; narrowed and pointed right at you. “Vampires? Now, why would little (Y/N)-chan bring up such a thing as Vampires?” The malice that was laced in his voice was evident and downright terrifying especially in a situation where you were alone with him at night on an empty street. 

You tried to yank yourself away from his strong hold, but he didn’t let up. “It was a joke Kisumi, what’s wrong with you?” He only smirked at your words, before pushing against your shoulder until you hit the brick wall of one of the buildings. “A joke huh?” Placing his other hand on your free shoulder, he pinned you in place, the brick rubbing against your exposed skin in a way that it surely would leave marks. Before you could protest, Kisumi leaned down to your ear and whispered, “Do you think it’s a joke as you watch me in the corner of your room, or when I touch your delicious body in bed?” Your breath caught in your throat at his words. 

Your hands pushed hard against his chest, fear crawling up your body at his words. “That’s not fucking funny Kisu, I’m leaving.” Without waiting for him to respond, you shoved your way past him, resuming the trek to your house. Even the thought of your house wasn’t safe, it made you even more fearful, but you didn’t have much of a choice at this point. You felt like the darkness was suffocating you at this point and without a second thought, you ran the remainder of the few blocks, your front door in your view making you somewhat relieved. 

Deadbolting the door, your body slid down, settling at the floor. You felt exhausted, fearful and not to mention paranoid. Heavy eyes scanned the living room and what you could see of your hallway and everything seemed clear. Getting up with weak legs, you turned on every light in the house paying no mind to the thought of your electric bill nor how silly it seemed. This was what made you feel safe and at this point you were going to do anything to feel that way. 

After changing into some pajamas and trying to relax from the encounter with Kisumi, you found yourself wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, television playing a cliche horror movie. Wanting something to take your mind off what happened, you got sucked into the black and white film.

Your mind was completely preoccupied with the slasher film, blanket clutched in your hands, hiding your face behind the fuzzy comfort item as specific gory and violent scenes would pop on the screen. Usually you would watch these movies, any movie really with Kisumi...your mind went to your friend for a moment, not of the creepy things that have arisen recently, but of the memories of you both together. He would be here right now poking fun at you for being scared of these scenes, but also ‘protecting’ you from whatever was going on.

As your mind was wandering, you didn’t notice the presence next to you, not until a hand was on your thigh, fingers tapping against the supple flesh that was exposed from your pajamas. A scream erupted from your throat, but a hand clasped over your mouth, muffled cries were the only thing in the room, the noises on the television being drowned out by the thumping of your own heart. “Now (Y/N), this is the best part, hold in that scream for a minute, alright love?” His hand was still over your mouth and his free one was still trailing along your thigh. Side eyeing him, he sat there with a content smile on his face, eyes still glued on the screen. You stayed in that position for the next ten minutes until the credits were rolling.

“I loved watching these movies with you (Y/N), it was nice to be your savior when you got scared at certain scenes.” His hand uncovered your mouth, but started to stroke the soft skin down the slope of your neck getting dangerously close to the valley of your chest. “K-Kisu...how’d you get in?” Your body started to tremble as he just laughed at the fear pouring out of you at this moment. Gripping the back of your neck, Kisumi pulled you toward him, his face shoving itself into the crook of your neck as he started to place soft kisses along the slope of your neck and your collarbone. 

You felt his hot breath fan your skin as he answered your question. “Oh (Y/N), I think you already know the answer...I always tell you to lock your window.” The color drained from your face. Your window. The window that was always unlocked. It was something you didn’t think about because it was on the second floor. A place no human can reach because there were no trees, ledges, anything to help with climbing up. 

“Am I right Kisu?” A single question you needed answered. A heavy silence hung in the air as the man in question even stopped his kisses on your skin. “You’re always right (Y/N), I knew you would piece everything together, my (Y/N) is smart after all.” You could feel the sharpness of teeth scrape against the tender flesh of your neck, your breath hitching at the sensation. 

“I’ve always wanted to taste you, to know how sweet your blood is, I might get addicted to it (Y/N), but I don’t want to drain you dry...I want you around forever with me.” He laughed at the flinch in your body as he pressed his fangs a bit deeper into your neck. “You’re not ready to be changed yet either.” Sitting back up, he effortlessly pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around your waist and anchoring you to him. “I think I’ll keep you as my personal toy until you’re ready to be changed, doesn’t my (Y/N) like the sound of that?” Fully grinning at the petrified look on your face, he showed you his sharp fangs, tongue sliding over them to add emphasis on what would happen if you disobeyed him.

--

You didn’t know what month it was, let alone the day. You just knew it’s been so long since Kisumi took you that night at your former house. After he had you in his arms, he told you what was going to happen. You got to pack what you could that night and he took you away. His home was your home now, or as he puts it, our home. 

He didn’t let you out, the house was your own personal prison and you...you were Kisumi’s personal blood bag. He didn’t want to kill you, nor turn you yet, but he had to have a taste of your blood, he tasted every other aspect of you and he knew he’d be addicted to your blood and it turns out he was.

Your skin was littered in bite marks. He would pierce your skin and take a drink from you, enough to make you dizzy before he stopped himself. He couldn’t wait for the wound to heal which is why he bites you in any available skin no matter where it is. 

He just wanted your sweet blood. Sometimes he would go overboard and will only stop if you pass out. Due to him feeding on you, you were exhausted. You turned into a shell of your former self with his constant feeding. Dark bags were under your eyes, droopy lids accompany them as well. All you wanted was rest, proper rest, but you knew you’d never get that again. 

You wouldn’t get anything you wanted again.

“(Y/N), my love, there you are.” Your head lolled to the side, Kisumi standing there with his usual smile on his face. The bed dipped down as his hands smoothed over your body, caressing any part of you he could get. He kissed your lips and made his way down to your neck. Before he could do anything, you whined out, hands weakly trying to stop him. 

“Please, not today Kisumi, I don’t think I can do it. I hurt so much, you drank too much yesterday, please give me a day to recover.” Kisumi cupped your face, thumb stroking the dark bags that decorated under your eyes. “Rest? (Y/N), we’ve been over this already sweetheart, I need to taste you everyday otherwise I might snap and we wouldn’t want that, right?” His hand clutched your face, squishing your cheeks together as you frantically shook your head not wanting to have him hurt you again.

“Good, that’s my good girl.” Placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he let your face go, a breath of relief escaped you as he bared his fangs and traced them over the scarred skin before sinking into the skin of your neck, a place he hasn’t touched in a week which was plenty of time to heal in his opinion.

“Ahh, Kisu...hurts, Kisu, it hurts..” Your weak voice flooded his ears, but he paid you no mind, you always struggled when he did this, but you were his to use and abuse to his desire. You were his little toy, his precious (Y/N).

The feeling of your blood sliding down his throat was beautiful. It was like a drug to him, he couldn’t get enough of it and he knew he was breaking you, but he didn’t care. He will turn you soon and you’ll be fine, but for now he needs you to keep hanging on. The quiet moans of pain only turned him on as he sunk his fangs deeper in your soft skin. “Kisu..too much, stop, please.” Soft pounding of your hands on his back snapped him out of his trance, Unlatching himself from your neck, your head fell to the side, eyes half lidded and skin heated after the ordeal. 

Licking a stray drop of blood from his lips and the puncture wounds on your neck, he was satisfied for now. Even though he was addicted to your blood, he was excited to turn you. You would finally be his forever, just as it should’ve been. Smirking at your worn out body, he gave you one last kiss before throwing a blanket over you and stalking off to finish your turning ceremony.

[babyspiderling]

Darth Vader x Healer!reader

Requested: Yes, @layla2-49

"Darth Vader request the emperor finds someone that has force healing abilities hes tired of replacing medics and some of them has disappointed him. She also know about how to help with robotics.Darth Vader They grow close and form a relationship"

AN: Y’all Vader stans are eating tonight.

I had been summoned by the Emperor and his apprentice, Darth Vader, themselves. I was the only force healer on my little planet of Takodana and my skills had been rumored around the galaxy without my knowing. It was strange to see Empire ships landing on our little planet. What was even stranger was when troops passed everyone in their path to get to me. My arms were held and I was escorted surprisingly gently to their ship, a general waiting. No word was spoken as we jumped into hyperspace and got pulled into the intimidating moon sized base by the tractor beam.

I nervously clutch my things as I am escorted onto the Death Star to the masked sith. I take deep breaths as I double check myself and my things. Pressing my open hand onto the scanner, the door slides up to allow me to enter. I take notice of the Lord sitting in the corner doing force knows what, it’s not my business to stare. I gently set my bag and papers down on the stark white table and swallow nerves down my dry throat. “Lord Vader, you have summoned me?” His head subtly turns to look at me out of the corner of what I assume are eyes. He rises with grace that shouldn’t be possible for a man mostly machine if the rumors are true. His respirator hisses and pops with every breath he draws in. “Yes, the Emperor has heard of your… ability. Tell me, how did you manage to stay so scarce these years? I assumed all the force users were killed after the Clone Wars.” He circles me, observing me, sizing me up. I fight every instinct in my body that yells to cower, to submit, instead standing straight and confident. I feel him draw back before my eyes do, he moves to sit in a spotless chair. “You are a healer correct? Get to healing.”

I don’t know where to start, assessing where damage may be. I move to remove his helmet with shaking fingers until they no longer shake, my upper body paralyzed with the force. I squeeze out a choked “I’m assessing the damage done. I didn’t know where else to start.” He slowly releases his hold on me, a sign of permission. I gently lift the dark intimidating piece, seeing the damage done to him. His head is scarred and pale, showing that the damage was inflicted long ago. I hover my hand over the crown of his head, eyes closed and breathing slow. I feel the life force flow from my body into his. I slowly open my eyes and retract my hand, the scars at the corner of his head and on his face have healed, leaving the skin smooth. I take a good look at my employer and notice how beautiful he truly is. I glide my sight over his face one last time and accidentally lock eyes. Hazel stares back at me, a strange glint in his eye. I smooth out my clothes and look to the floor. “Is there anywhere else you need me to heal?” He glances at himself in the mirror on the wall. “No, I think that will be all for today.” I am dismissed and I leave for my room to recharge and rest.

I am not called in for another week, keeping myself busy with little jobs here and there. Mending clothes and working on blankets occupies the time not spent with summons and healings. When I am summoned once again by the sith lord I take care of, I feel less nervous than last time. This time he has me attempt to regrow his left arm, and heal his lungs. When he removes his helmet to expose his torso, I see a slight fuzz of hair on the top of his head. He removes the tunic he has worn, leaving him in black pants and boots. Every area of skin exposed is more pale and scarred than the last. I set on his lungs first. Hovering my hand in front of his chest, and I see the silver wisps of life force move from me to him. As I heal the inside, I heal the outer layer as well, scars disappearing before our eyes. Once done with his torso, I ask to remove the artificial hand on his left side, and I use my mechanical skills to remove the metal from flesh. I pour out more of my life force to heal him, wanting his approval and attention more than I should. His arm grows back, feeling its warmth before my outstretched hand. I open my eyes to see if I have finished, and my vision swims. His hand is healed and I drop my hand. I move to grab my things to leave and my knees buckle and the room goes black.

I regain consciousness in my room, another healer monitoring me. “You had a bad drain. Healing Lord Vader took too much from you. He has ordered me to prescribe you bed rest, just until you’ve rested and recharged. He will speak with you when he gets back from his mission.” I sigh and lay back down with a huff, closing my eyes once again.

It had been about a month since our last meeting between my healing and his mission. His hair had grown a bit, now a shaggy buzz, and his eyebrows had begun to grow dark on his face. He doesn’t make me regrow any limbs this time. Only repairing and healing cuts and scratches inflicted by the Rebel Alliance during their confrontation. After I finish, and fairly quickly at that, he asks me if I am ok, shocking me a bit. “Oh. Yes Sir. I am perfectly fine. If you’d like, I can try to heal more of you. I am well rested and re-charged.” His eyebrows raised at me. “Sir, I can regrow your other arm if you’d like. I’m sure I have enough energy to do it.” He looks back and forth between his arms. “L/N, I’m sure this doesn’t make sense, but I’d actually prefer to keep this one the way it is.” I nod, taking a look at his mechanical arm. “You’ve taken good care of it. Perhaps you were a mechanic in another life.” He chuckles a bit under his breath. “Another life indeed.” Staring at my shoes I feel almost shy in front of him. “Sir, if it pleases you, I could heal a leg tonight. I’d like to do more than just a few scrapes and scratches. I know I can do it sir.” I can see the hesitation in his face, but I act slightly selfishly and let my life force ebb and flow from me to him without his permission. I watch as the silvery white wisps swirl around his leg, regrowing it before our eyes. I drop my hand back down and look at my work in appreciation. Vader’s voice is commanding and deep as he looks down at me with a strange look in his eyes. “Thank you L/N.” I stand on my feet, my vision remaining normal, but I pause before leaving. “Lord Vader, if you don’t mind me asking, what was it like for you before the empire?” Vader’s eyebrows furrow in thought as he tilts his head slightly. “The Empire has done much to bring peace to the galaxy. But before the Jedi attacked the Emperor, I was married with a little one on the way until my wife died. A jedi whom I thought I could trust fought me on Mustafar and made me the way I am now. More machine than man.” I laid a sympathetic hand on his knee in an attempt to show a bit of compassion to the “Monster of a man”.

“I’d better be off Lord Vader. Please let me know if you need anything else from me.” He nodded and stood himself, donning the intimidating helmet once more as I went back to my quarters.

[duskholland]

No pressure to get to this right now, as I realise your requests are closed, I just wanted to send this in before I forget! Idk if you’re comfortable writing daddy kink stuff, if you’re not, just ignore! But if you are... Could you please write something where Mob! Tom says “Come to Daddy,” inviting reader to sit in his lap, which ultimately results in her riding his dick/thigh? I would simply lose my marbles.. Thank you! 💞

hnnnng. okay. // nsfw 18+ extended warnings beneath cut. 

—it’s mob monday—

warnings: daddy kink, unprotected sex (pls wrap before you tap), fingering, alcohol. (me writing daddy kink for the first time in ageees and actually really enjoying it oop-).

—

Tom looks incredibly regal, draped over his armchair in the living room, legs spread wide open. He’s still in his work clothes—tight white shirt, black slacks, hair slicked back—and his Rolex glints from his wrist as he slowly sips on some Scotch. His beady brown eyes lift to your figure as he watches you walk into the room.

“Evening, darling,” he says, slowly sitting up in his chair. Your eyes skim over him, and you find yourself biting your lip. Tom commands any space he inhabits with ease and dominance, and that’s true even when it’s just the two of you alone. “Could you fill this up for me?” He asks, draining the final drops of whiskey as he holds the tumbler out towards you.

“Of course,” you reply. You walk over to him, and lean down, taking the glass in one hand as you use the other to briefly cup his cheek. Tom grabs your hips and pulls you closer, lifting his chin until he’s able to kiss you, passionately. You moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue between your lips and lets it dance with yours, languidly but firmly, and you end up whining as his hands slip back to grab fistfuls of your ass over your dress.

When you draw back from the kiss, slightly breathless and feeling considerably warmer than you had previously, Tom slaps your ass. He smirks as you bite back a moan, knowing your body like the back of his hand.

“Missed you today, love,” Tom murmurs, sitting back in the chair. He squeezes your hips again before letting you go, his lust-filled eyes trailing after you as you walk across to the drinks cart and start to deal with his drink.

You smile as you pour out some whiskey. “Missed you too,” you reply. You pick up the glass and take a few sips, the strong alcohol warming the back of your throat. You refill the glass and then stopper the bottle. “Been thinking about you all day.” Smirk building on your face, you lean back against the drinks cart to face him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about last night.”

Tom chuckles. “Last night, eh?” He murmurs, drawing a hand through his hair. “We had fun, didn’t we?”

You bite your lip as you remember the way he’d pinned you down, teased you, then given you six mind-shattering orgasms. Your cunt feels warm—it’s been pulsing all day, desperate to feel full again as it had been all last night.

“Yeah,” you agree. “A lot of fun.” You lick your lips, feeling your demeanour shift as you admire your boyfriend. “I feel empty without you now.”

Tom growls, his eyes darkening. “I can’t have my angel feeling empty, can I?” He runs his hands across his thighs and arches an eyebrow. “Come to daddy,” he coos.

You walk back to Tom, and he sits up a little straighter in his chair. You offer him the glass but he just shakes his head, reaching out and winding his hands back around your form instead. You squeal as he pulls you down, the whiskey spilling a little over your hand as you haphazardly put it down.

“Ugh,” you mutter, straddling Tom’s warm thighs and pulling your hand in front of your face. Before you can complain about the sticky alcohol clinging to your skin, Tom wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls it to his lips. He meets your eyes and holds your gaze as he licks over your hand, sighing contentedly as he laps up the alcohol and cleans you, tongue warm and wet and twisting over your skin with ease. You find yourself groaning as you imagine him repeating the movement over your sex, hot and wet, moving with purpose, and you move in closer so you’re able to grind down over his crotch.

Tom releases your hand and looks at you, eyes dark. “What do you say?” His palms go back to your waist, but he holds you still, putting an abrupt pause to your actions. “Eh?”

You shudder as you listen to his rasp, low and dominant, your teeth briefly tugging at your lower lip.

“Thank you, daddy,” you respond. You lean in so you’re able to kiss his jaw, leaving a very soft, teasing kiss there.

Tom wraps his hands around your back, keeping you with your head nuzzled into his shoulder. His palms roll over your back roughly.

“What do you want, hm? Do you want my thigh, or do you want my cock?”

You smile into his neck. “Your cock, please,” you mumble. “W’nna feel full again.”

Tom’s hands snake down to the hem of your dress, and you sit back up his thighs as his fingers dip up to your centre. “No panties?” He murmurs, smirking. Two of his fingers trail through your slit, teasing your clit for a moment before curving into your cunt. Your eyes flutter shut as you whimper, the space between you filling up with the sounds of Tom fucking your wet heat. “Eyes open, baby,” he adds, “if you want me so bad you’ve been walking around all day with your pussy dripping and exposed, you can pay attention now I’m giving you what you want.” You open your eyes as you whimper, feeling your walls clench around Tom’s slender fingers as he massages your g-spot. “Open my trousers, angel,” he adds, voice husky. “Get daddy’s cock out.”

You reach down and slowly wrangle Tom’s zipper, popping the button and tugging down the zip. Gently, but eagerly, you reach down and pull his length from his trousers, feeling yourself salivate at the sight of his member, erect and red. You lightly trace the veins with your thumb, teasing him as he gradually slows down the pace of his fingers.

“Fuck,” Tom grumbles, finally pulling his hand away from you. When you pout, he tuts and pushes his two fingers, covered in your wetness, past your lips to placate you. As he presses down your tongue, his other hand grabs at your waist and pulls you closer. “Ride my cock, darling,” he murmurs. “Give me a pretty show.”

You hum around his fingers as you sit up and guide his tip through your folds. You whimper as you slowly lower yourself onto him, groaning around Tom’s fingers as his cock spreads you open, aching in the most delicious way. You shake as he bottoms out, arcs of warm pleasure spreading through you.

Your pace gradually quickens, aided by Tom’s hand clasping your waist. He grunts loudly, eyes fluttering shut as he carefully grinds his cock up to meet your centre, his actions propelling him deeper. Your moans come out garbled and thick around his fingers, spit slowly gathering on your lips and dripping down your chin as you enjoy riding him.

“Such a tight cunt,” your boyfriend murmurs, voice twanging with his accent. “Doesn’t matter how many times I fill it… You’re always hungry for more, aren’t you? So needy for daddy’s cock.”

You nod hurriedly, panting around his fingers. You can feel your climax building, and as you clench your walls around his cock, Tom seems to realise it. The hand on your waist slips down to your heat and he strokes his index fingers over your clit, causing you to groan.

“Does my darling want to cum?” He murmurs, opening his eyes to smirk at you. When you nod, he tuts. “You know you’re not allowed to do that without permission, love.” He pulls his fingers from your mouth and grabs your face with them, digits slick and wet. Tom pinches your cheek and the pain makes you moan. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

You have to take a moment to compose yourself, distracted by the rising heat in your lower half and the breathlessness of your voice.

“Please, daddy. Please let me cum,” you whine, sucking your lower lip between your teeth as you pause. “Want you to fill me up.”

Tom shifts a hand to rest on your lower stomach, and your eyes almost roll back as he applies pressure to where his cock is moving, buried deep inside you.

“You want me to fill you up right here? Let you feel daddy’s cum? Hmm?” Tom drops his head and kisses your neck roughly, nibbling at your skin with his teeth.

“Yes,” you plead, eyes wide. “I need it. So much. Please, daddy. Please, please-”

“Go on, love,” he says. “Let me feel you fall apart. I love it when I feel you squeezing me just right. Tight fuckin’ pussy, taking me so well. Cum for me.”

He coaxes you through it with his deep rumbled words and his gyration of his hips, and you find yourself unravelling a few moments later. You moan loudly, sparks unfurling and spreading all across you as Tom continues to rub your clit, the pleasure from that coupling with the pulsing of your walls until you’re spinning in it, lost in the deep throes of warming passion. You feel him cum a little after you, his hand gripping your hips and keeping you in place as he ruts up into you, over and over again as his cock twitches, depositing his load inside you.

When you’re both done, you slump against him, keeping his cock buried in you up to the hilt as you pant for breath. Tom’s hand strokes over your back tenderly as his lips come down over the back of your head.

“Fucking love you,” he murmurs. “Best woman in the world.”

You smile lazily, letting your lips come down to kiss the column of his neck.

“Love you too.”

[gingersnaaps]

at your window

hanahaki: the fictional disease where a person, afflicted by unrequited love, grows flowers in their lungs and stomach. unless the love is reciprocated, the disease will grow fatal. there's one workaround, though - one that issei matsukawa is very interested in: the plant can be physically removed.

wc: ~3.8k

tags/tw's(PLEASE PLEASE READ): n*fw, masturbation only(no sex), stalking, snuff, gore, blood, yandere!matsukawa, sorta necro(attraction but not sex), noncon filming, fem!reader but no mention of genitals

a/n: for @suedebunn's april showers collab // this is the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written and i spent way too long on it. it's supposed to lean towards horror?

i don't want minors interacting with my content

March 8th, 2013

[12:47 am]

The longer Issei sits outside your window, the harder it becomes to stop himself.

His face is pressed up against the dusty glass pane, peering inside at the outline of your sleeping body, and he finds that he can’t help but fixate on it. You look so peaceful, so tranquil, completely at rest as your mind flits between the shadowy realms that dreams inhabit.

He wonders what kind of wonderland you’re in right now - if it’s cotton-candy pink and delightful, just like you, or dark and hazy and spun with danger.

You’d look beautiful in any setting, he thinks, and finds his hand inadvertently drifting downwards.

His gaze rakes over the rise and fall of your chest, taking in the flashes of bare skin where your sheer nightgown rides up, his breath catching as his palm glides over his clothed cock. The friction feels so good - there’s no question that he wants this, needs this - and he wastes no time unzipping his pants and reaching in to free his dick. He doesn’t need to fantasize much, not when you’re mere feet away, instead making sure he sears every detail of your sleeping form into his mind: your fluttering eyelashes, your shallow breaths, the soft glow of your skin in the moonlight.

Issei quickens his pace, stroking up and down the shaft of his cock with purpose, thumb flicking over the slit. His breath huffs against the glass, clouding the surface until it’s dripping with condensation, but he still sees you as clear as day in his mind even as the real image of you blurs. You’re blissed out and relaxed, shoulders free of tension, your lips curving slightly into a smile.

He closes his eyes, rolling his head back as he works his cock, every single brush of his fingers leaving him twitching with sensitivity. You look like an angel, picture-perfect and frozen in time and consciousness, as if you were a framed picture or a museum exhibit preserved just for Issei to admire. Just for Issei. He lets out a quiet groan at the thought as he cums, his hips stuttering and cock jerking up.

You turn over fitfully in your sleep.

Looking down at the cum dripping off his fingers, he wants nothing more than to crawl in through your window and wipe it on your face. It’s an unmistakable mark of ownership, a sign that you belong to him alone, but he hesitates. He’s a bit of a shy guy, you see.

He can wait.

-

March 14th, 2013

[10:01 pm]

He has to conceal himself a bit better tonight than he would on his normal visits. This time, he’s a bit early, and you’re still awake.

His back is up against the siding of your house, right beside your window, but he can still see you in the periphery of his vision. You’re sitting at your desk, bathed in the warm light of your desk lamp, hunched over some math worksheet and scribbling furiously with the pencil in your hand.

Forget the moon; you glow even prettier as the world around you fades to dark.

Just like every other night, he takes in every detail meticulously. Your hair is messier than it was the previous day - maybe you hadn’t washed it in a while? He doesn’t mind, because it’s endearing when you’re messy and imperfect, barefaced in your pajamas, a little rough around the edges.

He thinks it’s similar to the way you’d look after being fucked stupid, if he closed his eyes and tried to picture you being ruined.

Issei tries very hard to ignore the way his cock strains in his pants at the thought.

-

March 23, 2013

[11:30 pm]

The mild spring breeze carries the sweet scent of fresh blossoms and green grass, leaving behind the wintry chill that he had to shiver through each night to be at your side - well, as close by your side as he could get.

These little visits have become a part of his life now, as ingrained as waking up in the morning or eating three times a day. It’s comforting for him to watch you from his spot outside your window each night, admiring you as you go about your nighttime routine, puttering from your desk to your bathroom to your bedroom.

He’s started to take some pictures, maybe even a shaky, pixelated video or two, just to tide him over when he’s alone by himself. They’re no replacement for the real thing, obviously, but it’s enough for him to be able to carry around a reminder of the way you look and sound all the time, even if it’s just a shadow of what you’re like in person. He’ll scroll through his camera roll, fingers trembling with excitement, hissing as he brings his hand down to stroke at his cock.

It’s always better in person, though. He sees you more clearly, hears the sound of your voice muffled through the walls, and most of all, he’s closer to you.

Issei likes to make it last, likes to prolong the pleasure as much as possible, so he always starts off with slow, gentle, pumps, gliding up and down his cock with his index finger and thumb curled into a circle. It’s honestly a miracle how you haven’t noticed yet, because he always tends to lose himself after he starts.

Face pressed close against the window in order to get the best view possible, his warm huffs of breath cloud up the cold glass as he strokes himself faster. His eyes rolling back into his head, his two digits of measured stimulation give way quickly to full, hard, pumps of his cock until soft moans start to spill from his mouth.

It’s hard to resist when you’re right there.

Tonight, you’re sprawled out on your bed, phone held above your face as you chat with your friend on video call. You’re shaking with laughter at some silly joke your friend’s telling, head thrown back and chin tilted upwards, face shining with joy, and he suddenly feels a warm, warm feeling of arousal course through him.

Seeing you happy turns him on, makes his cock so hard even though he just came minutes prior.

The sound of your voice carries through the walls, carefree and bright, chattering on and on about some assignment - or maybe it’s a complaint about the teacher, he’s not too sure - and he smiles contentedly at your silly little worries. Too cute, really.

You suddenly cough.

It’s an ugly sound, dry and strangled, and he cringes at the way your body tenses up and shakes. The coughing fit feels far longer than it actually is; every second of your hacking and wheezing is compounded by the panic gripping him. He watches, helpless, as your face turns ashen and grey, his heart seizing with dread and pounding in his chest.

It’s over as quickly as it begins.

You smile weakly, brushing it off as you apologize to your friend, but he can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles at the pit of his stomach. He tugs up his pants, bare thighs and dick feeling awfully exposed in the night wind, and scurries back home. Maybe another night, then.

-

April 1st, 2013

[12:09 am]

You’re not in your room today.

Issei leans his head against the cold glass of your windowpane, hands shoved into his jacket, his mind clouding at the edges and overrun with possibilities. He doesn’t recall seeing you making plans with friends the previous night, and there’s not much you could be really doing right now - you have no boyfriend, no plans that he knows of, no real reason to just be gone.

He’s always thought of himself as a calm person. He doesn’t fall victim to temporary urges and flights of emotion the same way that Oikawa or Iwaizumi might, doesn’t do anything reckless on whims he knows will disappear just hours later.

But there’s just something about you that always makes him lose himself, isn’t there?

The window is fogged up with condensation, obscuring his view inside your room. He reaches out the sleeve of his jacket, wiping away the dew clinging to the surface, and squints as he tries to make out the scene in the dim lighting.

On the floor, awash in a pool of moonlight, lies a yellow flower petal spattered with blood.

-

April 4th, 2013

[4:46 am]

Issei’s not stupid.

He knows what the flower petal means, knows what your sickness means. He’s read about it in books, heard the tales from his parents friends, the whispered legends and hushed myths that make one thing clear:

You belong to someone else.

It’s a thought that fills him with revulsion. You already have Issei; is he not enough for you? Are you such a whore that his devotion falls short of what you’re so clearly greedy for?

He’s stopped restricting himself to just his nightly visits. They’re not enough, not when he can’t seem to go five minutes without his thoughts inevitably drifting to you - you in your fluttery, sheer nightgown, lying in your bed, your frame growing sicker and frailer as the blood drains from your cheeks and your coughing fits grow more frequent.

You can hide it from the prying eyes of your friends at school, from your teachers, even from your parents(as long as you make sure to roll your eyes a few times and lean into that murky, illusory persona of teenage angst), but here in your bedroom, your sanctuary, all your vulnerabilities crawl out and bubble to the surface, bared to your four off-white walls and his eyes only.

You can’t hide this from Issei; not the symptoms, and certainly not the disease.

He sets his alarm every day early enough to hear the nighttime croaking of frogs, the shrill, insistent chirping of cicadas, hours before the sky bleeds daylight, making his way over to your house. He stands outside, silent, his fingers pressed up against the window.

He doesn’t know why he goes anymore. You look ugly when you’re sick. Your healthy complexion has given way to grey, and his dick goes limp every time he tries to jerk himself off. It’s a reminder of the fact that he can’t ever have you the way he used to dream about: lively, healthy, and wholly devoted to him and him alone.

At this point, the pictures and videos of you are the only thing he has left, a pitiful reminder of everything you used to be. He has no use for those other girls from porn sites online, or even the scantily clad social media posts of his classmates. Issei only wants you, but you aren’t quite who you used to be, and every time he trudges home after staring through that stupid window, there’s always a bitter aftertaste in his mouth that makes his blood curdle.

It’s not that he’s jealous, exactly. He doesn’t really give a fuck who you’re pining after, because it’s you he cares about. He wants to own you, to possess your body, mind, and soul, wants you to end up at his side one day, acknowledging him with tears brimming in your lovely eyes, voice raw and hoarse as you chant thank you Issei, thank you, thank you for watching over me, Issei, i’m yours, Issei, i love you, Issei

Maybe it’s no wonder he can’t stop thinking about you.

-

April 19th, 2013

[11:52 pm]

He finds you passed out on the floor, surrounded by crumpled piles of faded carnation petals. They’re a sickly yellow, browning at the edges, tinged with blood and vomit and spit. It’s a scene straight out of a movie, illuminated by the waning moon, the cold, pale, uneven light casting shadows that dance across your body.

-

April 24th, 2013

[2:03 am]

Issei is nothing if not a practical man. If there’s a problem, he’s going to fix it.

He’s had enough of waiting, anyway.

-

April 25th, 2013

[12:00 am]

He’s never actually been inside your room before. It’s eerily quiet, save for your shallow, rapid breaths, all outside noises absorbed by the walls and curtains. It almost feels like he’s dreaming as he makes his way over to your bedside, his shadow stretching and bending in the distorted light like those funhouse mirror reflections.

Your lips are parted slightly, mouth agape as if in waiting, and he can’t help but run a finger along your cracked, ashen lips.

Issei shivers.

He’s never been quite so close to you before. It’s almost anticlimactic, the way he ends up at your side. He won’t lie; he had been hoping for a different ending, one with more sunshine and roses, one where you’d be smiling happily by his side as he tenderly holds your hand.

But he can’t change the way things are, and he’s more than willing to make the best of what he’s got.

He doesn’t have any surgical tools that might’ve been more fitting, but he supposes a kitchen knife - one he’d sharpened just yesterday - should work well enough. He runs a finger along the back of the gleaming metal, admiring the way it glints, brilliant and blinding, even in the midst of the dim room.

The old, worn, bed creaks beneath him as he climbs carefully on top of you, straddling your torso, taking care not to place too much pressure on your body. He reaches out to caress your face, brushing a loose strand of hair aside as he appraises you. In sickness, you were nowhere near as beautiful as you were before, but your proximity almost makes up for it; Issei can feel your heart thrumming beneath your skin, can feel the huff of your breath on his hand as your chest rises and falls.

He almost regrets having to do this.

Bringing the blade up to your chest, he begins to cut through your paper-thin nightgown. As the fabric rips, it falls to either side to reveal your chest, and his breath catches. The soft curve of your tits are stained with red, little green buds of growth peeking out from your chest and between your ribs. Blood blooms across your skin, thorns and stems pricking out from the smooth surface of your skin, standing out in stark relief as the sick, twisted, unnatural growth threatens to burst out of your body.

He flutters his fingers along your delicate skin, trailing gentle touches down your stomach, completely absorbed in the way you look and feel.

So absorbed, in fact, that he almost doesn’t notice the way you tense, eyes blinking awake, as pain lances through your body.

Issei’s quick, though - far quicker than you, at least, and by the time you open your mouth to scream, fear catching in your throat, he shoves a large hand over your mouth to muffle any of the unpleasant noises that threaten to spill out.

“Shh,” he whispers, voice hoarse and foreign in his own chest. He’s not used to speaking to you. “If you don’t hold still, it’s going to hurt even more.”

You freeze in terror at the implications of his words, eyes catching on the blade pointed at your chest. There’s a sudden urge to lash out, to fight back - but it quickly passes. You’re not stupid.

You know that he’s far stronger than you, far faster, and as his calm, remorseless gaze latches onto your body, you realize very quickly that any resistance would be futile.

He begins his work as soon as he feels you go limp beneath him. You’re still trembling slightly, shivering from both the fear and the cold, completely exposed, completely at his mercy. You’re still not sure who he is; maybe you’ve caught a glimpse or two of him in your classes in the past, but for the most part, he’s still a complete stranger.

Issei, on the other hand, knows you very well.

As the knife slips beneath your soft flesh, your bed quickly turns into a sea of scarlet, of vermilion and ruby, of wine-red blood that grows from a trickle to a stream to a rushing, spurting mess that stains your sheets and spills onto the floor. He can feel the spatters of your blood on his face, his clothes, can see the periphery of his vision growing red as the blank, white walls turn crimson.

He finds it’s a bit difficult to hold himself back.

Cutting you up feels like catharsis to him. He’s never seen you quite like this before, but he thinks this version of you looks very pretty, your eyes rolling back into your head, your chest shaking uncontrollably as he rips his knife through your flesh over and over again. A small, barely audible whimper slips from your lips, and he feels a shuddering mix of pleasure and revulsion wash over him.

The stark white of your bone peeks through the ripped, bloody mess. Perhaps he’s finally gone far enough.

There’s no slit or hole for him to find - he wasn’t quite so careful - but he reaches a hand in to dig around at what used to be your stomach, and begins to pull out the flowers from the roots. They’ve spread to your lungs, climbed almost all the way up your throat, the green stems and yellow flowers twisting and threading between your organs and ribs. He removes them one by one, meticulous and careful, tossing them aside as he searches and prods and kills every last trace of your disease.

The lungs are by far the hardest for him, the branches of tissue packed densely with blood vessels and capillaries, and he has to pry the clusters apart to remove the growth that’s embedded itself within the organ.

If you think about it, he’s really doing you a favor.

A wave of relief courses through him when he’s finally finished. It’s unfortunate that it had to end this way, with your face screwed permanently into that pained, tortured expression, but it’s nothing he can’t fix - he brings a bloody finger up and adjusts your features until they resemble something slightly more pleasant.

There’s no heartbeat anymore, he realizes, no rhythm thrumming and pulsing beneath your skin.

He climbs off of you awkwardly, swinging his legs back over the bed. The quilt, pooled around your ankles, is still remarkably clean considering what the rest of the room had been through, and he pulls the soft, white cover over your mangled body until it comes up to your chin.

If he moves backwards a little and squints, it’s almost like you’re still asleep.

And if he tries really hard, uses his imagination to fill in the gaps and blot out the unnecessary bits, the blood smeared on your cheeks and lips almost seems like makeup, covering up that ugly, ashen complexion from your sickness, like a rosy imitation of what he used to find so beautiful.

Maybe it’s all in his mind, but he thinks you really do look better dead than sick.

He knows it’s not right.

He knows he shouldn’t.

He also can’t quite bring himself to care.

Cursing softly under his breath, he hand wanders until it finds the growing outline of the bulge in his pants. It feels so good to do it right in front of you, especially when you look better than he’d seen you in weeks(as long as he sort of squints), and he shudders with pleasure as he palms his cock slowly.

He usually likes to hold back a little, but there’s really no point this time - it’s the last time he’ll ever be this close to you, so he might as well make the best of it, right?

His cock is rock hard and dripping with precum by now, straining with arousal against the pressure of his fist, gliding and stroking along his curved, thick length until he begins to feel that warm heat coiling in his stomach. He kind of wishes that you were still alive to see him jerking off to your perfect face, pumping his cock desperately as he fixates on the fake blush of your skin. It’s almost exactly how you look before you fell sick - minus the gore splattered on your sheets, of course - as long as he pretends that you’re still breathing, that your pulse is still thrumming steadily beneath those soft, white quilts.

He fists his cock a bit faster, rhythm increasing as he feels his balls growing heavier, his dick flushed and desperate for release. Although he’s sad that you’d never be able to fully participate, he supposes it’s for the best.

Better dead than hung up on someone else, right?

As he turns his gaze back onto the flowers he’d ripped out from your chest cavity, he feels a perverse burst of pleasure coursing through him. He can’t help but feel proud of the way he’s made everything right, how he’d gotten rid of that annoying little crush you’d been harboring for weeks. If he closes his eyes, he can almost see the way you’re thanking him from the afterlife, tears of gratitude and joy in your eyes at the freedom he’s finally given you.

Issei finishes with a low, pleasured, groan, his cum spilling into his waiting hand as he strokes himself through his orgasm. It’s one of the strongest orgasms he’s had in quite some time, and he can’t help but think it’s the commemoration you deserve.

As the blood rushing in his eardrums slows, the hazy, uncertain world around him seems to stop spinning, and he feels himself being pulled back down from his high. If he strains his senses, he can hear the nighttime din through your walls, quiet and ever-present. He looks outside, the streetlamps flickering dimly, staring off into the inky stillness of the star-lit night.

Funny that he’s finally on the other side of your window.

Maybe he should leave you one last present.

-

April 26th, 2013

[9:00 am]

When they find you in your bed the next morning, your mother screams and your father cries.

They never saw it coming, did they? You were a good girl, someone who always did what they were supposed to do, said what others told them to say, acted exactly how they expected you to. Never got yourself into the slightest hint of trouble.

It’s a horrific scene: their precious daughter, limbs mangled and organs torn up, stomach and chest cut wide open as if straight from a horror movie. The room seems to swirl with hostility, and the four walls, once your sanctuary, had turned into an image of brutal, bloody, violence - with your body as the centerpiece.

It’s not until they step closer that they realize the dried, white, glaze on your face is cum.