༻˖ ࣪ ∗ Writing Catalog

— just thought about sharing these here because why not? I'm not TikTok famous so maybe it could blow up here right.

— GRADUATION | c.ai // polyspeak.ai

— RIVALRY TO LOVE | c.ai // polyspeak.ai

— EX-FRIEND | c.ai // polyspeak.ai

and if johnny’s interest in mommy kink gets instigated by kyle (without kyle knowing), what then

thinking about johnny accidentally snooping on kyle’s phone. he didn’t mean to, really. he just heard kyle’s phone ringing, saw the contact name being mommy, and hollered for his friend.

poor chap practically tore the phone from johnny’s hand before racing out of the room. price and ghost were just as astonished as johnny was, the three of them making awkward eye contact with each other because, truly, what the fuck.

kyle was all tight-lipped when he returned, glaring at johnny for butting into his business but johnny swore he didn’t—

“it’s y’r mum! what’d ya want me to do? let it go to voicemail?”

“it isn’t–” kyle’s lips curled like he tasted something sour. “just. mind your business next time.”

there was a heartbeat of silence, before soft chortles rumbled from their captain. johnny realized, at the sound of price’s laughter, what type of mommy, exactly, was calling kyle.

“oh, shit,” he murmured, something like desire filling him up. he ignored ghost’s stare or their captain’s petering laughter; he ignored the wafting question that descended on them all because kyle was looking at him with something like understanding.

like recognition.

“she would love you,” kyle said after a while, smiling. “do you want a mommy, ‘tavish?”

it was said so softly, so quietly, and yet it rang like a gunshot in johnny’s head. he didn’t even realize the ragged rasp of his breath or the way his body hunched over in his desire. all he knew, all he could focus on, was the invitation that kyle was giving him.

“please,” he muttered, too needy for anything louder.

—

you are the best thing to ever happen to him. the prettiest thing; all crooning and teasing, all dimpled smile and quiet giggles. johnny thought all he would have gotten was a quick fuck—get his dick wet, explore his new kink, maybe even shed a few tears; he really didn’t know what he was looking for.

but then, there you were. are.

so accepting. so lovely. so desirable in a way that had him begging for more, his words all slurred with his tears and desperation.

“please,” he said to you too then. he couldn’t voice out what it was he really wanted to say. but he didn’t need to, not with the way you cupped his cheeks and brushed away the tears and sweat staining his flushed cheeks.

“of course,” you said. “such a good boy, f’me.”

johnny dropped his face on the soft of your lap, trying to tamp down the tears. the hiccups.

he shivered at the rougher hands that also began to play with his hair.

“so good f’r us, johnny,” kyle added, so soft. so careful.

johnny shivered, desire bloating.

he really needed to give kyle a fruit basket or something.

—

“i really thought it’d be you into that,” price murmurs when it’s just him and simon, before taking a drag on his cig.

simon almost chokes on his whiskey. “what?” he croaks out.

price breathes out the smoke, fingers drumming on the table, only to shrug and keep to himself again.

simon gawks because what the hell.

got possessed. drew this. bon appetit

dont tag as ship!

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

You Say Goodbye to Soap (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content warnings: Verbal child abuse, she/her reader Word Count: 3.5k

Service Dog Johnny Part 19 (full part list here)

Simon doesn’t do crowds. 

Well, he does them, he’s just on pins and needles the whole time. He turns into something granite and hyper-aware, covered as much as he can be with a medical mask and long sleeves, so you try not to force him through it too often. Sometimes though, there’s a good reason for suffering.

“Fuck you,” Johnny mutters, arms crossed while you both watch your boyfriend seamlessly plink through targets, with that mini rifle tucked tight into his shoulder. “Right prick.”

“Eight out of ten is still really good,” you remind him. Johnny only missed the first two targets, and that’s understandable considering the carnival air guns can’t possibly be accurate.

“Used my go to sight the weapon, is what he did. I’m goin’ again.”

You’re not entirely sure that it’s possible to aim a gun just by watching someone else shoot it, but then again, Simon is finishing up the last target right now, dead center.

“C’mere, you.” Your man motions you over with a jerk of his head, handing the pea shooter back to the bored worker. 

Simon watches your face as you hurry over to him, as if your delighted smile is all he wanted in the first place. You quickly scan the prize options as his hand settles against the curve of your lower back. Unicorn… cat… sloth… raccoon… teddy bear. 

You choose the pillow-sized raccoon because it’s fluffy, and it reminds you of Simon before he washes off his eyeblack. 

“Thanks,” you chirp, hugging your prize and stepping out of the way for Johnny’s turn. 

“Someone had to pick up the slack,” Simon mutters, turning his eyes to the determined set of Johnny’s shoulders.

Horrified, you shoot him a look that conveys, ‘You’d better shut the fuck up, or else.’

Plink. Plink. Good start. 

“Better hurry up, Johnny,” Simon drawls. “Too slow, you’re gonna miss it.”

“Simon,” you hiss at him, only to observe a devious light in his eye while he pretends he can’t hear you. 

Plink, plink, plink.

“Two, ten, seven, reload,” Simon barks. “Oh look, Graves is here.”

“I’ll fawkin’ kill ye,” Johnny growls against the stock, nailing the last few targets in rapid succession. 

Your face is burning by the time Johnny sets the gun aside. Of all the days for Simon to antagonize him, why does he have to pick this one? You’re not even sure there will be another chance to see Johnny after today, and instead of minding the delicate balance of things, your boyfriend’s decided to stomp all over it. 

Yet somehow, you seem to be the only one concerned. Johnny merely spares his friend a passing glare before turning back to the prizes, selecting a sparkly unicorn for himself. 

“Do you want me to carry that for you?” you offer with a shocked laugh.

He hugs it against his chest. “Aye, when I’m good and dead. No one’s separating me from my unicorn.”

Right. Okay, then. 

The sun has just gone down, and taken the last of the warmth with it, so you thread your fingers in with Simon’s and look around for things to do before the nighttime crowd fills the park.

“What kind of rides do you like, Johnny?”

He winks at you over the fluffy rainbow mane. “Fast ones.”

“Bloody hell,” your boyfriend sighs. “I’m gonna be stuck holding the toy shop for the pair of you.”

“We can take turns,” you suggest. “Look, this one’s the biggest roller coaster they have. You and Johnny go, before the line gets too long.”

Simon doesn’t disagree, but he starts squinting up at the ride the closer you get to it, as if he’s inspecting the track for defects. You’re just about to reach for the unicorn Johnny’s passing to you, when Simon makes a grunt of disapproval. 

“Fuckin’ back brace on him, I’m not going.”

Sure enough, one of the workers is gingerly crossing the platform to unstrap riders, while encased in a turtle shell of a brace. 

Johnny scoffs. “Didn't break it on the ride, you dobber.”

“Fuck are we supposed to know that?” 

“He’d be dead then, wouldn’t he? Puddle on the pavement.”

“No one is dying on these rides,” you insist, snatching Johnny’s toy. “It’s perfectly safe.” 

Simon smoothly plucks both animals from your grasp. “Seeing as you’re not worried, you and Johnny go.”

Okay, well, now you’re worried. 

You find yourself spectacularly stuck next to Johnny in that stuffy queue leading up to the platform, feeling like a total idiot for getting so easily conned into it. Why couldn’t you have thought of an excuse to avoid this? You only suggested the ride to give the guys a chance to have fun together without stepping on anyone’s toes, and instead you’re left scrambling for small talk. 

It’s not that you don’t want to be alone with Johnny, it’s just that you weren’t expecting it to happen so suddenly. You were perfectly fine with using Simon as a buffer for the night, and never bringing up that whopping pile of confusion until Johnny was at least willing to open up a little. But now he’s alone with you, acting fairly happy and normal, as if he never walked out that door. 

Is that what he wants? Is this going to turn into some horrible game of evasion, where he wanders back into your life and you’re forced to pretend nothing ever happened, and just hope he doesn’t do it again? Can you live like that?

You tried winging it before. You never made him explain himself to you or communicate, and all it did was blow up in your face.  

“So why’d you pick the raccoon?”

You blink yourself out of your thoughts, focusing on his face in the cheery glow of Christmas lights. “Oh, um. They’re cute. And I guess I like wild animals.”

For some reason Johnny laughs at your genuine answer. “Makes sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You know what it means.” He rests his elbows back on the steel railing and gives you this irritating smirk, so you roll your eyes in return. Okay, Flirt MacTavish. Nice to see you again, it’s been a while. 

Thankfully the line moves forward right when you need it to, and you sidestep his teasing eyes to poke your head around the beam and scan the waiting area for Simon.

“Oh my god, Johnny,” you whisper. “Look.”

His body presses to your back as he looks over your shoulder, and is greeted by the same sight you are — Simon, with one enormous plushie wedged under each arm, engaged in apparent conversation with some random, gray-haired grandma. You can’t see his mouth moving behind the mask, but he’s inclining his head the same way he does when he’s talking to you. 

“She’s stealin’ your man, hen.”

“Let her. He likes the attention.”

The stuffed animals have absolutely shattered his carefully constructed standoffishness. They’re like a beacon of cuteness, inviting in questions and curious looks, and honestly it serves him right for abandoning you to Johnny like this. You hope he’s suffering, but from the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, you kind of doubt it. 

Finally you get buckled into the ride next to Johnny, and the nerves you have about him give way to your more pressing fear of heights. When was the last time you rode in one of these things? All of a sudden the pattern of loops spreading across the open air in front of you look a lot more serious than they did from the ground. 

“Don’t let Simon see you scared,” Johnny says, nudging your shoe with his. The ride starts forward with a reverberating clunk, clunk.

“I’m not,” you lie. 

“Hold my hand then, or you’re full of shit.”

That doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, but you mold your palm around his and squeeze it tight, right before the drop. 

Holy shit.

Johnny wasn’t kidding about liking fast rides. He whoops and laughs through most of it, and you’re not sure if it’s the actual rush that’s getting to him, or your terrified shrieks. The loops hit rapidly one after another, and you just try to hang on as you pass through your threshold of fear and beyond. By the time you finally hit the end of the ride, your heart is slamming in your chest, and Johnny’s hand seems to have permanently fused with yours. 

As the ride cars slowly chug up that loud conveyor belt to the platform, you unlock your spine and glance over at your friend to make sure he’s all in one piece. 

He’s gorgeous. Ruddy-cheeked from the cold, breathlessly grinning at you, as if he’s exactly where he wants to be right now. Beautiful, human, completely impenetrable and emotionally closed-off.

It makes you want to hit him. 

You’d go to town on his stupid chest if you could, punching and slapping those perfect muscles on up and down his shoulder. You want to scream in his ear until he understands how much pain he’s put you through, because maybe then this hold he has on you would finally release. If you burned all your bridges and told him never to come back, maybe you’d stop wanting him quite so fiercely. 

Because even after all of that, you do want him. You want to own him. You want to ruin him. You want him like Veruca Salt stomping her foot and shrieking, ‘Daddy, give him to me!’

You want your heart to connect with his, and that craving is so intense that you’re almost jealous of anyone who’s ever deeply known him. Jealous of Simon, who always seems to understand what Johnny’s thinking before you do. It feels wrong, existing so close to Johnny and not touching, not staring, not knowing. 

Not allowed to know. 

This was all a mistake. A combination of oversights from all three of you, until you’ve reached this point of pain that was so, so preventable.

Johnny leans towards you as you pull your hand away from his. “Hungry?” 

The line for the concession stand is annoyingly long. You’re waiting here by yourself because you really needed some space to clear your head. You mentally repeat your food order to yourself, as if it won’t evaporate out of your brain the second you step up to the window.

Three pretzels, two cheeses, two hot chocolates, and do you have any hot tea? 

You’re being idiotic about Johnny. Look at them over there, holding a conference at the picnic table with two stuffies propped up next to each of them. How could you dare be jealous of the most important friendship Simon’s ever had? You’d have to be some kind of selfish monster to deny either of them that comfort. 

Three pretzels, two cheeses, two hot chocolates, and do you have any tea bags, and packets of sugar?

You just weren’t prepared for how unsatisfying this night would be. You’re giving Johnny space, and Simon’s giving you space, and it all makes you want to cry. 

“I hope you’re fucking happy.”

Your heart begins to race, hearing those words spat with such hate from somewhere behind you. Instinctively you twist your face around in search of the threat, hoping it’s just some old person berating a server who will never have to see them again. But no, it’s much worse.

An older man sits across from a boy who looks to be about nine, his lip curled up in contempt as he stares the kid down.

Looking away, the boy mumbles something you don’t catch, but the man doesn’t even let him finish before sneering, “You’re a pansy, is what you are. ‘Fraid of a little roller coaster. Don’t know why I bother taking you anywhere nice like this, when you’ll just wimp out.” 

Outrage pushes blood to your face, as you glance back over at Simon. He’s too far away to hear what’s going on, still shooting the shit with Johnny. It’s just you and the couple in front of you who seem to notice, the woman giving you an exasperated look, and the man determinedly staring straight ahead. 

You know that tone of voice. That kind of disrespect has is etched into your bones, and you know exactly what it leads to. It’s the voice Simon grew up with, the one he has in his head every day, and has to convince himself to ignore. 

Helplessly you take another step forward in line, watching the boy in your peripheral vision when he at last decides that the tirade is over, and raises his head. The direction of the kid’s sad gaze shouldn’t surprise you, but it does, as he peers over at your two soldiers across the way. 

You look as well, wondering what he sees. Two large men, built strong enough to hurt anyone who talks down to them? Friends who are comfortable with each other, happily performing for no one? Or maybe he’s seeing the innate self confidence they have, to be able to hold their heads high while lugging around stuffed animals in public. It’s almost a display of power, if you look at it through the boy’s eyes. Or at the very least, it’s freedom.

Maybe it’s because you know about Simon’s childhood. Or maybe it’s your own memories growing up that flood you with righteous anger, the firsthand knowledge of how it is to live in fear. How the wrath of your ‘trusted adult’ is absolutely inescapable at that age. You know that weight. You can see it on that boy’s shoulders, suffocating him. 

You know what, you’re going to say something. You’re not going to just turn your head away, like that man in front of you. You’re going to walk right up to that awful dad and chew him out, for your sake and for the sake of every kid who’s ever had to listen to words like that. 

Clutching your purse tighter and squaring your shoulders, you’re just mustering up the anger you need to go through with it, when— 

“Next in line? Next in line?”

“Oh, uh…” you step forward, trying to remember what you came here for. “Do you have… pretzels?”

The worker gives you a deadpan look and gestures over to the very obvious display of soft pretzels under heat lamps. 

“O-okay, yeah, two of those, please. No, wait, three, and cheese.”

“Three pretzels and cheese,” the guy recites, giving you the total. 

You’re obviously not going to cuss anyone out while holding a bushel of pretzels, so once you’ve paid you stuff your wallet back into your purse, and head towards your table to unload. 

“Can’t believe there’s no smoking here,” the horrible man grumbles as you pass by, fishing into his pocket. “Go get your old man a Coke, and don’t be keeping any change.”

The hatred churns in your chest but you keep walking, certain that you’re about to get your revenge. You’re a marginally attractive person, and you’re here with a couple of meatheads who can squish pretty much anyone. There’s no risk involved, you can just unload, and that man… will… take it out on the kid. 

Simon gives you a puzzled expression when your face falls, as soon as you reach them. 

It’s useless. There’s not a single thing you can do for that boy. Any way you tear down his father would only result in him getting the punishment for it. 

You’re just as stuck as ever, helpless and stupid and no one important, same as you were as a child. You might as well still be that little girl, realizing that nothing you could ever do would make the adults in your life see you as human. 

All you are is taller now, with tits.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asks, as you push his pretzel over to him. 

“Um…”

They’re both concerned now. Dammit. 

Your gaze drops to the sparkly unicorn, its horn twinkling in the lights. 

“Johnny?” you prompt, blinking at him while your form your thoughts. 

“Hmm?” 

You rest your hand on the head of his unicorn, tugging at the ear. “Can I have this? For keeps? Will you give it to me?”

He blinks rapidly in surprise, glancing down at his prized plushie. “Yeah, alright. Sure.”

Before you can second guess yourself, you scoop both animals up into your arms and head straight for the boy’s table. 

“Excuse me,” you chirp, giving that disgusting man your most sunshiny smile. “I got these prizes here, and I just can’t take them home. They won’t fit in my car. Would you like to have these?” You turn your eyes on the boy for the last question, hopeful. 

He doesn’t look at your face, just darts his eyes to his dad, and then to the unicorn. 

“Tryin’ to run a hustle?” The man asks suspiciously.

“Nope, they’re free! Just hoping you could help me out.”

The boy glances over at Simon and Johnny, and the man says, “Aww, why not. We’ll take the brown one, don’t need no girl stuff.”

“Oh, come on,” you practically flirt, setting both animals on the bench. “Can’t you take both? I’d really appreciate it.”

Yeah, you’re laying on the charm for the old guy. You’re crooking your shoulder up and smiling a little saucy, and you don’t even feel bad about it. You have tits now. 

“Well, alright,” he allows, seeming pleased to have you begging him. 

“Thank you so much.” You finally bend down a little towards the boy, who hasn’t looked at you at all. His brown eyes lift hesitantly to yours. 

“I’m very happy,” you tell him honestly, “that these guys got to go to someone really special.”

You leave before anyone can change their mind. You just turn right around and prepare to explain why you just Robin Hooded Johnny’s special—

Smack, slosh.

Instead of the clear path back that you thought you had, you run right into someone’s body, and frigid wet instantly coats your thighs.

“I’m so sorry!” the girl gasps, as you both stare down at your legs, completely saturated in some cold, fizzy drink. 

“I— it was my fault,” you stammer, brushing droplets off the bottom of your coat. “I’m sorry.”

You’re so frozen in shock that it’s not until Simon materializes next to you that you even think to move away from the puddle. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, “let’s get you home.”

What? Home? 

A breeze runs through the place then, and you shivery violently at how frigid it feels when your leggings are soaked. You do have to go home. That’s the only option. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell Johnny, when Simon’s hand on your elbow urges you to start walking. “I didn’t mean to… for it to be like this.”

“Ehh, it’s alright.” He offers you one of the pretzels he’s carrying. “There’ll be other times.”

No, there won’t. You had this one opportunity to prove to him that you should be in his life, and instead of doing what you needed to do to secure that, you were awkward and you stole his unicorn and you made everyone leave early. This was a disaster.

Fuck, don’t cry. You cannot cry right now. 

You stop up your tear ducts through sheer stubbornness, numbly traversing the park and passing all the things you never got to do. 

You’re a ruiner, you didn’t even get to talk with Simon tonight, just made him stand around everywhere you went and not have any fun. 

Don’t cry. 

By the time you make it back to your car, the only thing keeping the tears at bay is the surface tension on your eyeballs. You’be got patches of frostbite on the front of each thigh, and even your hair feels a little sticky from stray droplets of soda. It’s the most you can do to just mutter an excuse to Simon, and escape into the back seat of your car to strip off your leggings. 

As soon as you’re alone in that quiet, frozen car, the tears come. Silently they stream down your face, bringing with them the rising tide of your own inadequacy. The guys’ voices are a low hum from somewhere outside while you yank your shoelaces undone and fail to come up with a single glimmer of hope. 

There’s nothing you can do. You did your best, and it wasn’t enough. 

One shoe off, you’re forced to stifle a sob with your hands, as you come to the painful realization that you have to say goodbye to Johnny. Not just tonight, but in your heart. You’ve been clinging to that control, the idea that if you just perform everything perfectly, you can decide the outcome of the relationship. 

But that’s false, you know it now. No amount of flawless behavior will make him love you, if it’s not meant to be. 

The side door opens before you've managed to make progress on the second shoe, the task of removing your leggings now utterly cast to the side with the flood of emotion. 

You already know it’s Johnny, even before he scoots himself into the backseat with you and wraps you up in his warm arms. Somehow you can tell even without looking, but you know it for sure when you bury your wet face into his shoulder and get a lungful of his scent. 

“I missed you,” he says.

Next Part

Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Appreciation Recs

why? because i said so. the fact that he's the least appreciated is a fucking crime and we need to fix that😐

Miss Sunshine - @sofasoap - the fluff- THE FLUFF😭😭😭😭 this legit had me giggling and kicking my feet in the middle of the night, i swear❤️

White Flag - @writeforfandoms - i want to be saved by this man so fucking bad🥴 okay, stressful situation aside, this was so cute❤️

Gaz + comfort sex - @sprout-fics - right in the fucking feels😭😭😭 this makes me just so so so weeaakkk. please just say you wanted me dead because that's what i am rn😭🔥

State Of My Head - @writeforfandoms - THIS. FIC. IS. EVERYTHING TO ME❤️ from the moment kitty met Gaz and he was just so gentle and respectful when handling her AND HE SMELLED GOOD, he's just had me in a chokehold😭 *distant choking sobbing noises*

Wrong Room - @mangowafflesss - there's just something about college!Gaz that makes me so weak, okay?🥴 and you did it beautifully with this one. i love this fic so much😭😭😭

Gaz prompt - @mangowafflesss - he's such a bumbling little cutie, i love him so much. thank you for this🔥❤️

Where The Petals Fall - @deadbranch - i swear you are just amazing, alright? this fic is absolutely top tier and it had me in tears🔥🔥🔥

Gaz has baby-fever - @konigsblog - fucking. hell🥵 just kill me. kill me right now. that's what you want, isn't it? ISN'T IT??😭

Breeding Kink with Gaz - @konigsblog - same with this one! you are an absolute menace for this one🥵

Cult of Vagabonds - @halcyone-of-the-sea - listen, i know i added your fic to the July picklejar rec list, but can you blame me for adding you to this one? can you? no, i didn't think so❤️

shameless self-advertisement by @groguspicklejar

(because obviously i couldn't find enough Gaz fics out there and people can't seem to find the reblog button🙄 so i find other ways to show my work🙃)

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick really soft hc that nobody asked for

Kyle picks you up from work

Kyle Garrick on boys night

Two Peas In A Pod

fanarts

Kyle checking you out - @temeyes - if Gaz looked at me like this, i-i would do anything he asks of me🥴

gaz. need i say more? -@skyspats - nope. nothing else needs to be said🌹

Rizz Master Gaz - @ramvur - HE HAS TOO MUCH POWER!!! but he uses it accordingly👌🏼✨💯

Charming Gaz - @munyon - you know what the first thing i said upon seeing this? it was "oh fuck🥵" because yes, that's what i would like this man to do to me. thanks.

Garden Knome 141 - @grimmzee - quick question: was Gaz hanging upside down a callback to the helicopter scene? because it feels oddly reminiscent😉 in a cute way, of course✨

Little British Guy - @tanukigobrrr - you have no idea how much i love this, it's so so cute🌻🌻🌻

Amsterdam Outfit - @minkei - THE AMSTERDAM FIT WAS SO ICONIC, I'M SO GLAD YOU RECREATED IT😭✨🔥

Gaz Sketch - @chocolatestrawberry-poptart - the little heart on his hat is everything❤️❤️❤️

Gaz Angst - @reds-skull - GAZ ANGST IS TOP TIER AND YOU'RE RIGHT, THERE SHOULD BE MORE!!! this is so amazing and it deserves an award for putting tears in my eyes👌🏼✨💯

Gazzz - @loneghostwolf - i guess this doesn't technically classify as fanart but i wanted to save it here so i can revisit it because he just looks so good😭❤️

Boop! - @temeyes - SO. FUCKING. CUTE✨💯 Soap is a fucking menace, btw, but I'm not gonna lie and say i wouldn't have done the same, okay? okay bye❤️

childe’s ❝night terrors❞

❏ plot: you get an eerie feeling he’s been looking forward to this. humor, fluff, minor angst, fake dating au. based off this prompt.

❐ pairing: childe | tartaglia x gender neutral!reader.

❐ words: 2.9k.

❏ warnings: none!

It’s been a long day. You’ve followed Childe everywhere: from the mountaintops of Snezhnaya to the hillsides of Liyue and finally, finally, you’re getting some rest for the night.

“There’s only one bed.” But there’s only one bed.

Childe looks completely unbothered despite the look of exhaustion in his smile. He tosses his bag on the foot of the lone bed, puts his hands on his hips, and turns to you with a gleam, “We are a couple.”

“No, we’re not,” you’d had to say that multiple times today, more than you ever expected you’d need to, “now hand me a Mora so we can flip for who gets it.”

Okumaya devam et

Me all the time 2

Me: I ship A with B

Me: I ship A with C too

Me: B with C isn’t that bad either

Me: But you know what is the best?

Me: Ship another pair!

My Brain: Do a love tringle!

Me: …

My Brain: …

Me: Why are you like this?

I have zero URs oh well