#it’s so exhausting and it hurts so much

[satorusugurugurl]

heya! I have a req - imagine Gojo tears up when yn kisses his forehead. he’s never felt so vulnerable 🫠

take care :)

Rest

Summary: After a long day of being Gojo Satoru— the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, your boyfriend gets to come home to your loving embrace.

Characters: Gojo Satoru x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: sweet flufffy goodness, mentions of sleep deprivation, stress, overworking, but overall it’s really sweet!

Word Count: 1.6K

A/N: Nonnie thank you for your request! I had so much fun writing this, Gojo deserves so much better! 💚💚💚

It was late, two thirty in the morning, to be exact, when the door to the bedroom finally creaked open. You stirred, wincing at the stiffness in your neck as you sat up, the book you read lying against your chest. But your neck didn't matter, not when Satoru was wincing as he slipped his shirt off and placed it in the hamper. His blindfold hand was loosely wrapped around his neck, giving you a perfect view of his dark circles.

“Toru?” You hesitantly asked, drawing his attention towards the bed.

Though you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, he smiled a little on the side but still smiled for you. “Hey, Sweetpea, I didn't wake you, did I?” He walked towards the edge of the bed, kissing your cheek.

“No, I had a stiff neck, so that woke me up.”

Cerulean eyes darted towards the book that was still resting on your chest. “I told you you didn’t have to wait up for me. Just because I had to work late doesn’t mean you have to deprive yourself of sleep.” Even when he was talking, you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

Being the strongest sorcerer of the modern age was a curse in itself. Satoru was constantly on the move. Whether yanked away for missions or meetings with the higher-ups, he rarely had a break. Time for himself was a rarity. You hated seeing him so drained. Even if you confronted him about it, he would deny it. Putting on some arrogant, cocky attitude that he was the strongest and handling some extra meetings or taking on a few more missions wasn’t going to hurt him.

Your boyfriend could put on that kind of act for himself, his students, or even the higher-ups themselves. You knew he was tired, though. He could deny your accusations all he wanted. You, however, were fortunate enough to know him better than he knew himself. That facade was see-through when it came to you looking at him.

You wanted to tell him it was okay to be tired and set some time aside for himself. Deep down, you knew if you were to bring that up, Gojo would try to ensure you that everything was peachy. So, given the circumstances, you did the one thing you were able to do.

You would support him, be there for him when he needed to vent, and help him out as much as you could or as much as he would allow you to do.

“I was just reading; my book got really good. I just dozed off.”

“Mmm, you should put the book down and get some sleep.” Long ivory fingers caressed your cheek. “I don’t want you having a crooked neck because you were up reading your smut.”

“Leave my books out of this~” Satoru snickered, rolling his eyes as he pulled back, unbuckling his belt. “Go take a shower, then get your ass in bed.”

Satoru gave you a dorky salute as he headed into the bathroom, removing the rest of his clothing as he walked. You knew he was exhausted from the shower he took. Enough to wash the white tufts of hair and wash his body thoroughly. When he finished his shower, his mind was fuzzy with sleep deprivation. Finishing getting ready for bed was a blur, but he found himself climbing the sheets next to you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rested his head against your breasts.

Your warmth and the smell of you relaxed every muscle in his body as he rested his body weight against you. Satoru was so tired. He needed to think about going on vacation sometime soon. Getting away from the bustling life he was living sounded like a dream. One where you would join him, and the two of you would stay in bed, talking, watching movies, and enjoying each other‘s company for hours.

Thoughts of that had him snuggling his face further into your soft breasts. You could see the dark circles under his eyes from where you were propped up. Your poor boyfriend was being tugged in every way possible, which would take a toll on anybody. Just because he was the strongest didn’t mean everyone had a right to take advantage of him and use him as a weapon.

Gojo Satoru was human, and he deserved some praise and recognition. Normally, he provided that recognition for himself, occasionally giving himself a literal pat on the back. But it was nice to hear it from someone else, too. He deserved the world—nothing but happiness.

Sensing your body's tension, Satoru turned his head to look up at you. As he did, his soft white bangs moved with each turn of his head. You reached out, brushing some strands away, only stopping to push them back as if he were wearing his blindfold. His eyes glanced to where your hand was pushing up his hair, cerulean eyes almost crossing to get a glimpse.

No words needed to be said. You gave him the faintest smile before pressing your lips against his forehead. As your lips pulled away his skin, you could feel the tension in his body; fearing you may have crossed the line, you quickly pulled back, looking down at your chest with tears staining the thin fabric of your top.

“Toru?” Your voice was soft as if your words themselves would shatter him.

“W-What was that?”

“A forehead. a kiss, a little token of my appreciation for all your hard work.” You weren’t sure what to expect—maybe a thank you or a smile in return. What you met with instead was tears in his eyes. Tears that made the blue of his Iris stand out even more.”Toru! Baby, what’s the matter?”

“I just—that was different.”

Growing up as the strongest and as an only child had been rough. It didn’t matter that he was filthy rich. The staff at the house was constantly on him. His parents rarely came to see him or talk to him. Gojo was alone most of the time, and he found many of his favorite memories from that time when he snuck out of the estate and went exploring Tokyo, being held like this and having kisses planted against his forehead with something he had never experienced with anyone, even his mother.

And he liked it. Scratch that he loved it. Being able to rest in your arms to have you petting his head, and playing with his hair always had him relaxing. This was how he liked to spend his rare moments at home with you. To be in your arms, to have your fingers running through his soft hair, and to have your lips pressing against his forehead made everything he did worth it. He put so much time and effort into helping the next generation of sorcerers, trying to make this world a place he wanted to live in. The hours of the hard work he put in was worth it.

At the end of the day, he got to come home to you.

You were one of the only people who treated him like a human being rather than some tool to be used. So, after a long day of being pulled around, told what to do, and scolded, this was precisely what he needed. Gojo’s mind, body, and soul knew that, and they all worked against him and caused tears to well up in his eyes to make him feel vulnerable. Thiswas a feeling he somewhat liked as long as it was with you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I hope I didn’t insult you or make you uncomfortable.”

“No, I like it. I like it a lot, Sweetheart.” He slowly shut his eyes, his full white eyelashes resting against his cheek as he exhaled through his nose. “Could you do it again?”

Hearing him a king for you to kiss his forehead again had your heart swelling with a certain pride as you hummed happily, pressing your lips against his forehead while your nails gently scratched at his scalp. “Thank you for all of your hard work, Toru.” Your voice was angelic, easing Satoru further into the mattress as his body relaxed more, his mind slowly turning off. “Thank you for everything you do.” He hummed softly in response as he slowly began drifting to sleep, tears welling at the corners of his eyes before slowly streaming down his cheek.

Seeing the tears slowly sliding down his slightly flushed cheek had you abandoning one of your hands on the top of his head, your thumb quickly brushing the stray away. Once you were sure that the tears would stop flowing, your hands slowly drifted back up to the top of his head, continuing to scratch lazily at it as you shut your eyes, yawning, as Satoru hugged you tight, wrapping his arms around you not letting you out of his grasp. It was such a comforting and warm hug that left you feeling safe even when he fell asleep. Your nerves melted like snow on a spring day.

“I love you so much,” Satoru mumbled against your chest. Any other thoughts failed to reach his mouth; he began to breathe much deeper, falling into REM sleep.

But he didn’t have to say anything else. You simply priced one last very long kiss against the center of his forehead. When you finally managed to pull away, you found yourself cradling his head to your chest, allowing him to listen to your heartbeat because he fell asleep.

“I love you too, Toru.”

Yeah, all of his hard work was definitely worth coming home to this.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree

[ninelieswithme]

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*

𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚝’𝚜 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝚘𝚠’𝚜

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ʟᴇᴏɴ ᴋᴇɴɴᴇᴅʏ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𖤐 sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ - ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴏɴ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴇᴡ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ɢᴇʀᴍᴀɴ sʜᴇᴘʜᴇʀᴅ, ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ, ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴛ ʟᴇᴏɴ’s ʙᴇᴇɴ ɴɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɢʀᴏᴡʟɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴏ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅs, ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇᴄᴇɴᴛʟʏ ʜᴇ’s ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ᴀɢɢʀᴇssɪᴠᴇ.. ᴘᴏssᴇsɪᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ.. ʙᴜᴛ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ sʜɪꜰᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴏᴜʀ ᴡʜʏ~

★ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛᴇ - ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʟᴏᴛ :ᴅᴅ, ᴀʟsᴏ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɢᴜɪʟᴛʏ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇssɪᴏɴ.. ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴠ ᴄʜᴀʀᴄᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴘɪᴇʀs ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʀᴇ6.. ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀɴs ʙᴀᴄᴋ 😭.. ALSO GO DOWN FOR DAY ONE KINKTOBER IDEAS!!

✰ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴀᴜ - 1.5k ᴡᴏʀᴅs

Entering your small apartment, the cool air hitting your face like a winter breeze.

You had just finished a long and grooling night shift.

Exhausted from yet another long day at work.

Dropping your bag and kicking off your shoes.

Ready for a much needed nap.

Plopping down onto your fluffed bed.

The pillows scattering around as you splayed out.

You’ve always been a dog lover.

So when you stumbled upon Leon, a German Shepherd hybrid, at a local shelter.

You knew you had to bring him home.

You and him were inseparable.

Or more like Leon was.

He never..

N̶͎̫̉̍͘͝è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜v̷̧̬̽͂́̎̉è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜r̵̨͇̰̭̜̈́͑

Let you go

Recently you had to beg him to just let go so you could go to the bathroom.

Or the time your friends came over, the whole time Leon acted up.

He even nipped a few of them, constantly growling at them and speaking profanities under his breath.

That’s when he found out about the crate.

The next morning you let him out of the steal prison.

He practically tackled you to the ground as he cried his little heart out in your shoulder

Poor thing, thought you didn’t love him..

You love him right??

Right

As you stayed in your cozy room, closing your eyes.

You waited a moment, trying to hear Leon..

Nothing..

The silence was unusual.

It was too silent..

Leon always greeted you with a toothy grin and a wag of his tail, like a good boy.

Jumping around to get your attention no matter how late it was, or how tired you were.

But today he wasn't there to greet you at the front door with his infectious enthusiasm.

You called out in concern that Leon may have hurt himself, your voice echoing in the empty bedroom.

“Leon??”

Nothing..

Growing frustrated you got up, then raising your voice as you stood.

“leon!!”

Yet again nothing.

This bothered you deeply, finally coming to terms Leon may actually be really hurt.

With a huff you stalked out of the room.

Quickly walking deeper into the clean white apartment.

The rays of white light overcasting you, while your feet padded lightly on the marble tiles.

Walking past your kitchen and lounge room.

Looking around, still hearing nothing but your own breaths.

Until seeing a small creak of light coming from one of the two spare rooms.

Slowly you treaded closer, pushing open the door.

Eyes widening at what you saw.

Leon was on the pale silk sheets of the bed.

His blonde hair wild, his blue eyes foggy with need.

Tears beading the corners of them.

As he whined and whimpered.

His cock fully hard, while he used your favourite pair of panties like a fleshlight.

Dirty boy

They were soaked in glistening pre.

The sounds he made becoming louder.

Leon was too fucked out to sense your presence.

You felt your own panties dampen..

Fuck.. he was nude, abs slim for sweat, hair stuck to his forehead. Whining and moans being heard.

You tread closer, his sounds becoming louder.

Finally noticing you, instead of slowing down he sped up.

His back arching lightly as he spoke with a pornographic moan.

“M-M’Need you, h-hurts s’so bad~”

He said his cock beading with more pre. Ear flattened.

It was obvious Leon was going into heat..

You knew you shouldn’t.. but you just had to.

He was your poor baby at the end of the day.

Without much of a peep you stalked to him, immediately capturing his lips with yours.

His soft lips capturing your own plump ones.

Leon’s lidded eyes shut as he moaned, humping the air, his tail wagging aggressively.

His ears flattening further.

You were choosing him.. h-him as your mate??

…

Finally

He was so happy!!

He can’t wait to breed you full of his pups.

Over and over and over again

His cock twitched at the thought more pre oozing at the tip.

You’ll love that!! He’ll be your very good boy for you while he fucks you soooo full of his love.

Then seeing it slip out onto the silk sheets for him to only fuck another load of pups!!

“I’ll be a good boy~” he murmured mid kisses, he whined. Kissing up your neck.

“let me take care of you... let me fill you.”

He said desperately like he’s never wanted something more than this.

Finally some tears slid down his face from such little attention he was getting.

Making him abuse his drooling cock while your panties get stained with his precum.

You’re being so mean to him..

Only giving him light touches and kisses, he wants to make love!!

Not this rotten book stuff..

Leon’s never been a nipper, well with other people it’s his main mood, but with.. you… never!!

That’s about to change, if you’re gonna tease his weeping cock fine well he’s gonna bite that cute pussy of your’s.

With that thought in his head he grabbed one of your hands yanking you into the mattress.

Making you stumble ontop of him while he nipped at your hand, shoving two fingers down his throat, his tongue lolling out, lapping up your fingers.

The other hand on his cock discarding your panties to the floor as he started an inhumane speed.

“L-Leon” you said breathy, eyes going lidded.

“Please~ just one baby~”

Leon’s tail wagged lightly as he said his plea.

You knew damn right it won’t be one, then with a blink there’s fourteen.

But still you body begging you to throw your clothes to the side and sink down on his twitching length.

“I-I’ll be a good breeder boy~” he whimpered, speeding his pace on his cock

Maybe I should- NO- He’s in heat he doesn’t know any better, you thought…

Yes he does, you’re the only reason he’s in heat. God damn it, just give him a baby!!

The only moral stopping you from plunging down that chewy tip.

“W-We shouldn’t-“ "Please baby, I need you. I'll be soooo good, just let me fill you up, please~."

he whined, his licking at your fingers grew more harsh.

he abandoned your hand that he was holding, to play with the buttons of your blouse.

While his other was wrapped around his girthy cock, speeding up, he felt his member twitching under you, aching to be shoved into your gummie walls.

His tail wagging harshly hitting your knees in the mattress.

You sigh, looking at his blue dilated eyes, looks like he’s not letting this go, with that you nodded.

Finally

Leon eagerly played with the buttons before yanking it off harshly tearing it to shreds in seconds.

He was strong.. but he would never.. NEVER used it against you.. Well if you begged enough~ maybe…

Then pushing up your pleated skirt up, you gasped a harsh hit landing your ass while the cold air did to .

Leon only growled, his ears flaring up, the wagging coming to a halt.

Eyes seemingly even more blown.

“Are you.. seriously-.. it's your scent~, you have to be ovulating.."

Leon panted, his body arching slightly into yours.

His cherry tip nearly touching your weeping cunt as he moaned, his need palpable.

Pre oozing out of his slit, glistening the tip further.

“Fuuuuckkk.. It's driving me wild, please, please—pleaseeeee”

His ears flattened back down, Whining like a dog.

His body trembling with unfamiliar sensation’s.

Finally, you act on your feelings, pulling your fingers out of Leon’s mouth with your own moan.

Leaning back directly on your knees, while pulling your panties to the side, spreading your folds.

Your soft folds right above his wet slit, rubbing against his angry tip.

He hated you right now..

Teasing him..

Before he could register what was fully happening Leon snarled.

Another slap landing your ass, while tears pricked his face.

Leon grabbing hold of your hips without warning only a growl, slamming upwards.

His thick shaft hooking deep inside your tight cunt.

Kissing your cute cervix.

“Y-You’ll look so pretty full of my pups.. even though you’re such a bitch..”

He growled thrusting deep into your womb earning him some slutty moans.

Arching his back off of the bed slamming into your greedy cunt.

Having an iron grip on your hips, while you griped onto his shoulders firmly.

Head buried to his neck, hair brushing against your face.

Lapping at his neck leaving love bites as he plunged his cock deep into your tight heat.

Your wet pussy making a mess on his v line, even his lower abs, such a good pussy.

“Like my cock baby~, mm’sucking me so deep~ ah~ gonna get lost in h-here~” he said wagging his tail while letting out small whines and cry’s.

You finally started to move as well, your nails dragging across Leon’s strong back leaving red streaks.

His thrusts getting faster, hands moving into your back, practically hugging while he fucked you.

He whined and moaned tears bearing both of your eyes.

“S-So tight.. m’sooo warm~”

You shifted your legs further apart taking him deeper inside you.

Leon let out a feral cry, his hips bucking wildly as he drove himself deeper into your velvet wall’s.

Sounds of skin slapping growing ever so louder.

Your tongue sticking out as you drooled and bit Leon’s shoulder.

Fully dazed as your tummy churned, head rolling back.

Leon's hand removed from your back pulling your head into his shoulder.

“Bite on me baby~ m-mark your good boy up”

He spoke then going back to heated hybrid he was, talking about how many pups you two were going to keep from the litter, how much of a good boy he was for you… only you.

“They better look like you..”

He whined, cock spilling more pre.

Leon's thrusts sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Sweat connecting the two of you.

His breaths more rapid.

“I-I’m g-gonn-“

He was cut off by your loud moans that joined his own.

His tip reaching deep in your tight cervix.

“M’so happy, we’re gonna be a family~”

Leon said his ears flattened, as he aggressively pushed you ever so deeper on his cock.

“Fucking finally”

His tongue finally licking at your neck snarling while slamming you hard down on his cock, nearly balls deep.

“Their go-gonna ah~ b-be so pretty- j-just like their mo-momma~”

You clenched around him at his words earning a whine.

“N-Need you to c-cum ah~ ngh~ first”

Such a good boy till the end.

That said the coil snapped around his cock, as you bit down on his shoulder earning a yelp while you came.

His tail stiffening as he whimpered loudly.

his finally thrust pushing past your cervix.

Thick hot white ropes shooting deep into your heat.

His potent seed spilling into you over flowing your crammed little womb.

He thrusted a few more times. overstimulating his cock while fucking his seed deeper into your tight hole.

Only clawing at Leon while the two of you settle down.

Leon still keeping you in a stone grip.

Only pulling your face from his shoulder, kissing you deeply.

“So pretty~ so mine!!”

He said, tail wagging behind him.

With that you smiled lightly pushing hair past your face.

Trying to get up from his still firm cock, only Hearing.. a.. growl?

“The fuck you think you’re going?”

Did.. did Leon just swear at you..

You thought confused looking back at him, he looked angry?

That’s new.

“J-just gonna get water”

You said his snarl disappearing.

“Oh! I thought you were gonna go out with those friends”

You were..

Looks like your gonna be stuck fucking for aaaaa longggg time..

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mad Season 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, social anxiety, chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker

Summary: a class project gets messy. (short!reader)

Note: yes I'm being irresponsible.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

‘So sorry I’m running behind. May forgot her wallet’. You reread Peter’s message for the fifth time and check the time under the bubble. More than forty minutes ago. He has to be close. 

You thought of checking but you don’t want to pressure him. Besides, he is doing a favour by bringing you to Stark Tower to let you use the space with him. You turn and pace along the wall, out of the way of the New York pedestrians who wouldn’t even notice if you got underfoot. 

You thought of waiting in the lobby but that’s too much. You focus on breathing. You feel alright for the moment, but a few times, you’ve reached for your inhaler just out of habit.  

“Hey,” a voice draws you out of your mounting anxiety, bringing you back down to just above neutral. “Door’s open, you know?” 

You face Bucky as he holds open of the many glass doors. 

You nod and teeter on your heels. “I know, sir. Just waiting.” 

“Bucky,” he corrects you. Like last time. Oops. “Waiting on the kid?” You gesture affirmatively again. He waves you over casually with a gloved hand, “come on. I can get ya into the lab.” 

“Mm, ahem,” you clear your throat, it’s getting tight. You get closer as the noise of the street makes it hard to hear your own thoughts. “That’s nice but I said I’d wait here.” 

“Busy,” he comments and his eyes roll around derisively. “Should be out here on the street. Let the kid know you’ll be upstairs.” 

There’s no arguing with him, not that you would ever dare. You’re not afraid of him. Maybe intimidated but who doesn’t make you feel small. No, he’s Bucky Barnes, an Avenger. You have no ground to tell him no. Besides, he’s being nice even if his tone remains mostly indifferent. 

“Thanks, s—Bucky,” you muster a tight-lipped smile. 

He holds the door and you flit in ahead of him, your wool jacket flapping and brushing against him. He follows. You hurry ahead then stop short as you realise you don’t know where you going. As you do, a man in a suit huffs and nearly knocks you over with his arm. 

“Watch it, little girl.” He sneers. 

“Hey,” Bucky catches him by his tie, “what’d you say to the lady?” 

You spin around in shock, rubbing your arm at the suddenness of it all. 

“N-nothing, I--” the man blinks in fear. “Nothing, she just got in my way.” 

“You knocked into her and you can’t say sorry?” Bucky pulls him closer, glaring at him with a furrow of his nose. 

“N-no,” the man shows his palms, “no.” 

“Look at her. She’s half your size, pal. You think she could hurt you?” 

“No, no, look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” The man sputters. 

“Not to me,” Bucky slides his hand down the man’s tie and pulls him like a dog on a leash toward you, “her.” 

The man blanches and gulp, “look, miss, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I shouldn’t have... I should look where I’m going.” 

“Good boy,” Bucky’s snarl comes close to a smirk as he lets the man go and taps his cheek lightly. “Go.” 

He shoves the man by the shoulder and you bat your eyes dumbly. You watch him go as Bucky looms close. You look at him and reach for your bag. You unzip the pouch at the end of the thin strap and pull out your inhaler. You take a puff. 

His expression softens, “oh, is that me?” 

You shake your head, “too many people.” 

“Ah, right,” he points toward the elevators. 

You follow him as he bulldozes through the bodies and pushes the button. You stop beside him and fidget with your inhaler. You peek over at him again. He looks down at you and you wince. 

“Sorry... I...” 

“People usually only stare when I got the arm out,” he shrugs. “I got something on my face? Damn beard catches.”  

Brushes his fingers over the thicket of hair across his jaw. You shake your head again. 

“S-sorry. I... I...” you sniff as the doors open and he beckons you ahead of him. You scurry on and he follows as a slow pace. He spins and jabs the buttons.  

“Thanks for... for helping.” 

“Not at all,” he says. Silence rises with the elevator. He coughs. “You know, I had a buddy with ashthma. Still my buddy but he don’t got the asthma no more.”  

He snorts. You mull his words. You think know who he means.  

“The stuff or whatever... got rid of it?” You ask meekly. 

“Yeah, the stuff. Serum. Poison,” he scoffs. 

“Oh,” you hum. 

“Guess I take it for granted. Never had to worry about much of the being sick part. Sister did. Yeah, she used to always have something,” he clicks his tongue. “Tell me when to shut up.” 

“No, no, I wouldn’t... wouldn’t ever,” you stutter. 

Another lulls fills the elevator as it opens, but the tension remains trapped inside. He points you out first and waits to trail after you. You come out onto the floor. You vaguely recognise some of the acrylic decor and the stiff looking chairs but you don’t know where to go. 

“Left,” he directs you with a gentle caress down your sleeve. “Easy to get lost when you don’t waste your life here." 

You let him guide you. You’d lose yourself without him. It’s exactly why you’d been out on the street.  

That reminds you of Peter. You reach for your bag again and pull out your phone. You check for a message. 

“Kid standing a nice gal like you up?” He asks. 

You flinch, “uh, no, his aunt... there was an emergency.” 

“More important than you, huh?” He pivots and presses his finger to the keypad. The door opens. 

“I don’t... I don’t know. It’s not a big deal.” 

He looks at you, his eyes narrowing, “you’re not a big deal?” 

“No, waiting isn’t... isn’t that bad,” you stammer. “Uh, thanks, again.” 

“Well, you know, in my day, we treated ladies with respect. Let me know if the kid needs a lesson or two,” he taps the doorframe. “I’ll check in, just in case.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I know I don’t,” he says. “Go on,” he nods through the door. 

You don’t hesitate. You enter the lab with another thanks, eager to have some time to yourself. You go to the table and untangle your knapsack. You look back just as the door starts to slide shut. You only get a glimpse of his eyes before he’s blocked out by the metal barrier. You can feel his gaze staining you. 

You know it must be all in your head but he is so intense. Not as angry as last time but still... a lot. 

[pinkhairswagtourney]

help a disabled lesbian survive

i don't know how much longer i can do this. i feel so defeated. i'm behind on both my car insurance and credit card payments, i don't have any insulin and i ate the last of my food this morning. being stressed 24/7 has my fibro constantly triggered and it hurts to just exist, i'm exhausted from my blood sugar being spiked and i'm in pain all the time and i'm doing my best to keep myself alive but it feels impossible some days. please commission me or send a few dollars my way, anything is appreciated

commissions post p-yp-l c-sh-pp k-fi

[reiding-writing]

SANCTUARY — SPENCER REID!

Spencer has a rough night.

spencer reid x gn!reader | 1.7k | hurt/comfort | book fayre !!

WARNINGS | spencer’s drug addiction, withdrawal descriptions, needles, track marks

part one.

masterlist.

a/n — thank you for the love 🫶🫶 (i accidentally deleted the ask but i had it screenshotted thank god)

When you offered Spencer the spare room in your apartment so he wouldn’t have to be alone during the worst of his withdrawals, he was so grateful he cried.

Now though, he was beginning to wonder if it was really all that good of an idea.

Spencer couldn’t help it, really. The drug cravings he was dealing with were intense. He would try and try, but nothing was working— not gum, not candy, not freezing cold showers or sleeping 18 straight hours.

It didn’t help that the withdrawal symptoms were getting worse. He was exhausted, his stomach was in tangles, headaches pounding incessantly behind his eyes.

It was getting harder and harder to resist each passing minute. As he desperately looked around your apartment for something, anything, to get the drug-induced itch out of the back of his mind, he decided he couldn’t do this anymore.

Desperate, Spencer slowly made his way to your room. He knew that you would probably be asleep, but he didn’t care. He slowly pushed open your door and crept into your room, trying not to trip over anything in the shrouded darkness shielding you from a disturbance to your slumber.

He gingerly sat down next to your sleeping form, gently shaking your shoulder to rouse you, and after a few moments, you slowly began to stir, slowly blinking your eyes open and looking up at the shadowed figure by your side.

You take a sharp breath in through your nose as you wake, blinking the sleep harshly from your eyes. “Spencer? Are you okay?”

At the sound of your tired voice, Spencer tensed up slightly. Even in the low light of the room, he could see the sleep-filled haze in your eyes, and a little guilt tugged in the back of his mind. But the need for his drug was too strong to care about minor things like that.

“No,” He whispered back bluntly.

You clear the sleep from your throat as you edge yourself upright, dragging your knuckles over your eyelids. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes traced the tired way you wiped your eyes, only furthering his guilt. But again, the craving and the need for his internal torture to stop overpowered that feeling.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Spencer stated almost desperately, avoiding eye contact with you.

You exhale slowly.

“Spencer,”

He still refused to look at you, staring at his own trembling hands and scratching at the inside of his elbow.

With each second that passed, the need for a needle in his skin only grew stronger, and it was starting to become hard to keep resisting the urge.

“Look at me,” You tapp the side of his chin with your finger, a gentle gesture for him to turn his gaze towards you.

He slowly raised his gaze to your face, and you could clearly see how exhausted he was. Dark bags hung heavily under his eyes from lack of sleep, and his body was wracked with tremors from the withdrawal symptoms.

Seeing your sympathetic expression, his guilt only increased. It was like you knew exactly what he was going to say, and he didn’t know if that scared or embarrassed him more.

“I-,“ He started, his voice wavering. “I need-“

“Spencer,” You shake your head at him softly. “No…”

For a moment, he wanted to be angry, to scream and demand you understand his situation. But as he took in the weary yet sympathetic look on your face, a wave of shame passed over him.

“Please,” He whispered hoarsely, “I can’t do this. It hurts too much.”

“I know it hurts,” You rub your hand carefully down the curve of Spencer’s neck, settling it on his shoulder. “I know,”

He clenched his eyelids shut as your fingers began to massage his shoulders. It was almost enough to make him relax a bit.

Almost.

But that craving, and the pain, still clawed at the back of his mind, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore them.

“I need it,” He choked out, opening his eyes to once again gaze at you pleadingly. “Please, I just- I need it,”

The more he talked, the more desperate he began to sound, and he knew how pathetic he must look.

There’s a small pause as your eyes flicker over his expression.

“You remember why I offered you to stay here don’t you?”

He nodded tiredly, his head hung low in shameful understanding. You were trying to help him, and here he was begging you to let him do the one thing you’ve been trying hard to help him not give in to.

“Come on,” You let your hand fall from Spencer’s shoulder onto his leg, squeezing at his hand as it lies on top of his thigh. “Come with me,”

You groan tiredly as you climb out of the comfort of your bed, and Spencer hesitantly lets you guide him out of your room.

When it finally registers that you’re taking him to the kitchen, a flicker of pathetic hope blossoms in his chest, only for it to be immediately squashed down under the loss of your contact and the opening of your freezer.

It’s an ice tray that you pull out, cracking the plastic harshly against the edge of your kitchen counter to free the ice cubes from their confines and plucking one between your fingers, gesturing towards him.

He glances down at the ice cube, not really understanding why you’re giving it to him. But when he sees your expression, it clicks for him, and his eyes widen. He knew how withdrawal and drug addiction worked, so this trick wasn’t new to him. He just didn’t think you would be willing to do this for him.

He warily held out his arm to you, and even in the dim light of the moon outside, you could see the faint track marks that scarred his arm.

If you’re deterred by them you don’t show it, and you press the ice cube carefully against the bruises, dragging it over the tender skin.

“Do you want tea?

He winced slightly as the cold ice cube touched his arm, the sensation familiar yet foreign. He slowly shook his head at your question, not trusting his voice to answer you.

He stared down at the ice cube with a mixture of relief and shame. He was so far gone, to the point where the feeling of frozen water on his skin helped to calm the incessant itch of drug withdrawal.

“Hot milk then,”

He glanced up at you from under his flattened curls, slightly confused.

Hot… milk?

He’s confused for a minute, then it clicks. Hot milk. To help him sleep. Like a child.

It was embarrassing, really, but right now he was too tired to care.

So, he slowly nodded to you, watching as you busied yourself making him the warm milk. He was torn between looking ashamed that he’d even considered shooting up to have the easy out, and being grateful that you were willing to help him so calmly.

“Keep the ice going, Spencer,”

He quickly obeyed your instruction, bringing the ice cube back down to his forearm and slowly rubbing it over the faint scarring. It wasn’t the best, but it was better than nothing, and the cold soothed his itchy skin.

He stayed quiet as you made the hot milk, watching you carefully add a little bit of honey to help sweeten the drink. He wasn’t sure why, but something about you being so calm and unbothered by this whole situation felt so… comforting.

After a few minutes, you returned to him, hot cup of honey milk in hand, and held it out to him. He couldn’t help but stare at it for a moment, a swirl of emotions playing through his tired mind. But he quickly squashed the swirling thoughts, taking the milk from your hands and slowly sipping the warm liquid.

“The change in temperature should shock your system,”

He hummed in acknowledgment as he took another sip of the warm milk, letting the heat of the beverage run down his throat.

He’s read about the method before, where suddenly increasing or decreasing the temperature of the body can help with withdrawal symptoms.

It was supposed to be paired with hot showers and ice baths, but he supposed ice cubes and hot milk worked too.

He quickly downed the rest of the milk, watching as you took the now-empty mug from his hands.

As the heat of the milk began to warm up his body, exhaustion really started to wash over him, and he could barely stop a yawn from escaping his lips.

He could see the slight upturn of your lips when you noticed he yawned, and felt the shame hit once again.

Here he was, a 24 year old man, and you were handling this situation like how someone would a child. But the tiredness made it impossible to care very much about how pathetic this all looked.

“Come on Spencer,” You press your hand gently between his shoulder blades, a prompt to get him moving. “Back to bed,”

His movements were sluggish as he let you steer him back towards the bedroom. It was like his body had suddenly hit a wall of exhaustion without warning.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured, stumbling slightly as you guided him into bed.

“Shhh, none of that, lie down,”

He tiredly did as you said, slumping down on the bed and letting his tired body sink into the sheets. As he closed his eyes, a wave of exhaustion washed over him, making it hard for him to think.

“Thank you,” He whispered quietly, his words a bit slurred by the sleep that was quickly catching up on him.

“That’s it, just rest now, Spencer,”

He mumbled incoherently as he nodded, already slipping into the haze of sleep. As he slowly drifted off, he faintly registered the feeling of your hand gently smoothing his hair from his face.

And just like that, he was asleep. His breath evened out into the deep pattern of his sleeping breaths, and he relaxed, not realising just how tired his body had become from the strain of his withdrawal.

[alwaysmicado]

Callisto I

10.2k | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 9

Series Masterlist | Joel Masterlist | previous | AO3

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, emotional hurt/comfort, weed, mention of domestic violence, toxic dynamic, graphic vomiting, emotional rollercoaster, fluff Summary: Your car ride home from the beach is...eventful. Joel does something special for you to express his feelings. A/N: This part was going to be much too long, so I split it in two. It was important for me to post part I of Callisto before my birthday, and I’m so excited that I finally get to share it with you. Happy reading & please let me know your thoughts if you’re up for it. Thank you for your continued support, guys! ♡ Dividers by @/cafekitsune. Songs: Backburner by NIKI & My Exes by Snake City

“Why do you keep coming back?”

You bring the joint to your lips, your fingers brushing lightly against his as he passes it over. You take a deep drag, letting the familiar burn of the weed settle into your lungs before you exhale, slowly, the smoke curling into the night air. It’s a slow haze, softening your anger, making it easier to breathe even if only for a little while. 

The pressure in your chest doesn’t lift—it never does, not really—but the weed at least dulls the edges.

For now, anyway.

The streetlight casts long shadows on the chipped concrete, bathing you both in a murky orange hue. You sit side by side on the curb, the shared joint passing lazily between you, the quiet of the night only disturbed by a dog barking further down the road.

Simon leans back, his shoulders slumped, the hood of his jacket pulled up, obscuring most of his face. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, tracing the outline of his jaw, the way his lips curl around the joint. You hate how he still looks good to you, even after his latest stunt. 

“Why do you keep coming back?” he asks again, his voice low and gravelly, as if he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it. “If all we do is hurt each other?”

You shrug, looking up at the stars, or what little of them you can see through the haze of city smog. You know the answer, but it feels too pathetic to admit out loud. The truth? It’s not that simple. It never has been.

“Maybe because the pain is addicting,” you whisper, your voice barely cutting through the stillness. “It’s like…a twisted dance, and we can’t stop stepping on each other’s toes.”

Simon smirks, and you catch the briefest glimpse of that crooked smile that makes your heart race. “You always were poetic,” he mutters, his tone tinged with both affection and scorn. He passes you the joint again, and this time, when your fingers brush, it sends a jolt through you—familiar, electric, dangerous.

You take a drag, letting the smoke cloud your thoughts, dull the ache. “I mean it, Simon,” you say, the words coming out slower now, heavy from both the high and the weight of them. “We know how to hurt each other in all the right ways. It’s almost like…we’re better at hurting than loving.”

He chuckles, but it’s empty, hollow. “Maybe we were never supposed to love in the first place,” he says, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe all we’re good at is fucking things up.”

There’s no denying the truth in his words. You’ve been here before, countless times, caught in this cycle of destruction, breaking each other apart piece by piece, only to come back together, craving the chaos more than the calm. Simon would get restless after a while, he’d cheat and lie, you’d find out, you’d scream, cry, threaten to leave, and then—somehow—you’d end up in his arms again.

It was exhausting, suffocating, but it was also magnetic. You didn’t know how to leave. And neither did he.

You sigh, flicking the ashes of the joint onto the ground, your hand trembling slightly. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it?” you say, more to yourself than to him. “The way I can’t seem to let you go, even though I know you’re bad for me.”

He tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he studies your face for a moment. “Have you ever considered that you’d be a lot happier if you just admitted to yourself that you like it?”

He reaches for the joint, his fingers brushing yours for longer this time, deliberate. “You can keep telling yourself I’m the bad guy all you want, babe,” he says, his voice low, “but we both know you ain’t innocent in this either. You like it. The fighting, the drama, the sex. You like what we have.”

Your stomach tightens at his words, because there’s a part of you that knows he’s right. 

You’ve said things, done things, you’re not proud of. Screamed in his face, hurled insults meant to wound, thrown plates that shattered like the fragile remains of your relationship. And then, when the storm passed, you’d pull him into bed, your anger melting into a desperate kind of need. It was all you knew—this toxic spiral that twisted love and pain together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Maybe,” you admit softly, feeling the weight of your own guilt settle on your shoulders. “Maybe I do.”

Simon turns to you then, his gaze locking with yours, and for a moment, you can see the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he never lets anyone else see. “So, what are we doing here?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “We’re just gonna keep doing this? Over and over?”

You swallow hard, the question hanging between you like a knife. You know the answer, even if you don’t want to admit it. You’re stuck in this loop, and neither of you knows how to break free.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Simon leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and for a second, your heart races with that familiar, dangerous anticipation. “We don’t have to stop,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “We can keep this going; keep fucking up, keep hurting, keep loving. It’s what we do.”

You let out a small, tired laugh, and shake your head. “Yeah, Simon, great plan,” you say, your tone light, almost condescending, though there’s no real bite behind it. “Let’s just keep breaking each other into pieces. That’s gonna end well.”

You don’t even have the energy to fight properly. It’s all too much, and you’re too tired. Tired of the fights, the back-and-forth, the constant cycling through pain and passion like it’s the only way you know how to exist together.

He watches you closely, his gaze unwavering, as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking, waiting for you to snap at him, to tell him off. But you don’t. You can’t. You feel the exhaustion settle in your bones, making it impossible to muster up any anger.

Why is it so difficult?

What the hell is wrong with you that it’s so difficult for him to love you? To not hurt you? You wonder if it’s something about you, something broken deep inside, something that makes you impossible to love. 

You’ve tried, haven’t you? You’ve bent yourself to fit the version of you he seems to want, the version that’s easier, less complicated, less demanding. But no matter how much you bend, no matter how much you give, it’s never enough.

What is it about you that’s so unlovable?

“I’m sorry, you know,” Simon murmurs, taking a long drag from the joint.

You blink, your head feeling light, detached, like you’re floating just above the surface of yourself. The words come slower now, softer, like you have to pull them from some faraway place.

“For what?”

You hear yourself ask the question, but it feels distant, like it’s not really you speaking. The world around you is muffled, like you’re wrapped in cotton, the sounds, the lights, all muted. Simon’s face swims in your vision, and for a moment, you focus on the way his lips curve as he exhales, the smoke curling lazily from his mouth. You watch it drift up, swirling in the air between you, and it’s almost beautiful, the way it moves, weightless and free.

Simon glances at you, his eyes half-lidded, bloodshot, but there’s something in his gaze—something that makes you feel a tug of recognition, though your mind is too foggy to grasp what it is. He takes another drag, slower this time, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft.

“You know what.” He hands you back the joint and you take it, and you inhale deeply, the burn in your lungs calming your nerves.

“Then why’d you do it?” 

He hadn’t even tried to hide it this time. You heard the story from someone else first, a smug, offhand comment meant as a joke. Simon, with his arm slung over your shoulder, laughing along like it was nothing, like you weren’t standing right there, feeling the ground crumble beneath your feet.

“I was drunk as fuck ‘cause they kept bringing shots after shots after shots, and she took advantage of that like you wouldn’t believe. That’s what those girls do, and shit, I wasn’t the only one they got like that—Ben, Jake, Alex, Teddy too, I think.”

All of them in relationships, one to be married in two weeks, one with a baby on the way. 

Disgusting.

“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Simon furrows his brow, turning to you, confusion flashing across his face. “What do you mean?”

You shake your head, unable to look at him directly, your gaze fixed on the joint between your fingers. “Going through life, knowing nothing is ever your fault,” you murmur. There’s no anger in your tone, just a tired sort of resignation, like you’re saying something you’ve known all along.

“What are you talking about?” he scoffs. “Nothing’s ever been easy for me. I fucked up royally, yeah, I get that, but it wasn’t my fucking fault. I didn’t even wanna go to the damn club, but Alex wouldn’t stop begging, so I gave in.”

“You see?” you say, your voice quiet, but firm. “You’re fine as long as Alex was the one who made you cheat. It’s all good ‘cause the stripper took advantage of you, right?” You can hear the bitterness in your own voice.

“You don’t need to change or grow, ‘cause, what’s the point, your parents fucked you up anyway. It’s your boss’s fault your coworkers complain about you, it’s the cops’ fault that you got a DUI, and it’s my fault that you resent me.”

You watch Simon’s face as the words sink in, the flicker of defensiveness in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens.

“And I know that deep down you really do believe all that.” You pause, staring at him through the thick fog clouding your mind, your body sinking deeper into the concrete. “So, I guess my question is…why even bother with me anymore?”

“Baby…”

“No, I’m serious,” you say, cutting him off, but there’s no fire in your voice, just a dull weariness that matches the slow pulse of your heartbeat. “Why? Why keep me around when you could be happy, doing what you wanna do, without me holding you back?”

Simon sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “I wouldn’t be happy without you.”

“But I’m not enough for you,” you whisper, tears inadvertently filling your eyes. “I’ve never been enough. Despite trying everything in my power. I’m not enough for you.”

Simon doesn’t answer right away. He takes the joint from your hand, inhaling deeply, staring at some distant point in the darkened parking lot. The quiet stretches, thick and uncomfortable, and for a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all. But then he finally sighs, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to buy himself more time.

“What do you want me to say?” he mutters. “You know I’m not always good with words or expressing feelings and all that shit…but you’re wrong. You’re everything to me.”

He hands you the joint and you shake your head, a mirthless laugh bubbling to the surface. “Yeah, that’s why you fucked a stripper and had unprotected sex with me right after. Do you hear yourself?”

He exhales exasperatedly as he leans back, palms pressed against the cool concrete. “It’s not– it didn’t mean anything,” he says, his voice defensive. “It’s not like I’m looking for someone better than you.”

“Then why?” you press, your voice shaking now. “If I’m so important to you, why do you keep lying and sneaking around? What’s the point?”

He sighs again, louder this time, like he’s tired of this conversation before it’s even really begun. “I don’t know, okay? I get restless sometimes. I’m not…thinking when I do it.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, a small, almost absent-minded gesture that makes your heart clench. “It’s not like I’m trying to hurt you. I’m really not, baby. And It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

His hand tightens around yours, grounding you in the moment, and for a second, you almost feel comforted.

Almost.

But then, like a flash, the memory hits you—sharp, vivid, paralyzing.

The pain shoots through your wrist all over again, that awful, sickening crunch echoing in your ears. You’re back in the ER, the blinding white lights overhead making your eyes burn, your head pounding as you sit there, staring at the sterile walls. You’d made up some story, but the nurse looked right through you, her eyes filled with pity.

You remember how you sat there, waiting, your body aching but your mind empty, not even able to cry a single tear. Just numb. Completely detached from yourself, like you were watching it all from the outside.

You remember the young doctor, the one who stitched you up. His voice was light, conversational, doing his best to distract you from the deep gash in your wrist. He told you about how his daughter had just started kindergarten that day. How proud and terrified he and his wife were, how they’d taken a hundred pictures of her in her little backpack. How she was such a happy, bright girl, full of curiosity and excitement.

You could barely listen, but you remember the way his voice softened when he said, “I just hope she always knows how loved she is.”

That was the part that stuck with you.

The way his voice cracked just slightly when he said it, like he was imagining all the ways the world could break her. How someone could end up hurting her like someone hurt you. And as you sat there, the needle pulling your skin back together, all you could think about was how far away that feeling was—how you had no idea what it felt like to be that loved, that safe.

You swallow hard, looking down at your intertwined hands. “You’ve said that before, you know. When you drove me home from the hospital.” Your voice is soft, almost too quiet, but the accusation is there.

Simon stiffens. His grip loosens slightly, and you can see the flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it’s the kind of guilt that runs shallow, just skimming the surface. His jaw clenches, and he pulls his hand away.

“I thought you were over that,” he mutters. 

You stare at him for a moment, then let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah, sure,” you say with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You hold out your hand to him, the small scar visible on your wrist, faded but undeniable. “Totally over it. Look, it’s almost like it never happened.”

Simon’s face falters as he hesitates, then takes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over the scar as though trying to erase it with that simple touch.

“I wasn’t right that night,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on your hand before you pull away. “You know I’m not…I wasn’t right.”

You chuckle and take the joint from him. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s silent beside you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you again but doesn’t know how. You can feel his eyes on you, heavy with unspoken words, but you don’t look at him. Instead, you take a slow drag from the joint, letting the smoke fill your lungs.

“I’m not doing that anymore,” Simon says quietly.

You don’t respond. You don’t even look at him. You smoke in silence, absentmindedly rubbing over a faded bruise on your leg.

“The past few months were nice, weren’t they?” Simon’s voice cuts through the silence, tentative, like he’s testing the waters. “I mean, we were fine, right? You were happy?”

You nod, exhaling slowly as the smoke leaves your lips. “I was happy, yeah.”

“Then let’s go back to that. I don’t wanna fall asleep without you in my arms again.” He moves closer, his hand reaching for your chin, gripping it gently, so you’ll look at him. His eyes are wide, pleading, the same look he always gives you when he’s trying to pull you back in. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Which time?

“Hey, I mean it.” He turns your head back, his grip tighter now. “I’m trying to be better for you, I really am. Just…tell me what you want me to do to make it right and I’ll do it. Anything.” 

“You know, I never wanted you to become a better person for me, Simon,” you say softly, removing his hand from your chin, and letting it fall to his side. “I wanted you to look in the mirror, and realize that you’re a fucking asshole, and change for yourself. I wanted you to realize you’re turning into the very man you always told me you’d rather die than become.”

He stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head as the mask he so carefully wears is slipping. “You love doing this, don’t you?” he mutters. “Pushing, prodding, trying to make me feel like shit.”

You curl your arms around your legs, pulling them close to your chest, your voice calm. “If the shoe fits…”

“Oh, really?” he scoffs, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re so much fucking better than me, don’t you? Well, let me tell you this, princess. You’re not as fucking perfect as you think you are, and if you think other people can’t see that, you’re hallucinating.”

“I don’t think I’m perfect, Simon. I wouldn’t be here if I did.” Your voice is softer than you intend, like the weed is suppressing your strength to yell. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“Then why the fuck are you here if you hate me so much?”

“‘Cause I’m an idiot.” You bring the joint to your lips and inhale deeply. “I’m an idiot who can’t let go. ‘Cause I still think you could be better if you just tried. If you stopped listening to your friends, if you stopped drinking, if you stopped blaming me for every shitty thing that’s happened to you in the last five years.”

He’s shaking his head before you even finish. “I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And your solution is to just up and leave without telling me where you are? Very mature.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t talk to you, Simon. Every time I try, it’s like I’m talking to a wall.”

“You could talk to me if you actually wanted to,” he snaps back. “But it fits your narrative better when you can storm out, make your big scene, and go enjoy your little power trip. That’s what you do, right? It’s easier than actually being a grown-up and talking things out with me.”

“You’re delusional,” you mutter, brow furrowed.

“I’m delusional?” Simon’s laugh is hollow, his eyes flashing. “Yeah, right. I think you’re the one who’s lost it.”

You feel the words leaving his mouth before he even says them, the familiar sting of what’s next, and it’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. “Like you’re any better than me. Look who the fuck’s talking. Her mother’s daughter.”

There it is. The blow he always lands when he’s desperate to hit you where it hurts.

It’s his ace, the easiest way to throw you off-balance, to bring you down to the level where you feel vulnerable and he can control the conversation again.

You feel an old pain rising to the surface, but instead of letting it show, you smile. It’s not a real smile, but a small, knowing curve of your lips, the kind that hides everything you refuse to let him see. You’re not taking the bait this time.

“She had to go to the hospital again,” you murmur, your eyes on the joint as you bring it to your lips for one last drag. Then, you stub it out on the curb, watching the ember fade. “Thanks for asking.”

Simon’s face falls, the sharp edge of his anger crumbling away. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“Oh, you know,” you cut him off with a casual shrug. “It is what it is.”

“Why didn’t you–”

“‘Cause you were balls deep in a goddamn stripper, Simon,” you interrupt, your voice cold and flat. “I can’t rely on you.”

His face twists in frustration, but his eyes soften, and if you weren’t as high as you are, you’d see the little lines of guilt written all over his face. He reaches out to touch your shoulder, his hand hovering for a second before he gently rests it there.

“Baby, you know you can rely on me,” he says softly. “We have our problems, sure, but I always have your back.”

You roll your eyes, but he presses on, his voice earnest. “Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not true.”

Your eyes meet his. You know exactly what he’s referring to.

That one thing he holds onto as proof, as his trump card, the one time he truly came through for you when it mattered most. The time you thought you’d lose everything. If it’s not your histrionic mother he uses against you, it’s this.

“You can’t hold that over my head for the rest of my life,” you say, your voice steady but sharp. “You don’t get to help me when I need you most and then throw it in my face every time things get hard. That’s not how this works.”

His hand falls from your shoulder. He knows you’re right, but he doesn’t want to admit it. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m agitated. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

He shifts uncomfortably beside you, his fingers twitching in his lap as he glances away. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, hesitant. “Is she gonna be alright?”

You nod, but there’s no relief in it. “Mhm.” 

There’s a long pause, heavy and suffocating, like an unseen barrier between you two. The night air is crisp, and your bare legs peeking out beneath your skirt are starting to get cold. Simon breaks the silence first.

“Baby, look at me. Please.” 

You blink slowly, your eyes struggling to focus as everything around you starts to blur. The edges of Simon’s face seem to dissolve into the night, his features soft and indistinct, almost like he’s not really there. But you find him again, his eyes, his nose, his lips, his disheveled hair. He looks…lost. It’s rare to see him this vulnerable, this unsure.

How beautiful.

“Can we go home?”

You don’t hear him, not really. All you hear is the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor echoing in your ears. It’s distant but persistent, a steady pulse that reminds you of things you’d rather forget. Then, a disembodied voice, calmly announcing that, “This could have been prevented. This is your fault.”

The words float through your mind, circling, wrapping tighter and tighter around you.

“Baby?”

You try to focus on Simon’s face again, but it’s hard to think, hard to find the words. Everything feels slow, muffled, like you’re moving underwater.

“I have to go,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, like the words are slipping away from you even as you say them.

He tenses up immediately, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean, ‘go’?”

“It means I’m tired, Simon. It means I can’t do this anymore.”

The silence that follows is deafening, like the world has suddenly come to a standstill, waiting for the inevitable fallout. You can practically feel Simon’s frustration pulsing off him.

But as you tilt your head, your gaze wandering over his face, the familiar lines of anger are there, yes. But beneath that, hidden in the set of his shoulders, in the way his hands rest uncertainly in his lap, you can sense something different. Fear. Real fear that this time, you might actually mean it. That this time, you might actually leave.

He doesn’t say anything as you stand up, your legs trembling beneath you, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. The world spins around you, dizzying, your vision blurred, and you stumble. Instinctively, Simon reaches out, steadying you with his hand.

But you shove him away immediately, your skin burning where his fingers brushed yours. You can’t let him touch you right now. If he touches you, you know you’ll crumble. You know you’ll fall back into his orbit like you always do.

And you may just be unable to afford that anymore.

But then, like a shadow moving through the haze of your high, Simon is suddenly in front of you—close, too close. His presence is disorienting, his words pouring over you before you can even process the distance he’s just closed.

“You don’t mean it,” he says, low and sure, like a statement of fact, as if he’s already decided this for you. His eyes lock onto yours, and it feels like you’re sinking into them, the pull of him as strong as ever, like gravity. He knows how to make you feel small, like your words hold no weight next to his certainty.

“I love you,” he whispers, and the tenderness in his voice makes you shiver, even though your mind screams for you to stay strong. His words wrap around you, weaving through the cracks in your resolve. His face is so close now, his breath warm against your skin, and you can’t tell if it’s the weed or the way he’s looking at you, but everything feels…slower. Softer. Like you’re slipping into a warm, dangerous comfort.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you? Yeah, I messed up, I know I did. But don’t let this ruin us. We’re too good together for that.” His voice is so gentle, hypnotic…irresistible.

“Simon…”

He steps even closer, the space between you disappearing as his hands find yours. His touch is warm, grounding, and despite the cold night air biting at your skin, his presence feels like shelter. He squeezes your hands softly, and your heart stumbles over itself.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he whispers, pleading. “Don’t walk away from us. We’re not perfect, but we belong together. You’re my family, baby. You’re all I have in this godforsaken world. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I matter…like I deserve love.”

It’s incredible, really, how easily he can break you down, how he can strip away all your defenses with just a few words. He knows exactly which buttons to push, how to weave his need for you into something that feels like love, something that feels like safety—even though you should know better.

He sees it, too. He sees the way your resolve falters, the way your eyes flicker with that familiar softness, and a satisfied smile curls on his lips. He knows he’s got you. He always knows when he’s won.

“C’mere,” he says gently, his hands sliding up your arms, pulling you toward him, and despite every instinct telling you to run, you let him. You let him hold you, let him wrap his arms around you like a protective shield against the world.

Your body sinks into his, your cheek resting against his chest, and you can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Each beat is a rhythm you’ve known for years, one that’s soothed you through your darkest moments, even as it’s caused some of them. His scent wraps around you, familiar and intoxicating, like the remnants of a home you’re desperate to return to. You let yourself drown in the warmth of him, in his steady presence that has helped you through so much. His hand strokes the back of your head, his touch soft, soothing.

It’s messed up how right it feels.

How comforting it is to be here in his arms, even when your heart is breaking inside.

“I love you,” Simon whispers again, his breath warm against your temple. “I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so fucking sorry. But you’re all I have, babe. I need you.”

You close your eyes, biting back the sob that threatens to escape. His words seep into your skin, and you want so desperately to believe him. 

You love him. God, do you love him. Even when it hurts. Even when it breaks you. And right now, with his arms around you, you miss him so deeply it feels like a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t want to be without him. He’s the only thing that’s ever felt like family to you. The only person who knows all your scars, all your flaws, and still pulls you close.

“I need you too,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s the truth, as ugly as it is.

Simon holds you tighter, his arms enveloping you, and for now, you let yourself sink into the comfort of it. Into the warmth of his embrace, into the way his hand rubs slow circles on your back like he’s trying to erase all the hurt, all the broken pieces between you.

You let him tell you he loves you, let him soothe you with his words, let him promise you the world, even though deep down, you know you’ll both end up in the same place again.

And before you know it, you’re slipping into the passenger seat, the door closing behind you with a soft, final click.

“You okay, darlin’?”

Joel’s voice pulls you back, the deep rumble of his question cutting through the fog of memories clouding your mind.

You blink, taking in the familiar interior of his car, the hum of the road beneath the tires, the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminating his profile. The past feels too close, too heavy, pressing on your chest like you’re still stuck in it. But Joel is here, real and solid next to you, grounding you in the present.

“Yeah,” you answer quietly, your voice a little rougher than you mean for it to be. “Just tired.”

You see him glance over at you, concern evident in his eyes, but he doesn’t push. Not this time. He’s trying his hardest not to pry, not when he knows you need space. He just nods and keeps his eyes on the road, his hand resting on the gearshift, close but not touching.

“We’re almost there,” he says after a beat, his voice gentle, steady—so different from the frantic beat of your heart.

You nod, staring out the window at the darkened streets passing by. It’s quiet this late at night, and the drive back to your place feels longer than it should. The weight of the past few days lingers like a shadow, gnawing at the edges of your mind, making it hard to breathe. 

You can still see Laura’s hand on her bump, the way her sad eyes looked at you like you were in the wrong. You can feel Simon’s arms around you, the way he pulled you in even when you should’ve pushed him away. The way you couldn’t help but let him.

But you’re not that person anymore. This is different. Joel’s different.

Your stomach churns, a wave of nausea rising so suddenly it feels like the world tilts. You grip your bandaged hand tighter, shift in your seat, trying to breathe through it, but the sensation intensifies. You can taste the bitterness of the meds in your mouth, the stress squeezing your chest like a vice as cold sweat starts spreading on your skin. The movement of the car only makes it worse, and you know what’s coming.

“Joel…” you manage, your voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Huh?” His head snaps toward you, eyes widening with concern as he sees how uncomfortable you are. “Shit. Hang on.”

Without hesitation, he tightens his grip on the steering wheel and scans the street for a place to pull over. It’s late, but the road is still lined with parked cars, neon signs glowing from nearby buildings. Finally, he spots a small gap along the curb. He turns on his blinker and slows down, smoothly guiding you toward the side of the street.

You fumble desperately with the seatbelt, your fingers trembling and uncoordinated as nausea hits you like a wave. Before you can manage it yourself, Joel leans over, his hands quick but gentle as he clicks the seat belt free. “Here,” he murmurs, and the moment the belt retracts, you’re already reaching for the door handle.

The second the door is open, you lurch out onto the sidewalk, the city air thick with petrichor from the short downpour that made you leave the beach earlier. The nausea hits hard, and you bend over, retching violently onto the pavement. It’s mostly bile, bitter and burning in your throat, and each wave of sickness feels like it’s tearing through your body. You grip the door for support, your hands shaking, your body trembling from the sheer force of it.

You hate this. The vulnerability, the pain, the utter helplessness of it all.

Joel moves quietly, reaching into the glove compartment for tissues. He doesn’t crowd you, just watches carefully, his expression tight with worry. He’s there, but giving you the space you need. After grabbing the tissues, he steps out of the car, making his way around to the back. You can hear him rummaging in the trunk, though your focus remains on trying not to accidentally cough up your lungs. 

“Goddamnit,” you choke out, your voice strained as another wave of nausea forces the last of the bile from your body. It burns, raw and painful, your whole frame trembling as you lean over. Joel is next to you, hovering, trying to be there, but keeping his distance. 

“I hate this,” you whine dramatically, your head pounding as you try catching your breath. 

Once you feel like the worst is over and your stomach is settling, you straighten up and look at Joel through watery eyes. He’s smiling at you sympathetically, taking a step closer to wipe your mouth and chin with a couple of tissues.

You’re about to tell him not to touch you, but the concentrated look on his face and the deft but gentle motion of his fingers put you in a trance. He’s cleaned your mouth and wiped away your tears before you could even say anything.  

“Do you remember how hot I looked in that short red dress?” you murmur, furrowing your brow at the unexpected pain coming from your sore throat. 

“Yeah, how could I not?” Joel chuckles as he opens and hands you the water bottle he had waiting for you in his back pocket.

“Good,” you nod before swishing a mouthful of water, and spitting it out onto the concrete away from you. You take another sip, letting it cool your throat before you cap the bottle and look into Joel’s eyes. “I want you to think of that really hard and forget everything you just saw, okay?”

He just smiles at you, touching your shoulder with his warm hand. “Sweetheart, you’re vastly underestimating my attraction to you. You think a little puke’s gonna deter me? If you weren’t in pain, I’d kiss you no problem.” The way his eyebrow automatically twitches makes you roll your eyes. But it also warms your heart. 

“You’re disgusting,” you say, trying your hardest not to smile. 

“Says the girl who wiped snot off my face and kissed me while I was sweaty and gross after rolling around in bed with a fever. Guess we’re both disgusting, then.” 

“Hm,” is all you manage to get out, a tiny smirk on your face, but it falters just as quickly as you suddenly feel like you’re going to throw up again. 

“No, no, no, please, no,” you murmur, terrified, clutching the open car door for dear life. Your body tenses up, desperate to avoid another wave of sickness. You can’t do this again.

“I’m right here,” Joel whispers softly, his hand coming to rest on your back. He begins rubbing slow, soothing circles, his touch gentle and steady. There's a hint of helplessness in his voice, as if he wishes he could do more, but knows this is all he can offer right now. “It’s okay, just breathe.”

You focus on his hand, the warmth of it cutting through the cold sweat covering your skin. The nausea grips you, but Joel’s steady touch draws you back, grounding you. Your breath steadies, and when the sickness passes, you focus on the warmth of his hand, his touch comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

You’re usually not one for people being around, let alone touching you, when you’re vulnerable like this. The only time you’d allow anyone to get this close is during sex. But that’s different. Especially with Joel.

No one else gets to do the things he does with you. Not that you’ve ever admitted that to him.

He’s seen you at your most unguarded—tied up with your ankles behind your ears, covered in sweat, drooling, crying, bruised from his hands, begging for release, and confessing all the depraved things you’d let him do to you if he’d just finally let you come. He’s seen you laid bare, stripped down to nothing but raw desire and submission. And in those moments, there’s nothing but trust and desire between you two.

It’s freeing. Being able to let go of your body and mind so completely.

But this?

The idea of Joel witnessing you vomiting bile on the side of a dingy city street while your hand is bandaged, your face contorted, and your body shaking like you’ve been dragged through hell…

Not good. Especially after what happened.

You don’t know how to navigate this new territory with him, and the last thing you want is for him to see you weak like this. Not when you’re already feeling fragile.

You’re embarrassed, your cheeks burning from the humiliation of it all. You know this moment will haunt you on sleepless nights when your mind drags up every cringe-worthy memory. But right now, there’s an unexpected comfort in knowing he’s here.

“I think it’s over,” you say quietly, almost afraid to voice it, half-expecting your body to betray you again just because you dared to say it out loud. But it doesn’t. The nausea ebbs away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. It’s over.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “Just take your time. Don’t rush it.”

You inhale deeply, drawing in the cool night air. The city smells faintly of petrichor and there’s a soft hum from the distant traffic, cars rolling by on the nearby streets. It all feels surreal, like the world is far away from the small bubble you and Joel are in.

The steady circles he traces on your back continue, grounding you further. You let your eyes close for a moment, soaking in the calm of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, not looking at him.

He shakes his head, his brow furrowed in worry. “You got nothing to be sorry for. Do you think you’re okay to go on now?”

You nod and swallow hard, the sting in your throat making you wince. You manage a weak, half-hearted smile, though the world still feels off-kilter. “Yeah, I think so. But if I start dry-heaving again, just do us both a favor and push me out of the moving car, okay?”

He smirks, his lips curling in that familiar, teasing way. “As if I could ever deny you something,” he says softly, his humor not quite hiding the concern in his eyes. “Let’s get you home, darlin’.”

He pauses, like he wants to say more, his mouth opening slightly as if searching for the right words, but he holds back. Instead, he just watches you carefully as you make your way back into the passenger seat, waiting until you’re settled before gently closing the door behind you.

You lean your head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a heavy blanket as you continue your way home.

The words are there, inside you, loud, persistent, trying to break free; but you can’t. Where would you even start? What’s the point in revealing more of yourself? What good could come from it?

Nothing. That’s what.

Nothing.

You watch the city lights blur outside the window, your thoughts darker than the night. Your life feels like it’s crumbling, piece by piece, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold on. And once again, you know—deep down—it’s your own doing. It always is. No matter how many times you try to make things right, it always ends up the same way.

When Joel finally parks in front of your apartment building, the car idles quietly, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts. You can feel him looking at you, trying to find the right words. You don’t move, your mind still preoccupied with your own self-doubt.

“We’re here,” Joel says, a soft smile on his lips. He’s trying, you can tell, but you’re too far gone, too lost in your own spiral. When you don’t respond, his smile falters, but he presses on, determined to lift the weight between you.

“I was thinking…” he begins, his voice light. “I could cook for you tomorrow if you’re up for it? I remember I owe you a nice dinner, and no, it’s not just frozen pizza this time. It’s a frozen pizza with a side salad.”

He grins, hoping to coax a smile out of you, some kind of response. But you don’t laugh. You don’t even crack a smile.

Joel clears his throat and shifts slightly in his seat, his fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel. He’s trying to pull you out of whatever hole you’ve fallen into, but you can’t meet him halfway. You don’t have the strength.

He looks at you, his heart sinking as he takes in your sad, distant eyes. It’s like you’re not really here, like you’ve drifted somewhere far away, unreachable. How he wishes he could climb inside your mind and pull out whatever it is that’s weighing so heavily on you, take the burden for himself.

“Darlin’?” he repeats softly.

You blink, refocusing, but the smile you give him doesn’t reach your eyes. “Hm?”

“Can I cook for you tomorrow? You could come over to mine after work, or I can come here. Whatever you prefer.” There’s a hopeful smile on his face, a softness in his gaze, and the way he looks at you, almost like a puppy waiting for a treat, makes your stomach twist painfully.

You remember the dinner with Tommy and Maria, cursing yourself silently for agreeing to go. It’s not that you don’t love them—you do—but the thought of sitting through that dinner, of having that conversation with Tommy, feels like a nightmare.

“I can’t tomorrow.”

Joel’s smile falters the slightest bit, but he remains undeterred. “How about Saturday? I’ll plan something nice for us. Something I know you’ll love.”

Oh no.

You want to say it so badly it physically hurts.

You’ve been better, haven’t you? Over the past year or so. You’ve tried—really tried—to keep your cool, to express your feelings in a healthy way, or at least something close to it. You’ve worked hard to stop falling into that old mentality where uncomfortable emotions make you feel cornered and you end up lashing out. You’ve made progress. 

You’re not the same person you used to be. He’s not Simon. You don’t act like this anymore. You’ve outgrown this. Don’t do it. Don’t say–

“You’re free on a Saturday?” 

Joel blinks, the confusion clear on his face. “Yeah, like always when I’m not working,” he says, unsure where this is coming from.

“Oh,” you murmur. “Would’ve thought you already had plans with your, uh…with Jan.”

How subtle.

“I’m not planning on seeing her again,” Joel says simply.

You glance at him. “You should probably tell her that. Didn’t really seem like she knew when she was fondling you under the table.”

Joel exhales deeply and shifts slightly, turning his body toward you, trying to make sure you hear him. “I did tell her, and she does know,” he says firmly. His gaze softens as he looks at you, his voice gentler now. “Sweetheart…I’m not gonna pursue anything with her. And I wouldn’t have agreed to the date if I’d known it would hurt you.”

You shake your head, not wanting to let the conversation go where it’s headed, your thumb rubbing over your wrist brace. “Can we please not talk about this right now?” you murmur, your voice tight, barely holding it together. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. Thank you for driving me home, I’ll see you– “

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Joel interrupts, his voice firm. “We had a good time, but that’s it.”

You blink, furrowing your brow and tilting your head slightly as his words begin to sink in. He watches you, waiting for your response, but when it doesn’t come, he shifts again, trying to close the distance.

“Hey,” Joel says softly, reaching for your left hand, his fingers gently wrapping around yours. He rubs your skin with his thumb, more to soothe himself than you. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

He searches your face, waiting for a reaction, any reaction. But you just sit there, unmoved, your expression frozen in place. There’s no relief, no anger, no hint of anything. Just…nothing.

The silence stretches, and Joel’s heart sinks. He doesn’t know exactly what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Maybe he thought you’d smile, maybe he even hoped you’d fall into his arms, that this would be the moment things would start to feel okay again. But you’re distant, your face unreadable.

His eyes scan yours, searching desperately for something to hold on to, and what he finds hits him like a punch to the gut.

“You don’t believe me.”

You meet his eyes for just a second longer, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips before you nervously look away and whisper, “Look, I’m, uh– I’m extremely tired right now and this close to crying, so I’m gonna go upstairs and call it a night, okay?”

But Joel doesn’t let go of your hand. His grip tightens, just a little, his voice strained. “You really don’t believe me. You think I’m lying to you.”

“I don’t– Can we please do this another time?”

“I’d love to, but I feel like it’s important that we–” 

“Joel.”

“–get this sorted out, so you don’t–”

“Joel, please.”

“–keep on thinking I’m a liar. I didn’t know you thought that ab–”

“Jesus Christ,” you snap, your voice trembling with frustration, “don’t you hear what I’m saying?” Without waiting for a response, you push open the car door and step out, the cool air hitting your skin. “I can’t fucking do this right now.”

The door slams shut behind you with a hard thud, cutting through the quiet of the parking lot.

Joel watches you for a moment, taken aback, then quickly follows, stepping out of the car. His eyes are full of concern, his brow furrowed as he watches you pace, but his voice is calm, steady, trying to reach you.

“Darlin’, I do hear you,” he says, taking a cautious step closer. “And I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it right now, I just…”

You spin around, exasperated. “You just what?”

“I just wanna know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Why in the world wouldn’t I be?”

He opens his mouth, trying to form a response, but before he can say anything, you cut him off, the words spilling out like a dam breaking.

“But it doesn’t even matter, okay? It doesn’t matter if I’m fine or not. I don’t have time to think about it.” Your voice cracks slightly, your throat constricting as you try to keep control. “Because now I gotta get to bed, so I can go to the office early tomorrow, ‘cause afterwards I’ll be sitting at a table with Tommy, who probably fucking hates me now. Do you have any idea how much that fucking sucks?”

Your voice lowers, the vulnerability creeping in despite your efforts to hold it back. “What if he…doesn’t want me in his life anymore?”

Joel shakes his head, vehemently. “Darlin’, that’s nonsense. He’s not mad at you. If anything, he’s mad at me. And I’m sorry for not asking you first, but you gotta understand that I was worried about you and thought this was the best solution.”

“Oh sure, yeah,” you scoff, bitterness lacing your words. “You know so much fucking better than I do. That’s it, right? Yeah, of course. Don’t you get how fucking weird this all is? It’s exactly what I was afraid of. You all talking about me behind my back, pitying me, judging me, and figuring out that you’re better off without me. That I’m not who you thought I was. That I’m not able to give you what you want.”

Joel hears the panic in your voice like he did yesterday, the way it’s rising, how your words are becoming more frantic. He gets the sense you’re not hearing him anymore, not really. You’re caught up in your own head, lost in the whirlwind of your fears. His mind flashes back to Tommy’s words. He can see it now, the way your frustration, your hurt is morphing into something darker, more overwhelming.

God, how he wishes he could just pull you into his arms right now. Hold you, protect you from the weight of everything that’s crushing you. But he knows, deep down, that he’s part of that weight. 

No matter how good his intentions might have been. 

“That’s not what happened at all,” Joel says, his voice calm, measured, even though his heart is racing. “We didn’t talk about you like that. I just needed Tommy to help me figure out where you might be, and I’m so glad he did. It was nice…sitting with you, holding your hand…”

You shake your head. “Good night, Joel.”

“Look, I– I know you’re going through something right now that makes you think I’m insincere,” he blurts out, “but I need you to know that I’m really just trying to help you.”

Your body stiffens, his words hitting a nerve. “I don’t need you to help me,” you snap. “I don’t wanna be your little damsel in distress, that’s not who I am.”

Joel flinches at the bite in your words, but he doesn’t back down. “I know that. And that’s not how I see you. I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.” He pauses, his eyes searching yours, desperate for you to understand.

“But allowing help from the people who love us isn’t about being weak or incapable. You may not see it right now, but I’m on your side. And if anyone’s weak it’s me, ‘cause I can’t stand seeing you in pain like this.”

You sigh deeply and murmur, “I’m gonna go now,” your voice flat as you turn toward your apartment.

Joel steps forward cautiously, not wanting to push too hard, but he can’t just let you walk away without saying more. “I get it, it’s all too much. But please, just…don’t shut me out, okay? Call me if you need anything. Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night. I’ll be here.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his promise, but you’re too drained to respond. All you can do is nod.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly, his voice full of regret. “I wish I could take some of this off you, make it easier somehow. But I’m not leaving, alright? Not now, not ever. ”

You nod again, your throat too tight to speak, and turn away, walking toward your apartment. Joel watches you go with his hands falling uselessly to his sides, his heart heavy, knowing there’s so much left unsaid, but hoping—praying—you’ll let him know when you’re ready.

Wow, well done.

Sitting on your sofa, you stare blankly at the black TV as the silence of your apartment settles around you, your mind already starting its cruel commentary.

That’s for sure going to make him think you’re a mentally stable person. No, seriously, why wouldn’t he want to be with you?

The thought twists inside you like a knife, but you can’t help it. The voice in your head is relentless, mocking your every move, dissecting your behavior from earlier.

You think you’re slick, don’t you? Pushing him away so you don’t have to face your feelings. Aren’t we way past that?

You sigh deeply as if that would quiet the storm inside you, but it doesn’t. Your self-reproach lingers, heavy and biting.

Still, you drag yourself to the kitchen, forcing yourself to eat a few bites of the leftover pasta sitting in your fridge. It’s tasteless, going down like sandpaper, but you know you need something in your stomach before you can take the painkillers. Your body aches, every muscle tensing under the weight of the unresolved strain still coiled within you.

You wash the food and the pills down with iced tea, grateful for the cold sweetness, because water turns your stomach right now. The pasta, the tea, they’re just fuel—a necessary evil before you can move on and hopefully find some peace in your sleep.

After you’ve eaten, you strip off your clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water rush over you. You stand there for a while, eyes closed, trying to wash away everything. Joel’s concerned face, the hurt, the frustration, the embarrassment of how you acted. You let the water pound against your skin, hoping it’ll somehow cleanse more than just the sweat and grime from the day.

When you finally step out, you feel a little more like yourself, a little more human. Still shaky, but better. 

By the time you crawl into bed, exhaustion drags you down like an anchor. You pull the blankets tight around you, hoping to find some comfort even though the dread of the day ahead lingers. Your phone is already in your hand, and you pull up Netflix, choosing something mindless to drown out the sound of your own thoughts. The chatter of the show hums in the background, but your mind barely registers it.

Your eyes grow heavier with each passing minute, and the warmth of your bed starts to pull you toward sleep. Everything starts to blur as the fatigue takes over.

But then, just as you’re about to drift off, your propped up phone vibrates loudly against the bedside lamp. The screen lights up, a small notification appearing at the top.

Joel Miller.

Your heart skips a beat, a strange mix of relief and anxiety rising in your chest. You blink away the sleep and swipe the notification open.

It’s a voice message, and the length—four minutes—makes your heart sink. You’re not sure you can handle whatever it is he has to say right now. It feels too heavy, too soon.

Your finger hovers over the play button, your mind running wild with possibilities.

What if something happened to him? What if he’s telling you he doesn’t want to see you anymore? What if you scared him off for good? Why else would the message be so long?

Before you can spiral further, another notification pops up.

Joel: Sleep well, baby 😘 

You blink, staring at his message, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. He’s being sweet. Maybe this isn’t what you’re bracing for.

You take a deep breath, your heart still beating a little too fast, and press play.

At first, there’s a small pause, like he’s gathering his thoughts. Then you hear his voice coming through the speaker, soft and gentle, the familiar rasp of it cutting through the quiet of your bedroom.

“Hi darlin’. It’s me, Joel…Miller…obviously.” 

Your smile widens. He’s such a dork.

“I know it’s late…and you’re probably already in bed. But I, uh…I wanted to say something. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I didn’t want you to go to sleep without hearing this.”

He sounds like he always does, calm, collected, but he’s being careful with his words. You shift under the covers, feeling more awake now, your body attuned to every note in his voice.

“I know you’ve been going through a lot on your own, and I don’t wanna make it worse by pushing or prying where I shouldn’t. But I just want you to know…I’m here. I’m here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to handle it alone, okay?”

There’s a small pause, and you hear him exhale, like he’s letting go of something he’s been holding in for too long.

“I don’t know if I always say the right things, and God knows I’ve messed up plenty…but you mean a lot to me. More than I can put into words right now. And I, uh, don’t expect you to have all the answers. Hell, I don’t even know if I do. But I wanna be there with you, figure it out together…if you’ll let me.”

Another deep breath.

“You’re never not on my mind, sweetheart, and I just…wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I felt it the first time I saw you, you know? You stood there, the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. And then you looked into my eyes. You looked into my eyes and that was it for me.”

Joel’s voice softens even more, almost like he’s afraid you’ll drift off before he’s finished. “I was thinking about Saturday, too. I got something in mind that I think’ll be good for both of us. Nothing big, just…I think you’ll like it.”

There’s a brief silence on the line as if he’s gathering himself, and then you hear it—the faint strum of a guitar. Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s playing for you.

His voice, low and gentle, hums the opening notes of a country tune you’ve never heard before. The sound drifts over you, warm and comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket of soft clouds and something that feels like home.

You close your eyes, letting the music take you, and as Joel begins to sing, his voice carries a depth of emotion that reaches deep inside you. The lyrics flow, full of a quiet tenderness, and you sink into the sound, letting it wash away your troubles:

“I’m just a lonesome traveler, Drifting down this road, But darlin’, when I’m near you, I know I’m not alone.”

You just listen, your heart swelling with the softness of it, with the fact that Joel is doing this for you. Never in a million years did you see this coming. 

The song continues, the melody sweet and simple, his voice lulling you further into a sense of calm. It feels like everything else fades away—the weight of your past, the uncertainty of the future—and all that’s left is this moment, this gentle connection between you and him.

As he reaches the end of the song, his voice drops to an almost-whisper:

“But darlin’, when I hold you, I know I’ve found my home.”

The final note lingers in the air of your bedroom, and for a moment, you just lie there, your heart full, your body completely relaxed. You can barely keep your eyes open now, the edges of sleep tugging at you.

Still, you gather all of your remaining energy to text him back. You need to.

You: I’ll bring snacks on Saturday

You: Ever thought about switching careers btw? Cowboy boots, a hat and you’d make a fortune. Groupies, fame, rich old ladies letting you run wild with their credit cards…

You’ve barely pressed send when Joel responds. 

Joel: Groupies, huh?

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. Another buzz.

Joel: Nah, sweetheart. My music comes from the heart. It’s only for the people I love. Not for anyone else.

Thank you for reading! previous | Series Masterlist | AO3 | next

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[siconetribal]

Sick Day

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Illness, feeling sick, alone, fluff, care

Request: I was hoping for a fluff/ comfort one shot fic with the reader suddenly gets sick and loki takes care of her

A/N:

This was a request made by an anon, and I'm hoping I did a good job. I'm sorry it took longer to post this than I anticipated. I hope you like it!

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

You can find this story and my other works on my master post.

Everything hurt, her body felt like lead with an intense gravitational force that kept her plastered to the mattress. A constant throbbing pain slowly pounding in her head, starting from the swollen pressure in your eyes to the rest of her cranium, which felt as if it were waterlogged. The room felt like an icebox, but her body was a furnace running at max, with fuel poured in to keep it blazing hot. The icky clammy sweat was the icing on the cake that made it clear that she was not ok, and would need to call out of work today.

Great, just what I needed on top of everything else. Y/N felt the sting of tears start. She wanted to wish them away or somehow distract herself, but she had not the energy or the drive. After a hellish week of mishaps and terrible luck, she was exhausted. And now, here she was laid up in bed in her apartment, unable to go to the one place that helped keep her hands and mind busy enough to not count the series of unfortunate luck she was having. A good cry could possibly be helpful, she deserved it. Taking a deep breath failed miserably as a series of bone rattling coughs left her more breathless than before and forced her to turn over. Her nose burned, and her sinuses were sealed off. Laying boneless on her mattress, she let out a low whimper. Added to her list of ailments was the inability to use her nose nor have a good cry. Forget icing, the icing ran the cake over with a bulldozer before catapulting it into the next galaxy.

Y/N grabbed her phone and dialed her boss. As much as it hurt to talk, she needed them to hear just how dead she was to know she was faking any of this. With the approval of her sick day, she rolled over and threw off her blanket before her hazy mind slipped back into the depths of sleep.

“What’s the matter, Loki? That’s the tenth time you’ve looked at your phone in the last hour.” Steve raised a brow at the odd behaviors of the odd royal that came to join them. He braced himself for a snippy remark, mentally reminding himself that any reaction would only encourage the ex-villain, but nothing came. He sat back and silently watched the prince. Had he not heard him speak?” Loki, is everything ok?” Still nothing. “Loki.” he called a little louder.

“What?” The younger prince finally looked up to see who was speaking to him. Normally he would show his disdain and reluctance, but that was not important right now. There was something more pressing on his mind that even the brown nosing of the super soldier meant little to him.

“Is everything ok? You keep looking at your phone.” Steve pointed to the device that was face-up on the table. The fact that it was on the table for all to see was a shock in and of itself, since everyone knew how much he disliked the device, considering it a leash for them to keep tabs on him only. 

“Hm, yes,” he absentmindedly mumbles the answer as his gaze fell to the device. He tapped it awake once more and frowned.

“Are you waiting on something?”

“Hm?”

“On the phone, are you waiting for some sort of communication?”

“The mission won’t be an issue. You needn’t worry so much.” Steve let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. Reaching over, he tried to grab for it, but Loki reacted faster. He snatched it off the desk and glared daggers at him, startling the New Yorker. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, you can, by answering what I’m asking you. You’ve been hung up on it for the last hour, and you never pay that much attention to it usually. What’s going on?”

“It’s a personal matter, none of your concern.” Loki coolly responded as he pocketed the device for safety. “If you’re concerned about the upcoming mission, you needn’t worry. I’m fully capable of focusing when required. If you’ll excuse me, I've got somewhere to be.” Before Steve could even respond, he was out of his seat and vanished from sight.

The Trickster reappeared in the legal department, walking down the halls until he reached a door with a name engraved into a plaque beside the door, with the title of a lead attorney just below it. Without even knocking, he walked in to see a young woman engrossed in a document on her computer screen.

“Leave the file in the bin, I’ll look at it later. Thanks, Ricky,” she waved to the mesh desk organizer that was already filled with other manila folders.

“Meredith, have you heard from Y/N?”

“Loki?!” She napped her head, shocked to see him. “How many times have I told you not to just appear in my office?”

“I didn’t, I walked in through the door. Now, Y/N, have you heard from her?” He pressed on, taking a seat without her invitation. Normally the annoyance that brought her was pleasant to him, but his focus was elsewhere. The normal treasures of his days were dull and meaningless, painted grey at the concern that gnawed at his mind.

“Y/N, no, not particularly, why?” She frowned, pushing her glasses up to rub her eyes. “Why do you ask, did something happen?”

“She has not answered my text. Granted, she is not always readily available, but she usually replies by noon. If anyone knows anything about her, it would be you.” His matter-of-fact town earned a small twitch from the lawyer.

“Let me check my phone,” she knew better than to argue with him, and Loki smiled in appreciation. He had little time to deal with menial things. Y/N was not answering him, and that was of the utmost importance. Y/N, she was a beautiful and brilliant young woman who found a way to thaw his icy heart and show him that he too deserved kindness and love. That he was not simply a monster because of what he had done. He was flawed, and it was perfectly fine to be flawed. If anyone were to ask him, saying he loved her was far too little. It barely scratched the surface of the many ways she brightened his world and brought color back into his life. It would take ages for him to count the various facets of her that made him smile and feel anything. She was his person, a far off dream that he had long forgotten.

“Yeah, she’s not picking up, one second.” Those words struck sharp and true, giving strength to the fear of the worst.

I have been extremely careful in my meetings with her to avoid any unnecessary attention. I doubt anyone outside of Meredith even knows of our relationship, since she is how we met. What if she came across a thug? Bank robbers infest this city like the rats. There’s a high chance there was some terrible driver who paid no attention in a fit of stupidity. Hasn’t she said that there have been stalkers? Mongrels that leer at any female? Once the thoughts started, they quickly poured out like floodgates ripped open. He watched Meredith as she spoke on the phone. He could see her mouth move, but his thoughts drowned out her voice. What if Y/N is hurt, and I am simply sitting her idly waiting for a text? His right leg began to bounce, the chair softly squeaking from the speed and force. 

“OK, she’s not at work,” he leapt from his seat. “But that’s ok. She is safe.” She quickly and firmly stressed, pausing to watch the words register. “She’s home sick for the day. According to what the boss said, she sounds pretty bad but,” before anymore could be said, Loki was gone in a flash. “She’s probably just tired.” She rolled her eyes at his lack of listening to what else she had to say. “Oh, thank you, Meredith, I’m so glad I came to you for help. Nonsense, Loki, it was my pleasure. She’s my dear friend, after all. Indeed, Meredith, had it not been for you, I would’ve never met her. Oh stop, it was a coincidence!” She grumbled out the imaginary conversation with herself as she put on her glasses as she got back to work.

A cool sensation earned a soft sigh of relief from Y/N. She had been warring with her body temperature on and off for several hours now, but she nothing seemed to work well or long enough. Whatever she had done the last time was clearly the right thing to do. What did I do again? Her sluggish brain tried to recall what she put on her forehead, but she was drawing blanks. Wait, that’s right, I didn’t put anything. She forced her heavy lids open, blinking a few times to get the function working properly. She notices the blinds were down, and her fan was oscillating on a low setting. Her comforter was off to her right, but a light blanket was over her body. 

She carefully reached up to feel a wet towel placed on her forehead and a basin with water was on her bedside. What caused concern was her desk chair. It was not beside her bed instead of across the room. Had she moved it in her feverish state of mind? She slowly sat up, her body groaning in painful protest. The world began to spin, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Breathing from her mouth, she tried to regain some stability.

“Darling, you should not be sitting up so soon. You need to keep the towel on your head.” The distant voice slowly grew louder as a pair of arms helped ease her back, but she resisted. There was only one person who called her darling, and she felt torn.

“No, I don’t wanna.” Y/N mumbled, leaning against him. “Loki, you shouldn’t be here, I’m sick.” She sniffled, one of her sinuses considering this the perfect time to drain itself. Great, I look disgusting, and he’s here to see it all! She tried to pull away, but his grip was stronger.

“Nonsense, whatever diseases you Midgardians carry has no effect on me. I am a Frost Giant, I lack the temperature necessary for such weak viruses to grow. Most importantly, you need someone, and I would be a fool to allow someone else near you in such a vulnerable state! Now, lean back against the pillows. I’ve brought some medicine from that shop a few streets down, and I’ve ordered your favorite soup. According to your precious internet, when someone is sick they must stay well hydrated, take proper medication, rest, and eat. You seemed to have been locked up in your room with no form of air circulation. So I did the best I could without opening your window and possibly worsening your pain.”

“You searched what to do online? On your phone? The ‘brick of uselessness’?” Y/N raised a brow at this sudden deluge of information. Equal parts shock and warmth pooling into her stomach, tugging a smile from her chapped lips. “You didn’t have to come here, it’s fine. I could’ve just ordered food and medicine from the app.”

“You could have, yes, I would never argue that. You are quite capable and very self-sufficient. You live in this tiny hovel and are well-fed through your dedication and hard work. There is no doubt in my mind about what you could have or would have done. I am here because you do not have to. You have me and I, for the first time in my life, want to do for someone else…for you, Y/N. I was a sick with worry when you never messaged me back, and when I learned of your falling ill, I came as quickly as I could. To see you here, so frail and alone, my heart felt as if it would twist right out of my chest. Majority of the day I wasted doing nothing while you were here, suffering alone. Please, do not turn me away. Let me help you, be of some use to you.” He lightly nudged the tissue into her hands.

“Ok,” she softly whispered. It was the only word she could think of saying. How long had it been since someone last cared so much for her? Worried about her and when out of their way to be here? And he even thought highly of her and her occupation, which everyone else probably thought nothing about. Even her own family made remarks from time to time about what a waste it was, or that she should simply marry and stay at home. It was nowhere near as grand as his, and yet he did not belittle her. Her eyes stung with tears that she blinked back and blew her nose.

“Thank you, love. Now, I am no physician, but I’ve managed to gather necessary medications for the most likely ailments you may have.” He pulled up a plastic shopping bag filled with all sorts of syrups and pills, a mix of brand name and store brand. The long receipt tumbled out as he fished through it, unfurling into a large mess beside him as he pulled out the necessary painkillers and fever reducers. An image of him standing in the aisles, seriously reading through every single item flashed through her mind and she giggled. He was about to open every single one of the boxes when her hands shot out and grabbed his.

“I don’t need to take all of those, that’d be a different issue of overmedicating. I’ll take some cough syrup and maybe one of the painkillers when I eat. Better to have something in case my stomach is a bit sensitive.” She explained, grabbing the brand she normally used.

“Is that so? No one said anything about that when I was looking online. If such a thing is possible, they should be more mindful and make it clear that everything can be dangerous to your kind.” Loki frowned, eyeing the bag suspiciously as she took it.

“Everyone knows it, so it’s not something normally.” Y/N lightly shook her head, wincing at the taste and pain from swallowing. “I just hope this fever breaks soon.” She leaned back into the pillows.

“Yes, they said a cold towel to the head would be useful, but perhaps I can offer something better?” She let her head roll to the side to look at him. There was a glimmer in his blue eyes, a glimmer that normally screamed danger, and he should be stopped at all costs. 

What could he possibly suggest that would be dangerous? I’m sick in bed anyway, not like I can physically stop him. “And your idea is?” She hesitantly asked, unsure if it was wise to given even this small inch of an opening. He remained silent, eyeing her for a moment before standing up from his seat. To her surprise, he untucked his shirt and undid the top two buttons before climbing onto the bed with her and wrapping her up in his arms. Alarm bells blared in her mind, screaming danger and telling her to run, but she was a deer caught in the trap with no way or nowhere to run.

“This, I will be your personal cooler until you feel better. It’s certainly far more efficient than a silly little towel, and I get to hold you. It is what you call a win-win. Ah, ah, before you protest, I do not get effected by the pathetic weak viruses of your race. Now, be a good girl and let me take care of you.” He pressed his lips to her temple.

The danger is him and to my heart! I’m going to be even more overheated than before! She quickly hid her red face from his sight. Perhaps my luck isn’t so bad after all. She snuck a peek at him to see his eyebrows furrowed together as he intently read the cough syrup information. I get to spend time with him. She smiled to herself as she rested her weight against his cooler body. “Best sick day ever.”

Tags: @queenofstarsign85 @vbecker10

[diazwake]

okay so i have to just ramble about why i think buck and tommy have been doomed to fail from the jump.

i've been thinking about the discussion tommy and buck had right before their first kiss. tommy telling buck to stop being jealous. that he could never take the place buck has in eddie's life. that buck is not replaceable to eddie. tommy talking about how christopher would riot without buck in his life and buck going 'really?' with the brightest happiest goofiest smile on his face just thinking about how much christopher and eddie want him and need him and love him.

these are all things eddie has told buck before, but buck has so much guilt from hurting eddie in his jealousy, that the thought he might have caused the end of his most valuable friendship makes buck's past trauma rear its ugly head. in that moment buck needed someone to tell him he didn't fuck it all up and that he didn't lose his best friend.

this is where i start getting delulu. but i think it’s here, right after tommy reassures buck, that buck starts processing his feelings on what eddie means to him, what they mean to each other, and what they ultimately are. but buck, in an avoidance to fully take in and accept the reality of his feelings for eddie, performs an exercise in subconsciously pivoting those feelings onto tommy.

buck does this because he has nothing to lose with tommy, but he has everything to lose with eddie. he was just reminded of that. "trying to get your attention has been kind of exhausting" is an insane thing to say to tommy, and even tommy knows it. those words were meant for eddie.

it's buck's luck that tommy can see the gay of it all and is also a little greedy, so tommy makes the choice to fill in some of the gaps for buck with the kiss. in exchange buck takes this opportunity to use tommy as a blank canvas for what a relationship with someone like eddie could be like, without any of the risk. tommy knows buck is only going to be with him for as long as it takes for him to figure himself out, but tommy's not leaving that exchange empty handed. tommy gets to not feel alone, because he admitted he's jealous of the found family the 118 have built since he's left.

tommy knows it's temporary. i think that's part of the reason why tommy's character is so polarizing in the context of his relationship with buck, and why their relationship so far seems to superficial despite them dating the entirety of 7b. because why would tommy get invested in a relationship built on misguided feelings, fully knowing it's doomed?

[minus-plus-zer0]

When You’re Depressed

♡ Genre: Hurt/comfort ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Today was exhausting. People were exhausting. For the entire day, you couldn’t wait to get home and do absolutely nothing for an indeterminate amount of hours.

Once you were home, you gunned it straight to your bedroom without talking to anyone. Your classmates looked at you funny as you passed them, but your mind only focused on getting to your bed so you could rest. You wanted to replenish your energy, which never seemed to fill entirely.

In your dark bedroom, you hugged your cute plushie tight against your chest. Your entire body felt like it weighed an extra fifty pounds. You couldn't see an easy way out of this predicament.

Your bedroom door unlocked and then opened. Light briefly flooded into your room before it closed. Now the only light that entered was from the sunset outside.

"Oi," Bakugou said. "What's gotten into ya?"

Bakugou walked over and sat on the side of your bed. You flipped over, facing away from him. You knew it was rude, but you couldn't really bring yourself to deal with anyone today. You didn't want him to see you like this.

Bakugou gave you some company regardless.

"You wanna talk?" Bakugou asked.

"...No," you said. "Don't feel like it. Don't feel like doing anything today."

There was a brief pause.

"...You wanna cuddle, then?"

There was that question again. Ever since you said yes the first time to cuddling, Bakugou just kept asking for your permission more and more often, like you broke an imaginary dam and whatever 'feelings' Bakugou previously held back came flooding in. You half-expected this question again the moment he entered the room.

You weren't dating, but boy did the thought cross your mind time and time again. Like just now. Your feelings for your best friend were one of the few lights in the darkness.

Your hold on your pillow became a death-grip. "Um... Yes, please."

Wordlessly, Bakugou got underneath the blanket and then lied down on the bed besides you, spooning your from behind. You both heard and felt him sigh in relief as he took you into his arms. His heart was racing against your back, just like the other times you cuddled, and you wondered if he knew you could feel it.

You always liked how you two cuddled. It blurred the lines of friendship between you two in a good way. The best way. You both trusted one another enough to hold each other like this, like you were something he'd always wanna keep close when he pushed everyone away. Now due to your depression, you were the one pushing others away and he had to be the positivity in your life that you had always been to him.

He tucked your body further into his. "Better?"

You smiled brightly in the darkness, knowing he couldn't see. "Better."

"Why are you so fucking sad for anyways?" Bakugou asked, his voice right against your neck.

"I... um..." It was hard to concentrate with him so close. "I felt so weak today. I didn't know if I could do everything that I needed to do. I felt hopeless. I don't think I can take much more of this."

"I know how you feel," Bakugou said, his head digging into your hair. "I'm the fucking same when I screw up. But it's not hopeless. And you're not weak. You're stronger than me in some ways. I'll always be there for you if you need anything. How's that sound?"

You hid your face into your plushie. "It sounds really, really good."

"Good," he said. You could feel his smirk against your neck. "You seem happier already. You can continue complaining to me about any stupid shit that's bothering ya, if ya want." He poked your cheek. "Or we can just stay here forever."

"Forever?!"

"I mean, 'until whenever'!" Bakugou's entire body tensed. "That's what I said!"

You slowly flipped around to face him and caught him looking flustered as all hell.

"...What if I wanna stay forever?" you asked.

Bakugou's eyes widened in realization. He froze.

Then, he looked at you so softly.

"We can do that too."

His hand sifted through the back of you hair, pulling your forehead against his. His eyes flickered down to your lips briefly, but your eyes were already closing to get some sleep. Before you drifted off into a nap, you felt Bakugou's arms tighten around you.

You didn't know how long 'forever' was, but Bakugou believed 'forever' was simply however long you allowed him to be there with you.

And maybe one day, he'd confess his true feelings to you.

(This helped me finally get out of a writer's block)

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— you taught me secret language you know i can’t speak with anyone else ; don’t let your self-doubts and insecurities win or else you’ll not going anywhere

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

It’s been four days. And you couldn’t shake the embarrassment from your last interaction with Tsukishima. Confessing your feelings to him that night, sitting together in his car as he celebrated your birthday—just the two of you with muffins and a simple bracelet gift—felt like a mistake now. The memory haunted you, the weight of your words and the silence that followed too overwhelming to face.

So, you did what you thought was best: you shut him out, distancing yourself in every way possible. You even archived his chat on your phone. Out of sight, out of mind. The thought of seeing his name sent your heart into overdrive, and you couldn’t afford distractions, not when you were already drowning in assignments. It was easier to pretend he didn’t exist, to focus solely on your work, but it wasn’t sustainable.

Your assignments had become your life. The deadlines, the stress—they consumed you. You threw yourself into your studies to the point of exhaustion, trying desperately to escape the lingering thoughts of him. It was easier this way. Easier to lose yourself in the endless tasks than to deal with the complicated mess of feelings you didn’t know how to untangle.

Still, there were moments when you couldn’t help but remember how he used to help you. Tsukishima would explain things in a way that made everything seem so simple, without the frustration or pressure that usually came with your academic struggles. He’d lend you his old notes, give you study references, and somehow, just knowing he was there made things less stressful. But now, those memories were just a painful reminder of how much you missed his presence—his calm, straightforward way of teaching that made everything feel less chaotic.

But missing him didn’t mean you were ready to face him again. Not yet.

Tsukishima had noticed the shift in your behavior almost immediately. The night you confessed your feelings to him in the car, when he celebrated your birthday privately. You were so vulnerable, admitting how you felt, and all he did was sit there in stunned silence. No words of comfort, no response. He just shifted silently, unable to process it in the moment.

He regretted it now—every second of it. The way he just let the moment slip by without saying anything, how his silence had caused this distance between you two. He didn’t mean to hurt you. The truth was, he hadn’t been expecting the confession. It caught him off guard, and instead of addressing it like he should have, he shut down. Now, that silence was haunting him.

Every time he pulled out his phone to message you, he hesitated. His fingers would hover over the screen, typing out a few words before deleting them again. What was he supposed to say? Hey, why are you avoiding me? It sounded accusatory in his mind, like he was placing blame. But that wasn’t it. He didn’t want to push you away further.

He’d already sent a couple of messages, simple ones—checking in, asking if you wanted to study together or meet up for lunch—but every time, he was met with silence. No response. It was like you had vanished. He even thought about messaging Yamaguchi to ask if he had noticed anything different, but that felt like a step too far. He didn’t want to seem like he was overthinking things.

It wasn’t just about the confession anymore—it was about how he missed you. He missed your presence, your questions, the way you’d show up stressed with assignments, and he’d offer to help. He missed being the one to simplify things for you, to lend you his old notes and references. It was a strange kind of absence, one that gnawed at him more than he cared to admit.

Tsukishima found himself lingering in places where he knew you’d pass by—near the class hall, at the library, even by the volleyball court—hoping for a chance encounter, hoping for the opportunity to casually start a conversation. But every time he saw you, you’d turn the other way, or walk faster, or pretend to be engrossed in something else.

And that stung. More than he expected.

One night, as he sat alone in his apartment, his phone resting on the table in front of him, Tsukishima stared at your contact. The chat was quiet, no new messages. He felt the weight of the silence, the kind that crept into the spaces between his thoughts and made him restless. He wanted to send you another message, but what could he say that he hadn’t already?

Finally, he picked up his phone, taking a deep breath before typing out something simple, something that wouldn’t seem too desperate.

Hey, I haven’t seen you around lately. Everything okay?

He hit send before he could overthink it, before the nagging voice in his head could convince him otherwise.

But again, there was no response. No ‘read’ notification, nothing.

For the first time in a long time, Tsukishima felt uncertain. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—like he was waiting on something beyond his control. And it unsettled him.

He leaned back against the couch, running a hand through his hair in frustration. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to care this much. But here he was, sitting in his quiet apartment, wondering why the silence between you felt so loud.

---

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi had just finished volleyball practice, the cool evening air brushing against their skin as they exited the gym. They were chatting casually about their next tournament, already making plans to grab snacks at the culinary festival. The smell of grilled food was enticing, and Yamaguchi was in high spirits, talking about the strawberry tanghulu he was craving.

As they turned a corner in the hallway, a sudden collision interrupted their conversation. Papers flew everywhere, scattering across the floor like fallen leaves in autumn. The three of them froze for a second, momentarily stunned by the abruptness of the accident.

You were kneeling on the ground, hurriedly gathering your scattered notes, mumbling an apology under your breath. “I’m so sorry, it was my bad—”

Yamaguchi, always quick to help, was the first to kneel down, reaching for your papers. “No, it’s okay. We weren’t paying attention either,” he said, offering you a kind smile as he handed over the documents he had gathered. Tsukishima followed suit, quietly picking up a few stray papers, though he paused when he realized that you still hadn’t noticed who you had bumped into.

You kept your gaze lowered, focused on reorganizing your papers, as if determined to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. “Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the stack from Tsukishima’s outstretched hand, not even looking up at him.

For a moment, he stood there, his hand lingering in the air. Your voice had been quiet—almost too quiet. Tsukishima’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on you, searching for something in your demeanor. You were more flustered than usual, your movements rushed, as if you were eager to flee from the scene.

“I gotta go. Thanks for your help,” you said quickly, pushing the papers into your bag. Your voice was strained, and before either of them could say anything more, you straightened up and took a step back.

But Yamaguchi wasn’t ready to let you leave so easily. “Hey, wait,” he called after you, his tone light and inviting. “Do you want to grab some snacks with us? There’s a culinary festival at Hall B. They’ve got all sorts of good stuff.”

You stopped in your tracks, hesitating for a moment. Tsukishima noticed the way your shoulders stiffened, your hand clutching your bag tightly. Slowly, you turned to look at Yamaguchi, and then, reluctantly, your eyes shifted to meet Tsukishima’s gaze. His expression was sharp, intense, as if he were waiting for something—anything—from you.

Your heart clenched in your chest. The memory of that night in the car came flooding back—the night you confessed, laying your feelings bare, and all you received in return was his silence. The hurt you felt then rose to the surface now, simmering beneath your skin. You couldn’t stand the way he looked at you, the same cold, unreadable expression. You blinked a few times, trying to push the emotions down, but the frustration bubbled up, filling you with a sudden rush of anger.

“I… I have something to do, unfortunately. Sorry, maybe next time,” you stammered, your voice a little too stiff, the smile you forced onto your lips weak and fleeting. Without waiting for their response, you turned on your heel and walked away, your pace quickening with every step.

Tsukishima’s gaze followed you until you disappeared around the corner. His fists clenched at his sides, a quiet frustration settling over him. He didn’t like the way you had avoided his eyes, the way you had brushed off Yamaguchi’s invitation, but what bothered him most was the tiredness he saw in you. You looked worn out, emotionally drained, and it struck something deep inside him—a protective instinct he wasn’t used to feeling.

Yamaguchi let out a confused hum, frowning slightly as he watched you leave. “What’s up with her?” he mumbled under his breath, turning to Tsukishima. “She didn’t even look at you… that’s not like her, is it?”

Tsukishima pushed his glasses up, trying to mask his own unease. “She said she has something to do.”

“Yeah, but she seemed… different,” Yamaguchi pressed, his brow furrowing. “It’s not like she’s close to me or anything, but she usually doesn’t act like that. She’s always polite and thoughtful. I don’t know, it just felt off.”

Tsukishima didn’t respond immediately, but the tightness in his chest hadn’t eased. He hated how helpless he felt right now, how every part of him wanted to chase after you and explain himself—but he couldn’t bring himself to move. You had your reasons for leaving, and he wasn’t about to make things worse by pushing you when you clearly didn’t want to be around him.

After a moment of silence, Yamaguchi spoke again, this time his tone softer. “Did something happen between you two?”

Tsukishima tensed at the question, his shoulders stiffening. He didn’t expect Yamaguchi to be so direct, but the concern in his friend’s voice left no room for dodging the truth.

With a heavy sigh, Tsukishima relented. “Yeah… something happened.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes widened slightly in surprise but he remained quiet, waiting for Tsukishima to continue.

Tsukishima hesitated for a moment before explaining what had happened in the car that night. He told Yamaguchi about your confession—how you’d poured your heart out to him, and how, in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t known what to say. The weight of his silence, and how it had clearly affected you since.

Yamaguchi groaned loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Tsukki… why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I wanted to,” Tsukishima muttered, his voice edged with frustration. “But she ran away before I could even process what she said.”

“Ran away?” Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow, biting into his strawberry tanghulu. “You’ve been an athlete since high school, Tsukki. Don’t tell me you couldn’t catch up with her.”

Silence hung between them for a moment, and Tsukishima sighed deeply. His gaze shifted downward, lost in thought. “It’s not that simple. I mean, I know I’m interested in her. She’s been on my mind more than anyone else… and after what happened with that drunk guy in the park, I just—” He paused, the memory of that night flaring up, the fear he felt seeing you in danger.

Yamaguchi looked at him, a knowing expression crossing his face. “You love her, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima groaned again, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. “She’s only 20. What if she’s just confused about her feelings? I don’t want to be that jerk who takes advantage of someone who isn’t sure.”

Yamaguchi’s expression softened, and he let out a deep sigh. “I get that, but maybe you’re overthinking this. If she confessed to you, it means she’s thought about it.”

Tsukishima’s expression didn’t change. “Her mom controls so much of her life. She hasn’t even had the chance to figure out what she really wants. I don’t want to get in the way of that… she deserves more than being tied down by someone like me.”

Yamaguchi looked at him incredulously. “Now that doesn’t sound like you at all. Since when did you let anything stop you from getting what you want?”

—-

You sat nestled between the library bookshelves, your legs folded beneath you, your head resting wearily on your arms. The pressure of your biochemistry assignment had drained you, particularly the report on Protein Biochemistry—analyzing enzyme kinetics and purifying a specific protein. You had to design the experimental process for extracting, purifying, and characterizing a recombinant protein, including interpreting results from chromatography, electrophoresis, and spectrophotometry. The sheer volume of data, graphs, and analysis overwhelmed you, and after hours of staring at equations and assay results, your body gave in.

Your papers had spilled out around you, strewn on the floor, as your mind drifted off—not into sleep, but something close enough. Earphones were still in your ears, faint music playing, trying to provide a sense of calm that the stress had stolen from you. You had only meant to rest your eyes for a minute. Yet, here you were, curled up and barely holding it together in the dim light of the library.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps on the library's quiet floor snapped you from the haze. It wasn't deep sleep—you had only let your eyes close momentarily—but it was enough to make the sound of someone nearby feel like an intrusion. You heard the soft rustle of paper, and when you blinked your eyes open, you saw Tsukishima crouching beside you, one of your crumpled assignment pages in his hands.

"Are you gonna sleep here?" His voice was soft, laced with sarcasm, but somehow not as cutting as usual.

Your eyes widened slightly, startled by his presence, but you quickly collected yourself. With a silent nod of thanks, you gently took the paper from his hand, avoiding his gaze as you gathered the rest of your scattered work. You could feel his eyes on you, watching as you stuffed everything haphazardly into your bag. You didn’t want him to see the state you were in—exhausted, frustrated, and on the brink of breaking down from the weight of the assignment. It was easier to avoid him than to admit how much his presence affected you lately.

You stood up, checking your phone: 7 PM. Five hours had passed since you first sat down to tackle your work, and the time had flown by in a blur of confusion and growing anxiety. Your back ached from sitting in the same position for too long, and you stifled a groan as you slung your heavy backpack over your shoulder.

Tsukishima let out a small sigh as you brushed past him, clearly annoyed that you were still avoiding him. He stood up beside you and followed as you began walking toward the exit of the library.

After a few moments, you noticed him still walking next to you, matching your pace, and before you could ask why, he handed you a bottle of water. The gesture caught you off guard.

You hesitated, but then you mumbled, “Thanks,” as you took the bottle from his hand. You hadn't realized just how thirsty you were until now, the dryness in your throat suddenly impossible to ignore. You took a long sip, your steps continuing in silence beside him.

It wasn’t until you had nearly reached the library doors that Tsukishima finally spoke again. "I want to talk to you," he said, his voice a little firmer this time.

"About what?" you asked, your tone clipped as you kept your eyes ahead, unwilling to look at him directly.

"You know what," he said, the irritation creeping into his voice. You could tell that your avoidance had worn him down, and his patience was running thin.

That anger that had been bubbling beneath your exhaustion finally surfaced. You stopped walking, turning to face him. "Your silence has been clear enough for me," you bit out, your voice trembling with the frustration you’d been holding in.

You turned to leave, but Tsukishima’s hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you. "Come on, you’ve been avoiding me for days. And we both know it's hurting us equally,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

You pulled your wrist from his grasp, turning on him with a glare. “Fine. Talk now, then,” you snapped, your heart pounding. “Tell me it was casual for you to save me, help me, hug me, kiss my hand, let me sleep on your arm—”

“I like you too,” he interrupted, his voice steady, but there was an unfamiliar vulnerability in his eyes. “I like you too, okay?”

The world seemed to stop in that moment. The words you had been longing to hear felt like a balm to your aching heart, but the frustration remained. You felt tears prickling your eyes, the exhaustion and emotions mixing together as your breath hitched. "Then why didn’t you say anything?" you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks now that the dam had broken.

Tsukishima stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your face, gently wiping away the tears with his thumb. His touch was so gentle, so unlike the sharp edges of his personality you had grown used to. “I didn’t expect it from you. I was going to confess too, but… as a man, I was offended you made the first move.” He let out a small sigh. “That’s not an excuse, I know. I shouldn’t have left you hanging, confused.”

Tsukishima’s voice dropped, a subtle mix of uncertainty and self-reflection. He gazed down at you, his usually confident demeanor softened. “Do you really think you like me?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. “I mean, I was a jerk. A grumpy TA who gave you hard days. I made things worse for you when you were already struggling…”

His words trailed off, and he looked away for a moment, as if trying to process his own feelings. "You deserve better than that."

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by his sudden vulnerability. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite everything. “But you helped me through things I was struggling with… even when you didn’t have to,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Tsukishima chuckled softly, his thumb continuing to wipe your tears away. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in an embrace that felt so natural, as if this had been waiting to happen all along. His fingers combed through your hair as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, breathing in your scent, his hold on you tightening as if he feared letting go.

“Okay, okay, stop crying,” he teased lightly, though there was still softness in his voice. “I told you, I like you too.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh, wiping your own face now as you calmed down, still buried in the warmth of his chest. There was a comfortable silence between you as he held you, and you felt like you could stay there forever, the world outside fading away.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your face still flushed from crying but with a small smile tugging at your lips. “So… does that make you my boyfriend now?” you asked, your voice soft but with a hint of playful curiosity.

Tsukishima couldn’t help but smile at your question. He chuckled softly, shaking his head before nodding. "Yeah," he said, his voice filled with amusement and affection.

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr @thechaosoflonging @monya-febrjack

[chaifootsteps]

Blitzøs in-character reaction to Stolas being abused by Stella: Well that is shitty, I get it, and it’s good you guys are ending it but why are you dragging us little guys into it? I’ve nearly lost my employees twice because of you and that ex of yours. Do you think rebounding so hard with me then that other succubus guy and now this vassago dude is somehow gonna help fix you? Alejandro and Gabriella aren’t real Stolas.

You don’t wanna be tied down to this chick the same way I don’t wanna be tied down to you. I said relationships are boring not just cause I’m a slutty “motherfucker” like you think, it’s cause they’re not all roses like you think they are. Your hang ups come with you. Your depression doesn’t piss off. They’re work and I’m trying to raise my daughter and run a business. Solo. You’re trying to escape your shit. And make me solve that and manage my own. I can’t. Im the one who’s exhausted. When I see your name and face on my phone, almost every single day, I get stressed.

I already had to take care of an addict by myself, for years. I don’t have time or energy for that big a commitment again. And Stolas you ask for a lot of work. You aren’t supportive. You only talk to me or buy me shit I don’t want, when you want something. I don’t want you to be my sunk cost. Protection, saving you, tucking you into bed, pep talks, helping your legal shit, telling you it’s okay, don’t cry, getting you off booze. Seems like dad shit. I’m not your dad stolas, I’m Loonas.

I feel bad for you, what you’re going through, that doesn’t mean I “love you”. I don’t even know you. I’m going home to my daughter. You should really think about rehab. I’ll even visit you if you want. But I can’t stay with you.

What we’re going to get: omg stolas you poor thing it’s all my fault! Upon her stage!! What she put you through! I caused Stella to abuse you or something! So now I have to change and fix it. I had no idea this villain was hurting you my baby. You deserve so much. Here’s my jacket, you are so brave don’t cry. I’m so enraged!! I’ll fight for your honour and you can move into my place! Loona won’t mind.

[milfhunter6698]

Under pressure pt5

synopsis: Upon joining the NYC firm as a new associate, you quickly find yourself facing the pressure of working under the firm’s star senior partner, Victoria neuman. With a reputation for excellence and an eye for potential, she was searching for a junior partner who can meet her exacting standards. You, with your impressive credentials and unwavering ambition, seemed like a perfect fit…until the pressure of meeting those high expectations started taking their toll. 

Warnings: 18+ eventual smut, no use of (y/n), cursing, no describing reader’s appearance, explicit language, fluff, angst, teasing, hurt & comfort, power imbalance, slight AU, some similarities to cannon, mentions of the boys characters (Hughie), slight age gap, rival associates, young!reader, older!Victoria, slow-burn, infidelity.

Notes: It’s sunday ayyy new chapter. I’m posting this right now because I won’t have any time to do so later today sooo i just wanna say, I’ve mentioned before that Vicky isn’t a supe in this, as much as you’d want to but unfortunately she isn’t so sorry boo! This is a sloww burn so ya’ll ain’t getting freaky that fast lol, but i promise it’s gonna be worth it. And oh my gosh? tysm for the follows and comments they make my day i love you all.

“I see your face every time I’m with somebody else. Can’t you see that I want you?” ♩Where you belong—The weeknd.

previous chapter

wc: 3.1k

You finally made it your apartment, exhaustion wore you down, your thoughts racing with that shared moment between you and Victoria, as you found your girlfriend waiting for you. Letting out a sigh, you sat your keys and bag on the kitchen counter. She sauntered over, a playful smirk on her lips.

“Hey, you're back. Missed you," she spoke, her voice soft as ever. Wrapping your arms around her neck, you returned her smirk with a wary one, mumbling, "work."

Her lips met yours for a soft kiss. That same horrible feeling washed over you as you realized the very same mouth that had been pressed against Victoria's just hours ago was now touching your girlfriend's. You broke the kiss abruptly, turning away in an attempt to hide the turmoil written across your face.

However, your girlfriend, oblivious to your inner conflict, pulled you close once more. This time, her kiss was deeper, more lingering, filled with an affection that only intensified your remorse. As your eyes met hers, it pained you because all you saw was nothing but love and trust, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

She leaned in for another kiss, gently biting your lower lip. Usually, this would excite you. But however this time, you felt a sudden wave of worry. Her kiss, which used to feel comforting and familiar, now reminded you of Victoria's from earlier. An unexpected shiver of anxiety rippled through your body making you feel uneasy and guilty.

Despite it all, you found yourself giving in to the moment. With trembling hands, you helped her remove your shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons as you stumbled backwards into the dimly lit bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind. She guided you towards the bed with a determined grace, her eyes filled with hunger that both thrilled and terrified you. As your back hit the cool sheets, she crawled over you, her body a familiar weight that now felt strangely foreign.

Your breath hitched as her teeth left momentary bruises on your skin, and you hissed in warning, "Uh, careful."

She mumbled a quick apology, her lips brushing past your collarbone, neck placing kisses down your abdomen. Your heart raced, and you closed your eyes, her tongue traced a wet path, making contact with your aching clit. Your hands, shot down gripping into her hair.

You couldn't help but let your thoughts drift. Your mind wandered back to Victoria. The kiss, that night at the pool, and that look on her eyes, how badly she craved you. Desperately you tried to shake off the thoughts and focus on her touch instead. But Victoria’s name, continued to play on repeat in your mind, hard to ignore as it teetered on the edge of your tongue, threatening to spill out.

You bit your lip, suppressing a moan. Suddenly, you felt guilt and an unbearable longing mixed with a sense of righteousness. "Fuck Vic—, fuck," you mumbled, your voice a raw, hoarse whisper.

Your body froze. Holy shit... You weren't sure whether she'd heard you or not, though she persisted. "Oh god, stop! Just stop," you pleaded. She then did so, pulling away.

You propped yourself on your elbows, “Hey, I'm sorry. You're great, I just..." You sighed, licking your lips, sitting on the edge of the mattress, a heavy, uncomfortable silence lingered, and it only served to break your heart further.

Rising from the bed, you bent down to gather your underwear from the floor. Slipping it on, you met her eyes, noticing the hurt and disappointment lingering in them. You mumbled an excuse, before you left the room disappearing into the dark hallway.

You stood in the bathroom, splashing water on your face and looking into the mirror. You felt absolutely lost, the memories of Victoria still there, and the growing connection with her a shocking twist of fate creating an unsettling, conflicting feeling.

Confusion clouded your mind as you tried to process the complex emotions overwhelming you, torn between desire and guilt. You didn't want to hurt your girlfriend, but Victoria’s hold on you was so strong that It made it really difficult, the grasp she had on your heart was unrelenting.

The next morning, you entered the firm, your mind still racing from the events of the previous night, thinking about your girlfriend and the possibilities only added to the unease gnawing at you.

As you walk down the hallway, your thoughts kept drifting back to the kiss with Victoria. You’re frustrated with yourself for even allowing it to happen, but something about it keeps pulling at you. Lost in thought, you don’t notice her until she bumps into you.

You share an awkward moment, both frozen for a second too long, before quickly shifting away. She mumbles a polite apology, but there’s a flicker of something unspoken in her eyes. You nod, avoiding her gaze, but inside, your heart pounded.

Later, in the breakroom you stepped into the kitchen, grateful for a brief escape. You prepared a cup of coffee, hoping it will clear your head. Just as you took a sip, you sensed someone’s eyes on you. Glancing up to find Victoria staring you down, an amused smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Why is she everywhere? It feels like no matter where you go, she’s there. Every time you try to focus on your work, she reappears.

“Looks like someone had a fun night.” She spoke teasingly.

Her gaze drifts to the faint bruises on your neck, and you suddenly realize what she means. Your face flushes with heat as you instinctively rub at the marks, trying to cover them up. Embarrassed, you meet her eyes, which only makes her chuckle softly. Your tone was defensive but tried to play it cool, “It’s not what you think.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, and takes a step closer. For a moment, you wonder what she’s going to say next, but before she can speak, Hughie walks in, his presence cutting through the tension like a knife.

He was oblivious to whatever was going on between you, he then turned to address Victoria, “There you are. I’ve been looking for you all morning. We’ve got that meeting with the partners in five minutes.”

You feel a wave of relief wash over you for the first time in days. Hughie’s interruption was a welcome one. You were not ready to confront whatever’s going on between you and Victoria.

She lingers for a moment longer, her eyes flicking back to Hughie, before she turns and follows him out of the room. You were left alone in the kitchen, the lingering scent of coffee mingling with your own sense of confusion.

Your thoughts continued to race. You can’t shake the feeling that things are spiraling out of control. You’re torn between the growing attraction to Victoria and the relationship you’ve so desperately trying to salvage with your girlfriend.

You can’t let this get any messier but deep down, you knew it already had been. The more you tried to avoid Victoria, the more she seems to be everywhere, as if fate is pushing you together despite your best efforts.

Earlier that day, you sat at a small table in Central Park, the sounds of the city blending with the rustle of the trees. The late-morning sun filters through the leaves, casting a soft glow on the table. Across from you sits the client, a middle-aged woman corporate executive embroiled in a complex legal battle over intellectual property theft.

“I don’t know how it got to this point. One moment, I had everything under control, and the next, it feels like my world is falling apart.”

You listened carefully, nodding as she speaks. There’s something about her situation that resonates with you—being blindsided, trying to hold everything together while the ground shifts beneath your feet.

“You did everything right. But sometimes, no matter how careful we are, things go wrong. And when that happens, it’s about how we respond that defines us.”

She let out a heavy sigh, looking out at the park as if seeking answers in the distance. “It’s hard to trust anyone anymore. Especially when the people you thought were on your side turn against you.”

You leaned forward slightly, your voice calm but firm, “I get that. But you have to remember, not everyone’s out to get you. Sometimes, the ones who stand by you are the ones you least expect. And I promise you, I’m going to see this through.”

Her eyes softened with a flicker of relief, as if your words gave her something to hold onto. As you spent the next half-hour going over some details of the case, outlining the next steps and giving the client a sense of direction. It was time to wrap up, she stood from her seat and offered a hand.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without your help.”

“Of course, that’s what we’re here for.” You accepted her hand shaking it firmly, before gathering your things from the table and saying your goodbyes.

You returned home, the sound of the city fading behind as you step into your apartment. You tossed your keys on the counter, your body heavy with exhaustion. The bed felt too large, too cold. You lay down, staring at the ceiling, the silence in the room echoing louder than the chaos of the day.

Your mind drifts to everything—the two women in your life. You wondered if you’re even in control—or if everything is slipping through your fingers. The emotional weight pressing down heavy on you, like a suffocating blanket you cannot seem to pull off.

In the stillness of your room, your phone buzzed on the nightstand jolting you, shattering the silence. Instead of checking it, you let out a frustrated huff, closing your eyes tightly. Desperate to escape any further thoughts, you pulled a pillow over your head, and buried yourself in the comfort of your bed.

It had been another long, draining day, and all you wanted was to clear your mind. As you walked out of the office building, the city’s soft hum around you as the evening light dimmed.

Walking down the stairs, a familiar figure caught your eye, standing near the entrance of the building. You blinked, almost unsure if it was really her. A strange wave of relief washed over you. She hadn’t been around for a while, and maybe you could finally talk things out, fix things.

“Hey,” You called, striding over to her. You could sense something off in her posture, but you tried to push the thought aside. “I was wondering when you’d show up. It’s been a rough week—”

She interrupted, her voice quiet but firm. “Save it.” Your heart sank, the relief you felt moments ago turned into a knot in your stomach. You knew that tone, you knew what was coming. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?” you asked, trying to sound calm.

She sighed, glancing away at the cars passing by for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “No matter what we do… it just doesn’t work. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I just… I don’t think this is working anymore.”

You blinked, her words hitting you like a wave. You’d been so consumed by your feelings for Victoria, your confusion, that you hadn’t even seen this coming. “Wait, we can talk about this. We can fix it—”

She shook her head, looking down at the pavement. “I don’t think we can. You’re different now. I’m different. And…” She hesitated before adding, “Is it someone at work? Is it that woman…. Victoria, that you’ve been working with?”

You froze, your throat tightening. How could she possibly know? The question lingered between you and although you wanted to say something, anything, but no words came. You couldn’t lie, but you weren’t ready to admit the truth either.

She took a step back, her eyes soft with resignation. “I thought so.” She gave a faint smile, one that held both sadness and understanding. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. But i guess that’s not me.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, speechless, grappling with whether you continue denying your attraction to Victoria and the inevitable consequences of those feelings.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as a lump formed in your throat. Blinking rapidly, you tried to dispel the emotions threatening to spill over. Your hand came up to your face, rubbing your palm against your eyes to wipe away any signs of weakness.

Watching her walk away, it was over you knew there was no turning back time. Your relationship, once strong and full of promise, had faltered. To ask for another chance now would be nothing short of foolish.

You remained rooted to the spot, your chest aching, a persistent and uncomfortable sensation. A chaos of emotions consumed you, swirling like a tempest, leaving you unsure of what your next move would be.

You stood alone in the copy room, glaring at the stubborn printer that refused to cooperate, its flashing error signal mocking you. The silence in the room was punctuated only by the sounds of your deep, labored breaths.

You clicked the button again, hoping for a miracle. Nothing. A flash of irritation surged through you, building with every failure. You clenched your fists, muttering under your breath, “Come on..” then slammed your hand against the side of the machine. When it still didn’t work, your frustration reached its peak.

You struck the machine again—once, twice—trying to vent the anger bubbling inside. Your world felt like it was crumbling. The breakup with girlfriend, the constant pressure from work, and now this. You pounded the printer again, teeth clenched, but it only made things worse. “Fucking— stupid, Machine!”

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening cut through the tense moment, and you froze mid-swing.

Victoria.

She stood in the doorway, a stack of files in hand, her usual calm, controlled demeanor breaking for a moment as she took in the sight of you.

You dropped your hand and straightened up, embarrassed. Your eyes darted to the side, avoiding her gaze, but it was too late—she had already seen the cracks in your usually composed exterior.

“Are you… okay?” she asked softly, setting the files down on a nearby desk. There was a hesitation in her voice, a rare hint of concern that broke through her usual professionalism.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to wave it off, but your voice lacked conviction.

She didn’t move. She simply stood there, studying you, the room filling with a heavy silence. You could feel her gaze on you, and for the first time in a while, you didn’t want to be under her scrutiny. You knew what she was seeing—the exhaustion, the frustration, the crumbling walls you’d so carefully built around yourself.

“You don’t seem fine,” she said gently, taking a few steps closer. “Something’s wrong.”

You sighed heavily, the weight of everything threatening to crush you. For a second, you considered brushing her off again, but the look in her eyes stopped you. There was a sincerity there that you weren’t used to from her. It wasn’t just curiosity or concern for how you were performing at work—it was something more.

“I just…” your voice cracked, and you looked away, feeling your throat tighten. “It’s been a rough week. I’m dealing with… a lot.”

She didn’t push any further, but she didn’t leave either. Her presence, usually sharp and commanding, was softer now. Patient.

You exhaled and ran a hand through your hair, finally giving in. “My girlfriend broke up with me.”

Her expression shifted slightly, a flicker of surprise and relief crossing her features for a brief instant before she quickly masked it. She took another step closer, standing directly in front of you now, her usual guarded demeanor softening.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and for once, the words didn’t feel like just a polite phrase. They felt genuine.

You glanced at her, your own feelings a mess, unsure what to make of her sympathy. But something about the way she stood there, unflinchingly close, gave you a strange sense of comfort.

She reached out, her hand brushing against your arm before pulling you into a tight hug. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to send a wave of warmth through you that caught you off guard.

Your body froze for a moment, then you quickly surrendered, burying your face into her neck. The tension in your shoulders began to melt away with each soft breath, your sigh a release of pent-up stress. Your arms awkwardly tangled with hers as you clung to her, her warmth a comforting feeling.

Once you pulled back your breath hitched, the space between you narrowing. She didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned in closer too, her hand sliding up to gently touch your cheek. The moment hung in the air, thick with tension. Your lips were mere inches apart, but just as she was about to close the gap, you blinked, breaking the spell.

She pulled back slightly, her heart racing, she hesitated, her own breath a little uneven, but then she finally stepped back, giving you space.

She gave a soft, knowing smile, she didn’t say anything more about the breakup, but there was something in her eyes that told you she understood more than she let on, an empathy she held back.

She closed the gap, her skilled fingers deftly fixing the printer. With a swift movement, she had it churning out papers. "There you go," she spoke, a small smile tugging at her mouth. Her gaze swept over you once more. Her eyes held a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite understand before she turned, striding confidently towards the door.

You stood there, flushed and still reeling from the almost-kiss. Letting out a deep, long sigh, you rubbed your face before slamming your hands on the table. Your gaze drifted to the floor as a turmoil of emotions swirled through you. Confused, conflicted, angry - you felt everything all at once and it was too much to wrap your head around.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I am tireddddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Professor Smith dresses you in a set of pajamas; white with blue stripes. They’re not your size, you assume they might be his. You’re not sure. You’re too woozy to think about much more than your throbbing hand. 

He lays you in the hotel bed as you shake uncontrollably. You’re freezing cold but he keeps touching your forehead and saying you’re burning up. How can that be when you can’t get warm? 

Your lashes flutter between glimpses of him pacing and sitting on the edge of the bed. When all is dark, you see his shadow beside you. His breathing suggests he’s asleep but you can’t tell. He’s up again as a halo of light shines around you. The lamp limns his figure as he pets your cheek. 

“Sweetheart, shh, you’re alright,” he coos, “no need to cry.” 

You’re crying? Why? You can’t remember. Your mind is a bubble of fractured thoughts and vague scenes. You can’t make scene of much between the visions of this man. 

“Fever’s broke,” he lays a wet cloth over your brow. “Very good. We’ll be off in the morning, won’t we?” 

“Mom?” You murmur in confusion. 

“Mm, let’s take one step at a time before all that, yes?” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Back to sleep.” 

He shuts off the light and you’re cast into grim blackness. His weight jostles the bed and you feel him spread out next to you. The bed is more than large enough for you both. 

“Professor,” you croak weakly. “What’s...” 

“In the morning,” he girds. 

You accept it, “sorry.” 

“Never be sorry,” he reaches over to squeeze your arm lightly.  

You lay in silence. Your eyes close on their own. You are completely drained. You sink down into a solid void that suffocates away all light and life. When you awake again, you’re alone. You might think it was all a dream if it wasn’t for the bright hotel walls. 

You remain as you are. You don’t have the energy to get up. You lift your hand and look at the bandage wrapped around it. It feels better and your fingers aren’t swollen. You bend them. It still hurts. 

The door opens and you drop your arm. You squeak at the pain. 

“Sweetheart, is all well?” Raymond rushes over, a tray in his hand. “I was only meaning to fetch some of the complimentary breakfast before we depart.” 

You blink and shake your head, “fine. I’m... fine.” 

“I hope you like coffee--” 

“Coffee?” You whimper and close your eyes. “Coffee...” you mutter. “I went to get coffee and...” 

“Yes, that fiend meant to attack you. You see, I did not come without purpose. How could I sit back and see you neglected?” 

“You don’t... I don’t know... you.” 

“Hush, hush, you must be hungry,” he insists. “It is good to eat. You are weak from the infection still. You must take care--” 

“My mom--” you look at him. 

He sucks in air and his jaw tenses. He steels himself and his fingers twitch. “Yes, a woman who allows her own daughter be abused.” 

“She... she couldn’t stop him--” 

“She should not bring the beast home with her,” he snips. “Please, you would not survive in such an environment.” 

“Why... would you come here?” 

He exhales and his eye bats, as if he can’t control it. “Why wouldn’t I after what I witnessed? Then you would not answer. I had half a suspicion you were dead.” 

“I’m sorry, I... didn’t mean to worry you but... it’s not your problem.” 

He hums and set the tray on the night stand. He offers a cup of coffee, “are you so used to being forgotten that you cannot accept kindness?” 

“No, it isn’t... I’m sorry.” 

“And the apologies. No need for it. I am not admonishing you. I am merely offering advice.” He takes your good hand and makes you take the cup. “There is much more you need to learn than accounting, I gather.” 

You frown and look at the dark coffee. 

“If you prefer milk or sugar, I grabbed some of each,” he explains and gestures to the tray. “Of course, you shouldn’t drink that in bed else you might stain the sheets.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you push the blankets back and move carefully. 

The pajamas brush against your stomach and you look down. You’re reminded of the day before. Naked in the tub. In front of him. You’ve never been so exposed before. You slump your shoulders and go to the table and sit. 

You look down at your burnt hand and bring up to examine the bandage again, “thank you...” you raise it higher. 

“Certainly. And who wouldn’t see to the festering infection? Are you not concerned that not even your own mother cared for that matter?” 

“Can we not talk about her?” You sniffle and rest your hand in your lap. “You should take me home.” 

“Home? That is no home. Now, you should eat. Keep your strength up so you can heal properly.” He girds. 

You nod and take a cautious sip of coffee. You’re still reeling, maybe even slightly delirious. You set the cup down again and lift your chin. You look at his neck, not his face. 

“Why?” You ask. 

“Why...” He echoes as he sits across from you. 

“Why help me?” 

He takes a packet of sanitizing wipes and uses them to clean the cutlery. You watch his diligent work. Everything he does is precise and purposeful. And cleanly. He seems to detest the thought of dirtiness and yet you can only feel like filth next to him. 

“Well, it should be a question, should it? It is humane. Decent. So, I shouldn’t need to name the reason for it.” He lays down each piece before he sets to claiming a muffin, then a scoop of the scrambled eggs, and strips of bacon with sausage too. “Though if you insist, I will give one. Firstly, let us underline that point. What you need, what you want, I would be more than willing to supply, but then, circle around to your query; why should I help you?” 

He takes the rest of the cutlery and wipes it then hands it to you. He makes you up a plate as he continues, “you, sweetheart, have great potential. I’ve seen it. And that would be spoiled all for a poor foundation. Now that is not your own doing, mind you, you cannot help where you come from, and more admirably,” he sets the plate before you, “you were fighting against it and so I only thought to lower the ladder for you.” 

You blink and focus on the food. You’re not very hungry. You feel slightly queasy but you would hate to be ungrateful. All these questions already make you feel so.  

“Thank you,” you croak and make yourself look at him. “Really...” 

You don’t know how to say it. You already feel pathetic and you don’t need to sink further. No one’s ever been that concerned about you. No one ever tried to help you. Most people just laughed, called you names, or pushed you down themselves. 

“Please, don’t trouble yourself very much, eh? I have the means to help. It would be selfish not to. A sort of passing the torch. I wasn’t born to wealth myself, or peace. Life can be a war on its own,” he gives a gentle smile beneath his thick beard. “Oh, and I did take some clothing from your home before our flight. I was able to use the hotel laundry. It should suffice, though I hardly trust their cleaning staff.” 

“Yes, sir,” you answer. 

“Raymond, please,” he corrects you. 

📓

Professor Smith, or Raymond as he insists, drives you across the city. He turns in the car at the rental place then leads you into the train station a block away. He’s patient, not hurrying you, and he pays for your ticket and his. You feel guilty for the expense. 

As you sit and wait on the platform, you fidget. You chew your lip and curl your fingers, the burn stinging beneath the bandages. 

“Are you well?” He checks in. He does every now and then. 

“Um, yes...” you look at the tracks, “I’ve never been on a train.” 

“A first, very exciting,” he muses. 

You nod and let your eyes wander. You’re nervous but too much to ask what makes you so. He moves so his leg is against yours. 

“Your hand?” He prompts. 

“It’s feeling better,” you assure.” 

“Very well.” He sits back and puffs out through his nose, “we will go to my home. You can recover there and when you feel up to it, we will go over your last assignment and see you through the course--” 

“Professor-- Raymond,” you sputter as you face him. “You don’t have to do all this.” 

“I am not a man who does things he doesn’t wish to,” he replies. “I’ve explained myself enough. It is unacceptable to me to let you return to where I found you. I couldn’t allow you in such an unsafe circumstance. Especially after what I witnessed.” 

“It-- he just yelled, that’s all.” You murmur. 

“Is that all? He had nothing to do with this?” He points to your hand. 

You shrink and shake your head. He clucks. 

“You are honest and so you are a poor liar. What I saw was more than yelling, sweetheart. You will not convince me otherwise. I know, this is a peculiar situation, but it is your way out,” he says, “tell me, you never thought of it.” 

Your lack of response is enough of one. Your eyes are hot, and your mouth is dry. Your leg jiggles restlessly. 

A lull rises as the chatter of others rolls through the platform. Soon, you hear the whine of metal on metal, and a bright beam shines from the tunnel. The train speeds through and grinds to a stop.  

You follow Raymond’s every move. When he stands, you stand. As he grabs his bag, you go to do the same but he has it in hand first. He gestures you ahead of him. You reluctantly approach the train. 

“The second from the front,” he instructs from behind. “I’ve our tickets.” 

You follow his direction. You’re good at that. As a professor, he’s just as good at giving orders. As you approach the waiting attendant, he reaches around to hand over the tickets. The woman in her uniform tears of the ends and hands them back. 

You step onto the small metal footstool and then climb the stairs of the train car. You pause as he puts your bags into the netted caddy near the front. He urges you on with another point and recites the seat numbers. You find them and stare at the row. 

“Would you like window or aisle?” He tucks away the tickets. 

“Mm, what do you like?” You ask. 

“Please, have the window. You did say it’s your first,” he insists. 

You duck your head and sit. He lowers himself next to you and slips a bottle from inside his jacket. He pops the cap open and offers it quietly. You glance over at the sanitizer. You don’t want to be rude so you put your unbandaged hand out. He dollops it into your palm, then his own, and puts it away. 

He rubs his palms together and you sanitize around your bandage and your uninjured hand. You sit back and look out at the platform. He’s a very stringent man but you might only think so because you’re used to no rules at all. He’s thorough too. He seems to think of everything.  

You look at him but think better of asking what you want to. He catches your glance before you can turn back. He shifts toward you, leaning on the outer armrest. 

“Go on,” he urges, “you can say whatever you need.” 

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” 

“Please,” he opens his hand encouragingly. 

You drop your eyes and wet your lips. You’re going to sound so dumb. “Do you really think I could... I could do something? Like you? Like... like... accounting?” 

He chuckles softly. It’s not mocking or mean. It’s soothing. 

“I do believe so,” he says. “You needn’t fret. Let yourself time to heal, then all that will come after.” 

You sniff and sit back. You don’t know if you agree with him, but you’ll try. That’s all you can do. It’s what you should do after he’s gone to all this effort. 

[balkanradfem]

Okay so I know I just hit you all with the controversial chestnut poll, but I have some new development in life that I want to complain about, and in order for me to complain about it, I need to give you the context.

I don't particularly want to give you the context. You're going to diagnose me with female socialization, and some of you will feel the urge to click the anonymous ask button and tell me off. Today I need you to fight that urge! I am feeling insecure, I am feeling lost, I'm not certain in my choices, I've acted without thinking, and got myself into a situation I can't control. So please don't be mean to me. I deserve to complain on the internet and not be called out, alright?

So this is the story of how I accidentally became a live-in caretaker for an injured, elderly woman. It's temporary! She'll get better, hopefully.

I worked for her occasionally, and she's always been kind to me. She would give me a little jar of jam sometimes, and I love little jars of jam, it's a way to win my heart. A few days ago, she called me in a panic, telling me she fell, and she needs my help. I came over, and found out she broke her arm in two places, and one of her rib is broken. She fell unconscious, after being dizzy all day, and fell on a big metal lantern, breaking it. She was now in so much pain she couldn't get up by herself, dress herself, or do any kind of household tasks. She went to the ER, got her arm wrapped up, and was trying to get a pain injection. I helped her get trough the day, and promised to come early next morning, to help her up from the bed.

Next day I found her in tears in her bed, unable to get up, desperate to go to the bathroom. It became clear she needed 24/7 assistance, and she asked me if I would move in until she got better. I said yes without thinking, because I was at this point, severely concerned, and wanted to do anything to help her out.

So this is all not so bad, right, I'm being normal, it's normal to offer help to an injured elderly woman who is nice, but there's a catch. She doesn't live alone. She lives with her older husband. Who is also disabled and can't help her at all. So in order to help her out.. I had to move into a place where a male lives. That is the worst part of this.

I'm still in the first few days of living like this, and my own life had to fall to the background. I can't go foraging for chestnuts every day, I can't go to my garden as much, I'm still going to work, just from her place. I'm overwhelmed and struggling to get used to the new situation. I'm not used to being around people at all, and now I'm forced to socialize almost all day. Caring for someone comes fairly natural! I'm already so in sync with her, she can just look in the certain direction and I know what she wants me to do. I've figured out where everything is in her kitchen, closet, and basement. She's pleased that I know how to do basic household tasks, and am willing to do it in her way. And she's nice, she's telling me things like 'thank you' and 'what would I do without you', which feels good. But I am very exhausted and sleep deprived, she wakes me up at 1am, and then 5am again, and I'm unable to fall back asleep in a room I lack familiarity with. I miss my room.

She and her husband said they were going to pay me, and in my natural ways, I said something like 'no you don't need to' which I feel like everyone will get mad at me for, but they did insist they would pay me anyway. I as usual lack the sense to care about money – someone's arm is broken, that's way more serious issue to me!

Alright so now to the part of the post I wanted to write, a fun poll where you guess, what has her awful husband done by this point :) go ahead and guess!

You have one day to guess! Which one of these scenarios happened in the first few days of his wife breaking three bones in her body. I'll tell you the correct option tomorrow!

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Heyo!!!!✨️✨️✨️

You write Hero x Villain so well and I was wondering if you'd be willing to write about a Hero that was kidnapped by the Villain, and Hero is expecting harsh treatment, but they instead wake up in a lavish bedroom, restrained to the bed of course but it's a very nice bed. It turns out Hero had been overworking themselves and Villain was worried about them and had had enough. Maybe Hero tries to argue that they haven't been overworking and Villain goes ballistic.

It was a joke.

It had to be.

The hero looked at the handcuffs (which were their own) and then back at the villain.

"You're kidding." The hero was seldom in the mood for jokes. Most of the time, they didn't understand the references their friends made or ended up explaining jokes which people - apparently - did not like. It was quite hard for them to find anything funny. A cat was funny. A sound could be funny.

But a practical joke? Not so much.

"Honestly, I wish I was. Do you know how heavy you are? I would have never dragged you up here for a joke," the villain said. They were sitting on a luxuriant chair across the room, one thigh on the other. Their foot was dangling in the air happily and they looked well rested as they drank from a coffee cup.

"What time is it?"

"It's ten in the morning." The hero smiled to themselves. "On a Monday."

"What? No. Shit. Shit. Fuck-" The hero was already late to work. They were always 30 minutes early. They couldn't be late. They started struggling against the restraints, tossed and turned, tried to pull and free themselves. But it didn't work, no matter how much forced they conjured.

In the end, their wrists were sore, nothing more.

"Relax," the villain purred. "For some strange reason - which I am not associated with - your workplace has been shut down. Water damage."

"What did you-?"

"Purely coincidental," the villain lied. They shrugged and finished their coffee, setting the cup down on the tiny table next to them. They stood up and once they were in front of the villain, they leaned over them. "You look very good in my bed, by the way."

"Am I your hostage? Is that it?" the hero asked.

"Hostage? My god, do you know how much planning and energy that requires? Too much work, really." The villain tapped the tip of the hero's nose with their index finger. "My love, do you remember when I broke your leg a while ago?"

"Still hurts like shit when I work out."

"Hm." The villain almost looked like they were sorry. "Well...that was a rather harsh method, I have to admit. But a very effective one. Until you started working again, harder this time. I didn't see that coming."

The hero stared at the villain. Initially, they had thought the villain would understand what it was like to sacrifice themselves for their beliefs. The hero was, in many forms, very dedicated to both their jobs. The one in the office and the one outside of it as a hero. No task was too much, no overtime was too long.

Of course, the hero heard the whispers about themselves, they heard how their family made fun of them for working long hours and how they judged them for never finding time to meet up. After a while, the hero had stopped getting into arguments with their parents. You wanted me to have a steady job or my work is important to me were not good enough explanations for them. So, the hero had given up on that.

But they had genuinely thought the villain would know what that felt like. To be invested, to be motivated.

"Is being determined such a crime?"

"Determination and obsession are two different things, my love," the villain said.

"What do you care anyway?" the hero hissed. They were sick of people getting into their business and telling them how to live their life. It was more than exhausting.

The villain was quiet. They studied the hero's face and eventually sat down on the edge of the bed. Their lower back was touching the hero's side.

The hero did not pull away.

"Your hand has been shaking for two weeks now," the villain said. "Do you think I am willing to fight a weak enemy? That is below me. My equal is supposed to match me in combat. Not only attractiveness."

The hero didn't say anything to that right away. They knew they had had...struggled with fighting these past few weeks. But they had not wanted it to be due to their work. It was clearly a coincidence. Some harmless infection or illness.

"Listen...I am fine. I have a good job and I have a duty to fulfill."

"When you go home after work, do you feel like you have accomplished anything?" the villain asked and the hero, despite how sure they were of themselves and their work ethic, knew that the villain was digging into a wound with dirty fingers here.

Because, no, the hero did not feel satisfied, they barely felt relieved.

"Do you feel happy?" The villain's eyes were boring into the hero's. Curious, brilliant eyes.

The villain was quite provocative but this was right out a punch to the gut.

"You are asking unfair questions."

"You don't like them because the answer hurts. You are miserable. What you are doing right now is devouring you. And once that is done, what am I left with? Another one of those broken heroes who dies in their twenties because it's all too much?"

The hero looked at them, tears burning in their eyes. It was their job. It was their chance to prove themselves.

The hero was worth something. They were useful, they were smart. They were good at work. What would be left for them if that was being taken away?

What was the hero without it, anyway?

"Right now," they said, "I dislike you very much."

"Our relationship goes beyond simple fights," the villain explained. They let their fingertips dance over the hero's throat, even let their hand cup it carefully. Goosebumps spread all over the hero's back. The villain could have choked them anytime. But they didn't. "It's a vicious cycle. You and I. We cannot escape. And that is your duty. That is your priority. The objective which demands all your attention. Stopping me is a lot of work and you need to focus on that. If I get too powerful, you know what happens. I want power. I want power over you, over the city."

"So instead of working the usual way, you want me to work because of you?" The hero was quick to blink the tears out of their eyes.

This was simply ludicrous. The villain was wrong. They were lying, manipulating.

"No. I want your attention, I want your dedication. The healthy amount." The villain leaned over them, their lips brushing the hero's ear. "I can be nastier if I want. Right now I could break any bones of yours to force you to rest."

Their fingers glided up the hero's forearm until they found the hero's hand. The villain took it.

"But I saw how much pain that caused. And how disappointing the results were. So. Last chance, my love. Tune it down. Or all of us will suffer."

They pressed a kiss to the hero's temple.

However, the villain had to kidnap the hero three more times until the hero decided to start taking care of themselves.

[evilminji]

You know my Crechelings Are Possessed post?

What if it was just the one? A SI-OC or OC?

Dying and going THROUGH the Force? I will attest, is GONNA have side effects. You're gonna end up... weird. Not Normal for a Force Sensitive. Kinda like Anikin tbh. A bit TOO in tune. A bit TOO aware. Connected.

As though your brain was cracked open 5+ dimensionally, to the Whole Of Creation that IS the Force and it kinda fucked you up a bit. Cause as A Luminous Force Being? You were fine! Energy and light! But as MATTER? Well...

Matter breaks.

Can withstand only so much.

We are LIMITED by our matter, crude and flawed as it is. Beloved as it may be.

Cause make no mistake! You aren't BROKEN. But you are CHANGED. There were a series of clear, monumentous, and "life" altering events back to back here! Death, a traumatizing thing no matter HOW peaceful it may have been. And in all likelihood? It was NOT a peaceful end. It probably? Hurt. Was frightening. Abrupt. There is grief and hurt there. Fear.

Then the trauma of being separated from everyone we have ever known. Without closure. For them OR us. Our empathy would remind us of their suffering. That they do NOT know we are okay. That we have no way to TELL them we are. This too, is trauma. But? Worse?

Is the Force.

We? Are no Jedi. Not yet. We are confused. Lost and do not understand. It is FOREIGN to us. An outside will that we cannot escape. Where are our gods? The death we expected? The afterlife we assumed we would meet? It's INSIDE US. It IS US. We are IT. We don't know where we are and everything feels?

E N D L E S S .

Can force ghosts even cry? Weep, terrified and overwhelmed? Afraid? Simply BRINGING us to them would not impart understanding. And imparting understanding? Well... we know it to be not OF us? To be inflicted. An invasion. The Force is not cruel. But! Importantly! It is not and has never BEEN? Mortal.

Blue and Orange morality is at play. How do you explain to a formless, infinite, all knowing, all powerful God Force? The concept of "boundaries"? Limits? There is GOOD to be done. It's helping you! Pushing love and comfort! Surely that should work? Why is that not working? It is... confused. Not MADE for such contemplations.

This too, is Trauma. Being held in the hands of a God. Benevolent does not mean SAFE. Does not mean you will not be unharmed. Just... that they do not MEAN to harm you.

Or have very Good Reasons for why they "Must".

The Force Ghosts help. They are patient in the way only old Master's could be. Kind. They understand. Have taught. And so? Though they are quite confused, they understand you struggle to release your fear. Explaining things helps. Talking helps. And you find peace.

Not the afterlife you EXPECTED, but not terrible.

Which... of course, is when once again things change.

Birth, Life, these TOO, are Trauma. You were FREE. No more pain. No aches. No hunger, no thirst, no exhaustion. Connection deeper then this broken and flawed matter could ever hope to achieve. The world has gone SILENT. Muffled. Like solitary confinement for the SOUL.

Only in meditation, are you FREE.

Your parents can't handle you. You grieve for them. For the child they should have had. Look around the nursery, so filled with excitement and love, and feel nothing but the urge to weep. You are a stillborn, brought to life. A child stolen. They deserved better then this. Even as you can not be anything but what you ARE? What of THEIR sorrow? Their confusion and futures now impossible?

You love them. They are not yours. Will never tryely be your parents, for all they brought you into this world. But oh, Oh, you love these poor grieving souls. Wish it had not been you. That they could have had the child they were so excited to love. You... you are sorry. So, so sorry.

They take you to the Temple. You guild them to a child in need, first. Hope they will be happy.

You do not look back.

They put you in a Creche with others just as "Unusually Strong" in the Force. Is that Grogu? Hi Grogu. Who are the rest of you? The room is quite. Everyone talking loudly in the Force, instead. It would be deafening for the more delicate younglings. They don't have the shields for it yet. The children here SHOUT without meaning too, like standing at a rock concert.

Visions are a constant thing. Unusual Force gifts and manifestations. Illirrrska can see auras. Doesn't know what they MEAN, mind you, and xe sees them on EVERYTHING that lives, but still! Xey are well on xeir way to figuring it out. (Xey have a holo document cataloging the colors, you see.)

You fit right in! With your Tiny Herald Of Death To Come nature. Your Creche mates believe you. The adults? Have grown numb. Used to filtering. Tiny younglings with Too Much Force flowing through them? Are horrors. Viscerally unsettling. Unnatural.

Even to the Jedi.

But! They REFUSE to treat children with such caution and distain. Hold them at an arms length out of FEAR. So they mentally filter. "That's nice dear, horrifying concepts and brain melting secrets, mmmhmmm. Eat your pudding. Who wants to play float ball~‽ Yaaaaaay!"

No one will listen. Future in motion. But really, of course it is. You are no fool.

However... tell me, Master Jedi. Does it matter? If we die one step to the right as apposed to the left? Because you would not LISTEN when the Force spoke? The future only changes when you ACT. Not when you REFUSE too. Out of FEAR. Out of IGNORANCE. Out of ATTACHMENT.

And make no mistake, you ARE attached. Clinging so hard to your beliefs that you could not POSSIBLY be wrong. Could not POSSIBLY be fallible, be fooled by the Dark Side and lead astray, that you have turned your back on the very Tennants of the Code itself.

What is more important? Tradition or the Force? The innocent or the way things were? Tell me, what is the will of the Force... and what is Fear? Convenience? The little moral compromises that damn? Who do you serve, Master Jedi? And ARE you serving them?

Perhaps you should meditate.

Just???

This Tiny Cryptid Crecheling? That speaks like a wizened old Master? Feels like a tiny star in the Force? Not a cute lil ball of light. A FUCKING STAR. Giant ball of gas in space, a burning ball of light, THAT kind of star! But... small? Person shaped. It's like meditating next to a Force Nexus.

They just? Hand you things. Or sabotage random ships. Literally just FUCKING SHOT a knight once, for no clear reason! All they would say is "it's not like you'll actually listen. This is the only way." What? Of COURSE WE'LL LISTEN! (No. They won't. Just ask Sifo. Ask Obi-Wan. The Sith, fear, and hubris have eroded the Jedi from within.)

The full blown confidence of an adult? Combined with the creepy "oh god. They're in THE VENTS!!!" Nature of highly force sensitive Crechelings?

Magnificent~☆

They can see into your SOUL. Are holding a toddler that squirms around, wiggles up to whisper in their ear, gets a nod, only for YOU to be somberly informed that your second in command (a life long friend) has betrayed you. Avoid wearing red. You will die on a Friday. By the way, they can't reach the counter... could you hand them those snacks?

One of the other one speaks to trees.

The trees SPEAK BACK.

Prophecy. Fuckin Terrifying Prophecy EVERYWHERE.

Did YOU want to know that your grandson will grow up to kill his brother? No? Too bad! Not even married yet? ALSO TOO BAD! Have FUN with that knowledge! How about learning that there is horrific suffering planets away? No. No there ISN'T anything you can do about it. Just... here! Have some Deeply Cursed Knowledge. From a toddler. Now! They're gonna go eat grass~☆

The appear and disappear at random. Climb the walls. Fuckin FLOAT. The Force itself is their imaginary friend! They literally consult it over PUDDING CHOICES. Sometimes? They talk in perfect synchronization, like a hive mind. Stare without blinking. One moment they are perfectly normal children... the next? Like PUPPETS.

Tiny avatars. Through which SOMETHING GREATER speaks. They KNOW, not think, KNOW what they need to do. You can not convince them. Trying just makes you an obstacle to be overcome.

They are four.

Toddlers and children. Younglings. Initiates!

I just? Want there to be? A portion of Deeply Cursed/Possessed Crechelings? That are just LIKE that. Loved regardless. Nothing wrong with them. They're just too strong for their lil bitty baby brains. Once they learn to shield better? It'll balance out. Anikin would have gone there, had he been found young.

It'd be hilarious? If what saves the galaxy? Is someone finally REMEMBERING that? And thinking to themselves?

"Hey, you know what might be good for that Skywalker kid? Being exposed to more Force Sensitives that GET him. We should put him on Cursed Crechelings duty for a bit." And??

Anikin? Is in LOVE? They are all so SMOL an NORMAL? Finally! Jedi who aren't EMOTIONALLY DISTANT! Shielded? What do mean "Shielded"? No I'm not shouting all the time! This is my normal speaking voice! *Skywalker confusion as he cuddles babies*

Cause like? He too? Spoke in horrifying prophecy? Was vaguely Anti-christ-y? Did the (o.o) see into your sooooooul stare? So WHAT? That's just how babies ARE!

.....what do you MEAN "no"?

Every day, throwing open Obi-Wan's poor, slowly being destroyed, front door like "Master! Did you know I am AN OUTLIER!? And REALLY LOUD!? Other people aren't emotionally crippled psychopaths, they're just really REALLY quite compared to me!!" "Ah. Yes, Anikin, please. Maybe say that LOUDER. I don't think the ENTIRE temple quite heard you... -_- "

Just?? Anikin Skywalker! And his Hoard of Creepy Possessed Crechelings that are TOTALLY NORMAL, Guys! All kids are like this! He's a GREAT role model and baby sitting! Yeah, it's the Clone wars, and no, he has NO idea how the entire Creche got onto the ship... but hey! Enrichment! That's good for them, right?

(^-^) (o.o) (|o.o|) (o,o) (o-o) (|o,o|)

*clones look from their general, to the tiny unblinking magic jedi babies, back to their general* s-sure?

@legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @babbling-babull @hdgnj @hypewinter @leftnotright @starwarsblr