#to someone whose life you are no longer part of (watching them leave without you)

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet, now I've read all of the books beside your bed -> Your location, you forgot to turn it off, and so I watch as you walk into some bar called The Black Dog and pierce new holes in my heart

[readwritealldayallnight]

Part 4 of Bird Watching aka hot construction worker Simon Riley x single mom reader

It’s almost comical, when you allow yourself the rare moment of quiet to sit and reflect, just how different life is now compared to less than a year ago

Last year, the mental check list you went through every time you ventured out of your flat was much shorter, simpler, the bare essentials one might say

Wallet? Check

Phone? Check

Keys? Check

Out the door you went

Nowadays, the check list was only the teensiest bit longer, thanks to the teensiest addition to your flat

Wallet? Check

Phone? Check

Keys? Check

Diaper bag? Check

Enough diapers and wipes? Got it

Extra sets of clothes in case she has a blow out? Already packed in the bag

Her little beanie in case it gets chilly? You swore you had shoved it to the bottom of the diaper bag last time you took a walk…

Enough blankies for her to be comfortable in the pram? Most are in the hamper where you left them…

Her pacifier if she gets fussy? Can’t find a single one, though you swore you owned a dozen…

The baby sling if she becomes tired of the pram and wants to be held? Has to be somewhere around here…

Getting out the door recently proved to be a more complicated affair than you were used to, as did every other aspect of new motherhood that no one could suitably prepare you for, though as the weeks went on, you were slowly but surely getting the hang of things

Not that you had much of a choice in the matter, did you?

Your family and friends overseas were supportive, they checked in with you regularly, always gushed over each and every baby photo you sent their way, had even gone and sent you care packages not long after your delivery, helping to contribute to all the baby gear and supplies you would need to embark on this new chapter of your life… but at the end of the day, you were still going through all this by yourself

It was you who was navigating the late night cluster feedings, it was you who had to learn how to soothe a colicky infant who never wanted to be put down, you who still had to cook the meals you needed to eat, you who still washed the dishes that piled up, you who still had to do the laundry that needed washing, you who had to pay the bills which weighed heavy on your mind each time you watched your bank account diminish, all of this while running on such little sleep you oftentimes felt more like the undead than someone who’d just created new life

And yet… you managed

This hadn’t been how you’d originally envisioned your life going, but now that she was here, now that the tiny speck of life you’d spent months growing inside you was more than just a blurry mass on an ultrasound screen, now that she was a real tangible person whose birth certificate bore your name and yours alone, you couldn’t picture a world without her

The only issue was, you couldn’t picture how much longer you’d be able to keep this up - money was the one thing you couldn’t offer her in abundance

You were a smart girl, you’d been saving up ever since you started working as a teenager, you rented a flat that wasn’t out of your budget, you sold the car when it became evident that it was a luxury you couldn’t afford to keep any longer - but no one could have prepared you for how utterly and devastatingly expensive babies were

Your only choice was to go back to work, as heartbreaking as the thought of leaving your new baby in the care of strangers was, and as much as your body protested the idea, you really were running out of options unfortunately

The stark lack of childcare available was only just the cherry on top of it all, wasn’t it?

You’d reached out to in-home nurseries, local daycares, nanny agencies, larger company centres, and every time the answer was the same: there’s a wait list

As much as you valued your independence, your ability to stay positive in the face of problems no matter how big or small, and as much as you despised asking for help, you had been inching closer to a breaking point when you overheard a conversation between two mums in the paediatricians waiting room, something about the bothersome construction site around the corner being worth it in the end if it turned out to be a new nursery after all

Swallowing down your pride and putting on what you hoped came across as a brave face, you’d ventured over to that very construction site, determined to find out if this might be your needle in the haystack, if this truly could be somewhere you had a fighting chance of enrolling Rosie before the money ran out, even if that meant asking for help for once

What you hadn’t realized at the time, was just how much help you’d end up getting

Part of you still wakes up some mornings, wondering if Simon was a perfect dream you had, the answer to your prayers you’d never spoken aloud, the solution to your problems handed to you on a silver platter

Because what kind of man does all of this for a stranger? Who goes through all this trouble just to be kind? Did he feel bad for you? Did he pity you? There had to be some sort of ulterior motive to this, right?

“Or, I don’t know? Did it ever occur to you that maybe he likes you?” You roll your eyes as you picture the exact expression on your best friend’s face as she tells you this over the phone. You’d told her everything, keen on getting someone else’s opinion on the situation

“He doesn’t even know me yet.” You reply, phone cradled against your ear and shoulder as you double check you’ve packed everything in Rosie’s diaper bag

“Exactly, not yet. He obviously wants to.” She answers easily, never one to be phased by your talent to shut things down prematurely. “Don’t go ruining a good thing before it even happens.”

“I don’t know. It’s not just me I have to make these decisions for anymore, you know? I’ve got Rosie to think about too.” You say, glancing over at her in her crib, entirely entranced by the mobile spinning above her

“Yeah, and look at how he’s already trying to provide for the two of you! The guy literally found you a nursery spot within days! You’ve been telling me it’s impossible for weeks and dude did it in the blink of an eye. For you.” She tries to rationalize to you. “I know it was different while you were pregnant, you didn’t want to date, and I get that. But she’s here now, and you can’t keep yourself closed off ‘til she’s eighteen.”

“When did I say I was keeping myself closed off?”

“Sweetie, I know you, okay? You tried finding him, we all did. But he’s not just going to appear.” You can’t help but cringe slightly as her words, knowing exactly who she’s referring to. “You are not the first woman in the world to get pregnant from a one night stand, and you won’t be the last.”

“I don’t-”

“No I’m serious, listen to me.” She interrupts you before you can protest properly. “You never even got his name, babe. I love you, and I know you always want to do the right thing, but you can’t keep holding out hope you’ll find him again. If this Simon guy wants to step up and take you out for a date, then let him. Who knows, you might even have fun. You remember that word right? Fun? Something people are supposed to try and do.”

“Maybe I should take back the godmother idea, after all.” You joke, knowing deep down that your friend is right

“Too late. I’ve already got it embroidered on my jacket. I’m gonna get her a matching one when she’s bigger.”

You go to tease her instantly, knowing that her embroidery skills will have the jacket looking like Rosie decorated it herself, when a knock at the door interrupts your thoughts

“I’ve got to go, I think he’s here already.”

“Just try to give this a chance, will you? Please?” Your friend asks, the sincerity in her tone giving you pause as you refrain from automatically rolling your eyes again

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“You better.”

Hanging up the phone, you scoop Rosie up to cradle her against your chest as you make your way towards the door, steadying yourself with a deep breath, a quick glance in the hallway mirror letting you know you don’t look half as bad as you could, before you’re opening the door for Simon

The first thing you’re caught off guard by is the same as every other time your eyes have landed on him, which is just how ruggedly handsome he is, his impressive stature and evident muscle tone aside, the thin scars and pock marks littered across his pale skin cannot hide the strong face beneath, dirty blonde hair with a days worth of stubble to match, a nose that looks as though it’s been broken and reset one too many times, it’s his eyes that really captivate you, his eyes that tell you there’s a story to be uncovered here

Your gaze doesn’t linger long however, when you spot the bright yellow bouquet clutched in his hands

He wonders if it really is this easy, to keep a pretty bird happy

If he knew how elated you’d be at the sight of some bright flowers from the shop nearby, then he should have figured the new infant car seat securely installed in his truck would have you practically bursting as the seams

You tried insisting to him that you’d pay him back for the car seat, that he really hadn’t needed to make such a purchase for you, but he wasn’t having any of that

In truth, Simon never even bothered to look at the price tag or the receipt at any point, the cost was the furthest thing from his mind, not when he considered your happiness to be pricelesss

And while he could readily admit to himself that he didn’t know how to do this, didn’t quite understand how to go about this ‘the right way’, didn’t know how to come off as anything other than intense and insistent, he could equally confess that he was just following what felt right

He figured that pretty birds liked it when men bought them things, showered them in grand gestures, but they probably liked it even more when it was things they paid attention to, things that made them feel seen, like flowers in your favourite colour, or a car seat to keep your baby bird safe, or opening the door for you when your hands were full, or offering to carry the absurdly large diaper bag while you juggled the baby

Of course, it wasn’t like he’d had much of an example growing up to follow off of, someone’s footsteps to trace and replicate. Simon can’t help but to think for a fleeting moment as he watches you buckle Rosie in, ‘would it have been that hard?’ for his own father to have paid attention? To have made his mum feel seen? To have tried? Was it really so difficult to be a good man?

He can recall a time when his old man was far too pissed on the drink to notice that Simon had been skipping school, sat in front of the telly and yelling about how the news stories that day were rubbish, his speech too slurred to be fully comprehensible, but he’ll never forget when the old man turned to him, looked at him for the first time in a long time and saw him rather than saw through him, empty beer bottle pointed in his direction and eyes glazed over, telling him ‘When I see wha’ I wan’- no- when I see wha’s mine, I take it! Y’hear me boy? You see wha’s yours, an’ you take it.’

Never in his life had Simon ever wanted to take the man’s advice, determined to never turn out as he had, but this was one such occasion where he could agree with the low life’s sentiment

Because when he looks at you, sat contently next to him in his passenger seat with a smile on your face, a glance in the rear view mirror showing a strapped in baby lulled to sleep on the drive, he knows he can’t let this slip through his fingers, not when his heart kept repeating one thing to him

Mine mine mine mine mine

What was one more lie to make sure this was his? He’d never claimed to be a perfect man, not even a good a man, but if one more innocent fib helped him get one step closer to calling something his own for the first time in a very long time, helped him prove he could be the right man for you, then where was the harm in that?

“You might-” he clears his throat awkwardly when you glance over at him, averting his gaze quickly and readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “You might hear ‘em call me a weird nickname, dependin’ who’s workin’, by the way.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” You ask him with immediate curiosity, angling yourself more towards him now, with an elbow against the centre console while you balance your chin on your fist, attention solely on his words

The two of you had been making idle chit chat throughout the drive, mostly your endless thanks and his insistence that you were no bother, but this is the first thing he’s mentioned that’s really caught your attention

“We’ve been workin’ on this site for a while, the nursery. I’ve put in quite a few hours on it myself. I like to see things through properly, end up workin’ later than some o’ the other blokes most days.” He starts off, peeking at you quickly as he weaves through traffic, seeing that you’re still listening intently. “Anyway, someone made the joke one day tha’ I treat the job almost like it’s my kid or somethin’, that I’m sort of the ‘dad’ on site.”

“Really?” You scoff, not in an unkind way, but more like you believe what he’s saying, believe that some younger lads on the crew would totally take a jab at him and start referring to him as the dad

“Really. After that, the name just sort o’ stuck. So if you hear anyone call me dad, tha’s all they’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He shrugs, trying to come across as casual as he can, nonchalant in the way someone telling a real anecdote would be

“Even folk outside your work crew call you that?”

“Done enough jobs for this company that somehow they got wind o’ the name. Haven’t been able to shake it yet.” He playfully rolls his eyes and looks at you in a ‘what can you do about it’ kind of way, hoping that this is one of the last tales he has to weave into the web of lies he’s unintentionally begun to spin around you

He knew it was a bit of a stretch, that the odds of avoiding the truth and pretending to be your husband, to be Rosie’s father, were stacked against him, and piling higher and higher the more he opened his mouth, but Simon knows that this isn’t a sprint to the finish line, this is more akin to a marathon, and while he’s stretched and rearing to go, if he can play his cards right, you’ll be waiting for him with open arms on the other end of the ribbon, ready to crown him with those same titles he’s pretending are already his to claim

He wasn’t sure if the ‘dad’ lie was going to be entirely necessary today, though he’d wanted to cover his bases as much as possible before the meeting, hoping to avoid interfering too much and raising suspicions

He’s ultimately glad for the fib however, when he holds the door open for you and Rosie, and the three of you are greeted with the sight of a flustered assistant director sat behind the desk

“Oh, hi! Apologies if I seem rushed, our director had something come up last minute, and she won’t be able to make it in time. Flat tire, it seems.” The young woman explains as she attempts to straighten some scattered documents, Simon nodding along in understanding when you voice your own sympathy at the situation, feigning ignorance as though he hadn’t been the one to prick the woman’s wheel earlier that morning

“She’s asked me to speak with you in the meantime.” She goes on to say, coming around to desk and approaching Simon first with an extended hand. “You must be the dad she was mentioning to me then.”

“Aye, nice to meet you.” He agrees politely, offering the woman a quick shake of the hand before dropping his gaze over to you, the two of you sharing a look that says ‘wow, they really do call you that, huh?’

“And then you must be Mom, of course.” She turns towards you, offering you the same professional handshake and smile she likely gives everyone who walks through these doors

“That’d be me. Though, just Rosie’s mom. I could never handle all those sites and jobs like he does, the baby’s enough for me.” You joke, believing that you’re all referencing how Simon is ‘dad’ to his construction jobs, while you’re mom to the little girl that’s brought you all here today

Lucky for Simon, this woman apparently doesn’t get paid enough to dissect people’s statements

“Agreed, we’ll leave that to him.” She laughs along with you before turning her attention towards the squirming bundle in the pram. “And who have we here then?”

Just like that, the attention’s off of him, off of your relationship to one another, diverted instead towards enrolment details, paperwork that needs to be filled out, information you need to know as a parent and information they need as a childcare provider

Before he knows it, more than an hour’s gone by, the t’s have been crossed and the i’s have been dotted, and you’re told that as soon as the open sign switches on at the new location, Rosie’s got a spot in their infant program

“I should probably feed her quickly, just before we get going again.” You tell Simon, bouncing an increasingly upset Rosie against your shoulder as you stand up from your chair

“Oh. Yeah, ‘course. You have a, uh, a bottle for ‘er, or-” he trails off, not yet prepared to name the alternative

“I wish. No, she hasn’t taken to a bottle quite yet. Still prefers it straight from the tap.” You explain easily, not catching the way the mental image you’ve just painted for him has his heart jump starting in his chest, breath catching in his throat, and heat rushing up his neck

“We do have a breastfeeding space, just past our staff room around the corner here. You’re welcome to use it.” The assistant director informs you, pointing you in the right direction as she opens her office door back up

“Perfect. And thank you again so much. I can’t even begin to tell you how much this means to us.” You tell her, sincere gratitude painted across your features

“You go on ‘head, love. I’ll wait out ‘ere for ya.” Simon says, watching you turn around the corner out of earshot

“You’ve got a lovely family, Mr. Riley.” The woman tells him offhandedly, beginning to gather all the paperwork you’ve just filled out by hand for them

“I do. I’m very lucky.” He agrees easily, taking a step closer to her desk. “Though the poor missus has been exhausted lately, late nights with the baby an’ all tha’. Hope everything was filled out alrigh’.” He adds, throwing a baited line out into the water, waiting to see if he’ll get a bite

“Ugh, don’t we know it. She looks like she’s handling things well though, and everything here looks to be in order as far as I can- oh. Actually,” the woman says, fingers stopping halfway through the sheet she was quickly glancing over, making sure no spots were left empty now that Simon had mentioned it. “It looks like she only filled out the emergency contacts halfway. She’s only put herself.”

“S’alrigh’, I can add my information quickly. I know she’s real tired, poor girl.” Simon doesn’t give the woman the chance to blink before he’s snatched a loose pen up and is scribbling his name and phone number under the second emergency contact, marking himself under as ‘dad’

After all, it’s only a matter of time until the words he’s put on paper are as real as the ink drying on paper declare them to be

It’s midafternoon by the time he’s driven you and Rosie back to your flat, insisting that he help you carry the diaper bag and pram back inside as you cradled a sleeping babe against chest, hopeful that you could lay her back down in her crib without waking her

“You can make yourself a cup of tea if you’d like, while you wait. I’ll hopefully just be a minute or two. Mugs are in the cabinet by the sink, tea bags by the kettle.” You tell him before slipping down the hall towards her room

Simon takes his time glancing around your space this time, now that his attention isn’t solely enraptured by your presence, and thinks he can hear his heart beating through his ears, when he catches sight of his own chicken scratch penmanship in your kitchen, on the fridge amongst the postcards and takeaway menus and old seasons greetings cards, is the phone number he’d written for you when you first met, a mirrored version of his own fridge at home bearing only your writing

He takes your advice and prepares not just one but two cups of tea, puts your new flowers into a vase and fills it with water before setting it on your table, the sound of your approaching footsteps masked by the hissing of the kettle, though when he turns and makes eye contact with you, the energy in the room is different from before, a tension that wasn’t present the last time you both stood here

“How’d you take your tea?” He asks, jutting his chin towards the chairs at the table, his way of telling you to sit and let him take care of you, his own way of unofficially saying his job isn’t over yet, he’s not done here yet. Rosie’s daycare spot might be filled, he might have driven you home, helped you inside, but won’t you let him prepare your tea? Won’t you indulge him just a little longer?

To his elation, you do. You tell him how you like your tea, you watch him gather his ingredients and prepare both your drinks, watch him as he slides your cup across the table and lowers himself into the seat next to you, rather than across from you like last time, feeling more daring than before

“Simon, I know you keep telling me this is all okay, that it’s no big deal, not a problem,” you start, fingers fidgeting with the handle of your mug as he takes his own sip, pretending as though he isn’t desperately hanging onto your every word, hoping that the gears turning in your head have landed on a conclusion in his favour. “But I just- I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me. Truly.” His reply is instantaneous, honest, one he’s given you each time you try to act as though you owe him anything for his kindness, as though he isn’t the one getting more out of this than you are

“How’s this possible?” You ask with a flustered laugh, the smallest crack in your usually cool and collected facade beginning to show, a glimmer of a flummoxed, confused, disbelieving girl peaking through for a split second

“What’d you mean, love?” Simon inquires, pushing his mug to the side and offering you his undivided attention now

“I just- you’ve been nothing but kind, and helpful, and outrageously generous since the literal minute I’ve met you Simon. And I’m so beyond appreciative and thankful- but I- I mean- how- what are you getting out of this?” You finally ask, a visible weight being lifted off your shoulders as you ask the question that’s clearly been plaguing you

Part of him aches as you essentially admit to him that you have a hard time believing someone could be so kind without expecting anything in return, that you feel you owe him anything because of his help, but he also lives in this same world as you, has seen just how dark and cruel and greedy people can be, agrees with the sentiment that you can’t willingly trust just anyone

But he doesn’t want to be just anyone to you, and so he decides to try some honesty for a change

“I like you.”

“You think you like me. You hardly know me.” You reply, as though his answer was one you were expecting, though the determination on your face cannot hide the faint blush that appeared on the apples of your cheeks soon as his words were in the open

“I’d like to get to know you. Feel a bit like I already do.” At this, Simon eases your mug out of your grasp, slipping his own calloused palms into your much softer, smaller hands, knowing already that he’ll be feigning for your next touch before he’s even let go of you yet. “I look at you, love, you and Rosie, the two o’ you, and I see…”

What he doesn’t dare say aloud is that you remind him of something achingly familiar, that he looks at you and sees someone alone, someone in need of help, too fiercely proud to admit so, you remind him of him, you remind him of home, in the most fucked up yet equally incredible way

But for now, he settles instead on telling you a little less

“Hope.” Your eyes widen at his words, mouth falling open in the slightest ‘o’ as you take in his words. “You- y’give me hope.”

Something about that seems to resonate within you, has you blinking at him as though you’ve been only seeing a silhouette through thick fog thus far, able to make out the silhouette of a man but unable to define his edges, unsure whether you’re seeing a friend or foe, but now, it’s as though the high beams have finally turned on, as though you’re seeing him in perfect, unfiltered light

Simon can only hope you don’t hate what you see

He thinks it’s safe to presume not, when your hand lets go of his, reaching up instead to pull him in by his shirt collar until your lips meet, eyelids closing with visions of yellows flowers in the corner of your eyes

Next chapter

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[shysuccubusstuff]

Milking time!

Content: Cow hybrid! Caleb + Possessive! Caleb; Size difference + Mentions of abuse and neglect + Scent marking + Rut + Facial + Face fuck + Masturbation + Cumshot + Dacryphilia

Note: Just read some new manhwa (smut) about hybrids and a farm and it was so good! Sadly there are no more episodes by the moment (right now it only has like 6) but it's so freaking good, gosh I could eat it completely, the dairy cow is so so handsome... and a cutie ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ I hope I explained the position correctly, it's like, laying on top of the person and using your lower thingy on their mouth... not that good with explaining positions, sorry! Let me know if I should make a part 2!

Cow hybrid ! Caleb who recently arrived to the farm. He was found in the middle of nowhere, with his body completely scarred as the rain soaked the small piece of clothing that barely covered his lower half. Just what the hell had happened? You had been trying to get the enemy farm to leave the town after the rumours abou them abusing their workers. You kept cursing under your breath, just why couldn't you do it faster? Well, of course you couldn't, by the time you had found out you barely had any proof apart from what some of the hybrids told you about, so you already knew that this was to be expected... Still, you had to rub your eyes, cleaning the tears that had started to fall down your cheeks and rushing towards the poor young man, trying your best to carry him to the truck so you could bring him to his new home.

Cow hybrid! Caleb who becomes extremely attached to you. It doesn't take more than a few weeks for him to recover from the injuries the old "owners" had caused to him, now constantly following wherever you go. He liked grabbing you by your hips, hiding his hand inside your pocket so he could stay as close as possible to you. You know this could be a bad idea, as you are planning on simply allowing him to choose whatever he wants to do next in life, and growing attached to you was not the best option for that, but you were unable to do anything. After all, he had recently been rescued, surely it was normal for him to become so attached to you, right?

Hybrid bull! Caleb whose possessiveness only worsens. It has been quite few months since Caleb had completely healed, so you had expected him to go back to the "usual" behaviour of the other bulls, who had already found someone to love within the vast farm. In contrast, Caleb had stayed with you, still following you everywhere you went, with a... slight change. He had become extremely possessive of you, constantly trying to start a fight with the other males every time he saw them giving you those glances... Just who did they think they were? Yes, he might have arrived way later than them, but that didn't mean they were allowed to give you those lustful eyes. Since that moment, Caleb had started to pick petty fights with the other hybrids, always acting as if he was simply protecting you from them, while he giving you those sweet puppy eyes he had learnt to do... It seems he did learn quite fast.

Cow hybrid! Caleb who is no longer able to handle his ruts. You used to let him use the toys you had bought for him during those special days, with Caleb using them without much interest, seeing as if it was just something to get over with. During this time, you had to make sure to keep some distance between you and him, trying your best to avoid leaving your scent on him in fear of another female thinking he had a partner, even politely removing his hands whenever he tried to get a bit too handsy with you. Not like it mattered to him, as he soon began to retaliate. Oh, you removed his hand from your hip because other females were watching at him? No problem, next time he would surround your waist with his beefy arms, making sure to pull you to him so you could feel his hard cock pulsing beneath his working clothes. Now you refused to get even a few metres close to him? Guess he simply had to make you come closer yourself.

Cow hybrid! Caleb who takes advantage of you. You were suddenly awakened by a strange noise, not only that, but it was then accompanied by a rustle, someone was moving under your blankets. With your heart thumping, you slowly moved the sheets, finally seeing the reddened and exhausted face, chest puffing as he kept pressing his hard-on against your ass, breath becoming heavier as he started to rub his hips even faster, with you already feeling how his underwear was getting wet from the precum. "Please... please... just help me... It hurts..." Caleb looked at you with tears in his eyes, almost making your chest hurt from seeing how he was struggling to keep himself together. "Just... fine. But don't get used to it, ok?" You tossed the sheets to the side, getting on top of Caleb and removing his wet boxers which had already been stained by his thick cum. Slowly, you started to move your hand up and down, marking a slow rhythm that almost made Caleb groan outloud, biting his own hand to stop himself from making some embarrasing sounds. You kept this rhythm for some minutes, confused as you kept feeling his dick throbbing, almost as if he was close to cumming, still, Caleb kept biting his hand, eyebrows furrowed as he forced himself to last as much as possible, what other opportunity would he have after this? "Maybe... Maybe if you lick it I will end faster...?" Caleb suggested, voice soft as if he was whispering, still, you could feel how much he had been waiting for him to suggest that. "Caleb... just where did you...? Ugh... just... just the tip, ok?" You kneeled, getting one of your legs between his, using your hand to keep his member up, slowly getting closer to it as you sticked out your tongue, carefully entering his tip into your mouth and sucking on it, using one of your hands to masturbate the rest of his member. "Fuck... So good... please, just a bit more, yeah? Please, I've been so good... Didn't fight with the other males for over a week, just a bit?" Caleb looked at you, his muscular body now looking even bigger due to the dim light that entered the window.

Before you noticed, Caleb's hands were already playing with your hair, petting it as you had done so many times before, the caring touch mixed with the feeling of his tip rubbing against your tongue almost making you moan from the pleasure. "Please...? Come on baby, let me do it..." You locked eyes with him from where you were, gradually entering his member until the tip was hitting against the back of your throat, the pressure on it making you gag on it. Caleb's grip got a bit tighter, now grabbing your hair as he restrained himself from pushing his hips forward and fuck your mouth without mercy. "Just do it..." You whispered to him, face flushing as you felt how Caleb's chest puffed up in joy, swiftly pushing you against the couch and straddling you, his cock now being just in front of your face. "Open wide~... here comes your big reward." Caleb abruptly pushed his whole length inside your mouth, using his arms as a way to keep this position in which it looked almost as if he was doing a plank, his happy trail now pressing against your face each time he forced his cock inside you causing tears to form in your eyes as you tried your best to take a deep breath each time he pulled out. Caleb stopped for a second, smiling at you as he saw your chest moving up and down rapidly, after all, he had set a ruthless rhythm for you, making sure to push his cock till it reached the back of your throat, then staying still a few seconds so he could feel your throat tightening around his cock, soon letting you breath once more, smirking as he saw you struggling to adapt to it. At the same time, he kept stroking your hair with care, almost as he wasn't practically bullying your poor mouth, pressing your whole body against the mattress and leaving you with little to no choice than to take it. "Keep your mouth open, here comes your reward..." All of sudden, Caleb moved away his dick moving a bit away so he could put the tip in front of your open mouth, strocking his cock with his right hand as he used the left hand to stay still, heavy ropes of cum falling into your mouth, a sweet aftertaste lingering in your mouth after you swallowed it completely... You hoped this wouldn't awake anything in you.

[muletia]

These obsessed Orian and Optimus fics have got me thinking about what if Megatron was just as obsessed with reader as Optimus, and they have a tug of war sort of battle between them where one side snatches you for their leader back and forth.

It has gotten to the point where you couldn’t even sleep in your own home anymore without some decepticon destroying your ceiling in order to take you away to their leader like a toy.

Megatron would definitely see reader as a tool to further his goals as well as leverage to use against Optimus. He laughed out loud when he heard about his nemesis having feelings for a puny human. If Megatron could punch his past self for daring to think so lowly of you, he would do it without a second thought. He is so much worse than Optimus because he doesn’t allow you to leave him sight even when you plead that you have to go to work.

Work? What work? You don’t need to work anymore now that you’re his queen. Don’t be ridiculous.

Oh, but Optimus… He. Is. Pissed. He would never rest until you were back in his servo safe and sound. He would quite literally crash out as soon as he found out Megatron took his beloved.

I love having two obsessed bots fight over me <3

YOU ARE SO BIG BRAINED OMG, these ideas are so tasty

okay, this scenario could unfold in several ways, but i see a huge comedic potential here. at first, of course, there's nothing funny about it at all, because being kidnapped by the leader of the decepticons himself to be used as a bargaining chip is far from humorous. but! let's say that despite the hopelessness of your situation, you dare to resist, to fight back, because you know that megatron doesn’t have the guts to hurt you. he knows you’re too important to optimus, and killing you gains him nothing. the problem is that by being defiant, you end up sealing your fate because megatron starts to take an interest in you. at first, he’s just fascinated by you, maybe even slightly amused. but this unimportant infatuation quickly turns into something more, something that terrifies megatron himself. it’s stronger than him, more powerful, more aggressive, and more relentless. suddenly, you’re no longer a bargaining chip—you’ve been promoted to a much worse position. you’ve become his partner, his second-in-command, his queen. someone who suddenly holds immense significance for him. and that is absolutely terrifying.

megatron doesn’t get to enjoy your company for long, though, because you’re quickly rescued by the autobots. optimus is, of course, ecstatic that the mission was a success and that you’re finally safe, but for a few days, you’ll have to kiss your social life and work goodbye, as optimus will insist on you being under constant supervision at the base. maybe during this time, the two of you grow closer despite the circumstances of your house arrest? and despite the paranoia wreaking havoc in optimus's processor, part of him is content with having you constantly in sight and that your relationship has warmed even more.

the same can’t be said for megatron, who is, to put it mildly, tweaking out. is he just supposed to let you go after he’s had a taste of you? after he’s grown to enjoy your company and having you always within reach? ha! he’s not letting go that easily. a few days after you return to your normal life, a random vehicon gets the order to bring you back to nemesis, straight into his master’s hands. megatron is satisfied—you, not so much—and optimus is losing his mind. this time, however, the rescue mission doesn’t go as smoothly. the leader of the decepticons personally keeps an eye on you, and you’re constantly watched by soundwave. but let’s say the autobots manage to rescue you again... until you’re kidnapped once more.

and here’s where the comedic aspect kicks in. at some point, your fear for your life shifts to irritation. by the tenth time you land in the servos of the great leader of the decepticons, whose most sinister plans apparently involve just keeping you here against your will and occasionally you patting him on the helm, it’s honestly just exhausting. the most troublesome part is the lack of autonomy—otherwise, you’re pretty much chilling as long as you don’t tease or provoke him. although, even that gets boring after a while. you just want to live a normal life... you never asked to be sandwiched between the boobs of two leaders who do nothing but bark at each other...

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #10

[The Stalker Part 2]

Strange was no longer an expression that could be used to describe your life.

Maddening chaos, a whirlwind of panic, fear, and more sinister things came to mind whenever someone asked you how you'd been. You don't even tell them anymore, some of them declaring you mad for still going on about your stalker after so many months, but there never being evidence to show them. They were scared for you in the beginning, but now they were suspicious of you.

You can feel him at all times. Sometimes, you think he brushes by behind you, or you feel his breath against your neck, his eyes on you at all times. But even so, you never met him. He's been there... and yet he wasn't. He never seems to need a day off from his stalking, his break-ins being more like him coming home every day, and neither the police nor security could catch him.

Even when he started delivering you more sinister gifts, like hands and eyes, whenever you refused him.

You pleaded, begged, and asked him to stop, but he was far from it. He allowed you to live your life, but only on his terms. You were to do what he wanted: eat the meals he prepared for you, take a bath when he ran it for you, and even take time off work when he requested it. Intrusively, he was taking over. And after all the misfortune it brought you, you simply... caved. You were so drained of strength that you let him do as he pleased.

It was a surprise that he even let you do things on your own, like buy groceries. Most meals were pre-made by him whenever you got home, but sometimes, he let you cook instead, expecting you to leave some for when he came to visit. He loved your cooking, expressed it so many times before, and 'rewarded' you for it, although it was never a surprise for him. He was watching you, after all. Every. Step. Of the way.

However, you acknowledged it was better than being stuck at home in fight or flight all day.

You dodged everyone at the grocery store, knowing that talking to someone would make him jealous. It was almost ridiculous how much you danced to his tune, but receiving the hand of a woman whose nails you complimented was lesson enough. Quickly, you gathered what you would need, before hurrying to the self-checkout and leaving the potential dangers of public, your heart aching for the times where you didn't need to fear for other's lives in every setting you were in.

Perhaps it was fate that made you go outside that day, the goodwill of the gods you had prayed to all this time. Still, nothing could have prepared you for the accident that took place just before you could reach your home. A car passed you by just moments before you heard the squeaking of breaks, then the deafening crash of machinery ramming into each other.

Screams echoed out before you could turn around, flames lighting up the early-evening darkness. You heard countless people's footsteps rushing out of their houses and passing you by as you stared at the scenery behind you. Sirens were blaring in the distance as you looked at the body lying on the ground, clothed in black. Someone tried to stabilize the person. Tried to help him.

You'd know him, even when he lay mangled and in pain on the dirty ground. Even without ever knowing his handsome face that became unraveled only when the paramedics deemed it safe enough to pull his helmet off. It was him. Your stalker.

When your eyes met, you witnessed a mixture of pain, devastation, but also... happiness in them. Perhaps because you finally knew. His existence was no longer a shadow that threatened you but a human who bled and hurt and deserved help, despite all his misdeeds. You should have felt sympathy for him, but you were so emotionally drained, you couldn't do anything.

But you also couldn't leave.

There was the person who had made your life a living hell. Who made sure you neither slept nor were awake for the last months, who even made you doubt yourself so many times. Who harassed and abused you to the point it made you want to give up resisting. You weren't sure how severe his injuries were, but part of you hoped he'd die. Perish. Disappear from your life.

And another part... wanted answers.

Why did he do all this, why go to such lengths? What was his goal, and why did he need to go about these things in these particular ways? Who were the body parts from, and where were these victims? What happened to them? And most importantly, why did he choose you?

You'd never have the answers if he died now. He'd be gone, but could you ever return to your old life without the answers? Could you live with yourself knowing people died and you survived by pure chance? Because something happened to him before he could do it to you? If he died, you'd never get justice for anyone. Everyone would keep believing you made all of this up. You'd be miserable, and he'd won.

As if he realized your inner tumult, he smiled before turning his head over and putting on his best pained expression towards the medics. Slowly, he raised his arm, pointing towards you and saying some words you couldn't hear, but the paramedics' heads snapped around, suddenly calling out to you.

"Hey! You're his spouse, right? Your husband needs to get to the hospital asap! You can drive with us!"

They didn't wait for you to respond before they started loading him on a gurney, your stalker never looking away from you. As if to say, "You want the answers? Come to me."

Your home was so close that you could run and hide inside, but you might lose the chance to ever get the answers that you'd want or need for your future therapy. Would you ever recover, not knowing if he survived or not? When he'd be back? This could be your last chance to figure things out and bring him to justice, or at least be sure he wouldn't come back to haunt you.

"Hurry!" one of the medics shouted, rushing to your side, perhaps to aid you as they might have thought you were in shock after seeing your husband like this. There was not much time, and you had to decide what you wanted to do immediately.

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[weirdsht]

For Your Safety - Alberu/Reader

a/n: this is like writing practice. I want to write more soft yandere fics but I can't so I'm trying to get a feel for it. Tips and advice are appreciated hehe, just note that I'm not a fan of overly violent yandere's

tags: male reader, fiance reader, yandere Alberu, hints of isolation, hints of possessiveness, nothing too bad, very self-indulgent

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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Alberu is kneeling. The future king of the Roan Kingdom, the most promising kingdom right now, is kneeling while hugging someone’s leg.

Your leg

You’re the only one who can bring such a powerful man to his knees. The only one whose ground every step he will worship.

The love of his life.

Everyone knows of this. They know just how much the crown prince treasures you. How he will do anything to make you happy.

However, right now he was trying to appease you. Trying to make you do something something you do not like.

“I can fight too! I can also wield a sword if necessary.”

You tried to argue. Trying to not be swayed by the loving circles your fiance is tracing on your legs. His other hand playing with the ends of your coat.

“I know my love. But it’s better if you stay here. It’s difficult to know what White Star will do once you are out of my sight.”

Alberu argues back and you would have relented by now if he hadn’t been keeping you in his palace for months now.

“But I’m practically on house arrest! I can’t live like this forever!“

You huffed, annoyed at him and his antics.

“It won’t be forever. After everything is settled you’ll be able to go out again.”

‘Under my surveillance of course.’

The crown prince kept the last part to himself. While he understands your need to venture out he honestly thinks that the situation right now is quite fine.

You’re here, under his wing.

Under his watch.

Plus, it’s not as if you need anything or anyone else when you get him. He can provide you with anything you’ll ever want. It’s your right as his fiance.

So stop arguing with him already and stay in his palace like the good boyfriend you are.

“But…”

Your argument did not make it past your lips as he kissed you. Trying to silence you and end this whole argument.

And honestly, it’s working.

You have always been weak when it comes to your fiance. Everyone says that Alberu always adheres to your whims. What they don’t know is that you also always adhere to his.

One kiss and you’re putty in his hands. All of your previous concerns going away.

Just like right now.

Alberu knows this and always uses it to his advantage. 

“Please just stay here? Just for a little while longer?”

The quarter Dark Elf cupped your face with his hands. His previously kneeling figure is now on the bed with you. His legs trapping your own, as if saying that you won’t be able to leave either way.

“...Fine”

You relented and Alberu smiled at you, happy that you now see eye to eye. 

For a moment you think you saw his eyes glimmer with possessiveness. However, it was gone as soon as it arrived, making you think it had been your imagination.

Plus your lover who always has everyone’s best intentions in mind could never look such a way.

…Right?

“Wait does this mean I can’t attend the rewards ceremony?”

You tugged the hem of his coat. Begging for him to say otherwise.

“Don’t worry we’ll attend it together. I’m sure everyone will be even more happy once you grace them with your presence.”

Alberu’s hold moved onto your sides as he kissed your temple and you swear you melted again.

“But do stay by my side love. We suspect White Star will be watching as well.”

To be honest, if it was possible he doesn’t want White Star to even look at you. Even if it’s through a screen. You’re too precious for such a man to lay his vile gaze on.

Alberu’s hold on tightened and you became concerned.

“Love? Are you okay? If you want I won’t attend the rewards ceremony…”

Your fiance loosened his grip on your sides and shook his head. He laid his head on your shoulders, inhaling your scent.

“No no, you must be there. You must stay by my side…”

He reassured you as he continued to hold you in his arms.

“As long as you stay by my side everything would be fine.”

Alberu wasn’t just talking about the upcoming ceremony. It was a vow that he would uphold for as long as you lived.

Aren’t you glad to have such a loving fiance like him?

[elendiliel]

Birds of a Feather

Another sliver-of-life bit of nonsense, this time inspired - at least in part - by an article in @novafire-is-thinking's highly recommended analysis series "Who is TFP Optimus?" ("Desire vs Destiny", if memory serves. I'd have written this down earlier, but I was trying - and ultimately failing - to chase up a reference.)

---

Being a medic – even the junior medic – in an active, injury-prone team of Autobots isn’t exactly a situation that lends itself to large amounts of free time, but Field-tech Glitch had long since learned (the hard way) to carve out at least a few minutes for herself where she could. She considered total sanity greatly overrated, but staying functional very much is not. So, while the rest of Team Prime caught up on reports, homework or stasis, she was standing in the doorway of the hangar that served as their base, just watching a flock of birds in the distant sky. They were out of range of her non-optical sensors, but without her realising it, her winglets had still fanned out to their full extent, trying to track the fliers’ movements. (Had she noticed, she would have observed that that was the first time she had relaxed her normal vanadium-steel grip on her coding that much since… since leaving Detroit.)

Which meant that the sensor array on the inner surfaces of her short-range scanners could also track any movement behind her – such as the approach of one of her teammates, which caused her winglets to spring back into their default position, a little more slowly than usual. She recognised the other ‘bot – one of only two mecha whose spark signatures she could identify without pushing her sensors and processor to the point of shutdown or meltdown – and, bar any weird Star Trek-style mirror universes that might exist, any Optimus Prime in any reality was surely the definition of safe.

“What are you doing?” he asked, coming to a halt beside her. As he was about three times her height, she couldn’t usually see his expression very well, but she could easily imagine his intricate optics – much more powerful than hers – spiralling open as he followed the direction of her gaze.

“Just birdwatching.” Wasn’t that obvious?

“For what purpose?” Oh, stars. She kept forgetting that, like every other ‘bot on the team, he had known nothing but war for far longer than she had been online. Everything, for him, had to have a practical reason. Even close contact with a quintet of humans, three of them children, hadn’t completely commented out that code.

“Relaxation, I suppose. I get stressed pretty easily, and something like this, which doesn’t really need me to do anything or think too hard, often helps.” She wasn’t generally so open about her… differences… from most mecha with anyone outside her original team, but Prime wouldn’t judge her, she was sure. A thought struck her, not for the first time, and she smiled up at her leader, a little slyly. “I recommend.”

“Is that a general, or a specific recommendation?” Skies above, was that the closest she’d heard Prime come to making a joke?

“Both. And yes, I do think you’re stressed, though you hide it insanely well. You’re carrying the weight of two worlds on your shoulders and leading an outnumbered, out-gunned team permanently low on just about everything. I don’t need more than a back-of-the-envelope calculation to tell me what effect that would have on anyone, let alone someone who cares as much as you do.” Prime seemed at a loss for words, for once, so, rather than force him to find some, she changed the subject back to the previous one. “There’s another reason I like birdwatching. It reminds me of home, in a good way. Our base has a tree growing in it, and it’s my job to feed the birds that visit or nest in it.” Or rather, it had been, before a space-bridge accident had transported her to that reality.

“Why do you not do so here?” Prime seized the new topic with both servos, though only someone watching him as closely as Glitch was would have known that.

It was her turn to be momentarily lost for words. More accurately, the words were all there, but they had jumbled themselves up in her processor again. (Why couldn’t they just behave themselves, the way musical notes did?) Prime waited patiently while she sorted them out as best she could. “This place doesn’t feel – permanent enough. It’s home, but it won’t always be.” Having been a student until less than a stellar-cycle previously, Glitch knew what she was talking about in that respect. “And once you start feeding birds, it’s not a good idea to stop. They don’t usually carry significant fuel reserves, and sometimes use up the last of their energy to get to where they think they can find food. If it isn’t there… not good.” Her optics dimmed slightly at the thought.

“I did not know that,” Prime said thoughtfully. “Relatively little was known of organic worlds on our Cybertron, and even on this planet I have not had as much time to learn such things as I would like.”

“Same goes for my Cybertron,” Glitch sighed. “A lot of mecha are actually scared of organics, thanks to Sentinel blasted Prime. In fact, we’ve lost a lot of knowledge over the aeons, especially our history, and there isn’t much of a general desire to learn more.” That hadn’t always been the case, she knew from her dubiously-legal forays into Science Guild databases. “Particularly if it comes from outside the Commonwealth.” Her handlebars twitched in a kind of shrug. “But then, we’ve been at war on and off since Alpha Trion was young, if not longer. Sometimes with other species, but more often with our own kind. It’s not unexpected.”

She realised Prime was giving her a look she couldn’t decipher – not just because of the height difference. “Your Alpha Trion is alive?”

“Thankfully. He’s just about the only councilbot with the backstrut to stand up to Sentinel. Not that he takes anywhere near enough notice.” She tried to make it clear from her tone of voice that she did not want to drive any further down that road, and Prime not only got the message but complied with it.

They stood in companionable silence for a little while, just watching the distant birds. Glitch briefly wished she had a built-in magnifying lens, so that she could see them more clearly, but even had she been in her home universe, mods – especially medics’ mods – have to be earned, and she was a good few stellar-cycles away from earning that one. Sundry other thoughts flitted through her processor, and one of them found its way to her voicebox. “Did you know some humans used to believe that the future could be predicted by observing the flight of birds? Augury, they called it.”

“I did not.” Prime didn’t take his optics off the aerials he himself was observing, but he sounded curious.

“Oh, they had all kinds of superstitions before their religions became properly organised. Some still do. At least it’s no longer acceptable to use the internal systems of a slaughtered animal for predictive purposes. Eesh.” She made a face. “But if you read a lot of historical accounts, especially if they’re more than a millennium and a half old, practically every significant event is surrounded by omens and portents. Some Roman writers are particularly good. I remember one story about a naval commander who tried to judge how well he’d do in an upcoming battle from the eating patterns of some sacred chickens. They wouldn’t eat at all – probably seasick – so he had them thrown overboard, saying, “If they won’t eat, let them drink” – and went on to lose the battle. At the time, that would’ve been blamed on his disrespect for sacred creatures. I’d argue that anyone with that much arrogance and lack of concern is unlikely to make a good commander.” She grinned up at Prime again. “Luckily for us, you’re the polar opposite.”

Prime didn’t seem to have noticed the compliment. He was looking down at her with an expression she recognised after a sparkbeat. It was one she’d seen in the mirror often enough. The look of a seeker after knowledge who had found a new source of information. She had the distinct impression that Optimus Prime, bearer of the Matrix of Leadership, had been laid aside, and the mech next to her was Orion Pax, archivist and just as much a data addict as she was. Her need for knowledge and understanding, along with a strong desire for justice, might have got her into quite a bit of trouble over the centuries (which would have become a lot of trouble, had her initial incursions into Science Guild databases been noticed by somebot less sympathetic than Brainstorm), but his had led him to Megatronus’ nascent civil-rights movement, to the title of Prime, and to all the responsibilities and problems that that entailed. (In her root dictionary, “Prime” still meant “high-ranking military officer”. She had added “Matrix-bearer” to her custom dictionary, but that hadn’t overwritten the older definition.) She was glad that Orion still existed, under the persona (Latin for mask, she recalled) of Optimus, and – she had to be honest with herself – pleased that she and her store of information could bring that side of him back to full consciousness, even once in a while. Maybe, when the war was over, he could return to his beloved Hall of Records, or recreate it on Earth, and add everything he had learned on his travels around the galaxy. Be Orion again – an older and wiser Orion, true, but no longer the war-weary leader of a beleaguered faction, simply a lover and seeker of knowledge and wisdom. She could but hope.

“I would like to hear more of such things,” Prime – Orion – remarked. Then he seemed to shake himself mentally and slightly, and returned his gaze to the skies, to the birds still swooping, circling and occasionally diving towards the ground, probably aiming for some unsuspecting prey. (Well, everything needs fuel, and organics can’t live on Energon or hydrocarbons.) “Later.”

That suited Glitch; she was there in the first place because she wanted some peace and quiet, after all. But she had enjoyed their conversation, and continued to enjoy her companion’s presence. Her Ratchet occasionally, usually affectionately, called her a born philosopher – a lover of wisdom – and it occurred to her that the label would be at least as appropriate for Prime. (Knowledge and wisdom weren’t the same thing, though – what would “lover of knowledge” be? Philognoser? Yikes. Better stick to the more euphonious if less accurate term.) More than she had realised at first, he and she were, in that human phrase she liked, birds of a feather, who proverbially – and in reality – flock together.

[themaresnest-dumblr]

Oh, so being a self centred misanthrope is being 'overstimulated'?

Gotta love the way this generation - like Calvin in Calvin and Hobbes have managed to devise an excuse for being the most ill-disciplined self centred shower of hyper-brats ever shat into human civilisation.

Forever 'triggered', forever 'offended', forever the rest of the world is to walk on eggshells in dealing with them because they're such sensitive little flowers and the rest of us are really just AI bots whose own feelings and wishes don't matter a flying f**k.

At work last week, a member of Generation Z decided that they didn't like the work we'd been set to do (spreadsheets - which are mundane, repetitive, and considering our pay grade a bloody doddle) saying they couldn't do it for long because of their Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder - before proceeding to spend (inbetween leaving their desk to go wandering around the office for quarter hours at a time.) about 95% of their working day glued to their mobile phone.

Yes, really. And without a hint of irony either.

Now, one supposes your humble narrator ought to get angry - after all, this person is being paid the same as yours truly without actually pulling their weight.

But no. For there's the small matter that this is higher management's job to be ensuring people are doing their work, and bugger for a game of soldiers doing someone else's job in order that someone else does theirs!

Instead one smiles quietly at the age to come in the next few decades: when Generation Z (or rather Zzzzz) gets its hearts desire with the older generation they've been brattily screaming at to step aside for just about everything - jobs, housing, societal norms (usually with their battlecry 'you've had your lives!' ) have reliquished control in politics, the workplace, the media, the estates that make up society ... and watch as it all quickly and quietly falls apart under their cack handed inability to muster up the self-discipline required to perform the most mundane tasks which aren't 'fun' - 99% of life.

Because life beyond childhood is only that what you make it, and doesn't care a flying fuck about your 'sensitivities', real or feigned - and the longer you choose to extend it in the hope of avoiding it, or your idiotic parents, grandparents, etc. indulge you, far harder will be the bruises you get when you fall and discover the real damage a merciless world can inflict on you.

Everyone you love will die. Everyone cotton-wooling you now will die. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing is guaranteed. So prepare yourself for the worst that can happen, secure your future, push your limits and fears over what you can do, forget the naysayers and fantasy barriers, and you might, just might, astound yourself in the process.

Oh, and you might be less of a bloody misanthrope or 'overstimulated' in the process, once you see the world from broader perspectives, which can only be found from those parts of the world outside of the inside of your own arse.

Spicy-brained friends, I would like to propose an update to the very useful ‘if you hate everyone, eat, if everyone hates you, sleep, and if you hate yourself, shower’ mantra to live by

Have you suddenly become a petty, hateful little gremlin who thinks people should face the firing squad for (checks notes) leaving teabags on the counter, breathing loudly, or daring to exist in the same space as you? Perhaps mundane and reasonable requests like ‘hey, we agreed to hang out now, let’s hang out’ make you want to scream and move to a yurt in the woods.

You. Are. Overstimulated.

People talk a lot about being overstimulated, and the physical/mental effects of it. What I haven’t seen is people talking about what it does emotionally, and it took me an embarassingly long time to link up those nitpicky, resentful emotions with the state of overstimulation/meltdown/shutdown.

These feelings do not mean that you’re a bad person! They probably aren’t how you actually feel about the people around you. They probably do mean that your nervous system is at its absolute limit and any request/demand/stimulus is Too Much and taking you into fight or flight territory.

Go lie down in a dark room for an hour, or find somewhere safe and familiar to stim for a bit. If it’s happening a lot, schedule yourself regular low-stimulation shutdown time

Signed: someone who moved in with their nearest and dearest only to have a massive crisis of faith about Suddenly Hating All of Them. I don’t hate them, it’s just overstimulating living with people. If I can spare anyone else a similar 9 months of suspecting that they may actually be a bit of a shit person, then this post is worth it!

[readingforsanity]

Don't You Cry | Mary Kubica | Published 2016

In downtown CHicago, Esther Vaughan disappears from her apartment without a trace. A haunting letter addressed to My Dearest is found among her possessions, leaving her roommate Quinn Collins to question how well she really knew her friend. Meanwhile, in a small town an hour outside Chicago, a mysterious woman appears in the quiet coffee shop where 18-year-old Alex Gallo works as a dishwasher. He is immediately drawn to her, but what starts as an innocent crush quickly spirals into something far more sinister.

As Quinn searches for answers about Esther, and Alex is drawn further under the stranger's spell, master of suspense Mary Kubica takes readers on a taut and twisted thrill ride that builds to a stunning conclusion and shows that no matter how fast and far we run, the past always catches up with us.

After a night of debauchery, Quinn is unnerved to learn that her roommate isn't home. While this in itself isn't the weird part, but she begins finding evidence that her disappearance is anything innocent. Letters are found, sent from Esther to someone named only as My Dearest, insinuating a love affair gone wrong; a legal name change for Esther, now Jane Girard, is also a disturbing fact for Quinn to have notated.

But, still, even with these strange facts set before her, she does everything that she can to figure out what happened to her best friend, with the help of her co-worker and friend, Ben. The police are contacted and a missing persons report is filed. But, Quinn quickly becomes unnerved by everything going on.

She learns that Esther's previous roommate, Kelsey Bellamy, had died, having suffered from anaphylatic shock after eating peanuts in a dish that Esther had made. It was ruled an accident, but Quinn is under the impression that Esther had ended her former roommates life on purpose, not bothering to use her EpiPen that was stored inside her purse but was mysteriously missing.

70 miles away from Chicago, where Quinn is, is 18-year-old Alex Gallo. A boy from a broken home whose mother left him when he was a young boy and he now being forced to live and care for his alcoholic father, he quickly becomes enamored by the stranger that begins appearing in the cafe where he works.

Under the impression that this lovely stranger is watching the home of the psychologist across the street, the two of them strike up a friendship. Alex later learns that she has been squatting in the abandoned home across the street from his, she having been sending him signals through the outside lights, leading him and his father to believe that vagrants had been living within.

The two of them have a shared bond over abandonment: Pearl, the nickname Alex had given her based off the fake pearl bracelet she wears upon her wrist, had been given up for adoption when she was a child and remembers everything about it; Alex, his own mother running off after not wanting to be a mother any longer. Alex shares the local ghost story, which in part, takes place within the very house she is squatting in.

Rumor goes that the ghost of a young, 5 year old girl named Genevieve haunts the halls around them, calling out for her mother, after she had drowned in a bathtub inside of a hotel room while her mother was attending to her younger sister, who had fallen from the bed and injured herself, causing the mother to not realize that her older child had slipped under the water to her death.

The two of them mostly giggle over this story, but in truth, the young girl was once a real person. Alex takes Pearl to visit her grave, and while it is disturbing, the two of them continue to bond. But, Alex begins to wonder about this beautiful stranger after he sees her comforting an old baby doll in what was once the young girl's bedroom, humming a lullaby and eventually, Pearl leading him to the old cemetery where Genevieve's grave is located, digging into the earth and exhuming the wooden box in which the body lays, only to learn that the coffin is empty.

Back in Chicago, Quinn gets her hands on Esther's missing purse after a concerned citizen had found it in a dumpster in a neighboring block. Inside, Quinn remembers the storage unit in which Esther kept more of her personal belongings. Rushing off to the location of the storage unit, Quinn is horrified to find that Esther has been inside of the storage unit this entire time.

Back in Michigan, Alex learns the truth about the family that had once lived in the home across from his: it used to belong to the Vaughan family, and Ingrid, the agorphobic woman who lives in the cottage across from the cafe that Alex occasionally spent time with, was Genevieve's mother.

He rushes to her home to warn her that it appears that someone is after her, but it is too late. After failing to shut and deadbolt the door to Ingrid's home, Genevieve enters, looking eerily like the younger sister that she had lost all those years ago: Esther.

Genevieve is upset about what happened, but Ingrid explains that she felt like she had no other choice, that back in those days, having a distubed child didn't mean anything like it does today, that help wasn't readily available. Ingrid quickly became concerned over Esther's wellbeing, after having found Genevieve attempting to smother her with a pillow, along with other rumors that she heard from teachers and other parents.

Genevieve doesn't care, and is equally disturbed that her mother didn't at least try, but Ingrid assures her that she did. The two of them quickly begin to fight, and Alex, despite having attempted to help the situation, ends up being fatally injured in the fight, having given his life in order to save Ingrid's, finally having done something with his life that he never thought possible.

Back in Chicago, despite having been unfed and unsure of her fate for the last 5 days, Esther is okay, though extremely traumatized. She explains that Quinn was the best roommate, and that she had placed an ad in the paper for her to have someone after Esther attempted to get away, knowing that her sister would be coming after her, and she didn't want any harm to come to Quinn.

In the end, in seems the two friends are doing everything they can in order to come back together.

[rhyssands]

oct 30 - to understand

prompt: seance rating: m wordcount: 1,040 characters: Sans, Flowey warnings: past character death prompt from this post, read it on ao3 here

——

Once a monster is dead, that's it: they're gone, and there's no coming back from that.

Hell, honestly, from the moment a monster starts Falling Down, there's no coming back. There's no bringing back a dusted monster. Plain and simple.

... Except that that's not necessarily true, is it?

Flowey came back.

Despite all his insistence that he's no longer Asriel, Flowey is definitely what's left of the prince of all monsters. All his memories, at least, and buried somewhere under his self-denial there is still Asriel's vulnerable emotional core.

Sans wasn't alive yet when Asriel and Chara died — honestly, that was way before his time —, but he knows Asgore and Tori and both of them have, at some point or another, talked about their kids. Listening to and watching people is his thing, it's what he does, even if everyone kind of assumes all he does is take naps and crack bad jokes.

That's fine, he wants people to think that.

Point is, though, that Flowey came back.

Asriel's dust getting on those stupid golden flowers, among other things, brought him back.

Sans wishes he understood how it happened, wishes he could repeat the experiment, hopefully with better results.

But even if he could, it'd all require he have the dust of the monster he'd be trying to bring back, and that's just not possible. Gaster's dust, for better or worse, got mixed in with all the other sediment in the CORE. There's nothing left of him at all.

There's a bitter sort of poetic irony in the fact that Gaster's dust didn't just get spread across his beloved creation: it became part of it.

Sans would prefer that he'd never died at all, but hey. He'll take what he can get.

Still, all the parading around of dead stuff in the autumn on the surface makes him wonder.

What's life without a little scientific curiosity?

He doesn't make a lot of trips back to the Underground, these days. Five years on the Surface mean he has increasingly less reasons to venture on down that way — pretty much everyone lives topside now, so he has nobody to visit regularly, and he's all but given up on the Machine.

But there is one monster for sure left in the Underground.

As he steps out of the Ruins and into the cavern the human children fell into to get down here, he sees precisely the plant he was thinking of. There, among the other (inanimate) flowers, sits Flowey.

Sans and Flowey, as a general rule, don't get along all that well. It has more to do with Flowey taking advantage of Papyrus than the fact that Flowey is a genocidal maniac and Sans is a Judge. Sans tries not to do too much Judging outside of the Hall, and if being occasionally genocidal exempted someone from his affection then Frisk would be screwed. Meanwhile, he imagines Flowey just doesn't like that Sans can see right through his bullshit and doesn't tend to take any of the bait he lays down.

"What do you want?" Asks the flower, giving him an annoyed look. It's considerably less acidic than the last time they talked, which was about a year and a half ago. "You don't normally bother to come visit."

That's true. Sans only saw Flowey the last time because Frisk practically dragged him here.

"Eh, don't get your roots in a twist, pal." Sans says, "Ain't exactly a social call. Just got a few uncomfortable questions for you if you can be-leaf that."

"Ugh." Flowey says, definitely in response to the word-play, "Fine. Whatever gets you to leave faster."

"Cool. I'm just gonna cut the bullshit and skip right to the most important question, then." Sans tells him, seeing a flicker of surprise on the flower's face before he asks, point blank, "How did this happen, exactly? If every monster whose dust got scattered on some plants came back, we'd have a way bigger problem than just you."

Flowey stares at him.

Stares some more.

Says, lowly, "Why the fuck do you want to know?"

There's nothing but thinly veiled anger and suspicion in his face, and Sans gets it — a guy who historically doesn't like you all that much asking how you came back to life probably does set off some alarm claxons, especially when you know that particular guy used to work for the Royal Scientist and has a little more awareness of the timeline and how to manipulate it than your average joe.

He shrugs, puts his hands up in a placating gesture. Answers, "Look, kid, I'm not gonna do anything. That's not how I operate. But... Call it scientific curiosity — I don't understand how you're possible, and I want to."

"So you can stop it from ever happening again?" Flowey guesses, taking him at his word with surprising ease.

"Again, not how I operate." He says, "Doing stuff isn't my style, Flowey, you know that."

"Then why?"

"So I can understand." He says, then, deciding to show his hand a little more, sighs. "... I've been thinkin' about somebody I lost a long time ago. Nothing anybody can do would ever bring him back. But it makes me feel better to examine every possible method to reassure myself it isn't possible."

Flowey stares at him for another long moment. Sentimentality usually isn't the way to get a proper reaction from him. Even five years out from the Barrier breaking, he insists he doesn't have emotions, that he isn't Asriel. Trying to appeal to his softer sentiments does nothing but make him double down and shut himself off emotionally from the conversation.

Only Frisk usually manages to get any measure of emotional reaction from him.

Sans isn't really trying to get anything emotional out of him.

... But the flower stares at him in silence, and something crosses his face too quickly for even the judge to catch. Then, he sighs, sort of half-wilting. Sans sees too many emotions in his face, totally open and not hiding at all, to parse them out properly. He thinks he catches some kind of mournfulness, some bitterness as well.

"Right." Flowey says, straightening, "Then listen up. I'm only gonna explain once."

Sans listens up.

[elsaqueenofstress]

thinking about how quill used music as his only reminder of his mother, to the point that he would risk his own life to save it and keep part of her alive, and how we're introduced to him as the one who dances while everyone around him rolls their eyes, and how he raises baby groot to be the first of the team to dance as openly and joyfully as him, and how this groot is the first one to dance during the last scene, and how rocket – who hums tunelessly while he works until he's building stereos to play tunes while fighting until his favorite song is "come and get your love" – joins him without any self-consciousness, and how quill left rocket his zune and team leadership but the first gift he ever gave him was a name for what he was: raccoon, and how drax overcomes his stubborn adherence to never dancing because what matters more to him than being a stoic destroyer is being a father, who makes the hundreds of children that look up to him laugh with delight, and who gets to watch mantis (whose innocence reminded him of his daughter) set off into the world with her own purpose the way his own child never got to, and how nebula dances along with them, no longer holding herself to the second-best status that thanos forced on her, instead at home as a leader who can fight with her family without having to compete with them, and how she stills talks to gamora, who is able to accept that she once meant the world to the guardians, once spoke their language and joined in their hugs and was part of their fun, but that she doesn't owe it to them to join in the dance and be that same person, and returns to the adoptive family that she feels at home with, and the lyric "leave all your love and your longing behind / you can't carry it with you if you want to survive," and how in order to go forward the guardians can't all stay together, but how that doesn't mean they aren't still a team and a family because how do you truly leave the people who have dragged you, doubting and kicking and screaming, toward comfort and security and happiness? for the hottest, slowest, laziest days to end, the ones where you lost best friends and spouses and children and siblings and years of your life and memories with someone, the ones where you run from your past and pretend you were never in pain, never loved anyone, you have to let that hope catch up with you (“happiness hit her / like a bullet in the back”). anyway i think this was a pretty good series like this post if you also had a laugh or two over cosmo the space dog's telekinetic hijinks!!

[imaginingmarvelandeverything]

The Proposal

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Warnings: Mild spoilers, sentencing, prison mentions, drinking

Word Count: 1324

A/N: Here’s part 2 of Convenience! Thank you to everyone who commented on and reblogged part 1, it really means a lot. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Headcanon Requests Open!

Y/N’s parents were sentenced to fifteen years each for their involvement in Maroni’s drug operation, racketeering, and money laundering. She chose not to attend the trail and Alfred had been helping her avoid her parents attempts to reach her by phone call. It was all too fresh and she knew she would explode if she talked to them. Bruce respected her decision to distance herself, as always there was an understanding between them that did not need to be spoken. They supposed that was what happened when you grew up together with few other children to call friends. They had always been closer to each other than they were to the other children of Gotham’s rich and powerful. But she had always found it easier to connect with other people than him, especially after his parents deaths.

Maybe that was why it was so shocking. While she relied on Bruce most of the time throughout the trial, in an effort to not burden him with everything, she had tried to reach out to some of the other friends she felt the closest to. All of them had only taken her calls as a formality, hanging up the phone as soon as they could. And that was only the start of it. Bruce had insisted on replacing most of her things, but the shops she had shopped at her whole life had not so gently suggested that she was no longer welcome. Bruce’s heart broke for her with each rejection, but the worst was yet to come.

He was sat in the living room watching the news about the last of the Maroni trials one night when he heard angry footsteps retreating into the drawing room before the door was slammed shut. As he walked to investigate he heard the faint clinking of the whiskey tumbler. He pushed the door open slowly.

Y/N was sat on the floor in front of the fire place, prodding at the logs with a poker to try and get the fire going. The whiskey tumbler and a full glass sat on the floor next to her. Bruce could tell by her posture that something else had happened.

He grabbed a glass from the tray and walked over to her before dropping down to sit next to her. “What happened?” He asked as he poured himself a glass.

She dropped the poker on the hearth and took a sip of the whiskey. “They fired me. Said the company couldn’t be associated with my family name.”

“I’m sorry.” He studied her face, the way she just seemed numb to it all now. He knew how much her job meant to her, how much she enjoyed the work. He also knew now was the time to make the suggestion that had been playing on his mind for the past few weeks. “I think we should get married.” He was prepared for the look of shock she gave him.

“What?” Her head shot up to look at him, waiting for him to say that he was just joking.

“It would be a marriage of convenience. You would get my name, which I don’t think anyone in this city has the guts to try and come after, you’d be protected financially, could keep living here without anyone raising any questions. It just makes sense.” He said it so nonchalantly, as if they were just talking about something like the weather.

“What’s in it for you? Isn’t a marriage of convenience supposed to benefit both parties? What on earth could you gain from marrying someone whose parents have just been put in prison for helping one of the city’s biggest criminals?”

His lips turned up in a half smile, he could never get anything past her. “For one thing, the journalists might leave me alone about when I am going to get married. It also protects this company if anything happens to me. And it gives me peace of mind, knowing you’re protected. It can last as long as we need it to. If we meet other people or we feel like it’s no longer working, we can easily divorce.”

She furrowed her brow. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“I know. And you don’t need to answer now, just promise me you’ll think about it.”

She nodded. “I will.”

****

Y/N tossed and turned all night, Bruce’s proposition running through her mind. When she could not stand it anymore, she climbed out of bed and pulled on a jumper. Her bare feet padded on the carpet as she walked down to Bruce’s room. She hovered outside his door, debating on whether she should just go back to bed. But her need for further clarification won out and she knocked on the door three times.

“Yeah?” Bruce’s voice was heavy with sleep and she felt bad for waking him.

She opened the door as he turned on the light. “Please tell me you don’t sleep naked?”

“No.” He chuckled and ran a hand through his messy hair as she walked in. “Everything okay?”

She pushed the door closed behind her and walked over to the bed. Bruce was sat up in bed, and while he may not sleep naked, it appeared he did sleep shirtless. Y/N was slightly thrown off by how well built he actually was, but she pushed those thoughts out of her mind and sat in front of him on the bed.

“I have some questions.”

“About what?”

She played with a loose thread on her jumper sleeve. “About the arrangement you proposed earlier.”

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?” She shot him a look and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Since we’re both awake now anyway, ask away.”

“How would it work? Like would people know why we’ve decided to get married? How would the ceremony work? How would everything work after?”

“You’ve really thought about this?” He repeated her words from earlier. “But no, I don’t think it would be wise to tell people the real reason we’ve decided to get married, the ceremony would just be like normal, and after, well nothing has to change from how it is now. Just any events we really can’t get out of, we’d have to attend together.”

She was quiet, he could see the cogs moving in her brain. He let her think it through.

She nodded, her eyes moving from staring at his bed side table to meet his. “Let’s do it then.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She nodded again.

“Okay.” He threw off the covers and swung his legs out of bed. Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the desk in front of the window and opened one of the drawers. When he returned to the bed, there was a box in his hand. He opened the lid and handed it to her. “That was my mother’s engagement ring.”

“Bruce-”

He held a hand up to stop her. “No, I know what you’re going to say, but I want you to have it. It doesn’t matter that we’re not actually getting married, I think she would want you to have it as much as I do. Consider it a thank you for always being there for me over the years.”

“You already repaid that by being there for me these past few months.”

“I also think everyone will expect me to give it too you as well. It will help convince them that it’s real.”

She slipped the ring out of the box and placed it on her ring finger. “Okay.”

Bruce’s heart jumped as she slid the ring on, but he did not let it show. “Does that mean I can go back to sleep now?”

She laughed and shook her head, but stood up from his bed. “Yes, goodnight, Bruce.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Part 3

[iamthecomet]

Ghoulette anon here. Could I request a fic where Cumulus does acts of service as her love language, but then Cirrus and Sunshine flip the script and take care of her and dote on her instead for a change? Can be NSFW.

WOMEN.

Cumulus never sits down, not for longer than ten minutes. Even when they all drag her into a pile for a movie, she is up whenever anyone needs something. The second someone starts to shiver, she's the one getting a blanket. She makes the popcorn, she gets drink refills. She smiles the whole time she does it. To Cirrus, whose love language lies somewhere closer to physical touch, it seems exhausting. All of this work, and so little reward for it. It's pervasive, impacting every part of her life. When they fall into bed she directs all of her energy onto her partners. Doting on them, dragging soft fingers over their skin until their backs bow, their knees buckle, they sob. She is unwilling to let herself be taken care of until everyone else has had their fair share. Cirrus knows that Cumulus loves it. That she isn't tired, or burnt out, or left wanting. That this is the way she loves them, by taking care of them. But that doesn't mean it doesn't make her chest ache a little. It doesn't mean she doesn't want to return the favor. She catches Sunshine's eye over breakfast and Cumulus hands them both a mug of tea and presses her plush lips to the corners of theirs in turn. She hold Sunshine's amber gaze and then darts her eyes over to Cumulus' form, now busy cleaning up after breakfast. Humming to herself in that immaculate soprano.

Sunshine's mouth breaks out into a toothy grin, one that might seem predatory if Cirrus didn't know how soft she actually is. "Hey, Lus. Let Cir do the dishes. I need your help with something," Sunshine pushes away from the counter and crosses the room to curl her arm around Cumulus' waist. She presses her lips into Cumulus' white blond curls.

Sunshine's grip tightens and she tugs. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

"In a minute, Sunny. I just need to--"

Cirrus squeezes in on the other side. She reaches into the soapy water and extracts Cumulus' hands one by one. "You don't need to. I'll do it. Go play with Sunny." They catch eyes over the top of Cumulus' head again. Sunshine's smile only spreads deeper. She winks, and steers Cumulus away. Talking into her hair about something really cool she's been watching Cumulus to see. "You can only really see it this time of day," Sunshine rambles as they leave the room, her voice light, bubbly. Cumulus' laugh carries back to Cirrus as they get further away.

Cirrus looks down at the dishes and sighs, plunging her hands into the scalding water. It takes half an hour to get the dishes washed. She leaves them in the dish drainer for someone else to put away when they finally drag themselves out of bed. She wipes her wet hands off on her thighs and heads to find her girls. She doesn't have to look hard. She can hear Cumulus as soon as she steps into the hallway that houses the ghoul bedrooms. High breathy noises spilling out from behind Sunshine's door. Cirrus doesn't knock. She pushes the door open. She finds Cumulus, naked and splayed on Sunshine's bed. Sunshine's shirt is unbuttoned, but other than that she's fully clothed, cradling Cumulus between her legs. Those white blonde curls splayed out over Sunshine's shoulder, as Sunshine works her mouth over Cumulu's neck and jaw.

Sunshine's fingers work through Cumulus' folds. She's on full display. Thighs damp with slick. Cirrus can see the tremble in her thighs from here.

Cirrus' mouth goes dry.

Cumulus has one hand tangled in Sunshine's hair. The other wrapped around Sunshine's wrist.

Cirrus watches the tendons in Sunshine's arm work.

Cumulus' back bows off the bed.

"You started without me," Cirrus says, already breathless. Sunshine raises her head, smiling widely at her, as Cumulus writhes beneath her fingers. "Did you really expect me to wait?" Sunshine asks softly.

Cumulus' eyes crack open, cerulean blue, already glassy as she looks at Cirrus. She opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but all that comes out is a choked moan.

"It's ok, Lus," Sunshine purrs against the side of her head. Her fingers slip down to sink inside and Cumulus' eyes flutter closed again. "We're gonna take such good care of you, isn't that right, Cir?"

Cirrus rakes her eyes over Cumulus' form one more time, mouth dry, suddenly ravenous to bury her face between Cumulus' legs and drink from her like she's the only source of water on earth.

"Yeah," Cirrus says, crossing the room to climb onto the bed and kneel between Cumulus' legs. She runs her hands down each thigh, feeling the tremors in them. "Gonna worship you the way you deserve."

[sukirichi]

closer | gojo satoru x reader

a/n: aaah my first ask and it’s a request! thanks so much this is so kind and sweet of you 🥺 and here it is! I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it anyway! 

summary: in which Gojo has the need to be closer to you after a long day of hard work

pairings: jealous! Gojo x reader

warnings: none, other than this isn’t proofread! (This is just a fluffy domestic short fic!)

masterlist ! 

The best part about being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer isn’t the power (although Gojo basks in that too) but rather the fact that he allows himself to completely tear his walls down and be putty in your hands once he comes home from work.

Gojo would never say it out loud that the best part of his days is waking up next to you, pressing kisses in your still sleepy face and you whining for five more minutes, then watching as you wobble like a penguin to the shower so you can start your day. Although he doesn’t really ask much from you, his heart still swells every time you make him a sandwich, kiss it and claim that it’s “made with love” before he proudly shows off his ‘breakfast’ of the day to his students.

Even in work, he still thinks of you. It’s quite impossible for this man to stop thinking of you; you and him never left that honeymoon phase even after two years of marriage and a much longer time of dating.

He could be exorcising a curse then get distracted afterwards after seeing an Italian restaurant that he just knows you’ll love. Next thing you know, Gojo flicks his wrist and exorcises the curse in a flash before hopping into that restaurant to look at the menu. Loving is knowing; Gojo takes the time to see if the restaurant would be respectful of your allergies every time before booking reservations.

It’s no secret that this man is completely enamoured with you, if his sappy good morning kisses accompanied with light, teasing touches down your legs is not an indication already. Gojo is confident and feels safe in your relationship and he’s never the type to get jealous because Gojo is Gojo – who else would be better than him for you?

Or at least that’s what he used to believe, until he comes home with a bag of pumpkin spice bread for you, arms wide open and a “Darling~” about to leave his lips when he sees your current predicament.

Nanami is leaning against one of the chairs in your cafe downstairs from your home, the usual stoic man’s lips and cheekbones slightly raised in laughter as you tell him something about your day. Gojo can’t exactly understand the worse falling from your lips because he’s too focused on the way you’re leaning forward, eyes absolutely crinkled into half-moons while you share a strawberry tart with him. Gojo sees the cups of tea have already been emptied, meaning Nanami has been here for a much longer time than he is welcomed.

Gojo clenches his jaw. He’s told you many times you should get a bell so you’d know when a customer comes in, but now he’s thankful you’re stubborn and refused to have one because he can hide in one of the propped up tables and chairs hidden in the darkness.

He can’t help the sigh he releases. He’s late – like he always is.

You’re a regular human who isn’t able to see curses. You’ve only ever known about their existence ever since you started dating Gojo, but other than that, you’re completely unaware of how these things work. It doesn’t bother Gojo. In fact, he quite likes that he can be just a regular man around you, and he basks in the comfort of not having to worry about your safety if ever you were also like him.

He met you when you were just still a barista who helped your boss bake from time to time. Gojo was only a student then who hopped from one cafe to another in search of the best delicacy, but he got more than what he bargained from when he met the fresh-faced and bubbly young woman standing behind the counter whose smile was sweeter than the most sugary dessert you’ve ever made.

As the two of you grew older, Gojo supported you in building your own cafe since you’re so passionate about it and it’s been your dream since childhood.

He still remembers how you’d spend hours in the kitchen trying out new ingredients, so much so that you forget to eat on most days. Gojo is left with the task of literally hauling your ass up upstairs and force you to shower with him. You lie that you’re not really tired, but the moment his skilled hands roll the tension out of your shoulders, a contented and grateful sigh paints those lips he loves to kiss.

One of the things Gojo loves doing with you is taste-testing. He’s not around the house most of the time when you work since he’s a busy man himself, but on the days he actively chooses to annoy Principal Yaga and go AWOL, he’d sit obediently on the counter and let you use him as your own taste experimenting dummy.

When night falls and you’re just about ready to head to bed; satisfied and proud of another day of hard work, Gojo comes home early to help you clean up the cafe and prop the furniture so you don’t overstrain your muscles.

Or at least, he wants to come home early to help you. It’s just that he often gets carried away on his missions and stays behind a lot longer than he’d like because the world of curses is extremely demanding. After seeing that you probably already lifted all these heavy chairs and cleaned up everything by yourself even when you’re tired, and you still have the ability to smile and laugh like that in Nanami’s presence when he should be the one on the receiving end, Gojo is unable to fight back the twisting feeling that pools in his stomach.

Forcing a huge grin on his face, Gojo loudly smacks the paper bag in the table between you and Nanami, his hands resting on the blond’s shoulder who only groans at his presence. “Yo!” He greets, winking when your eyes gleam brighter now that your husband is home.

There’s no trace or hint of anything that could indicate you’re upset with him because he didn’t come home early. Instead, you bow and excuse yourself while picking up your cups and the small plate where remnants of your signature tart had been, and Gojo watches with longing eyes as you disappear in the back room.

Now that you’re gone, Gojo drops in your seat, takes off his blindfold, and glares at Nanami. “Nanamin,” he drawls out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here – getting chummy with my wife, no less.”

Gojo knows he’s being petty and childish. Of course he is. This is Nanamin we’re talking about; the man is as frigid and stone and he’s as interested in romantic relationships as much as he respects Gojo Satoru. Plus, it’s you, and you have eyes for Gojo and Gojo only, but it’s also Gojo Satoru who’s mixed in the formula, and he’s not the least bit ashamed that he’s being immature right now.

Of course he’s jealous. Of course he’s possessive.

You’re his sweet, little wife – of course he doesn’t like it.

As if reading his mind but couldn’t be bothered to deal with him, Nanami slides an envelope across the table. “Ijichi took a sick leave so he couldn’t give this to you. I was tasked to hand it over to you instead so I came around. It’s not my fault you come home late and your wife insisted I have a short meal before I came home,” Gojo opens his to retort something stupid when you emerge from the back, pretty face tired yet still patient as ever.

“Leaving already, Nanami?” You smile up at him, hand slipping through Gojo’s bigger and rough ones. He doesn’t know why the gesture leaves him stunned, especially when you step close enough that he feels your heat on this sudden cold night. He’s so entranced by everything about you he doesn’t even notice the blond bidding his farewell.

Gojo watches as you turn to face him, smaller hands reaching up to caress his face. Now that his blindfold is gone, his hair falls down to forehead, your dainty fingers brushing them away from his eyes so you could marvel in its beauty.

Like a little kid, he melts into a puddle when you do that exact eye-smile he’s seen you do with Nanami, only this time, it’s reserved, private, and intimate.

Gojo shuts his eyes in the process, nearly stumbling forward, which he doesn’t really let happen with anyone because he’s the Gojo Satoru; strongest jujutsu sorcerer. But you don’t mind, you never do, and if anything it only makes you laugh when he pretends to be deadweight by collapsing into the crook of your neck.

“What a big baby,” you tease with your hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion, all the tiredness and exhaustion from his day disappearing into thin air.

“Yes,” he concedes as he follows you up the stairs where you both change into your pyjamas and settle in for the night. “But I’m your big baby.”

The nickname makes you laugh, head thrown back as giggles erupted in your chest. You’ve already removed your makeup, hair down from your work hairnet and flowing in loose waves. Gojo stifles a gasp then, because you’re in his arms, in his bed, smelling like him, and you’re so soft, so free, so vulnerable and the way you lean into his shoulders while he rubs his cheek on the crown of your head makes him feel like he’s falling in love all over again.

He’ll never get tired of this – of you.

The mere thought of seeing you with someone else that isn’t him doesn’t sit well with Gojo. Now he understands why he’s so jealous and immature – it’s because he hasn’t wanted anyone or anything as much as he loves you.

He can’t imagine a life where he’ll wake up to his mornings without your limbs sprawled across his longer ones, or how he may never hear your sleep talks about birds and butterflies; which is utterly ridiculous, but because it’s you, he finds it adorable. Sometimes Gojo wonders how he ever even lived before meeting, but of course, those were days filled with nothing but him doing weird stupid shit.

Not that he’s stopped doing that, but now at least he’s doing those weird stupid with you.

And he only ever wants to share those with you, so he doesn’t and will never allow anyone else to take what’s rightfully his. You’re his wife, the love of his life, the sunshine in his mornings and the sunset of his beautiful dusk.

He doesn’t care if he’s petty – he’s got every right to be jealous because Gojo Satoru never shares what’s his.

When his mind races back to the way you smile for Nanami again, his hold on you grows tighter. You don’t complain when Gojo suddenly presses his lips into yours, a breathy moan blessing his ears once he finally moves on top of you. Gojo runs his hand under your – his – shirt, letting those talented hands of his roam upon the expanse of his skin like an artwork he’ll never get tired of looking at.

“Missed you,” he mumbles in between the lip-locking, leaning closer when your nails start to scratch his scalp as a way to soothe him from the night. Nothing about the kiss is hurried or fervent; rather, it’s calm and steady, slow and passionate, much like how everything he feels for you is similar to a calm, rainy day where he’ll stay in with a hot cup of chocolate.

You’re home – warmth and comfort – and you know you’re his just as he knows he’s yours, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing you like he wants you to never forget that.

You shiver when Gojo’s fingers tickle your ribcage, that spot always having been sensitive. Your husband swipes his tongue over your lips that still tastes like strawberries from your lipbalm, and he groans, falling forward when you allow him access into your sweet, sweet mouth. Meanwhile, you travel down from his hair into those broad, strong shoulders that always seemed like a fortress to you.

Gojo was so big and strong compared to you. There’s no denying he could easily break you if he wanted to, but he’s nothing but gentle – perhaps a little eager – when he holds you like this.

There’s no memory of how you end up on top of his lap that night with the covers barely strewn across your bodies, Gojo’s back pressing into the bed frame that’s witnessed endless nights of passion. His hands then run over your hips, squeezing it a little too hard until you rut against his hips.

“Hmm,” you moan into his mouth at the friction, while Gojo only smirks at your reaction. Even after years, you’re still so sweet, sensitive, and responsive – he just can’t get enough of it. “Satoru,” the way you say his name is so breathy, almost as if it’s a secret only the two of you should know, so he listens intently at your next words. “You’re a little needy tonight. Did something happen?”

“No,” he lies, smiling to himself once he sees your lips are red and bruised. He’s sure he looks the same, but your eyes are glossed over with love that he can’t resist you pulling you to him as if the space offends him. He trails his lips down to your neck to leave red patches of marks that claims you as his – not that the gold wedding band on your fingers wasn’t doing the job already.

Like the good girl you are, you tilt your head and allow him to do as he pleases. He sucks, licks, kisses and nips at the skin, all the while careful to not hurt you or push you over to the edge since both of you are too tired for the day to ever do anything.

Your head drops to the crook of his neck then, arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely as if you trusted him to catch you whenever you fall – and you know he will. He always will.

Later on, you grow sleepy at the way he starts to pepper kisses into your skin that addictingly smells like cinnamon and vanilla all at the same time. Gojo chuckles to himself at how peaceful you look in that moment, draped over him like a tiny puppy who lives in a world too big for themselves, but that’s not true.

You’re bigger than the universe itself, larger than the vast galaxies he held beneath those eyes, and Gojo finally stops being jealous.

There’s no need to be, after all, not when he’s the one you trust wholeheartedly to tuck you in bed while your soft breathing lulls him into slumber as well. Gojo flicks the lamp off with his finger, not wasting another second before he scoots closer, closer, closer until there’s no more recollection of where you begin and where he ends.

He stands corrected in his statement.

He’ll never get tired of this, of you, for you’re bigger than the universe itself and there’s still a lot of space between the two of you that he can’t wait to cross until your worlds crash and burn.

“Next time,” he promises before kissing your eyelids, “I’ll come home earlier.”

[bratshaws]

goodness gracious 65. brb x oc

a/n: HI I MISSED POSTING AND I HATE MY INTERNET. anyway, not only can Rooster cook he can bake and he can put a bun in bea's oven be on any baking show there is uwu

check out the fic's playlist made by the sweet @wiipes !!

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: FLUFF??? i hate these two and yet i love them so much

chapters:

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40/41/42/43/44

45/46/47/48/49/50/51/52/53/54/55/56/57/58/59/60/61/62/63/64

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!)

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 

@lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2 @emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads 

-

She shouldn’t be surprised when it wasn’t just a simple shower, because why would it be when Rooster was involved? But not that she was complaining, she noticed that since she took the birth control shots he’s been a lot more intense when it comes to the two lovemaking. 

And for someone whose sex life wasn’t exactly the most active even while dating her ex, this was more than a welcome change. 

Beatrice hums tiredly, rubbing her face on the pillow and blinking her eyes open when she no longer feels a warm body behind her, her vision sharpening to show the balcony doors and the snow still falling, albeit much less than yesterday since she could see the horizon with the other cabins in the distance. She pushes herself to her elbows, combing her hair back as she looks around the room seeing it was empty and hearing him talk downstairs.

Humming herself awake after stretching her limbs, Beatrice looked around for her nightshirt and panties, pulling it over her legs. The large shirt touched the top of her thighs, the same thighs she covered with soft cotton pants before she made her way to the bathroom to wash her face off of any sleep. Once she’s done with that, she finally leaves the room, hearing Rooster’s voice as he talks to someone, slowly making her way down the stairs.

“I’m checking the weather app, Mav. They are cleaning the roads right now but we’ll only get a flight on Tuesday morning.” she hears him saying to his godfather, a little smile forming on her face with her feet silently padding down the wooden steps, “We are both fine, we are safe here. It was worse yesterday but they don’t think the snowstorm will come back.” She finally enters the living room to see Rooster with his back to her, looking out the glass doors with the phone on his ear and his free hand deep inside his sweatpants pocket.

The white t-shirt he wore to bed was tight around his shoulders and upper back, the muscles she loved running her fingers against beautifully,outlined by the cotton fabric. Her eyes dropped towards his butt, not hiding at how she was admiring the firm globes of flesh that filled his pants quite nicely too. She notices his upper body twists and she lifts her gaze to meet his amused one, “Oh we are enjoying ourselves.” he coos, holding out an arm towards her and Bea wasted no time in shuffling closer and hugging his side, “Oh you know, watching movies, playing poker.” she hoped Mav wouldn’t notice how he voiced those words out, “You’d be surprised, she’s really good at it.”

Beatrice only blushes, trying to hide her smile by burying her face on his shirt as his hand comes up to run his fingers through her messy hair, gently untangling the knots he finds without hurting her scalp. The outside is a lot less…white, than it was a day before, she could see parts of the road already, even if it wasn’t a lot, they were working hard to clean them up as fast as they could.

“Mhm.” she hears Bradley say, then feels his lips drop to the top of her head,” Yeah, I will. Thanks Mav. Talk to you tomorrow.” he finishes the call, sliding the phone on his opposite pocket to focus all his attention towards Beatrice, giving her a smile, “Hi, gorgeous. Good morning.”

“Good morning.” she meets his lips in a sweet kiss, smiling against his mouth, “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept so great.” he smirks, dropping his lips to the side of her jaw, “Had a lot of great dreams and ideas for future endeavors, pretty girl.” he feels her cheeks heat up under his lips, not being able to hold back his chuckle, bringing her closer to him - she always wondered if he just wanted her glued to his side at all times and she wasn’t complaining about it - “But you know what?”

“What?”

“There was a lot of Italian in my dreams.” he whispers against her ear, his hands sliding to cup her buttcheeks with gusto and making Beatrice squeak out in surprise, “I have no idea what you said yesterday, but fuck it was really hot.”

As long as he doesn't ask her to translate what she said, she’d be good. She doesn’t know if she’d be brave enough to say the words out loud, “Oh…ah…I-I’m glad.” she mutters, burying her face on the fabric of his shirt, the smell of cologne and fabric softener hitting her nose, “That you liked it.” she knew he liked it, his reactions were more than enough to convince her that he enjoyed her knowledge of Italian immensely.  He hums with his lips on her neck, kissing the soft skin there and bringing her with him as he takes both of them to the kitchen.

She sees the pan on top of the stove and the obvious pancake mix inside a bowl, he was probably preparing it when Mav called him, “Oh you are making us pancakes.” she says, hugging his middle as he goes back to what he was doing before, thankfully the pancake mix was still bubbly when he poured it on the pan.

“I am.” he smirks, “I think that’s going to be our celebration breakfast after amazing sex.” her face reddens again, but she smiles nonetheless, nuzzling the side of his ribs and watching him prepare them breakfast. The smell of him, of fresh pancakes and the wood around them brought a cozy feeling that only made her relax even more next to him. Beatrice fluttered her eyes closed, listening to the sounds around her as if it was a lullaby and right now it was only making her drowsy yet again.

Rooster looked down at Beatrice’s head, her eyes closed and her breathing getting even was more than enough to show him she was napping while standing up. He smiles, gently caressing the back of her head and turning the stove off when he is finished - it wasn’t a lot of pancakes - leaning down to kiss her scalp, “Hey,” her surprised little ‘hm?’ makes his smile widen, “You sleeping on me?”

She just snuggles his side even more, “You are warm.” she whispers, “And nice to hold.” Rooster’s smile widens, turning his body around so she could press her cheek to his chest and they’d be front to front. Beatrice sighs deeply against his shirt, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest as he holds her tight, his fingers massaging her scalp wasn’t helping her stay awake for too long either.

“I don’t want to have breakfast alone,” he says against her hairline, “So I’m going to wait until you are awake enough for us to have it together.” oh he was so sweet. It honestly made her chest burst with tons of butterflies. But Beatrice sighs, lifting her head from his chest, rubbing her face the best she could to get rid of sleep and give him a tired little grin, “Changed your mind?”

“Yeah,I don’t want you to wait for me to wake up like that.” she explains, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his lips sweetly, “Plus I want to have breakfast with you.”

“Aren’t you sweet.” he coos, kissing the tip of her nose as he lets go of her waist to grab the plates, seeing Beatrice rub her face with both hands before she sits down on the kitchen table, smiling sweetly at him. Of course it was pre made mix and nothing like the ones he’d usually make, but it was still edible in his mind, “There you go.” he says, sitting down next to her after he puts the coffee mugs down as well. “Just so you know, Jolene went out for a bit today.”

Beatrice hums in surprise with the mug tilted to her lips, looking over where the sleeping pitbull was on the couch, “Did she?”

“She did, but just for a few seconds, she’s not a huge fan of the cold just like you.” he chuckles, kissing the side of her face, keeping his nose nestled in her hair, “You always smell so good,” he mutters, “How do you always smell so good?” he knew how, he had seen her shower many times already, but it was like the lavender smell was ingrained in her skin it wasn’t because of soaps or body wash or even shampoo. One more reason he believed Beatrice was just a fairy in disguise.

Bea giggles, rubbing the side of his jaw with her fingers so she could pry him off her neck and peck his lips, “Your breakfast is going to get cold.” she murmurs, her cheeks hurting from smiling so much especially at his little pout. He did as she was told though, focusing on the plate of pancakes in front of him and turning on the tv since the remote was on the kitchen table. The news were only talking about the snowstorm, so they avoided those, flicking through the channels until deciding to watch the Great British Bake Off together.

Beatrice was amazed at how Bradley managed to make packaged pancake mix taste like actual pancakes, well not completely like it but it was a lot better than the other types of pancake mixes she had before. She looks at him from the corner of her eyes, plopping a piece of the fluffy treat inside her mouth, trying to hold back her smile at how intense he was watching someone mess up a chocolate soufflé with his chin on his hand. His profile was probably one of the prettiest views she had ever seen, from his forehead to his nose, then his full lips with the mustache right on top and finished with the sharp curve of his jawline, she wasn’t wrong to call him Adonis from time to time.

He was just so handsome and she couldn’t help but admire him everytime she could. Bradley however could feel the eyes on him, flicking the brown eyes in her direction without changing poses and smirking when she just avoided his gaze, “Are you ogling me, gorgeous?” Beatrice bites her lower lip, chewing another piece of pancake and trying to hold back her own grin, “You are going to make me blush.”

Something she never achieved to do, not like he did with her, was make Bradley blush. Of course he’d sometimes get color on his cheeks but it wasn’t like it lasted more than seconds and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was a way of making her strapping pilot boyfriend blush just like she did. It’d definitely be interesting, she should add that to the list of things she always wanted to do “You are really nice to look at.” she says honestly, his smirk only widens and his eyes go back to the tv, one of his hands dropping to her thigh to give it a hearty squeeze.

“Why, thank you.” he says, still rubbing her thigh, “You are very nice to look at too.” there it was, she was already blushing and he barely said a full sentence to her. She knew he loved it, he mentioned it time and time again about how seeing her blush made him happy. After that they ate their breakfast in relative silence, only breaking to give commentary on the episode they were currently watching right now with Rooster being vocal on how he’d be ‘great at that show’.

“You can bake?” she asks in surprise, “I know you can cook, but I didn’t know you could bake.”

He leans back on the chair, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head towards her with one eyebrow up, “I can bake an amazing peach cobbler and cherry pie.” the two things his mother was amazing at and the two things he kept the recipes in his head because he remembered every step almost photographically, “I haven’t done it in years though, it does take a bit of time.”

The image of Rooster actually baking, with flour on his cheek and sleeves rolled up to his elbows - trying not to imagine him actually rubbing the same flour on the rolling pin sensually was a bit hard to do - because he was baking was more attractive than she thought it’d be, “We could do it together sometime,” she suggests, shrugging her shoulders when he blinks at her, “If you want.”

“I’d like that a lot, gorgeous.” he says sweetly, but his eyes drop to her body, “You can wear an apron and nothing else–” she tosses a napkin to his face, making the sandy haired pilot sputter a laugh, pulling the white paper back to see Beatrice piling their plates and cutlery to take them to the dishwasher, “Hey, c’mere.” he immediately wraps his arms around her waist,pulling her to his lap, “I’m jokin’ pretty girl, you can wear those black lace panties too if you want,” Beatrice gasps out a laugh, trying to escape from his hold when he went down to nibble her neck.

“You are impossible.”

“You love it.” she did, she couldn’t deny it, even her shy smile said so. He does let her go after a while, watching her mess around with the dishwasher before she washes her hands on the sink. He turns his head towards the outside yet again, rubbing his chin in thought, “We should go out today.” she looks over her shoulder with her brows furrowed, “Not to eat or anything, but to enjoy the snow.”

Beatrice looks at him then to the snow paradise outside, laughing in disbelief, “You are joking.” he wasn’t, of course he wasn’t, she could see from his eyes, “What would we do then?” Rooster shrugs, leaning his arm on the back rest of the chair to keep his eyes on hers as she turns around “...oh, fine, okay.”

-

Bradley keeps his eyes on Beatrice when she is a few steps ahead of him, the snow wasn’t as tall that’d reach their knees but it was pretty deep that their boots would sink on the ice crystals. But the brunette isn’t losing her balance, she’s just careful while walking, especially now that it was so much easier as well.

Bea looks back to where Bradley is, with his hands deep in his jacket’s pockets and leisurely making his way over, kissing the part of her forehead that isn’t covered by her hat, “How’s it so far?”

“It’s not so bad.” but she is curling and relaxing her fingers to warm them up the best she could, “I mean, honestly I expected to be worse but I’m not mad at this at all.” she smiles, looking up to where the snow piled on the naked tree branches before parts of it crumbled down in lumps. “What was your favorite snow activity as a child? I always was curious when people said they grew up with snow.”

He hums, looking around the snow covered area as he thinks about it, “I think, maybe snowball fights are pretty good.” Beatrice makes a noise of acknowledgement, meaning she was still listening to him, “But you know, snow in itself is fun.”

“Michael once slammed Leonardo on a pile of snow back in Palermo when we were visiting our uncles.” she says in a monotone voice, her eyes looking at nothing as she remembered, “They were both college age at that time, just so you know.”

Honestly he could see that happening.

Beatrice’s curiosity about snow meant she was either too annoyed by the cold to actually enjoy it or she was protected by her parents so she wouldn’t get hurt and knowing her parents as he did now he’d say that was a high possibility, “You never played in the snow?”

“I think maybe when I was a child, Guillermo was always the one with me when it happened because he was so big.” she explains while kicking the snow on her foot, “Also I was just too cold to actually enjoy it, I preferred to stay inside.” so he was right on both options.

Bradley looks down at her, seeing how tiny snowflakes stuck on her lashes but she hadn’t even noticed, “You didn’t even do snow angels?” he asks with surprise in his tone, letting out a disbelieved laugh when she shakes her head, “You can at least do that.” he looks down at the snow, seeing how deep his foot sunk into it and smiles, “Or freeze soap bubbles, that’s also fun.”

“It does sound fun.” Beatrice agrees, hugging his arm in hopes his warmth traveled towards her body. She wasn’t as cold but she also felt like it’d definitely help because she had never met anyone with so much body heat like Rooster had. But she looked up when his eyes seemed to be elsewhere, ‘What?” she questions.

“I’m pretty sure I saw a fox there.”

“A fox?” oh she loved foxes! She tries to lean towards the direction he said without letting go of his arm, but she can’t see anything, “Where did you see it?”

“A bit further ahead, I think it hid behind those fallen logs.” he lifts his arm so her hand drops from there, “Let’s go one at a time, we don’t want to scare it.” he was right, she’d hate to scare the poor animal. Beatrice walked a bit more, tilting her chin up in hopes to see the red fur of the small animal.

“Roos,” she whisper shouts, “Are you sure you saw it here?” She is nearing the fallen logs, crouching herself just enough to see if she could at least find paw prints but there were none within her line of sight.

“I’m sure, baby.” his voice was still distant, something in Beatrice’s head lit up as a warning to be prepared for whatever was coming her way. But before the brunette could ask him a question, her body lifting and turning around to face him, something cold immediately hit the side of her hat. Beatrice’s eyes widened, trying to digest whatever had happened, gasping in surprise and yet not moving a single muscle.

Her boyfriend, on the other hand was trying hard to hold back his laughter at her shocked expression, his smile slowly lowered to a worried glance because she was still immobile, “Bea?” no response, “Baby, talk to me, did I hurt you?” if he did he’d never forgive himself. Okay maybe he was a bit shitty by using the fox as a diversion to hit her with a snowball, but he wasn’t aiming on her face - which he didn’t hit, thank god - but if somehow it ended up hurting her in any way he’d feel terrible.

But his eyes widen back when he sees her crouch down and quickly make a snowball, a bit misshapen but definitely a snowball. One he narrowly avoided by ducking, the compacted snow hit a tree behind him with a wet ‘splat!’ “You are so mean!” she says, but her tone is light and she’s laughing, “You used my love for foxes as a distraction!” another one is thrown his way but yet again he manages to duck just in time.

Thankful she wasn’t mad at him nor wasn’t hurt, he quickly wasted no time making yet another one. “It’s called ‘tactic’, gorgeous!” he laughs, throwing another one her way only to Bea to leap out of it’s trajectory just in time, holding herself against the tree so she doesn’t lose her balance. “Take your enemy by surprise!”

“Well, it was really mean!” she counters, using the tree as a barricade to hide herself from the other snowballs but he wasn’t going to waste them while she was there. Oh no, he had a perfect timing for when she showed up again.

They had their snowball fight for a few more minutes, there was so much powdered snow on their jackets it was hard to see who actually won. When Beatrice was to send another one his way, she squeaked out in surprise when Bradley grabbed her by the waist and gently tackled her to the fluffy snow, hugging her arms to her sides “Nooo!” she laughs, “No I was winning!”

“We are both covered in snow, I doubt there was a real winner here.” he says, hovering above her and smiling at her cold kissed cheeks and sweet smile. Looking like an actual snow angel, with her hair spread on the snow like it was chocolate, “Let’s say it was a tie.”

Beatrice narrows her eyes playfully at him, “I think I should win because you used one of my favorite animals against me.”

“Aren’t elephants your favorite animals?”

“I can have more than one!”

He chuckles, “Okay, fine…it was a tie.” Beatrice pushes his face just enough to make him fall back on the snow by her side, some of the powdery ice crystals falling on his face and he sputters out a laugh, wiping it the best he could, “Hey, come on. Don’t go pushing me like that.” but her warmth on top of him made him stop, “Actually, I don’t mind you pushing me if the end results are like this.” he mutters, meeting her lips in a kiss as his hands traveled up her thighs until they landed on her soft flesh of her ass, squeezing it through her pants.

Bea laughs softly with a cloud of air appearing in front of her lips, “I’ll keep that in mind.” she mutters, kissing him one more time but then sliding out of him because she didn’t like how he was so deep within the snow, kneeling by his side, “Should we go back? We’ve been here for,” she pulls out the phone from her pocket, thankful it wasn’t wet, “Almost one hour.”

Bradley however sighs deeply, “In a little bit.” he says,spreading his arm towards her, “C’mere.” Beatrice hesitates, eventually removing her scarf and bundling it up like a little pillow, shoving it underneath his head so he could have something warm to lie on as well. His face hurts from smiling at how sweet this woman keeps showing him she could be and the little voice in the back of his mind repeated over and over of what he should do as soon as possible.

Her head lands on his jacket-covered bicep, looking up at the sky then back at him, rubbing the middle of his chest, “You okay?” she asks quietly when she notices he goes quiet, his gaze unreadable. It’s not until he inhales deeply that he finally replies.

“My mom and I used to do this.” he begins, “A snowball fight then we’d just flop on the snow, sometimes to make snow angels or just to watch the snowflakes fall.” There were none falling right now, but his eyes were still looking upwards, “She used to carry me on her back when it was time to leave.” When he was old and tall enough, he’d pick his mom up as a joke, just carry her around the house and laugh whenever she told him to put her down.

Beatrice smiles sweetly, looking back at the sky just like he was, “That seems really fun.” she knew he was still feeling the loss, but he seemed much lighter than the day before, maybe having her with him helped more than she thought it would. “I think she’d like to know you had fun today, and your dad too.” she looks back at his profile, seeing his jaw clench and eyes avoid hers, definitely glazed with tears, “Brad…” she calls, pushing herself to her elbows, one of her hands cupping his cheek to turn his face towards hers.

His eyes were shining with tears, with a lonely one trailing down the side of his face but Bea wiped it off before it fell onto the snow, “It’s okay.” she reassures, even if part of her fears she said something wrong like that time at the amusement park. But Rooster just inhaled one more time, then nodded, whispering he was okay. 

“You know.” he says once they are both standing and he’s patting the snow on the back of her jacket and hair after she did the same to him, “It’s the first time after I visit my parents I don’t feel sad.” she looks up at him in surprise, “Well,I do feel sad, but it’s not like before. Thank you for coming with me.”

“Oh, Roos.” she wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him close to her while his arms go to her waist, “Thank you for inviting me. I am glad I could be of any help.” she drops her arms from his neck to grab his gloved hand, “And I’m glad you could revive good memories.”

“Of course, gorgeous.” he leans down to kiss her temple, hugging her to his side as they make their way back towards the cabin, with Rooster saying that while they had a tie he thought about it better and considered he had won their snowball fight instead. Beatrice gasped in offense, crouching down to the ground and grabbing a handful of snow that hit him right on the arm, choosing that right now was a great time for a rematch.

[jimblejamblewritings]

i should hate you | part 7.

Summary: Y/N Lestrange felt like her life was a set-up since birth. The entire school hates her thanks to her mother and father. Worst of all, she finds herself liking a Gryffindor… the one whose parents were tortured by hers.

Warnings for the Series: angst, fluff, some smut

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x black!reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

Neville was surprised that you ran all the way back down to Slytherin. The tie still wasn’t off but was no longer neatly tied. He followed you, finally catching you as you plopped down on the common room couch. You didn’t look at him as you ate your fruit. Neville eventually sat down, taking off the tie around his neck and putting it on your lap. You finished your fruit and went to properly take off his tie. Neville didn’t push you away as you went to put his tie on him.

“Thanks, Petal.” He got up and left.

There was a different way he said it. You hadn’t heard the affectionate name in so long but you knew what it used to sound like. This version was different but it was better than being called Lestrange and you would do anything to hear it again.

Draco was exempt from his classes because of what happened. You insisted that he take the break even though he was weary about leaving you alone for the day. Nothing changed about classes except now you truly talked to no one. You got through Transfiguration without so much as a word and Charms ended in the same silence. Morning break left you confused. Draco was taking a nap and you weren’t sure what to do.

Your feet started moving before you had made up your mind and you found yourself staring at the Fat Lady portrait. She opened when you mumbled the password and you shuffled along the edge of the common room, trying to be unseen. Neville was there, reading on his bed, when you entered the room. You just stood awkwardly in the doorway because now that you were there you didn’t know what to do or say. It didn’t help that Neville just sat there and watched you.

“Can I?” You pointed to the bed, asking to come over.

Neville nodded and you quickly moved to him before he could change his mind. It was silent as you laid down on top of him. He continued his reading for class as if you weren’t there, looking down ever so often. Neville’s hands were more confused about what to do when the reading finished. He didn’t want to feel awkward in his own bed but couldn’t wrap his arms around your waist— it would be too intimate, like before. He tentatively settled for resting his hands on your butt and when you didn’t say anything he relaxed them. You just laid there and listened to nothing in particular.

This was the same position you had been in when you asked Neville if he hated you last night. He didn’t say yes but he didn’t say no either. You found yourself clinging to that ‘I should’ like a lifeline. It meant there was a chance to still have someone on your side. You were clinging to it so hard that you didn’t stop Neville as he got handsy. You let him push your head to the side and try to mark your neck with the best hickey he could muster up. And when he started undoing the buttons on your uniform shirt, you let him because the words ‘right there, Petal’ or ‘doing so good for me, Petal’ came tumbling out of his mouth. He held you afterwards, until the free period was over. It was different. The same way him calling you Petal was different now. But all the same it was the safest you had felt in a long time. Because Neville still made you feel like no one could touch you when you were in his arms.

And so a new cycle, no doubtedly worse than snogging in stairwells, began. It was split between you seeking him out and him finding you but the outcome was all the same. He always knew you were coming to his room during a free if you accidentally got too close to Harry who now scared you. Usually, the two of you were in your room. You didn’t have roommates. No one could see you in the moments before or the cuddles after when the two of you almost seemed like a couple.

Every St. Mungo’s weekend was a guarantee that Neville was in your bed as he tried to work out any frustration from his parents calling you his girlfriend or saying how they hoped you two would last forever like they have. You liked those endings the best. Not the moment but the afterwards because that’s when Neville wouldn’t leave your room until morning. Everything was almost normal as you both cuddled the entire night.

He told himself he should stop when he left your room the next day. He couldn’t have it both ways, eventually the fact that he never stopped loving you was going to slip out. That day when he smelled your scent in the Amortentia was going to keep replaying in his mind if he kept touching you. He huffed out a laugh as he sat down in the library to study. That’s exactly why he kept touching you. That smell was absolutely intoxicating.

Draco bit his tongue but glared daggers at the back of Neville’s head whenever it was time for a meal in the Great Hall. He had figured out only last week that you and Neville had still been seeing each other while acting like you didn’t know the other existed after the tie incident.  

“I finished it,” your cousin muttered. “The cabinet.”

You looked at the faculty table. “He’s not even here.”

“I know. Left with Potter.” Draco paused when you flinched. He grabbed your hand. “Hey, I’m still here talking to you, aren’t I? They’ll be back in an hour or two, they left right before lunch.”

“We aren’t coming back next year,” you said definitively.

Draco nodded. “We get Mum and we flee.”

That was a plan that you two had settled on a few weeks ago. Voldemort would be pleased with Draco just long enough that there was actually a chance you two could grab Narcissa and run. Harry could stop him but there was no way you and Draco would be able to avoid being on the Death Eaters’ side while you waited for that to happen. You had been thoroughly preparing for it, taking money out of your parents— technically yours since they were wanted criminals— account at Gringotts.

Every trip to St. Mungo’s, you’d ask Neville to wait a little bit before going back to school so you could stop at the bank and ask for another bag of galleons to hide in your trunk at school. It wouldn’t be enough to keep you three at the status you were used to but it was more than enough to start over in the middle class of America. They had a school there because you desperately wanted to finish. No one knew the names Malfoy or Lestrange there.

They only knew that you guys were fighting a large evil named Voldemort who they might have to fight if he wasn’t stopped in Britain. It was the perfect place to run away to and start again. Neither you nor Draco ate much. You went to the library to wait while he opened the Vanishing Cabinet and went to the Astronomy Tower.

You didn’t expect Flitwick to start screaming about Death Eaters as you sat in the library. Draco had timed it perfectly. It was the hour and a half before curfew for the older students when everyone rested in their common rooms but before the professors started curfew patrol. No one was supposed to be out. That way no one got hurt. Flitwick must’ve been doing something and caught whoever Voldemort sent to monitor Draco coming out of the Room of Requirement. You got up to go knock him out which was something you never fathomed doing to a teacher; but, then you heard Snape and suddenly it got quiet. Snape looked at you with wide eyes as he dumped Flitwick in the library.

“Professor?”

“Where’s your cousin?”

“The Astronomy Tower. P-professor?”

“You were a very foolish girl for making that Vow with him. Brave but so foolish. Gryffindor would’ve suited y—”

You looked out the window when Snape suddenly stopped. He murmured that this couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t a part of Dumbledore’s plan. Your jaw dropped seeing Voldemort and a mass of followers standing at the edge of Hogwarts. Snape grabbed your arm.

“I know what he’s asked of Draco and Dumbledore has asked me to do it in his place. Find McGonagall. The minute Dumbledore falls, the Dark Lord will attack and I cannot hesitate when I get to the Tower.”

You nodded and ran. McGonagall wasn’t in her office when you reached. Gryffindor looked up in shock at seeing you burst through the door. You breathed out in relief when McGonagall was standing there talking to her House.

“Miss Lestrange?”

“Voldemort is here.”

“I’m sor—”

“Professor Snape and I saw Voldemort from the library. They’re here, Death Eaters. Voldemort’s attacking tonight!”

Neville looked out the window. “Professor! She’s not lying.”

Everyone rushed to the windows in the common room. McGonagall gasped.

“I have to call the Order. Students, stay here until further instruction.”

She ran out of the room as you continued to stare out of the windows. Voldemort was just standing there with his army. It seemed massive. It was alarming how many people he had gathered either because they wanted to be there or they were threatened. You wondered how many of them had a job at the Ministry that allowed them to go unnoticed. It had to be a few because even in the darkness and with them being far away, you could tell the long blob of platinum belonged to your Uncle Lucius who should have been in Azkaban.

Everyone held their heads when a slithering noise echoed. You shuddered at hearing the voice that you hadn’t heard since a summer day in Malfoy Manor and you knew that Snape must have just finished his task.

“I know that many of you will want to fight against me and the Death Eaters, but this is a futile effort. I don’t wish to bring you harm. You have one hour to hand over Harry Potter or I will kill every man, woman, and child who dares defy me.”

The slithering ended and you all just looked at each other. Harry came running in. You stopped yourself from shivering to approach him.

“What do you need us to do?”

Harry looked at you but nodded. “There’s some things we need to destroy. We destroy them and then we can kill him. This locket, something from Ravenclaw, something from Hufflepuff, and his snake.”

“His snake?” Dean asked. “How are we getting close to that?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Well, what do the things from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff look like?”

“I don’t know.”

“Harry,” you said.

“I know. It’s not much to go on. They’ll be small, easily concealable. (Y/N)?” He watched you gasp.

“Like a cup? Is a cup possible?”

“Yes!”

You nodded. “I know where Hufflepuff’s item is. You’re going to want to find Ravenclaw, maybe they can help?”

“Brilliant. Ron, Hermione, take the locket and go to the Chamber of Secrets.”

“The Chamber?” Ron asked.

Hermione slowly nodded. “Harry stabbed the diary with a basilisk fang.”

That was all Ron needed as he grabbed the necklace. “We’re on it, mate.”

The paintings began to wake up, telling you all that McGonagall was requesting everyone to the Great Hall. Harry nodded and left to go to Ravenclaw while Ron and Hermione went to the Chamber of Secrets.

Seamus gave a half-hearted chuckle. “This wasn’t how I saw DA getting back together. Okay, you sorry lot. Let’s go fight a war! Bald bastard’s meeting his end tonight.”

You needed to go quickly. Taking money out of your vault meant you knew the ins and outs of it. There was a lot in there from your parents and it wasn’t just money but treasures. You had seen the gold cup enough times and History of Magic every single year went over the four relics of the Hogwarts founders.

“Accio bank key!” You called as you ran out of Gryffindor’s common room.

“(Y/N)!”

There wasn’t time to stop and turn around. You only had an hour before Voldemort was coming for Harry and the rest of you. A hand grabbed you. You were spun around to face Neville.

“You’re not going alone.”

“Then we need to leave now… Draco!” You called to your cousin who was in the sea of students moving to the Great Hall. “I haven’t taken my Apparition test yet. You passed, right?”

“Where to?”

“Gringotts.”

Draco grabbed your hand and reluctantly grabbed Neville— taking the opportunity to grab him by the collar. You felt the gross pull and stretch of your body as you apparated to Gringotts. You stared at the doors. Of course, the bloody bank was closed. It was late at night. Draco pulled out his wand.

“When we break this door, we’re going to have to fight.”

“I know,” you said.

“Ready when you are.” Neville pulled out his wand.

All three of you yelled ‘Bombarda Maxima’ and the doors exploded right off the hinges.

“Run!” you yelled as the alarm started.

You could hear Neville and Draco casting spells as you three ran to the cart. You pressed your key into the cart’s key hole and it started speeding down the tracks. The three of you ducked into the cart to try and avoid the guards’ spells being casted overhead.

“Hold your breath!” You shouted.

The waterfall washed over you all. The thief’s waterfall. It was meant to wash away any spells intruders used to get in. Luckily, you were going to your vault so there was no disguise. The three of you took a breath before jumping out of the cart as it came to a grinding halt.

“What the hell is that?” Draco scrambled backwards as a white dragon lifted its head.

“Top security. It’s disgusting what they do, the poor thing is blind but mean as the Whomping Willow. It’s alright, Expecto Patronum.”

The dragon couldn’t see the patronus but could feel the calming presence. Neville and Draco tiptoed behind you as the patronus played with the dragon until you reached your vault. Draco was toying with the key.

“(Y/N), it’s not working.”

“A goblin or a Lestrange has to do it, can either one of you cast a corporeal patronus.”

“No,” they both said.

“Then duck.”

You stopped playing with the dragon and immediately it started breathing fire. You pressed your hand against the door and ducked, trying not to get burned, as the door slowly opened. The three of you rushed inside as another round of fire started.

“Don’t touch anything. There’s a doubling charm if thieves try to get in.”

They stood deathly still. You, on the other hand, recklessly tore through your own vault. You wished you hadn’t been so careless before whenever you took galleons out because the cup was buried under a bunch of treasure. You dove practically headfirst into some coins, laughing when you pulled the cup out.

“Let’s g— Stupefy!”

Neville and Draco turned around. The guards had made it down to the vault. The three of you started running again, the boys casting spells left and right. You tilted your head at the bad idea in your mind but didn’t see how else the three of you were getting out.

“Bombarda!” you yelled at the chain holding the dragon.

The three of you ran up the wing and onto its back. Neville had his hands wrapped around your waist because one of your hands was full holding the cup and the other was gently patting the dragon.

“Come on, buddy. We need you to fly—”

“Expelliarmus!” Draco yelled.

“We need you to fly like yesterday!” You huffed. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

The dragon roared to life as you cast the gentlest explosion spell by its ear that you possibly could. You all held on tight as the it soared upward and started towards the ceiling. The dragon bursted through the glass ceiling and just kept flying. The poor thing didn’t get very far, almost crashing into the roof of another building. You all came rolling off of it, barely staying on the roof.

“Is everyone okay?” Neville choked out.

You and Draco groaned out a yes. Your cousin grabbed you and Neville, apparating back to right outside Hogwarts. You gasped when you saw how close you were to Voldemort’s army. The hand holding the cup was tucked behind you. Voldemort gave you a sinister smile and you caught your parents’ eyes. Bellatrix started laughing.

“She brought Longbottom to us! Thatta girl.”

Your father proudly clapped beside his wife. Voldemort extended a hand.

“I guess we all have a pre-show after all. You have the floor, Lestrange.”

You tapped Draco’s arm, passing the cup secretly to him. The Death Eaters laughed as you turned to face Neville.

“Do you trust me?” you whispered.

“Yes.”

Your lips crashed against Neville. You could hear laughter as they watched his hands grip your waist while you slowly lifted your wand to his temple.

“Run,” you mumbled against Neville’s lips before raising your wand and pointing it behind you. “Protego Diabolica!”

The three of you ran across the bridge as a line of protective fire appeared behind you. You didn’t know how long the protective fire would last— it was the first time casting the spell outside of a testing setting. The stone statues moved their weapons aside to let the three of you in. You saw Professor McGonagall, other faculty, and Order members with their wands at the ready.

“Where’s Harry?”

Before McGonagall could answer, you all ducked as a spell hit the protective shield. The hour was up. And based on the smiles that you had seen, Voldemort saw this as a game. You could hear chaos inside of students running. McGonagall looked at you when you stopped focusing on inside the castle.

“They’ve blocked our way to send patronuses past school grounds. We can’t reach the younger students’ parents.”

More blasts hit the shield. You got silent as you saw a flake of the shield float down between you and McGonagall. You turned to Draco.

“Find Harry. Neville and I will get the younger students.”

The three of you split up once inside the castle. If the castle was attacked what was the safest place? You had gotten time to perfect your patronus from all the time you and Draco spent alone. Four silver unicorns ran through the castle shouting for all students that were under fifth year to follow them or head straight to Slytherin dungeons. You ducked as a pillar crashed next to you. They were inside. You met Neville at the dungeons. He stood on the couch.

“First years here. Second years there. Third years by the window and fourth years near the dorm entrance. How many kids are in each year? Does anyone know?”

They all shook their heads. You could only account for Slytherin kids because of being a prefect. Neville nodded.

“Alright, everyone count three friends!”

A few kids approached. “We’re missing Dennis and Colin. And three first years.”

“Shit. Fourth years, you’re in charge. Everyone, stay in this common room until we come get you.”

“How do we know it’s you?”

“Don’t open this door for anyone who doesn’t say Petal. Block the door when we leave.”

You and Neville ran to try and find the missing children. Upstairs, the fighting was brutal. You had to stop yourself from sinking to the floor as you saw fellow students on the floor, not sure if they were knocked out or dead.

“Let her go!” you heard a deep male voice shout. You ran to see Fenrir Greyback attack a tall redhead. You recognized Lavender Brown at his feet.

“Stupefy! Bombarda! Verdimillious!”

Fenrir was thrown off of the balcony. You ran to Lavender and the redhead. Both seemed to be barely breathing. Justin saw you struggling to drag either one of them. You didn’t want to use Levicorpus because of how bad the injuries looked. He ran over with Fred and George to help you carry them.

“George!” Fred screamed.  

“Justin!” You yelled as a blast sent him and George over the balcony along with one of the columns.

Fred grabbed you. “Let’s go.”

You managed to get Lavender and the redhead into the Great Hall and to Madame Pomfrey. You raced back out, spotting Colin Creevey. You screamed as a green light hit him, your dad smiled sinisterly. You hissed when the first spell hit you, clutching the side of your face. You both threw spells back and forth at each other, neither giving the other a chance to breathe.  

“Avada Kedavra!”

Neville turned when he heard you scream. You had never looked so terrifying than when you dueled your father. He knew what Lestrange looked like on you and could say he had never seen it until that moment your father dropped dead. You ran to Colin even though you already knew the outcome. Neville came over to you.

“Did you get the others?” you asked.

“Yeah, they’re all down there.”

Your hands covered your ears as Voldemort’s voice returned.

“You have all fought valiantly. I do not want to keep spilling magical blood. I order my army to retreat. Treat your wounded, dispose of your dead with dignity. I now speak directly to you, Harry Potter. You have let others die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no bigger dishonor. You have another hour to give yourself up.”

The black smoke as the Death Eaters disappeared consumed the castle. You walked into the Great Hall with Neville, assessing the damage. You held a hand to your mouth when you saw Mad-Eye Moody laying down on the side with the dead. It only got worse as you passed by the bodies of Oliver Wood and Snape. You moved to where the Weasleys were crowded around a tall redhead. Fred grabbed you and you just stood there kind of shocked as he hugged you.

“Bill would be dead if it weren’t for you. We can’t lose anyone else.”

“Did George no—”

“Not George.”

He stepped aside and you saw the second redhead next to the one named Bill. Only you recognized this one. From first to third year, Percy Weasley never said anything mean to you because you followed the rules. He had a soft spot for anyone who followed the rules, no matter what their placement. Everyone was crying.

“He came to make it up with us, said he realized the Ministry’s corruption,” Ron sobbed.

You turned to see George hobble in, clutching at his head. You jumped along with the rest of the Weasleys. His entire ear was missing. You moved from the bench to let him have a seat. Mrs. Weasley started doting over him immediately, trying to stop the bleeding since she couldn’t give him his ear back.

“George, did you see Justin?” you asked.

He hung his head. “The entire column crushed him.”

That was it. There was no recovery from that. You stepped back and let the Weasleys have their family moment, looking for a streak of platinum anywhere. Draco spotted you first and pulled you into a hug so tight that you thought he might accidentally break your ribs.

“Did you get the cup to Harry?”

“Yeah… you’re hurt.”

“It’s just a cut.”

“Down the entire side of your face!”

“It could’ve been worse.”

It really could have. You were lucky the cut missed your eye, starting just underneath it. The Great Hall was filled with just sobs and you found yourself unable to bear it. You left to sit in the courtyard and watch the sun come up. A huff escaped your throat when you saw the Sorting Hat in a pile of rubble that was once one of the Great Hall windows. You grabbed the stupid thing and went to sit on a different pile of rubble that wasn’t glass. Neville sat quietly next to you. You smoothed out the tattered little hat.

“I used to hate this thing. I thought it put me in Slytherin just to spite me, like it wanted to make my life miserable. Now I just feel a little bad at the damage done to it.” You handed the hat to him. “Fuck, we have to tell Colin’s parents.”

“Hey, hey don’t cry. We missed one but you saved all those kids. It’s a miracle more people aren’t dead.”

“I should’ve been faster. If I— is that Hagrid?” Your head tilted as you looked up. “Who’s with him, Neville, who’s he carrying?”

(Part 8)...