#sobbing while over-sharpening

[caffeinated-moogle]

Glamtober | Day 31: Spooky or Supernatural

...alksdjflajksdf. (° - º ς)

Anyway, so I have the hots for a completely OOC AU evil version of my character, now. Aeryn as Ascian, maybe? (♡⌄♡) This might officially be my favorite set.

[adiadagaki]

| Gojo loves to spank you

The first time he did it, it was an honest mistake. There you were, underneath him, face pushed deep into his mattress, tears in your eyes and drool spilling from the corner of his mouth and something he couldn’t name came over him.

Before he even knew what he was feeling, his palm had come down on your ass, a bright red mark left, a reminder of what he had done.

And you? Oh, you squeezed the life out of his cock, holding him deep in your pussy as you came around him with a loud cry.

Ever since then, Satoru was well and truly obsessed.

If you so much as rolled your eyes at him, he had you spread over his lap, skirt up and palm at the ready.

He watched with wide eyes as the wet spot grew larger with every spank, and the colour of red on your skin? Yeah, he colour matched it and sent you with a little swatch the next time you had your nails done.

Eventually, he began taking your panties off before he started, keeping your legs spread just far enough for him to see your pussy.

“Hmm… just look at her, absolutely soaking wet.” A sound somewhere between a moan and a sob left your lips. “Shh, sweets, let me talk to her.”

Dipping his fingers into the mess of slick, he hummed happily to himself. “Such a good girl.”

Using his hand, covered in you, he brought his hand down again, the added lubricant sharpening the pain unlike ever before. You squirmed and yelped but Satoru had too much blood roaring in his ears to hear. Yeah, he was far too busy watching your poor pussy clench and unclench around absolutely nothing, begging him for his cock.

“Aww, pretty girl, know you want my cock so badly.” He circled your entrance tenderly, cock throbbing against your stomach, caged in his pants. “But I gotta teach that little brat up there a lesson for rolling her eyes at me.”

“S-said I was sorry.”

“What was that sweets?”

“I-I’m sorry.”

He grinned in that annoyingly handsome way of his. “You’re sorry huh?”

Leaning down, he nuzzled against one of your ass cheeks. “What do you say, you believe her?” You had to fight to roll your eyes again as he spoke to your pussy. Such an insufferable man.

“Oh. You are being real forgiving today pretty girl.” His cerulean blue eyes promised a world of mischief, and while he was going to give you what you wanted, he wasn’t quite ready to give up on what he wanted either.

[carbonfiction]

Listen and learn

Summary: You should've known better than to push, to ignore Franks warnings. Expression stern, voice snipped, he'd repeatedly told you to listen. To quit it, just for a little while. So was it truly all your fault when you just wanted some of his attention?

Masterlist Words: 1.4k

Soooo, i basically couldn't stop thinking about him w that beard/haircut so this monstrosity was born. carbonfiction actually posting a fic??? She has risen babygirl!! Bone apple teeth, enjoy, n all that stuff..

Warnings: 18+ themes. Rough frank. Smut. moment w a vibrator. Unprotected piv sex (do not), rough sex themes, praise kink, fairly light degradation, swearing, hand over mouth and then neck for a moment, squirting and of course mentions of bodily fluids.. Gets kinda soft n sweet near the end.. I thinkkkk thats it?

You should've known better than to push, to ignore Franks warnings.

His expression stern and voice snipped as he'd repeatedly told you to quit; to calm down and let him finish up his task. All while rough hands worked on cleaning guns and sharpening knives that his eyes hadn't left all day.

So was it truly all your fault when you just wanted some of his attention?

Not exactly, technically speaking, but when you'd stormed off muttering something about taking care of it yourself.. Well, that had pushed a button.

The part when Frank heard the low buzz of your vibrator start up down the hall however, destroyed said button entirely.

The metal chair flung back from the momentum as he stood. Boot clad feet storming loudly down to the bedroom, door flying open with a careless slam. Franks broad figure practically glaring at the way you rest spread near bare on the bed. Vibrator still buzzing beneath the soft lace of your panties from the shock.

You knew you would be in for it, just perhaps foolishly not as bad.

Especially now as Frank's hips pummle into your backside, the clash of skin loud enough to know it'll leave marks. His body drapes over you, heavy and wide, teeth biting against the juncture of your neck adding to the already overwhelming sensations of the way he fucks into you.

"Though this was what you wanted huh?" he grunts, a large hand groping roughly at your tits. "beggin an whinin in my ear when I told you, when you knew, I was busy. Couldn’t fuckin wait could ya."

You try to respond, you really do, but the sound falls broken into the air. A mixture of a sob and a gasp all in one, an agreement in intention but pitiful at best. So much so it makes frank scoff behind you as that same hand once on your chest begins to back drift up, wrenching your jaw to the side.

Despite the near violent way your body bounces back against his you can still make him out in your periphery. The longer strands of his grown out hair messy, sweat beading at the ends that gather at his temple.

"Hell, Aint even said thank you, you know that? Give you what you wanted and suddenly all your manners are gone." Franks voice is as rough as the pounds of his hips as they change pace, now slow but brutally deep. "D’ i fuck em outta you already? That what’s going on?

A squeeze of his hand on your jaw realigns the attention you didn't even realise shifted. A particularly heavy hit of his hips making your eyes flutter, the tip of his cock thumping against your cervix. "N-no.. I- .. th-thank you F-frank" you manage, just about.

But for frank? For frank that's not good enough. Its a start sure.. But something important is missing. And he knows you know it; even if he is burried so deep you can barley think without tasting him.

"Getting everything handed to ya, a real spoiled fuckin princess these days ain’tcha. Shit, gettin dick when you want it, s' fuckin greedy." Frank near growls the words, pulling out his cock from your soaked walls and flipping you. Back hitting the mattress with an audible oomf as he parts your thighs again.

Franks hand slaps down against your inner thigh the same moment he slips back inside; the angle pushing your knees over his shoulders as he begins to move once more. A shrill squeak passing your lips.

"You answer me when I'm talkin to ya sweetheart" he commands, hand on your cheeks this time, squishing them just slightly, lips pouted. "Big girl words.. Or have those gone away too?"

It takes a moment of him staring your keening form down before you choke out an answer, babbled and high in pitch. His cock pounding at that little spot inside you could never quite reach yourself, the base rubbing just right against you with each harsh push and pull.

"M-mhm! S-so spoilt sir" you nod, head barley moving in the tightness of his grip. One of his hands grabbing at the discarded vibrator and placing it directly at your clit. It makes you squeal, the rumbling vibrations hot and intense as his thrusts send it jolting back and forth. It has your cunt pulsing around his cock intently, pleasure coiling in your belly quicker than you can realize. "S' so good- so dee-"

Your warning is broken off by a squeal, franks cock slipping free with an audible gush of liquid from between your legs, the sound only made more mortifying by the thoroughly debauched buzzing. The bed beneath you soaking, your thighs and franks abdomen shiney with slick as blood pounds loudly in your ears.

But it doesnt stop frank, doesnt make him let up the harsh rocks of his pelvis, as he drives himself back inside completly unphased. His thumb offers a small mercy as the vibration ceases, discarded once again. A dark grin forming on his face as he watches you squirm; half embarrassed and half overwhelmed. Brain fuzzy and gone.

"F-fuck, fuck frankie!" you sob, sensitivity weaving its way up your arching spine. "S' too much!"

"Naw, Too much? That right? S’ too much cock for that little cunt?" he coos the words so sinfully as your eyes peer helpless at him. Toes curling against his shoulder blades, your hands pittifully pushing at his biceps and chest to no avail. A scratchy kiss placed to your cheek as he leans down to tut. "Not- fuck- not sure I believe you with the way she’s been drooling on me"

"M-mhm! It is, swear! Too much- too good.." you moan pathetically and he scoffs, hand flattening over your mouth, palm pressing against your lips to muffle you.

"See, you hear that?" Franks body pushes against yours; thoroughly pinning you to the mattress with his weight as he makes you listen. The squelch of your pussy as his hips draw out filling the air; not to mention the following plap of his full balls swatting at you as he bully himself back into place. Tummy fluttering as embarrassment floods your face. "You hear how bad she fuckin needs me? Can feel ‘er pullin me in sweetheart so I know your lyin. Know you can take it"

Theres a flicker in his eyes as he stares you down, one that, even in your hazy state, you recognize well enough to be a check in. A silent conversation, a way of knowing if you need him to carry on or if things are really too much. Your head moves before you can even register it, nodding quickly for him to continue as your back arches.

"My fussy girl just needed attention ain’t that right" Frank grins, your hand guiding his from your mouth to rest at the column of your throat. The weight of his paw like palm a pleasant pressure as his hips grind into you. "Needed a hand on your neck, big cock pushin at your guts to make it better, empty that beautiful head. Just a shame you got bratty ‘stead of waitin like a big girl. Not some cock drunk lil prin-"

A babbled gasp of his name cuts him off, another orgasm crashing over your body so unexpectedly it brings tears to your eyes. The mix of Franks cock punching so deep and his hand on your neck overwhelming in the best possible way. Cunt tight as a vice around his cock as his expression shifts again, a gutteral growl falling free.

His movements slow, the weight of him still soaked and locked inside. "Shhh I know, I know sweetheart" he coos, all previous agitation suddenly melted away like the flick of a switch, the frank you recognize in bed taking over. His hand cups your jaw as he uses the other large arm to hold himself up. Gaze locked on yours. "Got me so fuckin deep in there, it still feel good sweet girl?"

You nod quickly, mouth dry and body still trembling. Unconscious twitches of muscles your only movement to indicate you havent become one with the mattress as you grin up at him ruined. "So.. So good frankie.." panted, raspy and addicted.

"Jus' a little more 'kay, nearly there baby" Frank presses the words to your forehead with his lips, hips grinding into yours. Your fingers hold him tight, crescent indents littering his skin, legs around his waist keeping him locked between them.

When frank hits his peak its done with his eyes locked onto yours, panted moans and keened whimpers filling the stuffy room. Declarations of love and praise shared in the hushed come down, bodied pressed so close you practically stick together, a combination of sweat, slick arousal and cum painting skin.

"Know exactly how to get whatcha want hey sweetheart?" Frank smirks, licking his lips as he finally slips free to drop beside you. It makes you grin, eyes flicking to his to find a playfulness rarely shown, a hand shoving at his form. He jostles just a fraction with a chuckle, ever the boy he was before everything happened when he comes down.

You both need to shower, the sheets absolutely need changing, but right now nothing else matters but this. Hands intertwined on his heaving chest, His full attention, yours once again.

Okay so i dont know how i feel about the flow of this one because i got a little burnt out in the process (no fault of the fic) buttttt she's done so thats all that matters. As always inbox is open annnd Lmk what you think <3

[dee-writes-anime]

OK IMGINE IF READER SACRIFICES HERSELF FOR BAKUGO WHEN HE DIES?!?! SO INSTEAD OF HIM ITS HER BUT SHE SOMEHOW LIVES DUE TO HER OMNIPOTENCE QUIRK?!

And their dating too!

And how people dont realise that she’s able to heal herself while she was dead for a good 10 minutes while bakugo is crying over her ‘dead’ body???

WHAAAAA IM EXCITED TO SEE WHAT YOU COME UP WITH THIS ONE DEE!!!!

-monty , EAT SLEEP AND DRINK!

Ten Minutes

FEATURING Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

SUMMARY How dare you jump in front of him like that. What is he supposed to do without you?

CONTENT WARNINGS angst, descriptions of death, greif, and anger, talks of battlefield settings

AUTHORS NOTE I love writing pain, maybe that makes me a sadist, maybe not. We shall never know I suppose... hope you enjoy my loves! <3

The battlefield was a corpse.

Sky cracked open like ribs, scorched and splintered with the bones of broken cities. The fragments of land—suspended only by the last gasps of Monoma’s warped portals—floated like driftwood in a sea of ruin. Smoke choked the air. Blood slicked the ground. Every breath burned.

And Tomura Shigaraki—monstrous, half-formed, and pulsing with raw hatred—stood at the center, grinning with something feral behind bloodshot eyes.

Bakugo had never felt so close to the end.

He was fast—faster than ever, lungs rattling, arms trembling from the sheer heat surging through his veins—but not fast enough. The second Shigaraki’s body twisted and launched one of his barbed, sharpened tendrils straight toward him, Bakugo knew he wasn’t going to make it.

He didn’t have time to dodge. No time to think. Just instinct. Just the air being sliced apart like paper.

And then—

You were there.

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t hesitate.

You stepped in front of him and took the hit.

The spike impaled you clean through—back to chest. Your body jerked. The force of it knocked you off your feet and straight into him. He caught you with a grunt, stumbling back, arms instinctively curling around your body, but—

You weren’t moving.

He looked down.

And his world— Collapsed.

Blood. So much of it. Your uniform was already soaked through. The exit wound bubbled with gore, your skin torn and blackened around the edges from the heat. Your mouth opened. A gurgling sound came out. Blood slid from your lips. Your eyes—half-lidded—searched for his face, unfocused.

And then they stopped moving.

You went still.

“No,” Bakugo whispered. He shook his head, once. “No—no.”

He dropped to his knees.

The rest of the world dropped with him.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice cracking. He shook your shoulders lightly. “No. Wake up. Wake the hell up. You don’t get to do this.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard. Shigaraki was still moving in the distance—he heard Jeanist shouting, felt a blast of heat from Endeavor's flames nearby—but it was nothing.

His whole universe had narrowed to you.

“You don’t get to leave me,” he whispered, lower now. Raw. “Not like this. Not without saying anything. Not for me.”

His hands were slick with your blood. He pressed down over the wound without thinking, not caring that his gloves were soaked. His palms trembled as he forced pressure over your chest, his vision blurring.

“You should’ve let it hit me,” he said, gritting his teeth, jaw clenched like it would break. “I should’ve been the one.”

His voice shook. “I’m the damn reason this whole war’s a mess. You were always the one who held us together—you were the light, you—fuck.”

The words choked out of him like smoke.

And still—you didn’t breathe.

Your head lolled in his arms. Your skin was already starting to cool. Your hair was matted with dust, blood, the scorched remnants of battle. His fingers curled in your collar as he bent over you, shoulders heaving in silence.

No sobs.

Just shaking.

Silent. Guttural. The kind of grief that doesn’t have sound because it lives in the marrow.

“I love you,” he whispered into your neck. “I never—I never said it enough. You knew, right? You had to know.”

Five minutes.

Six.

Time became a cruel thing.

And then—

It changed.

A shift.

Like gravity holding its breath.

He pulled back sharply. Your body glowed.

Softly. Weakly. But undeniably.

And then—

You gasped.

Your back arched violently in his arms as your chest heaved for air, blood surging like fire beneath your skin. Your mouth opened in a choked cry as your lungs dragged in oxygen. Energy shimmered along your veins—pale and gold, like stardust stitching your soul back together.

Your eyes opened.

White-hot. No pupils. No irises. Just pure power.

“…What the—what the fuck—” Bakugo's words snapped from his throat. He almost dropped you.

Your breath hitched. “Hurts,” you croaked. “Everything… hurts.”

He blinked, wide-eyed, as your wounds started closing. Not fully—your blood still ran, slow and thick—but he could see it, watch the skin knit itself back together. You were glowing. Flickering. Your Quirk—Omnipotence—was dragging you back from the edge of the grave.

“You’re—” he swallowed, voice failing. “You were gone. For ten goddamn minutes.”

“I know,” you whispered, coughing. “I counted.”

“You idiot.”

“You cryin’?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, voice catching.

And then he was pulling you in again—cradling you against his chest with every ounce of strength left in his body. His fingers tangled in your hair, his grip fierce but shaking.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he muttered into your blood-soaked collar. “You hear me? Don’t you ever do that again.”

You were trembling, but your lips tilted upward just slightly. “Only if you don’t.”

He let out a broken, strangled laugh.

“Deal, you pain-in-the-ass goddess.”

He pulled back just enough to see your eyes—still glowing, but soft now. Human again. You were here. Still with him. Still breathing.

And Bakugo Katsuki, heart-wrecked and still trembling, pressed his forehead to yours again.

“I love you,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “I love you so much it fucking hurts.”

[oreo-creampies]

“𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! Monster fucking/hentai logic, hints of a size kink, satoru has two cocks, no say word used, overstimulation/hints of mind break, begging, dacryphilia, reader has horns, biting, cervix/womb fucking (I’m telling you hentai logic), hate fucking but he doesn’t hate you, mean and condescending!incubus!Satoru who loves bullying you and making you cry, succubus!reader, satoru drugs you up, mirror sex, satoru is obsessed and wants to break that pussy, some objectification/heavy degradation, pulling on your horns, squirting, he calls ya mama once, some blood/light blood play

Oreo/fey; This has been rotting in the drafts for a while so take Satoru’s part

Tears trickle down your stinging cheeks. Twisting your hips partly sliding Satoru’s cocks out of your sore cunt. Your clawing at the sheets desperate for relief from his pussy bruising cocks. His speed is spiteful, pace nearly hip-shatteringly brutal.

Your body burns when he laughs. “Awwee you think I’ll let you get away?” Yanking you back onto his cocks by your bruised hips. Your jaw drops, body shutters, toes curl and eyes roll back. The thick ribbed bottom of his cock rubs your g-spot.

Yanking your head by the taunt, bejeweled chain between your twisted horns. Sinking in his thick cocks, pressing you into the bed with a hand on your back impossible to escape his hateful thrusts.

He croons, “Why would I ever let you go when your lil sloppy wet lil cock sleeve takes me so perfectly?” Sliding his finger slowly along the base of your horn sending intense tingles down your spine to your stuffed cunt.

Clenching Satoru, squeezing his fat cocks together inside you. Whining, “You’re-nnn-you’re gonnnnaaannnnn fuuuck me!” Satoru props a leg up on the bed frame, helping him fuck you deeper. Sobbing, “Breakme! Sooooo meaaannnn! I’m sorrrry!”

Smacking your ass twice, your sore cheek throbs sweetly. Satoru croons, “What’s my dumb lil’ toy sorry for?” Squeezing your hip, piercing your skin with quickly sharpening nails.

Relenting when blood trickles down your thigh. smearing your blood and squeezing your soft thigh. Dragging his nails up, leaving stinging thin scratches. Both of his cocks bullying your sore cunt is too much, too big, too deep you're struggling to think.

Bouncing on his cock, skin smacking skin, your wet cunt squelching with each punishing, quick thrust. Slurring your words together, “Anything I did! Fuucccck! Nnnnn!” Satoru twists your arms behind your back, pressing your face into the bed.

Hunching over to bite your shoulder, his sharp fangs rip through your skin. Swallowing a mouthful, licking the drops that seep out when he retracts his fangs. Your pussy quivers, clenching Satoru's cocks as an intense warmth washes over you.

Sneering, "It's cute, you think there is a reason other than cause," rutting his hips harder. "I can!" You're sobbing, thighs trembling, toe-curling mess your bruised cervix into your womb.

It shouldn't feel this wonderful, is he supposed to be that deep? One quick stroke ruins your chances of worrying. Why think about it if you're going to cum on his cocks anyway. The intense blissful high is so close your pussy is trembling.

"Be a good lil glory hole n’ take my cocks!” Squeezing your hip, yanking you off the bed by your horn’s chain. Slamming you down on his cock, you can feel his pulse throbbing in his veins.

Satoru yanks your head to the side, biting your neck, injecting you with his aphrodisiac. Needy burning heat pools in your gut spreading into your spasming, squirting pussy.

Groaning frantically bouncing you on his cock, pounding your gushing cunt. “Squirting on my cock like you wanna me to make ya a mama." Pushing on your bulging stomach. "It's getting me off seeing ya cry cause your sloppy wet pussy is getting too sensitive."

Turning you in front of a floor-length mirror. Admiring how your cunt stretches for his cocks. The soft ribbing on the bottom of his cock tugs your cunt when he glides out.

"The slightest movement makes ya feel like your cumming when I inject too much." Stroking your clit, stuffing your squelching cunt. You're cock drunk on a blissful high, your cunt spasming, clenching him tighter. Sneering, "But you should still be able to handle me right?"

Oreo’s m.list

[princesseilish]

ROUTINES

Paige Bueckers x Mom!Reader

Warnings: Child angst? Maybe? Fluff, domestic, crying, tantrums, mentions of autism?

Synopsis: Your very busy life, as a mother and a wife but, you wouldn't want to have it any other way

Monday mornings in the Bueckers household were an Olympic event. Not dramatic. Not tragic. Just full. Shoes gone missing, cereal bowls clinking, cartoon noise overlapping with toothbrush humming, and one too-loud five-year-old trying to find her Very Specific Hair Clip like it was a national emergency.

The alarm went off at 6:30 a.m., but no one moved until 6:42.

Paige groaned into her pillow, arm flopped over Y/N’s waist.

“Tell me it’s Sunday,” she muttered.

Y/N blinked at the ceiling. “Monday.”

“Again?”

“Forever.”

Down the hall, feet hit the floor with a thump. Then came the first voice.

“MOMMY? Where’s my moon shirt?! I had it! It was on the floor for bedtime, and now it’s GONE!”

“Shit,” Y/N whispered.

By 6:47, both moms were vertical. Barely.

Y/N shuffled toward the girls’ rooms with half a hair tie still clinging to her wrist. Paige wandered into the kitchen to start the coffee machine, which groaned in sympathy.

Hazel was awake and already dressed. Kind of. She stood in her closet, holding up two long-sleeved shirts with equal suspicion.

“Tag check,” she said calmly.

Y/N, still bleary-eyed, took them both, flipped them inside out, and started snipping.

Hazel wore the same three shirts in rotation: the green bug-print one, the bluey one that violet keeps stealing and the plain gray one with soft seams. Everything else required negotiation.

“Can I wear the bug one again?” she asked.

Y/N checked it, smelled it. “No offense, babe, but it smells like mud and applesauce.”

Hazel nodded solemnly. “Then the Bluey one.”

Meanwhile, Violet’s door burst open like she was storming the castle. She wore pajama pants and a cape fashioned from a beach towel.

“I CAN’T GO TO SCHOOL WITHOUT MY MOON SHIRT,” she announced to the world. “I WILL PERISH.”

Hazel turned to her. “You say that every Monday.”

“BECAUSE I MIGHT.”

“Girls,” Y/N warned. “We are not doing end-of-days at seven A.M. Find your shoes.”

“I am in my shoes,” Violet said dramatically, lifting her pajamaed foot. “In spirit.”

By 7:15, breakfast was in progress.

Hazel sat quietly at the table, spooning plain yogurt with granola into her mouth, pausing only to tap her fingers against the table in an even rhythm. She liked neutral foods on Monday. Oatmeal if she was in a yellow mood, yogurt if she was in a blue one.

Today was blue.

Violet, however, was chaos in a unicorn hoodie. She demanded banana slices on her waffle, then changed her mind halfway through and asked for them “reconstructed,” which apparently meant separated into a different bowl. Then she cried when her fork had syrup on it. Then she cried harder when Paige used the “syrup fork” to hand her the banana bowl.

Hazel watched her sister sob into her waffle and whispered, “That’s so many tears.”

Y/N crouched to Violet’s level. “Do you want to pick a new fork?”

“I want to go back to bed and wake up in a different week.”

“Same, kid,” Paige muttered from the Keurig.

By 7:37, Y/N was zipping jackets while Violet insisted she could do her own hair, despite never once having done it successfully.

Hazel already had her backpack on, full of items she had packed the night before: a fidget popper, her magnifying glass, her laminated Bug Club field guide, two pencils she sharpened herself, and a snack that included exactly six baby carrots.

Not five. Not seven.

“You ready, Hazey?” Paige asked, crouching to eye-level.

Hazel blinked up at her. “Did you know that female praying mantises sometimes eat their mates?”

“I didn’t.”

“They start at the head.”

“Love that for them.”

Hazel smiled slightly. “I like bugs more than people sometimes.”

“Same,” Paige said.

7:44 a.m. was always the mad dash.

Y/N held out Violet’s shoes like they were fire extinguishers. “Let’s go, Vi. We need to be out the door in two minutes.”

“I need my galaxy hair clip.”

“You said you wanted the butterfly one.”

“That was before my waffle betrayal.”

Paige stepped in with her calm-coach voice. “Okay, we’re gonna take three big breaths and pick one clip.”

“I WANT SEVEN.”

Y/N groaned and picked her up, carried her bodily to the car as Violet declared, “This is a violation of my civil rights!”

Hazel trailed behind, narrating to herself. “It’s always more dramatic on Mondays. Maybe because the moon was full last night.”

By 7:51, they were in the car. Somehow.

Hazel sat with her book open, reading about bark beetles. Violet kicked the back of the passenger seat and sang about cats made of lightning.

Y/N adjusted the rearview mirror and looked at her daughters.

Hazel’s sleeves were tugged down over her wrists. Violet had granola in her hair.

She exhaled.

“Do we have everything?” Paige asked, buckling in beside her.

“Hazel’s lunch is labeled. Violet’s form is signed. I packed extra pull-ups for the nap mat.”

“Supermom,” Paige whispered.

“I haven’t even changed.”

“Still hot.”

The drive to school was always quieter than the house. Not quiet, but less loud.

Violet was half-asleep by the time they turned onto the school street, head lolling to one side. Hazel, still focused, traced her finger down a paragraph and whispered, “Did you know some beetles glow in the dark because of bioluminescent bacteria? I bet they have good parties.”

Paige turned in her seat. “You nervous about anything today?”

Hazel didn’t look up. “I don’t like lunch duty with Ms. Barker. She’s loud. Her shoes squeak when she walks.”

“Want me to email your teacher?”

Hazel shook her head. “I’ll just sit on the end of the table.”

Y/N met Paige’s eyes. Another unspoken: she knows how to take care of herself… and I still want to bubble-wrap her.

By 8:07, they were pulling into the drop-off line.

Hazel zipped her bug jacket all the way up. Violet sat up suddenly, wide-eyed.

“Wait. I forgot my nap bunny.”

Y/N turned around. “You haven’t used the bunny in weeks.”

“But today is the day.”

“I’ll drop it off, okay?”

Violet looked betrayed, then sighed deeply like she was forty and about to sue someone. “Fine. But don’t forget. I need her for moral support.”

Hazel leaned over and whispered something to her. Violet nodded.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Secret sibling code,” Hazel said simply, then opened her door.

Watching Hazel walk into the building, backpack snug, arms straight at her sides, never failed to squeeze Y/N’s heart.

She still felt like following her in. Like holding her hand until lunch. Like explaining to the loud substitute why Hazel sometimes covers her ears or doesn’t like it when other kids touch her markers.

But she didn’t.

She just waved, and Hazel waved back, and then disappeared inside.

Violet followed, skipping two steps behind her like a miniature shadow, shouting, “WAIT FOR ME, BUG QUEEN!”

Back in the car, Paige reached over and took Y/N’s hand.

“You did good.”

“I didn’t cry this time.”

“You almost did.”

“I miss her already.”

“She’s fine. She’s thriving. And you’re gonna be okay.”

Y/N let herself smile. “Until bedtime.”

“Until bedtime.”

Hazel didn’t really like school. She liked learning. She liked books and facts and tiny plastic beetles she could line up on the edge of her desk like a science exhibit. But school — the parts with chairs that squeaked, hallways that echoed, and teachers who said things like “everyone has to participate” — that was harder.

She didn’t complain, though.

Hazel didn’t really do complaining. She just found ways to work around things that made her feel buzzy or weird or out-of-place.

Her teacher, Ms. Lee, was one of the good ones. She understood that Hazel sometimes needed to sit next to circle time instead of in it. She knew that when Hazel stared out the window for five minutes, she was probably just imagining a bug colony starting a government.

But not everyone got it.

Y/N had gotten the email around 10:12 that morning.

“Hi Y/N, I just wanted to loop you in on a quick recess moment — nothing major, but Hazel didn’t want to join the group game again today, and one of the other moms reached out expressing concern. I assured her we’re working on encouraging inclusion. Happy to chat if you’d like.”

Y/N had stared at the screen. Read it again. Then slowly set down her tea and muttered, “Encouraging inclusion, my ass.”

She spent the next twenty minutes pacing in front of the laundry basket, muttering things like “Hazel doesn’t need to learn to play tag, Karen, she’s not applying to the NFL” and angrily folding toddler socks while imagining elaborate ways to crash the next PTA meeting.

Paige, mid-practice break, FaceTimed her at the exact wrong moment.

Y/N answered still holding a sock like a weapon.

“Oh no,” Paige said immediately. “Who emailed you.”

“Hazel didn’t play tag at recess and now it’s a thing.”

Paige exhaled. “Did she push someone? Cry? Bite anyone?”

“No. She just didn’t play.”

“…So she sat by the tree again?”

“Probably organizing ants by family structure. But some mom complained.”

Paige rubbed her forehead. “Is this the same mom who brought gluten-free, sugar-free, joy-free cupcakes to last month's birthday party?”

“Yes. And she’s on the PTA.”

Paige sighed. “Want me to call the school?”

“No,” Y/N muttered. “But I do want to launch her Range Rover into the sun.”

At school, Hazel sat on the bench near the edge of the playground, eating her snack with one hand and sketching a picture of a beetle queen with the other.

A couple of kids ran past her, laughing too loudly. One accidentally kicked mulch into her shoe. Hazel didn’t react — just paused to shake the pieces out and went back to drawing.

Violet, on the other hand, was halfway across the playground when she spotted it.

Her sister. Sitting alone.

Again.

She had tried — really tried — to play with the other kindergartners. But their rules were weird and too many of them yelled, and one girl named Olivia told her that Hazel was “weird” and “doesn’t know how to play freeze tag right.”

Violet had pushed her. Not hard. Just enough to make her point.

She was still on a semi-probation from the monkey bars.

But now, seeing Hazel by herself again, Violet stomped over and plopped down next to her in the mulch.

Hazel blinked. “Aren’t you playing with the chalk kids?”

“They’re boring and mean.”

Hazel looked back at her notebook. “You can go if you want.”

“I want to be here.”

Hazel’s shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit.

“I’m drawing a bug army,” she said after a moment. “For the beetle queen.”

“Can I be the butterfly assassin?”

Hazel nodded slowly. “You have to pass the loyalty test.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t run away when people say I’m weird.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. “I would bite them.”

Hazel smiled. “You’d be a good butterfly assassin.”

Y/N picked the girls up that afternoon like she always did — coffee in hand, anxiety simmering just below the surface, sunglasses on because she’d cried earlier and didn’t want Violet to notice.

She watched as Violet came sprinting out of the building, hair a mess, backpack hanging off one shoulder, yelling, “MOMMMMYYYYY, I DIDN’T CRY DURING REST TIME AND I GOT TWO GOLDFISH.”

Hazel trailed behind at a more even pace, hugging her sketchbook to her chest.

Y/N crouched and opened her arms.

Violet launched into her like a missile.

Hazel leaned into the side of the hug. Not all the way, but enough.

“Hard day?” Y/N asked softly.

Hazel shook her head. “Just noisy.”

“Want to talk about it in the car?”

“Can I talk about bug empires instead?”

“Of course, baby.”

The car ride home was Hazel’s favorite part of the day.

She’d unbuckle, fold her legs on the seat, and rest her notebook in her lap like she was a professor giving a lecture.

“Today I made a list of all the bugs I’d bring to space. Ants, because they’re organized. Beetles, because they’re strong. Moths, because they understand darkness. No wasps.”

“Wasps are jerks,” Violet agreed from the back seat.

Hazel nodded. “Wasps ruin birthday parties.”

Y/N smiled as she drove, listening to her daughters build an imaginary insect space colony while the sun dipped low and the streetlights clicked on one by one.

That night at dinner, Paige was late.

Practice ran long, and Hazel only ate half her pasta before asking to go organize her markers. Violet refused to eat anything that wasn’t shaped like a dinosaur.

Y/N tried not to snap.

She didn’t always succeed.

“Vi, please. Just one bite that’s not a T-Rex.”

“BUT I ONLY LIKE THE TASTY ONES.”

Hazel blinked at her sister’s outburst, confused and quiet.

“I don’t get why crying is part of dinner,” she said softly.

Y/N closed her eyes. “It’s not, honey. I’m just… tired.”

Hazel nodded and slid a green stegosaurus toward Violet. “This one’s shaped like it has manners.”

Later, once the girls were in bed (or at least in their rooms), Paige came home to find Y/N sitting on the couch, eyes red, holding a bug sketch and a half-empty glass of wine.

Paige didn’t say anything at first. She just sat beside her and waited.

“They want to ‘encourage inclusion,’” Y/N finally muttered.

Paige sighed. “Hazel didn’t even notice, did she?”

“No. But I did.”

Y/N swallowed. “I see the way they look at her. And at me. Like I did something wrong. Like I’m not parenting her right. Like it’s our fault she’d rather talk about moon craters than make bracelets in a group circle.”

Paige leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder. “Hazel is brilliant. Weird and curious and wild and brilliant. They don’t get to decide who she’s supposed to be.”

Y/N exhaled shakily. “I just want her to be okay.”

“She is.”

Y/N leaned into Paige’s shoulder. “And Violet’s about to punch another child in defense of her sister.”

Paige smiled. “At least we know she’s loyal.”

Hazel didn’t like bubble wrap.

Too loud. Too sudden. Too nothing for five seconds and then popPOPPOP all at once.

But in some metaphorical way, Y/N had wrapped her in it anyway.

Not because she thought Hazel was fragile. But because the world didn’t bend for girls like her. And if it wouldn’t bend, Y/N would pad every corner, kick down every unfair door, and snatch the damn scissors from anyone who dared to pop her daughter’s peace.

It just… got exhausting sometimes.

And Hazel was starting to notice.

Tuesday Morning, 6:58 AM

“I can pack my own lunch,” Hazel said calmly, standing on the step stool in the kitchen.

Y/N blinked. “Oh. Okay, I just thought—”

“I know what I eat.”

“You do,” Y/N said quickly, handing her the carrots. “I just like helping.”

Hazel nodded, grabbing the bento box and carefully lining up each baby carrot like soldiers. “You can help Violet instead. She put cheese in her pocket again.”

From the other room: “NO I DIDN’T.”

Y/N sighed and looked over at Paige, who was nursing her coffee like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“You’re up early,” Y/N said softly.

“I’m not. I’m just standing with my eyes open.”

7:42 AM – The Dash

Hazel tugged her soft, tagless navy sweatshirt over her head. Violet screamed in the hallway because her socks had “stitches that feel mean.”

“Hazel, can you grab your sister’s shoes while I do her hair?”

Hazel hesitated. “I don’t want to go in there when she’s loud.”

Y/N flinched. “Right. Sorry. I can—”

“I’ll get the shoes,” Paige offered, yawning and already halfway down the hall.

Hazel and Y/N looked at each other, quiet.

“You don’t like when I make you do emotional stuff,” Y/N said gently.

Hazel shook her head. “I like when people tell me what they need. I don’t know what to do when people cry.”

“I don’t always know either.”

Hazel thought for a second, then offered: “That’s okay.”

At School, That Afternoon

Hazel didn’t notice the stares. Or maybe she did, but she had gotten good at filing them away like background noise.

She sat cross-legged near the fence at recess, sorting pebbles by texture — smooth, scratchy, sparkly, chalk-dusty.

Three girls ran by. One of them pointed. “Why is she always doing rock stuff? She’s weird.”

Hazel didn’t flinch. She just adjusted her stack.

But Violet heard it.

From across the yard, mid-tetherball, she heard it.

And stomped.

“HEY!” Violet shouted. “She’s not weird, she’s just INTERESTING!”

Hazel looked up.

The girls laughed. “Your sister’s a rock weirdo.”

Violet opened her mouth to retaliate — and stopped.

She turned, marched toward Hazel, and plopped beside her in the grass.

“What’s that one?” she asked, pointing to a black stone.

Hazel passed it to her. “Volcanic.”

“What’s it do?”

“It exists. That’s kind of enough.”

Violet nodded. “Then I’m a volcanic rock too.”

After School

Y/N was already parked in the pickup line when she saw Hazel coming out, her hood up, her arms crossed over her Bug Club binder.

Violet followed behind, bouncing as usual, waving at anyone who looked her way.

When they got in the car, Hazel climbed into her seat, buckled up, and stared out the window.

Y/N didn’t ask “how was school?” — she knew better.

Instead, she tried, “Did you know turtles can breathe through their butts?”

Hazel blinked. “Cloacal respiration. Old news.”

From the back: “YOU SAID BUTT,” Violet squealed.

Y/N smirked. “Hazel, anything on your mind?”

Hazel shrugged. “I didn’t cry. So it wasn’t a bad day.”

Y/N exhaled softly. Paige’s words from the night before echoed: She’s not broken. You don’t need to fix it before she tells you there’s a problem.

“Okay,” Y/N said, “Let’s go home and make dino nuggets.”

“I want the ones shaped like herbivores,” Hazel whispered.

“Copy that.”

Later That Night

The girls were in bed — or near it — and Y/N stood in the laundry room folding tiny socks and smaller leggings with military precision.

Paige walked in holding a juice pouch.

“She said thanks for not asking,” Paige said gently.

Y/N paused. “Hazel?”

“Yeah. I tucked her in and she said, ���I like when Mommy doesn’t make me talk about hard things before bed.’”

Y/N laughed under her breath, hands on her hips.

“I’m trying so hard not to mess this up,” she said.

Paige set the juice down and hugged her from behind.

“You’re not messing it up. You’re showing up. That’s the job.”

Y/N leaned back against her. “Sometimes I just want to bubble-wrap her.”

“She wouldn’t let you,” Paige said. “And Vi would just pop every square out of spite.”

That Weekend

They didn’t go to any parties. Violet was invited to one, but she refused to go without Hazel.

“Why would I want to play dress-up with someone who doesn’t like my sister?” she said, arms crossed, rainbow clip in her hair.

So instead, they played in the backyard.

Hazel lined up tiny army men with insect wings glued to their backs. Violet acted out dramatic soap operas with grass clippings and dandelions.

Y/N sat in the doorway, coffee in hand, watching them just… be.

Not fixed. Not polished. Not trying to be anything they weren’t.

Just Hazel. Just Violet.

And that was enough.

Hazel didn’t like the new hallway tile.

It was too shiny. It squeaked under shoes in a way that made her shoulders tense, and it made the lights feel brighter somehow. On Monday morning, she stood in the entryway of her school and refused to take one more step.

“It’s the same hallway,” Y/N had said gently, crouched beside her. “They just cleaned the floors.”

“It’s louder,” Hazel whispered, eyes on the tiles. “And slippery. I can feel it.”

“Want to walk next to me?” Paige offered, giving her a little room. “We’ll go slow.”

Hazel didn’t answer, but she did start moving — carefully, like each step needed approval from her nervous system.

Violet, meanwhile, had already bolted halfway down the hall and was yelling something about art class and glitter glue.

Y/N watched Hazel's slow progress, then looked at Paige, her jaw tight.

“I should’ve emailed the school. Asked about the maintenance schedule.”

“Babe,” Paige said gently. “It’s just waxed tile.”

“It’s not just waxed tile to her.”

That afternoon, Y/N walked around Target with an abandoned grocery list in one hand and a cart full of soft-seam leggings, cotton undershirts, and exactly three backup pairs of Hazel’s favorite socks.

She didn’t realize how much she was overdoing it until she found herself comparing the thread count on pillowcases like Hazel was planning to move into the linen aisle.

She called Paige while sitting in the cart herself, phone balanced on her knee.

“I’m spiraling.”

“I figured.”

“She hated the floor this morning.”

“I know. But she still went.”

Y/N closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temple. “What if next time it’s too much? What if it’s a fire drill or a different sub or someone bumps her the wrong way and I’m not there?”

There was a pause on the other end.

“You’re not supposed to be there, Y/N. That’s the whole point.”

“I don’t like the point.”

“I know.”

Hazel had always needed just enough control over her environment to feel safe.

And Y/N had always been the type to build a moat around her daughters’ comfort. She could see it — the way Hazel stood a little too close to the wall in crowded places, the way she tugged her sleeves down when she got overwhelmed, the way her eyes flicked sideways when someone tried to hug her without asking.

And the way she never, ever asked for help. Not even when it would’ve made things easier.

So Y/N did it for her.

She emailed the teachers. Sent notes in the lunchbox. Researched noise-canceling headphones until her browser thought she was hard of hearing. There was nothing she wouldn’t do.

But Hazel wasn’t five anymore.

She was seven — whip-smart, quietly funny, obsessed with moon phases, and the self-appointed captain of something she called the "Bug Defense League." And she was starting to notice the way her mom hovered just a little too much.

One night, after dinner, Hazel sat on the floor in the living room, sorting plastic insects by species. Violet was in the kitchen doing… something with tape and construction paper and a banana, which Y/N had decided to ignore for the moment.

Y/N crouched beside Hazel.

“Hey, you want me to print out that new list of bugs you told me about?”

Hazel didn’t look up. “I already made it.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s great.”

A beat of silence.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, bug?”

“You don’t have to check on me every time I’m quiet.”

Y/N froze a little. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay. I just like it better when no one talks for a while.”

It wasn’t said with attitude. It wasn’t a dramatic moment. Just a quiet boundary.

And Y/N heard it. Really heard it.

She nodded, sat beside Hazel for a moment longer, then stood up — hands at her sides, not reaching to fix her shirt or wipe marker off her cheek. Just… letting her be.

Later that night, Paige walked in from practice to find the house quiet — suspiciously so.

“Everyone alive?” she called out.

“Emotionally?” Y/N answered from the couch. “Barely.”

Paige chuckled, dropped her bag, and kicked off her sneakers. “Who cracked today?”

“Me. Hazel set a boundary and I actually respected it.”

“Proud of you.”

Y/N flopped her head back against the couch cushions. “I feel like I’ve been parenting with bubble wrap for seven years. And now I have to take it off. And I hate it.”

“It’s not gone,” Paige said, sitting beside her. “It’s just… thinning.”

“Violet’s going to need it, too. She’s been extra lately.”

“She’s five,” Paige said. “She’s always extra.”

Y/N laughed, exhausted. “I think she ate half a glue stick this morning.”

“As long as it was gluten-free.”

The next day, the girls had a half-day at school, which was code for “you’ll get nothing done and still feel like you ran a marathon.”

Y/N picked them up at noon, and before Hazel was even buckled into her booster seat, she was deep into a monologue about ancient trilobites and how they might have been the earliest evidence of molting.

Violet interrupted her mid-sentence to declare, “I PEED A LITTLE DURING NAP TIME BUT I BLAMED EMILY.”

Hazel blinked. “You lied?”

“I saved myself.”

“Do you want to wash your hands again?” Y/N asked, already passing back sanitizer.

“No,” Violet said proudly. “I want chocolate milk.”

Hazel looked at her sister like she was a Rubik’s cube.

“I don’t understand you.”

“That’s okay,” Violet shrugged. “I understand me.”

That weekend, Hazel decided she wanted to try leggings again. The last time hadn’t gone well — the seams were too tight, the fabric too loud (her word), and she had cried for forty-five minutes afterward without really explaining why.

But this time, she said she was ready to try again.

So Y/N brought out the softest pair she could find, and Paige made it a whole thing — a Legging Ceremony. They lit a candle, which Violet tried to blow out three times, and put on spa music while Hazel slowly stepped into the cotton like it was lava.

And when she didn’t cry — when she sat down and said, “It’s not my favorite, but it’s okay,” — Y/N had to walk out of the room to breathe for a second.

Paige followed her.

“She didn’t scream,” Y/N whispered, stunned.

“She’s growing.”

“She’s brave.”

“She’s ours.”

That night, both girls climbed into Hazel’s bed like usual. It was only supposed to be a quick cuddle — five minutes, tops — but somehow Violet fell asleep upside down, Hazel started whispering about Martian beetles, and neither mom had the heart to move them.

Y/N stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching them.

“They’re gonna be fine,” Paige said, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Y/N leaned into her.

“I just hope the world is ready for them.”

Paige smiled.

That Night

The girls were finally asleep.

Probably.

Hazel had curled herself into a tight comma under her weighted blanket, her Bug Club binder tucked beside her pillow like a bedtime story. Violet had passed out upside down again, one foot sticking through the safety rail, her unicorn nightlight casting shadows across the wall that she’d almost certainly insist were haunted by morning.

Y/N stood in the hallway just outside their rooms, staring.

Not doing anything. Just standing there. Listening to the soft sound of Hazel’s sound machine—rainstorm setting, always—and the faint thrum of Violet’s sleepy humming, like her brain was still half-playing tag in her dreams.

She didn’t move until Paige came up behind her, barefoot and quiet, holding two mugs of tea.

“One’s just water with honey,” Paige said. “We’re out of actual tea. Or maybe I just didn’t want to boil a second pot.”

Y/N took it without looking. “Water with honey sounds fake, but I’ll drink it.”

They leaned against the wall together, shoulder to shoulder, facing down the hallway like the world might throw one more thing at them before bed.

For once, it didn’t.

“I almost cried again,” Y/N said softly.

“When?”

“Today. When Hazel let me braid her hair without flinching.”

Paige looked over. “That was a big one.”

“She didn’t say thank you. She just… handed me the brush like it was normal.”

“It is normal. For her.”

Y/N sipped her tea-water-whatever. “She’s figuring herself out faster than I figured her out.”

“You figured her out fine.”

“I thought she was just sensitive for the first year. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t need to know right away. You just had to love her.”

“I still don’t always get it right.”

“Who does?”

Y/N let out a breath. She didn’t realize she’d been holding it since dinner. Since that tiny, silent moment when Hazel had let her tuck the blanket a little tighter, when Violet had whispered “night, bug queen” before immediately asking if worms had teeth.

They didn’t always say thank you.

But they didn’t pull away either.

And that was something.

Y/N stepped into the girls’ room once more before bed. She adjusted the curtain just slightly, just enough to block the streetlight from hitting Hazel’s face. She picked up a crayon from the rug and tucked it back into the box. She kissed Violet’s forehead—still slightly sticky with whatever she’d snuck from the pantry.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need to.

Back in their bedroom, Paige was already half-asleep, arm flung across the pillow, hair still damp from a rushed shower.

Y/N crawled in beside her and didn’t even flinch when a single LEGO piece stabbed the bottom of her foot on the way in.

It was just part of it. The mess. The noise. The endless string of small, sharp things you stepped on that reminded you you were still inside a life you made on purpose.

And god, what a life.

Paige murmured something without opening her eyes. “Did you double-check Hazel’s note for the bug fair?”

“I did.”

“She’s bringing mealworms, right?”

“Alive.”

“Of course.”

A long silence stretched between them, warm and comfortable.

Y/N closed her eyes.

She didn’t know what tomorrow’s morning would be. If Hazel would be in a gray mood. If Violet would refuse socks again. If she’d get another email from a mom who didn’t get it. If Paige would have to run out mid-breakfast for practice.

She didn’t know.

But she knew that she’d handle it.

Not perfectly. Not all at once. Not without raising her voice or forgetting to sign something or burning a bagel or crying in the laundry room.

But she’d handle it.

Because this wasn’t a story about fixing her kids.

It was a story about showing up.

About loving them so loudly and so quietly, at the same time, that they never once wondered if they were too much.

About being the person who said, every single day, “You don’t have to change. I’ve got you. Just grow.”

And so they did.

Bit by bit. Bug by bug. Tantrum by tantrum.

They grew.

And so did she.

Right there with them.

[sourle]

I love your Au so much! I feel so bad to the y/n so much..so I got a idea came out of my mind while I listened to silly billy(a dang popular fnf song) and it remind me of that au of if y/n get heavily tired of been ignored just because of they past..So if y/n became a killer like the other, they would sing the line of the silly billy song( IM SO SORRY IF YOU DONT UNDERSTAND ENGLISH ISBT NY FIRST LANGUAGE AND IT WAS THE IDEA I HAVE-)

Proud of me

Silly Billy

WARNINGS: BLOOD, VIOLENCE, SLIGHT GORE, READ AT YOUR OWN RISKS!

Note: "I'll make— you say— how proud you are of me."

It wasn't intended, really. You've never thought the hatred could get this bad. How? Why? Taph..

Did they lied to him? Did they influenced him?

You choked on your tears, gripping the picture frame. It hurts so much to know no one trusted you anymore, not even Taph.

The sound of your shuddering breathing and sobs filled the silence in the cabin. You were moved by Shedletsky to another cabin, furthest from the other, saying it was necessary. But seeing as how close it is to the path leading to where the killer's hideout was, worried you.

Though he insisted on you staying there, alone. Taph were previously your cabin-mates. Guess now he isn't seeing as he moved his belongings into Dusekkar's cabin before you were moved.

Did you do something? What wrong did you do? You can't remember.

Alone. Everytime. Every second. Every hour. Every day. Every. Ticking. Time.

Are they not convinced enough you've changed?

You still stay friendly with them despite everything.

You stare at the familiar panel in front of you, seeing the screen you vouch to never touch ever again.

The time is almost over. It's almost the end time.

You heard a scream, one that's familiar to Dussekkar's voice. You got up, hiding the panel away from everyone, and left the hill.

Running towards the voice you saw both Dussekkar and Guest limping, Chance's gun exploded on him in an attempt to save Dusekkar from Jason.

Taking out your gun, you shoot it at Jason. It hits, stunning him. Giving both Dussekkar and Guest to escape, without even a thanks from either one.

Are you that bad? They never acknowledge you anymore. Not even Him. Taph.

You snapped back into reality hearing Chance pained groans. Your eyes widen as he runs up to you and shoves you behind them towards the killer

Then you felt it. The machete hitting your neck. Scar so deep it bleeds a river, unfortunately not enough to end you from the pain.

You felt him pull the machete back, resuming chase on Chance who's low. You choked, grasping at the wound on your neck.

Falling to the ground with sob you can't even get out of your mouth. The pain felt like it was burning, it's agonizing.

You heard another scream. Shouting out Taph's name. No.

He's in danger, get up. GET UP!

You can't, despite you trying. You can't. You're close to death, yet seems like The Spectre didn't want you to.

You squint your eyes, remembering something. You held back the pain, clenching your teeth.

The second tick, 10 seconds.

You muster up all your energy, a panel opened up in front of you.

You can't give up.

5 seconds.

You pulled yourself towards the panel. Reaching a hand out to click that one button.

3

You hissed, feeling the pain sharpened.

2

You're good enough! You're enough! You'll prove them!

1

I'll make them proud of me.

Builderman stares at the timer, confused on why it restarted. He turns to the other who looks confused as well.

Is there a continuous round? Last time he check there's none. New event?

He turns to Shedletsky and Guest, both staring out at the area near the mansion. Everyone is here, except Two time. Said they'll go check the whole map to see what's going on.

SNAP—

Builderman, Shedletsky, and Guest turn their attention to the snapping noise. It sounds so familiar— Is it c00lkid?

There they stood, over Two time's mangled body.

Is that— [Name]?

"Am I strong enough? Did I prove enough to be better!? Please say you're proud of me!"

They stare at you, eyes widen. Shedletsky took out his sword, Guest ready himself. Builderman, oh.

He's having a flashback. He knows what your capabilities are.

I'm sorry.

[gyuuberryy]

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐌 !

pairing: venom!jay x reader

genre: venom au, one sided rivalry, loser!jay, office coworkers, superhero

synopsis: when a geeky coworker’s transformation catches your eye, curiosity leads to a discovery far darker—and more thrilling—than you ever imagined. now, blackmail has you entangled with jay and his possessive alter ego, venom, in a dangerous game neither of you wants to end.

warnings: kissing, fighting, venom??

note: where are my marvel girlies at whoo hoo! venom is so pookie and my biggest "hear me out" hehe he got me sobbing in the theatre. jay as venom would be SO hot kjvfbvnjb >< so i wrote this to make up for me going mia for a while, i have too much school work so writing will be slow. anyway enjoyyy reading!!

word count: 2.5k

your office life was a balancing act between emails, deadlines, and… keeping your one-sided rivalry with park jongseong alive. jay(as everyone else called him), with his slightly too-short ties and endearing but tragic fashion sense, was the clueless office geek. he was awkward, quiet, and too nice for his own good. yet, no matter how awkward he was, jay always managed to excel in everything he did, effortlessly snagging the praise you thought should have been yours.

what irritated you most was that jay never seemed to notice your rivalry. he was too busy offering you help or giving you his signature polite, bumbling smile. and sometimes, you’d even catch yourself watching him a little too closely, feeling a reluctant warmth for his harmless, good-guy charm.

one afternoon, you wandered over to his desk, smirking as you noticed his usual setup: notebooks organised to the millimetre, a stack of neatly sharpened pencils, and a sticky note that read “be confident!” in his looping handwriting.

he looked up as you approached, adjusting his slightly crooked glasses and giving you a shy smile.

“hey, park,” you began, leaning casually against his desk. “did you remember to double-check the new client report? i know how thorough you like to be.”

jay blinked, his cheeks turning pink. “y-yeah, i went over it twice… just to make sure everything was right.”

“of course you did,” you replied with a playful eye roll. “wouldn’t want our employee of the month slipping up, now would we?”

he smiled, looking down at his notebook. “just doing my best.”

you shook your head, laughing softly. for some reason, you loved seeing him blush, getting him all flustered with a few well-placed jabs. jay was sweet, awkward, and, despite your constant teasing, he never seemed to hold it against you.

but the next week, everything changed.

jay showed up to work that monday looking like a different person. gone were the slightly wrinkled shirts and too-short ties. instead, he wore a fitted, charcoal button-down with the top few buttons undone, revealing a silver chain against his collarbone. his sleeves were rolled up, showing his forearms in a way that made you do a double-take. and he’d traded his old glasses for sleek, dark-rimmed ones that suited him way too well, giving him a smouldering look.

you did a double take as he walked by, giving you a casual, confident nod. “morning,” he said, his voice low and smooth. the bumbling, endearing jay you knew was nowhere to be found.

you shook it off, convincing yourself it was just a fluke. but over the next few days, you couldn’t ignore the transformation.

he traded in his ill-fitting clothes for tailored shirts, stylish watches, and a few artfully unbuttoned collars that showed off his neck and a hint of muscle. it seemed like his glasses had now permanently changed, now sleek and sophisticated, accentuating his jawline in a way that made you, against your better judgement, find yourself staring a little too long.

and it wasn’t just his style—jay’s entire demeanour was different. instead of blushing and stuttering, he’d catch you looking, smirking with a confidence that left you flustered.

one afternoon, you approached him, determined to regain some control of the dynamic. “wow, park,” you said, crossing your arms. “fancy new look. trying to impress someone?”

he looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. “why? is it working?”

your cheeks heated, but you forced a laugh. “don’t flatter yourself.”

“oh, i don’t need to,” he replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “you do a pretty good job of that.”

his words left you speechless, your usual comebacks fizzling as he held your gaze with a smirk. flustered, you turned away, cursing under your breath.

when had park jongseong become… hot?

over the next week, his flirtations continued, growing bolder and more direct. every time you tried to tease him, he’d have a response that left you stumbling. gone was the stammering, geeky coworker you used to playfully bully; in his place was someone who knew exactly how to get under your skin, his newfound confidence throwing you off balance.

but one night after work, things took an unexpected turn.

you’d noticed him acting strange, glancing at his arms as though trying to keep something in check. he slipped out of the office quickly that evening, his face tense, and curiosity got the best of you. you followed him, keeping your distance as he made his way down the street, eventually ducking into a dark alleyway.

hiding behind the corner, you peeked around, pulling out your phone and hitting “record” just in case. what you saw left you speechless.

jay was standing in the middle of the alley, his body tense, his hands clutching his head. dark, inky shadows pulsed along his arms, twisting and curling like tendrils wrapping around him. his posture shifted, his shoulders straightening as the shadows coiled around his body, transforming him into something that was equal parts terrifying and mesmerising.

suddenly, jay let out a deep, guttural growl, his face contorting as sharp, gleaming fangs appeared, his once-soft eyes turning pitch black.

“finally,” a rough, raspy voice rumbled, oozing from jay’s mouth with a sinister excitement. “let’s go for a little… snack.”

a cold chill shot through you as you held up your phone, capturing the whole transformation on video. your heart was racing, but you couldn’t look away. whatever was happening to jay was unlike anything you’d ever seen.

as he turned, his gaze fell on the man who’d appeared in the alley, a figure holding a crowbar, his face twisted in anger. jay’s lips twisted into a wicked grin as he stalked toward the man, his voice dropping into a dark, predatory tone.

“ohhh, you picked the wrong guy to mess with tonight,” the voice sneered, dripping with a twisted glee. “i am going to enjoy this.”

the man froze, his face paling as jay’s shadows coiled around him, binding him in place. jay’s grin widened, his fangs gleaming as he leaned in close.

“run along, before i decide you’d make a nice little snack,” he growled, his voice a terrifying blend of jay’s and something far darker.

the man didn’t hesitate, stumbling away into the shadows. but as jay straightened, his gaze flickered over to you, and his eyes narrowed. in a heartbeat, he was in front of you, his inky black tendrils stretching out to trap you, pinning you against the wall.

you swallowed, trying to keep your breathing steady as he loomed over you, his dark, twisted grin sending a thrill of both fear and fascination through you.

“you… got that on video?” he murmured, his voice back to normal but tinged with a rough edge.

you held up your phone, smirking. “every second of it.”

his eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, and he leaned closer, his face inches from yours. “we could just… eat you, you know. save ourselves a lot of trouble.”

you raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down. “please. you didn’t even eat that guy. there’s no way you’d hurt me.”

he chuckled, the sound low and dark, his gaze flicking over your face. “hmm, true… i like you too much for that.”

the words left you breathless, your heart skipping a beat as you stared up at him, stunned. his face softened, a small, genuine smile replacing the sinister grin.

“so… about that video,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

regaining your composure, you smirked, crossing your arms as best you could with his tendrils pinning you to the wall. “i think i’ll keep it… as insurance. you know, just in case you feel like getting hungry again.”

he tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “so… what, you’re blackmailing me now?”

“exactly,” you replied, your grin widening. “you’re going to help me out with a few things, and i’m going to keep my mouth shut about your… secret.”

jay sighed, the shadows retracting as he released you, though he kept his gaze locked on yours. “fine. but don’t push it.”

you grinned, savouring the thrill of having the upper hand. “deal.”

over the next few weeks, you took full advantage of your “arrangement.” you had him running errands, fixing things around your apartment, and even carrying your heavy boxes at work. gone was the bumbling, geeky jay you’d known, replaced with someone who wielded both power and confidence—and didn’t hesitate to let you know it.

curiosity getting the best of you one day, you found yourself pulling him aside. “so… about your little… transformation,” you began, eyeing him carefully. “is he, like, a shadow monster or something?”

jay’s eyes widened, and he looked genuinely affronted. “shadow monster?” he repeated, crossing his arms. “he’s a symbiote. and he’s got a name, thank you very much.”

you raised an eyebrow. “a symbiote? i mean, he looks pretty shadowy to me.”

jay sighed, clearly unimpressed with your description. “no, he’s not ‘shadowy.’ he’s a sentient being that forms a bond with his host—me. he’s venom,” jay clarified, the name coming out almost reverently, and with a slight glint in his eye.

“oh, i see. so, he’s a person?”

“well, he has his own… opinions,” jay replied, wincing as he paused. “we’re a package deal, so to speak.”

“damn right, a package deal,” a deep, gravelly voice suddenly rumbled from within jay, and you felt a slight chill as the symbiote made its presence known.

you stared, both amazed and slightly unnerved. “oh… hey there, venom.”

venom chuckled, the sound reverberating low and menacing. “hello, sweetheart. i hear you think i’m a 'shadow monster.' "

jay rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly exasperated, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he said, “see? he doesn’t like being called that.”

you smirked, glancing at jay and then back at venom. “got it, venom,” you replied, a teasing lilt to your voice. “no shadow monster remarks. i’ll be sure to remember that.”

that evening, you called him over to help fix a squeaky window in your apartment. when he arrived, his sleeves were rolled up, and those dark tendrils emerged, forming into tools as he worked. you couldn’t help but watch, fascinated as he tightened the screws effortlessly, his movements precise and fluid.

he glanced over his shoulder, catching you staring. “see something you like, darling?” he teased, his voice low, laced with that familiar dark humour.

you scoffed, crossing your arms. “keep dreaming, park.”

jay smirked, his gaze flicking over you with a look that was anything but innocent. “oh, i don’t have to dream.”

your face heated, but before you could respond, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “you know, all you have to do is say the word.”

flustered, you quickly turned away, ignoring the smug grin on his face.

one night, as you were heading home from work, you felt someone following you. before you could react, a man grabbed your arm, yanking you into a dark alley. panic surged through you, your heart hammering as you struggled against his grip. but before you could scream, a low, guttural growl echoed from the shadows.

jay emerged from the darkness, his face twisted into a terrifying, fanged grin, his body wrapped in shadows that made him look both monstrous and mesmerising. he moved faster than you’d ever seen, dark tendrils coiling around the man’s arms, pinning him against the wall with a force that made your would-be attacker whimper.

“didn’t anyone tell you?” he snarled, his voice laced with dark satisfaction, his grin widening to show those gleaming fangs. “not to mess with what's ours.”

the man’s face turned ghostly white as he struggled against jay’s grip, terror flooding his eyes. jay’s smirk only grew, his shadowed form tightening its hold as he leaned in close, as if savouring every second of the man’s fear.

“i should just eat you,” jay’s voice growled, laced with menace and barely-concealed delight. “but you’re too pathetic for even a snack.” with a dismissive sneer, he released the man, letting him stumble away in blind terror, tripping over himself as he fled into the night.

when you looked back at jay, his inky tendrils had retracted, his monstrous form dissolving into something closer to the man you knew. yet his eyes still held that dangerous, possessive glint, and his breathing was still heavy, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made your pulse race.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, but with an edge of something raw and wild. his hand moved to rest on your arm, fingers lingering as if to reassure himself you were safe.

you nodded, swallowing as you tried to steady your breathing. “thanks to you…”

a wicked chuckle escaped him, his head tilting as his eyes darkened with a new, eerie glow. you could feel the presence of that “other” entity in him, lurking just beneath the surface. “oh, she’s safe with us,” it rumbled, making your skin prickle. “but i think she owes us something, don’t you, jay?”

jay’s gaze softened for a moment before that twisted smile took over again, his features shifting, the shadows flickering as he allowed his alter ego to take control.

“you really think i owe you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the thrill that coursed through you.

“absolutely,” jay, or rather venom replied, his grin widening. “we didn’t just save you. we protected what’s ours. and i think a little… reward is in order.”

you arched an eyebrow, unwilling to back down. “and what kind of reward does a shadow monster want?”

jay leaned closer, his breath warm and tinged with something dark. “i have a few ideas.” he chuckled, his sharp fangs glinting in the low light. “but don’t worry, sweetheart. we won’t bite… unless you ask nicely.”

your cheeks flushed despite yourself, but you kept your cool. “i don’t think you’re as scary as you want me to believe,” you teased, meeting his dark gaze. “you wouldn’t hurt me.”

his eyes gleamed with amusement. “oh, i could… but where’s the fun in that?” he tilted his head, observing you with a dark curiosity. “besides… jay likes you too much. and, maybe… so do i.”

the admission left you momentarily breathless, your heart pounding as you stared up at him. just as you were about to respond, his face softened, his gaze flicking to your lips before he leaned in.

without waiting another second, jay captured your mouth in a fierce, consuming kiss. the roughness in his embrace was offset by a possessive tenderness that made you melt, your hands gripping his shirt as he pulled you closer.

when he finally pulled back, his eyes flickered between jay’s gentle warmth and venom’s dark amusement. “so, boss,” he murmured, his voice laced with that familiar, playful edge, “any other tasks?”

with a grin, you pulled him closer, “i think i can come up with a few.”

jay chuckled approvingly, his voice a husky whisper against your ear. “good… because we’re just getting started.”

and with that, he leaned in once more, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that promised this was only the beginning of a thrilling, dangerous new game.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[beloveds-embrace]

Noonaaa can I possibly request more angst Dukedome without kiong pretty please? 🙏🏽

You kept this pretty vague for me lovely so i went a little crazy on it 🫶🏻

Dukedom au masterlist

Dukedom angst, no könig

It began during one of the smaller gatherings in the duchy- a midday luncheon in the grand dining hall. Though informal, it was still attended by the many members of the household, key ones, and that obviously included: John, Kyle, Johnny, and several senior servants and as always, a special invitation extended to Simon.

You rarely attended such gatherings anymore, but John’s clipped instructions had left you with no choice and you didn’t want to make him upset at you. So you dressed simply, more out of habit than care, and sat at the far end of the table, an unwanted ghost in the company of the living.

Conversation flowed around you, lively and warm as always, and as always, you were left out. The words blurred together into white noise while you toyed with the edge of your napkin, staring at the untouched plate before you. The cooks had oh-so-kindly prepared yours in advance, and so you knew it was cold and bland even without tasting it.

Then it happened.

A maid- young, recently hired, and eager to impress- stepped forward with a fresh carafe of wine. As she refilled glasses, her gaze darted to you, a spark of something sharp in her eyes. Her lips twisted into a smile that wasn’t kind, and you prepared yourself in advance.

It still wasn’t enough.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said, syrupy sweet. “I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t touched your meal. Is it not to your liking?”

The table stilled. All eyes turned to you, and you froze under the weight of their scrutiny. You managed a small, polite shake of your head, your voice barely above a whisper. So softly said, you doubted you’d disturb dandelion puffs even if you tried. “It’s fine.”

But she didn’t stop.

“Perhaps you’re saving your appetite?” she continued, the tone of her voice sharpening. “Though, I suppose it’s not surprising you wouldn’t eat much. After all, you’ve grown so thin… like a shadow. It’s almost hard to tell you’re here at all.”

Her words rang through the room, cutting sharper than any blade. A ripple of unease passed over the table, but no one spoke. Not yet.

“Be quiet.” Kyle muttered, his tone warning and cutting her a sharp glance, but the maid wasn’t finished.

“Apologies, sir,” she said, bowing her head slightly, though the venom in her voice remained dripping off each letter like fresh ink. “It’s just… Her Grace is so very quiet these days. One can’t help but wonder if she’s even meant to be here at all. Perhaps she’d be more comfortable elsewhere? Somewhere she’s actually wanted and needed.”

The last sentence struck like a thunderclap.

Months of this. Months of this. Hours, days, weeks, months spent under this cruel treatment and thinly-veiled resentment.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You rose abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor in a sound so loud it scared even yourself. You could see the maid flinch back, not having expected this. The room felt too small, the air too thick. Your chest heaved as you struggled to contain the emotion clawing its way up your throat, but it was no use.

Your composure shattered.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as your breath came in gasping, broken sobs that clawed their way out of your aching chest. For a moment, you looked around the table, searching- desperately- for something. A kind word, a gesture of comfort, anything.

But there was nothing.

You turned and fled the room, the sound of your sobs echoing behind you. No more- you couldn’t stand being there anymore. You didn’t care. Couldn’t. What did it matter anymore?

The maid’s cruel words hung heavy in the grand dining hall, a dark echo that left no one untouched. Her sharp tone and pointed barbs had started with smug confidence, but as you had risen and fled, your tears visible to everyone, the air turned cold and she faltered, falling silent.

The silence you left behind was deafening.

No one moved at first. Every pair of eyes shifted between the maid, whose face had paled as the reality of her actions set in, and the now-empty seat at the far end of the table. Even the usually indifferent servants, who kept away from interacting with you in general, shifted uncomfortably, their gazes dropping to the floor and shame curling in their veins.

It was one thing to quietly resent the Duchess, to mock you among themselves. But this… this was something else. The cruelty had been too deliberate, too naked. And it had broken you, right in front of them all. What could anyone even say?

John had never felt colder in his life. The weight of the maid’s words hit him like a physical blow, but it was your tears- the way you’d crumbled before them all- that haunted him. He sat frozen in his chair, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

When he finally moved, it was with an urgency that surprised even him. He strode toward your chambers, ignoring everyone and everything, his mind racing with half-formed apologies, excuses, something to make you understand that he hadn’t meant for things to come to this. He hadn’t liked you, but that- it was too much. Too far. A line that shouldn’t have been crossed. He had never seen you cry- not openly, not like that- and that image of your broken form looking around for anyone to support you will haunt him.

But when he reached your door, it was already locked and your sobs muffled. He knocked softly at first, then louder, calling your name.

There was no response.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Please, just… let me in. I need to talk to you, please.”

Still, nothing.

He pressed his forehead against the door, guilt clawing at his chest. Stupid, stupid- he should have stopped the maid from the damn start.

In the grand dining hall, Kyle and the head maid dismissed the maid immediately, his voice sharp and cold in a way that made her turn even paler and understand how severe her mistake was. But the satisfaction of snapping at her did nothing to ease the twisting guilt in his stomach. He had allowed this to happen. No, worse- he’d encouraged it.

He wasn’t the only one: the head maid, an older woman, simply stood there, biting her chapped lips as she stared at the door you’d fled through and then Duke Price went to. She didn’t have the time to say anything before Kyle was following, as well.

When he reached your door, John was already there. Kyle stopped a few paces away, unsure if he had the right to intrude, but the memory of your tears spurred him forward.

“Your Grace,” he said softly, his voice more gentle than you’d ever heard it. “I… I’m sorry. For everything. Please, let us talk.”

Silence.

Kyle exhaled slowly, stepping back, his shoulders heavy with shame. He could tell John had received the same answer, as well. Closing his eyes, he made his way back to the other butlers; ordering them to their posts with a sharpness he hadn’t displayed in months. “We’re done with this,” he barked. “No more of this disrespect. Do I make myself clear?”

He also ordered the maids to care for you as they should have all along, making it clear that any further mistreatment would not be tolerated.

But his authority rang hollow in his own ears. He knew it wasn’t enough- not for you.

Though they weren’t the only ones buried in guilt;

Simon had been the first to stiffen when the maid spoke, his eyes narrowing as her words grew sharper. He wanted to interrupt, to stop her, but by the time he opened his mouth, it was too late.

Now, hours after that mess, he stood outside your door with a small tray in hand. On it was a book, the newly released next part to one he knew you liked to read by your lonesome, and a steaming cup of tea. Between the pages, he’d slipped a note that simply read:

You deserved better. I’m sorry.

He hesitated for a long, dragging moment before setting the tray down gently by the door. He didn’t knock.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

In the kitchens, Johnny’s chest burned with shame. He’d always thought himself kinder than this, better than this, but the truth of his inaction was undeniable. He hadn’t stopped the maid. He hadn’t said a single, blessed word. His mother would’ve disowned him if she knew how far he’d gone, how little and much he’d done.

Now, he hovered by your door, a freshly baked loaf of bread and a warm stew in his hands. He shifted his weight awkwardly, his throat tight as he tried to think of what to say. You… didn’t even get to eat.

“Lass- Your Grace?” he began, his voice faltering. “I, uh… I brought ye something. Ye dinnae have to open the door. Just… just eat, aye?”

He set the food down carefully, lingering for a moment before stepping away.

Inside your room, you sat on the floor with your back pressed against the door. The sound of their voices reached you- pleas, apologies, hesitant words- but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

You hugged your knees to your chest, tears streaming down your face as their voices faded into silence. The weight of everything pressed down on you, suffocating and unrelenting.

You wished they did not see you now.

(Come morning, the head maid would leave a fresh tray of tea and an apology letter outside your door. The scullery maids ensure your office is spotlessly clean and leave fresh flowers from the garden on your desk. The cooks, spearheaded by Johnny, prepare your favorite dishes and leave them outside your room, warm and carefully covered.

The door to your room remains closed.)

[cameronsbabydoll]

what punishments do you think rafe would give babydoll reader?

loved your puppy! reader one!

punishments for babydoll!reader

babydoll!reader’s punishments are always tinted with softness — not because rafe goes easy on her, but because he knows she breaks so, so easily. she’s delicate in a way that makes even his sternest moments feel like an ache in his chest. he never yells — he doesn’t need to — because the second his tone sharpens or his face hardens, she’s already crumbling.

what she gets punished for:

accidentally overspending on antiques (“but the pearls were so old, rafe… they’re like… dead girl pearls!”)

leaving the oven on while she runs outside to catch a butterfly

saying “i love you” to too many strangers (like the old man at the record store)

pouting and getting dramatic when he says no to a milkshake at 2am

playfully comparing him to james dean too often

getting too dreamy and forgetting to text him back when she's out thrifting

types of punishments rafe uses on her:

stern lap-time + lecture:

he pulls her across his lap, holds her by the waist so she won’t squirm, and makes her sit through a slow, steady lecture. his hand strokes her thighs while he talks low and serious. “what if you left the oven on and burned the whole house down, hm?”

she gets glassy-eyed halfway through and curls into his chest by the end, whispering, “i’m sorry… i didn’t mean to…” in her prettiest pout.

spankings (the slow, humiliating kind):

especially when she’s bratting or being too cute to take seriously. always over his knee, dress bunched up, lace socks still on. he doesn’t hurt her — it’s all sharp little reminders, spaced out enough to make her squirm.

“you wanna act like a baby? then i’ll treat you like one.”

she’s crying halfway through, not because it hurts, but because she hates disappointing him.

quiet time on his lap:

when she’s being clingy and fussy, he makes her sit in his lap without speaking. “no more babbling, baby. just sit. be still for once.”

she wiggles and whimpers, playing with his buttons or trying to kiss his jaw until he holds her wrists still and whispers, “do you need help being good?”

removal of comforts:

if she’s acting spoiled or moody, he’ll gently take away her favorite comfort items — her vintage stuffed bunny, the quilt her grandma made, her favorite perfume. “you can have it back when you act like my good girl.”

she folds like paper. instantly obedient.

controlling her outfit:

on bratty days, he picks something he likes — a tighter skirt, a shorter dress — and makes her wear it out. “you wanna act like a little tease? then let’s show everyone.”

she gets flustered and clingy, cheeks pink the whole time. secretly? it melts her.

which ones she hates:

being ignored. even for five minutes. she starts sniffling and folding herself into the couch like she’s in exile.

when he says “i’m not mad, just disappointed.” cue full-body sobbing.

when he threatens to throw away one of her trinkets. she wails like a victorian widow.

[caffeinated-moogle]

Glamtober | Day 30: Monochrome

Aeryn's cranky here because she's not super-comfortable in skirts. But this is too cute, so I couldn't resist. I might find a sneaky way to add shorts or leggings to it and keep it...

(˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

[thef1diary]

Thinking about ghost!max teasing and edging tf out of reader (im talking vibrators, fingers, his mouth… the whole 9 yards) while she tries to get ready for a NYE party… he has her panting and crying for a release he will ONLY give her if she stays home… essentially he wants reader to ring in the new years with his cock burried deep in her pussy.

Anyways whore house hours while at work 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

-❄️

— hi nonnie!! So glad to see you back in my inbox <3 whore house is open 24/7 🤭 this is sooo ghost!max, but how dare you even think of leaving him alone on nye of all days? 18+ content below

The short black dress clung to your body like a second skin, paired with shimmering gold heels that sparkled in the soft glow of your vanity lights. New Year’s Eve promised glamour, champagne, and laughter. You were almost ready—almost—if only Max wasn’t tormenting you.

The vibrator tucked into your panties buzzed mercilessly against your clit, its rhythm relentless yet carefully orchestrated to pull you back from the edge every time you got too close. A familiar cool draft curled around you, despite the lack of an open window, sending a chill down your spine.

“Max,” you hissed, gripping the vanity’s edge as your reflection blurred in the soft glow. “Stop playing games.”

Nearby, the spirit box on your dresser crackled to life, faint static filling the room before his voice filtered through. “Stop playing games?” The box repeated his words in fragmented bursts, mocking your plea as his shadowy presence sharpened behind you in the mirror. “Why would I stop when you’re this perfect? A trembling, desperate little mess for me.”

You could barely see him—just a faint, smoky outline, more suggestion than substance. Yet his touch was undeniable as cold fingers trailed down your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Two fingers slid in your pussy, curling against that sensitive spot inside. You gasped, your knees buckling as his invisible hand held you steady, keeping you pressed against the vanity.

Your constant moans filled the room as he pumped his fingers inside you, his presence looming, the faint scent of gasoline and something slightly woodsy wrapping around you like a cocoon.

“You’re not leaving tonight,” he murmured through the spirit box, the sound enough to make you shiver. “Not when you should be here, screaming my name into the new year.”

Your hips instinctively rocked against his fingers, only amplifying the torment of the vibrator on your clit causing slick arousal to pool in your panties. You were teetering on the brink, your pussy clenching desperately around his fingers, your moans growing louder as release hovered just within reach.

But just as you were about to reach your orgasm, his fingers stilled, his voice from the spirit box cutting through the haze. “Not yet.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling, and as he slid your panties down your legs, the buzz of the vibrator moved away with an almost mocking finality. “Max,” you groaned, but he only chuckled, the sound resonating around the room like a ripple of cold air.

Before you could protest further, he dropped to his knees, his outline barely visible in the faint glow of the vanity light. His mouth latched onto your clit, his tongue cold but relentless as it worked you over. The spirit box crackled again, his voice threading through the air in between the sounds of your desperate moans.

“Stay home,” he whispered, interspersed with static. “Let me fuck you.”

His hands—more firm and defined than his ghostly form—gripped your thighs, holding you steady as his tongue licked and sucked in a rhythm that had you sobbing. Your fingers scrambled on the vanity, searching for a way to ground yourself, your nails scraping against the polished surface as your knees threatened to give out.

“Say it,” he growled against your folds. The vibration of his voice hit your pussy yet the sound came from the spirit box, sending jolts of pleasure and slight confusion straight through you. “Say you’ll stay.”

“I—I can’t,” you stammered, your resolve crumbling with every flick of his tongue.

He pulled away just long enough to speak, and you could make out an outline of his form looking up at you from between your legs. “Then you’ll be starting the new year with a punishment. You don’t want that do you, schatje?”

When his mouth descended on your cunt again, it was too much. You broke, sobbing out your surrender. “Fine! I’ll stay! Please, Max, I’ll stay!”

A satisfied moan echoed through the spirit box, and his shadowy form rose behind you, pressing you against the vanity as he guided you to bend over. You barely had time to brace yourself before he pushed into you, stretching you to the hilt in one slow, deliberate thrust.

Soon, it was nearing midnight, and he had you exactly where he wanted—pliant, desperate, and utterly ruined. The once-neat dress you’d planned to wear to the party was crumpled somewhere on the floor, forgotten hours ago when he’d pushed you down onto the bed.

Your loud, almost pornographic moans blended with the rhythmic sounds of skin meeting skin, the slick slide of his cock driving into you while he had finally let you to cum over and over again.

“You’re perfect,” he groaned, his faint outline shifting above you as he kissed down your neck. “So fucking perfect when you’re like this. All mine.”

You whimpered as he thrust into you harder, deeper, his cock hitting that devastating spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. The spirit box in the corner crackled again, faint words lost in static, a hauntingly intimate sound that only heightened your arousal.

When the chime of midnight echoed through the room, paired with fireworks happening outside your house, Max gripped your hips tightly, his thrusts quickening. “Cum for me,” he commanded, his voice a growl of pure possession. “Now, schat. Scream my name.”

Your body obeyed, the orgasm ripping through you with high intensity. You screamed his name, your voice hoarse and raw as he continued to move inside you, drawing out every wave of pleasure.

As the last aftershocks left you trembling, Max leaned down, his lips brushing your ear in a ghostly kiss.

“Happy new year,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. His presence lingered, a cold yet comforting press against your skin as you lay there, completely undone.

This year, you thought hazily, you wouldn’t need a resolution. You already had everything you wanted right here.

want more ghost!max? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[science-hoes]

overstimulating pope so hard he starts to actually cry :,)

Oh yes!!!!

—

“Come on, baby.” Your strained voice sounded like a hymn. “I know you got one more for me.”

Usually, the roles were reversed.

Pope would lay flat on his stomach on the mattress, your thighs spread by his broad shoulders, as he devoured your pussy. Fingering with two thick, calloused digits while his lips sucked relentlessly at your clit. It wouldn’t take long for you to come in his mouth, never did. But he loved to keep going, to test your limits, because he worshipped you. His saving grace. His light at the end of the tunnel. And he wanted you to feel like a goddess before he ever shoved his cock in your weeping hole.

But right now, it was your turn to push against the boundaries of his pleasure.

And he looked like an angel below you as you straddled his hips. Head cushioned by your pillow, wiry curls splayed on the pillowcase or sticking to his forehead with sweat, face flushing over his cheekbones. His chest glimmered with perspiration, making a beautiful canvas out of the dark freckles that cascaded from his shoulders. Your hands were anchored to his abdomen, fingers curling around his waist, to keep balance as you rocked slowly. Every roll of your hips drew a pathetic, whiny whimper from the animal of a man.

Pope grunted your name through clenched teeth, his jawline sharpening as he worked through the overwhelming sensations.

You hushed him sweetly, bounces on his cock never faltering. “I know, Andy.” You cooed. “But you wanted this. Wanted to fuck a baby in me.”

Pope just clenched his eyes shut and nodded, focusing on being good for you. His hands were buried in your plush thighs, gripping like his life depended on it.

“Then you gotta come for me again. Want it to work the first time, yeah?” You hummed.

His throat muscles shifted over each other as he tilted his head back. “Yeah.” His voice was broken, shredded like the man he was.

Your hips moved faster, increasing speed at an exponential rate. Your own moans added to the sounds of vulgar, wet slaps of skin in the room.

“Three times a charm, baby.” The words of encouragement fell on his deaf ears.

Tears began to streak down his pretty face, storming to his temples and melting into his curls. His groans turned into cries of overstimulation, every muscle in his body spasming with delicious pain. His lungs heaved, trying to fight against the vicious snap of your hips, but his shoulders racked with sobs.

Your pussy squeezed him so, so well. It wasn’t a question that your body was made for his. You could feel his cock twitch inside you as his third orgasm began to crash onto the shore. With a few more bounces on his lap, Pope came with a desperate scream of your name through his blubbering cries. The hot ropes of cum joined the rest inside your walls from the previous rounds. You moaned at the wonderful feeling of being stuffed by him, and you collapsed onto his shaking chest.

Your fingers traced the constellations of freckles on his nose and cheeks, wiping away the tears as they slowly subsided. “Such a good boy for me.” You whispered, kissing his clean-shaven jawline.

Pope splayed his arms across your back, holding you flush against his slippery body. He buried his nose into the crown of your head, inhaling your scent of sweat and shampoo to ground him. “Think it worked?” He mumbled, voice still shaking.

You hummed and closed your eyes, sinking into his embrace. “I hope so. We’ll know in a few weeks.” You answered.

Pope nodded, letting his eyes close as well. With a serious tone, he broke the silence that you thought would lead to sleep. “Just give me an hour. We can go again.”

[fixated-cookies]

HI!!! I've been reading some of your works for a while, and I am such a BIGGG fan, like honestly, I love love LOVEE your works! If possible, I'd like to request yandere smc who has a thing of fantasizing you all round 'nd swollen with his child! could be nsfw or sfw, and- I might appear in your inbox once more after this, so I'd like to be called or recognized as ⭐ anon. Thanks!

oooh he'd probably eventually become desperate to baby trap ya'll lol.

WARNING- yandere behavior, dubious/noncon content, nsfw, babytrapping

He watches you like a starving thing.

Not a glance, not a passing stare—no, it’s far worse than that. Shadow Milk Cookie lounges in his absurd throne of cushions and ink-threaded cloth, chin in hand, one leg draped lazily over the other, pretending he’s interested in conversation.

But he isn’t.

He’s watching your belly.

You’re across the room, wiping crumbs from the table—sweet, gentle, clueless. You hum to yourself, some off-key little tune that warbles as you sway with the rhythm of cleaning. You smile when you catch him staring.

He smiles back.

Oh, you have no idea.

In his head, that soft belly is swollen. Round. Marked by the weight of him. Pressed outward in divine proof of what he’s done to you. His tongue curls behind his teeth just thinking of it—how it would shift when you move, how your hands would cradle the swell without thinking, how your hips would widen, how your breath would hitch when he whispered: “Heavy, isn’t it, darling? My fault.”

He imagines you trying to lift yourself out of bed, limbs trembling under the burden. You’d need him. Constantly. For everything.

Oh, how he’d love that.

“I bet you’d be embarrassed,” he murmurs to himself, quiet enough you don’t hear. “Trying to hide it. As if you weren’t the one moaning ‘more, more, more’ just a few nights ago…”

He shifts in his seat, subtly. His cock twitches—he adjusts, casually crossing his legs the other way.

His stare sharpens.

He pictures you waddling. Crying when the baby kicks. Curling into him, teary-eyed and helpless as your body changes, as the weight becomes unbearable. He’d kiss your stretch marks. Rub oil over your thighs. Praise you between your sobs.

“Look at you. You’re perfect. All this… just for me.”

His mouth waters.

You glance up again, laughing softly. “You’re staring,” you tease.

“Am I?” he says, lips curling. “Can you blame me? You’re… glowing.”

You snort and wave him off, returning to your little task. To your day.

And Shadow Milk Cookie?

He’s already in the night.

Already imagining how your body will look arched beneath him. Legs locked. Belly taut. Your voice breaking as you beg him not to finish inside—

"Please, I can’t—"

Too late.

He’s already decided. The first seed has already been planted.

Even if it was just a fantasy. --

That night you didn’t stand a chance.

One moment, you were blinking up at him from your bed, murmuring something soft—something sweet—and the next?

You were folded open.

Legs pushed up near your shoulders, wrists pinned in one hand, the other digging into your thigh to keep you still. His hips slam against yours in ruthless rhythm, skin to skin, the wet plap-plap-plap echoing off the walls.

You’re barely making words now. Just high, gasping little sobs—your mind too jumbled, too full. His cock drives up into you again, sharp and punishing, and you arch with a strangled cry.

And he laughs.

Not the theatrical, singsong laugh he gives in public. No, this one’s low. Ugly. Earned.

“You hear that?” he pants, slamming into you again, making your whole body jolt. “That sound, sweetheart? That’s your body giving up.”

You whimper beneath him, toes curling, tears beading at the corners of your eyes.

But he doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t let up. If anything, the sight of you—slick, trembling, eyes wide and stupid—makes him even crueler.

“Did you think you’d stay empty forever?” he growls, voice cracked with something feral. “Walking around like a prize no one’s claimed—hahh—like I wouldn’t put an end to that.”

He grinds his hips deep, and you sob, your walls fluttering around him.

“N-No, I—I can’t—” you choke out.

“Oh, you will. You’ll take it,” he snarls, forehead pressing to yours, “You’ll take every drop.”

Your womb aches, your hole squelching loud and slick, already flooded from the first few rounds. He hasn’t pulled out once. He refuses.

“This body’s too good for the world,” he spits, breath hot against your cheek. “Too pretty, too sweet—it’s wasted out there. But in here?” He thrusts hard. “In here, you’ll be useful.”

You’re shaking now, twitching beneath him, whining as he buries himself deep—again, again, again.

And then he pauses.

Balls flush to your ass, cock twitching inside. His chest heaves. His voice drops to a whisper.

“...Bet I knocked you up just now.”

You cry out—weak, breathless, overstimulated.

He presses a kiss to your jaw, almost tender. But his grin is wicked.

“Good,” he breathes, thrusting once more, slow and deep, sealing it in.

“I’ll do it again tomorrow.”

[rozzypro]

mentions of: spanking, angry Ghost

He had a rough day at work — and you know how that ended.

The silence of the room was broken only by loud slaps, occasionally accompanied by pitiful sobs and moans. The belt struck mercilessly, and its master was a true monster, tormenting relentlessly for hours. This is what happens when you fall under a hot hand.

As soon as Simon's footsteps echoed in the room, you held your breath, bracing for something terrifying. Just one glance at him stirred a storm of emotions — anxiety, confusion… but above all, arousal.  You barely had time to gasp before his massive body pressed you down onto the bed. He didn’t seem to hear your words – only focused on tearing apart the flimsy clothing clinging to your body. Rising to his knees above you, he began undoing his belt, and you couldn’t help but notice how hard he was.

Simon glanced down – your legs pressed together tightly, as if you already knew what was coming…

He pulled you in for a wild, wet kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with hungry urgency. Then he flipped you onto your stomach, gripped your waist, and arched your back with a sharp yank – positioning your ass just the way he wanted to deliver each punishing slap.

The first strike landed and you cried out, clutching the sheets as your body jolted. His iron grip pressed your back down as the belt lashed again against your skin a second time.

“Not so loud, love” he growled, thrusting his fingers into your mouth without warning. They carried that intoxicating scent of cigarettes, smoke and metal-laced lubricant – a heady mix that only sharpened your arousal. You moaned around his fingers, gently biting them, your body trembling with pleasure as he pushed his fingers deeper, teasing your tongue.

You’d already lost count of the strikes, but Simon kept going, the belt snapping on your butt again and again and fucking again. In your mind vivid images flashed – his strong hands gripping the leather belt, the way his chest heaved with effort, and the growing dick in his pants straining against the fabric.

Finally, he let the belt fall. You exhaled, shaken after ruthless spanking. His touch turned tender, his fingers gliding over the curve of your butt. Then slowly, he leaned in, trailing kisses down your skin – until you felt the heat of his lips and the wet tease of his tongue right where your body craved it most.

Grabbing your hair, he pulled you toward him. His hot breath grazed your ear as he growled through clenched teeth, voice laced with fury:

“Now I will claim every last bit of you”

You was already breathless and weak when he shoves the gun into your mouth and murmured darkly,

“Hold it and stay quiet, sweetheart…while I’m finishing you”

[reiderwriter]

The Thrill of the Chase

Chapter Seven of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Waking up in Spencer's arms suddenly feels wrong, but you have to convince him everything is fine before your big secret is revealed.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, and triggers for emetophobia.

A/N: Welcome to Chapter Seven!! It's been a bit of a hectic week for me, so this is a bit of a shorter chapter, but I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! It's crazy to think there are only three chapters left now!

Masterlist || (tag list is currently being repaired, thanks tumblr)

When you woke up, you immediately wish you hadn't. 

The comfortable position immediately became a crick in your neck. The warm fuzz of sleep became sharpened memories of the night before. Your bed became Spencer Reid, though of course it did. 

If you were stiff, you were so sure he was. 

While you'd been wedged between his head and his shoulders, fitting nearly perfectly into his shoulder, he'd been forced up against the sofa, head pushed down at an awkward angle as he tried, and failed, to get comfortable.  

You blinked your eyes open and immediately closed them again as you cursed inwardly.  

 You wondered how you were going to extricate yourself from the solid grip he still had on your hips, but you weren't wondering for long.  

Not when the second time opening your eyes had your stomach somersaulting in your belly, a pair of legs or a head or something pushed right up against everything you'd eaten in the last 24 hours. 

You shot up, not caring if you woke him but absolutely caring that you didn't throw up all over him.  

He joked awake and only  really gained full consciousness when you bolted the bathroom door shut behind you.  

He tried his best to shake off that sleepy feeling, the fatigue of sleeping somewhere unfamiliar. For a second, he felt a pang of sympathy for you, having spent a full week sleeping in unfamiliar territory.

Truthfully, he'd been able to sleep just fine on the couch. His back was stiff, but it was nothing like the ache of the solid prison beds. He wasn't alone at least. 15 years with the FBI, and Spencer had seen enough to never want to sleep soundly again, but you had put your head on his chest and he'd gone from horny to humming contented as he slipped into sleep. 

It was his own relaxed state that had his senses sharpening as he heard the tell-tale signs of your morning sickness. You wretched and heaved over the toilet, mostly expelling nothing except all your comfort and joy. 

Whoever said the female body was purpose built for baby making obviously had never been through it themselves, as it seemed your body was more than likely trying to destroy itself to create life. You weren't even sure what was even left in your stomach at this point.

Spencer knocked quietly at the door. 

“Y/N? Do you need something?” He called, resting his still weary head on the door. 

“No.” You called back, tone a lot sharper than you intended. 

“Come on, what's going on in there?” He asked, still calm and content. Your only reply was another dry heave and a shaky sob of pain. 

You heard his footsteps retreat from the door as your head collapsed against the porcelain, and you rode out your pain once again. 

When he returned, his voice was firmer. 

“Y/N, we have a doctors appointment in 45 minutes at a clinic across town. If you can, open the door.”

“No!” You cried, throat closing up in panic as you heard his words. You weren't sure whether to be pissed at his presumption, steam-rolling you into a doctor's visit even though you knew exactly what it was that was wrong with you, or happy that he even cared enough to ask. 

Either way, you hadn't the energy to lift yourself up and open the door for him. 

You laid back on his bathroom floor and closed your eyes, the cool floor wholly more comfortable than the toilet had been.

You didn't get to relish it for long, though, before he had beaten the door down. You barely registered the first shoulder push before the second one carefully carried Spencer into the room.

He took one look at you and lifted you into a sitting position, even as you groaned, your head now pounding.

“Spencer, leave me alone,” you moaned, even as you hugged closer to him. He pulled you up to a standing position but kept his hands locked around yours carefully and walked you out to the front door, effectively marching you to the door before you could even tell him there had been a misunderstanding. 

You came up with every excuse in the book to get out of the car, bit you didn't have the time to utter a single one before he was strapping you in gently, closing the door behind you, climbing in himself and starting the engine.

“This is a misunderstanding,” you said, as your morning sickness began to fade rapidly. Finally. 

“Oh, so you weren't throwing up?” 

“No, I was but-”

“But what?”

“I do it every day,” you said quietly, knowing it was only going to confuse him more. 

“Then we're absolutely going to see a doctor.” 

You said nothing for the rest of the ride there, staring instead out the window as you felt your world implode beside you. 

In the doctors waiting room, Spencer sorted your insurance and medical details, checking boxes and dealing with the desk staff as you sat silently in the corner. 

You knew you couldn't hold off telling him much longer. Your body had already begun changing, stomach expanding just enough to be noticeable now you were approaching five months. It's why you hadn't changed clothes around him, hoping that he'd just assumed the change of scenery and stress had led you to gain some weight.

Still, you didn't want your hand forced like this.

“Miss Y/N,” a nurse asked from the desk, and you instinctively replied “Doctor,” though that really wasn't relevant here of all places. 

You stood, and Spencer stood with you. 

“No,” you said immediately, as he began to march to the doctors office. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Spencer, you…you can't come in with me.” 

“Why not? You're sick, you're suffering, you probably aren't even aware of your symptoms, Y/N. I have to make sure the doctor knows everything so he can accurately diagnose you.”

“Spencer,” you said, closing your eyes as your tone grew angry, attempting to calm yourself down. 

“You are not my father, legal guardian, and you're certainly not my husband. You are a colleague I have been forced to share an apartment with because there is some maniac possibly stalking me, though I haven't heard anything about that in a full week. So,” you said, dropping your voice to a whisper and stepping closer. “Back the fuck off and stop acting like I'm some pet project you have to take care of. I'm not a victim, I can talk to a doctor alone.”

You turned and left him in the waiting room, and went to apologise to the doctor for wasting his time. 

Luckily, the doctor was more than understanding of the situation. Even after you subtly undermined her professionalism by asking she really stick to her HIPAA oaths or whatever and not let on any information to Spencer at all. 

You knew you had to tell him. You were beginning to sound like a broken record in your own head, and you knew it. But you were sure as hell telling him on your own terms. 

“Could I possibly make a quick phone call while we're here?” You asked as the doctor performed a quick check up on your baby. You got the go-ahead and dialled Emily's number immediately. 

“Y/N, hello. What is it, is something wrong?” she asked as she picked up. 

“No, I'm… Emily. I'm going to be honest with you now, and I need your full cooperation. You can't speak a word of this to anyone, especially Spencer.” 

A moment of hesitation on the other line, and then she agreed. 

“I'm pregnant,” you said. “Spencer is the father.”

“I know,” Emily admitted, sighing slightly. 

“Penelope?” You asked, hoping that you didn't have to make another call after this.

“Penelope knows? Irrelevant, sorry. No, there was an ultrasound picture on your desk last week. And I'm good at my job.”

“Is Spencer good at his?” You asked, not sure you wanted a truthful answer. The only thing worse than Spencer finding out you were pregnant by himself was him finding out by himself and not telling you this entire time, his resentment building. 

“Yes. But he isn't good at anything when you're around.”

“He's good at pissing me off,” you scoffed, but it caught somewhere in your throat and turned into a sob. 

“I'm sorry, I just-” you started crying and your doctor offered you a tissue. 

“Y/N, what happened?” 

You explained the morning to Emily. Except that you didn't explain your predicament fully, so you explained your week, and then your month, and then eventually your entire acquaintance with Spencer Reid.

“So, yeah,” you ended, chest still shaking with quiet sobs. 

“What are you going to do?” she asked, and you replied as honestly as you could muster. 

“I don't know.” 

You wiped tears and continued before Emily could say anything else.

“But I need time to think about how to tell him again, and I need space. Can you call him into the office?” 

“He's at the doctor's office with you?” 

“He tried to come into the appointment with me. I yelled at him.”

“You do that often.”

“It's the only thing that works,” you sighed, and continued. “Please, Emily?” 

“I'll call him with an excuse. JJ’s close by, I'll have her come and pick you up while the doctor fills your prescription.”

You smiled and felt the pressure wash off your shoulders as you hung up. 

Then you stepped out of the doctors office and back into the waiting room and were almost knocked back on your ass when you spotted Spencer in the corner of the room. 

He was exactly where you'd left him, bit at some point the waiting room had been populated by young mothers, and Spencer was now animatedly locked in a conversation with a toddling small boy, playing with the toys as he passed the time. 

Your lip wobbled and you almost broke down before he looked up at you and you blinked back the tears. 

He gave you a confused smile, checking that you were okay before you nodded. 

You didn't move to join him, though, and like clockwork, his phone rang. He excused himself, pointing at his phone to let you know where he was going, and you finally breathed easily, knowing that Emily was sticking to her promise.