#drabble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

steddieas-shegoes · 3 days

Text

cw: mentions of scarring, canon-typical violence, flashback (not graphic), minor body horror (again, not graphic, mostly just emotional feelings about scars)

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Everyone gave him weird looks when they walked in, quickly schooling their features when they noticed he was awake and watching them.

He didn’t know exactly what that was about.

They had him on a lot of good drugs.

But eventually he got weaned off them, and he noticed the pull of bandages on his side, and his arm, and his neck, and his face.

He was still unable to get out of bed. Still couldn’t even reach his arms above his chest for more than a few seconds.

But he damn sure reached up to feel the cloth and plastic surrounding his cheek. How had he not noticed for days? How had no one bothered him about it?

Maybe they had and he just didn’t notice. The morphine was one hell of a drug.

Wayne was soft, patient with him. Saw him touching it, saw the way his eyes filled with tears. He’d never been particularly vain, hadn’t cared much about what he looked like to others, but this felt bigger than that. This felt like he was changed in a way that everyone could see.

Add it to the list of things people could bully him for.

He cried himself to sleep, Wayne’s hand in his, silently comforting in the way he’d always done.

When he woke up again the next morning, he was alone.

It was the first time he’d been alone since the boathouse.

He could swear he heard bats outside his door, screams coming from the attached bathroom, flashes of someone dying on the ceiling.

He felt the sharp sting of teeth puncturing his skin.

He felt hopelessness creep into his bones as he gave in.

Maybe this time they would finish the job.

“Eddie!”

Steve Harrington’s voice broke through the thoughts, panicked enough to bring Eddie back to his hospital bed within a second of hearing it.

“Shit, are you okay?” He continued, hand brushing against Eddie’s bandaged cheek.

Eddie nodded once, closed his eyes, leaned into the touch.

He could blame it on any number of things if Steve felt weird about it. The morphine, the flashback, the loneliness.

“You’re okay, Eddie. I promise. Won’t let anything happen to you,” Steve whispered.

Eddie believed him.

He fell back asleep with Steve’s hand gently cupping the mangled side of his face.

If Steve could still touch him there, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Steve came by every day, sometimes in the early morning, before visiting hours officially started, sometimes well after Wayne had left to get some sleep. He always smiled when he walked in, a genuine one, not the one everyone else gave that was so fully of pity and pain he couldn’t bear to make eye contact. He sat down on the side of the bed, not the chair like everyone else, not scared to be close.

And every single day, without fail, he would run his finger along the edge of Eddie’s bandage on his face, watching his own movements and cataloging any changes.

Eddie sat quietly, still, scared to put words to anything happening. Scared to tell Steve what it meant to him to have someone acknowledge his pain in this way. Scared to think Steve could mean anything by it.

It was easy to pretend Steve was doing this because he cared.

Maybe he did care.

But he didn’t care the way Eddie wanted him to, needed him to.

So he stayed quiet, still.

He watched.

He fell asleep while Steve talked about his day, the kids, what Joyce made Hopper do around the house.

He woke up alone most days, but that was okay, because Steve would be there eventually.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

“You ready to get that thing off?” Wayne asked, gesturing to the bandage.

“Oh. Today?” Eddie suddenly didn’t want to ever be without the bandage. Removing it meant he’d see what was under it.

It meant seeing how much that place had ruined him.

The pull of the stitches hadn’t been as obvious with the pull of the bandage masking it.

But now it’s all he felt.

The nurse smiled at him as she put some antibiotic cream over the area, saying he would probably still have to keep it extra clean for the next week or so while the stitches did their job.

Wayne smiled at him in the way that meant he didn’t really want to smile at all, but knew Eddie needed him to.

Steve didn’t come.

Eddie didn’t sleep.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

He woke up with panic in his chest and a silent scream in his throat.

He woke up with Steve’s hand on his face.

Gentle, soft, but a strong comfort.

“Promise I washed them first. They said we have to be careful about germs,” Steve said quietly.

“You don’t have to. I know it’s…it’s gross. It’s ugly. I’m ugly.”

Steve shook his head. “No. Not gross. Not ugly. Alive.”

“Steve-“

“You’re alive, Eddie. You could have your entire face held together by staples and you would still be a miracle. You’d still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Well, Steve’s charm wasn’t an exaggeration, was it?

He wasn’t even sure if the skin barely pulled together could blush anymore, or if the heat that should be on his cheek was burning on the outside the way it felt like it was on the inside.

“It’s gonna be awful when it heals. I saw it in the mirror.” Eddie could feel every stitch in his jaw, the few that spread across the corner of his mouth and bottom lip, the ones that were nearly up to his ear. “I’ll always have a crooked face. The scar will always be huge. It’s all anyone will see.”

“Then they aren’t looking.”

Eddie bit his lip, eyes searching Steve’s. “But you are.”

“No. I’m seeing. There’s a difference. I see you. I see what you’ve survived. I see the mark it left on you. I know it wasn’t just the scars that cover your skin.” Steve leaned his head down, touching Eddie’s forehead with his own. “We all have them. And we’re all still here. Your heart’s beating. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Who knew you were so good with words?” Eddie smiled sadly.

“Robin says I’m just good at not having a filter.”

“She’s right as always.” Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrist, turning as slowly as he could to kiss his palm. “You’re not scared of it.”

“No. Are you?”

“I’m scared that you’ll change your mind when it’s always there as a reminder of what happened.”

Steve kissed his nose, making him smile for the first time in what felt like years.

“I’ll have the reminder that I got you out of there. That no matter what, the bats couldn’t finish the job. That you were stronger and you made it.” Steve let his hand drop, but quickly laced his fingers with Eddie’s. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you to trust me, but will you? For today?”

“Just today?”

“I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

“And what? Every day after that?”

Steve smirked.

His eyes were glistening with tears, but Eddie could tell it wasn’t sadness or fear.

“If that’s what I have to do.”

They hadn’t even talked about feelings, not really. Nothing that made any sense to Eddie, nothing that they could define. A part of Eddie was still convinced he was in a coma and dreaming this entire conversation up.

But even the nurse had noticed the way Steve watched him, how he touched him, how he fought for him. She said he’d been a firecracker from the moment he carried him into the hospital, dripping blood on the tile, staining the halls with his demands for help.

Wayne said he barely left his side the first day, only doing so when the doctors had told him they would call the cops if he didn’t.

Erica even noticed how things had changed between them, stating that she refused to watch her babysitter and the only DM she had respect for make out.

But Steve held Eddie, made him feel like he could get out of the hospital bed and live a life that wouldn’t keep him running. Steve was there.

Steve might even love him. If not now, then some day.

And Eddie could trust him today.

He could probably trust him tomorrow.

“Kiss me?” Eddie probably shouldn’t. The stitches tugged when he talked, and another mouth anywhere near his wounds was just asking for an infection.

But Steve would be careful. He knew what Eddie could handle.

It was barely a kiss. A graze of the lips at most.

But it was the best kiss Eddie had ever had.

At least until tomorrow.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #yall I am having thoughts about Eddie with a very large face scar and it led to this #I know people have drawn stuff before but I’m #I mean like what I am thinking is from his bottom lip across his entire jaw #to his ear and then down his neck #and it’s not remotely even or straight #very jagged when it heals because they weren’t really aiming for stitching it straight they just wanted to get it closed #also a firm believer that Steve has no filter at all and is SO GOOD at romantic declarations because of it #like he doesn’t edit anything #if he loves you you’ll know because he says I love you in all words except those at first #anyways wrote this during dessert for my besties birthday dinner so #not checking for typos hope there aren’t any lmao #if my phone autocorrected she’s probably wrong

273 notes · View notes

cod-dump · 11 hours

Text

Ghost’s handwriting either being “this looks like a font” to “can you rewrite this?” and there’s no in between. He’s not immune to it, he’s looked at reports he wrote the day prior and went “What the fuck does this say??”. Price can read it (somehow) and that’s what matters.

#call of duty #modern warfare #simon ghost riley #john price #drabble

310 notes · View notes

dragon-ascent · 1 day

Text

Zhongli is a being who has powers often unimaginable to the average human. He has raised the land, lowered the tides, created gold from his very own body, and hurled mountains at his foes without breaking a sweat. Heavy was the crown on his head, but he stood tall and steadfast. All his millennia of toiling away for the good of his people, dedicating his life for the betterment of Liyue, all make his present-day retirement that much sweeter.

Now, he uses his powers to help you. His sweet adventurer partner.

Oh, no. He doesn't rearrange the country's geography or anything anymore.

His attack motions are swift and seamless - but instead of fighting gods or monsters, he extracts wood from trees at a remarkable pace for you, his spear slicing the bark in perfect little pieces while keeping the tree mostly intact.

His command over Geo is unparalleled - and he uses that command to mine ores for you, the chunks coming in handy for new weapons.

The god summons his tall earthen steles that resonate with the very ground he walks on, and he puts them on pressure plates to get you treasure.

Zhongli's just finished charging up your parametric transformer at your behest, focusing his Geo energy into transmuting some slimes into Mora and materials for you. Next on his to-do list, he needs to help you with your commissions... by jumping on some bouncy mushrooms in Sumeru.

He's happy to do all these things, of course. It's a testament to the peace he's worked hard for.

#sini writes #zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #drabble

220 notes · View notes

espresso-ships · 2 days

Text

Self-shippers with pets!

...Imagine your f/o meeting your pet for the first time

Would they be all awkward or run straight up to your pet, trying to befriend it?

If they're scared of pets, Imagine them being all nervous when meeting it, only to later realise that; Hey, this is not so bad!

Imagine coming home from work and finding your f/o cuddled up together with your pet on the couch, or sitting down on the floor talking to it in a silly voice

Imagine your f/o, having like hundred of photos in their gallery of you, and your pet (...and which one would they have most photos of?)

Imagine cuddling your f/o, AND your pet, all of you being like a lil family :')

🦋💕🦋💕🦋💕

Pr0-shippers DNI! This post isn't for you :)

#f/o imagines #imagine your f/o #fluff #blurb #drabble #espresso drabble #self shipping #f/o community #self ship #self ship comfort #romantic f/o #s/i #f/o comfort #f/o drabble #self ship scenario #oc x f/o #s/i x f/o #selfshipping

197 notes · View notes

daydreamingyuta · 3 days

Text

Stay the Night | Jeno

Summary: fluff, drabble, bf!jeno convinces you to stay the night with him wc: 300 a/n: Happy Jeno Day! 💚

“So soft, baby.” Jeno says, sleepily running his hands through your hair. Your eyes close intuitively at his sweet touch that you loved more than anything. You snuggle closer to him, breathing him in, his familiar cologne he wears exclusively when he’s around you.

You both know what time it is, that you'll have to go home soon, but you choose to ignore that fact, relishing in each other's presence for as long as you could. It wasn’t until you felt your eyelids grow heavy and you began to fall asleep that you knew you had to actually go home. “Jeno, I gotta go.” You say, trying to pry your boyfriend's arms off of you.

At first Jeno ignores you, tightening his grip around your waist and pulling you closer. “Jenoo, you can’t pretend to not hear me so that I’ll stay longer.”

At this Jeno's eyes open and he gives you a pout. “I don’t want you to just stay longer, I want you to stay the night.”

You give him a pout back, “Stay the night?”

He nods his head, resembling a puppy. You play with his hands as you try and make a decision. “I mean.. I could stay here tonight.” You say and Jeno's eyes light up, “But you have to promise me that you’ll let me leave early so that I can make it to my class tomorrow morning.”

“I promise I won’t try to convince you to skip class and stay in bed with me like I did the last time, baby.” You can tell he’s sincere in his promise, so you let all your worries of tomorrow fade away as he pulls you back into his arms. You always did manage to get the best night's sleep whenever you were with him, and tonight was no different.

#jeno #happy jeno day #nct #nct dream #fluff #k-pop #drabble #imagine #nct scenarios #fanfiction #fanfic #jeno x reader #jeno x you #jeno x y/n

323 notes · View notes

changisworld · 3 days

Text

“you know you want to”

Stepbrother!Jeongin x fem reader

Summary: You & your stepbrother Jeongin have never gotten along, always snitching on one another & purposely annoying each other. When your parents have gone to sleep & you are tiptoeing down the stairs to sneak out of the basement window to get to a college party that you're strict dad won't allow, what are you gonna do when Jeongin catches you?

Word count:4,288

18+ MDNI, smut warnings under the cut

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

main masterlist here

SMUT WARNINGS: DUB CON, manipulation/blackmail, Oral (F rec),squirting, unprotected sex, pull out method, edging (F rec), fingering (F rec), finger sucking, Hair pulling, tiny bit of spit??, neck kisses, dirty talk

-> Alcohol is mentioned but not ever consumed.

-> your dad & Jeongins mom are both titled as your parents just to save confusion but you are only related to your father, you & Jeongin aren't blood related.

** Jeongin & reader have a pre established relationship, 80% of this is just smut but depending on how well this does, I'll make a multiple part mini series in a LOOOTT more detail :3**

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You've just hung up facetime with your friend, Jennie after even further planning on what you're wearing to the party at her boyfriends house later tonight. You've got clothes thrown all over your floor from digging & taking all items worth wearing out of their places before showing them to the camera, getting her opinion on each piece & even having her call dibs on wearing a certain something.

You sigh before you swing open your bedroom door to go downstairs to go make yourself something to eat before you begin to get ready, but you're not happy with the sight in front of you, that being your step brother, Jeongin, giving you his cheeky smile, hair drooping down his forehead.

"What the fuck are you doing standing in my doorway, weirdo, move." you groan, pushing his shoulder but not with much strength behind it, letting him chuckle.

"Where ya going? Does your dad n my mom know, hmm?" he teases, following right beside you as you begin walking down the stairs, looking at the side of your face as you scoff.

"Are you eavesdropping on my conversations? Fuck off Jeongin, I'm not going anywhere, I need to study, so do you for that fact so leave me alone n go get busy." You walk into the kitchen, the guy skipping & humming as he follows you, leaning on the counter top as he watches you pour some cereal into a bowl but before you're able to get to the fridge, he stands in front of it.

" 'studying' my ass y/n, & I have been studying so shut up. You're a really bad liar, you know that right?" he smirks as he turns around to open the fridge & give you the milk.. well, lack thereof. "I drank some earlier n haven't told mom to get more, whoopsies." He walks out of the kitchen happy as a rainbow as you groan & throw the empty milk carton on the floor, yelling at Jeongin as you hear him running up the stairs.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You have your music playing quietly so your parents don't awaken as you're doing your makeup, humming along to the song as you finish applying a pretty blue/silverish shimmer shade across the inner part of your eyelids, making them stand out. You finish doing your hair & go through the few outfit options you managed to choose between the other thirty at the beginning of the day & you end up holding each of them up to your chest to get a better idea now that you are mostly ready & your mind settles on a blue denim miniskirt along with a black strappy gemstone top.

You put it on & take a few pictures that you'll probably post later before packing your 'escape bag'. You put some sweat pants over your skirt & a hoodie over your top before putting your black clutch & your alcohol wrapped in a shirt to stop the clanking noise in a backpack before you pick up your shoes, turning off your bedroom lights & extremely slowly closing your bedroom door, making sure to be as quiet as possible.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You hold your breath as you begin tiptoeing down the long hallway, not being able to lightly sigh as you get past your parents silent bedroom, hearing your dad snoring inside, knowing the first part of the difficulty is over with.

You can hear Jeongins TV's low volume further down the hall & you feel a pit in your stomach growing, knowing he is still awake. You pause your steps for a minute, hearing no further movements or rustling coming from behind his door, so you progress.

You get past his door & you can't help but feel a cold sweat on the back of your neck, 'no matter how much I do this shit it never gets easier' you think to yourself. You get to the bottom of the stairs eventually & walk past all other rooms until you get to the door that leads to the basement.

You open the small cabinet next to the door & get the key before putting it in the door & turning it. You turn the door knob but it's now locked.. & your parents never leave it unlocked. Your stomach butterflies return as you use the key again, the door now being able to open.

You don't have much time to think about it however, as your light brown haired stepbrother appears from the basement. "Told you you are bad at lying, what you doing so late?" he whispers, letting out an overdramatic sigh as he grabs your wrist to snatch the key out of your hand, ushering you away from the doorframe as he slowly closes the door, not looking away from you.

"Jeongin, cmon. Just move." you whisper back, attitude in you voice as he somehow leads you into the living room, you still walking backwards. "N why would I, you lied to me, broke my huge heart." he remarks as he leans over your shoulder to try take your bag off your shoulder. You go back & forth, pulling & tugging on it before he overpowers you & now has the backpack in his hands. You are quick to try snatch it back but he pushes you onto the soft sofa behind you. "Ah,ah, ahhh, don't be stupid y/n, might wake 'em up. Why you got shoes in your hands n not wearing them, you really are odd at times."

You give up & throw the shoes onto the carpeted flooring, knowing you're probably not going anywhere tonight. He pulls out everything in your bag, holding it up to the window, letting the moonlight shine onto your alcohol in order to read it, just to tease you further since he knew what would be in your bag before even getting his hands on it.

He pulls out your clutch bag & an eyebrow raises before looking back at you again, your arms crossed as you frown up at him, the reflection of the moon showing his defined cheekbones that little bit extra. "You have this bag, inside a bag, while looking as if you've just got out of prison.. wha'cha underneath?" He questions, stepping towards you before sitting next to you.

You scoff at his words but he doesn't look away from you, noticing you have perfume on too. You both sit in silence for a second but before you have time to react, Jeongin is grabbing at your hoodie & somehow gets it over your head, the top you are wearing underneath now on show. He scoffs as he looks at you & you push him. "You're genuinely psychotic Jeongin, you caught me for fuck sake, do you really need to go this far? I'm not gonna go anywhere anymore, just give over." you whisper yell at him, irritation in your voice.

He looks into your eyes, his dimples appearing on his cheeks as he quietly chuckles. "I didn't say you couldn't go y/n." he says nonchalantly as he leans fully into the couch, turning his head to look at you. "So.. you're not gonna snitch if I go? bull.shit." you remark but your tone still raises, sounding more hopeful than you were a few minutes ago.

"Well I mean, If I got something in return, I wouldn't" he replies, sitting up again to match your posture, leaning forward a bit, which you notice, but choose to not say anything. "Seriously? What is it you're after? Money? I'll deep clean your car for you? I'll write that stupid essay you keep putting off for you? I'll give you Jennie's number?" you ramble, still making sure to keep your tone down but Jeognin 'shooshes' you anyway. "You're so loud, learn to whisper." He jokes before he shuffles over so his right leg is touching your left one now as he leans in to your ear.

"Like this, & what if I know what I want, but it's not anything you mentioned?" his breath tickles your neck as he whispers which makes you twitch subconsciously. "Just tell me Jeongin, I have places to be, do you wanna come with or something? Is that what this is? Coulda just said you have no friends to invite you out." you whisper back, getting fed up. Jeongin lets out a sigh into your ear before moving away, as you both make eye contact again, Jeongin puts his hand on the back of your head & lean you both in & he kisses you.

Your eyes shoot as wide as plates as his lips move against yours despite yours not doing the same way. You push him by the shoulders & wiggle your head free from the hand against the back of your teeth & you just stare at him, not saying much. Jeongin looks back at you, breathing a bit heavier due to the nerves. You both sit in silence for a minute, a million thoughts racing through your head but that is interrupted as Jeongin throws himself back at you, locking lips with you again.

You flop backwards on the couch as Jeongin puts more of his body weight on you, him holding himself up by putting his arm on the arm of the couch right above your head as he keeps his lips locked with yours & to his surprise & yours, you both realise your lips are moving along with his this time.

"Jeongin what the fuck, we can't be doing this this is just fucked up. Get off." you say in a more serious voice, your hands moving to cross over your chest, trying to create distance between you both despite you could just push him. "Stop acting so innocent y/n, you just kissed me back n besides we aren't blood related, we have only known each other for what, five years? Don't act as if you don't want this." he smirks as he speaks, pushing the bit of hair that is resting weirdly on your face back into its place.

"Jeongin, If you get off me now I won't tel-" You don't finish your sentence as he cuts you off by kissing you again, & you can't help but take a bit of pleasure in how soft his lips are, a light taste of his cherry lip balm transferring onto your own.

Jeongin starts to nibble on your bottom lip every few seconds as his tongue also starts to poke at where your own one is & he eventually worms his tongue inside your mouth, humming as he tastes it.

This continues for a minute or so before he breaks it off, spit coating both of your lips & your bottom lip a bit swollen & reddened from his teeth attacking it as he begins a trail of kisses down your jawline & landing on your neck, biting at it, making you hold back a whimper.

"Jeongin, plea-" "shhh y/n, just enjoy it, I'll make this wayyy better than going out, promise." he snaps back, interrupting you as he wiggles his way down further, kissing your collarbone & chest as he begins to shimmy your sweatpants down with his free hand & you have no idea why but you help him by raising your hips, letting them slide off your pretty legs.

He looks down after giving one last kiss to your collarbones after feeling a rough fabric that is no longer hidden by the joggers. "Ahh, you really did dress up hmm? Atleast the pretty outfit isn't gonna go to waste since someone's seen it now. Were you planning on fucking someone y/nnie?" he questions as his long fingers trace over your denim skirt, making you flinch & squirm.

"Jeongin what if someone catches us, you're being stupid." you respond, avoiding his question completely, your voice now soft despite your voice never being above a whisper at all. Jeongin rolls his eyes as he reaches down that little bit further & lands a quick flick to your covered core, making you jolt, eyebrows furrowing as you look back up at him. "Just be quiet n we will be fine, answer my question." he puts his hand up to your face & squishes your cheeks as he makes you look fully at him, both of you making eye contact as his other hand is now playing with the skin on the inside of your thigh, making your hips move on their own, seeking more. "No,Jeongin, I wasn't." he hums at your reply as he shuffles down so he is no face level with your lower stomach as he gives it a few kisses before undoing the button on your miniskirt before also removing hat item of clothing, Now being only left in your thong & black top despite Jeongin still wearing his grey sweatpants & white tank top.

"That's what I wanted to hear but for some reason, I don't believe it y/nnieee, nobody would dress like this & sneak out if you weren't after cock." Your cheeks are as red as cherries as he suddenly sits up on his knees long enough to take his shirt off to show his chiselled, defined, gorgeous abs which you have to try force yourself to look away to try save whatever self preservation you're trying to convince yourself you still have.

Jeongin resumes his place on your lower tummy as one hand is now playing with the hem of your sparkly top as his other hand begins to play with your covered cunt, which unsurprisingly has a small wet patch which is now transferring onto his fingers, despite you trying your hardest to not be turned on from the current situation. "Someone's enjoying this more than they're letting on, No need to be completely mute jagi, just remember who's upstairs." he says, more to himself than anything but you huff at his words anyway, embarrassment radiating through your body, partially from his words, & partially from how turned on you actually are.

He continues lightly dragging his long fingers along your folds, causing your panties to be dampened even more as his other hands fingers dig their way under your shirts fabric & grabs onto your nipple which makes you arch your back on instinct. He begins to lightly pull on your nipple, flicking it with his thumb as he continues kissing your lower stomach, his soft hair tickling it.

His kisses get lower & lower until his lips hit the hem of your panties & you don't put up a fight as he now discards that too. He moves his hand from your left nipple as he wraps his arms around your legs as he is now face level with your dripping core. "Be good n keep your legs open for me, mkay? Stay quiet f'me." He says in a low tone, voice sounding flushed out despite it being you being touched, not him. You have no words that even come to mind to create a response, you just sigh as you cross your arms over your eyes, trying to not focus on your step brothers breath hitting your naked heat.

Jeongin takes this as enough of an answer & licks a long, slow strip up your entire core, which in return makes you hiss at the contact. He wastes no time in digging into your cunt like a man starved as he uses two fingers to spread your folds as he begins slurping on it before switching & nibbling on your swollen button, making you bite down on your lip painfully to hold back as much noise as possible.

He snakes his arm up your frame until he taps two fingers against your lips & you immediately open your lips, letting his fingers now rest on your tongue as you begin sucking on them, using them to help swallow your moans. The room has slurping & hisses filling the room, a mix of your own juice & also his own spit dripping down past your cunt & his chin onto the couch below.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, much to your dismay as but that is short lived as he worms his now spit covered fingers into your pussy & begins scissoring them & he lets out a quiet groan as he has now gotten a feeling of your wet walls as you instantly clench down on his long fingers which you're convinced are grazing your cervix. He wriggles his fingers around slightly until he finds your G-spot before attacking it with them & you begin squirming around as much as you can with heavy breaths despite his arms still being wrapped around your legs, preventing you from moving freely.

He keeps suckling & slurping on your clit as he is finger fucking you & you begin clenching down a lot more than you were a minute ago. "Jeo- g'na cum- plea-" Your words die in your throat as he struggles but manages to pull himself completely away from your cunt, watching you with a smirk as your eyes are watery, stress & agitation on your face from feeling your orgasm drifting away from your lower stomach as your own juice drips down his chin, giving it a shine that you can make out now that your eyes have adjusted to the dark.

"You really think I'd let you cum on my fingers when I don't know how much you can take, hunny? You can cum on my dick this time, just till I see how well you can take me." He gives you a kiss on your thighs before now using this chance to take his sweatpants & also boxers, leaving him now completely nude as his words sink in & you can't help but think & hope this happens again..?

He helps flip you around before bending you over the arm of the couch, your pretty ass on show for him. He spreads your legs enough so he can fit between them before letting spit drip from his lips, landing directly on his cock as he pumps it in his hand. You turn your head to at least get a look of what exactly you are getting yourself into & you almost regret that choice because you genuinely have no idea how the fuck you're going to be able to handle it. His cock is longer than it is thick but it curves upwards which you now both know will be your G-spots best friend within the following minutes.

Jeongin realises your reaction & can't help but chuckle. "You scared you won't be able to take it y/n? where's that cocky, bitchy personality now disappeared to hmm?" he questions, cockiness in his voice as he begins running his leaky cock head along your folds, making him hold back a groan. "Just, ugh, just put it in Jeongin, Don't be a dick." you try to say with venom, but just ends up sounding needy, which Jeongin laughs at. "Say please & I'll happily give you it." he replies, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder, eyes looking at the side of your flushed out face.

You take a deep breath but don't budge & Jeongin isn't happy with that so he sits back up on his knees as he wraps his long hand into your hair before pulling your hair so now you're looking at him upside down, your back arching. "Say. Please." he repeats, voice sounding way more serious the second time around. Your eyes water from the burn on your scalp but you can't deny how needy you actually are & before you can think for a moment, you're throwing your ego out of the window. "Jeongin, p-please just put it in, want it., want your cock." you murmur, trying to be aware of where you both currently are.. completely naked. He is happy with this & lets go of your hair, making you flop forwards as he lines himself fully up with you, before finally sliding inside.

Your legs almost give out from just the pleasure of him filling you out alone but you somehow keep yourself up. You both let out a whine, his being louder since he hasn't got the edge of the couch to smother his face in to shut himself up. He oh so kindly lets you adjust for around thirty seconds, you both sitting in silence other than the heavy breaths & the sound of the living room clock ticking away in the backround.

"So tight, holy shit y/n. Gonna move now, alright.?" He asks but doesn't actually give you any time to respond before he is withdrawing his hips before returning to where they just were, then repeating it.

He picks up his pace, his hips connecting with your ass as his hands find their place on your hips, helping you now meet his thrusts. You are muffling your whines & squeals by biting down onto the fabric of the couch, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your gummy walls are being ruined by the fluffy haired man behind you.

You find the strength to lift your head up off the couch to mutter out a few incoherent words Jeongins fucked out brain can't completely understand, He keeps chasing his own release, throwing his head towards the ceiling & panting until he feels you clenching so tight he thinks his cock can turn purple.

"Gonna cum for m-me y/n? Squeezing me so tight, g-gonna kill me. You're s-so fucking wet." Your moans encourages him to pick up the pace even more than he already is, his great stamina being something he is thankful for in this moment. He admires the squelching noises coming from your cunt & he thinks he can honestly melt from pleasure. "Jeon-in f-fuck, t-too-so big." you whine, trying to keep as quiet as possible but can't help the noises you're letting out, his cock pushing your cervix into a completely new place inside you.

"Yeah? Taking it so well for m-me, so beau-hot." He cuts himself off, trying to not say such nice words, since that is the imaginary line he is trying to draw for himself, despite not wanting to.

Your legs begin to shake again & you try to warn Jeongin you're about to cum, but it's no use since you're so fucked out you're convinced your brain has completely melted. You feel it bubble up & then over as your orgasm sprays out of your pussy & lands onto your own thighs, Jeongins cock, trimmed pubes & also the couch beneath you.

Jeongin watches this & he tries to hold out until you at least start to come off your orgasm so it isn't completely ruined before he pulls out as his own orgasm is only a second away & pumps his cock at an extreme pace before his own orgasm shoots out of him, landing onto your ass & back, a few drops landing on the one item of clothing that somehow didn't come off.

Your legs have already given out & you are now just awkwardly arched on the edge of the sofa, trying to catch your breath back. Jeongin pants & pushes his now wet with sweat hair out of his pretty face before he stands up on his own shaky legs & puts his hands on your legs gently before pulling you, so you're now laying fully flat on your back.

You both don't exchange words but Jeongin takes it upon himself to grab his tank top to wipe his orgasm off of you, which you appreciate deep down. "I'll get you some water, I would say sit tight but you can't move anyways dick's too good huh." he teases as he is still panting, kissing leaning down to kiss your lower back. You just 'tut' at his words.

He returns with three glasses, you can see one has a dark liquid in it & you think the other two are water. "Why the third glass, the hell is that.?" you mumble, only now actually returning fully to earth. "Well you squirted all over the damn couch in case you didn't realise & it's one in the morning, I can't be fucked to clean that n I know you can't, just gonna pour cola on the spot since our parents drank vodka coke earlier, they'll probably just believe it." He pants out before chugging his own cup of water then remembering to give you your own drink. You let out a giggle as you force yourself to sit up enough so you can drink the water that you didn't realise how much you actually needed a drink until you take a sip then you suddenly have the driest mouth on earth.

He helps you gather your clothes (after letting you whisper yell at him for getting cum on your shirt) & he helps you tiptoe up stairs along with him. "We never speak of this again Jeongin, I swear to god." you whisper outside his bedroom door, his TV still playing from earlier. "mhmm, If you say so, sleep well." he snarkily replies before closing his own bedroom door, before taking his phone off his desk & going onto the message app.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Jeongin: It actually worked lmaoo

Jennie: Told ya, u just needed to test her limits lol

Jeongin: ahaha, was worth the risk, thx jen

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Jeongin can't help but blush slightly as he shuts his phone off & just looks around his clean bedroom, realising what he did & how easy it was, which he is definitely keeping in mind.

171 notes · View notes

multi-fandom-imagine · 5 hours

Text

❝𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞❞─ Lucifer Morningstar.

"Tell me." Lucifer kept his gaze on you, even through all those years, all those millenniums you were still beautiful. He wondered why it took him so long for him to realize his feelings for you.

You were created for him, his father created for you to be his wife but yet he didn't choose to stay with you. No....he picked Lilith.

"Tell me you're mine"

Lip's quivering, you dug your nails into your palm shaking your head. "You know...I waited so long for you to say that." You didn't notice the tears running down your cheeks, couldn't feel them. It was something you were used with him.

"How I would wait in the garden, watch you with her and I just thought. Why can't it be me? Was I not good enough? Would I ever be good enough."Your voice was soft as your gaze misty, remains on him

Lucifer could feel the guilt building in his chest, that nagging feeling eating at him. You were right of course and he hated himself for hurting you, for hurting the one who was meant to be his life.

Lips pulling into a bitter smile, you let your wings stretch as you turned your back to him. "How can I be yours when you never wanted me in the first place."

He didn't get a chance to respond, he didn't get s chance to beg you to stay, he never got the chance to apologize for breaking your heart.

He should have told you, but he was too late to fix this. He couldn't fix this.

Because someone else already captured your heart.

A/n: wanted to write a little angst blurb before I pass out. Will be up later to write.

The someone who captured your heart can be anyone. <that's not Lucifer>

194 notes · View notes

mascdestr0yer · 15 hours

Note

heyy if you don’t mind could you write something abt paige teaching her non athletic gf how to play basketball?? i just love reading some paige fluff, ur writing is really good btw ! 💓

for the team

(not like that !)

Paige bueckers x fem!reader

Warnings: there really aren't any, not that I know of.

Synopsis: Coach Geno made a bet between Paige's girlfriend (you duh) who is always (not all the time, he's dramatic) at the team's practice, if you make a shot from half court he would cancel practice for a week.

Requested !

I feel so coolness, keep the requests coming please ! Thank you for the compliment, luv you all ! -millie

"baby you have to actually try," Paige huffed, rubbing her temples. "Your aim is way off."

"I am trying ! It's hard," I whined, giving her the basketball. "You do it then, since it's soo easy." I crossed my arms, waiting for her response.

"stop being a brat, a'ight. Back up a little, let me show you how real pros do it." She dribbled the ball a few times as I backed up to watch, she bent her knees slightly as she shot the ball from half court, she made it. She surprised herself, but shook it off.

"no fair, you have years of experience.. and luck." I whined as she passed me the ball. "Noo, I don't want it." I whined more, passing it back to her.

"And I don't want practice, so either you keep practicing or my whole team will literally drag me, especially KK." She demanded, my frown becoming more visible, her expression quickly softening. "I didn't mean it like that, m'sorry. C'mere," she dropped the ball, letting it roll as she pulled me closer by my waist.

"you were so close, so why give up now? Come on, pleasee," she pleaded, gently holding the side of my face.

"fine, but you owe me." I say looking up at her. Her hands falling to my ass, squeezing it gently, with a smirk. "Paige !"

"my bad," she chuckled as she pulled away, walking over to get the basketball that rolled away. She picks it up and passes it to me. We got right back to practicing, for almost an hour.

┌──❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚─┐

Tomorrow,

The whole UCONN wbb was sitting on the sidelines as Coach Geno passed me the ball, I was standing half court.

"do I go now?" I asked softly, really nervous.

"Y/n if you miss-" Ice starts, Paige quickly cutting her off.

"stop, she's already nervous."

"both of you, please shut up." Azzi says, and she looks me in the eye nodding slightly.

I dribbled the ball.

One

Two

Three...

I bent my knees slightly, just like Paige did last night and I shot it. Everyone held their breaths crossing their fingers. Geno's eyes squinting to see if it'll go in or not.

I made it !

Loud cheering begins as the team ran over to me, Paige picking e up in spinning around. KK running around the courts yelling, Nika looked so relieved, thanking me. Paige puts me down quickly to run around with KK. Ines began skipping towards me and she hugged me tightly, thanking me.

"I can't breathe.."

"oh- sorry," she let go of the hug, Paige and KK running over to me.

"Y/n boo, you did that," KK hyped me up, Paige wrapping her arm around my shoulder.

"can we get chipotle?" I asked Paige, looking up at her, since she was driving.

"anything you want, I'll get it, extra chicken, extra guac, allat. I'll buy you boba too-"

"me too?" KK asked.

"definitely not." Paige said almost immediately.

"that's why you suck at rocket League,"

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #x reader #lesbian #wlw #wlw fluff #fluff #anon ask #Millie talks❀*̥˚#fem!reader #reblog please #drabble #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #wbb #kk arnold #azzi fudd

226 notes · View notes

wttcsms · 13 hours

Text

triple trouble, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x f!reader word count 1.6k synopsis atsumu steals every reporters' attention as he introduces the media to his triplets during a post-game interview; or, more accurately, his triplets steal all the attention. like father, like sons. content contains domestic fluff, dad!atsumu, atsumu & reader are married and so in love, babies, mention of pregnancy more in this collection!

The flashes of cameras going off, the constant exclamations of “Miya! Miya!” coming from the crowd of journalists and reporters all vying for his attention, the fact that the foldout chairs they use for all these post-game interviews are harder on your ass than falling on asphalt — all of this is being handled with ease by a smug Atsumu Miya.

Or, normally all of this would be handled with ease by a smug Atsumu Miya.

But right now, the Atsumu Miya struggling to take a seat in the most uncomfortable chair known to man, dyed hair a mess, his usual trademark smirk replaced by furrowed brows and a look of concentration, doesn’t appear to be the godlike adversary on the court. In fact, he looks oddly human.

The cause of what has humbled this cocky athlete and reduced him to mere mortal man are the three chubby toddlers he’s cradling in his arms.

All of them are identical, from their chubby cheeks to their little grubby hands. Heads full of thick, dark brown hair (reminiscent of their father’s natural color) poke out from Atsumu’s hold, and the eighteen-month-olds’ eyes are all full of childlike wonder as they watch the crowd, confused as to who all these people are.

After finally getting settled into his seat, Atsumu addresses the crowd casually, as if he didn’t spend the last two minutes ensuring that his baby boys weren’t going to slip from his arms while he tried to prepare for this interview. Akimitsu is secured in his left arm, Akihiko in the right, leaving poor Akinari to cling onto Atsumu’s neck.

While athletes have been getting more comfortable with bringing their kids up on stage with them, no one has ever seen a professional athlete haul his three babies with him.

A fact that one reporter is more than happy to point out.

“Miya, wife put you on babysitting duty?” A male journalist calls out from the crowd. A few chuckles follow, but Atsumu just smiles at the mention of you.

“Nah. It’s not babysittin’ if they’re your damn kids, right? Besides, she deserves a break.” A few appreciative murmurs flutter through the crowd.

After the initial surprise of seeing identical triplets being carried in the MSBY Black Jackals’ setter’s arms, the reporters are back to business as usual. They’re all professionals — even if hearing Atsumu give them a great quote to use as a hook (“I respect Nakamura as a human bein’ but calling him a setter for a professional league volleyball team is an insult to setters everywhere.”) is followed by him cooing sweet words of affirmation to whichever of his sons happens to be babbling in his ears.

“Nakamura isn’t a very good player, is he, Akihiko?” No one outside of your family and his teammates have ever heard Atsumu sound so affectionate. His words are practically coated in sugar, and it’s hard to remember that he’s insulting another player in the league whenever he’s practically bumping noses with his toddler son when he says it.

Akihiko, most likely due to his father’s influence, lets out a stream of enthusiastic gurgles that Atsumu automatically translates to him being in complete agreement with him.

“Write that down.” He says to the crowd. “Even my baby knows he’s shit at the game.”

There’s a few more minutes of Atsumu answering the usual post-game questions, but halfway through one of his responses, Akinari loses his grip on Atsumu’s neck and is about to tumble to the floor before Atsumu’s reflexes kick in. You’ve made a joke once that you think Atsumu’s reflexes have become heightened after becoming a father; his athletic instincts have merged with the famous “dad reflexes” all fathers seem to be gifted with. (Atsumu tells reporters that this is why he keeps on becoming a better player; people think his family would hold him back, but once again, family is his greatest blessing.)

“Ya gotta hang onto me, buddy.” Atsumu can’t even pretend to be stern when he tells this to Akinari, who only smiles at him and exclaims something unintelligible. He shifts Akinari to his left arm, relaxes back in his seat, and is even excited to answer a question concerning his play style compared to Tobio Kageyama’s, but as he readjusts the two boys in his arms, Atsumu can’t help but startle at the fact that he has three kids. Not just two.

Momentarily panicked, he almost wants to ask why the hell no one told him one of his kids jumped ship but then he feels a tug on the bottom hem of his volleyball shorts.

Peering under the table, Atsumu is greeted with the sight of Akimitsu’s mischievous little face. He’s the oldest of the three and takes after Atsumu the most — meaning, he’s the cutest little nightmare there could ever be.

“Whatcha doin’ under the table, Mitsu?” Atsumu asks, and Akimitsu gives out a happy, gleeful shriek. He’s clapping his grubby hands together and cheering.

“Dada found me!”

“I did find ya, buddy.” Atsumu coos. “Now why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap?”

After wrangling up all his kids once more, Atsumu sighs and looks up at the timer in front of him.

“I have enough time for one more question.” He tells the crowd.

“Are you excited to get out of here and get back home to the wife?”

“I’m always happy to come home to [Name]. If there’s a professional league for motherhood, she’s going into the hall of fame. I don’t know how she handles these fools by herself all day.”

Akihiko takes a tiny, chubby hand and smacks Atsumu in the face. Repeatedly.

“Home! Home!” His slaps get slightly more aggressive, but Atsumu’s received some serves with his face before, so it doesn’t really phase him. “Home! Mama!”

“Well, you heard the man.” Atsumu actually gives a genuine smile for the cameras. “We gotta head home.”

You’re applying your moisturizer in the bathroom despite the mirror being fogged up from the hot shower. It’s probably why you don’t anticipate strong arms wrapping themselves around your body, and you gasp before your muscle memory recognizes him. Your body easily relaxes against his, and you’re smiling as you ask your husband,

“Had a good day today?”

“We took ‘em in two straight sets. Slaughtered the other team to the point where it wasn’t even fair.” He angles his head just right so he can kiss you on the cheek, but you gently slap him away.

“I’m putting on moisturizer right now.”

“Great. My lips are dry.” He goes in for another kiss, and even though you’re giggling, trying to pull away from him, he still plants a peck on your soft skin. “Should I go for seconds, just for good measure?” He teases.

“Hmm, I guess so.”

“Oh? What’s with the change? Realize how much you can’t live without my touch?” He pulls you in closer to him, your back pressed firmly against his chest. He’s fresh out the shower, stray droplets of water greedily clinging onto his skin.

“Maybe.” You tilt your head back on the front of his shoulder so that you can see him. “You know your interview is trending on Twitter, right?”

“Oh, yeah? Bet Nakamura’s pissed.” Atsumu sounds too happy at the concept.

“No. There’s actually an interesting clip that keeps going around. Someone already used it as an intro for a thirst edit of you.”

You like it when Atsumu is thinking. There’s an adorable crease in between his furrowed brows, and you can practically see him going through the memory files in his brain, trying to figure out what could possibly be worthy of inspiring an edit of him.

“You seriously don’t know?” You’re laughing at him, and it’s the sweetest sound in the world. Atsumu doesn’t take kindly to being the butt of a joke, but from the moment he saw you, he knew he’d do anything to stay by your side, even becoming a fucking court jester if that’s what it took.

You reach for your phone on the counter, taking a few seconds to load up the fan edit you have favorited.

He’s burying his face in your hair, hiding away as he hears the audio of him going now why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap playing on a loop. He groans when you let it replay, uncharacteristically shy as you keep telling him to watch it.

“The comments are the best part, though, baby!” You haven’t been able to stop giggling at jackingthejackalsoff’s very bold and very true statement of yeah, if i were [name], i’d pop out triplets for him too tf 😭🙏.

As Atsumu’s hands travel to rest against the growing swell of your belly, you tease him. “So, when the twins are born, do you think you’ll have enough space in your arms to haul all five of our kids, or should we finally use that baby chest carrier Shoyo gifted us?”

“I can carry all of ‘em and you onto that stage.” He regrets making this smug remark whenever you slightly drop your teasing tone and use what he dubs The Mom Voice on him.

“Oh? If that’s true, then why did it take you so long to realize Akimitsu crawled out of your arms while you were busy calling your opponents scrubs?”

“Have I ever told you what a wonderful mother you are? And this moisturizer! Wow, I don’t know what you’ve been doing with your skin, baby, but keep it up.” He’s peppering your face with more kisses, hurriedly trying to change the subject, and you gladly let him.

#atsumu miya x you #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #hq x reader #hq headcanons #fluff #one shot #drabble #hq fanfiction #atsumu headcanons #dad!atsumu #imagine #series: sweet everything

153 notes · View notes

welcomingdisaster · 2 days

Text

Fingon does not play often anymore. Rarely does the mood strike him, and mostly when he is alone, his heart is sorrowful. But at the Mereth Aderthad some merriness of the crowd strikes him, some warmth of the liquor, and he picks up the harp and plays, unthinking, a drinking-song from bygone days. Around him elves laugh and dance, an ocean of swirling silk, and he hears little his own music.

“You have lost the touch,” Maglor says, “you were better.”

Fingon looks down at the joints of his fingers, where feeling has not returned since the ice, and says naught.

#my fic #drabble #fingon

156 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days

Text

the girl next door 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,�� you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.

#dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

184 notes · View notes

hotchnisslvr · 3 days

Text

how do we carry on?

pairing: hotch x bau!reader

rating: m

word count: 4.8k

genre: angst, hurt no comfort

summary: emily was your confidant, your best friend. when she dies at the hands of ian doyle, you find comfort in your boyfriend, aaron. when you find out that she’s alive and that hotch had known all along, your world falls out from under you. can you and hotch come back from the decision he made for the good of the team?

*if this gains enough traction i might follow up with a pt.2 to give it a happy ending*

The criss-crossed lines of the tile floor blur together as you stare blankly between your feet. The tops of your thighs have gone numb from digging your elbows into them, using your cradled hands as a pillow for your forehead. You couldn’t go home, not until you knew.

Rossi had offered to go on a walk and get a coffee, but shitty lukewarm hospital coffee was the last thing you needed. You hadn’t meant to write him off, you just couldn’t justify doing anything to distract from the fact that she was on that operating table, that Emily’s life was literally hanging in the balance.

The rest of the team was no better off than you are right now. Penelope’s knitting needles clack relentlessly, the scarf inside of her purse growing as her hands keep busy so her mind doesn’t focus on how hard she’s trying not to cry. The last time you’d poked your head up, Derek hadn’t moved from the waiting room windowsill where he’d been standing still as a statue staring out at the cityscape. If Spencer didn’t stop shaking his leg, you feared he would wear a hole straight through the tile. JJ exits the waiting room as often as she returns, her liaising days quickly coming back, making her their only link to the operating room. Hotch’s behavior is no different. His cell rings every ten to fifteen minutes, no doubt the Bureau wanting to know how the hell this could happen. It’s the only sign that time is actually passing and you’re forced to accept that you’re not stuck in some fucked up purgatory-esque hellscape where time stands still, torturing you as your dear friend’s life teeters between worlds.

What you wanted, what you needed was for him to hold you; to place a kiss against your temple and tell you that everything would be alright. It had to be alright.

He couldn’t show favor to you though, not now. The team didn’t know about your relationship with him, though you believe a few have their suspicions. You’re all too observant for your own good. Not much goes unnoticed by anyone. So when JJ walks back into the waiting room, everyone shifts toward her to try and get a glimpse into her facial expression and body language for any sign of an update regarding Emily’s condition.

Instantly, you know something is wrong. JJ’s eyes flit from one person to the next, not lingering very long on anyone. Spencer is the first to stand and you follow suit. You close in, forming a small half circle. Behind JJ, Hotch stands in the doorway, brow straight as he folds his arms across his chest.

“JJ?” Her name is an anxious plea on Penelope’s lips.

JJ’s eyes drop to the floor as she presses her lips together. She takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes, yours the ones they land on as she speaks. “She never made it off the table.”

A choked sob echoes from Garcia as she falls into Derek’s arms, his features fixed as he stares ahead though his knuckles flush white as he holds tightly onto Penelope. Rossi pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he mutters something to himself; a prayer, maybe. Spencer envelopes JJ in a desperate embrace, as if clinging to her will somehow make her words any less true. Afterall, how can they be? Emily can’t go down, not like this; not after all she’s survived.

Someone says your name. Your brow dips, but you don’t respond. You need to see Emily. Your feet move of their own accord, guiding you through the waiting room. Someone grabs your arm and you tug away from their grasp, set on pushing onward and finding the OR.

Someone repeats your name, and you can’t help but latch on to the deep tenor that belongs to Hotch. You halt in your tracks and close your eyes, tears leaking over your eyelids and down your cheeks.

“I need to talk to Emily,” you say, your voice small.

The way Hotch says your name is laced with pity and you hate the way it sounds on his tongue. He pulls gently on your arm in an attempt to reel you into him, but you resist. You bite your lip to still its trembling. Yanking your arm free, you press on into the hallway and stumble toward the double doors that read in bold letters: Authorized Personnel Only. Fuck that. You’ve got a badge, that’s authority enough. Before you can push through, firm hands twist around your arms.

You push back, but their grip tightens. “Stop,” Hotch urges authoritatively. You turn into him and pound your fist against his chest, a sob cracking free from your mouth. “She’s not gone,” you cry. “She’s not gone. She’s not—” Your legs tremble with the wave of grief that crashes over you and you can’t hold your weight as it does so. Falling to your knees, Hotch reacts. His arms fold around your waist, catching you as you collapse into the wide plane of his chest. Your ribs ache as your lungs inflate with each rapid, sobbing breath. Your vision turns fuzzy at the edges as you try and fail to slow your breathing. It feels like you’re dying as the waves of grief assail you over and over again, battering you, body and mind, in an unrelenting tumultuous current of sorrow and pain as the wicked reality sets in. Emily is dead. You barely feel Hotch’s hand in your hair cradling you against him. As he murmurs apologies and sympathies in your ear, you don’t see the weighted look he exchanges with JJ.

•

The funeral comes and goes. The day is too beautiful for Emily not to be there to see it. You sit on the porch at Hotch’s house, breathing in and out as you watch the daffodils dance in the afternoon breeze. You smooth the fabric of your dress down over your knees, the satin wrinkled from the way you clenched it during the service.

Your phone buzzes in your purse. The number of messages and phone calls you’d ignored continues to rise, but you can’t bring yourself to express any gratitude for their condolences. You can’t bring yourself to feel anything except the crushing weight of grief.

You picture Emily sitting beside you on the wooden porch swing. Last Summer, you’d sat here with her as the team gathered for a Fourth of July Barbecue. Jack had made invitations and delivered them to the team at the office. He’d been so excited and so were you. It was around then that you and Hotch had begun to toe the line between colleagues and something more; a morning coffee dropped off at your desk here, an extra visit to his office there. You’d sat here with Emily watching as Rossi backseat barbecued Hotch on the grill. She’d caught you smiling at him alongside the fondness in your gaze. She’d clocked you from a mile away.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” Her laugh had tinkled from lips, ringing like a morning bell.

“What are you talking about?” you’d asked, trying and failing to school your features into a mask of indifference.

“I’ll tell ya, it’s a big swing, but if you hit it, that’s a home run for sure.”

You’d nearly choked on your lemonade, coughing and gasping; drawing the attention of the others.

“Wrong pipe!” Emily had called while pointing at you and clapping a hand against your back. “She’s good!” In a low voice she’d added, “Though I’m sure with him, it’d be just the right pipe.”

You’d elbowed her in the ribs and bust out laughing together. For the longest time after that, she’d been the only person that you’d confided in about your burgeoning feelings and relationship with Aaron. Through that, she’d quickly become your closest friend on the team.

A couple of kids shout at one another, laughing, as they ride past the house on their bicycles; shattering the memory. You dip into your purse and withdraw your phone, pressing a button and powering it down. The screen door creaks on its hinges and Hotch steps down onto the porch, the planks shifting beneath his weight. He sits beside you and offers you a mug. The scent of coffee reaches your nose and you accept it, thanking him quietly. Aaron had taken his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. He stretches an arm around your shoulder and draws closer to you. He kisses the side of your face and stares out at the yard.

“It was a beautiful service,” he offers.

“Aaron, don’t.” You close your eyes and take a breath. You hold the coffee with both hands, rubbing your thumbs up and down the warm ceramic. “Please don’t make small talk with me about this like it’s all so fucking normal.”

He sighs and apologizes. “I just wish I could make all of your hurt go away.”

A shudder runs through you and you nestle in closer to him, taking a sip of your coffee as you do so. “I don’t think it’ll ever go away.”

•

Her brown eyes stare back at you, though the photo paper could never capture the light that flared within them when she was alive. Of all the faces you could have seen up on this wall, you’d never anticipated hers being one of them.

Every day you stop by her portrait on the wall of fallen heroes. People talk about her less and less around the office. The team doesn’t stop, though your conversations are stilted and often end in awkward silences; no one really knowing how to carry on once the conversation slows to a natural end. You speak often with Spencer about the ways in which you’ve been grieving, the sleepless nights and early mornings. Derek is reserved. He’s angry above anything else. He feels betrayed by Emily and a part of you understands that. She’d not told any of you after all. You’d be remiss if you’d not also spent some of your time grieving in anger. Of all the times you’d stayed late after work, gotten together to hang out on weekends, or gone out for drinks, she had never indicated anything was wrong. You had told her everything, confided every one of your fears and hopes into her and you’d thought that the street had been going both ways. God, you’d never been so wrong.

“Conference room in fifteen,” Aaron says as he walks past you, hand grazing your back as he does so.

You smile tightly and nod, glancing once more at Emily’s photo before making your way to your desk in the bullpen, ignoring the fact hers still sits empty and unoccupied beside yours. How has it been three months already?

•

“Emily!”

Your eyes dart around the room frantically searching as your heart thunders in your ears. You feel the organ pounding against your ribcage, threatening to break free of it. It only takes a second for you to realize it had been a dream.

Aaron rolls over and sits up, threading an arm around your back and rubbing your hip with his fingers. “Another nightmare?” he asks, words tinged with sleepiness.

You nod, yawning as you rub your eyes. The dreams are further apart, but at least every other week her face haunts your subconscious. You can’t help but wonder if it’s some sort of self-punishment as life goes on and the days get easier.

In reality, you don’t know if it’s easier or if you’ve just forced yourself to become numb to it all, compartmentalizing the pain of losing your best friend because if you didn’t you don’t think you’d be able to leave the house and do what you do day after day.

“Are the appointments with the therapist helping?” he asks.

Another question you don’t know the answer to. On some level, yes. Talking to someone who knows nothing about you or her or anyone else on the team is good. You don’t have to walk on eggshells, worried you're going to dig open a wound the others are equally fighting to heal by talking about her or how much you miss her or wish she was here. On another level, you don’t open up fully to the doctor. There are some layers of this injury you don’t want to see heal and scar over. If you do that, it’s like you’re telling Emily that you’re over her death, as if it’s something as easy as that, something you just get over. No, some things need to stay fresh, to serve as a reminder that Ian Doyle is still out there. The man who took your best friend away from you and your BAU family is breathing and she’s not. You clench your fists, the sheets balling up in your hands as your resentment burns deep inside you. Yes, that’s it, the idea of him walking around thinking he’s gotten away with this is enough to stoke the flames simmering deep inside you.

You take a deep breath, mentally imagining the flames subsiding, and they do. They dial down, but they don’t disappear. You glance down at Aaron, who snores softly beside you. His fingers still curl around your hip and a faint smile graces your lips. He tries, you know he does, but this is exhausting for everyone. He bears the brunt of it at the office. He fought to be the one to meet with the team and conduct the grief interviews, not wanting a stranger to come in and sift through your friends’ and colleagues’ pain over what happened. God knows how much bureaucratic red tape he had gotten tangled in right after the fact, the higher ups demanding how such a blunder could occur right under their noses. Aaron had put out the fires though, as he always did. Reaching around his back, you withdraw his hand from your hip and tuck it by his side, not before pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

You glance at the clock before lying back down. 4:15AM blinks back at you on the digital clock face. In forty five minutes the alarm will go off and it’ll be another day at the office. Settling down into the pillows, you press your back into Aaron’s body, yours molding against the planes of his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His arms slinks around your waist and pulls you in as if you can get any closer than you already are. He tucks his chin over your shoulder and his lips brush against your jawline.

“I love you,” he whispers and you relax into the safety of his embrace.

“I love you, too, Aaron.”

•

Nights are hard when Aaron is gone. Pakistan is nine hours ahead and all Hotch has to communicate with anyone is a satellite phone, the number for which you don’t have access to. Whenever Hotch calls, the caller ID flashes the word ‘Unknown’ across your screen. There have been several times you’ve missed him due to being asleep or at work. Each call missed feels like being sucker punched. Every time you talk, a part of you worries it’ll be the last time. You didn’t use to have this fear, not until Emily. Despite staring death in the face on a week by week basis, most of the time playing Russian Roulette with the Grim Reaper himself in each unsub you cross paths with, somehow you never thought he’d actually take someone you love from you; that he’d take down one of the team. You never thought there’d be a last conversation with Emily, and now she’s dead.

Dead. The word is a heavy stone, sinking from the cusps of your mind to the pit of your stomach. It sits there, a persistent ache idling deep inside of you. It never relents and it never allows you to forget.

There are nights you dream that Aaron is dead too, that somewhere far away and beyond your control, he’s dying on the ground, bleeding out, and no one knows. You don’t even know what he’s working on and he can’t say; despite your relationship there are still levels in which Hotch’s clearance supersedes your own and the need-to-know red tape keeps you out. Afraid to close your eyes and dream of his unseeing, you stare at the blades of the ceiling fan whirling lazily overhead of the bed you usually share with him.

“I miss you,” you whisper to no one; and you don’t know who you’re talking to anymore.

•

“He’s back?” your heart flutters in your chest, equal parts excited and anxious at the prospect of Aaron’s sudden return. You push off your desk and swivel in your chair to stand, rushing down the hall and leaving Reid behind as you make your way hastily to the conference room.

The door is cracked and a gleeful sound eeks past your lips as his tall frame comes into view. You slip in before anyone else arrives and throw your arms around you. Inhaling deeply, his familiar teakwood scent envelopes you just as his arms do. You move to pull away, but his arms tighten around you.

“A second more,” he whispers, and there’s an edge to his voice.

You write it off to jet lag and sink into his embrace, though you notice how slight he feels against you. Finally, you pull back and cup his face in your hands. The scruff of his beard is prickly and you laugh as you take in his rugged appearance. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with this much facial hair.” You swipe your thumbs over the hair on his lip and he tilts his head, kissing the inside of your hand. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before lifting them to meet yours. It's then you realize how tired he looks. The bags under his eyes are puffy and purple, almost as if they’re bruised. His forehead is creased, brow furrowed; definitely not how you pictured him upon reuniting.

“Aaron is everything ok—”

“I need you to know I would never hurt you,” he says quickly, interrupting you.

You purse your lips, brow pinching at the sudden admission. As your lips part to speak he directs a pointed look at you, the depths of his brown eyes wavering. “I love you,” his voice cracks, “so much.” He swallows, his throat bobbing as he does so. “Please remember that.”

There’s a hollow feeling in your gut, a chasm opening wide where every anxious and painful thought that you’ve tried to keep buried since he’s been gone begins to claw their way out as a thousand different outcomes play out in front of you. “Aaron, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer your question as the rest of the team trickles into the room, sitting at the round table or standing as suspense fills the space. It’s tangible. Everyone’s posture is rigid and tense in anticipation of whatever it is he has to say.

“Seven months ago I made a decision that impacted everyone on this team,” he begins, eyes firm.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably beside you. Rossi leans forward, fingers steepled under his chin.

“As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood,” Hotch continues and your ears prick at the sound of her name. Why would he bring her up? No less, her condition the day you all lost her. You all know this.

“…the doctor’s were able to stabilize her.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out as you raise your eyes to meet his. They meet yours for the briefest of seconds before flitting on to the others.The next words to leave his mouth sound far away, interrupted by the blood now pounding in your eardrums. “She stayed there until she was well enough to travel…given identities…”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel as though you may choke on it. Air doesn’t seem to be able to bypass it and you have to remind yourself that you can breathe even though it feels like all the oxygen has vacated your lungs.

Penelope is the first to speak. “She’s alive?”

Spencer’s brow quirks as he tries to rationalize what’s being said to him. “We buried her.”

You did. You helped carry the casket. You felt the weight of her dead body and watched it sink into the earth. If that wasn’t her, what the fuck or who the fuck did you actually put in the ground?”

“As I said I take full responsibility for this decision,” Hotch continues, eyes downcast. “If anyone has any issues they should be directed towards me.”

The blood pounding in your ears is deafening. When Hotch looks up, you search his eyes and can’t help wondering if you know him at all. All of the nights you literally made yourself sick from crying and he held your hair back as you dry heaved over the toilet and your body spasmed from the grief of losing your best friend, he’d known that she was alive. For a moment, you think you may be sick right there at the round table at the thought of it all. Derek is speaking, his voice tight with anger but you don’t hear him. Heads turn and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as a haunting feeling creeps up the back of your spine.

Turning around in your chair, everyone else stands but not you. If you do, you know your knees will buckle and fall out from under you. Spencer and Penelope are on their feet, moving briskly to greet the ghost of Emily.

Except she’s not a ghost. Her skin is not the cold blue-gray pallor of death, but pink and bright, the blood beneath her flesh very much pumping through a heart that’s beating. Her dark brown hair is sleek and shining, her bangs grown out and styled; her part now to the right. You watch her arms fold around Spencer and the way he squeezes her in turn. Penelope follows suit, tears streaming down her cheeks as she smiles widely. Derek stares on, features fixed in a cross between anger and shock. Emily approaches him with apprehension. An apology leaves her lips as she draws him in for a hug and his arms tentatively wrap around her. When she turns to you, your muscles tense. Those deep brown irises flicker back and forth across your face, searching for a reaction. You don’t give her one. Instead, you push past her, avoiding any and all physical contact with her, and dip out of the conference room.

You hear Garcia call your name and Derek shouts about having a case. You don’t care. You bypass your desk, not even bothering to get your purse. Your keys are hanging on a carabiner on your belt loop. Ignoring the elevator, you shove your way through the entrance to the stairs and move down them so quickly you’re surprised you don’t lose your footing and tumble down them. Down and around you go, your footsteps echoing as your heart slams against your ribcage. You slap your badge against the keypad that lets you exit the building, ignoring the greeting from the security guard at the front. As you push through the front doors of the office building, you barely make it to the bushes before you fall to your knees and retch.

•

A car door slams followed by the double beep which locks them. You close your eyes and inhale deeply as you prepare to face him, hands clenching around the sweater you were packing. A tear slips free from your eye as you breathe out and look toward the ceiling, as if the answers to why all of this had to happen are written up there. This is not how your reunion is supposed to be. You’d pictured his homecoming for weeks; thought about the outfit you’d wear to dinner and the lingerie you’d bought to wear just for him when you both got home, opened a bottle of wine, and made up for all of the time lost while he was away. That is how tonight is supposed to go.

Now you’re leaving, and you don’t know if you’ll be coming back.

The lock on the front door jiggles before the gears click into place. It squeaks on its hinges as it swings open. Five beeps follow and you can picture his fingers pressing against each button on the alarm system. His keys clatter as he drops them on the table. As his footsteps edge closer to your bedroom, you count each one. The sound that usually means safety and security, now sends a shiver of anxiety throughout your body.

He appears in the doorway, eyes rife with exhaustion and the bags beneath them puffy and swollen. His cheeks are flushed and his nose is pink, as if he’d been crying. Maybe he had been, god knows you had. His eyes flit between you and the bag you’re packing. His lips part and a small sound of desperation slips past them.

“Baby, please—”

You hold up a hand, curling your fingers into a fist. Your lip curls as you speak. “Don’t,” you breathe. You swallow the lump that quickly forms in your throat as you drop your hand, zipping the bag shut.

The inner corners of his brow draw upward and you can hardly stand to look into his pleading gaze.

“You have to understand—”

“Understand, what? Aaron?” You ask sharply, struggling to hold back the thick hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

He places a hand on his hip, fingers tucking back the fold of his unbuttoned shirt as his thumb hooks into his belt; a gesture you’re all too familiar with as he does the same thing with all of his suits. His other hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose. He pauses, inhaling as he tries to find the words. After a moment, he scrubs a hand over his face and turns his gaze to yours.

“I wanted to tell you so badly,” he says. When he looks at you there are tears in his eyes. “I hated myself, watching the agony this decision put you and the team through. I wanted to tell you and take away your hurt, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to the team. Just because you’re my girlfriend, I can’t—” He turns his hand and slams his hand against the doorframe causing you to flinch. “Dammit!”

Your voice is soft, but sure when you speak. “You can’t bend the rules.”

It’s what you’ve always worried about, both of you. You always knew the job could come first, especially with him being the Unit Chief. You always understood that that meant no preferential treatment and that is something you never would’ve asked him to do. You just never anticipated it happening like this, a complete and total life altering mind fuck.

Aaron drops his hand and it slaps against his thigh in defeat as it falls to his side. “What was I supposed to do?”

You cross your arms over your chest, fingers curling over your biceps to try and still your shaking hair. You hang your head and a curtain of hair falls across your face, “I don’t know, Aaron.”

He kicks off the doorway, moving towards you with his hands outstretched. It happens without thinking, the way you flinch away. Pain flashes in his eyes and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the stomach the way it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

His hip is close to yours, his body angled away from you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulder as he looks down. “Don’t do this,” he whispers.

Your lip quivers, chin wobbling in response to the tears you’re trying so desperately to hold back. “I have vacation I’d been saving.” You pick up your bag and throw it over your shoulder, not daring to look up at him because you know if you do you’ll shatter into a thousand shards of glass at his feet.

As you move toward the door, you pause. For a split second, you entertain the thought of dropping your bag, running across the room he’d chased you around so many times before, and throwing yourself around him. You consider all the things you want to say and scream and cry about; all of your anger, sadness, betrayal, grief, and love. You crave him so terribly in that moment because his have always been the arms you’ve run to when things become too much to bear.

Instead, your chin dips toward your shoulder as you speak, but you don’t raise your eyes to meet his. If you do, you don’t think you’ll be able to leave. “My gun and badge are in the safe.”

As you make your way down the hallway, you have to bite your knuckles to stifle a sob just as you hear one leave his lips from the bedroom.

You don’t turn back.

145 notes · View notes