#it will still be your fault when they get put down.

[luveline]

Hotch’s little sister x Spencer, they gang up on her about her safety or health or something, and she’s like “I’m happy you’re getting along, but don’t love getting ganged up on” 😂

You thought that when things between Spencer and Aaron finally became less awkward again, things would be easier. It was never your intention to drive a wedge between them, but perhaps it’s not your fault. 

After all, Spencer’s the one who chose to date his boss’s younger sister. That was his idea. 

Of course, you ate up his flirting and agreed to all your dates, but still. Spencer’s fault for sure. So why are you in trouble? 

“Honey, I’m honestly a little surprised with you.” Aaron takes a deep breath. “It was a completely unnecessary course of action.” 

Surprised with you is more apt than he realises. “Wait a second, what?” You’d known you were in for a scolding from his weird text, but you have no idea what he’s talking about. 

“You went for a walk in the city alone at midnight?” Aaron frowns. “Have you learned nothing from me?” 

“How do you know I went for a walk?” 

Aaron raises his eyebrows. You look out of the window of his office and straight into the guilty face of your boyfriend. He has the decency not to look away, at least. “Spencer told you that?” 

“He did.” 

You meet the big, soft, beautiful brown eyes of your lovely boyfriend and quirk a finger at him for him to join you in the office. 

“Don’t start, honey.” 

“Aaron, I’m allowed to go for a walk.” 

“In the city? In the middle of the night?” Aaron gives you another unimpressed eyebrow raise. You glare at him, not fond of being questioned. 

“I had my phone.” 

He pinches his brow. 

“Aaron, what’s up with you? I’m well within my rights to go for a walk. I wanted to clear my head. I didn’t go down any side alleys.” 

“You realise you’re being defensive with me because you know it was a silly thing to do.” 

You bristle. The door opens and honestly seeing Spencer’s little frown makes you more annoyed than you had been. “Spencer, why would you tell him my business?” 

“It came up in conversation?” he tries. 

“Spencer.” 

“I was concerned! You can’t just walk around at night in the city by yourself! Who knows what could’ve happened to you, and Hotch agrees with me, it’s too dangerous…” He bites his lip. “I didn’t mean to tattle, and I don’t want to tell you what you can or can’t do.” 

“But I can,” Aaron says. “We all know you’re aware of the danger you put yourself in. Please, don’t do it again.” 

“I feel like I just went back in time a hundred years,” you say. 

“It’s an antiquated attitude, but it’s, you know, grounded firmly in reality,” Spencer says, and you’re surprised to find he isn’t shying away from you now. “It’s reckless. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

“It would destroy me,” Aaron says without preamble. “Honey. Please, you can’t do that again, especially without telling someone where you’re going. What if somebody hurt you?” 

You pause to digest what he’s saying. He’d profiled you correctly before —you’re defensive because you already knew you were taking a risk, and you knew if he found out this is how he would react. You hadn’t suspected Spencer would rat you out, but it’s not like he’d been very happy when he learned about it for the first time either. 

“Is this how it’s going to be?” you ask. “You’re going to gang up on me whenever I do something stupid.” 

Aaron’s smile is forgiving and a little bit sorry, too, “I didn’t say stupid, did I?” 

“Reckless,” Spencer supplies. 

“Well. At least you’re both getting along again.” 

“That’s yet to be seen,” Aaron says quickly. 

You wave a hand at Aaron in the universal sign for shut up and turn your full attention to Spencer where he’s laughing in the doorway. You push him out by the chest, not bothering to wait for the office door to close before you start in on him. “That was confidential information, Spencer Reid, which you were privy to as a boyfriend, and not my brother's colleague and conspirator.” 

“I’m sorry.” He smiles, and he’s sincere. “I just knew you’d listen to him.” 

Ugh. Stupid profilers. “Sure, I’ve listened. Now I’m extremely upset and in need of lunch.” 

“Where do you wanna go? I’ll buy,” Spencer says immediately. 

That’s more like it. 

[chiscaralight]

being roommates with kinich!! but you swear he hates you. he’s such pretty thing! but he almost never talks to you. he’ll do all the dishes, take out and fold your laundry and leave it on top of the washer dryer for you, he’ll clean when you’re not home and even leave food out for you when you get back late! but he just. won’t. speak to you!!!

and it’s driving you insane. you just want to get to know him! he’s gorgeous and he seems really sweet. he’s also built just the way you like. slender and toned, with the strongest gaze you’ve ever felt. is it so much to want to talk (and maybe fuck) your absolutely perfect roommate?

it’s driving you insane! so insane, that you start to miss when certain articles of clothes don’t come back from the laundry you pick up on top of the machine. maybe you didn’t actually put those panties in the bin this time, but who cares? kinich is shirtless while he does dishes this time, it’s the exact moment you need to pretend to watch something on tv!

and your sideward glances are not as slick as you think they are, because he knows exactly what you’re doing. it’s a ring from the doorbell that has you rolling your eyes, going to see who’s disturbing your peace while he licks the fork you used to eat the food he cooked a few hours ago. by the time you return, he’s already done, wiping down the counter and making his way back to his room wordlessly. you sigh in exasperation, you didn’t even get time to think about what fake story you could cook up to get him to talk to you! but as you groan at your misfortune in the living room, his fingers are wrapped hard around his cock, nose pressed into the underwear he’s stolen from you this time. It doesn’t take long before he’s making a mess around his hand, traces of your scent flooding his senses. but this pair is starting to lose its smell and he’s getting more and more fed up. how much longer can he keep this up before he breaks?

for you, it’s not much longer, because your fingers are deep in your cunt, thrusting in and out while you try to silence your sounds. you can’t even help the way his name slips from your mouth, you can’t even control it! it’s not your fault he’s been all over your mind for the past few weeks, at work, in classes, in the shower, it’s just too much for you!

and maybe you were just a bit louder than you expected, because your door is cracking open a few moments later, the afformentionef problem staring down at you ask you freeze up. he’s still deathly quiet as always, but he's practically jumping for joy in his mind. this is like a dream come true? you’ve basically been served to him on a silver platter, and he’ll make sure to not waste a single bite.

maybe a bit too literally, because your neck and chest are covered with love bites from his lips. one hand is holding one of yours above your head, the other very slowly brushing against your clit, big difference in the way he’s absolutely drilling into you. and you swear your seeing stars, moans morphing into cries as he angles up just the slightest bit, cock prodding against the walls of your cunt. it’s almost like magic, the way you feel. and he’s much less quiet now, because once his lips are on yours, he’s groaning into your mouth, teeth clashing with yours as he drags his lips downwards to sink his teeth into your skin again.

his build isn’t just for show either, because he’s flipping you over with such ease, holding your hips just where he needs them to be as he bullies his cock right back in.

kinich who now realizes how much power he holds over you, because whenever he even just as much passes by you, he can see your body tense up just the slightest bit. and he used it to his advantage! riling you up throughout the days with weird looks and soft touches, before ultimately deciding to bend you over the counter because he misses that cunt so much already </3

he’ll leave the door unlocked when he gets back, settling on the couch with speed so he can drag you onto his lap and have you ride him because it’s all he could think about in his classes.

and kinich that will beg you to let him cum in that sweet pussy just once, but between the two of you oh both know he’s lying. he’ll keep fucking his cum into you over and over, until he’s cumming inside you once again. he just can’t help it! you’re sucking him in so good like this, what did you expect him to do.

just like the way he took care of the little things, when you’re spent, on the verge of passing out on his cock, he’ll scoop you up and take you to his room, cleaning you up and wrapping you in his blankets so he can stay with you the entire night.

[charliemwrites]

Part 12 SpecGru reader!!

No content warnings for this chapter.

You mull over your captain’s words in the hours before dinner. Sitting behind Nova in her temporary room, Doctor Who’s opening theme warbling from your laptop’s speakers. You gently work oil into her scalp, following the precise alleys formed by her braids.

It’s a soothing ritual, not just for her, but for you. An act of care for a woman who’s been so kind and patient with you. Who always stood her ground on your worst days, and never allowed herself to be goaded into a useless argument. She’s warm beneath your fingers, soft against your chest, the scent of coconut and cinnamon sweet in your nose.

Slowly, you begin to card through memories you put great care into neglecting.

The day you left the hospital, feeling more pathetic than you ever had in your life. A packet of care instructions folded over in one hand. You remember the way Gaz hadn’t quite looked you in the eye, mouth tight and regretful at the corners. Almost guilty. Even when he handed over a bag of fresh clothes, saying he was glad to see you on your feet.

Did you know then? Was there some twinge of foreshadowing in your gut? Did you hear a foreboding whisper in your mind, of how the following twenty-four hours would devolve?

Maybe you did or maybe hindsight is a liar.

What really stands out, even after all this time, is how betrayed you felt (still feel) when you reflect on that interaction with Gaz. That the best he offered was a weak warning that Ghost and Price were pissed off at you. The hurt that he didn’t even ask how you felt before disappearing for the rest of that awful day. You never saw him after your initial discharge, he might as well have borrowed his lieutenant’s namesake.

And then there was Johnny.

Soap, who made himself perfectly visible, if only to express how pissed off he was. He never bothered to ask how you were doing either – didn’t even seem relieved to see you conscious and in one piece. He was tight-jawed and tense; the few times he deigned to speak to you was clipped and terse.

When you finally left, you remember how your chest ached, knowing (intending) you’d never see his thousand-watt smile again. A fair few of your tears on that flight had been in self-deprecation for expecting anything but his total, unwavering loyalty to Simon. It stung that for all his crowing about being a team, looking out for each other, no one left behind – he couldn’t spare you a crumb of forgiveness for a mistake in the field.

Price and Ghost had almost made sense, really. But Gaz and Soap had been a peculiar sort of pain. Your fellow sergeants, who had made you feel welcome and comfortable in the beginning – who had been the bridge and buffer between you and your intimidating superiors. And maybe it wasn’t their fault that you never quite felt like you had a seat at their table, but they’d tried.

Still… at least you can look at them. You can’t imagine opening your mouth to face Price or Ghost and anything but acid pouring out.

“What’s on your mind, babes?”

You blink, palms automatically cradling Nova’s head as she tilts it back to peer at you. On autopilot, you dip down to kiss her forehead, then the gentle curve of her lips.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the massage is nice,” she teases, “but you’ve gone over my whole head at least twice now.”

“Oh,” you intone, swiping your thumb behind her ear. “Just thinkin’ is all.”

“I can tell,” she giggles, “there’s practically smoke comin’ outta your ears.”

You grimace a bit, arms lowering down to circle her shoulders in a hug. She curls her clever, slender fingers around your forearm, tracing soft patterns with her blunt nails.

“Sorry, love,” you mumble, flicking your eyes to the screen. Realize you’ve only got a vague idea of what’s going on. “I’m being a bad date.”

“You’re not,” she insists, squeezing your wrist. “This s’all been a lot, yeah? I just don’ want you being on your own in there.”

She taps two fingers against your temple. You used to spend all your time alone in your own head. Not because it was safe – it wasn’t – but it was familiar. It took her and the rest of the team concerted effort to pry anything of value from you.

Now, you muster up an appreciative smile as you nuzzle into her hand.

“I’ve just been trying to decide…”

She pauses the show and wriggles to get a better look at your face, hums for you to continue.

“If I should try talking to the 141,” you continue. “Cap said I should consider it. See if we can put all that old shit to rest.”

“Do you want to put it to rest?”

“I should.”

“But do you want to?”

The question brings you up a bit short. Being mad is easy. You’ve been mad at them for so long, one step short of loathing, that you’ve settled into the feeling. Dug your heels in. It’s an easy way to put a stopper on all the complicated hurt lying beneath.

“I want to talk to them the same way I want to go to the dentist,” you muse.

She picks up what you aren’t saying.

“You don’t want to, but you know it’s healthier if you do.”

You grunt, still too proud to admit it outright.

“The wound closed over, but it never healed properly,” she says. “Maybe you’ve got to reset it, yeah?”

You sigh. “Yeah. Just not sure where to start.”

She shrugs. “Wherever you want to. Do it on your own terms. Only way you’ll be able to stomach them.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“’Course I am,” she chirps. “I’m used to navigating bad weather.”

You nip at her fingers, prompting a bright peel of laughter as she tries to squirm away. As you wrestle her back into your lap, your nerves soften and settle.

Even if you excise this wound, you know you won’t be left bleeding alone. Not ever again.

You haven’t come to any concrete decision after dinner. Not that anyone asks. Nova isn’t one to push and your captain has already said his piece. You haven’t told Nikto or Keegan about your dilemma yet, and you’re not sure if you will.

Nikto’s take on the situation isn’t obvious – though if you had to guess, it would be similar to Nova’s. But Keegan? You already know what his answer would be.

Of anyone in SpecGru, he had to work the hardest to earn even an iota of warmth from you. He reminded you too much of Ghost – and how could he not? The perpetual mask, the sharp one-liners. Gruff and closed off, frighteningly capable, and a crack shot with a sniper rifle to boot.

It used to take everything in you to pull your punches during spars. The rare instances that you would agree to eat with your new team were never if Keegan was present. And more than once, you walked into the rec room, saw his looming figure, and turned right back around.

The only time you could stand to look at him was during missions, but your captain was always sure to receive a killer glare if he paired the two of you together.

Keegan was your partner on the mission that changed things.

It had been a week straight of shit sleep and bad memories, sick on loneliness and anger. When boots hit the ground, you stormed right in, eager to prove to yourself (but really, to them) that you were valuable. Didn’t wait for Keegan, but that had never stopped him from keeping pace with you before.

You didn’t clear your corners, got sloppy and hasty.

Took two stab wounds before Keegan shot the hostile in the temple. When he tried to call the others, you demanded that he finish the mission first. Would have rather bled out than be the reason another mission failed.

The pain and blood loss dragged you under as soon as you choked out the demand.

Then, Keegan’s face was the first thing you saw in the hospital room. Not the mask, him.

Even with dirt and black paint smudging his face, you could see the dark, worried circles beneath his eyes. Could read regret in his angular jaw, relief in the slant of his scarred mouth. For the first time, you looked in his eyes and saw more than an echo of your former lieutenant.

You saw your teammate. The partner you’d left to fend for himself because you’d been handicapped by your own pride. You saw Keegan.

“Did you finish the mission?” you rasped.

He frowned, but your captain stepped forward. “He did – once we were there to stop the bleeding.”

You never saw Ghost in the weave of his mask again.

And soon after, Keegan was the first person you opened up to about the 141.

It was that very same week. You’d been sick on shame and embarrassment, using your injuries to nurse your wounded ego. Skipping meals in exchange for raiding your snack drawers and moping in your cot.

Keegan hadn’t made himself scarce after your discharge. None of your team had, really – but he’d made a point of checking on you. And lacking your usual sharpness, he hadn’t been deterred by your comparatively mild standoffishness either.

Which was how you found yourself stubbornly tucked into the corner of your cot one night, while Keegan sewed the holes in your shirt. He kept shooting you amused looks – probably because you hadn’t taken your eyes off him once. Half wondering why he was there, half waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You gonna say something, or you just glare all night?” he drawled eventually.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you plan to stay all night?”

He shrugged, but his eyes flicked to yours, the corner of his mouth ticking up. (No mask. He hadn’t worn one around you since the hospital. Not unless people outside your team were around.)

“If you’ll have me. Been meaning to get you caught up on the show we’ve been watching.”

You huffed, frustrated. “Why?”

He arched his brows at you, needle paused. “Because I like you, despite your best efforts.”

You stared, a little appalled, a little touched. Keegan just chuckled and went right back to mending your shirt. You drew your knees up tighter and hid your quivering mouth with your arms.

“Cap says your last team was shit to you,” he said into your sullen silence.

You scowled. He put a hand up as if in surrender.

“He hasn’t said more’n that, don’t worry,” he continued, “I’m just sayin’… I don’t take any of it personal. You’re a good teammate, I trust you with more than my six.”

Why, you wanted to demand, flabbergasted and all the guiltier because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Why did he trust you? Why was he so patient? Why was he there at all?

You sniffled, but he just kept talking.

“I want to return the favor, ya know? I’m not askin’ you to trust me after the mission, but you don’t gotta be on your own either.”

You were crying quietly by that point, face so hot that your tears felt cold, stomach aching from more than stab wounds. He finally looked up, saw how you were falling apart. But he didn’t shy away, didn’t close himself off. It wasn’t pity or sympathy that softened his eyes.

“The shit you and I carry, we’re not meant to do it alone, sweets.”

And what else could you do, but spill your sorry guts?

You remember the expression on his face when you got to the part about Ghost. Remember how tightly he held you on your cot, all the distance (emotional and physical) closed between you two. Remember waking up the next morning, Netflix still open on your laptop and flopped gracelessly over Keegan’s stomach like a childhood sleepover.

You couldn’t have iced him out again even if you wanted to, after that.

No, there’s no question what Keegan would tell you, if you asked about talking to the 141. He would say there’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of them.

So, you don’t ask.

You climb into his lap in your temporary room that evening, peeling his mask up and off with slow hands. His eyes are already half-lidded, the corner of his mouth curved fondly. His hands spread across your thighs, warm and rough. The scar twisting across his left palm is sweetly familiar when he draws it along your skin.

“I’m going to try talking to the 141,” you admit.

His jaw twitches, eyes flickering. “Now why the hell would you do that?”

You sigh, curl your fingers into the brassy crop of hair he’s been growing out. He’s got a quick temper, and a habit of misplacing it when it’s been triggered by something out of his control. You don’t take it personally, you never have – it’s gratifying to see how much he cares.

“There’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of ‘em,” he growls.

“There might be.”

He sits back, skeptical but waiting.

You continue, “I’ve got a lot of shit to say to them, and they seem eager to hear it.”

“Why give ‘em the satisfaction?” he asks.

“Maybe it’ll help with the nightmares.” That gives him pause. You draw your thumb soothingly across his temple – a bullet graze from saving your life. “We’ve got too much shit to carry, you and me. Unloading some of it is as good a reason as any.”

His hand drifts up your side, grazes the tattoo coiling down your arm. (The second you ever got – a big piece that took hours, Keegan never leaving your side. Nikto, Nova, and your captain periodically dropping in to provide snacks and water.)

He cups your jaw, guides your face down until your foreheads touch. You stay there, breathing him in. He smells like yours.

“What if they make it worse, huh?” His thumb caresses over your cheekbone the way it has a dozen times before, wiping away tears. “I’ll have to kill ‘em.”

You huff softly, amused. “Then kill ‘em. But I’m stronger than I was, Kee. There’s nothing they can weigh me down with that I can’t carry.”

“I know,” he whispers, tilting his chin to drop a sweet, aching kiss on your lips.

“Besides, I wouldn’t be carrying it alone anymore.”

His expression lightens, pride shining from his eyes. “Damn right.”

It’s nearly midnight when you wake from a light doze. Keegan is snoring softly, an arm and leg each hanging over the side of the bed. Your mouth is dry, but you realize it’s your stomach that woke you – pangs of hunger from picking at your dinner earlier. You need to eat.

Quiet and careful, you crawl out from beneath the sheets. Keegan is a heavy sleeper compared to the nearly supernatural senses of Nikto; he hardly stirs as you pad for the door. The hall lights are dim, but you only open it a crack to slip out.

The hall is quiet, no lights on beneath any of the other doors. You hope that means the rest of your team is sleeping peacefully. If you remember right, Nikto and Nova crawled in with your captain this evening. They’re all in good company if nightmares creep in; you pray Keegan doesn’t have any while you’re up.

Thankfully, the rec room is only two halls away. Light is spilling out as you turn the corner – there’s a sensor that shuts them off if no movement is detected for a while. Someone is either in there now or was recently. You half hope it’s the latter, but that doesn’t deter you from entering.

Your surprised to find Soap leaning against the kitchenette counter, a steaming mug in hand. His expression is flat, grim. Tired. You pause just inside the doorway.

“Might as well come in,” he says, voice low and rough. “I’ll clear out in a mo’.”

Even from where you’re standing, you can see that his cup is mostly full.

You exhale and shake your head. “Don’t have to.”

“How gracious,” he rasps, brows twitching like he wants to scowl. Like he can’t quite commit to being as bitter as he should be.

You’re too tired for your usual acid, as well. Just sigh and reach for the fridge door.

“Is that how you want this conversation to go?” you ask.

“Is this a conversation?” he replies.

You pluck out a yogurt cup. “It can be.”

He’s glaring into his coffee now, index finger tapping at the ceramic. Thinking. Or maybe just leashing all the things he wants to say but knows will drive you right back out.

“Why now?” he says finally.

You shrug. “Because I’m ready now.”

A tendon in his jaw twitches. “That’s not fair.”

A hot flicker of anger ignites in your chest. You tamp it down with a spoonful of yogurt, measuring out your words and tone.

“How do you reckon?” you inquire.

“You left,” he says. It’s been a while, but you can detect the hurt underlying the accusation. You suspect it’s something he’s wanted to say for a long time. “You left us behind.”

You click your teeth off your spoon, take a deep breath. It’s factually true. You are the one that left but—

“I wasn’t going to wait for you all to kick me out officially.”

He finally raises his eyes, a dark storm of emotion swirling within them.

“We wouldnae have.”

You tilt your head, cynicism in the flat line of your mouth. “Didn’t seem that way to me.”

“I ken you and Simon were—”

“Don’t.”

His mouth snaps shut, brows furrowed. You point at him with your spoon warningly but bite back the sharp remark on your tongue. Arguing isn’t the point here.

Settle instead to say, “Don’t speak for the others.”

There’s a beat of silence as he digests that, then finally nods. “Alright. Just you ‘n me then.”

You turn back to your yogurt, swipe up another spoonful as you reorganize your thoughts.

“I didn’t leave because of Ghost,” you begin. “Not entirely. I left because I was never part of the team. And what happened after that mission just… made it all very clear.”

Soap frowns, opens his mouth like he wants to deny it, but you hold up a finger to stop him. He takes a long sip of coffee and waits.

“You didn’t check on me at all. You weren’t there when I woke up. You never asked if I was okay,” you continue. “You were too busy being angry on Ghost’s behalf.”

“You almost got the both of you killed,” he argues.

“But you cared more about Ghost almost being hurt than the fact that I was,” you say. And dammit, you feel your sinuses burning, but your eyes stay blessedly dry. The anger disappears from his face all at once as realization sinks in. “I mattered to you less than Ghost.”

His hand tightens around his mug, knuckles blanching. “No. No, lass, tha’s no’… you were always… you survived.”

“I felt the worst I ever had in my life, but you didn’t care because I crossed the almighty Ghost,” you insist.

“I cared about you,” he denies.

“But not more than you did about Ghost.” You drag your gaze up to his. Even his eyes look a little wet now. “And that… that wasn’t enough for me.”

You suck in a shuddering breath, trying to loosen the tightness in your chest. Clear your throat once you feel the threatening prick of tears subside.

“I didn’t… it wasnae that,” he rasps. “I ken you think I’m full of shite, but ‘s true.”

You do think he’s full of shit. Maybe not on purpose, maybe he really does think he cared about you as much as Ghost, but you know better.

“I was just… so angry wi’ you,” he explains. “You could have died. Nearly got Simon killed, all because you thought you knew better.”

You exhale hard. “You’ve never made a bad call?” you challenge.

“It wasnae your call to make. You should have listened to Ghost. Instead, you—”

“I what?”

Your fingers tingle, numb. Can’t even feel the spoon, or the chill of the yogurt cup anymore.

“You disobeyed orders, it was so—”

“I didn’t.”

He stops. Stares. “What?”

You stare right back, “I didn’t disobey orders.”

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[cod-dump]

What would happen if Price got contacted to say his mother or father had died? Would he care? Would he go to the funeral? Would he simply pretend he never saw the letter?

Even worse if someone else found the letter first.

previous

more richborn Price? hell yea

___

Price getting mysterious letter in a PO box he had long forgotten about. It had a hand written name on it, it was familiar, an upon opening it he spotted a name t the bottom, signed off elegantly. One that made his heart almost stop.

Amelia Victoria.

She left out the surname, certainly knowing he would throw it the letter out upon sight of it alongside a name that wasn't his own. He would've crumpled it up by now, but he didn't. All previous attempts at contacting him was from his parents, his siblings had never reached out. Never.

His brother simply didn't care to, he had everything to gain from Price not being present. Of course it had to be Amelia, she was the only person Price would ever considering listening to. It had to be her.

Price stuffed the letter back into the envelope, not bothering to read anything beyond his sister's name. He didn't have the energy for those people, his sister included. It was his own fault, leaving himself open to their attempts at communication, cruel enough to never answer and cowardly enough to never have it in him to respond.

He could disappear, they never would be able to find them. But he never did it.

He threw the letter in the trash as he walked out of his office. If the janitor didn't have the trash dumped by morning then he'd consider reading it.

Of course it wasn't left in the trash.

Price was nursing a morning cup of tea, still waking up when Ghost walked into the lounge. He had a look in his eyes, guilty but also a bit miffed. He looked at Price before he walked over and sat across from him. No words were spoken as he took out the letter and dropped it on the table.

Price felt his eye twitch at the sight. This wouldn't be the first time Ghost had poked around in his trash, Price knew he should've shredded it upon discovering who sent it. It was his own fault for being weak, for being open to reading it.

"Your mum's dead."

Price felt his heart drop, almost dropping his mug. He shakingly put down his tea, breathing as he looked away. Ghost's eyes widened and he looked even more guilty.

"You didn't know."

Ghost spoke upon the assumption he had read it. Of course, he wouldn't have said anything otherwise.

"She's-"

"I'm sorry."

Price took the letter, trying to not rip and tear as he opened it. He skimmed over the words until he found the passage mentioning his mother's death. He was supposed to feel something more than a numbed dread. He was a child who learned his mother was gone, why wasn't he feeling more than this? The shake in his hands wasn't enough, there should be more emotion.

Price honestly didn’t feel much as he read his sister's letter, describing their mother's last moments and the funeral they would have. She wrote as if she already knew he would never attend, and there wasn't any blame. Just sorrow and understanding. Sorrow, it didn't feel enough.

His dear mother, might as well have not been there at all. He vividly remembered her faraway stare, like her spirit wasn't even present. She used to be much more alive when he was much younger, while she was pregnant with his brother. She argued with his father with determination, no fear. Then... it just went away. She never showed much emotion after she became pregnant with his sister. Their father had full reign of the household, of their children.

He wondered if she died that way, numb and absent minded, allowing their father to have his way until the bitter end.

"John?"

Ghost didn't like his silence, probably didn't like the lack of a more earnest reaction. Price never told him about his family or upbringing. Never told him he joined the military to get away from them. Any judgement he was receiving was deserved. Ghost clung to his family when he had them, he loved them fiercely.

"I probably should tell you a few things about me... and keep all of this between us, yea?"

Ghost nodded while watching him carefully. Price really didn't want the others to learn about this, learn everything about him he frankly didn't want them to know.

[ohsc]

requested by @prentissluvr | basic but completely adorable is sam trying to do his little girl's hair with his big hands and she's so small and he's like argh why is this so difficult T_T but he's trying so hard and he's so concentrated until she gets squirmy and he has to give up and do pigtails before she gets annoyed LOL

tysm for the request sweetheart this was SO soft to write i love your brain so so much <3 | juno verse, single dad sam winchester x fem!reader, 1.2k, fluff, pining, not proof read, requests only open for juno fics

“Like Fawn, daddy.” Juno told him, sat with her legs crossed on the bathroom counter, looking up at him through the mirror as she messed with the barbie she had held in her hands.

“Like who?” Sam asked, frowning in confusion as he brushed through her hair as gently as he could. Since she’d woken up that morning — and in turn woke him up by climbing into his bed and tugging on his hair — she’d insisted that she needed to look pretty for when Y/N visited. She was already dressed in one of her pretty dresses, a puffy blue thing covered in flowers. It was a little big for her, he’d had to roll up the sleeves, but there was no convincing her to wait until she’d had a growth spurt to wear it. On top of the dress, she wanted her hair to look pretty, too.

It was getting a little long, Sam knew that. They’d been living paycheck to paycheck for the past few weeks, he hadn’t had the money or the time to go and get it cut, and he was not going to attempt to do it himself.

“Fawn,” she scowled at him through the mirror like he was stupid. “Fairy. She likes Tink.”

Ah, the fairies. A week ago she’d decided that she was too big for princess and she liked fairies instead. The idea of her getting too big for anything made his chest squeeze uncomfortably with the idea that his baby was getting older. He could remember when she could fit comfortably in the palm of one hand.

“I thought you wanted a braid, Junebug.”

“Mhm.”

“Fawn has a braid?”

“Yes.” She scowled again and he almost laughed at how cranky she got sometimes.

“Sorry, baby, I forgot,” he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “You want one or two?”

She held up two fingers before she went back to playing with her barbie.

Sam honestly thought it would be easy. He could kind of remember how Jess used to braid hers — though he tried not to think of her much anymore — and since Juno had less hair it seemed easier.

It took him five minutes to even part her hair as she kept moving around, and by the time he had a section in his hands strands kept slipping out of his fingers. His hands felt clunky, eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he tried to braid the three strands.

“Daddy,” she’d started squirming, and he bit his tongue to stop himself from complaining when she moved her head and he dropped one of the strands, the entire braid falling loose. “Done?”

He let out a breath through his nose. It wasn’t her fault, he usually just put her hair in a ponytail and tied a bow around it. “Not done, sit still please.”

He combed out the braid with his fingers and tried again, honestly a little irritated at how difficult it was.

She moved again and he tried to lean forwards as she did so not to pull her hair, but just ended up braiding the wrong strand of hair through.

“Juno, please,” he breathed out, letting go of her hair to shift her back in place on the counter. “You need to stop moving sweetheart.”

“Wanna play.” She whined, and when he glanced up at the time he sighed. He wanted to clean up a little and get some food going for when Y/N got there, and time was getting a little tight.

“Okay, alright Junie,” he leaned down and kissed her head, gave her sides a gentle squeeze as he looked back at her in the mirror. “Why don’t I just do some pigtails, hm?” She pouted and his heart aches. “It’s quick, and you can go play until lunch, okay?”

She nodded, and he kissed her head again with an apology before he brushed her hair and tied them into pigtails, securing two blue bows into her hair in the hopes that she’d find it just as pretty. It was a win when it earned him a sloppy kiss on the cheek as he lifted her up from the counter to get her down.

One of the bows was missing by the time Y/N got there.

She’d used the spare key to get in — she’d been doing that more recently, and he tried not to think about how it made his heart thump a little harder — and he’d been at the stove stirring the macaroni he was cooking, so he didn’t have time to stop Juno from running straight into her legs as she walked in.

“Hey princess!” Her voice was cheery despite almost getting knocked off of her feet, and Sam could hear his daughter giggling down the hall as he made sure the water wouldn’t bubble over before stepping out of the kitchen and into the hall. She had Juno on her hip, not even out of her coat yet, little arms tight around her neck with a tight hug. The sight made his heart swell, a dopey little smile on his face as he watched them for a moment.

“Are you all dressed up for me, Junie?” She cooed, hugged her to her chest, and beamed at Sam when she looked up and met his eyes.

His poor heart couldn’t take much more.

“Yes, s’my pretty dress,” Juno informed, chubby cheeks and a toothy smile. “Daddy did my hair wrong.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tattle-tale.” He scoffed, walking over to take his daughter into his own arms so Y/N could shrug her coat off. Juno didn’t seem to mind, just didn’t take her eyes off of the other.

“He did? Oh no,” she hung her coat up on the hook, and was smiling in far too much entertainment when she turned back around and faced them. “What did he do wrong? Is it the missing bow?”

“Want Fawn hair.”

Sam mouthed braids over the top of her head at her look of confusion.

“Ah, I see,” she reached out and gently combed her fingers through the ends of Juno’s pigtails. “Well, do you wanna know a secret, Junie?”

Juno nodded enthusiastically, and Sam almost dropped her when she leaned forwards fast to hear her.

“I know how to do braids,” she told her as if it was a secret, leaned down a little to be at her level. “Maybe you could go and get me your hairbrush and some pretty bows and I can do them for you, hm?”

“Okay!” Juno immediately started squirming and Sam laughed as he put her down, watched her run down the hall and into her bedroom, before he turned back to face Y/N.

“Thanks,” he breathed out a little laugh, a hand pushing through his hair. “Wasn’t gonna hear the end of that one.”

She giggled, smiled so pretty he thought his heart might give out. “Figured as much,” she stepped forwards and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, and he was definitely on the road towards a heart attack. “Maybe after lunch I could teach you how to do it? If she sits still for long enough.”

Sam practically grinned as he nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

Oh he was so in danger.

[junedenim]

what it takes to say goodnight

just him & his girls

warnings: dad!alex, fluff, smut, piv, fingering, mild breeding kink, & so on...

word count: 4.4k

He nearly trips over the cat when he walks in. He mutters curse words to himself before picking Pepper—the cat—up before it runs out the front door. Pepper has always been a calm kitty and she takes well in Alex's arms, though they are full and he struggles through the door before he can finally put everything, including Pepper, down on the floor. She tangles in his legs before running off back into the house.

Alex closes the front door roughly causing one of the magnets that holds a picture of the girls up to fall on the floor loud enough to alert the other residents of the house that he is home.

"Sounds like someone's home," he hears you announce followed by the sudden noise of pattering feet.

He rounds the corner, greeted by two blurs rushing him like linebackers. As always, Willow is quick to talk her mouth going a mile a minute, shouting, "Come look what I made today! Pick me up, daddy, pick me up! Come on!" He can't even keep track of what she is saying most of the time, her mouth going a mile a minute.

Contrasting her twin sister, Wren, his quiet little girl, tugs on his pant leg to get his attention. They've always been this way, even when you were pregnant with them. Willow would kick away and Wren would suck her thumb. Wren speaks when spoken to, preferring to perform motions to express her opinions. Unless it's vegetables, then she cries and yells, "Yuck!"

To combat both girls' interests, he bends down and picks them both up. They are just on the edge of being too heavy for Alex to pick both up at once. But maybe he'll wait until the next birthday to stop doing this. Wren curls into him while Willow hangs off his neck still yapping, "I want mac & cheese for dinner. Mummy said we can so you have to let us. Wen wants it too. Say it, Wen." Willow has always called Wren "Wen." It's adorable and Alex and you can't bear to ever correct it.

Alex turns to Wren, nudging her with a bounce to show her some attention and get her answer. "I want mac & cheese," she says robotically as if Willow trained her to say it.

"Really?" Alex questions. He looks toward you, sitting on the living room rug and watching this exchange. You share a silent laugh with him. You're calm, and he never understands how you managed to hold that through the whole day with the girls. He loves them like nothing else ever but, man, do they tire him out.

"Swear," Willow answers for Wren. "Mummy also said you'd play dolls with us."

You laugh out loud. "I never said that, Will."

Willow thinks otherwise. "Well, maybe you could anyway."

Alex laughs. "We'll see." He feels a strain in his back and decides it's time to put the girls down. Will goes off running back to her toys but Wren hangs on, unable to let go of the comfort. "C'mon Wren. At least let me take my shoes off."

"But you'll come back?" She's completely wide-eyed and worried. Whenever she's in need of reassurance, Alex fears it's his fault. That he went on tour when they were too young and ever since Alex is certain he has caused them abandonment issues. 

He told you this once, late at night, after Wren had cried for him to not leave her alone in her room. He stayed with her until she fell asleep and would have fallen asleep beside her if you hadn't come to collect him. Under the covers, he told you this fear and regret, at first, you laughed, insisting Wren was just clingy. Alex chose to believe you if only to fall asleep that night.  

Sometime after midnight, Wren came into yours and Alex's bedroom, tugging on Alex's hand making sure that he was still there, still breathing, still real. Her little whimpers woke you up. Alex hugged Wren to his chest and you ran a hand down the sensitive girl's back. She kept saying, "You were gone. You left." You tried your best to minimize Alex's worries but he felt this fear to be true and a hidden part of him thinks you blame him too.

Alex kisses Wren's plump baby cheek, placing her tiny feet on the wooden floor. "Always," he assured her. She toddles cautiously back to the toys to join her sister.

But then there's one more girl he has to take care of. "Are you going to make me mac & cheese?" You ask, approaching him, and slinging your arms around his neck. His hand finds its rightful place on the small of your back, the one where you always feel an ache when his hand isn't there.

He pulls you closer to him, pressing her body up against his, your faces so close, your noses just barely not touching. "I'll make you whatever you want." His lips pucker expectantly, waiting for yours to collide with them.

"Anything?" You raise an eyebrow.

He relaxes his lips and quirks a smile. "Yeah, I can make you the unicorn-shaped mac & cheese."

"Wow," you laugh, "you really are my prince charming."

He puckers his lips again. "Hurry up and kiss me, would you?" You give in because he's so cute talking about mac and cheese and there's a flutter in his eyes that you can tell means he had a long day so you won't put up much of a fight, especially when he kisses you just right.

You pull away and ask, "Long day?"

Alex shrugs. "I'm where I want to be now. How was it here?" He runs his hand up and down your right arm.

You sigh as you begin to feel the weight of the day"Good. No fights. Wren didn't nap."

Alex throws his head back. "Don't tell me that." 

That fear ticks away inside him but you grab his hand and squeeze it. "It's not because of you. It allowed me to have Wren & me time considering she's a daddy's girl and Will's constant desire to be the center of attention, but don't tell her I told you that."

He chuckles. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Now come on with the mac & cheese!"

Later, when he's cooking dinner, Wren clings to his leg. Will is singing loudly in the living room and he can hear you clapping along with her. 

"Mac & cheese?" Wren asks him.

"Almost done," Alex promises, picking her up by the straps of her overalls and depositing her onto the counter. "Would you do today? Did you have fun with mummy and Will?"

Wren simply nods with a smile, which is a good sign, no frowns in sight.

But she tugs away at his heart, making grabby hands for him. She's always been clingy, enjoying the feeling of being held, but he can't help but feel that she's spent the whole day missing him, not able to have any fun. 

"Do you maybe want to come to work with me tomorrow, honey?" He knows he should ask you about this and Willow will have to come along or she'll throw a temper tantrum but sometimes he thinks Wren needs a little extra love. She doesn't shout for attention in the manner Willow does. Sometimes she needs to be noticed and needs to feel special.

Then, Wren starts doing that happy gurgle-laugh thing. She swings her legs, tiny socked feet hitting the utensil drawer. She nods quickly, completely excited. "I'll have to talk with mummy about it but you and me will do something special. That sound nice?"

"Yeah!" She squeals and claps her hands. 

Her excitement rubs off on Alex, giving him something to smile about. He nuzzles his nose with hers. He can't get over how precious she is. "Yeah," he repeats, completely content. In moments like this, he doesn't feel like he's completely failed as a parent.

Willow comes walking in, patting her stomach, asking, "Is the mac & cheese ready? I'm 'ungry."

*

Putting the twins to bed can either be the easiest part of the day or the hardest. Wren nearly passes out in the bathtub, running on limited sleep. Willow refuses to stay in bed. When you leave the room, she pops out of bed and starts playing with her toys in the dark. 

Alex goes in to kiss her goodnight after he lays Wren down and finds her bouncing on her bed. She stalls at the sight of Alex, clear that she has been caught out. "Bedtime, missy," he tells her.

She giggles but plops down on her butt. "I'm not tired," she states like there is simply no argument to be made.

Alex sighs and sits on the edge of her tiny bed. "But I'm tired."

"You can go to bed. That's okay, daddy." She touches his arm like she's reassuring him she'll be fine.

Alex huffs a laugh into his hand. He doesn't want Will to get excited that she's making her dad laugh. "I can't go to bed unless you go to bed. It's the rules."

She closes her eyes and flops down on the bed dramatically, pushing the air loudly out of her pillow. "Fine." She seems like she's making an attempt, but then she opens her eyes wide and demands, "Story first."

He knows you probably read her two stories already and he shouldn't give in but you're in the shower and he'll be waiting all alone in bed for you so why shouldn't he kill some time with one of his girls? "One."

She claps her little kiddie hands. "You can pick," she says like she's doing him a favour.

And she kind of is because if he has to read Goldilocks again, he might lose it. "Rumplestiltskin it is." He's always liked it and he knows Will likes the straw turning into gold part. 

He picks up the book of the collected Brothers Grimm fairy tales. Part of him can never deny reading the girls (including you) a story. You all do the same thing: cuddle up beside him, lay your head on his arm, point at the pictures, and say a comment on every sentence if only to make reading time just a bit longer. Will curls his fingers around his forearm and falls asleep halfway through the story but he finishes it anyway. Partly because he knows if Will is pretending to be asleep and he doesn't finish the whole thing she'll insist he has to read her another one. (The other part because he loves the story).

You've just exited the bathroom with wet hair and a towel wrapped around you when Alex enters your bedroom. "Everyone went to sleep alright?" You're going through the drawers, looking for pajamas.

"Yeah. Will had me read her another story but she conked out quick."

You smirk. "Will had you read another story or you wanted to read another story?"

He rolls his eyes at you mocking him before admitting, "Both."

You laugh at him, your sweet boy. The house can feel overrun with girls sometimes, even the cat is a girl, but Alex never seems to mind. He likes all the girlish things the girls like. Tea parties and dress-up, although, he did get noticeably a little more excited when the girls started kicking around a football. But then Alex just said, "Girls are better at football anyway." 

He's better at tea parties than football anyway. He doesn't even try to pretend to lose to the girls when they play 2 v. 1 with him. They are sneaky and tiny and like Pepper does, they wrap around and slide through his legs to kick into his goal. Meanwhile, he thrives at the tea parties, drinking whatever concoction the girls make, even if it tastes like plastic. You always pretend to sip but Alex is the real deal. Always has been.

"Did you miss me while I was gone?" He asks, leaning against the wall, trying to tempt you.

You smile, dropping the towel, leaving you naked in his view for five seconds before you toss a T-shirt over your head. "No, not really."

The T-shirt is red and he's like a bull as he charges toward you, picks you up, and lands both of you on the bed. You're giggling affectionately into the kiss and it's completely loved-up and lovely and you both love that but Alex and you clearly want more. You push him up, off of your lips. "Shut the door."

Sex with the kids can be challenging. Before you did it every time, every surface you could find. Now, you mostly do it at night, rarely in the morning because the girls are always up early. You can't do it every night. Sometimes you can tell the girls didn't fall asleep or you're tired or Alex passed out while you were in the shower. 

Despite the scheduling-sounding nature of things, sex still seems spontaneous. Like a random gust of wind felt upon the skin. Alex always makes things exciting and after doing it more times than you can count, it never bores. The predictability of it is what makes it so charged, so romantic, so sexual, so loving. You can tell by the thrust of his hips whether he's close or not. He can tell by the furrow of your brow whether he's hitting that spot in you or not. It has always felt right.

He's fast in his steps, locking the door, and pretty much launching himself back onto the bed. He covers you, completely all over you, kissing you, feeling you up. He reaches under your shirt, pushing it up to expose your boobs, but not taking it off. He grabs them, a fistful at first, then just the nipple. He kisses down your neck, over the collection of your shirt's fabric, onto the skin of your boobs, and then the areola, licking over the wrinkles of it before meeting the erected nipple.

There are times when you do devote time to foreplay. Alex loves it. You love it. Both ways. You both have always been reciprocal naturally. You never need to ask the other for more. In fact, more often you ask for less. Like...

"This feels really nice," you tell him, "but I'm tired and I know you're tired so just fuck me, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees, breathing heavily already. He stands to take his clothes off. You don't bother shedding the top. He can fondle your boobs just fine with it still on and it provides an emergency cover if one of the girls walks in.

Alex lays back on you intently, kissing you harshly. You reach down to hold his cock, pumping him a few times before his hand takes over and slides into you. The idea of it is quick but the pace is rocking, not fast, not slow, just right. You furrow your brows and arch up into him. He reaches into the space underneath the arch and holds you, completely skin-to-skin. He lays kisses on your neck in no particular pattern like he isn't even trying to turn you on more, he just wants to do it. 

You grip the back of his head's hair, clumps in your compressed grasp. "More," you urge, needing just a little more to tip over.

His mouth moves next to your ear, whispering, "Want me to fuck another baby into you?"

It makes you snort a laugh right in the middle of sex. You have to physically stop his hips from moving as you collect your breath. "What? Another set of twins?"

"Yeah. With my super sperm." He's jokingly bragged about that with you since you found out you were having twins. You corrected him and said it was your eggs that made the twins since they're fraternal. He said, "No, it was a really good load, I remember." It's always made you laugh.

"Twin boys now?" You ask.

He shrugs. "Or more girls? I don't mind."

Everything about him is calm, but there is sincerity in all of it. "Are we seriously talking about more kids while you're inside me?"

Alex makes small movements inside you. "Yeah, come on." He leans closer and closer to you. "We make cute kids. The girls are older. I know you want it."

You place your hands on his shoulders. "Right now I just want you so can we do that part before the 9-month part?"

He nods. "Cart before the horse."

You laugh and tug him down into your shoulder. You whisper into his ear as his hips begin to move harder and harder, "Fuck a baby into me."

Alex chuckles and kisses your jugular. He quickens, both of you feeling an ache for release conjuring inside you. He moves harder and pulls your hips to him. He's doing all the work, but he doesn't mind, he likes doing this for you, likes being good for you. That's all he wants to do.

"That feel good?" He has asked this almost every time you've had sex like, no matter what, even after doing this for years, he wants to make sure it's as good as the last time.

You hum in the affirmative, feeling too overwhelmed to talk clearly. Your grip around his neck tightens as you drag him closer down to you. He keeps thrusting into you hard, skin hitting skin sounding across the room. 

"So fucking tight," he groans into your ear. 

His pace is quick, erratic, and eager. His breath is heavy and filled with soft grunts. His hands are rough, squeezing on your hips. You know he's holding on for you but you want him to enjoy it too. It doesn't always have to be about you. "Let go," you tell him. 

But he's hot for it, not rejecting your request like you thought he would. "You want it?" He asks.

You nod, fluttering eyes.

"Tell me," he says, pounding deep.

You scrap your nails down his back soothingly. "I want it. Deep in me." He hums, requesting more without saying it. "Fill me up with your cum. Please."

Maybe it's your words, maybe it's how close he was, or maybe it's both, but he cums instantly after, deep inside you, filling you up. He groans and pants into your neck. He rests inside you, holding everything in, while he catches his breath. You comb your fingers through his hair, calming him.

He raises his head so he's looking down on you. "You okay?"

You softly smile, exhaustion hovering over you. "Yeah."

"You don't cum," he comments.

You shrug. "I got what I wanted."

Alex grunts. "God, you're gonna make me cum again."

You push him up, making him hiss at the sensitivity. "Don't," you command.

He pulls out slowly and before you can even say anything, he's got his fingers inside you, keeping all that cum in, making a mess on his finger. It takes you off guard, making you moan instantly. He's quick with everything, knowing you want to go to bed, hoping to release the tension and ease you into relaxation.

His two fingers shove in and out of you rapidly. He curls them just in the right spot, making you moan, "Fuck." His thumb grazes over your clit, just like how he knows to do it. It's messy, the whole thing is a mess, but it feels like the hottest thing ever, and soon your hips are unable to stay still and you're coming.

It's your turn to catch your breath and he's licking your shared cum off his hands. He makes a face. "I don't think I've ever tasted my own cum."

You reach out and grab his hand, taking the still-dirty finger into your mouth, and licking it clean. "You've made me taste both before."

He kisses your lips before getting off the bed to grab tissues. "Don't act like it was against your will. I recall you liking it."

You sigh, sitting up and fixing your shirt. "We're gonna have to change the sheets."

Alex hands you a few tissues and says, "I'll do it. You clean yourself up." You'll always accept him doing all the work.

*

It’s three in the morning when a tiny hand shakes Alex awake, and he opens his eyes to find Wren there holding her stuffed teddy bear against her chest, cheeks wet from crying. “I wet the bed.”

“Oh,” Alex says, while his heart rate settles. He looks around to get his bearings and finds you out of it to his right, curled up on your side. He blinks the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes as Wren sniffles miserably, and he pushes up to wipe her jaw dry. “Hey, it’s okay, baby. It just happens sometimes, alright?”

“But I'm not ‘posed to,” she croaks. “I’m supposed to be a big girl now. I’m sorry.”

“No, hey,” Alex kisses her forehead. “It’ll be fine, come on.”

She holds onto his hand and he leads her into the bathroom, running the water to warm and filling the tub with strawberry-scented bubbles. Once she’s in, he lets her play with her rubber ducks for a while to calm down. She splashes them and chews on their tails and presses their drawn-on smiles to his cheek as a kiss. "Muah," she says, and he loves her so much it hurts.

He runs a hand over her damp hair. “I’m gonna go fix your bed, okay? Just keep playing.”

Wren nods, so he leaves her with the door wide open and the light cascading into the hall. Strips her bed of the old sheets and carries them over to the wash. When he comes back, she’s resting her chin against the edge of the tub, waiting for him.

His head tilts, looking down at her big eyes on her little face. “Hey, Peanut.”

“Hi,” she says, timid. “Do you still love me?”

Alex frowns and sits down in front of her on the cold tile. “Why wouldn’t I still love you?”

“M’no good,” she whispers. “M’not small anymore, and I miss you all the time, and—”

“Alright, hey,” Alex cuts in gently, pushing her hair behind her ears to hold her face, all flushed chubby cheeks. He hates himself. Feels like he has made her feel this way. Made her feel unloved and he'll beat himself up for it every day. Never forgive himself for making her doubt his love. "I know I’ve been gone a lot, and I’m really sorry, but I miss you the whole time I’m away. All I wanna do is be here with you, okay? I promise. I love you,” he says, kissing her freckled nose and watching it crinkle up, “so much. I hope you know that.”

She nods, bites her lower lip, and chews. “You love mummy?”

“Yes,” Alex says. “Tons.”

“Is tons a lot?” She asks, and he notices her eyes flit over his shoulder, which gives him a pretty good idea of why she’s asking.

“It is,” he confirms, glancing behind him and finding you in the doorway, hair thrown up, wearing that ratty old red tee. You grin and lean against the door jamb, eyes soft. “The better question is: does mummy love daddy?”

You laugh. “Tons squared,” she promises. “Come on, it’s bedtime, baby.”

“Can I sleep with you?” Wren asks, anxious.

Alex kisses her cheek. “Of course,” he says and leans around her to pull the drain. You come over to help her dry off and Alex goes to grab her fresh pajamas. You both help her dress because she’s all sleepy from the warmth of the bath, and she’d get lost in her shirt if you weren’t around. Alex picks her up and carries her to their bed, laying her down between them so they can both hold her.

"You okay, honey?" You ask Wren, running your fingers through her hair, calming her like you do for him.

She nods, her eyes slowly closing, sleep taking her away from you.

Alex kisses her cheek lightly, not wanting to disturb her sleep. "Love you."

You repeat his action, kissing her baby skin cheek. "Me too." But she's already fallen asleep, exhausted from her little life.

You look across at Alex, his eyes cautiously looking over Wren. "Hey," you whisper to him to grab his attention. His gaze meets yours, his eyes solemn, but affectionate. "Love you."

He smiles because that's just what he needs. That's all he'll ever need. "Me too."

*

A hand pushes on your back somewhere around 4 in the morning. You turn around at the expected sight: Willow holding her stuffed teddy bear, thumb in her mouth, scared little eyes.

"What's wrong, baby?" You ask her, reaching out and smoothing back her messy hair.

"I had a night'are." Her voice wobbles. Alex and Wren are still sound asleep. You reach down to pick her up, laying her on your chest and hugging her to you, wanting to keep her safe from all the evil things awakening her.

"Everything's okay," you reassure.

"What's wrong?" You turn to see Alex, alert and worried rubbing his eyes.

"Nightmare."

Willow turns her head to look at her dad. "Oh," she says, "there's Wen. I was scared she wasn't where she was."

Alex reaches his arm over a sleeping Wren and rubs Willow's back, hushing her rapid heartbeat. "She's been in here. She got scared too but she's okay. She's sleeping now."

Willow keeps her voice low, understanding to keep quiet. "I went lookin' for her but she wasn't in her room."

"Why did you go to her room, honey? Why didn’t you come in here?" You ask.

"'Cause I always go there when I'm scared. Wen goes 'Everyting's okay' and then I know it will be 'cause she said so." She's so sweet, she hides it sometimes, doesn't like to give it away, she's careful with who she gives it to and you're sure nobody loves someone like Willow and Wren love each other. For that, Alex doesn't have to worry. He knows Willow and Wren will always look out for each other.

You kiss Willow's cheek and slide her carefully next to Wren. The bed is just big enough to fit you all but you have to hold steady to not tip off the bed. The girls are comfortable though and that's all that matters.

"We should sleep in here all the time," Willow says.

You and Alex both laugh quietly at your little girl. "Maybe," Alex says.

"Pep should be here too."

So, Alex goes and gets Pepper.

*

a/n: i hope the names are fine. i just tried to pick two twin-sounding names. whatever that means.

[quadrantadvisor]

DPxDC Danny/Jason Soulmates AU WIP

-

Jason's timer read 044389:21:08, when the display suddenly went dark. 44,389 hours. Five years, 24 days, 13 hours, 21 minutes, and 8 seconds until he was fated to meet his soulmate.

Or not. Because the time stopped.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He did his research, and with the resources at his disposal (namely, a batcomputer,) he knew for a fact that there should be no way to defy the fate of a timer. People had tried. Avoidance, isolation, putting a hit out on your own suspected soulmate. Nothing worked. Trying to delay the inevitable put you on the path to meet it. Sure, there were people who lamented the unfairness of their own situation, who were devastated they never got time with their soulmate, famous deaths on opposite sides of a battle, etc. But soulmates always, always met eachother, face to face.

Not him, though. His soulmate was dead. Five years early.

Bruce didn’t get it. Dick wouldn’t talk about it. Alfred only looked at him with pity in his eyes.

Jason wasn’t sad that he was the only person on the planet who’d never meet his soulmate. He was fucking angry, because it wasn’t fucking fair. It was another person in his life who was supposed to care about him that he’d never get to have.

So when he found out he had a mom, somewhere out there, who he’d never had the chance to meet… he had to go. How could he not?

-

It was Sam who noticed, when it happened. Danny had just finished a stupid fight with Boxy, and he, Sam, and Tucker were finally ready to call it a night. Danny de-transformed and grinned, shaking the thermos proudly. “Gonna get these guys back into the Ghost Zone,” he said, when suddenly-

“Danny!” Sam yelped, and snatched at his arm.

Danny stumbled, nearly dropping his precious cargo. “Whoa, Sam, what-?’ he stopped, looking as she turned over his arm, baring his wrist.

His timer was dark, like people who’s soulmates were dead. The numbers still showed, faintly, but they were stationary. The countdown had stopped.

Ice spread through Danny’s veins, like the cold that rushed through him when he went ghost, but worse, so much worse.

Danny’s ghost form didn’t have a timer, which honestly freaked him out, but as a human it had always behaved completely normally. When he turned back, it would be there, the time having elapsed just the way it was supposed to. It had been so reassuring. He was alive. He’d make it at least five more years, and be able to meet his soulmate, who would hopefully be able to accept him the way he was. He wanted that so badly. He wanted someone beyond his friends to talk to, to know him as a person and a ghost. He wanted to not be afraid anymore.

He’d just passed the five year mark, not that long ago. He’d been so excited to be that much closer to someone so important.

And now something was horribly wrong.

“Dude, that’s jacked up,” Tucker said, noticing the problem with wide eyes.

“Did anything happen today?” Sam asked, her expression hardened with determination. “Did you notice anything weird while you were transformed?”

Danny shook his head. “No, no it- it was running while we were at school, and we’ve been fighting ghosts since then. I don’t know when it would’ve…” Danny could barely make himself speak. “Is it my fault?” he said, almost to himself. “Did I spend too much time as a ghost and it just-”

Sam gripped at his hand. “No, Danny, it isn’t your fault. Whatever the problem is, we’re going to figure it out, okay?”

“Yeah man,” Tucker added, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, maybe your parents can actually help this time? Weird magic science is kinda their thing, right?”

Sam looked less sure, but nodded all the same. “You’re going to meet your soulmate. Okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said, quiet, looking down at the stopped numbers on his wrist.

-

Edit: Added a readmore

[pinejayy]

╰➤ This is Goodbye...

featuring: trafalgar law

summary: law knew the dangers of being in a relationship, but he dread the day when your life was going to be put in danger...and when that day comes around he's shocked..not wanting to hurt you ever again he decideds to put an end to things...

warnings: angst!! established relationship, law is kind distance, blood mentioned , getting stabbed mentioned, law says some mean things in the end, break up..

✦•··········• 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 •··········•✦

Law knew the dangers of being in relationship, he knew the dangers of his life and what it brings to the people around him. But when he saw Bepo carrying you body...he couldn't move...this is his fault. He is supposed to protect you from the dangers of the world but he couldn't...

......

At the moment the Hearts Pirates were in a new island gathering supplies, while Law stayed back on the Polar Tang to finish paperwork, he told them he'll join them once he's done with his work. You tried staying behind with your boyfriend but Law didn't like that idea.

"You know… it's not fair for the others that you’re not bothering helping out." He mumbles, not looking up from his paperwork.

"Aw! Come on Law! I just want to spend time with my boyfriend." You couldn't help but pout at his words. "And I'm sure the Crew won't mind." Walking closer to him, standing next to him. Leaning down to where he was sitting and you began placing small kisses along his neck. "You know we have the ship to ourselves, you know what that means."

Law grumbles and shrugs you off. Basically shooing you away. "Come on Y/N-ya I'm trying to work here." He still didn't bother to look at you, he was too focused on his work.

'Do Pirates even have Paperwork?' You think to yourself. ‘What kind of paperwork does he even do?’

"Right...work." Mumbling and you stood up, your voice sounded defeated. Which made Law sighs and he puts the pen down, and his eyes finally meet yours.

"Come on, you know my duty as a Captain comes first. I love and appreciate you but I can't drop something I'm doing just to please you." He began saying, and he saw the frown and disappointment on your face grow even more. To which he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Please, don't take my words the wrong way."

You look away, trying not to cry. You didn't want to make this worse for him. "I know...but it's been awhile since we've had alone time and us time. I know your duties as a Captain comes first, but I'm your partner. And you need to start acting like it because right now you're doing a terrible job at it." You say, mumbling the last part.

To which Law eyes darken as he stares into your eyes. "Excuse me? I'm doing a terrible job at being a so called boyfriend." And he stood up, his tall frame towering over you. "Would a terrible boyfriend deal with your constant whining and constant annoying clingy attitude." Scoffing at you, and you were about to open your mouth to speak but he quickly beat you to that. "Would a terrible boyfriend give you expensive gifts, a roof over your head, a bed to sleep on and affection?"

"I...no....sorry I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry it just slipped out. It's just been awhile since we've been on a date or something like that..." You began to ramble, your voice cracking slightly. Which made Law sigh heavily and he took a step closer and he grabbed your chin so you could look him in the eye.

"Look.... I can admit I've been distant-"

"Very distant!" You spoke up, cutting him off mid sentence and he tightened the grip on your chin slightly.

"As I was saying, I know I've been distant but if it means that much to you we can go on date later on." He said, and to which your face immediately lit up. "Really!?"

Law couldn't help but melt slightly as he saw your face light up. Letting go of your chin he nodded. "But on one condition. You need to help the crew gather supplies and what not. Now please get going, I still have paperwork to finish." He said and sat back down on his chair and went back to his work.

To which you smile slightly, and you lean in and place a gentle kiss along his check. "If you say so Captain. I'll see you soon." You teased slightly and soon after you walked out of his office which left him alone with his thoughts.

Now the more he thinks about it he has been distant with you. No wonder your needy attitude has been through the roof lately. Sighing to himself, he went back to work. Maybe if he could finish faster he can help the crew out and after that you two could go on a date and get that needed alone time.

......

Law spent the next hour in his office alone, he was about to finish until his office door swung open and he was about to yell at the person that didn't bother to knock but when he looked up he saw Penguin panting and trying to catch his breath. "Captain! Trouble!"

"What!? What happened!" Law yelled out and he stood up and walked over to Penguin.

"While the crew was gathering supplies, Y/N was with Bepo. Both of them were gathering medical supplies and well....uh a group of low life pirates jumped Y/N when Bepo wasn't with them!"

"WHAT! WHERE ARE THEY! HOW BAD IS IT!"

Before Penguin could get a word in Law ran past him, and ran to the deck and there he saw you. Bepo was carrying your unconscious body, you seemed to be covered in blood and bruises.

"I'm sorry Captain! This is all my fault! I didn't mean to leave Y/N alone! But those men came out of nowhere and jumped them!" He began to cry softly, and held your body close. "I'm sorry." The poor bear began to cry even more, Law looked at Bepo.

"Bring her to the infirmary." He said, and with that Bepo quickly nodded and they rushed over to the infirmary and once in the room. Bepo placed you on one of the beds.

Law didn't waste no time to check on you, first he checked on your breathing. Which was a bit slow but other than that normal, then he checked all over your body to see if you had any broken bones and so far nothing. Until his hand brushed against your side and he felt something wet, looking at his hand he saw blood and immediately lifted your shirt and you had a deep cut. Most likely a stab wound.

He didn't waste no time to patch you up. And the more he looked you he felt dread...your beautiful face was brusied up. You were laying here bleeding out.

Why didn't he just go with you in the first place? Why did he have to stay back to finish his work! Why didn't he just allow you to stay in his office! All these negative thoughts were running around his head. But he quickly pushed those thoughts to the side and paid attention to you.

And after what seemed like hell for him, he finally patched you up. He made sure to wrap your side well. He cleaned all the cuts you had around your body.

He just sat besides you, holding your hand. Bepo was there. He didn't want to leave your side. "I'm sorry Captain...this is my fault." And to which Law immediately cut him off before he could say anything more.

"No, it's not your fault. It probably happened so quick. Please don't blame yourself, and take a look at Y/N-ya, they are safe and well.”

Bepo frowns and wipes his tears and nods. "Okay Captain.. please inform me once they wake up please."

Law nodded. "I will. Thank you Bepo." He said and with that Bepo walked out which left Law alone with you. He looked at your body, and frowns. He couldn't help but blame one person for this.

Him...it was all his fault. If only he could be there for you. In your time of need and he wasn't there. He was angry at himself, and angry at the men who did this. Law grumbled and rubs his head. And he stood up and he was pacing around the room.

You could have been killed today! And it would have been his fault..he knew this life was dangerous and he didn't want to drag you close to death. He cares about you too much. Law let out a heavy sigh, his eyes carried a mix of irritation and resignation. He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly conflicted. He needed to keep you safe no matter what...even if that means letting you go.

Yes...he needed to let you go. Right? That's right choice. To keep you safe?

He couldn't help but feel a few tears slip out. He didn't want to let you go but he had to. He didn't want to lose you. And if you were to die because he couldn't protect you he would never forgive himself. As he was lost in his thoughts he heard a small voice.

"Law?"

He quickly snapped out of his thoughts and wiped his tears and turned his head over you. And you tried sitting up but he quickly placed a hand on your shoulder. "Hey.. easy. Please take it easy."

"What happened?" You whimper and lay back down.

"You got jumped. But lucky for you I patched you up. So you just need some rest. Please get some rest." He said and stood up to which you tried to grab his hand but he quickly moved his hand out of the way. No he can't...it's only going to make things harder for him.

"I need to go tell the crew were changing plans. Heading to a new island." He said and stood up and just patted your head. Looking down at you, he can tell you were hurt but he didn't want to make himself weak to you. Not now.

"Please get some rest. You're going to need it." He said and began to walk out. You were calling for his name but he ignored it. Leaving you alone in the infirmary. While he went back to his office and buried himself into more work. And as he was working tears began to pour down and to his work. Making his paperwork wet. He couldn't help but cry to himself. He had to break things off before it's your life.

....

A few days passed by and Law didn't allow you to leave the infirmary. He kept on telling you needed rest but in reality he didn't want you near him. You'll only make things harder once he breaks things off.

But the rest of the crew kept you company. They were all so kind, everyone would bring your favorite snacks and gifts. But Bepo wouldn't want to leave your side. He still felt guilty. Bepo would sometimes even sleep on the floor of the infirmary just to keep you company.

While Bepo got your favorite snacks for the day, he was telling you that you guys landed on a new island. "Captain said we're landing on a new island!" He said with a smile across his face.

"Oh that's nice, I could use some fresh air." You say and there was a soft knock and Law walks in the room. "Hey Law." You say sweetly to him.

He just nods. "Bepo can you give us some time, I need to apply new bandages for Y/N." He said and Bepo nodded. "Sure thing Captain. See you soon Y/N!" He said and walks off.

Once alone Law pulled your shirt up so he could look take a look at your bandages. Sighing to himself, he took the time to apply new bandages on you and cleaned the wound itself as well.

"So. We docked the ship and I'm sure you want some fresh air right."

And you quickly nodded. "Please."

Law just nodded and without saying anything else he grabbed your hand and began to lead you out of the infirmary and towards the deck of the ship. And once you guys were out in the open you couldn't help but breath in. He was still holding your hand, giving it a slight squeeze. He couldn't help but look at your face, your beautiful face. This is the last time he's ever going to stare at those beautiful eyes, smile and your face.

He sighed to himself and helped you off of the Polar Tang. And you look around the Island and your blood went cold.

This was your old home...why would Law bring you back here. You hated this place…it brings up too many painful memories..

Letting go of your hand, you guys didn't move to far from the submarine. "You're going to stay here."

"What? No...I don't want to. Law what are you saying." You began to panic slightly.

He didn't answer your question and suddenly there was a blue bubble around you guys. "Room.... shambles." He mumbles and suddenly your bags and all your belongings were behind you. And you began to panic even more and tried to take a step closer.

"Keep your distance Y/N.." He growls out which made you stop in your tracks.

Tears began to stream down your face. "Law...what are you doing."

"Being in this relationship was a mistake, this whole thing was a mistake. You're no longer needed. I already got my use out you." He began to say, but deep down he hated himself for saying this, he hated watching your face react to his harsh words. The way you were crying. "So please do something useful for once and get out of my sight and leave."

"Law...honey.." Your voice cracked and you cried even more. Once he heard your voice cracked it took all his will power not to hold you. But he stood his ground. He wanted you to hate him. It'll make this easier for him and this break up.

"Are you stuipd!? I said you're no longer needed! I already got my use out of you!" He snaps out, which made you back away from him. "Good you're finally understanding. Look I'm a pirate. And all Pirates are greedy."

"But ..I thought we had something..." You continue to cry.

He scoffs. "Oh please did you think you were the one? My true love? You thought I was gonna settle down with you?"

You couldn't even form a sentence, you always thought Law was the one for you...and he sighed and turned around. "This is goodbye.." And with that he began to make his way back to the Polar Tang not even sparing you a final glance.

You stood there, watching the love of your life walk into his ship and slowly the submarine began to emerge underwater and slowly the Polar Tang began to disappear from your vision. And once it was gone you drop to your knees and began to cry your heart out.

"Law....please come back..."

Crying to yourself and you crawl towards the water, wanting to throw yourself in the deep ocean, to follow Law but you couldn’t.

“Law….LAW! PLEASE COME BACK!” You began to cry out….but nothing.

You were left alone…the love of your life just broke your heart and you didn’t know what to do..

[uchispeach]

Sycamore Tree (Ch. 2)

Pairing: Dark! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Mention of violence & guns, implied stalking, non consensual touching, obsessive behavior, manipulative! Rafe…

This fic will contain dark content: such as dub-con/ non-con and violence. You have been warned.

12 missed calls. 10 from Jennifer and 2 from an unknown number. That’s what you’ve woken up to.

You sighed while rubbing your face. You were about to get up, leaving the comfort of your silky sheets just as your phone rang. “Hi” You spoke softly. “Thank God you answered!” A high pitched voice received your ears with no previous warning.

“I’m sorry Jen, I just checked my pho-” The dark haired girl was quick to interrupt you, adrenaline bubbling through her veins: “Did they arrest JJ?” The question took you by surprise “Why would they?” A frown decorated your face.

“Because he tried to shoot Topper?” Your upper body lifted itself from the pillows. “Wait- he fired the gun?” You made the move to get out of your bed, coldness hitting the soles of your feet. “Girl, yes he did! It was a miracle he didn’t hit him” Just like an automatic response, you paced back and forth, each step bringing you more and more anxiety.

“Is Topper pressing charges?” Your fingers grew white while you held the mobile with excessive force. “That’s what Kelce told me.” That last sentence made you stop in your tracks, frozen in the same spot.

Hundreds of scenarios traveled your brain, the last worse than the previous. “Y/N!” You flinched, remembering you were in the middle of a conversation. “Jen, I have to talk to Kiara. I’ll call you later.” The words were honeyed, almost like a plea. Even in the worst circumstances, you still worried about sounding rude.

“Alright, I just wanted to know you were safe… Even Rafe was concerned” The mention of the older blond made you tune back a little. “Rafe Cameron?” You couldn’t help the surprise on your tone. “Yes! He even asked for your number.”

(…)

“There’s no way on Earth we are letting you visit that boy!” Your mom didn’t hesitate in raising her voice, all in hopes of reaching your sister’s common sense.

“I already told you, we weren’t even on the same side of the island when it happened!” Kiara was relentless, stubborn with the idea of checking on her friends after yesterday’s rough night.

A lie or two had been told to your parents, something about assisting a small Kook reunion and religiously staying away from any messy party.

“I don’t care about that, you are not leaving this house on your own!” She waved her hands in annoyance. Desperation leaking through her words. “Then-” Your sister was cut short: “And you are not getting your phone back!”

Kiara took some steps back, rage exuding from her body as she stomped her way to her bedroom.

Flushed and tense, your mother made the move to follow behind. Starting with big strides and frustrated huffs.

You didn’t hesitate to step in as soon as she reached the white door. “Mom, I’ll talk to her…Don't stress about it” You basically begged, putting your palms on her tense shoulders as a comforting gesture.

The older woman just sighed, lifting her arms in defeat before turning around.

You waited a few minutes before turning the handle. Your sweaty hands held the metal piece with unnecessary force. Sobs were the first thing you heard, coming from the wobbling mouth of the brunette.

Step by step, you got closer to her sitting body. Your pace was hesitant, still, you made it to the bed. You felt the mattress weighing down as you positioned yourself by her side.

In a natural response, your soft arms wrapped around her. Skin to the raspy fabric of her blouse. “This is all Sarah’s fault” You backed up a little at the sound of her voice, afraid of possible harsh words being spat your way.

Surprised at the blond’s mention, you pulled her right back in, caressing her back with your warm palm. “What do you mean?” Your voice was quiet like a whisper. “Topper caught her and John B…” She raised her head, to look straight at you.

“…getting cozy.” She let out a bitter snicker while a sour look invaded her features. “And just like that, John B was being drowned by that pretentious Kook…We just saw how his life was slipping away. All for a stupid girl.” You struggled to swallow, a big knot already forming in your throat.

“Y/N” She squeezed your hand while her eyes pleaded at you. “JJ was just trying to save him.” A dreadful feeling leaked into your heart, ignoring it, you wholeheartedly said: “Everything’s going to be okay” You rubbed Kiara’s back as the optimistic words left your lips.

And as her teary face buried in your chest, you couldn’t help but think the worst.

(…)

“Please tell me you’re safe” You breathed frantically on the phone’s speaker. “We are for now…No idea what will go down after the police are involved.” You shrugged, Pope’s voice echoing in your ears.

You recognized the fear behind his words. A situation like this was putting his future at risk. “I’m sure they’ll understand JJ’s reasoning…At the end, nobody was hurt!” You voiced out at a rushed pace.

Silence was your answer for some excruciating seconds. “Is Kiara available?” It was clear he preferred to ignore your intended reassurance. “Is not that I don’t want to speak with you…I actually feel a bit better after hearing your voice.” It was almost like he read your mind, just as a childhood friend would do.

“…It’s just-JJ is going crazy without the capability to contact her.” You understood, quietly sneaking out of your room and into the hallway. “I get it. I’ll get her on the phone…Just wait” You focused on avoiding any encounter with your parents.

“Oh and Y/N” His tone was quieter than usual, almost as if it carried some shame to it. “I want you to know I tried my best to de-escalate things…they just got too ugly.” A frown appeared on your brows as you spoke in reassurance: “I know Pope. You have absolutely no blame in this!” You were as loud as you could, showing your honesty.

“Now, don’t beat yourself up. We’ll find a way to sort this out!”

(…)

“Your phone rang like crazy” Your sister handed you the device. With your hands full of unoccupied bags you stared confusedly at her. “Who was it?” Your legs made their way to the porch.

“A random number…I didn’t answer though” She shrugged her shoulders while realization made your nervousness spike. “Oh, probably just spam.” And as hard as you tried to find a hint of suspicion on the brunette’s posture, she simply looked defeated.

“Hey! When I get back I’ll make you something nice for dinner” Your hand caressed her tanned shoulder as a last sign of support.

On your way to the gate, you couldn’t help but stare at the growing number of missed calls. Still, you decided to ignore them and continue your walk to the store.

(…)

The bags felt heavier under the burning afternoon sun, but the summer breeze made the situation a bit better.

Having your sundress lifted up softly by a wave of air made you walk faster to the safety of your home. Too distracted by the possibility of your full bags breaking and making a big mess, you didn’t notice yourself walking straight onto a hard surface.

Your chest crashed onto what you recognized to be another person's torso. A loud gasp was all you could mutter while apologetically staring into the “stranger’s” eyes.

“Rafe” Your voice sounded almost like a squeak of a caught mouse. The Cameron boy stood proudly in front of you, reverse cap, characteristic polo shirt and navy shorts on. He wasn’t late to comment on your clumsy act: “You should really watch we’re you’re going, Y/N.” And as those words left his pink lips, a small smirk started decorating his face.

In contrast, your features morphed into an embarrassed look. “I am so sorry” You emphasized the ‘so’ with clear remorse, as to which the blond only smiled wider. “No worries! I’ve always known you can be a little distracted.” That made you relax a little.

“Let me help you with that.” He expressed while already having ripped off the bags from your smaller hands. “Don’t bother-” he didn’t let you finish. “You know…” His factions grew serious. “…I’ve been trying to contact you.”

Your palms unconsciously got sweaty as you saw him lightly tilting his head to the side, and you noticed how his tall figure blocked the light from the sky, making him look a tad more imposing.

“Oh! How?” You smiled, taking the easy route. “You should really answer the phone.” It was an order, not an advice. “I…” Suddenly, you couldn’t find your communication skills anywhere.

“I was concerned about you.” He took a step closer, making you feel like there was not enough oxygen for both of you (even though you were outside).

“Well” You gulped heavily, before taking a deep, silent breath. “I am not the one who is in trouble.” You couldn’t be anything but truthful, and against all odds, you felt a strong trust for the Cameron boy.

“My house is a crazy place right now, and Kiara is the one suffering the most” You just continued to spill in the almost empty parking lot. “I imagine, why don’t you let me drive you home?” Again, the question stayed as a formality as he got your groceries on the back of his truck.

“Just if you want to.” That made him turn to face you, a wolfish grin showing a hint of his pearly white teeth. “Of course I want to, I’ll be damned if I don't.” You didn’t know if it was his words or the heat of the sunny day, but you felt the warmth reaching your cheeks.

And your flustered state only grew deeper as he put his big hand on your lower back, helping you enter his luxurious vehicle.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as his arm rubbed against your chest and abdomen; only brought back by the ‘click’ sound of the seat belt.

“Safety first” His tongue had a charming tone while still having his upper extremities resting on your skin. You only nodded in agreement, too enticed by his proximity; and when he pulled back, you couldn’t help but feel a bit conflicted.

The blond got on the driver’s seat, confidently turning on the truck and maneuvering the steering wheel with his long fingers. “So, how have you been holding up?” Genuine interest lingered in his question. “I’m…scared. I don’t want my friends going to jail.” You stopped, taking in some fresh air “I know bad decisions were taken, but still…”

“I don’t think you should be around that type of people…” You frowned, and he continued “…volatile people, who put everyone around them at risk. You deserve better than all the stress that comes with it.” You saw him pull his eyes away from the street just to stare deeply at you.

You didn’t know what it was, if his intense gaze, the lack of sleep or a wave of sensitivity thrown your way by the universe; but tears started forming on your eyes and your lip started wobbling, making the young man look at you with sympathy written all over his face. “See? Pogues bring nothing but problems” His hand reached out to pull back a strand of hair that was blocking your face.

“I know…I know they weren’t exactly right for acting that way but-but” You stumbled upon your words, a small sob interrupting your sentence. Rafe’s attention was back on the road but he still looked at you through the corner of his eyes.

“It’s alright…” The palm on your upper thigh took you by surprise; he caressed it confidently, making the hem of your skirt rise a little. “…Maybe we could find a way to…fix things.”

You blinked in uncertainty. “But how?” Even with his head facing upfront, you could still see the playful look on his face. “I know Topper can get a tad too emotional…he just needs a little guiding here and there.” The more he spoke, the more you understood what he meant.

“Would you do that for me?” Your eyes sparkled in hope, hope that kept you from unnerving as his hand traveled further up your leg. “I mean, that’s what friends are for, right?”

“Thank you” Your voice sounded almost like a whisper, produced by the slight dizziness forming on your brain.

“I’m not gonna lie, Y/N. I don’t understand why you’re so attached to them.” The sudden exasperation in his voice was subtle but not unnoticeable. His anger was accompanied by a harsh squeeze to your flesh.

The feeling of his fingertips burying into your skin made you breathe heavier.

The truck stopped without a warning, making you jump slightly. “Here we are!” He let go of you with a pat, cheerfully speaking.

“Thanks!” Was all you managed to let out. Your fingers made the move to open the door but you were stopped by his strong arms.

His warm breath hit your lips, and you stayed still as he undid the belt. “See you around?” He asked with a smile on his face.

“Sure!” You were quick to reply. Before jumping out of the vehicle and onto your front yard, you spoke: “And Rafe, thank you so much for offering your…help.”

“Of course” He nodded charmingly. You made your way inside the house, too shocked with the interaction to think about how he drove you home without the need of giving him the address.

A/N: I had salmonella, I got hospitalized for a few days, then, I was forced to stay at an internet-less town for a month; anyways, I hope I’ll be able to post next chapter in a few days 💕

[delusion-mostly]

Regina George x Reader

Part 2/32

Warnings: suggestive flirting, reader gets injured, lots of cussing, mention of pain medication

Word count: approx. 1,805

The next day you see Regina at her lunch table. Even after last year she still sits with Cady, Karen, and Gretchen. She waves you over.

"What the fuck did I say about talking to me George? Especially after last nights words I REALLY am not interested in speaking with you." You whisper-yell at her.

"You didn't add me to that stupid group, I have no clue when things happen. Missed that detail didn't you sweetie." She gives you a condescending smile.

"Hm, call me sweetie one more damn time and your ass will be facedown in the ice. Got it George? When it comes to my sport you respect me or get the fuck out," you send a link to the group chat to her as you rant, and finally look up at her, "you know I was willing to be nice, and potentially be acquaintances this season, but after what you said? I was trying to help you and you had to be a bitch. Same old Regina."

You walk to your table with your teammates, Kendall and Mac, and slam your tray down. You don't know why, well, you do; but Regina filled you with a red hot hate. Worse than any other person you have ever met. Worse than the girls who took your state championship away from you, worse than your exes, worse than your bullies. Regina made you burn with anger, but damn did she look good with that condescending smile on her face.

She walks by your table, picking you up by the arm and drags you with her as she walks out of the room. You don't want to make a scene, so you don't fight it and instead walk next to her; besides, Regina on your arm made girls look at you. She pulls you into the nearest empty classroom and you yank yourself out of her arm.

"What the actual fuck." You swipe your letterman down.

"Y/N. I'm sorry. Okay? I lashed out. My back hurt, it was raining, I didn't like the way you treated me at practice. I have a lot on my plate. i didn't mean to yell at you," she sighs, you aren't convinced, "You were trying to be nice, I understand. I shouldn't have gotten so angry. I really am sorry."

"Oh it's never your fault, is it? The burn book was Cady's. Total bullshit by the way," you put your hands in the warm pockets of your wool letterman and pace, "and you lashing out was all your stress, and your pain, and I guess me?" You sarcastically laugh and throw your hands up, dragging the sides of your jacket up with you.

"Oh my god. No. I admit it. The burn book? Me. Me lashing out? Well, I should have kept that inside. I really didn't mean to. And I know why you were so mean, it's because I was mean first."

"Right on the money, Miss George. Now tell me, did we learn how to properly apologize in elementary school? Or do I need to teach you how to lace up skates AND apologize."

You sit on the teacher's desk, it squeaks under your weight. Regina turns bright red and looks like shes about to cry, she tilts her head down and fidgets with her sleeve. A tear streaks down her face, mascara rolling with it, and she swipes at it with her blue sleeve, leaving the spot a muddy blackish grey.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. For practically calling you a slut, saying you couldn't score points, AND for lashing out. I don't actually have that big of a problem with your sexuality." She gets out.

"Thank you. And I figured you didn't, it's just the first thing you notice to pick on me about. I'm not ready to accept your apology yet, or talk to you. But maybe, just maybe, we can learn to get along," the bell rings and you open the door to leave, "peace out George."

———

That night at practice Regina walks in almost the same time as you. You try to be civil by holding the door open, and she gives you a small smile as she walks through. You still hate her, but she has a nice smile. You walk down the steps leading into the locker room. You quickly change into your practice jersey, pants, and skates after putting on your gear, and you head on to the ice.

"Listen up ladies. We still have 2 months until our first game, but I am putting us on this ice early. Short practices for now, but it gives us more time to enhance our skills since we are playing the fall and spring season," you spoke, and the girls cheered, "so like yesterday, drills until 4:30 then everyone can go. Everyone knows Regina, she's our new manager. Leave your messes for her." You joke, and everyone starts skating laps.

For an hour you trade off teammates. 2/3 of the team will use half of the arena to skate down and backs, the left over 1/3 practices making shots while swapping out goalies. The clock lets out a loud buzz as it did last time, and everyone shoots their final shot and exits to the locker room, except you. You stay and keep skating around the pucks.

Regina laces her skates up and grabs the net that the pucks go in, then skates around the ice with the goal, collecting them all and stuffing them in. She leaves 5 pucks for you to keep shooting with. The click of the puck against the ice and walls as it bounces into the net made your brain happy, especially as Regina left you alone to go put away the others.

Regina suddenly hears a loud scream as she sets the puck bag into its spot and quickly hurries onto the ice to see you gripping your ankle tightly with your helmet thrown on the ground.

"Damnit I slid." You shout, ripping off your gloves and throwing them.

"What happened!?" Regina kneels beside you, concern laced in her voice.

"I was grabbing the net to collect the pucks, one wrong move and my skate got caught in the..." you started to yell, "damn net!"

"Where are your keys." Regina asked seriously.

"What do you mean 'where are my keys'? In my bag, why do you need my keys?" She begins to walk to the locker room, "Regina George, I may not like you but you better not leave me here!"

She rushes back up the steps, keys in hand, "I'm pulling your car up. You can't walk on this, let alone drive." And she exits

You set your head back on the ice, pain shooting through your leg. Maybe she really felt bad for what she had said, maybe this was her way of truly apologizing? Or had she actually changed and wanted to be helpful.

She rushes back in and helps you up to pull you off of the ice, you limp while putting most of your weight onto the blonde girl beside you. She puts you on a bench in the locker room, unlacing your skates and setting them in your locker. She reaches to pull down your pants.

"Woah! George this isn't what I thought you meant when you said you didn't have a big deal with my sexuality! Not the time!" You stop her.

"Don't flatter yourself captain. This is to get you into something more comfortable, and so you can fit in your own car. I don't have to but it would sure be easier." She looks at you sternly as you begrudgingly nod.

She pulls off the gaurds you have over your shins and then starts pulling off your pants, you look away and try to help as the awkwardness is unbearable. She opens up your locker and pulls out the grey sweats you had tucked away. She does the same with your jersey and a black tank top you had.

"I very easily could have gotten the jersey myself, George. Someone being nice today?" You playfully punch her arm.

"Don't be weird Y/N. Now get up. I'm taking you home." She helps lift you and wraps your arm around her, assisting you to your car.

She puts you in, gets in on the drivers side, and buckles herself, "where am I going, captain?"

"Where did that name come from?"

"Being captain of the hockey team is like, your one personality trait outside of being a massive player, Y/N." She chuckles.

You direct her to your house, which is nearly 20 minutes from the school. Aside from you telling her where to turn and the occasional groan in pain, the ride is rather quiet. It is incredibly awkward.

She pulls in to your driveway and helps you out, getting you to your front door and knocking. Your mom steps out, concerned, looking down at you holding your foot off of the ground.

"Y/N Y/L/N not again! Goodness. And you make this poor girl drive you home? Come in sweethearts come in!" She opens up the door and Regina guides you as you limp in, setting you on the couch and sitting beside you.

"This one is such a clutz. She did the exact same thing last year you know. Let me guess, skate in a net? We are still getting the prescription from that one! Oh goodness where are my manners," your mom holds out her hand to Regina, "I’m Patricia, but you can call me Pat. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Oh no ma'am I have to start my walk home, thank you though!" Regina awkwardly declines.

"Oh nonsense! Y/N can't drive right now and I have to pick up her pain medication so why don't you just stay the night! It has been so long since she has had any friends over aside from Kendall." Your mom continues. You hope she shuts up.

"You know, Pat, that sounds wonderful," Regina smiles and looks over at you, her look growing more spiteful, "I will call my mother right now, you have a very safe drive to the pharmacy and I truly thank you for opening your home!" She gets up to call her mom.

Your mom kisses you on the forehead and exits into the garage. You hear the mechanical whir open, then shut. The couch dips beside you.

"Now you have to listen," Regina looks at you, "Can we please talk about my apology?"

You certainly did not want to accept the apology, but you couldn't run away from it now.

Well. Shit.

[python333]

what's a noise to an eardrum? — python³

― ― ― ―

synopsis you've been on a mission for a while, and instead of going back to your quarters after coming back, you head to ghost's.

relationships platonic!ghost & gn!reader.

characters simon "ghost" riley.

word count 2.2k

warnings ghost's pov, 2nd person pov [you/your/yourself], sleep deprivation, bad cliches, bad writing, might be ooc

note hey gang!!! i think i got all the warnings since this is pretty lighthearted considering what i usually post, so enjoy :) lmk your thoughts!

Ghost was sitting at his desk―in his own sleeping quarters, since it’s technically past curfew and he doesn’t need any trouble from recruits about him being in his office after hours, the annoying little shits―typing away at his computer, trying to get a report on his latest assignment done before going to bed.

He’s had a little bit of trouble sleeping lately. Not to say that it’s your fault, but it’s definitely your fault. He doesn’t necessarily need you around to go to sleep, but since you volunteered for a mission a week ago, he’s been a little on edge. Originally, it would’ve been Soap and a few other sergeants heading out to a small town in some country down in Central America, but you took the place of Soap after Price had explained the mission. 

It could technically be done by one person, he’d said in short, but it’s quicker to send out a squadron than a single soldier.

You weren’t the best sniper they had, but you had enough experience with it for Price to approve of you going with one other person to keep watch of you. The long duration of the mission was really to be blamed on how often your target had been moving, leaving you with little room to take any shots. It wasn’t too important of a mission, however―as long as you didn’t miss your target in the end―so Ghost is sure Price is glad that he only had to send out one soldier instead of around six or seven.

Still, despite how there was little to no chance of you coming out of this mission in multiple pieces, Ghost found himself worried; something he, admittedly, feels for a lot of the soldiers here. His worry for you is different, though. Maybe it’s an age thing. Maybe it has something to do with how he’s seen you grow over the years that you’ve been here, and how close you’ve gotten to going from a Private to a Lance Corporal. It’s a relatively low rank for someone in the 141, which only makes him―dare he admit it―prouder. A weird feeling lingers in his mind when the word proud comes to mind as he thinks of you, but he ignores that feeling, instead opting to focus on the report he so desperately wanted to finish.

Despite his usual sleep aversion, he finds himself wanting to sleep for once.

Just as he gets to the middle of his report, he hears a knock at the door. Before Ghost can even say anything, he hears the door open, and his head whips around to see who would decide that it’s a good idea to enter his room without his permission. Though, all of his confusion and building anger dissipates the moment he sees that it’s you. Fresh from medical, he can safely assume, seeing the various bandages and bruises on you, and that odd too-clean smell that’s sticking to you. You look so exhausted, it’s almost funny. Almost. 

You close the door behind you and Ghost turns his head back to his laptop. It’s not that he doesn’t want to look at you, but it’s a little harder to when you look so disheveled. He hears a few footsteps, then the squeaking of bed springs, and a sigh before the rustling of bed sheets. In the faint reflection of his computer screen, Ghost can just barely see you getting comfortable under the covers of his bed, seeming to fully disregard his presence. He doesn’t mind, though. He gets it; that feeling after being on guard for so long, not sure how much of it you can let down even though you’re back on base, and that strange structureless feeling where you wish you had bones but only feel like flesh. 

It’s odd, put simply. When Ghost thinks of the feeling, he thinks of the age-old question, if a tree falls in a forest and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound? The feeling is like a constant questioning of what you’re experiencing, the wonderance of whether or not you can feel safe if the safest you’ve ever felt is a feeling lost somewhere beyond you. If you lose a feeling, was it ever felt? If you lost safety, were you ever safe, or, as Maslow would put it, were you always missing that basic need? Ghost knows plenty about missing safety. He knows that his mind blanks when he tries to think about the last time he felt safe before the 141. 

He knows that you know plenty about missing safety, too. Not a lot, because you never say enough to clue him in on just how much you’re missing, but he has his suspicions. Some are confirmed, others mere theories, but still―he knows you well enough. That’s why you’re in his room, not saying a word, just breathing heavily into his pillow and trying to garner warmth from his blanket. He can see you staring at him from the bed. He’s sure you want him to say something, and because it’s you that’s looking at him, he does.

“Back already?” Ghost asks dryly, drawing a small huff out of you. 

“Soap said y’missed me,” you reply, making Ghost scoff, “when he visited me in the infirmary.” 

“Too big of a mouth on ‘im,” Ghost saves the draft of his report, deciding to just save writing it for another time, instead closing out of the program and hovering his finger over the power button on his keyboard, “don’t know how y’managed to understand him.” 

You hum and sit up in Ghost’s bed, the blankets rustling again, and as Ghost’s screen goes black, he turns around to see you sitting up with the blankets wrapped around you like a jacket. He blinks at you, before raising an eyebrow at your position.

“Ruinin’ my blankets?” he asks, though sounding barely offended, “After walking in unannounced besides that little knock?”

“Ruin’s a pretty strong word,” you argue, “and it wasn’t a little knock. It was loud. Practically echoed off the walls.”

Ghost can sense your sarcasm from a mile away, but continues to play along, leaning back in his chair. You look a little more tired covered in blankets, he thinks, those dark circles under your eyes are a little more pronounced. He sees them a lot. Those darkened semi-circles that he used to think were just a part of you, some kind of skin condition, but later realized they were a product of your sleep deprivation. It would’ve been his first thought had he not always seen you with the bags under your eyes, but after going on leave with you―a few months ago, back to his small house, after you had admitted that you preferred staying with him to going back to your dingy apartment―and witnessing you getting proper rest, seeing those circles get a little lighter, he knew that it was more of a sleep issue. 

He’s gone through his fair share of sleeping problems. He still goes through them; everyone in the military does, he’s sure. Ghost used to think that he took the brunt of it, compared to the rest of the task force, not because of the missions but because of what came before the missions. He’s changed his way of thinking since then, has opened up his mind a little more beyond the idea of suffering more than someone else in a specific sense, but he still had that feeling that he took on the majority of nightmares. The word “nightmare” feels a little juvenile for him, but until someone creates a better word for the repulsive things he sees after closing his eyes and just barely drifting asleep, that’s what he’s stuck with. 

“You better hope y’didn’t wake anyone up with it, then,” Ghost hums, “I doubt anyone wants to be awake right now.” 

He sees a small smile grow on your face and small spots of blood arise from beneath the cracked skin of your lips. 

“Everyone here sleeps like a rock as far as I know,” you reply, before pausing, considering, “maybe except for the guys who came in a few weeks ago.”

“I’m sure they’ll be gone by next month,” Ghost tells you, his tone almost reassuring, “I don’t think they can handle any of… this.” 

“You don’t think they can handle your bullying?” you scoff, making Ghost huff out a small laugh, “Weak.” 

“Not everyone’s as strong as you, unfortunately,” Ghost hums sarcastically, getting up from his chair and walking the short distance over to his bed where you’re sitting. Automatically, you move so that Ghost can sit down next to you.

You’re both silent for a little bit. Ghost can see the few healing bruises on your face a little clearer here. Small dark yellows and reds on the sharper points of your face, the parts where the bone is a little closer to the skin, particularly your cheeks and a few over your jawline and near your chin. They’re a bad look on you, not because Ghost doesn’t think you can handle yourself, but because he knows that you can handle yourself, so the only way you could’ve gotten those bruises is if you were forced into a corner. He would consider that they were an accident, somehow self-inflicted, but he knows better than that. 

“Are you tired?” Ghost asks, even though he knows the answer.

“I haven’t slept in a few days.” There it is.

“And for the few days that you did sleep?” He thinks he knows the answer to this too.

“I don’t know if you can really call it that.” Bingo.

It’s not surprising to him. Not only has he been on enough missions with you to know how hard it is for you to sleep outside of the base, but he’s managed to get you to actually tell him about your sleeping struggles. He knows. He watches you subtly kick off your boots, letting them fall over onto their sides, as if you could read his mind and know what he’s going to request next.

“Lay down,” Ghost puts a bare hand on your clothed shoulder and lightly pushes at it, prompting you to lean back onto your side, settling into the bed with the blankets still wrapped around you.

Ghost doesn’t mind the lack of blankets he’s getting. As long as you’re the one hogging them, he finds it easier to go without them, strangely enough. He lays down onto the bed next to you, his head naturally above yours, and neither of you bother to change positions. He doesn’t attempt to pull the blankets from you, and you don’t try to move away from him, the both of you simply existing together in one small space with nothing interrupting you two. A thin layer of air, similar to the blanket covering you, seems to cover the both of you, not trapping you together but instead comforting the both of you. The air feels woven from Ghost’s thoughts, yarn strewn from his cerebral cortex, emotions run through an invisible loom to create the beautiful quilt that covers the both of you. 

Ghost’s hand comes up to thumb at the edge of his balaclava, and he pulls it up the tiniest bit, but then pauses to think.

He knows that if you just turn your head up the tiniest bit, you’ll see his face. The blonde stubble peeking out from under his skin, the small dent forming in the middle of his nose from the constant wearing of his balaclava, and possibly the most embarrassing of all, that small smile he wears that pulls at his already cracking lips that draws blood on occasion. Despite all of this, he pulls his face covering all the way off, and tosses it onto his desk. Your face doesn’t move an inch despite how obvious it is that some kind of fabric has hit the desk. 

He considers saying thank you, but Ghost doesn’t deem it necessary. You’re so close to sleeping that he doesn’t want to risk ruining your chances by talking to you. So, instead, he just brings his arm over your side and lets his hand reach up into the nape of your neck to toy with the small hairs tapering off there. They’re short enough that he’s essentially just brushing his fingers against the skin of your neck, but he assumes you don’t mind, considering how you continue to not move. You stay still peacefully, soft breaths leaving you as your body starts to actually relax.

So you weren’t lying about your lack of sleep, he thinks, his own eyes slowly closing, not that I thought you were, anyway.

Your breathing creates the perfect white noise to him. The vibrations emitting from your larynx that escape your mouth reach his ear canals, where they bounce off of his eardrums, and move down from his middle ears to his inner ears where the nerve endings that live there turn the vibrations into electrical impulses and are translated by his brain into actual sound. The translation sounds like more than just a simple sound, though; it’s like your breathing is translated into actual words rather than breathing, words like safe and guarded. Those small vibrations bounce around in his ears and turn into syllables, then eventually whispers, then firm speech. 

Those words are like music to his ears, as cliché as it is, and he cherishes every word he hears―more than he’ll ever let you know.

[wexhappyxfew]

in this light

(a/n): AHHHH HI, HELLO, AND SURPRISE!!!!! me managing to get a piece of writing out during the WEEK?!?!!? during the SCHOOL? WEEK? who am i. i don't know. but here we are. and i promise.....to my annie x brady girlies....PLEASE ENJOY. this has been a long time coming and something i've been carving and building out for months at this point. and i am so incredibly proud to have gotten to this point. so please, truly, enjoy! <333333

Annie Bradshaw was convinced that the greatest emotion a Bradshaw was capable of both withholding and expressing was guilt.

Guilt for a life that would never be lived.

Guilt for leaving the one you had put your roots down on across an ocean.

Guilt for the people who would never see that same person they saw shutting the door that day she had left.

The guilt she felt now, her family's letter curled into a ball in her pocket as she stared up at the moon shining through the sliver of window glass at the top of the bunkhouse doors.

Guilt made her feel that she had left her family behind for the sheer fact that she thought she could do something better in this world than harvest crops and take care of the chickens and the eggs they laid.

Guilt made her feel that flying in a plane that no longer had its original commanding pilot was something that was nearly scornful - something to regret.

Guilt made her feel that everything that had led up to now was her fault - the reason they were all trapped here, stuck here, frozen in time - even if it weren't.

To feel too much hurt.

"Psst." Annie craned her head over her shoulder and found a darkened figured approaching out of the darkness of the dimly lit hallway of the bunkhouse, "That you, Annie?"

Leave it to John Brady to find her in the midst of the night, even if it meant crawling out of the warmth of his bunk to try and seek her out. There was nothing more in this world that was beyond the presence of John Brady in her life. Despite the lives they now lived day to day in this camp, he had made it infinitely more tolerable in every way imaginable.

"It's me." Annie said quietly, watching the moonlight slowly pour upon his face and his beautiful eyes that settled onto her once he had stepped into the brighter light.

The smile on his face was enough for her to offer a small one back and it was only a matter of a second before he was evaluating her there. He always seemed to know right from wrong and in that instance, that something was bothering her.

"You okay?" he asked her, stepping forward and almost instantaneously wrapping an arm around her shoulder, "You looked….distracted earlier. I hope you don't mind that I followed you out here." Annie smiled slightly and bashfully glanced up at him, his warm arm around her shoulders hugging her into his comfortable side, stabilizing her there against his large form, his hand slowly rubbing up and down the length of her arm.

A person in her life had never been so stable, so firm, so present - so willing to be there even if the worst of circumstances.

Even with where they were now.

John Brady had been the ever-present person he was - the constant.

"Not if it's you." Annie said quietly with a nod and she watched his smile grow fonder, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a soft way that would be indescribable by morning.

In the moment, she could see it all now, but when she would wake, she'd be watching him from across the room, fighting to remember the feel of his arm around her, his eyes on her. It wasn't until moments where they were side by side did she truly let her heart feel the way it did about him - he let her lead, he let her stand on her own, be the command pilot she was and still is.

But he would hold her in the middle of the night, kissing her forehead, letting her nestle away into the crook of the warmth of his neck, praying to disappear into the presence that was himself.

He'd whisper the sweetest remarks, the softest words that made her smile and laugh. He was more than just a friend, but in anyway possible, she didn't know how to get past that feeling - of knowing there was more, but that death was always a willing option to follow. Annie wanted to protect every bit there was of the John Brady that was stood beside her right now in anyway she could.

Whenever she loved too much, she always fell to that - how could she protect a person so lovely from who she really was?

How could she protect them from the world?

But Annie knew it was fruitless. The world would march on around them, she'd peel back her layers and show who she was - and the world would still spin. How would she make it stop for those few seconds to truly show who she was to him? What he meant to her?

"I see your back at it with the moon, huh?" he asked her quietly, his grip around her shoulders tightening a bit and she leaned into his side more, cheek pressed up against the colder, outer exterior of his coat, molding herself into the side of him. Her eyes drew themselves to the moon again.

"Yeah." she said quietly, "First clear night in weeks. Figured I would go applaud the sky for that one." Brady managed a small chuckle and she could sense that he was glancing down at her again.

"You doing okay?" he asked. She took a moment to collect herself before pulling her head from his side and looking upwards at him warily.

"Fine…for the most part." she said with a convincing nod, offering him a smile again as she looked at him.

"How about yourself?" she asked, reaching forward to brush his longer strands of loose hair from his forehead and out of his eyes, "You look tired." And she knew it. She could see the exhaustion displayed on his face that he was hurriedly trying to cover up with those smiles and tender looks.

John Brady was someone that knew her far too well - and who she knew far too well, too. His presence didn't go unnoticed, his fight, his want to stay alive just like the rest of them. But that wearing on him stayed just as ever-present as anything else in this life.

"Nah," Brady said softly, as she continued to softly run her fingers back through hair, "not too tired. I think I'll always be tired."

"John…." Annie said quietly watching as he quirked out a smile at her, "I'm serious."

"Even if I'm tired, I wanted to make sure you were alright," Brady said quietly, before smirking, "especially if it means it's just you and me right now." Annie looked up at him, her cheeks warming the slightest bit. The whisper of his voice tickling her ears and her skin, that soft look in his eyes enough to make her knees shakes.

"Well, you got me." Annie said, rather boldly looking up at him, attempting to maintain what composure was left in her as he watched her. If there was anything, she'd never feel guilty about the way John Brady looked at her and treated her. She felt like the only person in the room sometimes when she'd catch his gaze.

"That I do." Annie's cheek heated more.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked him quietly, her hand stopping in his hair a bit, her eyes wandering towards his, her free hand itching to grab his own.

"Ask away, Bradshaw." he said, tilting his head to the side, those stubborn strands of hair hanging in his eyes again, to which Annie reached forward to brush back again.

"If I'm mistaken, one night, you….Mr. John Brady, whispered something that's been in my mind for a bit too long." she said quietly, watching as his smirk grew, the moonlight making his face and eyes glow even in the darkness. Her palms grew sweaty as she retreated her hands and crossed her arms in front of her, the large presence of Brady in front of her seeming to swallow her whole.

"What was that?" he asked her, voice lower this time as his eyes roamed her face, before settling on her lips - this time, lingering longer than was needed - before traveling back up to her eyes.

"Well," Annie said clearing her throat, fighting the smile on her face, "if you could focus your gaze on my eyes, maybe I'd tell you, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." Annie was damn-near sure every emotion was about to burst at the moment, but she managed to hold it together in front of him - how she even did that was a miracle in it of itself. Annie took a step closer, looking up towards him, her eyes staring deeply up into his and smiled slightly.

"Someone wanted me back at Thorpe Abbotts, in nothing but his A2 jacket. All by ourselves." she whispered quietly. And watching the recognition in his eyes had to be her favorite part of standing there, inches from his face, the tiny realization clicking across his face until the tops of his own cheeks were dusted red.

"Didn't know you felt that way about me, John Brady." she said quietly, watching him swallow nervously - seeing him suddenly almost out-of-place made her heart wobble. There it was again - that want to shield him from the world, protect him, keep him at the peace in which they'd manage to maintain in a place like this.

God, what was he doing to her?

"Didn't think you'd hear that." he managed out, but she could tell he was just trying to get words out of his mouth. She'd managed to stun him it seemed in anyway that was possible to stun John Brady. And in this light, where it was just the two of them, inches from each other, where it almost felt like they were the most vulnerable that they'd been, she managed a small smile.

"I'm only teasing you." Annie managed out, her nerves getting the best of her as she watched his face continue to flush crimson - even if the moonlit darkness, her own cheeks were nearly hot to the touch and his presence there across those inches between them was enough to warm her entire body up.

"I thought you'd been asleep. When I'd said that." he managed out again and Annie couldn't help but nervously look away from his gaze and towards his lips there in front of her before trailing her eyes upwards again.

"Oh." she said quietly, unsure of what words to conjure up next that would make sense. He thought she was asleep - but he'd still said it. He'd still said those words and she'd been thinking about it ever since.

"Did you mean it?" she asked him, holding her gaze on his. How she hadn't turned away yet, she'd never know.

"Every word of it." Brady said, his voice filled with nerves, but equally confident that he'd meant it. That'd he meant every word he'd ever said to her since he'd helped her up into the back of Bucky Egan's jeep.

For a moment, as his words rang in her ears, she stood there staring up at him.

Every word of it. Every word of it. Every word of it.

She would never feel guilty about what she did next.

Slowly, she reached forward, placing her hands on his broad, built shoulders, before letting them travel up his neck towards his cheek bones, which felt like they were practically on fire. God what was she even doing?

She let herself step forward, right up against his body, tilting her head upwards as Brady slowly looked down towards her, those inches between them suffocating as she stared into his persistent gaze. He seemed frozen there in front of her - almost like he couldn't believe what was happening, though neither could she.

"Annie…." Brady whispered, his voice tight, like it was caught in his throat, fighting for a way out. She watched him, looking up through he lashes towards his beautiful face that had never looked more safe, warm and protected right where they were. He had never looked more like himself than in this moment.

"You can touch me." she whispered - the boldness was more than a surprise to her it felt, from both of them, as he reached forward, wrapping his arms rightly around her waist, underneath her jacket, large hands splayed across her back as they each seemed to breathe in shaky breaths of air, mixed between them.

His eyes had never been more locked onto hers as she slowly moved her left hand from his cheek up into his hair, watching as his eyes flickered and he swallowed, maintaining what composure the two of them had left.

The stillness around them almost made her retreat all the sudden - them, the two of them - stood in the hallway of the bunkhouse in the middle of the night, the strobes of the moon shining right into the bunkhouse as best as they could, onto the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms.

But the second she came to focus on his eyes again, those eyes, she was gone.

And for a moment, her eyes fluttered close and she envisioned the touch of his hands on her back, what it meant to just be held so close to him, after everything he'd done for her and with her. Holding onto her like his life depended on it. Her hand up into his hair, her other on his cheek - enough for when a small noise escaped his lips, did she shut her eyes fully for a moment.

Life had always been about Annie Bradshaw getting close to everything she had wanted, but having it ripped away from her in a matter of seconds.

Right before all the good things would happen.

Right before things would finally change.

Everything was always gone in seconds, even if it had taken years to get where she had gotten.

But now?

Stood with John Brady inches from her face, she had everything she had ever wanted. Right. Here. Right in front of her.

"John-"

Before she could even finish his name, her entire body became pressed to the front of himself and his lips had pressed right onto her own, a small gasp at the back of her throat dying at his touch. And soon his hands were exploring the length of her back, her own touch feeling its way up into his hair, the small groans from his lips making her a little crazy on the inside. Everything about John Brady made her feel a little crazy though - how he looked at her, treated her, talked about her….touched her. With intent and purpose and meaning.

Everything meant something when it came to the two of them.

Even when they had only thought it to be nothing more than friendship. It had always meant something more. They stumbled a bit of feet and toes as her back pressed against the wooden wall beside the door, his kisses intoxicating and dizzying in more ways than one.

And John Brady?

He knew how to kiss.

For all his mannerisms and politeness and gentlemanly way of affairs - she had never been kissed like the way John Brady kissed. His hands had made their way to her neck, the large palms pressed against the hot skin of her cheeks, fingers dancing towards her jawline and hair, his lips persistent and deepening.

There was something natural about being pressed up against the wall, John Brady kissing her, her mind spinning in circles as his tongue pressed against her bottom lip.

And before she knew it, they pulled away for a brief moment, gasping for short bits of air between them - along with the sudden realization that she was sweating all over.

Annie met Brady's gaze and found him already watching her, with one of the most dazed looks she'd ever seen on the man. She didn't have words for what it meant to be standing there like this in front of him, watching his gaze linger on hers longer and longer. There were no words to describe this feeling - she could only let herself feel what feeling this actually was. Love.

"I should've asked to kiss you, but I couldn't-"

"John." Annie whispered quietly, cutting him off as she inhaled a deep breath, "You didn't have to ask." He watched her and slowly nodded. Then he smiled.

"I mean every word I said," he whispered with a small grin, "so…..may I kiss you? Again?" Annie looked up at him, grinning like he was almost innocent and let out a small laugh, her cheeks warm, his own cheeks red, their eyes glowing, bodies inches from one another there in the darkness.

"Please do." Annie whispered, and the small laugh that left Brady's lips, that smirk on his face, made her lose her mind as he pressed his lips deeply and slowly, enough to make her eyes shut.

Brady moaning into her mouth did something to her insides as she pressed herself closer to his body, her hands traveling into that lush hair of his that her fingertips had been begging to touch for days by this point after that look across the bunk room, that longing look, the way his eyes had turned nearly insane as he had watched her, the urge to reach out and have him slam her against the wall previously overwhelming.

But now, they were here and he was kissing her, and she was kissing back with just as much urgency, the two of them falling apart in each other's embraces.

For a brief moment, they separated, their lips still inches from one another as they took in soft breaths of air, eyes shut, simply holding onto one another in the silence of the night.

Annie had almost expected to feel crazed. She had expected to feel suddenly all over the place and overwhelmed and unsure of what to do next. But with Brady, she felt the farthest from that. She'd never felt more calm and safe and protected and content than in this moment of time. With him.

Then, she heard Brady let out a small chuckle, before gently pressing his lips to hers before pulling back again. This time, she did open her eyes and look upwards towards him. She smiled. He was smiling that gorgeous grin.

"What?" Annie whispered.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that." Brady said quietly. Annie watched him with a quiet gaze - his words seemed to strike her somewhere deep inside her heart. To hear those words. He'd waited.

Any memory that she had seemed to share with him before this moment flashed through her mind.

She remembered all those early mornings sharing coffee with the rising sun, the soft breeze, the shared quiet gazes. Those dances at the flying club, the times he'd offer his hand and spin her on the floor and then they'd go back to those quiet glances and small smiles. All those times he'd come to find her and check on her, all those moments before missions, when death could undoubtedly become imminent. Who'd made her feel both comfortable and confident and more herself than she'd ever been. And she'd never had another person who could do such a thing to her.

Annie slowly reached forward and without any second thought, wrapped her arms around the center of his form, hands clawing up the back underneath his jacket as she snuggled her head against his chest.

All her life, all she had wanted was to be able to let her guard down around someone else without being judged, torn apart, or told off for it. Someone who wouldn't let her get lost in the darkness, who would willingly hold out their hand towards her and take it head-on with her. Someone like John Brady.

Slowly, Brady wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her head there in the silent darkness before resting his cheek atop her head. And she could sense him smiling there, just the slightest shift in his grin.

"I've waited a while, too." she whispered softly and he let out a quiet laugh to which she couldn't help but grin. Brady chuckled quietly again.

"How about you stay the night?" he whispered quietly. Annie pulled back, looking up at him with her arms still wrapped around his center and smirked.

"Almost like we're not in the middle of a P.O.W. camp." she said and watched as he smirked at her words and shook his head.

"I just want to know you're right there next to me when I go to sleep," he whispered quietly and his eyes grew serious as he watched her, "especially here." Annie managed a tender smile and reached up onto her tip-toes to kiss his lips softly.

"You got me." she whispered against his lips, before grinning and fluttering her eyes close, 'No funny business though." Brady laughed.

"No funny business?" Brady asked her quietly, his hand sliding up under her sweater to her warm skin, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean." Annie said quietly.

"Do I?" he whispered back and her cheeks warmed. Did she? Annie met his gaze again and watched his eyes trail across her face. Pressing forward, she put her lips to his ear and grinned.

"How about you stay the night in mine?" she whispered, before unlatching from his warmth and turning away down the creaky, dimly lit hallway. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him watching her from the moonlight, that wide grin on his face. She smirked as she disappeared into the bunk room - she was sure she could see that smile in every universe and know, more than anything - that it was him. She'd never feel guilty for loving someone like him despite the world and the war.

She'd do it all again to see that smile - to see him.

[lady-of-tearshed]

ok…hear me out, a fic where cassian has a kid (prob adopted or smth) that’s nonverbal bc trauma or disability reasons, and it kinda wears on cass so one night he’s like talking to rhys about how his kid isn’t normal, and the kid went to get some water but overhears the whole thing - just angst to comfort

love your writing btw💗💗

Beautifully different

Pairing: Nessian & Their kids (Oc!Briana & Oc!Zion)

Summary: Cassian has a lot of pent-up frustration and worries about his son, Zion, who is diagnosed with selective mutism. He slips up in front of Zion, and now he has to apologize and make it better.

Word count: 1368 words

Warnings: Disabled child (selective mutism), angst, miscommunication, a bit of swearing, allusion to Nessian conceiving another child.

Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears ❤️

“It’s called selective mutism,”

Cassian could still remember the confusion and worry that had set in his head the day Madja had announced the diagnosis of his son, Zion. 

Cassian’s grip tightened around his mate’s shoulders, his jaw clenched with anger. “So he’s not talking on purpose?” 

“No,” Madja’s voice had softly reassured him and Nesta, whom was crying against Cassian's chest. “No, it’s not how it works. It’s a rare childhood anxiety disorder. It’s the brain response to a trigger that makes Zion unable to speak in certain situations or around certain people,”

He remembered how it made his stomach twist with guilt, how the sight of his mate crying in his chest at the hard news had brought tears to his own eyes. But Madja’s comforting hand on his shoulder had calmed him down, grounded him. Her voice had enveloped his heavy heart and soothed his ache like a soft salve. 

“It is not your fault, to any of you,” Her other hand gently rubbed circles on Nesta’s back, calming down her sobs with her reassuring words. “There are treatments to attempt to cure this, and things you could do to help Zion’s condition to go away,”

“We’ll try anything,”

Cassian was a bit late to pick up his kids from Feyre’s studio. Madja had deemed it helpful to sign up Zion on recreational activities with other children for him to interact with, so Cassian and his mate did. Of course, Briana, the perfect big sister that she was, had insisted that she absolutely needed to go too so she could hold Zion’s hand if he got too shy (but mostly because she absolutely adored her auntie Feyre, and she was overly excited to make some art with her.), so Cassian and Nesta had no choice but to agree. As if he would’ve ever denied anything to his little princess anyway… 

The doorbell rang when Cassian pushed the door open.

“DADDY!”

The tiny bundle of curly hair wrapped in pink chiffon jumped into his arms, and Cassian caught her up in his arms before twirling her around. He bit her chubby cheeks playfully, making Briana’s melodic giggle to fill the room. “Hello sweetie, I suppose you had a great day?”

“The bestest day ever!”

Cassian huffed a laugh before putting her down on the floor slowly. He lifted his eyes and scanned the room, searching behind every canvas where the paint decorating them was still fresh and shining. Finally, his eyes landed on the one exposed on the easel exposed in the farthest corner of the room, where Zion sat, absentmindedly applying the same shade of blue all over the white canva. 

Cassian had to hold back his cringe, and forced himself to not look at all the other kids' artworks and compare them to his son’s. Instead, he just caressed Briana’s hair. He crouched down to be face to face with her, and smiled.

“Hey, why don’t you go and play outside with your brother for a while? I need to talk with Auntie Feyre,” Briana opened her mouth to say something, but Cassian poked her nose and cut her off. “Alone.”

Briana sighed dramatically, pouting a little before taking her little brother’s hand and cheerfully dragged him along to the swings outside the studio. 

Cassian waited until he was sure that both of his kids were outside, playing, and not paying attention to him, then he made his way inside the studio. His ears led him to where water was running, and leaned in the doorway to where Feyre was cleaning a shit ton of paint brushes. Sometimes, the warrior wondered how she dealt with such messes weakly, for fun. 

A chuckle left his throat at the thought, and made Feyre’ face snap up from her task. A bright smile flashed over her red, blue, purple and yellow painted face. Feyre tried to wipe it away, noticing Cassian’s amusement glinting in his eyes, but her attempt very much failed, as it only resulted in spreading the paint all over her face even more. 

“Are you here solely to make fun of me, or to actually pick up your kids?”

Cassian chuckled, scratching the back of his neck while a flush of embarrassment creeped up his cheeks. “Yeah, sorry, I’m a bit late to pick up the kids I know… I was…” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the mental image of how busy him and Nesta had been. “Busy.”

“Busy making more of those little ones?” 

Nosy woman. 

“How has it been for them today?”

“They’ve been good. Briana has made some progress on her painting today…” Feyre frowned, hesitating. Then she shrugged, avoiding the topic. “They’ve been good.”

“And Zion?” Cassian pushed, moving closer to where Feyre was washing the paint brushes. “Has he… made any progress? Did he make any friends?” 

Feyre left the brushes in the sink and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, he tried a different shade of blue on his canva today… He didn’t participate actively in the group today but…” She bit her lip and placed a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, “Maybe it’s normal, perhaps that’s just how he is you know… Maybe he’s happy like this-”

“Well I am not. A child needs to have social interactions to develop, Feyre. He’s not normal,” Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel his face heat up, his breathing getting as heavy as the guilt resting on his soul. “Madja was wrong. That kid will never be normal. He’ll never be like the other kids,” 

Anger bubbled up within him. How was his son not normal, when his daughter was? “Where the fuck did I mess up-”

A thud that came from the other room cut off Cassian. Both Feyre and his face snapped to the door, where a tiny wing peaked out. 

Feyre’s face twitched and she patted Cassian on the shoulder. “I’ll wait outside with Briana… and I’ll make sure that the front door stays closed while you talk it out.” 

Feyre quickly made her way out of the studio, cheeks red from the embarrassing situation. She carefully avoided eye contact with Zion’s heart-broken face. 

Cassian only stayed in the middle of the supply room, staring at Zion’s tiny wing peeking out of the doorway. He sighed, and ran a hand over his face. “Zion…” 

Zion hesitantly moved from his hiding spot and slowly dragged his feet in front of his father. His head was kept so low that Cassian couldn’t even see his eyes from where he stood. He kneeled in front of his boy, his warm palm coming to cup his cheek. His thumb brushed off some tears staining Zion’s cheek, but he still avoided his father’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I…” 

Cassian’s throat tightened, cutting off any sounds when the silent room filled with Zion’s choked sobs. He brought his face to his chest, his own tears now falling on top of his son’s head. He held him tight against him, as if he was afraid that the boy’s heart would crumble if he’d let him go. “I’m sorry, Zion. So sorry…” Cassian whispered against the boy’s ear, his hand rubbing slow circles on his back. 

Zion sniffled, his face now tilted up to look into his father’s eyes with so much sadness.

“I said horrible things, I’m sorry. Every kid is different, I know. I just…” His voice broke. Cassian looked up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply. He calmed his sobs down before taking control of his voice again. “I just want you to be happy, my son,” His eyes met Zion’s, the same shade of hazel eyes staring back at him. “But… I guess sometimes I need to remain myself that being happy for you sin’t the same as being happy for me,” 

Zion nodded, his little hands coming to wipe away Cassian’s tears, the same way he did for him. 

“Are you happy, Zion?” Cassian whispered, his face painted with concern. 

“You make me happy.”

And these were the most words Cassian had heard from his son, but the most beautiful ones anyone had said to him in all of his immortal life span.

Acotar taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover

Cassian taglist: @ladybookstan

[edutainer2022]

I have part two in my, so technically it's a Wednesday WIP. Things take place some time after Hyperspeed. Scott is rather popular with all creatures large and nerds. Sometimes Earth has some insights to share about the Sky and celestial objects.

HELIOCENTRIC

He didn't look down from the sketchbook when a chestnut head hit his thigh as a lanky figure folded itself on the sand next to him, by the edge of the small palm grove. An exasperated grunt and an oomf followed. Virgil knew better than to ask. Partly because John had already clued him in, in broad strokes. Partly because he was engrossed in a particularly intricate shading. But mostly because if Scott had hunted him down on the beach, having barely parked Thunderbirds One after the trip to CERN, he would talk. Or maybe not. Either way, if Scott needed comfortable company and a friendly ear - Virgil was both. There was no need for extra prying. Not that time, anyway.

"Brains hates me!"

"No, he doesn't."

Virgil response was as automatic as it was nonchalant. It went without saying - Brains deeply appreciated and admired Scott. Just like all of them.

A powerful huff from the general vicinity of the ground ruffled the edge of the page. Virgil glanced down only to be faced with brilliant blue, welling with desperation. If he didn't abhor the idea of biggest brother in any sort of distress, he would find the whole situation highly amusing.

"Well, he's mad at me, at least! He was so eager to meet Tycho Reeves in person - IR was his moment to shine! Now he thinks I stole his thunder!"

The painful grimace that followed the diatribe was so full of misery, Virgil finally put away the sketchbook and reached to ruffle dark brown curls.

Dr. Tycho Reeves had professed undying friendship with one Scott Tracy after the Hyper-reel misadventure - and did so urbi et orbi. Definitely to the latter's equal befuddlement. From what Virgil gleaned out of John's quick heads up - the Tracy Industries visit to Dr. Reeve's lab in New Geneva earlier that day was met with excitement and enthusiasm that resulted in some significant damage to reasonably good china, a coffemaker, a suit that could bankroll the economy of a medium-size country, several holodiscs of cutting edge equipment blueprints, brought in for consult. And Brains' pride, apparently.

Virgil peered down again at his brother's face, still contorted by a frown. His other hand joined the task force and administered an obviously needed reassuring shoulder squeeze.

"So, you did the thing. Big deal! Brains won't hold a grudge!"

Confusion darkened the edges of the blue.

"The thing?"

"Your thing. The Scott thing. You are the gravity center of every gathering in every room you're ever in. Or a light source, more like!"

Virgil smiled at his own metaphor. He definitely liked that idea more.

"Yep, that's right! You're the sun, Scooter. We all orbit you."

If he hoped to lighten the mood and put biggest brother's mind at ease - that wasn't the achieved effect. Dark brows furrowed even more. Scott even lifted his head from the comfy, jeans clad cushion, and nearly yelled:

"That's not true!"

Virgil was beginning to feel entertained.

"Oh, yes it is! Everyone gets under the spell one way or another, Scoots. That's just the way it is!"

Virgil's large palm gave the now disheveled brunet head a pointed push back on its perch on the brother's thigh and added a soothing rake through the curls to boot. A quieter protest followed.

"I don't want that!"

Virgil hummed, fully amused now.

"Well, tough! You're just THAT awesome, brother."

The almost whisper that chased Virgil's cheeky comment switched him on high alert again. Trust Scotty to find ever more fault with himself.

"Dad was the sun. I'm not."

[I'm not him.]

He had a good hunch Scott would genuinely believe that, but it hurt just as well to see up close how little biggest brother thought of himself. Virgil gave it a pause, then made sure to catch the blue gaze, now deepened by ever ready rue.

"No. He wasn't. Dad was thunder and lightning. Mom was the light. Then you."

He stopped the depreciating shake of the head with a flex of his wrist, before it could gain momentum.

"You really don't get it, do you? You were Dad's light! You cheered him on and you supported his every endeavor, you stood by him and you made him believe he could do anything! Even after Mom. Even after TV-21. And you're ours! You let us flourish and you champion the best selves we could ever be!"

He had to gulp down what had to follow next - "and you gave up everything to burn yourself for us all!"

Bright wide-eyed blue, staring up at him, was brilliant with disbelief and barely contained tears. So Virgil didn't hesitate to shift operations into the territory he knew best how to navigate - with a tug on the sleeve he enveloped big brother into a tight hug.

TBC

[yogurtkags]

❝ DELICATE ❞ — kageyama tobio

cw: gn!reader, fluff, depictions of eczema/skin issues, insecurity, hurt/comfort, established relationship, pet names (baby), extremely self-indulgent | wc: 507

it’s so itchy.

the sensation of your nails dragging against the bumpy and dry flaking skin scratching an itch like no other, the satisfaction of peeling a scab so great until it stings. and bleeds. and then all of a sudden showering hurts—

“i can hear you scratching.” tobio calls out from the kitchen as he walks out with a tall glass of water and a bowl of berries, setting it down on the coffee table and sinking down on the plush couch next to you.

your hand pauses in it's movements for barely a minute before going back to it's bad habit, words dragging out in a whine when you hear him let out a tch in disapproval, "i can't help it."

“i know, but you gotta stop it.” he chides, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers together, thumb rubbing soothing circles to distract you and effectively put a stop to your scratching. "picking at it isn't going to make it better."

hands still clasped together, he leans off to the side and blindly pats around the side table, feeling around for the small tube of healing ointment sitting in the black ceramic cat trinket dish (obviously you picked it out, saying it looked just like him).

coming back to you, he wraps his arm around your frame and pulls you closer, squeezing a pea sized amount of ointment on his fingertip and gently spreading it across your broken skin, raw and red from your incessant assault. it’s your fault really for letting it get this bad, but you hiss at the sting anyway, never quite getting used to the burn no matter how many times this has happened.

it’s always been something you struggle with, not just the itch but also accepting the way the patches looked. it’s ugly, and discoloured, the splotches unsightly, and seeing it in the mirror everyday comes with a matching frown. exposing the affected skin doesn’t come easy for you, avoiding it as much as possible and hiding it behind a layer of fabric where you can, but some materials make it itch even more, feeling helpless and insecure as you bare it to the world.

“almost done.” he mumbles, catching you stare off dejectedly from the corner of his eye.

tobio doesn’t need to pay a penny for your thoughts to know you’re feeling down about it again, your silence says a lot. you’ve been together long enough that he can mostly tell what you’re thinking from just your body language and facial expressions, you’ve always been an open book and wore your heart on your sleeve around him after all. he learned to pick up on your cues and subtleties with time, the same way you’ve slowly softened his edges.

a lingering kiss to your temple leads you out of the dense forest of your thoughts like a light in the darkness, his fingers gently holding your chin up to look into his softened, doting eyes.

“i love every part of you.”

and don’t you forget it.

gen taglist. open (send an ask / comment to be added!) @wyrcan networks. @the-all-stars-network @houseofsolisoccasum

notes. the self insert is inserting, i literally had a mini flare up and was scratching at my ezcema while writing this

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[voxofthevoid]

Yo, time for Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #5 👁

The fic has currently stalled at a hefty 41k because I've been writing sukuita nonstop for around a month now (Gojou's still two chapters and probably over 10k away) and snapped from goyuu withdrawal. Poking at a quick-and-dirty goyuu oneshot that's...dirty for sure but not quick at all. All @nearalways's fault, again.

Anyway, to switch it up from the creepy church demon sex that's been happening over the last few posts, this week's snippet is entirely a conversation between Yuuji and Megumi. Enjoy?

“Do you think having sex makes it harder to jerk off on your own?”

Fushiguro chokes on nothing, whipping his head around to stare at Yuuji with eyes that’re twice their usual size. “What.”

“Y’know…” Yuuji gestures. Fushiguro’s expression screams that he does not know. He looks a little like he doesn’t want to know anything ever again, really. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m just asking!”

Fushiguro sucks in a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut so tight that it hurts to look at. “Why are you asking me?”

“Who else? You saw how Kugisaki reacted when I asked her about sex. She’d rip my dick off.”

“I,” Fushiguro grits out, “will rip your dick off.”

Yuuji gasps. “You wouldn’t!”

Fushiguro’s eyes narrow. “You sure?”

Yuuji opens his mouth to say yes, but…he can’t. Even narrowed like this, there’s too much white in Fushiguro’s eyes. He looks a little crazy, just in a cute way. Yuuji definitely shouldn’t tell him that.

But he does need to tell him something so that Fushiguro won’t get any ideas about the scissors on his table.

“Your dad would think that’s foreplay,” Yuuji states confidently. “And we don’t want that.”

Fushiguro makes a noise. “What the hell, Itadori?”

“Yeah, I’ve been saying that a lot too,” Yuuji mutters, gesturing at his crotch.

Fushiguro’s eyes drop and dart back to Yuuji’s face, wider and wilder than a second ago. “Itadori!”

“I can’t get off anymore,” Yuuji blurts out in self-defense. “No, I mean—I can. I could, with him. But I can’t jerk off properly. It gets hard, but I can’t, y’know, finish.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Fushiguro asks. His tone is kinda weird; Yuuji can’t tell whether it’s despairing or curious. Incredulous either way, just like the way he’s looking at Yuuji. “How are you telling me this?”

“Huh?” Yuuji slides down till he’s lying fully on Fushiguro’s bed. For good measure, he turns onto his front, keeping his dick out of sight and snipping distance. “You’re a guy too. I figured you’d get it.”

“I don’t,” Fushiguro says repressively. Then, after a long moment of very loud silence— “What do you mean you can’t…finish?”

“I can’t come.”

“I got that.” Fushiguro sighs, putting his book away and leaning forward in the chair, all his attention on Yuuji. Usually, Yuuji would sit up straighter in response—Fushiguro can get really intense—but right now, he’s more interested in protecting his dick. Plus, this mattress is comfortable. “I have no practical experience with sex, but I’m fairly sure doing it with someone doesn’t mean you can’t give yourself a hand. That’s basic biology.”

“Yeah, I thought so too, and it’s not like it’s been like this the whole time, just…” Yuuji blinks, realizing several beats too late what else Fushiguro just said. “So you are a virgin!”

“Not the point!” Fushiguro snaps.

“Alright, alright. Hey, I’m not judging you, I swear. I also didn’t—”

“Itadori,” Fushiguro cuts in sharply, “focus.”

“Right…” Yuuji thinks for a moment, trying to find words that won’t spook Fushiguro—or piss him off. He’s already almost glaring. “There wasn’t anything weird at first, even after I started fucking him. Doing him felt better than my hand, obviously, but I still jerked off all the time. More than usual. I was horny all the time. I’m still horny all the time.”

“You sound like some sex addict,” Fushiguro says with a grimace. But his cheeks are a faint pink.

Yuuji shrugs. “Maybe. Kind of. It’s not the sex, it’s—”

It’s the place. That church. Except not really. Deep inside, Yuuji knows that the church is just set dressing. It’s the priest who’s the problem. Everything Sukuna is, everything he makes Yuuji feel—addiction isn’t really a wrong way to put it. Yuuji’s never felt anything like it before; he’s never wanted anything like it.

Sometimes—a lot of the time, more and more often this last week especially—it’s a physical need, a hollow ache that haunts his gut and his bones.

His dick too.

“It’s…?” Fushiguro prods after Yuuji’s silent for a while.

Yuuji blinks at him, refocusing. “It’s him.”

Fushiguro makes a noise in his throat, like he was expecting that answer but doesn’t like it much. Yuuji can’t blame him. He doesn’t like it either.

“You really like that guy so much?” Fushiguro asks.

“Ugh.” Yuuji shoves his face into the mattress, suffocating in the darkness for a few blissful seconds. Then— “No. Hell no. He’s an asshole. Nobody would like him.”

Yuuji still doesn’t understand why he’s apparently popular among the churchgoers. He’s never brought it up with Fushiguro and Kugisaki after telling him he’s fucking a guy because he wouldn’t put it past them to put two and two together. They’re both weirdly intuitive, and together, they’re worse. Plus, Yuuji’s not the best liar.

But Fushiguro’s looking at him like he’s lying right now, and that’s very unwarranted.

“It’s true,” Yuuji insists. “I never ever want you guys to meet. He’s that bad.”

Fushiguro blinks very slowly. “And this is the guy you’re dating?”

“We’re not dating!”

Shockingly, that doesn’t seem to help.

“Having sex then,” Fushiguro says, his frown deepening. “That’s worse. Makes it sound like—”

Yuuji waits, pushing himself up for his forearms for a more level view of Fushiguro’s expression. It’s twisted into dark lines; Yuuji can recognize displeasure and disapproval, but there’s more there, he can tell.

“Fushiguro?”

Fushiguro lowers his eyes, scowling at the floor. “Never mind.”

“But—”

“Are you being safe?”

Yuuji’s jaw clicks shut. “Um…”

Fushiguro’s eyes snap back to his face. “Itadori!”

“Define safe?” Yuuji ventures.

Fushiguro drags a hand down his face, skin catching on skin in a way that makes Yuuji wince in sympathy. “How do you get into these situations? You’ve been here for less than six months.”

“Hey, you make it sound like I do dumb shit all the time!”

“You do,” Fushiguro says mercilessly. “At least you admit this is stupid.”

“Yeah, well…” Yuuji flattens himself against the bed again. “The sex is really good though.”

“How would you know? He’s your first too.”

“That’s true. But he’s kind of a freak. I didn’t even know—”

“No,” Fushiguro interrupts, his tone flat but still cutting. “No details. I don’t want to hear this.”

“Fair enough,” Yuuji says, but then something occurs to him. “Is it because he’s a guy?”

“Huh? What—” Realization widens Fushiguro’s eyes, which narrow right after. “No. That’s not it. I’m fine with that.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“I am,” Fushiguro says more firmly; Yuuji can see his fists clench. “I’d be a hypocrite otherwise.”

Yuuji frowns at him, trying to— “Oh. Oh. So you’re—”

“Yes. Still not the point.”

“I don’t think we have a point anymore,” Yuuji muses. He sits up, finally, shifting to perch on the edge of the bed, mirroring Fushiguro’s pose on the chair. It’s as close as he can get to the guy without walking over there, and the way Fushiguro’s staring at him says he might bite if Yuuji does that. “Thanks for telling me, Fushiguro.”

“Oh, for—” Fushiguro looks away furiously. “It’s not like you couldn’t guess anyway.”

“I…didn’t really think about it? I mean, there’s all the stuff your dad says, but—”

“Shut up,” Fushiguro hisses. “Go back to talking about your sex addiction.”

“Do we have to?”

“You brought it up.”

Yeah, fair point. Yuuji’s not sure what he was hoping to achieve. But Fushiguro’s pretty much the only person he can talk to about it. The internet wasn’t helpful. Hell, parts of it were trying to say his balls weren’t working because of cancer or something. Yuuji’s not opposed to calling Sukuna a kind of disease, but it’s not literal.

And thinking about Sukuna is a bad idea because there’s a lot to remember, most of it not innocent, and Yuuji’s dick is on a hair trigger these days. Heat pools between his legs, and Yuuji grabs the nearest pillow, putting it on his lap.

Fushiguro’s confused for only a single second. “Are you kidding me?!”

“I haven’t come in a week,” Yuuji whines.

“You—” Fushiguro looks pleadingly at the ceiling. But nothing there seems to help him any. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but just…go fuck the guy.”

“I can’t,” Yuuji whines again.

“Why,” Fushiguro grits out, “not?”

Yuuji tries to figure out how to put it without giving away that he’s going to the church to fuck its weird, creepy priest who may or may not be infesting his dreams.

He settles on, “He’s only available at night. And Nanamin’s back now, so I can’t just leave like I used to.”

“But you don’t have a curfew or anything.”

“Yeah, but—” Yuuji gestures. “He’d have questions if I came back in that state. And it’s his house. I don’t want to be rude.”

Fushiguro’s expression softens. “At least you have some sense.”

“Hey!”