#this one was heavier than the angst i usually write

[fraugwinska]

I'm dying to see you write Alastor opening up to Reader about his mom, maybe a little angst and lots of fluff? (- v -)''

WE NEED THAT MOMMAS BOY GETTING SOME COMFORT!

Finally Anon, I found the strengh to write this. Sorry it took so long - I hope it was worth the wait! Next story will be less sad, I promise! :'< But I think we can all find some love for our Mommas Boy today, right? (Prepare your handkerchiefs, fellas...)

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Mother O'Mine

Not the kitchen. Not the lobby. Not the bar. Not the radio tower. Not his room.

You sighed and stilled for a moment, thinking of a place where he could've gone.

If Angel had just shut his damn mouth. Mother's day was a shit day for everyone in the hotel. You, who never knew a mother, raising yourself in the farce that had been the foster care system, rued the day. Charlie was still in denial about her mothers blatant absence and ignorance, Husk melancholic and tense at the memory of seeing his mother being exterminated shortly after reuniting with her in hell, and Vaggie bitterly wanted to ignore the holiday all together, feeling as though she would be betraying the mother she could no longer reach in heaven as a fallen angel.

Angel had been pissing them all off by breakfast, obnoxiously mocking their various reasons of why this day felt even heavier than others in hell. You knew it was his own way of coping with his mommy issues - something he didn't even talk about with Husk, as far as you knew, but he bordered on being not only menacing, but outright cruel.

Alastor had listened to his rambling stoically, flipping eggs while drinking his coffee with not much more than an annoyed twitch in his brow, but then the spider made the gruesome mistake to mention her.

Alastor's mom.

"What, 'ya think any of 'ya mothers could even look at 'ya without punchin' themselves? Come on, look me in the eyes and tell me Bambi's mommy wouldn't be fuckin' disappointed by what her little fawn has become... Can ya really see a sweet southern lady all happy, lovin', and coddling ol' murder-clown Alas..."

The green explosion came faster than you could blink. You were frozen in place, only staring in fear and worry when Angel landed unceremoniously into the table with the rest of the breakfast, the other residents as shocked and dazed as you were, while the radio static and greenish-black shadows seeped away from Alastor who then swiftly made his way out without a word, holding his staff while his tendrils bristled dangerously.

Alastor had vanished and the only thought coming to your mind - after giving a cursing, groaning Angel a righteous 'You fucking deserved that'-speech - was that you needed to find him before the princess did to make sure the demon had calmed enough not to finally lose it and maul her to pieces. Charlie meant well, but she didn't know. No one did know, except for you, and even you only knew so much.

It's not like it had been an elaborate talk. It just happened, after a nightmare that made him tear up in a mixture of rage and sorrow, a bad memory that had made his shadow basically drag you, half asleep still, from your bed to his in the middle of the night. Why you? You weren't so sure. Alastor usually preferred your company more than the others just because you were the most neutral, sane person in the hotel. Some would even say impassive. An introvert who didn't draw attention, silent and observing. But not once had his shadow ever acted up around you, and while it wasn't overly friendly with anyone, it seemed to watch mostly you with curious glances and interested hisses. When you had finally woken up enough to comprehend your situation, you were sprawled across Alastors stomach with his arms wound so tightly around you you struggled to breathe, strained mumbled words pressed through gritted teeth into your nightgown.

"Mother... I'm sorry... Oh mother..."

He had been sobbing into your shoulders and and shaking against your chest while he let go of a strange anger and grief he never seemed to get rid of while you had, confused but worried, whispered words of comfort in a hushed, soothing voice until you both dozed back to sleep. Morning broke, and when you opened your eyes again, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, not able to look you in the eyes. He had thanked you, gruffly and with an unsteady voice that made your heart ache, before offering his hand to teleport you back to your room. As far as you were concerned, the weirdest of it was that you felt him caress the palm of your hand with his thumb, barely audible as he mumbled that "that should have never have happened, and we shall never speak of it again." - he was usually a gentleman, and he never touched you this intimately before - but, to him, it was obviously a humiliating and horrible thing that you had witnessed him like that.

And you didn't speak of it. No one knew, and you intended to keep it that way. It was a moment you shared and fragile trust was on the table. You would take it to your second grave, along with all those feelings that had come with it, to prevent it from breaking.

Back to the present, you sighed and massaged the bridge of your nose. You had checked all the obvious places that crossed your mind, so maybe, you should start to look at the not-so-obvious ones... Maybe some place you knew was connected to... His mom...

A sudden pang hit you as you got an idea of where he might be hiding.

"Is this seat taken?"

The roof of the hotel was usually restricted from access, due to the general instability and collapse-prone architecture it presented, but you and (after an admittedly awkward encounter on a hot day that had involved you in a two-pieced swimsuit sunbathing and a very flustered Alastor with a book in one and a severed hand on a plate in the other hand) the radio demon knew about a small nook between the roof's overhead window frames and the hotel's ventilation system, hidden by the growing shadow of the radio tower where no one else ever came looking. A hideout, a place to go when you wanted undisturbed solitude. You had quickly left the place, apologizing for intruding a space that Alastor had apparently already claimed for himself (explaining the existence of the lounge chair you've so rudely used), but soon enough he discreetly invited you back, second chair added, to sit in silence together every once in a while, as long as you swore secrecy. It became a place of comfort for both of you, a retreat when life in the hotel got too stressful.

Alastor's reaction to seeing you was a quickly stifled hum before going back to staring stubbornly at the horizon. He looked dejected, and if you would not have known him so well, you wouldn't have noticed the trembling twitch of his ears nor the way his claw tapped impatiently against his knee, his shadow balled in on itself while hovering at the edge of the small roof.

It looked like he was staring straight through the distant buildings of the pentagram to the faintly illuminated orb that was heaven next to hells own sun, while also refusing to acknowledge you or the world around him at all. His smile had slipped into an emotionless line of pursed lips.

"That depends" he mused quietly. "Are you here to make me return to that insolent arachnid and attempt a 'healing' conversation?"

"I think you know I know that I couldn't even if i wanted to." You tried a weak smile.

Alastor briefly met your eyes at that, giving away that, despite his aloof act, your comment got his attention and he considered it before turning back to the horizon, the tense posture relaxing somewhat. A brief silence passed until he hummed an affirmative noise. "Then you may sit, darling."

After sitting down, minutes passed without a word said. The distant roar of the bustling traffic carried the muffled sounds of hell with the usual maelstrom of catcalling, profanities and general noises of mayhem to you, while you fought to keep a certain twitch in your hands as you counted the beats of his heels clicking on the tiles.

"You must know... my mother was a rare light in a world of filth." he declared suddenly into the silence. "An honest, virtuous soul of beauty and strength." He said it slowly and, surprisingly, completely unamused, the clacking of his shoes ceasing at once. He stared at the city in contempt, hands clasped together and resting on his legs to hold back a tremble that you caught anyway.

"She, unlike me, had not a spec of corruption in her bones. Wherever she found the warmth and love she shared with me, I cannot fathom. But she did. I may have been mocked and shunned by the world, the bastard child of a black woman and a white man, but I always had her as my home to return to.” The knuckles on his hands turned white. “But the cruelty of life and the disgusting human that was my father, the unbearable excuse of a man, killed her before I was grown enough to help. Before I was old enough to kill that monster myself." He spat the words, claws digging deeper until a faint trickle of blood could be seen. "I remedied that circumstance, twice to be exact, although it couldn't make up for what was lost. Nothing I did to him could make up for it..." his smile widened bitterly as his face twitched, recalling a fond, yet regretful memory. "… and believe me, I tried. But it was cathartic nonetheless, and quite educational... for my further career."

You stayed quiet and studied his profile, patiently waiting for him to continue talking. It was painfully obvious how hard it was for him to speak about actual feelings, with his tense grin and his white knuckles dripping with crimson blood.

"I knew, of course, where I would end up after my demise, and that I would never be able to see her again. Because I was sure she'd end up in heaven, like the saint she was. Is." He cleared his throat, attempting to appear dismissive, but you saw it. The sadness, the longing, the resignation, and it shattered your heart.

"Alastor...", you knew he hated physical touch, but your hand reached out on its own, to stop his hands from ripping themselves apart. He stiffened at the contact, but said nothing.

"Don't tell me you took what Angel said to heart..."

"How could my mother love me after what I've become after her death?"

His tone was monotonous, but his hands trembled under your fingers. He refused to look at you, but you saw his eyes, glazed with wetness that threatened to turn into actual tears. How he could still smile was beyond you, you had your theories on that, but that wasn't important right now. What mattered was that he was hurting, and that fact broke your heart. You never knew motherly love, how could you really miss something you never really knew? But Alastor did, and it had been ripped from him in the must cruel way, the impact of it so hard it made him even question the very foundation it was built upon.

You moved your hand from his to cup his cheek and turn his face to yours. His expression was blank, and if it weren't for the tight grin and the eyes filled with an unspeakable anguish, it would have been an emotionless stare.

"Alastor, do you know the poem Mother O'Mine?"

"I'm afraid the memory of it fails me, darling."

"Then, I'll recite it for you."

"Why?"

You gave him a sad smile.

"Because I want to."

He eyed you with stunned curiosity as you reached into your pocket, glad for once for your mostly useless power. You've only told Husk about it, in one of your late nights where everyone else was asleep aside him and your insomnia got the better of you, drunk and as a bargaining chip for one last gin tonic.

The blank piece of paper was a bit crumpled, but it would do. You started to fold it while you spoke, your voice sounded soft and almost like a spell.

"If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"

Your fingers moved with a solemn purpose as you folded the paper this way and that, a skill you perfected out of boredom over the years, the edges turning into an elegant shape, the poem coming from your mouth like a song. Alastor watched your hands move in a trance, not sure what you were doing, but too focused on the faint glow of purple around them to ask.

"If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"

There in your hand, sat a little origami bird. It wasn't anything special, maybe a traditional crane would have been better, more elegant, but you were out of practice and for what you intended to do it would work either way. Carefully you reached out, silently demanding for one of Alastor's hands that were still digging into each other. He didn't protest, and slowly raised it to give his hand to you. The tips of his claws were covered in a thin, fresh layer of his own blood, and his skin was warm and slightly clammy. You put the little paper bird on his palm, a speck of his blood staining the bottom of the pristine white paper, and closed his fingers around it, holding it in both of yours.

"If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine."

His enclosed hand in your own was encased in purple light, with wide eyes he followed the soft tugs of your fingers and opened his hand. The little paper bird flapped it's wings on his flat palm, looking at him for a heartbeat before taking off and flew in a singular circle around his head before it headed into hells deep red sky, towards the bright heavenly sphere. You watched it until it vanished completely from view, hoping there was a possibility that maybe, with a bit of luck, it would find it's way to her.

"This, Alastor, is what a real mother is. She loves you, I'm sure of it. Always has and always will."

Tears fell silently on his lap, a strangled, coarse breath escaping him. Without warning, he pulled you from your chair into him, holding you pressed close to him. Just like in the night of his nightmare, his face was buried in your chest, arms wound tightly around you in a hurting embrace and shoulders trembling with suppressed grief. His grip was bordering on painful, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying one of your hands in his hair, stroking gently while you let him quietly cry into your shoulder, not caring that the wetness of his tears was soaking through the fabric of your shirt. You felt his heart beating rapidly, his pulse erratic and his breathing fast.

"I miss her. Oh, how I miss her."

You held him tighter.

"I know, Al... I know."

You didn't know how long you two stayed like this, him in your arms and crying silently while you tried your best to comfort him, but you didn't care. As far as you were concerned, you would stay here forever if it only meant to lift this weight for a little while from his shoulders.

It took him some time, but eventually his breathing evened out, and he calmed down, his hold becoming less desperate and more... affectionate. You didn't realize it at first, but he had moved, his head resting under your chin and his forehead leaning against the hollow of your throat, his antlers slightly poking the thin skin. It felt strangely intimate, and you wondered if he was aware of what he was doing, but the moment he moved to get up and leave, you knew the spell was broken. He didn't let go of you entirely, but instead helped you to stand up and held your hand, his gaze firmly planted to the ground, avoiding your eyes.

"Darling, I..."

"Don't worry, Alastor. Although I'm glad I was able to be here when it happened... we shall never speak of this again."

You could feel his hesitation, a strange nervousness radiating from him. His shadow hovered next to him, a hand reaching out towards your face. You smiled at it, and, just for a brief moment, allowed yourself to lean into it's warm, buzzing touch as it caressed your cheek, before you turned and made your way back inside without a glance back to the sudden sound of a longing hum.

[cloudcountry]

it's your fault

SUMMARY: Riddle doesn't understand how this happened, but it's the reality he has to live in now.

CHARACTER: Riddle Rosehearts.

WARNINGS: Implied death & mortal wound, vomit.

COMMENTS: I felt like this request really worked with Riddle because Ace would blame him to hell and back for the Prefect's death. Also sorry for the angst it wasn't in my control WHAGFWHA

~~~~~

Someone is screaming.

That's the first thing Riddle registers when he wakes us, eyes fluttering open. His limbs feel heavy and he can’t move, but someone forces him up anyways. It’s Headmage Crowley, staring down at him in horror and all Riddle can think is what happened?

“Fuck! Get first aid! Cast a healing spell, please- shit shit shit, anything!”

It’s Ace that’s screaming, and Riddle somehow manages to turn his head in the direction of the commotion. There’s a limp body in the boy’s arms, and he can vaguely make out Deuce fussing over their abdomen.

Wait, is that…?

It’s the Ramshackle Prefect, their face scrunched up in pain and a gaping hole in their midsection. Riddle’s eyes widen and he feels the bile in his stomach well up. He vomits, tears stinging his eyes as his chest heaves.

No, no, nonononono-

“Riddle!” Trey yells, rushing over to him with worry etched across his face, “Listen, you need to go to the infirmary. We have a situation and-”

“Stop babying him, Trey!” Ace yells across the gardens, and Riddle’s heart pluments at the pure rage encased in his words, “This is all his fault! They’re dying and it’s because of him!”

Trey whips his head around but turns back to Riddle quickly, wincing. Riddle can’t seem to move his mouth or form any words, his lips dry and his mouth drier.

“Listen, just- here, I’ll take you. We’ll take care of it.” Trey furrows his brow, staring down at Riddle with a sickening pity, “I promise, it’ll all be fine.”

“Killed…them?” Riddle gasps as Trey helps him up, his dead weight of an arm flopping against his closest confidante’s shoulder.

Trey doesn’t answer, but Ace is still screaming.

“It’s your fault, Riddle! It’s all your fault!”

That sound will haunt him for all eternity.

[yawnderu]

Content: domestic Simon ''Ghost'' Riley, husband!Simon, massages, fluff, A LOT of ass smacks because this man has a whole ass bakery.

Simon sat quietly next to you on the couch, mind reeling with the stress from the mission he just came back from, gaze distant and focused on staring ahead. You know better than to take it personal, aware that he simply needs time to unwind and process he's back home, safe and sound.

''Would you like a massage?'' You offer with a small smile, noticing how his muscles seem more tense than usual, bulging out of his clothes even more. He's quiet for a few seconds before looking at you, managing to return a half-smile and nod in agreement. Your hands hold his, trying to pull him out of the couch and being unable to— the asshole is making himself heavier on purpose, a smug smirk painting his lips at the thought of annoying his wife.

You pull harder, grunts escaping your lips because he's just too damn heavy.

''Simon.'' One stern look is all it takes for him to willingly get up from the couch, playfully swatting your head out of the way before running away once you try to kick his ass, running right after him while a small laugh escapes your lips. You crash on his back, purposely pushing him face-down in bed before smacking his ass, dragging a quiet, muffled laugh out of him.

You remove his muddy boots, helping him get out of his clothes until he's stripped down to his boxers, still laying face-down in bed, trusting you completely with his body. You get a bottle of massage oil from the closet, landing another playful slap on his rear before straddling him, sitting on his ass as you began spreading the oil all over his back. He let out a grunt at the spank, but didn't bother protesting, too distracted by the sensation of the cold oil being spread all over his tense muscles.

Your hands work wonders soon after, kneading and applying pressure on every single one of his muscles, slowly getting rid of the knots and tension in his body. He laid in bed with his head turned to the side, eyes closed as he relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of your hands working over his muscles, low moans leaving his lips sometimes at the pressure applied on his back muscles.

20 minutes is all it took to get rid of most of the knots on his back, planting a gentle kiss on the side of his head before giving him another one on the cheek, getting a grunt in response from the half-asleep man.

''I love you.'' You whisper in his ear, using the leftover oil on your hand to massage his bicep.

''I love you too, sweet girl.'' He manages to reply, voice groggy and deeper as he tried to stay awake to spend more time with you. A small giggle leaves your lips when you see his struggle, getting off of him and jokingly playing bongos on his ass, looking at the muscle and fat giggling underneath your touch.

''God, your ass is so perfect.'' Your tone is playful, but he's no stranger to you worshipping his body, a small smile on his lips at your words.

''S'all yours.'' He mumbles sweetly, voice still gravelly and coarse as he allowed you to do as you pleased with him. Another gently spank is delivered to his ass before you lean down, biting one of his asscheeks— not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough for him to feel it. His muscles twitch from the sudden sensation before he relaxes, a small chuckle leaving his lips as he turns to look at you with a smug grin.

A/N: I don't wanna kms anymore so here's some tender Simon instead of angst efbhjfehbj&lt;3 writing some rimming stuff soonish AND I'm going back into writing nasty sinful monkey sex more :3

[awearywritersworld]

there can be no covenants between men and lions

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: sukuna would rather contemplate your murder than come to terms with his feelings for you, but you call him out on his bullshit. w/c: 3k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst to fluff. aged up!yuuji. heavy kissing. features yuuji x reader and he is, of course, best boy. cursing. sukuna decides he wants to kill you (so obviously there are mentions of murder and such) but cant even stand the sight of you upset, what a goof. i'd once again like to think sukuna's not too ooc in this but im still more than likely delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: i was so touched by all of the love that part one received, i wanted to try my hand at part two. i hope i've done it justice! just as part one references homer's the odyssey, this references homer's the illiad because sukuna is very hot and well read. achilles, the protagonist of the novel, is discussed. i'm definitely open to writing a part three, because this one is much heavier on the angst and i miss soft sukuna from part one. series masterlist // masterlist

you and yuuji rarely argue, but when you do, it's often over his aversion toward seriousness, even when a situation calls for it. though you really should have kept your mouth shut, because in this moment, you'd give anything to see his typical carefree expression.

his eyes are regarding you intently, taking in your flustered appearance with knitted brows.

"yuuji..." you trail off, wracking your brain for an explanation of your current predicament.

despite the fact he regained control of his body only moments ago, one of his hands is curled around the back of your neck, while the other is resting on your hip.

"baby, what happened?" he presses, the tone of his voice entirely unreadable.

"s-sukuna," is all you can manage to choke out.

his eyes darken immediately, his jaw tensing in a way that intimidates you. "he hurt you."

you really can't tell if it's a question or a statement, and your response comes a little too quickly. "no! that's not... no."

the next few seconds tick by in a slow sort of agony, heat creeping up your cheeks.

he notices for the first time that his head is eerily quiet. no snide remarks, no scathing commentary. just his own thoughts as he pieces together the situation.

his gaze drops to the angry, red marks littering your neck and you watch in helpless horror as understanding passes his features.

"oh."

the word hangs in the air as you await his reaction, fully anticipating disgust and betrayal. you're positive it's only a matter of time before he throws you out of the apartment and tells you to never come back.

what you don't expect, however, is the way his shoulders relax as the tension leaves his face.

he straightens himself, arms falling to his sides, but he doesn't put any distance between your bodies.

"how long have you...?" he's not quite sure how to phrase the question.

"a few months. this was the first time anything... um... happened. we usually just talk."

he tilts his head to the side, so you clarify. "after you've fallen asleep."

mulling over the information, he hums in response, looking thoughtful for a few more seconds. then, his usual demeanor is back and he grabs your hand. "wanna get dinner? i'm starving!"

he tugs you a few feet toward the door before you come to your senses. "woah, woah. wait a second, yu."

when he looks back at you expectantly, you find that his face holds not one hint of bitterness or judgement. "aren't you angry?"

you're amazed to find that he's the one looking sheepish.

"how could i be? it's not exactly easy to be with me when i have a thousand year old curse rattling around in my body, but you stay anyway," he expresses, making your heart soften. "i just want you to be safe, so i'll take whatever relationship the two of have now over him being a threat to you."

as your hands reach up to cradle his face and your eyes sparkle with adoration, you briefly wonder how you ever found such a sweet man. he places a quick kiss to your lips, the smile on his face easy going as ever. "sooooo, i'm thinking takoyaki or maybe udon—"

"we can get whatever you want," you glance at the spatters of blood across his chest left there from the mission, no doubt from sukuna's careless slaughter. "as long as you go wash up first."

"right!" he agrees quickly, bounding off to the bathroom.

you stand alone in the middle of your living room, left with the ghost of both yuuji and sukuna's lips against yours and a sense of bewildered excitement.

back in his prison, however, sukuna is furious with himself. he should have let you die that day he kept you from being run over. better yet, he should have killed you with his own hands before the brat won back control of his body.

he is a terrible being that delights in carnage, a fact that's well known even centuries later. so why, when he could have done anything in the world, did he go to you? you even asked that same question before you—

he rejects the memory of you pressing your lips to his disdainfully.

your foolishness and your naivete are revolting. your softness and your pliancy are nauseating.

he shouldn't have been anywhere near you, if not to rip your obnoxious heart from your chest like he'd always planned. it was a situation he'd dreamt about and now it's slipped through his fingers, even though those same fingers had graced your fragile little neck.

you were nothing more than a clueless mouse in the jaws of a snake, and though the pains of hunger have been tearing at its stomach for years now, the serpent let itself starve.

sukuna retreats to his domain, fingers prodding at his temples irritably. he allows himself to wallow for a few hours, shutting out both you and the brat.

then, steeling his resolve, he begins to watch and wait like the predator he knows himself to be.

lulled into a false sense of security regarding your safety, it's clear that yuuji has let his guard down. just barely so, but enough that sukuna can see a few weaknesses in his chains. ironic seeing that, now more than ever, the king of curses wants you dead.

it goes without saying that he promptly ceases his nightly interactions with you. it's beneath him, wasting his time with a human. he knows that now.

but while he may not speak to you, he cannot refrain from stealing glances as the days stretch on. you're usually reading, completely oblivious to his watchful eye. he convinces himself it's simply to keep tabs on you, as he's deemed you his foremost enemy.

he's not sure how much time has passed when you begin calling out for him in hushed whispers after yuuji falls asleep, the hurt and confusion in your voice plain to him. it's irksome, and evidently, you're incapable of taking a hint.

his silence becomes more painful with each turn of the moon. you're a bit mortified to find that you genuinely miss him, so you just want answers. did he finally realize that you're nothing special, not worth bothering with?

eventually, growing restless, you all but beg him. "sukuna, please. talk to me. what happened? what'd i do wrong?" his chest tightens with what he believes is vexation. "you can't just make me like you and then disappear. you can't kiss me like that and then—"

"you insolent, maddening little creature!" his eye flies open just in time to see you gasp, your body jerking away from him. "shut up already! can't you see i want nothing to do with you? don't you tire of being pathetic?"

you don't dignify him with a response, swallowing thickly and turning away from him.

finally, he thinks, some fucking quiet. though if he's gotten what he wanted, why does his chest still ache?

he stares at the back of your form until the sun rises.

sukuna is no simpleton. he can be patient when he is sure of a reward, but he's thrilled that the perfect opportunity arises just two days after your encounter.

yuuji is exhausted. gojo kept him out all last night, despite the grueling mission he had today, and when he all but stumbles through your apartment door, the moon is already high in the sky.

you never mention the change in your relationship with sukuna to yuuji. even though he was so understanding, you still feel a touch awkward discussing it further. and maybe in the back of your mind, you're holding out hope that it might go back to the way it was.

sukuna watches through yuuji's eyes when you greet him, your expression half concern and half 'i told you so'. nights out with gojo usually lead to this very situation.

he showers while you finish cooking dinner and once you both eat, he helps you clean up despite his exhaustion. after whispering his thanks and pressing a kiss to your temple, he retires to bed.

you promise you'll join him soon, but sukuna knows it probably isn't true. following his outburst, you've taken to staying in the living room until you're ready to sleep.

yuuji's out before his head hits the pillow and nearly two hours later, you're still not in bed. sukuna's eager, but waits until he's sure the brat's deep in his slumber before he tries to take over. it's relatively easy, and he pushes down yuuji's unconscious mind as far as he can before rising to his feet.

this is finally it. he stretches his limbs lazily, a dangerous smirk settling on his lips. the floor creaks with each step he takes, but he pays no mind to stealth. you're no match for him.

tonight, you'll be his first victim of many and the thought of making up for his past misjudgement has him giddy with excitement.

but the sight that greets him upon exiting the bedroom— you curled into yourself on the couch, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs— it stops him in his tracks.

he wants to move, more than anything, so what the fuck is wrong with him? is the brat taking over already?

and why is that uncomfortable sensation making it's home in the center of his chest once more?

when you notice his presence, your face shifts to him and reveals your wide, teary eyes. it's clear you're surprised by his appearance, but you quickly bury your face in your knees.

you just want him to leave you alone. you hate him for what he said, for what he did. he forced his way into your life, made you care about him, and then he just vanished. he's cruel and you feel like an idiot because you should have known that from the beginning. or maybe you did and he just made you forget.

"go away. i.. i don't want to see you."

he's disbelieving, for a brief moment, that here you are giving him orders while he stands in the doorway with the intention of taking your life.

he moves toward you, invading your space in a way that is meant to be intimidating, but when you look up at him, every emotion ranging from sadness to rejection to indignation is etched into your features. though the terror he hoped to inspire is noticeably absent.

"i said go away!" you swiftly stand up, your hands meeting squarely with his chest as you push him with every ounce of power you have.

you may as well have shoved a brick wall, as he doesn't move even a fraction of an inch. he seizes one of your wrists anyway.

"what is it you think you're doing, exactly?" he spits.

"let go of me!" you beat against his chest with the hand he left free until his fingers wrap around that wrist too.

"enough."

he's certain there isn't a being that has attacked him (if he can even call that an attack) and lived to speak of it, not once in an entire millennia.

so just end the insolent brat and be done with it, he urges himself.

but he can't and he doesn't understand why, so he just stares down at you.

"what the fuck do you want?" you mean for it to come out forcefully and full of spite, but your voice cracks before you can finish.

an excellent question, indeed. what does he want?

he doesn't answer you and it's so goddamn frustrating that you begin to cry again, rambling to fill the discomforting silence. "you've already told me i'm pitiful and annoying. it's clear you think my company is insufferable, that i'm undesirable—"

that ache in his chest is unbearable now. it claws at his ribcage and shreds the flesh of his heart. it makes his stomach twist uncomfortably and rings shrilly in his ears. he can't even hear you anymore, but he can still see the tears sliding down your cheeks and the way you gasp between words.

the truth of the matter crashes down on him and the devastating weight of it is so crushing it squeezes the air from his lungs.

that feeling in his chest isn't annoyance or repugnance. its anguish— the kind that rattles his bones and leaves him sick with regret.

it's because you're in pain, and worse yet, he is the cause of it.

sukuna pushes you back against the wall before you can comprehend what's happening. his hands find either side of your face and you're alarmed to find that he looks... frightened.

"what are you doing to me?" he pleads for an explanation, because he sure as hell doesn't have one.

how can one little human hold such power over him? it's unnatural. it defies all logic and reason.

you stare at him, open mouthed. his face is so close that his breath fans across your skin and it makes you feel dizzy.

"what are you talking about?" you finally ask.

"you should be dead right now," he frets, despair seeping into every word. "it should be easy."

it dawns on you that you should probably feel afraid, but you just don't. his touch is firm, but careful. and there's no malice to be found behind his eyes. "you're not making any sense."

he thinks back on the time you've spent together, trying to figure out how the hell he ended up here— him at your mercy, rather than you at his. he remembers the first time he made you laugh and considers that it may have been the beginning of his unraveling. for the following two weeks, you both discussed homer at length as you made your way through his poetry.

"there can be no covenants between men and lions. wolves and lambs can never be of one mind, but hate each other through and through." you blink at him, recognizing at once that he's quoting the illiad. his voice is low and unsteady in a way that suggests desperation. it makes you shiver. "therefore there can be no understanding between you and me, nor may there be any covenants between us, till one or other shall fall."

your eyes narrow as you begin to understand his his internal struggle, though you're unsure if he's attempting to reason with you or with himself.

"you quote achilles, and rightfully so i suppose, given your common qualities— exasperating pride and a penchant for meaningless violence." he looks relieved, like your seeming agreement eases his mind. it's short lived. "but you forget his passion."

his gaze shifts away from you, his hands withdrawing from your face.

"his passion?" he repeats as if it's the most incredulous thing he's ever heard.

"by the end of the story, is he not acquainted with regret, sympathy, and respect? he doesn't remain blind to the error of his ways forever."

"only a foolish human could make such fanciful deductions," he chides through gritted teeth, still refusing to meet your eye.

you actually laugh at him. "perhaps you shouldn't call upon achilles to make your point after all. at least he grows out of his utterly childish view of the world."

"how dare you?" he demands, his features growing wild as one hand finds your throat (his touch not nearly harsh enough to cause you any discomfort), the other colliding with the wall beside your head. his display doesn't fool you though. "you witless, wretched brat! you're nothing more than a blip in a universe you cannot even begin to understand. you sicken me."

you throw achilles' words in his face just as easily as he did to you. "hateful to me as the gates of hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another."

his gaze hardens, and for a split second, you think you may have been mistaken in your fearlessness, but then his fingers thread themselves through your hair and he pulls your lips to his.

it's rough and commanding, and he tells himself it's only to get you to shut up. to wipe that expression of smug pity from your face.

it's not because, despite the fact you know how awful he is, you're convinced there's something salvageable in him too. nor is it because you tyrannize his every passing thought. and it's certainly not because the feeling of you pressed against him brings him more satisfaction than ripping the hearts from the chests of a hundred men.

ultimately, his denial is overshadowed by his desire. your touch is nothing short of needy as you tug at his shirt, an attempt to bring him even closer, and god does he hope that means you feel just as desperate as he does. he deserves at least a little consolation.

as his hands roam every valley and curve of your body, he deems it unfair that a being whose very existence spells hell on earth should be so taken with such a devastatingly divine creature.

"i've wanted you so terribly," he mumbles against your mouth before he can stop himself.

"then fuck you for making us both wait," you breath out.

his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips in response and his lips shift to your neck. "watch that pretty little mouth of yours, brat."

he nips at the spot just below your ear hard enough that it makes you gasp, doubtless a punishment for your impudence. you recover quickly though, wasting no time with your flippant reply. "or what? you'll go back to plotting my murder?"

he pulls away from you abruptly, sighing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose. "you truly have zero sense of self preservation, don't you?"

"guess so," you shrug, smiling at him bashfully. "can we watch a movie? i'll even let you pick."

you ask as if it's the most normal request in the world. as if he isn't a thousand year old curse that would be off turning the city to ash were he not here with you instead.

he rolls his eyes, scoffing at the ridiculousness of it all. "fine."

[wonwoonlight]

when he finds out you're sick through the internet

A/N: idol!au. OC is also a celebrity though I don't explicitly say what. tiny teensy angst bc cheol is a worried Boyfriend💔 1.5k words! another random word vomits bc that's the only way i know how to write now lol idk why but everytime i write this kinda fic it's always seungcheol looooooooooooooool. not proofread, but enjoy!

[part 2]

Seungcheol doesn't really get angry.

For the three years you've known him in which you've dated him for two, you've only seen him actually get angry a total number of three times. None of them was directed at you, and all of them are for reasons that you would've exploded upon way before he did.

Seungcheol is patient and rational.

Seungcheol is normally patient and rational.

But he's never normal when it comes to you. And even though the patient bit still stands, nothing about his feelings towards you is ever rational. He's a little too emotional, a little too rash, and a little too worrisome when it comes to your wellbeing.

So when he's relaxing in the practice room during a break with his members, for once not on his phone because he's charging it somewhere on one of the tables, and he hears Seungkwan gasps a little upon his phone, he thinks there's another scandal blowing up upon the industry. But when the younger guy's blown out eyes meet him, colors drained from his face, Seungcheol hates that he knew it could mean one thing: something happened to you.

He shoots up almost immediately, not registering any words that come out of Seungkwan's mouth. His hands shake a little when he unlocks his phone, and his heart drops when he reads the official post from your company's twitter account that states your current condition, that you might need to pause your activities for the time being due to health reasons, apologizes for the worries, and asks for the fans' understanding.

He wants to get angry.

At who, he’s not sure.

At your company, for pushing you even though they know your schedule is practically inhumane? At your manager, for not making sure that you have decent rest in between schedules? At you, because he’s been telling you to fucking stop running towards whatever goal you have in mind but you insist that you know your limit and you’ll know when to stop?

Apparently, no you fucking don’t because else this wouldn’t have happened.

The rest of the members look at him in worry, and Jeonghan silently walks to their manager and the other staff to let them know about the situation at hand, that Seungcheol would probably not be in his best state to continue practice at the moment. The leader would probably insist that they continue anyway, but they’ve practiced for almost five hours already anyway and they could spare an hour or two for the leader when it’s clear that he’s worried beyond measure.

Seungcheol bites his lip as he tries to call you, his concern skyrocketing by the seconds the longer the beeping sound goes, no sign of you picking it up. He tries one more time, but you still don’t answer and he’s about to hurl his phone at the wall when your manager calls him instead, tells him that he sees his name flashing on your phone, informs your whereabouts, and that he should just drop by your place in a few hours if he wants to see you because right now you’re still sleeping in the car and he’s taking you home.

He finds it hard to say anything, a lump growing in his throat until he manages to swallow it down and ask how you’re doing right now.

“She’s… exhausted.” Your manager says quietly. “I know it’s my job to take care of her but… you know her. She didn’t tell me that she’s been having a hard time sleeping at night the past few weeks and it finally took a toll on her.”

It’s hard to suppress his anger, his breath heavier than usual though it’s not too noticeable unless they know Seungcheol. He wants to scream at your manager, but he knows it won’t do anyone any good and it’s really not the time nor the place for that. So he mutters a quiet ‘thank you’ before he hangs up, his members looking at him with a mix of worry and understanding when he looks up at them.

“Go.” Soonyoung says. “We’ve practiced enough today. Take care of your girlfriend and tell us later.”

Seungcheol nods and sprints out of the room, beyond thankful that his members always have his back.

Seungcheol is glaring at you when you wake up, though the way his thumb is still softly caressing your head and the worry in his eyes clearly tell you that his anger is nowhere near his distress. 

You offer him a weak smile, unable to defend yourself because you know what his eyes are scolding you for.

“Sorry?” You whisper and immediately cringe at how dry your throat feels.

He doesn’t say anything as he helps you sit down and hands you your favorite mug. Taking in the moment, you frown at how weak you feel, though you really only have yourself to blame because you genuinely thought you’re okay and you can take it.

You know it’s on you for taking as many schedules as possible, practically everything that your company offers you even when your manager says he doesn’t think it’s physically possible for you to do all that in such a short span.

Thinking about it now, you realize that your manager and the rest of your team also gets the short end of the stick through your decision. Him, your make up team, and your stylists would all need to be with you and your ambition forgets to consider their wellbeing even when you wrongly claim you would be able to handle it.

Guilt starts to eat you inside out, and it grows even larger as you see Seungcheol in front of you–didn’t he say he had practice today?–his face screams distressed and his shoulders tense since God knows when.

“Hey, talk to me.” He says softly when he notices you’ve been spacing out and you’re nibbling on your lip like you would when you’re anxious, taking away your mug before enveloping your hands with his.

You tear up almost immediately, and he moves to sit on the edge of your bed to usher you into his chest, patiently listens to your nonsense as you try to talk through your tears. He gets the gist of it: sorry–manager–company–wellbeing–my team–didn’t think it through–made you worry–overestimated myself–sorry–and the list goes on. He exhales as he hugs you tighter, both understanding and upset at the turns of events.

Being in the same industry, he gets what you’re trying to do, understands that you feel the need to keep on running while you’re able to, relates that you’re doing everything for yourself and your fans. But still, it’s hard not to be upset to know you’re pushing yourself too hard when he’s been telling you there’s no need to run as fast as you are without resting; that you’ll only hurt yourself one way or another and he hates that the one time he needs to be right, it’s this.

You end up laying down against his chest on your bed, hiccups and sniffles filling your bedroom along with a random song he’s humming against your head. You pull away to properly look at him, the first time you’re doing it since you woke up earlier, and his hum stops in question.

“Thank you.” You manage to whisper, your fingers grasping the front of his shirt without even realizing. “For being here when I woke up.”

He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand why you’re thanking him, simply leans down to plant a long, chaste kiss against your forehead before he pulls up your blanket so it’ll cover you properly.

“Just… don’t surprise me like that again, okay?” His breath is warm against your face, pleasantly so, and you nod as you promise him that you’ll take better care of yourself moving forward. 

“Are you staying the night?”

“Yes, I’ll return to the dorm the day after tomorrow. They’ve given me a day off.” You cringe at his words, though thankful that he’s been in the industry long enough to attain that kind of privilege. But still, you feel bad that you’re obstructing his practice and his members just because you’re foolish enough to– “Hey. Stop. I know what you’re thinking. No need to feel bad. I’m actually glad I get to rest with you.”

“But–”

“No buts. The kids can do without me for a day.” He playfully bumps his forehead against yours, his lips hover above yours merely centimeters apart.  He doesn’t meet your lips, though he kisses their corner sweetly and wraps you back into his embrace to the point where there’s no space between you two. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Good night, Cheol.”

“Night, baby.”

“See you in my dream?”

“I’ll see you anywhere you want me to be.”

He hugs you tighter, and you try your best to return the gesture despite the awkward position of your arms. It’s uncomfortable and you’re sure your arms will be sore the next morning.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when you succumb to sleep and find Seungcheol smiling at you on the other side of your dream, as real as he can be.

cont.

[eimids]

Don’t care about them

Alexia Putellas x reader

i’m gonna keep writing to annoy that rude anon😉

this is inspired by this whole situation going on in my blog!! enjoy nonnie i know you are reading this😚😚

warnings: bad body image, rude comments, angst

You and Alexia had dated for a year before your relationship became public. It wasn’t ideal but you were happy that now you were able to show to the world your girlfriend.

The press was having a field day after your relationship came out with the one and only, Alexia Putellas. They were writing about your life and every single thing you ever did.

That wasn’t the worst part. It was the fact that they were talking about your body and looks. Giving their opinions on your posts on instagram. Judging and criticizing if you are worthy enough for Alexia, the star player of Spain and Barca.

The articles weren’t all that bad but the comments were.

Under a photo with you wearing heavier makeup than usual.

“She wears way too much makeup, i bet she’s actually ugly and just maskes it behind that makeup”

If you weren’t wearing makeup.

“She’s so ugly, look at those eyebags. she doesn’t deserve Alexia”

Then there was a photo of you in a bikini.

“🤢 look at those things and that stomach. she should be a lot skinnier. alexia deserves much better than that”

“She’s trying so hard to suck her stomach in it’s pathetic”

“I wouldn’t be posting bikini pictures with that body”

You quickly decided to turn off the comments on specific posts. Not wanting to hear the mean words they said about you.

You went through the rabbit hole of scrolling and reading through every single comment before deleting the comments. It wasn’t good for you but you couldn’t help it. Just needing to read what they said about you. Some comments were actually nice. Telling you how cute you and Alexia were together. Probably most of them were nice but they went to blind eyes. You were only able to see the negative ones.

It quickly became too much for you. You actually started to believe the comments about Alexia deserving better. You started to isolate from her and from everyone. It was easy since Alexia was in the Spain women’s camp during international break.

It started as you just not replying to her texts so often and missing some of her calls but it quickly escalated to you completely ignoring her. You thought she wouldn’t care about your absence in her life but she did.

In fact she was stressing the whole camp about it. She didn’t perform as well and you were in her mind constantly. She thought she did something wrong. Luckily for her there was only one more day of camp and then she would see you again and solve this situation. She knew that whatever it was, you could work through it. You always did.

When Alexia came back home finally she found you in your shared bed. She noticed the dry tears on your cheeks and your phone in your hand. She decided to unlock it to see what it was.

She was horrified when she saw all the comments about you. How could anyone say those things about her precious girl. The girl who wouldn’t hurt or say anything bad about anyone. She hated that this was somewhat her fault. Her being a public figure, it was hard to avoid those comments.

She closed your phone and took her own in her hands to post quickly on her instagram. After that she cuddled close to you. Not wanting to wake you up but also wanting you as close as possible. She stayed like that for a while before falling asleep herself.

The next morning you woke up to the soft hands caressing your body. So gently touching every part of your body while whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

“Should we break up?”

That wasn’t at all what Alexia expected from your mouth and she tensed up immediately.

“What, why” She asked breathlessly.

“I don’t deserve you. They all say it. You deserve much better than me” You said while looking into her beautiful eyes. Tears creeping in your own.

“Absolutely not. You are more than enough and i love you more than anything my beautiful girl” She answered then quickly followed “You don’t actually wanna break up, right?” She asked nervously.

“No” You said and shook your head. You started crying to her about all the mean stuff in your comments. She listed carefully and assured that none of them were true.

The rest of the day she showed just how much she loved you and you stayed in bed for the whole day. Just before you went to sleep you checked your instagram. To your surprise there was a post from Alexia made the day before.

Liked by yourinstagram, Lucy Bronze and 1, 456, 789 others.

alexiaputellas: my beautiful, amazing, kind and loving girlfriend 🩷 te quiero mi niña

the comments you been writing about this beautiful soul are horrible and i disagree with them all. i couldn’t ask for anything better and if we are being honest, i don’t know how i deserve her but i’m so lucky to have her in my life<3

so for anyone who has been sending those comments, just stop. if you’re own life is that boring then maybe get some help 🙂

me and my girl will enjoy our life together 🤝

no me importa lo que piensen los demás✨

—

hehee

[fariest]

till forever falls apart 𑁍ࠬܓ jake sim

pairing: widower!jake x fem!reader

genre: LOTS of angst like a lot, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort/no comfort, some fluff here and there, coming of age, bittersweet ending.

word count: 8k words (or more..)

synopsis: jake came unto your life when you needed it the most. you didn’t expect it but he did and it all did happen on that one specific bench behind the beach you both grew up on, that one summer night. jake just had no idea you would slip through his fingers the way you did. and not that fast either.

warnings: character death, grief & loss, jake is a widower and has a daughter, unknown illness, mature language & cursing, low self worth, depression, mental break downs, fighting, marriage, mentions of seizures, hospitality, medication, just a lot of sad shit i’m so sorry in advanced.

a/n: here it is. mind you i wrote this with a heavy heart and a lot of thoughts in mind ( ; ω ; ) but either way i hope you all like this as much as i liked writing it. this is not proofread by the way, i apologize.

Jake’s feet were practically dragging. Everyone would probably have noticed that but in that moment, his biggest wish would probably be to erase everyone’s existence. He’s been living in his own shadow for felt like years. The only one he’s been vividly making eye contact with was his daughter and the florist he’s been going to for the past few months. Yet it felt for much longer. After all he was counting the days. With a heavy heart that was once filled to the brim with happiness and all the things he’s ever wanted.

The florist, a lady in her late fifties, always welcomed Jake with open arms and it was gestures like that, that made him feel smaller than ever. He wanted to return it, he really did but all he could do, was request the bouquet of flower he was in search for, with an even heavier heart. And if the words weren’t enough, he would point to that one specific section where they were kept. It usually didn’t take long since he memorized it.

Your favorite ones.

Peonies.

His mom called him before he left to buy those flowers. He was surprised with how different she sounded compared to him, or maybe it was because he was starting to forget how everyone sounded, especially those the closest to him. After all he was completely wrapped up in his own arms that felt far too empty and cold to the touch that he couldn’t help but let it happen. With his phone pressed to his ear, he let his mom do the talking while he was busy staring at nothing. More like the place where you used to sleep beside him and him basking in the comfort of your soft snores. You felt so close, so warm. You provided the warm that was missing and now he had to bask unto nothing but coldness. A lit up candle couldn’t even mend the wounds together. He had no idea how long he stayed on the phone with his mom for but at some point he could hear her sniffle and being in the state he was, he couldn’t ask her what was wrong. He was barely doing better himself.

And the call ended with him saying nothing and her saying it wasn’t his fault. The exact same thing she said the last time he saw her those many months ago.

He was debating whether to go check in on his daughter, knowing she would question the state he was. It wad the witty and her ability to be attentive and Jake knew she got that from you. He saw you right through her.

These were one of the days where he was far too deep unto the dark corners of his mindset where he didn’t bother with himself and how hard he was on himself. Jake almost breathed a sigh in relief when he saw his daughter still passed out in her bed, white sheets pulled up to her chin and tightly wrapped around her, the cloud lamp that you gifted to her on her fourth birthday, perfectly dimmed and casting a mellow glow over the roundness of her cheeks. Down on the floor, was Layla sleeping, with her resting on her front paws. The dog he got when he was ten, the one you raised with him.

This was one of the moments where Jake allowed himself to smile, a small smile without feeling bad for doing so.

Jake shook his head when he heard a voice briefly pull him out of his thoughts. His visions cleared and he saw the florist give him a sympathetic smile, probably sensing something, the grey hair framing her face in a way that matched her soft yet gentle features.

“Are you okay, young man?”

Jake was a bit taken aback but settled for a nod before eyeing the bouquet that the lady has managed to wrap up with obvious care.

It was like she saw right through him.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone.” She sadly smiled.

“These flowers,” She gestured to the Peonies, “They are for someone.. someone special, aren’t they?”

Gulping, Jake averted his eyes but still nodded.

“She was my everything,” He slowly forced out and he saw the lady perk up, “My childhood sweetheart, my best friend, my wife. And the mother to our daughter.”

“She was also basically everything I wasn’t yet she still made sure to remind me that she would love me no matter what. Her grip on my hand was tight until it wasn’t but even so, I knew she wouldn’t let go no matter what,” Jake swallowed back his urge to cry, but talking about her tugged at the strings holding him together. And he felt like the lady sensed that before she settled a old wrinkly hand on his shoulder.

The tears were already rolling down by then. Tears he’s been holding in all those months ever since.

“She sounded lovely,” Patting his shoulder, she continued, “I know she would’ve been proud of you especially for still being here, somewhere on the ground where she can look at you from afar,”

“I miss her, ma’am.” Looking up with bloodshot eyes, the lady offered another sympathetic smile, before handling him a tissue.

“I know, child.” She nodded, “I’m not saying you will overcome this grief soon or frankly ever. But you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. When you think about her, please do not always think about the negatives that comes along with it, think about the fact that out of everyone, you were the one she chose. Think about how she chose to love you even with all your flaws and how none of those things would ever change the way she saw you.”

Jake remembered the day. Clear and bright under the moonlight. He was eleven, fairly tall for his height with black strands that always fell over his eyes with how the wind always loved to mess with it. Everyone said that he had that soft look yet gentle demeanor look from his mom, he’s heard it so much to the point where he started believing them. After all his mom was a phenomenal woman.

Ever since dad walked out on both of them, mom has tried her hardest to raise him by herself despite her being young still. She was still in her youth and it was a sad sight to not see her do all the things people her age did. Travel the world, figure out themselves and planning their future without anyone standing in their way of doing so. Jake’s biggest fear was being in her way specifically, being a burden but the warmth from her embrace managed to tell him everything he needed to know. And so he tried his best to help her despite not knowing half of the things he did but he didn’t want his mom to cry anymore. He didn’t want her to downgrade herself and blame herself for things that were out of her control. He wanted her to go to bed with a gentle mindset and now all of the things that used to eat her up.

His mom went to sleep early that night and Jake promised himself that he would prep himself his own dinner and cut up some fruit for his mom since he knew she loved those, and then take out the trash.

Opening the gates, he dragged the plastic bag behind him before dumping it in the big green trash container. The summer nights were getting warmer and times like this reminded Jake off how much he loved it. Giving a toothy grin, he whipped his two hands on the front of his shorts before turning back to head inside, but not before casting a look over his shoulder.

There he saw someone. A few feet away from him.

At first, Jake had no idea what they were doing before walking closer. They were just. Sitting on the bench, in front of the beach. How odd.

“If you’re gonna stare, can you at least be less.. obvious with it?” The person asked, almost nonchalantly.

It was a girl.

Jake didn’t respond, fear of embarrassing himself further so he settled for walking closer to her before taking a seat beside her. So this was what she was doing, just looking at the waves. This late at night?

The young boy scratched behind his head with a small chuckle, “Sorry.. I didn’t think you would notice me,”

She casted him a side eye look before rolling her eyes.

“You’re not exactly quiet.”

And then she turned to stare back at the beach’s many waves. The stars glimmering in reflection with the water. It was beautiful, he couldn’t deny that.

He never bothered looking at where she was looking. But instead he decided to take her in. She was dressed in a white nightgown with a scruff at the end and at the ends of the sleeves, her hair wasn’t tied up or anything but fell behind her shoulders due to the wind, pointy nose, eyelashes casting a dim shadow on her the top of her cheeks which were a bit flushed due to the not too chilly breeze.

Jake might’ve been young but he wasn’t young enough to not know was beauty was when he saw it. And this might have been the prettiest girl he’s ever laid his eyes on. She might’ve been as beautiful as his mom.

“You really have a staring problem,” She told him, amusement evident in her voice.

“What!” Jake shook his head before scooting away from her, “What is that even supposed to mean!”

“Hmmm…” The still unknown girl tapped her chin lightly.

“It means you stare too much. My mom says that stuff will have you go blind.”

So this was how she wanted to play.

“Well, she’s wrong!”

He knew he hit a sensitive spot when the girl before him gaped lightly at what he said before huffing. He felt the panic dwell in and he was about to apologize before he heard her burst unto a fit of laughter.

“You should have seen the look on your face!”

Jake knew that day, that her laughter, that sound was his favorite melody of all time.

⋆

If anyone asked what you thought of Jake, the first thing that immediately came to your mind was — an oddball.

It didn’t add more to it when you both lived in the same neighborhood. Only two houses away from each other. To add more to it, your mom and his mom knew each other since they used to go to the same highschool together. They both suffered from the loss of their husbands, with yours dying before you were even born, which meant you had no idea who he was. So you lived off your mom’s words about him, the picture frames around the house and the photobooks your mom kept in a small box in the basement.

It was like your moms’ relationship drew you closer to Jake and now that you took a closer look at him, he wasn’t so bad and he wasn’t as irritating as the other boys in your class. The ones who said girls had cooties and girl disease. In fact, you took a hold of how Jake wanted or more so, looked forward to spending time with you any chance he got. He also came by a lot especially after school asking for you. You were pretty sure your mom held some kind of favoritism towards him because she never wasted a breath when it came to the boy with the brightest eyes you’ve ever seen. And before you knew it, you warmed up to him. It didn’t take long but it wasn’t fast either. You were a girl with a lot of things on your mind and frankly, you were just perfectly fine in your own world and peace. But Jake managed to add something to that. You had no idea what or how, but he did.

“Y/N look!”

You looked up from how absentmindedly you were coloring in a butterfly, when you saw Jake running towards you..

With a dog? On a leash?

You sat up with a slight gasp at the sight out of the creature and before you knew it, the dog hopped on you leaving gentle but happy licks all over your face.

“Layla, no!” Jake yelled sternly.

Holding up your arms, you tried blocking them away with a loud laugh before you settled for petting her. Not before pushing her away tho.

“Oh my,” The boy before you sighed in distress, a hand coming up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I’m so sorry about that Y/N. She’s still a puppy, so she’s full of energy,”

“Don’t apologize,” You shake your head before allowing Layla to take up the space on your lap for some more scritches.

“But I’m kinda mad, why didn’t you tell me you had a dog!”

“Umm…” Jake giggled sheepishly, “I actually just got her a few days ago. I was gonna tell you eventually..”

You gasped in mock offense before picking up a coloring pencil to throw at him.

“Hey!”

“You could’ve still have told me!”

“I was going to!”

Your bickering stopped by Layla jumping off your lap and running around the both of you in circles, indicating she wanted to play and have some energy spent. As if she hasn’t done that already.

“We we’re actually planning on going to the beach,”

Jake saw the way your eyes lit up and he couldn’t help the quick stutter his heart did. What was this feeling?

“Really? Can I join?”

“That was the plan, silly,”

Dusting off your lap from Layla’s jump earlier, you were about to stand up before two hands grabbed yours. Gently, they pulled you up to your feet and then gently let go. Almost as if knowing what was going on, Layla looked back and forth between the two young humans in front of her, before she barked to gather their attention.

“Oh! Uh, she’s getting impatient, we should go,” Jake quickly mumbled out before picking up his dog’s leash off the where he dropped it in the grass.

“Wait!” You looked back at your house before looking back at your friend.

And by then, Jake already knew what was stirring up your hesitation. He smiled at you reassuringly.

“I already told your mom. She said dinner will be done by the time you’re home.”

You could finally let out the breath you’ve been holding.

“Plus your mom loves me,” Jake quipped teasingly.

The young boy laughed at your eye roll and before you both knew it, you were both running, along with Layla down to the beach, with the dog before the both of you barking profusely with a hint of excitement. The whole afternoon was just you and Jake by each other’s side, with his dog running back and forth in the water. She even shook all of her water from her fur at both of you at some point to the point where you both were on the sand rolling around, both of your laughters mixing together that mingled in the sky above off you. It added more to the memories and you both knew you would be thinking about that day till the day you both grew old and wrinkly.

You knew that day, that you wouldn’t wanna spend days like these with anybody but with Jake.

⋆

Years went by, things blossomed and so did your bond with Jake.

It went from meeting him to that one random night on the beach, to you finding out you lived just barely away from each other, to you starting classes together properly after your mom’s job paid her enough for that to happened. You remember the sheer happiness when she told you that and how much that meant to younger you. You weren’t isolated by any means, in fact, your mom encouraged you to check the world for yourself. But you would rather have things done at your pace, so that’s what you did. Luckily she understood and you were beyond thankful.

You also noticed changes about Jake. At some point you and him were the same height, but ever since highschool hit, he’s grown like a head, almost two heads taller than you. He’s grown his fringes out, even at some point dyed it through the school years to the point where you had no idea how many times he did it. You remember one time dyeing it for him tho and that shit was a complete disaster and you wouldn’t have blamed him if he wanted to bald that way. You were still attached to the hip pretty much.

But something that has been coming back to biting you, was that you had no idea where you and Jake’s relationship were interlinked at. You were both seniors in highschool now and things were rocky. God forbid your younger self thought that growing older would result in you being able to talk about your feelings and emotions better, but no. You realized that wasn’t the case. There was definitely something holding you back. You just didn’t wanna come to terms with what it was. Running a hand through your head, you plopped down your bed, arms and legs spread out.

“Y/N?” You suddenly heard someone knock on your door before a head peeked in.

“Did you remember to take your medication?” She asked before stepping foot unto your room.

“Mom.. we already talked about this,”

“You can’t just keep pushing me away,” She insisted

You huffed before sitting, “Can’t we talk about this later please? I have to study for an upcoming exam. I promise I’ll take them later,”

“Y/N—“

“—Mom please..” You looked away from her, voice wavering, “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

You heard her sigh, before footsteps and the sound of your door being closed.

Reaching out for your phone on your bedside, your first instinct was to text Jake. But you knew the sound of his voice was exactly what you needed right now. More than anything. Hovering your thumb over his Caller ID, you slowly started debating if this really was a good idea. Now that you think about it, you and Jake haven’t really talked much due to busy schedules, and you’ve also noticed him confiding comfort in a group of friends you’ve never talked to before, while you had a group of friends of your own.

You missed him. And it was eating you up from the inside.

“Fuck it,” You whispered before dialing his number.

The ringing was not a fit match for how quick your heart was beating, it was practically beating out of your chest and you didn’t like it. Not one bit. But you couldn’t deny in how much need you were of his voice. It was almost embarrassing.

He still had no idea.

“Y/N?”

You smiled. After all this time, his voice was still your favorite tune.

“Hi Jake..”

“Y/N? Hey. Is everything okay?”

“Why do you always assume that something’s wrong?” You giggled and even tho you couldn’t see his face, you knew his face was definitely scrunched up in his one infamous frowns.

“Well, I’m sorry for caring I guess,”

“No you’re not,”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

The same old Jake.

“I miss you, y’know?” He finally spoke up, “I feel like I barely see you anymore.”

“I’m still here, Jake. Life has just.. been busy you know—“

“—Y/N, no,”

You heard some shuffling on the other side of the line, before a dejected sigh.

“It’s because I barely see you anymore. Even your friends are worried about you. You’re still at school, I know you are because I know you wouldn’t miss any of your classes no matter how busy or tired you are but you always disappear so quickly after..”

“Like is there something you aren’t telling me?”

You wanted to tell him.

You wanted to tell him so badly but you couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the look on his face when you did. He would be crushed and you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself for that.

“Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine. Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Y/N—“

“No y’know what? I actually called you because I needed you and now you throw this on me—You and my mom are exactly the same. You both say the same shit and it’s pissing me off,” Not wasting a second thought, you hung up before throwing your phone on your bed, silent tears rolling down your face.

You went to sit on the bench by the beach the same day, after you heard your mom went to bed. Pulling up your knees closer to yourself, you were silently beating yourself up for not wearing something warmer. Though, you were eyeing your jacket, more or so Jake’s jacket that was hanging around your chair but decided not to take it at last minute.

Wrapping your arms around your knees, you took a look up at the night sky. The moon was seeking it’s place behind some dark clouds, the stars were doing their own things, the wind was getting colder. It was as if everything was going by slower? Or faster? You were not sure anymore but you knew it’s been an push and pull trick ever since that day.

Would it be too early to give up now?

“I knew I would find you here.”

“You can’t keep running away from us, from me, Y/N. I won’t let that happen,”

You turned your head, tears slowly starting to brim your eyes again. You didn’t want him to see you this way. Then there is a sudden pressure on your shoulders and by now you knew Jake has wrapped your upper body up in his jacket, with him now in his white sweatshirt and black plaid pajamas pants. He wasn’t expecting any response from you, in fact, he was just happy to be in your presence and not you running away nor pushing him away.

“I won’t force you to say anything,” He slowly sits down, the space beside you always available for him. There hasn’t been a day where it hasn’t been.

“But.. I hope you know you can talk—“

“I don’t have a lot of time, Jake,”

The first pen drop.

When you didn’t receive any response, you turned your head and hoped for the worst. Jake was still staring forward, towards the waves and how more far away they suddenly sounded.

“I only have two years left.”

That made him turn his head to look at you. The look in his eyes made your heart drop. In all these many years you’ve known Jake, you have never seen him look like this, so empty, so hollow of thoughts, so broken and if you weren’t such a mess yourself, you would have tried to pick up pieces back together. But what was it worth if you couldn’t even pick up your own? Staying alive at this point felt like a chore, a walk even down to the beach sometimes took all the air out of your lungs if you didn’t take your medications.

You managed to catch the tear you saw roll down his cheek with the soft pad of your thump. He gripped your wrist in his hand when he felt it about to retreat and held it up to his cheek, fearing you would disappear faster if he didn’t. Your warmth was all he needed now. Jake hated asking for too much but he wanted to be selfish for once, right now.

“I’m sorry,” You shook your head, feeling the tears roll again, “I should’ve told you. But this was what I was fearing for. Seeing your reaction, seeing the look on your face especially after—“

Feeling a warm gentle hand cupping your cheek, you felt your words get caught in your throat when you took in the way he looked at you now. There was still sadness lingering but you really couldn’t put a finger on what the rest was. But that didn’t really occur your mind. You just needed him to say something.

“Jake, please say something..” You begged, voice cracking, “Yell at me, scream at me, anything!”

You failed to see the way he moved closer.

“Especially for the way I’ve been treating you. That’s the least I deserve,” Pushing at his chest, you couldn’t help but let more tears roll, the place on your lap a sea of your own sorrows by that point

“Why are you looking at me like that, Jake please—“

Your hands faltered their pushing on his chest when you felt something soft yet wet on your lips. Closing your eyes which were still filled with tears, you pushed yourself closer and basked in the gentle kiss that belonged to him.

It was always him.

You knew it by now, you knew it ever since your first encounter on that one night at the beach, at the exact same place where you were at now.

⋆

A lot has changed, with how low your energy has gotten, you couldn’t bring yourself to attend to classes psychically anymore. And by what your personal doctor has said, any stress can trigger the most especially in the state you’re in right now and nobody, especially your mother wouldn’t ever wanna take that risk. So you settled for going to school but at home instead, in the walls of your room. Your routine has gotten progressively more straightforward than what it usually was. You were drained and the eye bags under your would tell anyone a story that you, yourself wouldn’t be able to, lips chapped and peeling. You could barely recognize the sight of yourself anymore.

Jake was walking around with a heavy heart. You were finally his but at what cost? These past weeks has just been him lingering by your side more and more each day to the point he might practically live at your place now. Frankly, he wasn’t doing better himself. He was beating himself up for making everything seem like your fault when nothing was ever your fault to begin it. The world was just too cruel to make space for someone as precious and as delicate as you, the world never deserved you. Jake can’t count the amount of times he’s managed to utter those words to you, while trailing his browns over your features, with your hands interlocked under the sea of stars and crescent moon. And he memorized your reaction to his words each time. You were really the most endearing piece of art to him.

He knew you were trying. You even told him you were so he wouldn’t worry too much, you would fe your ribs construct whenever you saw the way he was trying so hard to keep himself from breaking down when he felt the warmth from your hands, from your body slowly leave your body day by then. All that warmth that you usually provided, was all gone. All the warmth he would confide in whether it was after a stressful day after of classes, work or the insignificant days where he got unto an argument with his mother. He was seeking for your warmth everywhere he went.

Yet Jake held unto the last amount of warmth you had left. That was all he could do.

“Jake,” He heard his mother’s voice speak up before he felt her shake his shoulders, obviously trying to wake him from his afternoon nap.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Groaning he sat up and was met with his mom’s frantic pacing.

He gave her a confused look.

“Mom—?”

“It’s Y/N,” She breathed out, “Her mom just called from the at the hospital..”

“Apparently she had a seizure,”

That was then Jake felt his whole world collapse.

This couldn’t be..

“B-But how.. I.. She was okay when I saw her last day..” He felt his breath getting stuck along with his world. This couldn’t be. His mom didn’t say anything but instead pulled him unto his arms and that was where Jake allowed himself to break down fully. Without any care in the world. You were getting further and further away each day and he had no idea how to cope with it. He was angry, frustrated, why was he letting this happen? Why couldn’t he have done more? For you?

You deserved everything, but this.

⋆

“I will miss seeing the stars,”

Even with a light hoarse lilt to your voice, it still sounded soft and gentle in Jake’s ears. Like it always has. You were wearing a soft smile when looking at the stars from the hospital window, that never seemed to falter when you turned to look at him.

“I know you will, my love.”

Your smile faltered when you noticed that he was in deep in thoughts. He always we’re but this time it wasn’t out of sheer sadness and distress but more like.. he was bashful?

“Is something bothering you, my Jake?”

He didn’t respond but from the corner of your eyes, you saw him pull out a small black velvet box. You gasped.

“I know we’re still young and all but..” He says carefully, “But you’re probably the only person I’ve ever felt this sure with. This secure with and I honestly couldn’t have asked for someone better,”

Slowly opening the box, there was it. A ring. A silver ring littered with small diamonds on the sides, with the biggest one being shaped in a crystallized star. You looked up and you realized Jake hasn’t looked away from you once, trying his best to read your reaction and body language, making sure he hasn’t been overstepping anything.

“I know you hate asking for much, just like I do but..”

“Jake I..” You shake your head, eyes wide, “It’s beautiful..”

Taking out the ring from the box, he gently took your hand before slipping the ring on before bringing it up to seal it with a kiss to your knuckles.

“You don’t have to say anything.. I know that—“

“My Jake, of course I wanna marry you..”

⋆

Jake woke up startled to the someone knocking on his front door. Automatically he reached beside him but was met with nothing but the cold sheets.

Heaving another deep sigh from his chest, he slipped on slippers before walking downstairs, careful not to wake up his daughter. He was met with Layla who was pressing her snout against the door, curious herself, tail slightly wagging before letting out a small bark at the sight of her owner

“Hey girl,” He cooed with a scratch to the canine’s head, “Be quiet now, wouldn’t wanna wake anyone up would we?”

Honestly, Jake had no idea what he was expecting when opening the door but..

“Mrs. Y/N?”

“Hi son..” She muttered, “I hope you’re doing okay. Look, I-I don’t have much time but this morning I came across this while cleaning up in Y/N’s room and found this,”

The woman gave a careful smile and that was then he noticed a small envelope in her hand.

“I was about to open it but I think it was meant for you,”

Carefully taking the letter, he examined it before turning it around where he noticed something written in messy yet distinguished writing.

‘For him <3’

⋆

‘Dear you,

I don’t know what this letter will be when you receive it but I hope it lands safely in your hands.

Life hasn’t been easy and to be honest, I never expected it to be. You and I both know that. But what I do know is that you’ve made my life easier. I don’t know if that has do with the solace from your words or the stars from your eyes. But in me somewhere, I knew you changed my life for the better. I can’t think of a person who’s made me laugh and smile as much as you have, I think that itself alone is impossible if you ask me.

I hope you aren’t too hard on yourself. And if you are, a reminder that I never wanted you to be and neither does your mother and our daughter. I may not be here when you read this so please think about them when life gets hard and when you can feel yourself shift the blame on yourself for all the things that was never your fault to begin with. I didn’t ask for how my life turned out, neither did you. None of us did. Life just has some dwelling sometimes and at some point, they like to take it out on one of us.

It’s not fair. I know.

But I hope you can look up at the stars and see me.

I will always be here with you.

Your, Y/N L/N.’

taglist: @karinasbaby @nishions @hittoki @superbbananananana @mimizen127 @jjunie-0 @ghostiiess

2024 © fariest, do not copy, modify or post my work to other sites

[kirbyyuu]

IN ANOTHER TIMELINE? 🎐 [Suguru x NonSorcerer!Reader]

Angst/no comfort, implied major character death, canonverse, no smut, gn reader

Desc: Suguru can't make any exceptions when it comes to his new world. Not even when its his lover.

A/N: literally my first time doing this and idk if i will continue writing or not but i had to get this out of my system, enjoy <3 feedback appreciated!

Not proofread yet

The faint glow of the waning moon just might be the last light you see before you face your finality. 

Or would it be the unsettling glow of his eyes?

Your back pressed against the cold walls of the dilapidated building– your eyes darting far across the alley, scanning for any…. Any means of escape. Your breath uneven, throat dry– nobody would even hear you scream here. 

His face comes into view now, a pale imitation of your lover– your hands slightly tremble as it grasps the wall beside. You look him in the eye, feeling your heart drop with the realisation that things were gone too far now.

It’s too late….. Is it my fault?

“Love….” Suguru started speaking in his usual honeyed voice, “Love…. I have to do this. No exceptions.”

Was he as gentle to the others as well? His parents? The villagers? Or was this special weapon crafted just for you? 

“That’s what you keep saying to yourself. But you know– you know that's not true.” Your voice was high pitched, stark against the deathly silence of the night. “But you’re one of them darling, a–” his face scrunched slightly, as if disgusted or pained that he had to remind you of this crucial detail, “a monkey.”

You breathe in slowly, eyes set on the pale visage of the man you loved– the moonlight shining off his raven black hair– and for a moment you felt like you were starving for salvation and he was something holy. 

“So this is what conditions your love? And ideology? A stupid one too, in fact?” 

Maybe you weren’t quite the wordsmith, now that you're at the brink of death. Suguru’s brows knit into a soft frown, for a moment you think– This is it, this is how I go.

But he stands back, his lips tremble slightly for a quick moment. “I did– I do love you. Don’t you… don’t you want a better world? I thought you would understand– don’t you want me to be happy?” “A better world that I don’t live to see? How’s that fair?” He frowned even more, his eyes dimming. “I’m not allowed the luxury of love when the world is at stake.”

“So you’re the hero?”

“Precisely.”

“But heroes lose everything…. Suguru.”

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing further at your words. There was the slightest hint of emotion on his face to be replaced immediately by resoluteness.

A familiar acrid smell suddenly invaded your senses, the temperature dropped as goosebumps adorned your skin. You couldn’t see it– but you knew he had summoned a curse. What a pity… you weren’t even privileged enough to see what’ll end you. 

Your time was running short, adrenaline pumping through your veins as your mind screamed at you to run– run anywhere, rationality overtaken by fear but your feet still rooted to the spot. You look at him again, his familiar presence shrouded by the peculiar clothing he donned as a mark of his new beliefs. And even then you couldn’t help but think– he looks almost divine. 

“If I have to….” his voice drawled, “I’ll be the worst person– to get rid of your kind. For the greater good.” 

That was the final nail on the coffin within which lay your last hope of convincing him otherwise. He slipped away like sand between your fingers– your desperate grasping was meaningless. 

But I still want to hold on. 

Suguru noticed your slipping form, how you seem to become smaller as the weight of your reality grew heavier on you. Your knees almost gave way. 

“I’m doing this because there’s something greater than just us. A purpose. Don’t you see the grand scheme of things? Wouldn’t you want things to be actually righ–”

“Stop lying!”

You weren’t fully in control now, your rage was bursting at the seams– ready to drown your lover in a torrential downpour of your hurt and betrayal. You were angry, you were so so angry. 

You were also so in love. 

A sob broke out, you desperately wiped away your tears. You don’t hear Suguru say anything–  or maybe he did but the ringing of your ears drowned out almost everything from your perceptions. 

A minute goes by, you don’t say anything more…. What’s the point? Your sobs get more controlled as you press yourself further against the moss covered wall. You hear Suguru tutting. “I tried to be patient with you. I thought you deserved it.”

You weren’t paying attention to his words anymore. Your heart beat was slowing down…. Or was it faster than ever? Your breath steadied….. Or were you just too afraid to breathe anymore? It almost felt like you were high, a dazed look crossed your eyes. 

Suguru scowled. Were you finally accepting your fate?

Slouching, your voice spoke to him again– faint. Defeated.

“Tell me something…..some-something Suguru. Do we… always end up like this? In every timeline?” 

The cult leader’s eyes widen at your sudden question, feeling a sharp unexplainable pain jolt his being. He gulped. 

His purpose… he had to remember his purpose. 

“Y/N-- stop this.”

Oh how he hated the way that question made him feel.

“N-no tell me…. Do we always- always end like this? Doomed to belong but never find each other? 49%.... 51%-- we never meet halfway? Or-or Like Orpheus and Eurydice…. No– no…. I’m Icarus. I’m Icarus and I’ll love you even in my demise–”

“Y/N!” 

Suguru’s voice held a newfound irritation– your words… your words were annoying, your words were like nails against a blackboard, your voice was too whiny, too desperate, you spoke like you could sway him, you were sickening, your very being was sickening and you were a plight on this world just like the other monkeys, you you you–

“I love you, Suguru.” 

A short pause.

“I love you.” 

“Just stop!”

He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about another timeline. He didn’t want to think about…. possibilities.

“Just– stop!” 

It seemed like his growing anger directly fueled his curse as you felt something suffocate you, crashing down onto you in waves and making you break out in cold sweat. You let out a small cry.

Suguru’s eyes flickered, he tried to recollect himself to not let you know of the tempest brewing inside, a constant chant of what ifs and what could have beens. But one question echoed within the walls of his conscience no matter how much he tried to stifle it– in another life, does he disappoint you again? Will you never be his again? You were perfect, only if you hadn't been a–

He looks at your cowering form, the pallor on your face, the sweat beading your forehead, your hair unkempt and your eyes bloodshot and tired. He sees you, he sees you be so miserable. He raised his hand. 

“Monkey, I’ve given you enough of my tolerance. You speak too much.”

And you were smiling....... smiling up at him– just like the day when he had first seen you as a mere teenager, the faint curl of your lips like a punchline to a grand cosmic joke. 

And then you closed your eyes. 

🦋🦋🦋

[garoujo]

what do u think sei would do if hr made u cry in an argument??

warnings: minor angst -> fluff, arguments, i couldn’t form an answer i just had to like dump out the scene that was in my head after reading this but idk if i like this :< sob!

nagi could be mean. he didn’t mean to be, he thought any sort of confrontation was a pain but he’s had a particularly long day and he can faintly hear the way you’ve been talking—nagging at him since he got home about how you need help.

don’t get him wrong, he hears what you’re saying and he wants nothing more than to help you — he knows he’s been lazy, letting you clean up after him like he’s some overgrown kid, you deserve more than that. but tonight, his long limbs feel heavier than usual and the mocking little game over screen on the same fucking level he’s been playing all day is on a loop on his phone.

why couldn’t we just cuddle nagi thinks before he sighs and rests his head back against the couch, it’s cold and unbothered and he can see the way it makes your body stiffen when his next irritated eye movement brings his gaze to you.

“i’m bored of this conversation, ‘ts such a pain. i wanna sleep.” that’s not what he wanted to say, he knows that but shit— he’s fucking exhausted and all he wants to do is wrap himself in you. but now you’re giving him a look from where you’re stood across from him and he feels something burn in his throat when he watches your first tear of the night streak down your cheeks.

“nagi, what the fuck is wrong with you?” you spit and nagi’s never moved with such an urgency than he does when he watches you turn on your heels. it’s quick, like an instinct of sorts when he pushes himself forward on the couch, gentle hands wrapping around your wrist to stop you from leaving as he mutters out a quiet little “don’t go.” easing you back until you’re letting yourself fall onto the seat next to him.

“you’re such a dick.” you mutter through swollen lips, sniffling with your sentence as he inches himself closer. but you still let push your hands from your face, the oversized sleeves of his sweater pulled over his hands as he dabs clumsily at your cheeks.

“even when you’re crying you’re still my pretty thing.” nagi drawls under his breath and fuck— it’s so true, mumbling out little apologies as his hands chase the tears that trail down your features. he really is a dick.

“‘m sorry, didn’t mean it. cmeer.” but you still let him move you so easily when he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping tight around your waist as he lets you rest your face in the crook of his neck — smearing your tears along his skin before he’s turning his head to meet you.

“you wanna talk, angel? ‘m listening, ‘ts not a pain. promise.” it’s smooth, soft the tone his voice takes before he’s kissing you once on the temple as an i’m sorry, arms squeezing around your figure before one of his hands trace along the length of your spine. then he presses you closer before he’s kissing you again, twice as an i love you.

“or we can jus’ cuddle. you comfy?”

© 2023 GAROUJO. do not copy any of my layouts / writing + translate / repost onto any other sites.

[urdepressedslut]

I don't know if you usually take requests, but could you please write a drabble about Bucky taking care of the reader during her period? Period cramps are killing me and I just want some cuddles 🥺

aw i love this 🥹 i’m sorry your cramps have been bad, i’m sending you all the love and hugs your way💗 i hope this bucky fluff makes you feel better 🥰

Cuddles

♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky helps comfort you when you are having bad period cramps.

♡ Warnings: SUPER FLUFFY, light angst, period cramps, blood (duhhh), light self hate

main masterlist

* i know this is mickey, but let’s pretend it’s post tfatws!bucky *

You had showered after a long day, doing your usual routine— taking your time to really treat yourself after a tough week.

Immediately after sinking into bed, the sheets feeling so good against your freshly shaven legs— it took no time at all for you to slip into a much needed slumber. You didn’t know you could sleep so soundly, so well. Most nights consisted of rolling and waking up occasionally in sweats. Tonight was the first, as you slept through the entire night, waking only the next morning.

You were excited to start off your Saturday after a good nights rest, except when you went to get up— you noticed you were still exhausted. It was then you could feel your back ache, all your limbs heavier than usual. You furrowed your brows in confusion, thinking perhaps you had gotten too much sleep. But as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, you suddenly felt something wet in between your thighs.

Glancing down, ripping the cover off— everything dawned on you at the sight of red smearing the inside of your thighs, your underwear ruined.

Fucking periods.

You knew getting that good of sleep was too good to be true. You could feel the tears working their way up, your nose burning with frustration. You had just cleaned and changed all your sheets, taken a shower. Now everything, including you were dirty again— like you had never done any of the cleaning to begin with.

You knew it was just your emotions running wild, so you willed your tears to stay away. Sucking in a deep breath, you walked to the bathroom sluggishly. You made it your mission to grab a pill before the cramps started— you had learned your lesson. Although you were starting your period, you were not going to let this ruin your weekend. You were going to have a nice relaxing weekend. Not letting the beauties of being a woman ruin your day.

If only you had kept that attitude up for the entire day. The cramps had come as you expected, but this time the pill did nothing to relieve the pain. The heating pad worked only for a few minutes before the pain came crashing in waves, your body attempting to curl in on itself from the discomfort.

You swore a ghost was digging a knife in your uterus, and right now— you’d appreciate if the ghost just ripped out your uterus completely.

You had holed yourself up in your room, only making it downstairs for breakfast before you were running back to your bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach back out. This was definitely one of the worst periods you’d had in awhile, and you just wanted to slip into a coma until it was over.

Knocking sounded from your door, and you rolled over still clutching your stomach. You looked a mess, you felt like a disaster. Periods always made you feel gross.

“Yeah?” You asked out loud, and you couldn’t hide the discomfort from your tone.

“(Y/n)? You okay?” Bucky asked through the door.

Your eyes widened at his voice, wondering what he was doing here.

You and Bucky had been dating for awhile now, and things had been great. You still managed to get flustered by practically anything he did— and he loved every second of your flustered state. There was one thing that was brought up though— and that was periods.

“Uh— yeah I’m fine! Just tired!” You shouted, nervous that he could sense your lie. He definitely could.

It’s not that you thought he’d judge you for being a woman and having a period. But you were shy to show him that vulnerable side of you. Both you and him had shown the soft sides of each other— clinging to each other when you needed each others comfort. But there was something extra vulnerable about this— and you couldn’t ignore the embarrassment you felt when you even thought of it. You didn’t want him to find you gross, or annoying as you whined.

Okay… I guess you were a little nervous that he’d judge you.

“Doll what’s going on? Can I come in?” He asked, his voice growing more concerned.

You pulled the cover over your legs, giving the room one last once over— it didn’t look terrible. You just wished you could have a minute or two to tidy up. You knew Bucky very well though, and he’d break the door down if you waited one more second.

“Of course, come in!” You announced finally, taking a deep breath, hoping a cramp didn’t hit you while he visited.

The door opened and Bucky peeled his head in first, after making eye contact with you— he sent a warm smile before heading all the way in, shitting the door behind him. He quickly made his way to the bed where he plopped down, looking over you concerned.

“Baby what’s going on? I feel like I haven’t seen you much today. You sure you’re just tired? You aren’t getting sick are you?” He rambled on, and your heart swelled at his concern.

“Buck— I’m fine really. Just didn’t sleep too good last night.” You completely lied, last night was the best sleep you had ever had. Too bad it leaked into today though.

He furrowed his brows and looked at you like he was about to figure you out— see right through you and pick out the lies. You wouldn’t be surprised if the serum gave him those abilities.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He asked softly, scooting closer so he could slip his hand underneath the covers to land on your bare thigh.

It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but you feared you’d get blood on him. You knew that was a silly thought— but you were paranoid.

He noticed you tense up from his touch and immediately he removed his hand, his face growing more concerned.

“Baby, what is it?” He pried, trying to look you over again— needing to know what the cause of your discomfort was.

You sighed and gave in, shoulders sagging in defeat. You didn’t want him to worry, and seeing his frantic eyes search you for a wound— you realized you were making this bigger than it needed to be. You just couldn’t ignore the embarrassment you felt.

“It’s just uh… I’m… I’m on my period Buck.” You mumbled, lowering your eyes to the bed.

His concerned expression melted away, his heart falling back into a regular rhythm. He knew he was prehistoric— but he knew what a period was. He just didn’t know why you wanted to hide it from him.

“Oh.” He finally said, “Doll— you can tell me things like that.”

“I know Buck but… it’s embarrassing and gross. I can usually deal with it and nobody ever notices— you know because it’s a normal thing.” You told him, playing with the edge of the comforter. “This one has just been pretty bad and… I just— I don’t know.”

You trailed off, avoiding his gaze. Bucky reached his hand over and tucked some stray hairs behind your ear. Tracing his fingers down your jaw to raise your chin up— that way he could look into your eyes.

“You’re not gross, okay? I’m sorry you’re in pain baby— I wish I could take it all away. It’s not fair you have to deal with this all the time.” He told you gently, and you leaned into his touch.

“It’s not usually this bad but… I don’t know, I guess it’s just a bad one this time around.” You assumed.

Before you could say anything else, you doubled over as the pain came back— stabbing into your uterus. You clutched your lower abdomen— hoping it would help relieve the pain. Bucky’s eyes widened at your whine.

“What can I do to help?” He rushed out, hands hovering over you.

If it were any other time, you’d find his protective, mama bear mode adorable. But for now— you were too busy being in pain.

“Just stay with me please? I don’t wanna lay here alone.” You admitted, your words coming out in whimpers.

Bucky wasted no time in kicking his shoes off, shimming his jacket off before he crawled back into the bed, sneaking under the covers. He leaned back against the headboard, pulling you on top of him.

“Don’t even have to ask doll, I’m staying right here. You comfortable?” He asked.

You reached down and raised your shirt just above your belly button, before you lifted his shirt the same. He furrowed his brows, wondering what you were doing. You laid down completely again, letting your skin smush against his, and because he was a super soldier and was always hot— his warm stomach felt amazing against your lower abdomen. Like a personal heating pad.

“Ahh… that feels good. You’re so warm.” You sighed, ticking your face into the crook of his neck.

He chuckled and smiled into your hair, wrapping his arms protectively around you.

“I love you baby.” He whispered to you, already feeling your breathing even out— falling asleep on him.

Your uterus calmed for now, the warm sensation soothing your pain. You could only wait until the next wave of pain came— but you knew you’d be okay with Bucky holding you.

“Love you too Buck.” You mumbled sleepily against his neck, your breath warming his skin.

He hated that you were in pain, wishing that he could take it all away— but he’d give you as many Bucky cuddles as you needed until you were sick of him.

Truthfully, you’d never get sick of Bucky cuddles.

A/N: short but sweet 🥰

[ss-skyearn]

Took Too Much

❝They say your love lasts forever if you see the first snow together.❞

PAIRING : Hwang Hyunjin x female!reader

WORD COUNT : 4.5k.

GENRE : Angst, Smut, Fluff.

WARNINGS/CONTENT : explicit sexual content, substance abuse, longing, mutual pining, vulnerability, they're in love and just want each other, angst with a happy ending.

SMUT WARNINGS : grinding, dry humping, foreplay, petnames, launderie kink, desperation, WORSHIPPING (quite literally), unprotected intercourse (don't try at home).

A/N : This piece is a little heavier than what I usually write but am particularly fond of it; feedback much appreciated. As usual, enjoy, lovelies. ♡

But it's a silhouette you'd recognize anywhere.

Those legs that you were trapped between during stolen moments of vulnerability.

Those large palms that held you down while you shook from the white hot pleasure the same hands brought you.

That soft blonde mop of hair that tickled your inner thighs when the same head was buried in your heat, almost every chilly night like today. And every warm one too.

It's funny.

How a single 'ding' can mean so much, can seize your heart, can threaten to bring out what you have been trying so hard to suppress.

It was a heat of the moment thing, done in good fun.

"It gives me a special privilege," he'd said.

"That makes no sense. You already occupy the largest unit in my heart," you'd breathed against his lips.

Moving back an inch, he'd whined, "It'll let you know it's me and that you have to abandon everything to give me attention. Pretty, please?"

You never could say no to his doe eyes, a fact he exploited on the daily.

So you'd given in, changing the ringtone for his messages and calls to one that is seperate from the rest of your contacts.

So really, it was a spur of the moment decision he'd proposed after having been interrupted mid make out session, him claiming a special place on yet another part of your being.

It's funny, honestly.

How the tone that once was the cause of butterflies going rampant in the pits of your belly, now has reason to cause grief of the same, if not more, measure.

You know who it is before you even chance a glance at your screen, but you look all the same.

Not knowing what you were expecting, the sorrow burning a deeper shade of red is felt and you reckon that it's the price to pay for reaching out to something you know would elicit a reaction such as this.

Hyun<3

You hadn't deleted his contact, the reason you're unsure of to this day. Perhaps a reminder that he did in fact once exist in your life, had a grounding presence, a place reserved all for himself in the mainland of your heart, and not someone entirely dreamt up.

It surely felt like it at times.

The silence from his end hurt you, broke you, shattered you, despite having been at your request. Days seemingly never ending, nights even moreso, your house empty, bed cold. All of it ate away at you a little at a time, leaving behind a silhouette tainted with holes, torn and run down at the edges.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't imagine, didn't long, didn't yearn for this very moment. The moment his side of the silence ceases, the moment he, despite your asks, reaches out.

So why does your heart feel about fit to burst at the seams? Why do you so badly want to run away? Why do you feel the air suddenly burning its way into your lungs?

"Hello?" your voice is but a whisper, foreign to anyone who's known you.

"Baby?"

Eyes closing shut, you let a long drawn sigh escape your nostrils. Being all too consumed in the eagerness of the manifestation of the moment you'd been wanting, you didn't stop to consider what his voice was capable of inflicting, underestimating your own longing for everything that's him.

"Baby, you there?"

"Why are you calling me?"

A rustling sound follows, as he lets out his own well deserved breath of air.

It's a sense of relief, if anything. Knowing that you're not the only one tormented.

A sick, sadistic kind of relief, sure. But relief all the same. Labels stopped meaning much to you a while ago.

"Missed your voice," he mumbles, tone having an unusual tilt to it.

You don't respond. Or rather, you can't. For if you will yourself to speak in this moment, a choked sob is about all that'll make its way out.

"Missed you," the tilt deepens and you catch yourself mere moments before voicing out your concerns. Not having spoken to him since the pair of you parted ways, it's going to take time adjusting to the fact that he's no longer accountable to your questions, your worries. And you're no longer expected to care for him.

You are no longer wanted.

"Why are you calling?" you echo, the fact that your voice is growing quieter by the second not lost on you. If anything, it's the same fact that withholds you from saying more.

"It's the first snow today."

You know what he's thinking. It'd be a lie to say you haven't been thinking the same all day.

You stay quiet, waiting for the blow.

When did you turn into such a masochist? You know the next thing coming out of his mouth is going to tear apart your tattered heart that you've been fixing up the past year since he left you.

"We met on the day of the first snow."

Alas, bandaids don't fix bullet holes.

They're ripped apart, shredded to nothing. Tattered and frayed, used for all their worth. Leaving behind the pieces of your heart, desperately clinging onto each other, trying and failing to stay in league.

"They say your love lasts forever if you see the first snow together."

A dry chuckle follows, filling the air with despair, a feeling contrary to the act in of itself.

"That's all fucking bullshit, isn't it?" the tilt to his voice wavers, a little sniffle enough to withdraw one from you too.

"Look where it got us," the silky voice breaks, the same one you adored.

The voice that once called you 'love', whispered confessions into your hair, your ears, your core. The voice that took on a hoarse tone when you woke up in his arms on late mornings, the one that promised to be with you always.

Empty confessions. Empty promises.

"Why are you calling?" seems like this is the only thing that's making its way out of your throat tonight. The only thing that can make its way out.

He hums, then chuckles again. The same hollow laugh, detached, impassive, phlegmatic.

"You always were stubborn, weren't you?"

"Hyunjin," your voice is stern, indicative of a warning.

But he finds no such emotion behind it.

"Keep going."

"Wh—"

"Keep saying my name. Please."

It's only going to take so much for the choked sob that you've been holding at the back of your throat to be let out. And it's taking every fibre, every alight neuron within you to keep it in.

"Why?" a meek whisper. Your voice wavering.

"Because I love it. Love you," a quiet sob. His tone trembling. "Still," A single word. Sealing in an entire universe worth of meaning.

Eyes falling shut again, you don't stop the trail of heat that burns your cheeks. For the first time in a year, you let yourself go. Let yourself feel.

Even if it's grief. Even if it's sorrow.

Your let yourself feel.

A huff of breath is heard through the receiver, followed by a shudder.

"You were always better than me with cold."

Your eyes snap open, back ramrod straight and despite knowing what you'll find, you hastily draw the curtains aside. And sure enough, the snowfall is steady, windy breeze rustling leaves off their petioles, streets emptier than they should be considering the early hours of night.

And for good reason.

"Hyun, are you out?"

"You still have me all figured out," he lets out, and you can almost see his breath condensing in front of his face, courtesy the coldest day of this year's winter.

"What are you doing out? Get in right now," the assertive tone isn't something you've used in a while. Maybe you just didn't have anyone to use it on anymore.

He chuckles again, seemingly the only reaction he's able to give you, the only reaction that doesn't involve speaking, lest the wobble to his tone give him away.

"Hyun, seriously. Get the fuck in."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Don't know where I am," the sigh that follows lets you know that he just closed his eyes. It's the one he let out every night when he laid behind you, his chest to your back, him buried deep in you. It's when he felt the most at peace, he used to say. Coming home and being with you, feeling you, inside out. Quite literally.

Though what he's finding peaceful about the biting cold is beyond you.

"What do you mean you don't know? Hyun, don't fuck with me right now."

The next chortle is almost a laugh, the irony of your statement not lost on you. You think you hear something eerily similar to "how I wish" through the microphone, but you choose to ignore it.

"Hyunjin. For the last time, where are you?" even as your tone indicates your growing impatience, your body works on autopilot. Before you know it, you're getting up and reaching for your car keys, all while throwing a fleece jacket over your shoulder.

"Is getting you mad the only way to make you say my name?"

He's not listening. Something you're not used to. Sure, not listening and communicating is what got you both where you are today, but it's something you've never been at the receiving end of. It's the complaint he always had. And the complaint you always brushed off.

You suddenly remember another spur of the moment thing you did back in the day.

You pull out the app where you had your locations visible to each other, knowing of the other's whereabouts at all times. Your friends had called it a red flag, that he was possessive, obsessive even, to suggest something of this sort.

Little did they know it was your idea.

You see him, his little bitmoji some ten kilometres away from your current location.

Even as you're making your way to the car, shoving the steady falling snow out of the way, you make a show of protesting, "Use goggle maps and drive home."

"Can't drive either."

"Why?"

Silence.

And it gives you reason to fret. Despite the unnerving tilt, he's been responsive and dare you say vulnerable all throughout, the shake to his voice not holding him back from letting his feelings known.

So the first time he's silent is enough to make you break into a cold sweat.

"Hyun, why can't you drive?"

You hear him drag a hand down his face, some rustling of clothes following shortly after.

Another deep exhale, another beat of silence.

"Hyunjin," you settle on it as the last measure, knowing it's the only way he'll answer, the weakness he has for you saying his name made plenty clear today.

"I'm sorry," the whisper is barely there, almost lost in the sounds of your engine revving.

But he's the only one you've ever had ears for.

So you hear him. You hear him loud and clear.

"Why?" while he may not be egoistic, apologising isn't something either of you are good at. It's always been that way. A constant push and pull, a tug of war, a battle of wills, seeing you caves in first, who loses first. Hardly a healthy partnership, but what you had with him made it all worth it. More than worth it. He's the closest thing to a soulmate you'll ever have. If they do in fact exist, he's your other half.

He once was. He always will be.

"I- I just.. I'm sorry, baby."

Ice cold panic grips your heart, the external cold fading by comparison. He's apologized twice in a row now, and while your past self would call it improvement, in this moment, dread is the only sentiment you feel.

You stay silent, stepping on the race, praying he doesn't pick up on the sound of your engine accelerating.

A long moment of daunting silence later, he says something you don't understand, or rather refuse to understand.

"I took too much."

Its beyond refusal, a feeling akin to denial.

You deny to process what he just said, what he just implied, what he just meant.

"Stay right where you are," so, much like everything else, you choose to ignore it.

He seems taken aback for all of three seconds before his tone softens, "You coming to get me?"

You choose to ignore this too, convincing yourself that this is just mindless rambling to him.

His words suddenly hold no weight, his confessions empty.

Like always.

You glance at the GPS mounted to the dash.

One kilometre away.

"Do you remember when I kissed you?"

"You've kissed me more times than I can count."

Even as your heart is splitting in two, even after the recent realisation, you somehow find yourself reponding.

It's honestly all you've been wanting since he walked out of the bedroom, out of the apartment, out of your life that late September night.

"That day. The day of the first snow. The day we met."

You don't respond.

He takes it as a sign to continue.

"I knew it then. I know you knew it too."

Eight hundred metres.

"That you were for me. And I you."

Silence from your end again.

"How did we end up here?"

You know how. He knows how.

Five hundred metres.

Suddenly, a loud beep resounds, the call abruptly ending. That sends you into a chill panic, grip on the gear tightening. You pull over, and try tracing his location again. To no avail.

The location is gone. The ringtone goes straight to voicemail. Messages not delivering.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to remind yourself between deep breaths that he's capable of taking care of himself.

But then comes a gush of memories. Of a time when he walked straight into a pole while facetiming you once. You'd laughed then and called him a manchild.

The memory, albeit fond, doesn't help ease your worries, only aggravating the uneasy churn of your stomach.

Exhaling loudly, you talk yourself down your own anxiety first, realising that this is the first step if you want to have any chance at getting to him.

This is the general location, you remember. Once again, you kick start your car, the frantic rumble of the engine echoing down the empty roads, signifying the urgency of the affair.

It takes another twenty minutes and a slow drive down the snowy streets for you to spot a silhouette in the distance.

The person is slumped down against a rusty pole, back pressed to it, long legs propped up with feet flat on the snow covered pavement, head resting on the bend of their elbow thrown over upward knees. With their head buried in the crook of their arm, their face isn't visible, the thick smog hovering around them adding to the haze.

But it's a silhouette you'd recognize anywhere.

Those legs that you were trapped between during stolen moments of vulnerability.

Those large palms that held you down while you shook from the white hot pleasure the same hands brought you.

That soft blonde mop of hair that tickled your inner thighs when the same head was buried in your heat, almost every chilly night like today. And every warm one too.

You don't know when you got off your car, for now you find yourself looking down at the same silky golden locks.

Your boots sink into the snow, the ice underneath them melting.

He gives no indication of knowing of your arrival, and you wonder if he's managed to somehow fall asleep here.

Tiny snowflakes having made themselves home on his hair, almost forming a halo, he looks angelic. You reach out, wanting to dust them off his head before your stop, hand hovering.

You're suddenly tentative, when you didn't hesitate to tug on these very locks whenever he was in you.

That simple knowledge brings forth the harsh reality.

He's here. Right in front of you. Yet so far away.

Hand still in air, you're entirely unprepared when his head suddenly shoots up, palm grabbing your wrist.

"Baby?" his voice is gravelly, eyes bleary.

Yet he's the most perfect piece of art you ever did see.

He's gorgeous, your mind says to you— as if the fact could've ever been hidden, been denied even in incoherence.

But it's when you look closely that it comes crashing down. The realisation.

His slim face is gaunt now, eyes red and hazy, bags prominent. He's gorgeous, sure, but not as stunning as he once was.

You're suddenly knocked off balance, back pressing into the pole he was just resting on, the surface hot from his warmth.

It takes far too long for you to perceive what it is that's actually happening. His fingers dig into your hips, large palms splayed over your back, winding to the front, thumbs meeting. Warm breath tickles your neck, forcing out a gasp of your own.

"You're here," his voice is hushed, reverent even, afraid that the illusion of you would disappear any moment.

You nudge his shoulder, trying to shake him off, albeit unwillingly.

He removes himself from where he's nestled, looks you in the eye before closing them, forehead resting against yours.

From what you were able to make from that brief glimpse into his orbs, they're bloodshot, not the kind that result from lack of sleep nor the ones that speak of tiredness.

No, they are indicative of him being far away from the realm of normal thinking. It's the excuse you allow yourself to live, the reason you don't push him off you.

He's not thinking.

His tongue darts out, gliding over the plump of his lower lip, the texture of which you know by heart. Parting open, quick breaths leave him, and the proximity is to blame for the fact that it goes right into your mouth.

He puffs rapidly as if suddenly breathless, lips quivering, seemingly trying to find something to say, or perhaps trying to not say what his heart wants to.

"Tell me you're real this time."

This time?

"Hyun—"

"Just- just tell me you're really here," his eyes open slowly, drowsily, forehead still pressed into yours, hands sliding from your hip up your sides, caressing, feeling, landing on your nape.

Once again they circle you, this time overlapping over the back of your neck as he pulls you closer still, "That I'm not making you up again."

"What happened to you?" looking into his eyes again, you know it's not him. He's gone. For now.

So it's more of a question to yourself than to him.

What happened to him? What happened to your artist, your lover, your Hyunjin?

And just as you surmised, your question fell on deaf ears for he is a man on a mission.

"Baby, you're here right? With me? You came to me?"

Moving to close your nimble hands over his big ones, you relish in their warmth for a moment, the reason of said unnatural heat another thing you choose to ignore for now.

You can wallow in guilt by yourself later. All you want.

But now that you've allowed yourself this moment of weakness with him, you plan to bank on it.

"Yes, Hyun, it's me. I'm here."

Encircling your arms around broad shoulders, you pull him to you, into you. His own hands slip to your hips, squeezing you right back.

"I keep seeing you everywhere, everyday. Wherever I am. Whenever I'm awake."

You think you hear a sob, but don't let it show, for you're not immune to the sorrow either.

Maybe the apathetic front was just that, after all. A front. One you had to put up, one you had to believe in— fool yourself into believing in, if only for self preservation.

"You're not making me up this time."

He doesn't reply with words, doesn't need to. The way his hold on you tightens, lips brushing the side of your neck speaks volumes.

Hot, wet kissed trail up the column of your throat, their heat melting off any snow falling on you. Surroundings be damned, you throw your head back, giving him the silent consent.

That seems to be invitation enough for him, as his kisses turn to sucking, sucking turns to biting. He's marking you, something he enjoyed partaking in quite a lot back in the day, and you already know the colour of each of the marks that he's leaving, only through the pressure and the ratio of tongue-teeth action he spares your skin.

You permit it, indulging him, indulging yourself.

But it's when he noses his way to your jaw and finally lifts up to look into your eyes that you're reminded of reality, of his incapacitated state.

You jolt back, practically shoving him off.

He's understandably puzzled, brows creasing, panting.

"Wh— did I do something wrong? I remember you liked when I did this? You don't anymore?"

"No. It's not that. I do like it. Maybe even more than before."

The crease to his forehead eases out as he takes a single step forward, to which you take one of your own. In the opposite direction.

He stops dead in his tracks, the bend to his brows deeper than before.

"Baby, why are you going away from me?"

You try not to look into his eyes, the branching redness visibly growing new stems by the second.

"Don't go away from me."

Unlike what some might assume, you're not put off, not repulsed by gleam to his eyes, nor by their sanguinence. In not too proud of a moment, you'd say you're even used to it.

It's what you see every time you look into the mirror. What you hate, what you need.

A vicious cycle. A cursed affair.

The glint in your eye reflects his, ignites his, the two light beams meeting to string together.

The profane symphony. The impious consonance.

You did try. Tried not to let it take over you, it's been more than half a day since you last indulged in a sniff, after all. But Hyunjin is nothing if not a vice to your repressive instincts.

Your kryptonite. Your aphrodisiac.

One look at his bloodhsot eyes and you know this is it. He is the one. Who else could be the other half to your broken, tattered soul? Who else could be the mirror image of your own intoxicated orbs? Who else could slot into your cracks?

He steps forward, and this time you don't have it in you to recoil. Closing your lids, you let him snake his arms around your waist, pull you impossibly close. His face finds the comfort of your neck again, hot breathe laced with desperation marking the seeping away of the last of your restraint, taking with it any hope you had to do this right. For once.

"Don't go."

You've known him long enough to realise he's pulling apart your guard, piece by excruciating piece. You've known yourself long enough to realise you're caving, embracing the pain that is him.

"Let's get you home."

You don't see anything, too consumed in the fire that is him, his touch.

You're kissing him like you need him to breath. He's kissing you like he needs you to survive.

His hands pull down the zipper to your shirt, legs guiding you back onto the bed proper, step by step.

You land on your back with a soft thud, shirt thrown off somewhere. His own following suit soon after.

His eyes land onto the black lace adorning your chest, shining and all too inviting. The same lace he got you for your two year anniversary, the same lace he had you in that day, the same lace he had you in on countless days after that.

He places one knee between your legs, the duvet dipping, and nuzzles his face in your cleavage, taking in a long inhale.

Nosing about, he whispers, "Are you doing this on purpose?"

You know what he means. He never failed to mention what this set did to him, to his brain, his length. And you'd made it a point to use it against him every chance you got.

Today however, was not that chance, but you're grateful for the fateful coincidence.

He gets up only to slowly peel off your leggings and partially hovers over you, knee between your legs again, this time much closer to the warmth of your core.

His eyes trail down your figure, taking in all the curves, the crevices. Remembering all that once was his, learning all that he wasn't there to witness during your time apart.

His hands gently move up and down your sides, caressing and massaging, eyes going back and forth between the two lace pieces.

They're the same pair, but your body has changed quite a bit since he last had you in it.

You've somehow managed to surpass your own beauty and it's nothing if not a detriment to his sanity.

And his stamina. He's suddenly not too proud of it, if the exponential build up of his arousal is any indication.

The heavy caresses have now pushed you down the bed, your heat coming in contact with the rough patch of denim on his knee. You gasp at the contact, your core tender from how drenched you are from all his staring and fondling.

He picks up on it and uses his hold on your hips to begin grinding you on his knee. You groan, your thin silky lace and his thick rough denim adding to your arousal. Never would you have imagined that simple gliding, over the confines of clothes no less, could feel this good.

This is what being with Hyunjin is always like. Trying, experimenting, tapping into uncharted territory, with the knowledge of safely, of assurance, of security.

Sleeping with him, you got to know of your own body, what made it tick, your likes, your turn ons.

Being with him, you got to know of yourself, what made you you, your talents, your strengths.

Existing with him, simply made you whole.

So if this is all you get, you'd be content.

Moans and whimpers echo in the room that's now empty without his studio table nestled in the corner, without his clothes piled up in random heaps, without music equipment thrown astrew on the wooden floor.

Empty. Empty. Empty. Without him.

"Goddess."

A loud moan rips from your throat, the sound unholy. Your eyes snap open, in shock of your own reaction.

"You like that?"

Staring up at him with wide eyes, you're not sure what to say. It's yet another uncharted territory, yet another epiphany. And you're grateful it's with him.

Leaning forward he captures your lips between his soft ones, tongued clashing, spit mixing, swaying his head side to side, smearing your collective essence all over your cheeks and jaws.

"Like it, my goddess?"

Another equally loud moan echoes, even as his grinding has ceased. Your response is unprompted, no physical stimulation in sight.

While it might have been embarrassing, you're anything but.

Simply because it's him.

And you're not yourself. And he's not himself.

But you're together. All else rendered trivial.

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[tavyliasin]

Villain-Fucker Angst Hours

Good timezone, darlings~ Are you ready to get all up in your feelings? No? Me neither, loves, but here we are regardless so the words are going to flow as they usually do... This is focused on Raphael from Baldur's Gate 3 and his fandom, but the latter section can easily apply to any villain fandom.

Self-Analysis of Devil-Fuckery, Or Why Do I Adore Raphael When He Is Very Obviously Evil: A Short Essay by TavyliaSin (Who Still Cannot Name Anything With Less Than A Full Paragraph) ((NSFW)) (((Game Spoilers)))

The following may discuss heavier topics, but without specifics, so whilst it should be safe for most to read without triggering any difficult memories please be aware of Raphael's entire vibes, the content and context of his story, and I'd also like to mention that this isn't a "woe be us for we are terrible people" piece, it's actually more about:

"There is an inherent kindness and warmth to much of the Raphael fandom, and I think there could be some common threads behind that, pulling us all in closer in a comforting blanket that we wrap around each other to keep out the cold of the world."

So, what in the nine hells am I on about? Well. Raphael-fandom is a wild and wonderful place to be. The rest is in sections, so feel free to skip through to what you feel is relevant to your interests. I am so prone to waffle I should open a restaurant~

Who Are Fans Of Raphael? What Do They Want?

We are feral, unhinged, all sheets to the wind "I want that devil man, carnally, and there is no force in all the planes that could stop me". There's the vanilla to the extreme and every level in between, tops, bottoms, versatiles, Doms, subs, and switches - there are a whole lot of people who would love to get their hands on either (or both) of Raphael's forms, for a simple smooch or something far more spicy~ [edited in] To add on to this, not all of us even desire him in a sexual way, for many it is romantic, soft, or even just the rather pleasant thought of spending an evening with drinks by the hellfire because he would be fascinating company. Aces, Aros, and AroAces may all find themselves well within the devilish corners of fandom too~ which is a whole other essay~ [end edit] So, I see you. I'm one of you. Extremely loud and utterly hingeless in my fan appreciation for Raphael. He's one of my favourites to write about, I seek art of him, and the same goes for his mirrored other half, Haarlep, who I arguably love more despite there being far less content of them in the game.

And the Fandom? The Vibe?

From my experience in the Raphael Fandom areas, we have a very deep and abiding understanding of consent, respect, and treating each other with an absolute and uncompromising kindness. We've had talks about keeping each other safe in fandom, exchanged details of people we have encountered who need to be avoided, even shared details between moderators of different fandom servers to pre-ban people proven to be creeps and/or art thieves. We've also discussed consent, including the issues with it in the game, and how areas of the story can only really be considered dubious at best and could easily be triggering for people. And these discussions have been open, honest, fair, and with the acknowledgement that most of us love these scenes anyway. So there's a sense of care that runs through everything, behind the horny-posting and fan content, behind the endless thirsting after our favourite fictional characters. We have a depth of kindness that warms my sinners soul every time I see it.

What Does This Have To Do With Self-Reflection, Raphael, or Villainy In General?

Well let's look at Raphael. He's a villain, obviously. He's manipulative, devious, and inherently evil by his very nature. He keeps Hope chained in his basement, constantly subjected to endless torture. There's also mention of how Gortash was sold into his service at a young age, clearly not an enjoyable experience given the other details and how things turn out (particularly as Raphael would need Gortash's own plans to fail entirely in order for him to succeed in his own and get that crown). And as fans, we accept that. We don't sit making excuses, or trying to say "well actually Gortash is a little shit and Hope probably deserve it", and we don't shy away from or conveniently ignore those darker sides of him with malicious intent to enable more evil to flourish. What I noticed, when I allowed the thoughts to continue, is that there is a theme here.

If Evil Can Be Loved Then So Can I

That's the core. Of course, darlings, I am not claiming to be a heinous monster. I certainly do not have a laundry list of crimes that would make the devil himself say "Uh, that's a bit much." But I sure as fuck treat myself like I do sometimes. You see, I think a lot of us have that tendency, to judge ourselves far more harshly than anyone else. Our patience, understanding, and forgiveness for others runs deeper than the Mariana Trench, but when it comes to our own flaws? One minor mistake and we think ourselves to be the worst beings ever to disgrace the earth. Thus, the villainy we see reflects how we are treating ourselves. So by loving and accepting all of those things that should be terrible, hated, we are actually learning that no matter how poorly we think of ourselves that we can be worthy of that same love and acceptance. We are extending the affection we are unable to show ourselves to someone we see the worst parts of ourselves amplified within. And that's why villains attract the people with the most kindness. The most forgiveness. Because it takes someone with a truly huge amount of empathy to find love for the embodiment of evil.

Or, IDK, maybe villains are just hot and we're too far down to care.

But wait, before you go!

THERE'S SOMETHING WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT.

All of this is about FICTION. We should never be accepting of the kinds of evil we see in the game irl. We do not owe anyone kindness if they do not show it to us.

What is hot in fiction is not always OK IRL.

Look after yourselves out there, remember that consent is key in all things, and please do try to learn to love yourselves, darlings, you are worthy of it and you should judge yourself by the same standard you judge others. If you are in doubt, if you are worried, if you feel afraid - reach out, talk to someone. There are many who will listen.

Treat yourself as you would treat a friend. You deserve that much.

Oh, and all Raphael fans who understand kindness are welcome around me, any hour of the day, I adore our little fandom circles and would gladly collect all of us together. I'm following a lot of you as soon as I find you, like hunting shiny pokemon~

See you in Avernus, my darling Little Mice, may we all find joy in the Cambion's Embrace~

[devils-dares]

Give Up The World

summary: coming back home battered and bruised with a baby on the way makes matt rethink his nighttime activities.

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

warnings: canon typical injuries and blood, little bit of angst, whole lotta fluff

word count: 1200+

A/N: i was literally in the middle of writing for a celebration prompt when i had a brainstorming sesh with @galaxysgal and this idea came to life as soon as my fingers touched my keyboard. i'm pretty sure this was almost done in what i imagine was the first day of writing.

reblogs and comments are welcomed!

-----

You can hear the stairs groan under his weight, one boot step heavier than the other- he was limping… a lot. You cringe as he groans and whines down the rest of the stairs, making his way to you. He can hear your gasp when he comes into view, blood dripping from the bottom of his mask as he sways on his feet.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth.

“What happened?” You ask, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Ambush, I- ah!” He groans, grabbing his side.

“Should’ve seen it coming.” The words ring in your ears as he limps over to the table and sits on the chair.

“I should- let me- the kit.” You eek out, and he can tell you’re freaked.

“Angel-”

“I’m okay, just stay there.” You scurry off to the bathroom and he sighs, hearing your elevated heart rate accompanied by the smaller one that started in your tummy just a few days ago. He strips himself of his helmet and his top, leaving a wide array of bruises, scars, and slices on display. His side, the cut he was holding earlier, gushes dark crimson blood, a reminder of how brutal this job is.

He hears your breath leave you once again as you observe him on the chair, until your adrenaline kicks back in and shakes you away from shock. The feet that carry you to your husband leaving louder footsteps than usual, the extra weight in your tummy being something you have yet to get used to. Your fingers trace his face softly, brushing over a bruise that paints his cheek green and yellow, and he leans into your warm palm.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” He nods and closes his eyes, readying himself for the stinging burn that comes along with rubbing alcohol. You press the rag to his cut skin and he inhales sharply through his teeth and grunts.

“I’m sorry, Matty. I’m trying my best to make it not hurt.”

“It’s okay, I know, you’re doing amazing.” The two of you fall silent after that, only the sound of Matt’s pained grunts permeating the suffocating quiet. Your heart rate rises every time Matt makes a noise, followed by a whisper of “I’m sorry,” or “I love you,” falling from your lips and his own heart breaks a little every time it slips out.

“I can’t…” He says, and it makes you pause.

“Matthew?”

“I quit, I retire, whatever you want to call it. I can’t be Daredevil anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

“I have the most important parts of my life in this room right now, and I’ll be damned if I get myself killed out there instead of taking care of the two of you.”

“A-are you sure? This is a big thing to just go cold turkey on.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

In all fairness, he did go cold turkey and he stuck with it. He put all his efforts into house shopping, and all his aggression into the punching bags at Fogwell’s. Oftentimes he’d pause by the closet under the stairs that concealed the trunk that held his suit. You could tell he had an itching, a longing, to go back to his ways. His thumbs would begin tracing the scars on his knuckles from years of serving his penance, hands balled into fists, he’d twitch towards the hiding spot until his ears fell on you. On your growing baby and the small heartbeat that lay within your tummy. He’d remind himself of what lay ahead, what he quit for, why he continues to stay away.

You could tell it’d weigh heavy on his mind, flashes of aggression would show through, and he tried his best to channel it to more productive things, but with disagreements you could see it bleed through. His nostrils flared, his eyes went wide, his voice would drop an octave and suddenly you’d realize how exactly he instilled so much fear into his enemies. He’d always apologize as soon as he did it, though, it still hurt to know that he could unleash just a glimpse of unbridled fury against you.

It weighed heavily on your marriage, there were days where he’d stay up all night, listening to the sirens and knowing that he couldn’t do anything about it, just to be angry and irritable all day. You swore you’d never leave him though, and it paid off. After months of sitting in that darkness all alone, he let you in. He told you of all his intrusive thoughts, how he felt about anything and everything, what made him happy and what made him tick and why he couldn’t be near you on certain nights. It made sense, the way he explained it, why he did the things he does. It must’ve been a coincidence, but the second he shed a tear, your child kicked for the first time.

You gasped and grabbed his hand, placing it towards the side of your belly. He looks quizzically until he feels it, and the tears come quicker when he realizes.

“Oh-” He chokes up on his words.

“This. This is what we do everything for. This is ours, Matt, don’t you realize? I will never leave you for acting the way you do, I get it. But we have bigger priorities now.” He nods and laughs as he feels another kick, harder this time.

“Looks like you’ll be dealing with a mini-me.” He laughs.

“Unfortunately.”

-----

“Mommy, why does daddy have lines over here?” She points to his chest while laying on him. The three of you were laying in bed in the early morning, light shining through the windows of your Astoria home. Your four year old daughter, bless her soul, was the most curious kid on the block. She could smell your’s and Matt’s bullshit from a mile away when you wanted to appease her, and kept pushing until she got a real answer, or at least a high effort answer.

“So bumpy,” she observes, running her hand over his scars, “what is it?”

“It’s something… daddy always had.” Matt answers, and she tuts.

“Wrong, mommy, your turn.” Matt laughs at that.

“Lawyer’s daughter,” you huff, Matt’s laugh now shaking the bed, “well, baby, before you were born, daddy was a really good guy. He used to go out and save the world, every night! Sometimes, though, he’d get a little hurt, and mommy would have to fix his booboos-”

“Did you kiss em like mine?” She asks.

“No, sweetheart, that’s only for you.”

“Mommy likes me more!” She squeals at Matt.

“Anyways, sometimes when they healed, they left little bumps, or scars. It just shows how much daddy loved his city, and how he gave it away to love you now.”

“Thank you, daddy.” She buries her head in his shoulder and he holds her tight.

“I’d give up anything for you, bug, but you gotta give mommy the credit. I was hard to be around.” She looks up at you and tugs you into their cuddle pile.

Soon enough, she falls asleep, her puffs of air hitting Matt’s cheek as she lay on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He mumbles sleepily.

“For what?”

“For staying with me, for giving her to me, for having faith in me when I was at my lowest.”

“I watched a building drop on you, I’m not letting you go over a few hissy fits.” He laughed at your attempt to lighten the mood.

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You yawn out, and Matt stays awake to listen to his girls’ heartbeats while they sleep peacefully.

[judeswhore]

can u write spencer angst about maybe a break up or going on a break because he’s never home? it’s okay if not i just really like ur writing and i’m in love with spencer!!

thank u!! i’m really glad u like my silly little ramblings, it means a lot <3

"hey, your suitcase is in the hallway? you didn't say you had a trip planned, are you going to see your mom?"

spencer sounded a little confused when he appeared in the kitchen, his fingers already working to tug his tie loose, the buttons on his dark cardigan already undone. he looked tired, dark circles evident beneath his eyes and a shadow of stubble starting to dust across his jaw and as much as your heart tugged you couldn't go to him, only set the keys you'd been gripping down on the counter top that separated you.

"i can't do this anymore."

"you can't- can't do what?" you swallowed through the rising lump in your throat and willed yourself to remember at least one of the things you'd planned to say. despite the evening hour the air was quiet, only making the usual soft ticking of the clock hanging on the wall sharper, each second passing pressing a heavier weight on your chest. spencer had come to a stop in the doorway, his hand lowering from his tie now hanging limp around his neck.

"this. us. i'm tired, spence." you shook your head, dropped your gaze from his to stare at a spot just over his shoulder, unable to say the next words while he was looking at you the way he was. "we need to break up."

"break up?" he echoed, his tone soft, higher in pitch than usual and again confused, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. "i don't understand." it was his turn to shake his head and you watched as he made his way closer, walking around the kitchen island and ignoring the keys you'd pushed his way.

"this isn't a relationship anymore, spencer. you're never here and when you are it's like i'm a second thought. you're either reading up on new things or going back over cases and by the time you remember i'm here you're already packing up to leave again."

"that's not-"

"i love you, so much but this isn't working anymore and it hurts." spencer reached out, his fingers brushing yours before tangling together, tugging you a little closer despite the look in your eyes and the shake of your head. his gaze cut into you, pressed even harder against your chest and it was almost as though you could feel the crack forming in your heart. "i can't be with someone who feels like a ghost."

"i don't.. you knew how my job worked, when we first started dating i told you it was time consuming, i told you i'd be away a lot and you said it was okay. you said we could handle it, we could make it work. i thought we were making it work."

"how can we make something work when it barely exists?"

"i-"

"when was the last time you kissed me? i mean really kissed me, spence. when was the last time we went on a date? or even spent the night in watching one of those ridiculous animal documentaries? i go to bed and you're gone, sometimes you don't even text or call, i wake up and you're still not here and i have to call jj to make sure i didn't lose you while you were halfway across the country." you drew in a breath past the lump of tears clogged at the back of your throat, gently untangled your fingers and took a step back. nausea was rolling over you in waves, spencer's eyes shining beneath the dimmed lights, soft and open, more attentive than you'd seen in months. "i knew what i was getting myself into, i thought i was okay with only having half of you but i'm not."

"i can take some time off, i have some days left over. we can-we can go away, wherever you want to go we'll go."

"spencer."

"i know i've been busier than usual these past few weeks, we've had so much going on and then hotch left and we had to figure things out. but i can call emily now and we can take a vacation."

"spencer, stop. it's more than just these past few weeks. i feel like you've been pushing me away from the start, letting me in just enough to make me happy but never enough that i was completely yours." he'd been reaching for you again, ready to cup your cheek in his hand but he stopped halfway there, his mouth twisting into a frown.

"that's not true. i love you."

"i know that but sometimes i feel like you don't love me enough. your job always comes first and that's okay, you save so many people, change so many lives and i'm so proud of you but i can't be in a relationship with someone who's never really here." you wrapped your arms around yourself, a protective gesture to stop yourself from reaching for spencer. he was watching you through lowered lashes, his brows drawn in tight, a downward curve to his mouth and the tears that were gathering in your eyes were mirrored in his. "being together like this isn't fair to either of us and maybe one day we can figure it out again but right now, it hurts more than it ever should."

"don't. i- please don't go."

"we need a break."

"i can be here more, we can fix this."

"that's not a promise you can keep, spence. i need time and space and i need you to give me that."

"but-"

"please." spencer's throat bobbed on a swallow, a tear slipping down his cheek that he swiped away the sleeve of his cardigan and you felt the sob bubbling in your chest.

"i can't lose you."

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 7

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

Author's Note: We are back to the Wolffe angst! (but did we ever really leave?) This part is really sad. I know I keep saying that, but this one actually made me tear up while writing it. I don't usually get emotional when writing emotional scenes, so yeah. Do with that what you will. As always, please enjoy 💚

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

"Cara," Wolffe says. "I need you to go with Comet and pack some things from your room, okay?"

Cara looks up at him with a puzzled expression. "Why?"

"Because we can't stay here without mommy," he explains.

"Oh," she frowns. "Where are we going?"

"The Jedi Temple," Wolffe says. "We'll be staying with Plo for a while."

"I don't want to go," she pouts.

Wolffe sighs. "I don't want to go either, but we don't have a choice. Please, help daddy and go with Comet to pack."

"No," Cara whines.

"Come on, ad'ika," Comet says. He gets up off of the couch and stretches his arms over his head. "I bet I can pack faster than you."

"Nuh uh," Cara says, then jumps off of Wolffe's lap and runs toward her bedroom.

"Well, that was easy," Comet chuckles. He looks down at Wolffe. "You okay?"

Wolffe sighs. "Do you want a real answer?"

Comet frowns. "I guess that was a dumb question."

"I'm fine," Wolffe says, but his facial expression betrays his words.

Comet decides to change the subject. "How many boxes can she bring?"

"One," Wolffe says. "The Jedi aren't big on things ."

"Understood," Comet nods, then walks off to follow Cara.

"Oh, Comet," Wolffe throws over his shoulder. "Make sure the di'kute in the kitchen clean up their mess."

Comet smirks. "10-4."

Wolffe remains seated on the floor and fidgets with the carpet pieces again. Fine. He doesn't even know what that word means anymore. He used to, back when life was simple and fine just meant he wasn't dead. Now, he's not sure what to feel, how to feel, or how to deal with whatever feelings he's having. Sure, he feels sad when his brothers die, but something about this death feels much different. It's heavier, denser, tighter, and suffocating in a way he can't fully explain.

Unwilling to dwell on his unchecked thoughts, Wolffe grabs whatever box he can find and heads to his bedroom. He scrolls through the mental list he made and collects all of the obvious items he wants to keep. Some things are on the bookshelf, like her favorite holo-novel. Some things are in the dresser, like her nightshirt and a lingerie set he bought her for their first anniversary. And some things are on the bedside table, like the holo-photo album and her half-used chapstick.

He opens the bedside table drawer to check if there's anything hiding in it he wants and his heart sinks. His gold wedding band sits alone in the drawer. He almost forgot about it. He can't wear it most of the time, but usually he'll put it on when he's home. He didn't even get a chance this time around. He picks up the band and admires it fondly, reading the inscription and the date. His wife saved every credit she had to buy those rings for them. He carefully places it in the box.

Wolffe rummages through the closet next, pulling little bits and pieces of his wife out and places the most important items into the box. He only gets one box, so he has to make every spot count. He shifts a stack of clothes to the side and a data-stick falls off the shelf. He bends over to pick it up and studies it for a moment. Wondering what's on it, he plugs it into the holo-projector and sits on the edge of the bed. An image pops up and his breath is stolen as the recording plays.

Hi darling, his wife says with a warm smile while sitting next to Cara at their kitchen table.

Wolffe gasps, then covers his mouth. He remembers when his wife sent him this recording on Cara's third birthday. He was away on a mission, and wasn't able to look at it for a couple of rotations, but it made him so happy to see them both. He'd been on that mission for months and missed them dearly. He completely forgot about it until now, and can't believe his wife kept it all this time. She looked so beautiful that day, and Cara was all dressed up for her special day, too.

Today is Cara's third birthday, she continues, then looks at Cara. Say hi to daddy.

Hi daddy! Cara yells with a big grin.

"Hi baby," Wolffe says. It might seem stupid to say hello to a recording but he doesn't care. 

It's time to sing happy birthday, his wife says. Ready, Cara? Nice and loud so daddy can hear.

Cara nods her head and they both start to sing. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Cara, happy birthday to you.

Wolffe's eyes turn misty and his body trembles as he tries to contain his emotions.

Now, blow out the candles and make a wish, she says.

Cara blows out the three lit candles and his wife claps.

What'd you wish for? she asks with a big smile.

Daddy come home! Cara yells towards the recorder.

Wolffe can't hold back the tears that roll down his face. He wishes he had more time with her. With both of them, together, as a family. It was too short. He didn't even get the chance to give his wife the life she deserved. She took care of everything while he was deployed, and he vowed to take care of everything when the war was over, but now… Every vow he made with her has turned to ash. Until death do us part was the promise, but now, death has claimed her.

Okay, Wolffe, his wife says. I know this needs to be short, so we're gonna say goodbye now.

"No," Wolffe's voice cracks. "Please, don't say goodbye."

Say goodbye to daddy, she says to Cara while waving towards the recorder.

Bye, daddy! Cara yells and waves.

"Please," Wolffe begs, his entire body shaking. "Cyare. Don't go."

Come home soon, she says, then blows a kiss. I love you, Wolffe.

The recording ends, but the last image stays. Wolffe stands up on shaky legs and approaches the projected image. He stretches out his hand to touch his wife's cheek, but his fingers pass through the pixels. He gasps, then tries again. This time to brush her hair with the palm of his hand, but it also passes through. It's an image. It's not real. She's not real. Why isn't she real? All he wants to do is touch her one more time and hug her one more time. To feel her warmth.

"I love you, too," Wolffe whispers through a shuddered breath.

Wolffe carefully pulls the data-stick out of the holo-projector and cradles it in his hands. Besides his daughter, this is his most prized possession. His wife's voice. He thought he'd never hear it again, and he doesn't know if it helped him feel better or made him feel worse. Regardless, he nestles the special memory into the box and surrounds it with his wife's other things to keep it safe from harm. If anything ever happens to that memory, Wolffe doesn't know what he will do. 

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Masterlist

AO3

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[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

My Word

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: When Javier undressed you, he was particular about it. But, you? You loved to dress Javier. You were particular about it.

Warnings: smutish (it's implied, blink and you'll miss it), angst, insecurities in a relationship, workplace relationship, implied that the reader has a higher position that Javier, swearing

A/N: I tried posting this maybe a month ago and I broke down crying because it wouldn't show in tags lol. This is definitely a little universe I'd like to write for more.

I don't own photos, or characters. Divider is from the talented @firefly-graphics.

Javi loved to undress you. 

And you loved letting him. 

He usually does it when he shows up at home three hours after the time he promised you he was going to that morning. Every single time he does it, at least three or four times per week, you would spend those three hours convincing yourself that now is the time to put your foot down, to state quite plainly that you won’t accept the way he treats you anymore. 

Like you’re disposable. 

But every single time, he comes home and looks at you, at the furrow in your brow and the way your eyes are bloodshot and the way your cuticles are bleeding from picking at them for too long out of worry, and all your will flies out the window. 

Because it might feel like he treats you as disposable, but when he looks at you in those few moments after his delayed arrival, you feel as if the sun’s been put in the sky for you. His eyelashes will flutter and then you feel as if the sun’s been taken down and replaced with the moon and the stars for you. 

Then, he’ll murmur your name, say he’s sorry and then drop a pet name. You’re always quick to notice that he never claims that it won’t happen again. You’re glad he doesn’t. It would be a statement of vulnerability from him if he said it and a blaring thorn of naivety from you if you believed him. 

The worst part is, is that you would. And you know he knows and it makes the desperate dash into his arms heavier and weighted than either of you want it to be. 

After he kisses you, he reaches for the buttons of the shirt he’d worn yesterday and takes it off you. You reach for his belt and he takes you to bed and says he’s sorry a thousand times over without ever having to say the words. 

He’ll take your knee in his hand and press it down into the bed. He’ll kiss away your tears and let his own fall on your face until he’s not sure whose are whose. It’s a positive feedback cycle. You see his and yours fall harder, making him cry and making you cry more. 

He’ll smooth his hand against the side of your head and then hide his face in the sheets when he’s close or when the sight of your watery eyes are too hard for him. 

When it’s over, he’ll keep the lights off and take you to the kitchen. There, you’ll either eat the dinner you made, cold, or make do with what you can find. 

Going out for food is never an option. You’re not sure if you can hide how you feel about him on your face and there are always eyes in the walls that are open and observing you and you’re not sure what kind of target it will put on your backs. 

After that, he’ll take you back to bed and say that he adores you, that he can’t live without you. And you grant yourself a moment to soak in the words and pretend that they’re the ones you want to hear. The moment passes and you’ll tease him, ask him how he’s managed to live thirty-something years without you then. 

He’ll say he wasn’t really living and you’ll snort at how corny and melodramatic he’s being. Then you’ll say that you can’t live without him and he’ll look offended. 

You never can get a read on him, but you know yourself well enough to know that you mean it when you say that he’s the heart and lungs that keep you alive. 

You hide your face in his chest as he starts to talk and he wraps his arms around you and braids your legs together. He talks about the bits and pieces of his day that he’s cherry picked for you despite the fact that you work in the same building as him and that you have higher security clearance than him. 

When Javier undressed you, he was particular about it. The only thing you’d be wearing those nights would be his arms, until he undresses you again in the morning and leaves you with the untouched cool sheets of your half of the bed. 

But, you? You loved to dress Javier. You were particular about it. 

He was particular about how his button-downs were handled. He was the one to iron and fold them, a ritual he went through every Sunday evening, along with applying wax to his boots and jacket. Two other things he was also particular about. 

He was less particular about what he wore. Which jeans and which shirts. As long as they were cleaned, neatly ironed and creased in the right ways and not creased in the wrong ways. 

And you were particular about choosing for him. 

Every morning, with the sound of his shower as your alarm, you open your closet and see what you were in the mood for today, what he was in the mood for today and whether he had an important meeting he needed to be extra pretty for. 

It’s a way you try to help shoulder the burden he has to carry the moment he steps outside, to soothe the tension that’s usually close to its breaking point before it’s even ten in the morning. 

You know it’s not much, and sometimes you doubt whether it is truly helpful or if you’re just a nuisance, a pesky fly in his otherwise calm and stable morning routine. Yet, you’re too selfish to actually ask, hoping that if you do get to become truly annoying he’ll swat you away. 

The image put into your own mind is not a pleasant one. It makes your heart ache and your hands tremble. You’re not sure how invested in this whole arrangement Javier is, married first and foremost to his work, and you’re too scared to take the leap and see. To see if he’ll be there when you fall or if you have to nurse bruises and broken bones and joints that never healed right for years to come. 

You’ll take it, whatever he’ll want to give to you and you’ll give to him whatever he wants. It’s horrible and unhealthy, but it makes you feel whole and complete. You never feel better than when you’re with him, the anticipation and excitement of when you know he’s going to come home to you, there’s nothing worse than having to kiss him goodbye behind closed doors and have to pass him in the halls of the embassy, pretending he’s just another stranger in a foreign country. 

Normally, if you were living with a man and his clothes took up half of your closet the same way his body did your bed, if you made dinner for him and he pressed lotion into your curves after your showers, you’d have a decent handle on the situation. You pride yourself on being able to read people fairly well and so you'd do the same and get the answers you wanted in his eyes. 

But it’s not normal, the situation you’re in now. Javier isn’t working your normal office job and every morning you wake up with him could very well be your last. You’re both living and working on borrowed time. 

And you never want to risk starting a conversation with him that could easily turn into an argument. You never want to risk frazzling his nerves. It could cost him his life and if it costs him his life it costs you yours. 

The unspoken affection you have for him is as simple and twisted as that. 

The click of the bathroom door opening brings you back to the early Saturday morning. 

Jeans. 

He’ll want to wear something more comfortable today. He’ll be at his desk for a long time, and will fuck up his back, and this evening you’ll have to try and unfuck it long enough for him for the cycle to restart again tomorrow. 

He says good morning and starts to shuffle around behind you as he dries off and gets dressed. 

The thoughts you’ve been having are too serious for the time of day, particularly considering these are the precious few minutes you get to have with Javier before the day has had it out with him. There’s still a foggy air of sleepiness around him, and he’ll stay like that until he’s had his first, of many, cigarettes and cups of coffee, his voice still gravely. His skin will still be a little damp from his shower, and the rough skin of his palms will be momentarily softened if you dare to take his hand in yours. 

This is a form of him you feel privileged to see, and hope, childishly, that you’re the only one to whom he shows how soft he actually is. 

“Baby?” His breath is warm and comforting against your ear. 

You realize too late that you’ve spent the better part of half an hour standing in front of your closet and doing nothing but spiraling into your thoughts, and the worst part is that Javier has also noticed. 

You turn your head and nudge the tip of your nose against his. You’ve been on the brink of tears all morning and you’re scared that if you look into his eyes now you’ll cry, “Hi.” 

He pulls you in closer and starts to run his palms up and down your arms, “Tired?” 

“A little,” you and him always are. You can’t remember a time you’ve slept before midnight, equally can’t remember a time when you were woken up after the sun. Maybe it’s been your hyperactive, sleep-deprived mind that’s been keeping you occupied so, but you know for certain that the way you feel is not how Javier thinks is the way you feel. 

Before he gets to push you on it, you pull away from him, grab a pair of his jeans and tuck them underneath your arm, “I was thinking eggs for breakfast.” You riffle through his button-downs, look down at the jeans you’d chosen at random and you think about what would look good with them. 

You’re stuck between two options, a light blue and a tan that’s close to the color of his skin. An ugly sprout of jealousy takes hold of you before you can push it down and you reach for the blue. 

You hope he’ll wear his brown boots today, to match with the belt you’ve chosen out for him. His black belt is hanging on by a thread and he’s been promising you he’ll get a new one for over four months now. 

Tossing your choices onto the unmade bed, you turn around and smile at him, and he smiles back. He’s already lit his first cigarette of the day, and you want nothing more than to stub it out, to keep him here with you, untouched and unscathed from the world around him. 

“Eggs sound good, I might haveta-'' he pauses when you walk away from him, towards the bedside table. “Hey.” 

You’re looking down at his stubbed cigarette, barely halfway smoked in the ashtray. It’s been crushed hard enough for it to be unsalvageable later. 

You want to apologize but you’re tired of lying to him so much. 

Instead, you walk back towards him, brush his hair away from his forehead and soak up a stray droplet of water on his shoulder with your finger, brushing it against your thigh, “Do you still want me to dress you?” 

There’s clearly something wrong, you know he’s figured that out. What’s wrong, you don’t know, and so how can you expect him to know? Besides, there’s not enough time for that, you’re both running late as is. 

“Yeah.” You watch his eyes soften from their hard defensiveness over the smoking and back to the gentle, duvet-soft brown you dream of the nights when he’s not with you. 

So, you take his button-down and hold it out for him so he can loop his arms through the sleeves. You tuck your fingers underneath his collar and pull the shirt forward so the shoulder seams fall correctly and start doing up the buttons for him, leaving the first three undone the way he likes. 

When you’re done, he manages to take your hands before they’re gone. Bringing them up to his face, he kisses each palm, presses them against his neck to warm them up. 

Your gaze falls to his collarbones, protruding out more than normal, “You’re getting too skinny for your own good.” 

He makes the non-committal sound that lets you know that you’re acting like his mother, and in reprimand you slide your hands out from underneath his and reach for his jeans. “What do you want for dinner?” 

Though you help him put them on and tuck his shirt so it won’t wrinkle awkwardly, he does up the buttons himself. Your fingers have fiddled and failed with them enough times for you to have learned your lesson.

“Nada,” his voice has that stone edge that warns you not to argue with him on that one. “I’ll figure it out. You’re busy enough as it is.” 

You only hear the things you want, “How about some rice? And some pork loins?”  

You put on his belt for him and slide his sunglasses into the open seam at his chest where the buttons are unbuttoned. 

“There’s no meat in the freezer.” It’s your freezer. But he says the, as if it is just as much his as yours. You’re reading into it too much yet it feels too good to stop. The. It warms you from the inside out and from the outside in. 

Your relationship with Javier has you obsessing over elementary school articles, dreaming up baby carriages out of commas. 

“I’ll get some before I come home,” you drape his leather jacket over his shoulders like it’s his cardigan and like he’s a schoolgirl from the fifties. You’re not even sure the butcher shops will be open by the time you’re done at work. 

Your other option is to take an extended lunch break, a break that you were never officially allotted, and get the meat then. 

“Like hell you will.” 

And you already know how Javier feels about you walking the streets alone. He’s willfully oblivious to the near identical training you’ve both received. 

Inside your closet is his watch. He holds out his wrist for you and after you set the time and push in the button that makes the handles move again, you do it up for him. The room is silent save for the faint click of the metal joints of the wrist band. 

Finally, you like to do his hair for him. Run your fingers through it to smooth it down and brush so it lies flat against his temples. 

“There you are, Javi,” you step back and cross your arms, tilting your head to the side. 

“How do I look?” His eyes twinkle, and he holds out his arms for you in a mock pose. If you squint, it looks like he’s smiling. His jacket falls to the ground with a thump. 

“Just gorgeous,” you play a little into his ego and nod to the mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door. “Take a look at yourself.” 

This time he does smile, comes close to you and with his hands on your waist brings you to him to take away the remaining space between you two. “Don’t need to.” 

You press your hands onto his chest and look up at him, “Just gonna take me for my word?” 

“Yeah,” he manages to look you in the eyes for the first time properly all morning. “Something like that.” 

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