#Heat 3500

[sivtermo]

Котел Bosch Tronic Heat 3500 ♨️ Електричний ♨️ Огляд ♨️ Особливості ♨️ ...

[ii-zi]

Good news is we knocked 639 kWh off our electricity consumption. Which means almost a hundred dollars less than last bimester's bill. Bad news is that it still means we owe over 220 dlls LMAO

[the-hidden-pages]

Kinktober Day 1 - 'Love' Bites | Overstimulation - Astarion x Fem!Reader

Love bites | Overstimulation | Impact play

Coming out the gates strong with 3500+ words for this man. It has not been edited, I have work in the morning, I'm going to bed.

Summary: With the promise of taking you to a quiet little piece of nowhere to forget all the madness of the adventure, Astarion pulls out all the stops to ensure you forget everything, except the pleasure he gives you.

Warnings: NSFW, Blood, Vampire Kink, Overstimulation, Crying, Light Choking, Dirty Talk

You and Astarion had always had an arrangement.

To say you bonded quickly with your party would be an understatement - having the tadpole within your mind and surviving the same crash tends to form that immediate trauma bond. But you and the vampire had formed a deeper understanding of each other much sooner than the others.

That night, so early on in your adventure, when you awoke to the man perched over you, fangs bared and your throat exposed for the taking, things simply couldn’t go back to the status quo.

It fogged your mind the entirety of the next day, the proximity, the adrenaline, the pure, undiluted hunger.

You’ve allowed him to feed from you every night since.

You played it off as trust, at first. Trust in him, a want to have him fully strengthened for battle. Nothing but business.

But it didn’t take long for him to understand your underlying motivation, the reason you allowed yourself to feel drained, exhausted, and weak for each battle moving forward, perpetually distracted by the memory of his lips and teeth at your neck. The memory welcomed the fantasies with open arms, fantasies of his hands wandering as he drank, kissing your lips with your own blood on his own, his fangs sinking into your thighs, before wandering higher…

Still, you were never going to force it. 

So, you allowed him to continue to drink, both aware of the growing tension, both refusing to move further.

Until that changed.

When Astarion came to you, offering for you both to find a “little piece of nowhere”, somewhere to “forget all this madness”, you sure as hell weren’t about to decline.

A chance to get him out of your head was exactly what you needed to think clearly.

Night had long since fallen, as you sat pretending to read one of many absurd tomes Gale had collected throughout the journey. A life of adventuring doesn’t make for the most consistent sleep schedule, and as such awaiting for the entire party to call it a night was practically torment as you tried to ignore the growing heat between your legs.

But no amount of pretending to study the Oral Histories of Faerun could distract you from wondering what pleasures tonight would bring.

When finally, finally, Karlach decided to call it a night, you waited a few moments more before creeping off to where Astarion had told you to meet him.

Any other night it may have been eerie, creeping through the woods unarmed  as the moon rose high in the sky. But all you could feel was the anticipation growing, humming in every nerve of your body like someone had struck you with a Witch Bolt.

Your heart nearly stopped as movement caught your eye.

There, emerging from the trees, already shirtless, was the vampire.

You had seen him in various states of undress before - curing wounds of various weapons and spells will do that. But there was something different about it in this circumstance, seeing him perfectly unscathed, strong and confident from the weeks of draining your life from your veins, silver hair and pale skin hauntingly beautiful in the moonlight.

“There you are,” he spoke lowly, striding slowly towards you. “I’ve been waiting. Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

While the words themselves made you blush, you couldn’t help comment.

“The moment you set eyes on me you had a knife to my throat.”

“Ah,” he sighed, walking slowly around you, bringing his fingers to lightly trail up your arm. “But if you remember, I did notice then and there what a darling neck you had, I just knew it would be heavenly.”

He closed the distance between you, and you could promptly feel his strong form cold against your back, a prominent bulge pressing into you, and his breath on your neck making you lightheaded.

His hand trailed down your neck to trace the marks he had been leaving nightly. “And I was right.”

Despite how little he had done, you had grown so wound up from the endless fantasies from his nights of feeding that you were already weak in the knees.

His left hand lightly began to caress your thigh, as his right takes to untying the strings of your loose shirt, his mouth never stopping.

“You’ve been so helpful these last few weeks darling, allowing me for the first time to indulge in the blood of a human, giving me strength at your expense. You’ve been so good for me too, holding back all those little sounds you’ve been wanting to make, pretending like you don’t get wet just at the thought of me drinking from you, like you don’t get soaked from the moment my lips touch your neck. Hmm?”

Your breathing was already heavy, your thighs already squeezing together in some attempt for stimulation - it was already too much. All you could do was nod, a breathy “yes” escaping you as your shirt is undone, falling to the forest floor.

His hands begin to explore, lightly tracing up your arms, down your stomach, across your collarbone. “And you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you my love? To keep us alive, to keep us all going. You’ve been so helpful to all of us, to me, I think it’s time I take some weight off of those pretty little shoulders.”

Suddenly, forcefully, he spins you around, steadying you by grabbing your hips. You look into the red eyes that gaze at you intently, with an emotion that is so close to something like love, devotion, but feeling just slightly too forced, slightly too uncanny.

That gaze is a problem for another day, you determine, as he sinks to his knees and gazes up at you, untying your trousers.

After all, the love may not be real, but the lust in his eyes sure as hell is.

He makes slow work of the fabric, speaking up at you the entire time.

“Dearest, I intend to do exactly as I promised. I want to repay you for the kindness you’ve given me, the trust you’ve placed in me. Allow me to please you, to make you forget about everything, if only for a night. Will you allow me this?”

You nodded, mutely, as you stepped out of your pants.

He gazed up at you again, eyes drinking you in, darkening as they travel up your body, stopping at between your legs, your chest, your neck.

When his eyes met yours again, he stood up quickly, cupping your cheek and pulling you into a deep kiss.

You had thought about this moment too often.

What he would taste like, how his fangs would feel against your tongue, how his lips would feel against yours. He pulled you into him desperately, and the sensation of your bare chest against his made your head spin, gasping into the kiss as he took full control, kissing you with such a passion that you might have thought there was more to it than a simple need for release, repayment.

He pulled away all too soon, thumb caressing your lower lip as he gazed at you in that absurdly sultry way of his.

“Before I take your breath away,” he breathed out, pausing to kiss your cheek. “I need to know what you want from me darling.” Another pause, a kiss to the jaw now. “Tell me how to please you.” A kiss behind the ear. “Tell me how to make you scream.”

You were barely keeping it together, eyes already fluttering closed.

A sharp bite to the neck, not enough to bleed, but enough to make you gasp, brought you out of it. His red eyes gazed at you intently, awaiting your response.

“I want you to take control,” you speak, feeling as though you’re giving a confession. “I don’t want to think. I want you to drain me of my blood, of my thoughts. Make me cum, make me scream, make me feel so good it hurts, until I’m begging you to stop, Astarion.”

“Oh, darling,” he nearly growled, his hand caressing your cheek. “I'll do just that.”

He spun you again, once again catching you off guard. Within moments, you feel him press up against you again, this time the hardness of his cock being released from his pants, discarded far into the forest you assumed. 

“You mustn’t keep a sound from me, by the way,” he spoke lightly. “I’ll know if you do.”

You aren’t allowed much time to consider that as you feel his lips on your neck, pecking and lightly biting and sucking. His hands trail upwards to cup your breasts, slowly, softly, deeply massaging, as though he’s trying to feel every inch of your skin. His fingers lightly pinch and tug against your peaks, and he leaves soft bites on your neck, never enough to break the skin.

It had only been moments, but you’re whining, and you can feel your wetness dripping down your thigh.

“Astarion, please,” you breathe, hand coming up to lace in his hair in an attempt to force him deeper into your neck.

He just laughed. “Darling I’ve barely touched you and you’re begging. Allow me to take my time with you.”

His left hand stays at your breast as his right once again wanders downward, slowly reaching your inner thigh.

“I can smell it, you know,” he muttered lowly in your ear, and you almost squeak, flushed with embarrassment. “Every time you’re so wet you can barely think, stuck in your little fantasies as I drink from you. You do so well, hiding your wants from me, but I’ve always known, and I’ve always wanted to push it further, to let my hand wander between your pretty little legs and feel just how wet for me you are…”

As he takes a pause, his fingers reach your folds, lightly caressing up and down, circling your clit, and you both sigh.

“Astarion…”

“Hells, you want me so badly don’t you?”

“Please.”

“Oh, I’m not here to deny you, angel. I’ll give you everything you want…”

Without warning, two of his slender, delightfully long digits enter you, and you release a moan louder than you expected.

“Very good,” he praised, fingers thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace, as he resumed his work on your neck. He continued to suck and bite, no doubt leaving a myriad of bruises and marks that you would have to explain away tomorrow.

He growls again, biting a little harder, though still not hard enough to draw any blood, you notice. His fingers within you speed up, spreading in a way that has you choking out another moan.

“I can hear you thinking, darling. That’s not what we want now, is it?”

“No - fuck, there,” you moan deeper, head tilting back as his fingers reach a place in you that is forever out of your reach.

“Oh, good girl,” he purrs, focusing on that one spot. “Good girl, telling me what you want. Focus on your body, darling, not your thoughts. Feel me against you, feel me in you, feel how badly you need that release.”

“Astarion please.”

“Please what, darling?”

“Bite me harder.”

“Oh, not yet my sweet. We have all night for that, and I would quite like to sample the nectar between your thighs before tasting your heavenly blood. But I’ve left such a wonderful piece of work on your neck, now everyone at the camp will know now more than ever that you’re mine.”

“Fuck,” you gasp out, feeling the waves of heat overcome you and your thighs begin to collapse, your release hitting hard and fast at his use of possessive language.

“Very good, darling,” he praised, holding you up as your vision spun. His fingers didn’t cease as you came, immediately riling you back up, moans spilling out of you louder than before. You hadn’t noticed when he had added a third finger, but you felt the stretch as he pushed in, the emptiness when he pulled out.

You needed more, and he was clearly eager to give it to you.

“Lie down, my darling,” he whispered in your ear. “Allow me to worship you further.”

You did so without hesitation, resting back on a relatively flat portion of the forest floor, spreading your legs as Astarion knelt down, bringing your legs up on to his shoulders and staring down hungrily at you.

Despite the ferocity in his eyes, he took his time, kissing from your ankle to your thigh on your left leg, and then your right. The moment you felt your frustration grow to a peak, he bit down, once again leaving marks but never breaking the skin, marking the soft flesh of your thigh.

He teased you for a few moments before the impatience struck him as well, and leaned forward further, licking a long stripe up your folds.

“Oh darling, and I thought your blood was heavenly,” he breathed, and before you could respond, he went to work.

Immediately your hands were in his hair, pulling and pushing in some attempt to regain any sort of sanity in this moment. His tongue worked wonders, knowing exactly how to work inside you before retreating, teasing at your clit, before the vicious cycle repeated. His hands clenched your thighs as though they were a life line, and the moans that left him traveled into the depths of your core.

It didn’t take long, you were already falling over the edge again, now shouting as the pleasure grew blinding.

“I could stay here forever,” you could barely hear him lament, mind fogged. You blinked blearily as you focused on his face that was now above yours, glistening with your release as he grinned ferally, hand briefly coming up to clench at your throat. “But I have more planned for you.”

Despite your exhaustion, you feel the warmth in your core grow, another release of slick as his cock presses up against your folds.

“May I, pet?”

All you can do is moan pathetically, something between “yes” and “please” falling out of you as you weakly nod.

“Darling, you’re a vision,” once again, he strokes your cheek, uncharacteristically loving for the cold vampire. “Completely fucked out, and we haven’t even arrived at the main course.”

With that, you feel him enter you, no resistance give how worked up you are.

You take a moment, joined, as he breathes heavily into your neck and you let out quiet moans, words completely failing you.

“Divine,” he breathes, returning to kiss your neck, the sensitivity of it making you clench around him immediately. “Oh, so divine, darling I could have you for eternity, such a better use of our time than fighting all of these tiresome battles.”

He began to pump in and out of you slowly, your mind spinning from the weight of him on top of you, the sensation of being fucked so deeply, overwhelmed by the afterglow of all that had happened.

And still his words didn’t cease.

“I could keep you forever, a precious little pet, tied to the bed to fuck whenever I wanted. Or perhaps the other way around, I would wait an eternity just for another chance to taste you, to please you. Whatever fantasy you wish darling, we can fulfill it tonight, I swear to you - fuck.”

He picks up the pace as you clench around him yet again, your release not even having a build up, but instead crashing against you like a tsunami. You feel the wetness seep down your thighs, coating where the pair of you connect.

“Ast-ar…” you can barely breathe, and he laughs almost maniacally.

“Very good, darling, just like that. Give in to me. You don’t need a single thought in that head now, focus only on me and let go. You can cum again, you can, for me.”

“Can’t - I can’t…”

“Oh, you can and you will, if you want me to drink from you tonight,” he muttered darkly, and you feel tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

“Astarion.”

“You have to cum again, to get what you want. Just one more time, my darling. One more and you’ll please me so well. You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

You muster up the last of the strength you have, words falling from you without control. 

“Yes, fuck, yes please, Astarion, please I want to come, I want you to bite me, I need to be yours, I need you ~”

It was almost as though your last orgasm hadn’t ended, with how quickly this one had began. An endless torrent that had the tears breaking, pouring down your face and into the dirt. You nearly choked out a scream, clenching around him so tightly that you feel Astarion tense, cursing wildly as you feel a warmth flood you.

You take a moment, trying with all your might to remember how to breathe, mouth gaping, expecting Astarion to move from you any moment.

Instead you shriek as he thrusts again, hand once again curled around your neck, stopping any chance you had at catching your breath.

“We aren’t done,” he growled, your own slick and his cum leaking out of you as he continued to fuck you, harder now, less restrained that before, nothing but pathetic whimpers leaving you. “We are so far from done, my love. You’re mine, you’re mine.”

Finally, what you had been begging for all night came to pass, and his fangs sunk deep into that claimed spot of your neck. You felt the familiar warmth and euphoria as your blood drained into his hungry mouth, his moans reaching a crescendo and hips moving at an inhumane pace.

And he was right.

You were his, blood and body and mind, it was all his. He had consumed every inch of you.

It was incredible, it was numbing, all you could think about was Astarion. Every molecule of you was on fire, and screamed to be connected to him, to never leave this moment, to stay in an eternity of this torment, but after four orgasms and on the verge of a fifth, with the ecstasy of his fangs in your neck, you simply couldn’t continue.

“Too much,” you manage to croak out, tears streaming down your cheeks and your entire body screaming. Your hands grip the vampire's arms tightly when he doesn’t immediately stop, nails biting into his skin. “Too much, stop!”

Immediately the fangs retract and he’s gently pulling out of you, red eyes wide with a hint of a rare expression on his face.

Fear.

“Darling I’m so sorry, did I take too much? I felt you going limp but, hells you’re so delicious I must have been lost in it-”

You shook your head quickly, placing a hand on his chest as you tried to collect your thoughts, tears still streaming.

“No, no, no,” you breathe out, still gasping. “Not the blood, you’re alright. It was too much, I really can’t cum again, it's too much. Too much good, I promise.”

The fear melted away to a more familiar expression, a smug smirk. 

“Oh darling,” he purred, hand trailing up and down your inner thigh in a soothing but teasing manner. “I don’t know about that, you can still manage full sentences. Clearly too much brain power left…and I could go all night.”

“Astarion.”

A rare, genuine chuckle left the man as he began softly stroking your arm and playing with your hair, easing you down from your intense high.

When your breathing leveled out, he began to stand up, and you nearly whined.

Sensing your distress, he waved lightly. “I’ll be but a moment.”

He sauntered away, and you laid back, taking the moment to look up at the stars, basking in the glow of the orgasms and the moon.

He really had done his job, you had to admit to yourself. You were struggling to form a coherent thought.

When he returned, he had clothed himself, and had a small cloth in his hand. Striding over to you he gently knelt down yet again, running it over the blood stains on your neck, the mess between your thighs.

You stared at him, and he caught your look of surprise.

“What?” he asked, an affronted tone. “I know how to treat my lovers, darling.”

“Hmm,” you chuckle, closing your eyes. “Just a softie, I knew it.”

“Hardly,” he huffed, chucking the cloth off to who knows where and pulling you up against his chest. 

He began to play with your fingers, lightly tracing the veins in your hands and up your arms. The pair of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, no words passing between you, but a silent understanding growing.

“We ought to go back to the camp,” Astarion eventually broke the peace, smirking at your disappointed expression. His arms encircled you once again, and you tried not to dwell on how good it felt. “Despite your rather loud vocals, I believe the others didn’t hear us, and unless you’d like to explain to them why you aren’t walking properly tomorrow…”

You snort, pushing him off of you. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight, my darling.”

One thing was certain, you noted as you returned to your bedroll, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon. 

You’ll need extra healing from Shadowheart in the morning.

Thank you to @flightlessangelwings for their Kinktober list this year!

[toxicanonymity]

i need more raider joel more than i need air in my lungs

Night air.

3500 words, raider!Joel x f!reader | ✨gif

Raider master list ⭐ Joel master

reader-curated playlist | sweet pea (smut songs)

“‘s’too cold out here, sweet pea. put on a shirt, would ya?" Your heart flutters at the implicit invitation and you return with a flannel over your nightie. . . He makes room for you, but doesn’t take his eyes off the fire as he lets you climb into his lap. You study his face and see something new flickering behind it. Worry.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you don’t.  "When are you gonna come to bed?” you ask instead.

SUMMARY: Joel brutalizes a bad guy, gives it to you hard, then works on something for you and gives it to you slow. His POV is revealing. WARNINGS: I8+, POV alternates, ANGST, Joel's trauma, overkill violence, dubcon (stockholm syndrome) unsafe P in V x2 (hard then soft), dark fluff, f masturbation, somnophilia, staying inside, NO Y/N. A/N: ty @milla-frenchy for Qs & recs 🖤

—--- JOEL——

Yeah, Joel killed two of his own men, and they had it coming.  He caught them red handed on their way into your room in the stash house. It still makes his blood boil to think about. If they hadn’t walked into that room talking about you like a piece of meat, those two men would be alive. Joel would do it again in a heartbeat.  

He’s not surprised when the others are shaken, but if they’re good men, they have nothing to worry about.  When things remain tense longer than he expects, Joel rounds them up for a group meeting. He puts you in the usual room with his trusted guard Carter posted at the door.  The meeting becomes heated. 

“No one’s gonna be left at this rate,” one man barks.  “They ain’t gonna say it,” he gestures behind him to the other men, “but I will. She shouldn’t be here.” 

Joel’s voice raises with his blood pressure. He asks, “What’d you say to me, Harold?" as he stands up. 

Louder, maybe loud enough for you to hear, Harold repeats, “She shouldn’t be here.  It’s bound to happen.” Bound to happen? These low-lifes are bound to put their hands on Joel Miller’s girl? Joel can feel the beat of his rage in his veins. All his muscles tense. 

He takes a deep breath, exhales sharply, then says matter-of-factly, “I’ll show ya what else is bound to happen.” 

Joel picks up his rifle. 

"Yeah, kill me," Harold chides. "Kill us all."

Joel shakes his head no. His voice is deep and flat.  "Not until ya beg me to." Now he’s gotta make an example out of someone. 

Joel forces Harold outside, then puts his rifle behind his back and lets Harold take a swing at him, just for fun.  When Joel gets this wound up, he needs to feel something. After getting clocked square in the jaw, Joel beats him until he’s barely conscious. Then, Joel hoists Harold, who is not a light man, and impales him on a sharp, severed fence post. 

Joel puts his rifle around front again, leaving Harold alive but doomed, and heads back toward the house.  He’s almost to the door when Harold manages to groan through his gurgles.  Joel turns around, calmly raises his rifle, shoots him in the head, then keeps walking. He goes back inside, chest heaving, wiping blood splatter off his face with his wrist. The rest of them are still inside. No one came to Harold's defense or ran. Joel stares down the men, and based on the faces he sees, he’s not worried about any of them.  

“Rest of ya got nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” he reassures them. “long as ya leave her ‘lone.” 

The men nod. Joel thinks about adding, and I’m not the only one you’ve gotta worry about, tempted to warn them that you know your way around a pistol and can handle yourself. One bullet, right between the eyes of that fucker. Joel thinks about it all the time. There’s something about his little sweet pea being a badass. And thank god, because he almost lost you. 

“Now back to business.” 

They discuss the rival crew they think sent two guys to Joel’s trailer, only for Joel and you to kill them. Joel doesn't think the crew is stupid enough to cause any more trouble, but agrees someone has to keep watch Just in case. 

Joel almost reminds his men that he holds all the smuggling routes and contacts, just in case they’re concerned enough to pull something.  But he doesn't need to say it. He dismisses them and grabs a duffle bag before collecting you from Carter. Carter asks what to do with Harold, and Joel says leave him for a while.

–

When the two of you get back to his trailer, Joel is ready to fuck out his anger. He sees himself in the mirror, chest heaving, veins about to pop, blood splatter on his hairline. God damnit, Harold. Joel  showers because he doesn’t want any part of Harold getting close to you. Not even his blood. 

You’re in the kitchen getting a glass of water when Joel walks out of the bathroom in just a towel.  He crosses the kitchen, drops the towel, and pins you against the counter, pressing his hardness against your ass. He backs up enough to scrunch up your dress and growls, "good girl," when he finds you panty-less and wet. You knew. You were ready for it. 

He grunts as he shoves himself into you, and he gives it to you good. "No one’s," he thrusts, "gonna," he grunts "touch ya." He plunges into you twice more, breathing heavily, then adds, “but me.” The power of his hips sends you to your toes with each thrust. He wraps an arm around you to hold you steady and watches over your shoulder as your tits jiggle with each punch of his hips. It doesn’t take you long to come.  Then he curls his hands under your arms to hold your shoulders down from the front and begins to pulse with a low groan. He leans his head against yours and cradles it from the other side as he catches his breath, then asks, “you good?”

You nod, “mm-hmm,” and he pulls out, feeling better. 

“Good.” 

-

In the following days, things settle down in Joel’s group and get back to normal. The rival crew doesn't show up.

—--

One night, Joel leaves you inside the trailer while he sits out by the fire, as he often does.  What you don't know is that he's not just sitting, drinking, and thinking.  He’s working on something.  He’s been making things for you. He hasn’t given you anything because nothing’s good enough, and it’s probably not going to get any better, but he keeps doing it.  Sometimes he feels a little silly, but they’re things that will help both of you.  Practical things. 

He made a thigh holster for your gun. There was an old one without the straps in the weapons cache which is just a small room of chaos in the stash house, no telling what else is in there.  He used part of a belt for the top strap and some black ribbon on the bottom, for the time being.  It would be better than nothing, but he hasn't given it to you in case it wouldn’t work. Maybe it doesn't matter. As the weather changes, you'll probably need new clothes, anyway. Maybe even pants, he internally grumbles. Sweaters, too, so your chest won’t be exposed. 

Tonight, Joel has another strap of leather with him, one that wasn't right for the holster. He also has a pot of water and a steel nail with a makeshift handle so he doesn’t burn himself. He heats up the tool and uses the hot nail head to emboss the strap with bold letters. He’s been working on it all week, and he’s only on ‘E.’ It’ll be first name only at this rate. You might not wanna wear it anyway, but it’s for your own good.  

Joel’s almost lost you twice now. If there’s anything he can do to make someone think twice about touching or taking you, he’ll do it. Because Jackson, may he burn in hell, was right. Joel can’t have his eyes on you every single second. He's told you before: you tell’em you belong to Joel Miller. They’ll back right off when they hear it.  But it doesn’t hurt for them to see it, too. And of course Joel wouldn't mind seeing it himself. 

Joel’s fingers are too big for work this small.  He accidentally makes the vertical line of the E slanted. Ah hell, this whole thing is no good anyway. You may never see it at this rate. But it feels good working with his hands, especially on something he thinks could help keep you safe and keep you his. You're a good girl, his good girl. 

He should be thinking strategy, what’s going to happen with these warring crews, but that’s just not where his head’s at.   

—--- YOU 🌸🫛—-----

You listen to the fire crackle and pop, longing for Joel to come to bed, longing for him to hold you, and more.  He seems to stay outside longer than usual. When he adds a new log to the fire, you get impatient and decide to go out. You put on your shoes and go to the door, pushing it open just an inch. The rail to the stairs is blocking your view, but he's looking down at something. His jaw clenches in the firelight and he raises his eyebrows as he looks up.  You slowly open the door, stepping out onto the stairs in your nightie.  He puts something down on the ground, out of view.  

“‘s’too cold out here, sweet pea. put on a shirt, would ya?" Your heart flutters at the implicit invitation and you return with a flannel over your nightie.  As you approach, he takes a swig of whiskey and puts the flask down.  His eyes are dark as he watches the flames.  He makes room for you but doesn’t take his eyes off the fire as he lets you climb into his lap. You study his face and see something new flickering behind it. Worry. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you don’t. 

"When are you gonna come to bed?” you ask. 

His brows knit as he looks at you. For a few seconds, he concentrates on picking lint off the flannel and smoothing your nightgown. 

“I dunno, sweet pea. Got some stuff to figure out.”  

“Can I help?”

He shakes his head no. You put your arms around his neck and rest your cheek against his shoulder. Then you slowly roll your face against him so your lips touch his warm skin and your nose rests on top of his shoulder muscle.  You close your eyes and stay like that for a moment.  He doesn’t stop you. Then you dare to press your lips ever so slightly into his skin before pulling your face back to look at him, your lips disconnecting with a barely perceptible smack. Joel’s still looking at the fire, but he allows himself a subtle smile as he exhales a silent laugh, then cradles your head.  “Go to bed, sweet pea.” He kisses your temple. “I’ll be there in a li’l bit.” 

You take the flannel off and get in bed, still smelling like the fire. You think of getting naked, eager to feel Joel however he wants you. But maybe he likes undressing you, and it’s chillier than normal, too.  You lay under the covers getting wet and tingly thinking about what he'll do when he comes to bed.  

The fire is still blazing.  There’s no sign of him putting it out.  It doesn't seem like he's coming in soon, but you're too turned on to just go to sleep. You close your eyes, recalling the feeling of Joel’s warm skin on your lips by the fire.  The way his eyes sparkled. The way he always opens his arms for you to get in his lap–that seat is always yours whenever you want it. 

You think about how handsome he is. Even, or especially when he’s looking rough.  All dirty and beat up when he got home that one night, muscles pumped up. His sexy stitches. You play a montage in your head of all the times you’ve heard him yell, seen him stomp around ordering guys to do this or that. How fiercely he protects you. Your lip creeps under your teeth and you close your eyes. 

All the way turned on, you slide your hand down between your legs and imagine him walking in and ravaging you.  You recall how urgently he fucked you at the kitchen table after he thought you almost died.  You recall the time he fucked you naked in missionary and and marked your neck.  You try to visualize the look in his eyes.

And then, when you’re just about to come, you remember that one morning. Those few seconds you kissed, when he kissed you back. He had pulled you into him before he knew what he was doing. You still savor that fleeting moment he was grinding against you, his plush lips locked with yours. You can practically feel it.  And that’s enough to put you over the edge. You turn your head into the pillow and brace for your orgasm. 

—----- JOEL —------

You must think Joel can't hear your pretty little sounds when you touch yourself, but over the crackling of the fire he could swear he hears you moan into a pillow. His nose can't help but twitch into a little smile. He lets the fire die as he finishes the 'E',  then he comes inside and washes off the smoke in the shower. By the time he gets in bed, you're asleep on your back with your left arm on your chest. 

He carefully gets into the bed, spreading his weight out to not jostle the mattress. He's to your left, lying on his side, facing you. You’re so pretty and peaceful with your eyes closed and your sweet lips just slightly parted. An urge has been growing in his chest. He’s tried to push it away, but it's only grown, and he's afraid he can’t stop it happening. 

He can’t bring himself to do it when you’re awake. He can’t let himself see how happy it makes you. The loss feels inevitable, and it gets closer and closer.  The panic he felt when FEDRA had you on the ground.  The devastation when it sounded like you were shot outside his own trailer. It gets worse every time. And last time, there was something new. Two losses flashed before his eyes.  The loss of you (in the present and future), and the loss of what could have been–at least for a while, when he had the chance. The worst part is, he doesn't know which would hurt more.  

His eyes fall on your mouth again. 

If he does it now, it won’t mean anything. It won’t change anything. If he does it now, maybe this urge will stop pulling at him every time you’re close.  And then he can tell himself it never happened. Yeah, if he does it now, it can be like it never happened. Like he never let himself get that close, never gave you hope that he could be anything more than the terrible man he is. 

His lip twitches as he watches you sleep.  Then his breathing syncs with yours, and for a moment, everything fades away but you and him and the physical need that's tugging at him.  

Joel leans over you, careful not to wake you, and he hovers over your pretty face. It's happening. His heart races as his face drifts toward yours, drawn to you like a magnet. 

He closes his eyes, presses his lips gently into yours, and something rushes through his blood to every part of his body.  Fuck.  He's instantly soothed. With your lips still locked, he takes one breath through his nose then pulls away. He takes a deep breath, expecting the buzz to fade, expecting to hate himself. But you're so pretty and your lips were so soft. He almost chokes on his own saliva.  He's quickly gotten hard.

Still fast asleep, you sigh and your nose twitches. You hum the prettiest little "mm," and roll over on your right, facing away from him like you normally sleep. 

He pinches his eyes shut tight. He has to have you. 

–

Joel curls himself around you, inhales your hair, and cups your breast. He presses his cock against you, hardening to full strength by now.  He lets out a deep but quiet, "Mmm," not enough to wake you up. The exposed skin of your back and shoulder is so inviting, he's salivating. His arm slides from your breast down your nightie to your mound and you sigh. He lifts his head to see if you're awake as he aimlessly caresses you over your nightie. Your brow furrows with his light touch. Aw, sweet pea, he thinks to himself. You're just so cute. He presses a gentle kiss into your neck where it meets your shoulder, and he begins to ghost your clit through the fabric. 

You sigh again, but still don't seem to wake up yet. He presses your mound so your hips tilt for him, and he pulls up the nightgown. He tests you with a finger and finds you wet but pulls back and pauses to add saliva to his tip.  He teases your entrance with his cock, and you sigh "Mmm, Joel," as you begin to stir awake. He pushes the curve of his tip just slightly inside, then holds your breast. 

He asks, “You 'wake?” 

“Mmm,” you answer weakly. 

"wake you up?" His cock prods at your tight, wet entrance, pushing in a little further.. He's itching to be inside you, but he's taking his time, captivated by your peacefulness. 

Your spine arches and you push back on him, taking another inch of his cock in with a moan as you stir awake. "Joel,” you sigh. 

He presses his lips into your neck and lets them linger.  You ask, "are you awake?" 

"Mm-hmm," he answers, his voice deep and gravely.  He groans softly as he pushes his cock into you. He takes a deep breath as your insides make room for him. It dawns on him that he's never taken the time to savor the moment your bodies are joined, but shit, it feels good. He didn't know it could feel so good like this. He’s feeling every groove of you in slow motion. Each centimeter of you greets him with a tight, warm hug.  You push back on him with a moan, bringing your bodies together. 

Oh, sweet pea. You want it so bad, and you take it so good.

—---YOU 🌸🫛—---

Joel’s cock spreads you apart and he buries his length in you slowly at first, palming your breasts. He pauses, all the way inside you, and removes your nightie so your naked bodies are flush. It feels like a dream. The way he kissed your shoulder, the way he’s fucking you right now with his whole body cradling yours, each thrust so deliberate, you can’t help but still wonder if he’s truly awake. If you're truly awake. He grunts softly each time he bottoms out. His sighs and moans are deep and gravely. 

“Sweet pea,” he whispers against your neck, “ohhhh, you — ohh, you take it so good, baby.” His hand slides down your stomach, between your legs. He whispers in your ear,  "God DAMN, youfeelsogood,” he inhales sharply, then sighs your name.  Your nipples harden and you get goosebumps. 

“Joel,” you whimper at his fingers on your clit.  The fullness of his cock was enough, and the addition of his hand has you twitching already.  

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispers, and his voice is so soothing, you relax again. He slows down his pace, his length sliding snugly into your warmth slow enough to feel the drag of his tip inside you. He touches your clit and you whimper again. He adjusts his hand to touch it less directly, pulsing his flattened fingers.  That’s what you need. You moan. 

“Good girl.” 

You wanna ask him again if he’s really awake, but you don’t want to break the spell. You let the silence linger, peppered with moans and sighs from each of you. You’d love for this to last forever. You love every way he gives it to you, but the newness of this is something to savor. After a few minutes, sweat begins to bead and run between your bodies.  You’re both breathing heavily. He gropes at your breasts and the entire front of your body, like he can’t get you close enough. His breathing gets ragged.  You memorize the feel of his cock dragging thick and slow inside you.  Then he adds his hand again. His thrusts become more powerful.  “Come for me, I want you to– nnngh.” 

“Joel,” you whine. 

‘Ohh,” he moans. 

“Joel, I’m–”

“Go ‘head, baby—ugghh—-you can do it”

Your upper back presses into his chest.  He groans and holds you tight as you convulse against him and choke his cock with your climax. “Ohhhh, baby, mmmm.” He bottoms out and pulses inside you as you’re still coming.  He sighs "ohhh," as he fills you up with his warm release. Your body hugs him more with every pulse of his cock.  

When you’re both finished coming, your bodies are still joined. You relish the fullness of him inside you.  You expect him to pull out any minute, but his breathing regulates with yours. 

At some point, Joel's breath stutters abruptly, and you realize he's fallen asleep like this. Holding you close, body curled around you, cock gradually softening inside you. It isn't long until you drift off, too. 

-

Smut continues here: asleep inside

Next major chapter: hunger

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Please consider commenting or reblogging to show raider Joel your love, even if this post is old. 💖 Love you guys. I love your passion for him. Your engagement motivates me. <333

Friendly reminder that there will be no pregnancy in this fic, Joel was snipped pre outbreak. 

----

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⚠️ Since so many people are saying tags aren't working, I may discontinue the tag list soon, sorry ⚠️

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[1-imaginary-girl]

Annoying

Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: It’s no secret Five finds you annoying. In fact, he frequently tells you this. Maybe he even goes too far. But when someone else insults you, Five realizes that only he’s allowed to do that. Reader is gender neutral.

Warnings: Hurtful comments said to the reader

Word Count: 3500

A/N: I’m alive! So long story short, I lost the motivation to write for a while which caused my spontaneous hiatus. I honestly wasn’t sure if I would post anything again. But then, I rediscovered comfort in writing, especially when it’s about my best boys. 

My posting from now on may be a bit sporadic as I’m back in school but I do intend to keep posting.

Anyway, here’s my favourite grumpy boy as a treat!

Five Hargreeves had gotten used to working at the Commission. He still hated every second of it: the job, the people, the killings. But he had adapted, just like he had in the apocalypse, and had fallen into a familiar routine that made the situation easier to swallow. He had finally accepted his job and made peace with it. That is, until you came along.

You also work at the Commission as a field agent and until recently, Five didn’t even know of your existence. Then one day, you came into his office and tried to chat with him. He was bewildered of course and told you to get the hell out of his face. But his rude words didn’t deter you. Instead, you asked him if he wanted to be your partner in the field. Again, Five was shocked and told you absolutely not. Unfortunately, you don’t seem to take no as an answer.

Every day since then, you kept popping into his life. Every day you would make nice with him, do him favours, and were overall friendly with him. Every day, he offered you nothing but a cold shoulder. Every day you asked him to be your partner and every day he told you no.

It was extremely aggravating to say the least. He tried to report you to the Handler but she told him you were doing nothing wrong. She even made some suggestive comments that made Five regret ever going to her for help. So he was on his own.

Except none of his usual moves worked. You never shied away from his negative presence. If he blinked away, you would somehow find him again. There seemed to be no way to remove you from his life.

He’s sitting in his office working when he hears a sound he has come to dread. “Knock knock,” you say as you open his door, not waiting for a response. He once asked you, “What if I was doing something private?” but that only made him flush at the accidental implication and you laughed.

“Not now,” he mumbles, not taking his eyes off his work.

“Yes now,” you say, entering the room and taking a seat on the other side of his desk. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t just removed the chair since the only person who ever used it was you. “I brought you coffee!”

This causes him to glance up, only a little, and what a mistake that turns out to be. There you sit, a beaming smile spread across your face. Your eyes tend to light up when you smile, bringing attention to how stunning they are. Thoughts like these make him feel queasy, at least that’s what he’s deeming it to be. His face also tends to heat up and his breathing acts funny. He’s considered a few times that he was sick, but every test indicated otherwise.

This is another thing that bothers him so much about you. You bring unknown feelings that Five has never experienced before, and he hates feelings, let alone unfamiliar ones.

“The answer is still, and always will be, no,” he says blankly, his eyes focused on his computer but he isn’t paying attention to what’s on the screen.

“But I haven’t even said my pitch yet!” you complain. Without looking, he knows you’re looking at him with big puppy dog eyes. He would never admit, even to himself, that they affect him. “I think today’s speech is much better—”

“Doesn’t matter, still a no.”

You ignore him and clear your throat. “As your partner—”

“Stop.”

“I would bring you freshly made coffee every morning, just the way you like it,” you continue. He decides to stop talking to you altogether. With concentration, he’s able to read the words on the screen and continue typing. “You can still take lead on the missions, though you’ll find I’m fairly skilled on the field. This will also reduce the danger of getting hurt, and if one of us does get hurt, the other can patch them up.”

It is a pain to tend to my own wounds, Five thinks before mentally berating himself. He’s supposed to be ignoring you. And besides, he’s been taking care of himself for years, he’s used to the difficulties by now.

“Another bonus, is that with me as your partner, the Handler won’t be on you as much,” you say, and despite himself, he listens. “She’ll know that someone else has their eyes on you, and with my reputation, she’ll trust me with it.”

Now that actually sounds desirable. The Handler is always checking in on him and keeping a watchful eye on his actions. She knows he’s a good agent, he’s proved that by now, but she still worries that he might betray them. This makes him a loose canon in her eyes. Plus, with her attention elsewhere he’ll be able to make more progress on his secret project to return to his family—

Stop it, he tells himself. This is exactly what you want. You actually have him considering the possibility of becoming partners. The more your voice fills his ears and the more he thinks about what it would mean to have you as a partner, the more his face starts to burn.

He can feel himself losing control over his emotions and he panics. Clearly, ignoring you is not the solution.

“That’s enough!” he yells, causing you to pause mid-sentence. He looks over at you to see your wide eyes staring at him. For the first time, he sees a crack in your positive shield. He continues. “God, just stop already. I am so sick and tired of you groveling at my feet, it is so annoying. Why won’t you get this through your head? I am never partnering with anyone, especially not with you! So for the last time, leave me alone!”

A deadly silence fills the room. Five is panting from his outburst and when his anger recedes, he finds he’s shocked at himself. He’s never had an outburst like that, never yelled like that before. Sure he gets angry and frustrated all of the time, but he hardly ever yells and his words are never that venomous. He just got so riled up with his emotions…

You also seem shocked. You try to cover it up, but he can still tell. You seem unsure of what to say and your usual peppiness seems to have vanished as well. Five isn’t sure how to feel. He also isn’t sure of what to do.

You then clear your throat. “Well then,” you say, trying to piece yourself together. “You seem busy so I should go.” You grin but its wobbly and it doesn’t meet your eyes. And despite himself, he feels sorry. You wordlessly stand up and exit his office.

The silence remains and Five is left frozen. After a moment, he shakes his head and tries to feel unbothered by what just happened.

†††

A few hours have passed since his conversation with you, and Five is out of coffee. He blinks to the Commission’s break room but then he sees you there. You’re standing at the counter with your back to him and in a moment of panic, he blinks to behind a wall just around the corner from the break room.  

He curses silently. He can’t believe that he’s hiding from you after earlier. Maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with your emotions. Or maybe he’s hiding from his own.

He’s about to just toughen up and deal with it when he hears someone else entering the room. “Y/N, how nice to see you,” he hears someone say. He looks to see a woman approaching you. Five thinks he’s seen her around but doesn’t recognize her. He’s tried not to make friends here or fill his mind with useless information. This means he only knows a few people including you and the Handler.

“Cassandra,” he hears you say in a bitter tone. He frowns. He’s never heard you speak like that.

“How have you been?” Cassandra asks and Five doesn’t know why, but she sounds ingenuine despite her cheery tone. He also suspects her smile to be too friendly.

“Fine.” You don’t even look over at her as you continue whatever you were doing at the counter. It isn’t like you to be short with people, and Five wonders if it’s because of what he said.

“I heard you got in trouble with the Handler this morning,” Cassandra says. Oh shit, Five thinks. He isn’t sure if that happened before or after he yelled at you but either way, he doesn’t envy your morning.

“Yup,” is your only response. Cassandra doesn’t seem satisfied by your response. She walks over and leans against the counter next to you.

“That must have been awful. I hope she doesn’t fire you soon,” she says with false concern. You still don’t glance her way. You simply nod your head absentmindedly as your focus remains locked on the kettle in front of you, waiting for the water to boil. Cassandra just keeps talking. “Are you still bugging Agent Five about being his partner?”

Five’s ears begin to burn as the conversation steers towards him. Now more than ever, he thinks he should leave this private conversation, but his feet remain glued to the floor. What does he care? he tries to tell himself, but it doesn’t work.

He watches as you grip the counter tightly. Unfortunately, Cassandra also seems to notice and she takes that as an answer. “Aw you poor thing,” she says, putting her hand on your shoulder only for you to shrug it off.

“Look Cassandra,” you say, your voice filled with agitation. “I’ve had a really bad day, if you could just—”

“I can only imagine,” the woman says, and Five is starting to really dislike her. “It must be hard, getting rejected day after day. I’m surprised you haven’t given up.”

“Fuck it.” You push yourself off the counter. You turn around and Five ducks back around the corner. “I’ll come back later.”

There’s a moment of silence before, “Do you know why he keeps rejecting you?” Five risks a glance to see that you’ve turned back around.

“What?” you say, surprised by the question.

“It’s the same reason why all of the others rejected you,” she says, which takes Five by surprise. He didn’t know there were others. An illogical flare of jealousy rises in him before he stomps it out.

“You’re annoying,” she says, her tone one of false sympathy. “No one wants to be around you. You come on way too strong and, sweetie, you reek of desperation.”

“S-stop,” you say, in shock but also seemingly hit by a bullet of emotions. Even Five is surprised.

“You’re just a nuisance,” Cassandra says. “A pest that no one can get rid of. That’s why you’ve never found a partner and that’s why you never will. I mean, who could like you let alone stand you?”

“Cassandra…” you say and Five can hear the quiver in your voice. He doesn’t know why, but the sound makes his chest tighten.

“Face it, Y/N,” she says, now standing right in front of you. “You were always meant to be alone.” Finally, Five can’t take it anymore. He walks out from around the corner and glares at Cassandra. He finds himself loathing her. Only he is allowed to call you annoying.

Cassandra glances past you and looks surprised to see him there. Just like that, she has on her friendly looking face again. “Oh hey there Fi—” she starts to say to him.

“Get out,” he spits at her. Her eyes widen at his venomous tone but decides to listen, scurrying away. It’s nice to see his fearful reputation precedes him. There’s a silence that settles in the room once she’s left. You seem to be frozen in place, not even turning to face him. He isn’t sure what to do himself, whether to somehow approach you or to ignore you entirely.

Luckily, his decision is made for him as you wordlessly walk back up to the counter towards the kettle. Five clears his throat, trying to rid himself of this awkward feeling, and walks up beside you.

He doesn’t address you, after all he normally isn’t the one to start the conversation. Which is why it’s so odd when you don’t. The two of you move about silently, completing your individual tasks. He finds he can’t even look at you, for the downtrodden look on your face still inflicts pain upon him. Finally, after an agonizing amount of time, you speak.

“Five,” you say, also clearing your throat. “I, uh, I have some good news for you.”

He sees that you’re trying to plaster on your usual happy appearance but it’s broken and he can see right through it.

He expects you to say something along the lines of “I forgive you for earlier” or “I made you some coffee.” He expects you to forgive him and act as normal. He did not, however, expect your actual words.

“I will no longer be bothering you with my presence.” Normally, these words would send him jumping for joy. After all, this is what he’s been wanting. But after the conversation he overheard, something gave him pause.

“Oh?” he says, at a loss for words as he is caught off guard.

“Yeah,” you say with a forced smile. “I’ve realized that I haven’t been respecting your feelings, as you have made it more than clear that you don’t want me as a partner and that you never will.”

He hears your voice crack towards the end and he can’t help but compare your words to Cassandra’s. “Yes I uh…I appreciate that,” he says, hesitant with his words. He isn’t sure what to make of all of this.        

“Right,” you say, straightening yourself. You pick up your mug and turn to fully face him. He tries to ignore the shine of incoming tears in your eyes. “See you around. And uh, sorry for bothering you.”

Before he can say anything else, you turn and exit the room, leaving Five in a state of uncertainty.

†††

When Five walks into work the next morning, he’s not on edge like he usually is. He normally expects you to greet him on his way to his office, but there’s no sight of you. After Five recovered from his shock, he decided he should be happy about the situation. Sure, he didn’t want you to get hurt, but he got what he wanted.

He settles into his office and gets to work. He reaches to take a sip of his coffee when he realizes there’s nothing there. Oh, right. You normally got his morning coffees for him. Not a big deal, he thinks. If anything, this shows what a nuisance you had been for changing his routine.

Throughout the next couple of days, he starts to realize what an impact you had made on him. For one, the coffee doesn’t taste as good, which is odd. Then he noticed his plant started to die. Five didn’t even know he had a plant. He got rid of it and suddenly felt that his office was colder. He knows it’s illogical, but he didn’t realize how it brightened the room.

And most of all, he found his normal routine to be rather dull. Normally, you would interrupt his work and give a small relief to the boring workload. His room is quieter than ever and the days start to blend together.

But this is what he wanted wasn’t it? To finally be on his own? It’s not like he missed your ramblings, or the sound of your laugh, or your happy disposition, or the way you brightened his day. No. He’s better off alone…

He doesn’t even believe himself. He scowls. How could he let this happen? How could he let someone in and affect him so much to a point where he missed them? He thinks about ignoring his feelings and soldiering on, as is his way, but the thought of going on like this for God knows how long makes him reconsider.

Goddamn you.

†††

He had never seen your office before. He didn’t even know you had an office up until now. He thought, a bit conceitedly perhaps, that he was the only field agent with an office. Maybe you weren’t exaggerating when you said you were good.

Your door is left open, possibly to be more inviting and welcoming. It’s perfectly you. Five looks in to see your head down, writing something at your desk, and takes a moment to consider you. God, he had missed you. He feels a little excited just seeing you there. Is he that lonely and desperate?

He knocks on your door and stands in the doorway. You lift your head and your eyes widen in surprise to see him. He tries not to look uncomfortable under your gaze.

“Oh! Hey Five,” you say, cautiously. You’re not as bubbly around him anymore, almost afraid to scare him off. He doesn’t like it. “What can I do for—”

Before you can finish, Five drops a file onto your desk. You look at him in surprise. There’s a silence. “What’s this?” you ask.

“Read it,” he snaps at you, his nerves getting the better of him. You open the file and he sees surprise overtake your whole face.

“This…this is a request to have me as your partner,” you say quietly, not knowing how to react.

“This has nothing to do with your pestering, by the way,” Five says. “I thought about it and came to my own conclusion that a partner would be beneficial. I thought since you were already willing, it was the simpler choice.”

As he speaks, he watches your disbelief change into joy and a bright smile returns to your face. It’s almost infectious.

“This is incredible,” you say. And then something changes and your smile drops into a frown, which makes him upset. Not that he was doing this for you, but he thought you’d be happy. “But I thought…I thought I annoyed you. What changed?”

He feels guilt tug at him. It seems his outburst stuck with you. “I…might have overreacted the other day. You do annoy me, but I didn’t mean it like that.” You nod at this and he senses it isn’t enough to convince you. Fuck it. He’s already in this deep. “I suppose, as a gesture of good faith as your new partner, and only for this occasion…I owe you an apology.”

Your eyes shoot up at him and he falters. Then he clears his throat and prays no one else is around to hear this. “I am…sorry, for any hurt my outburst may have caused you.” He could count on one hand the number of times he has genuinely apologized to someone. But apparently it works, as your frown is gone.

“Oh, um, thank you,” you say, unsure how to respond to his sudden change in character. There’s an awkward pause before you smile. You hold out your hand and say, “Partners?”

It’s such a sweet gesture of forgiveness that Five finds his mouth twitching upwards. “Partners,” he says, shaking your hand. He ignores the sparks he feels when his hand touches yours. But he has been sentimental for far too long.

He ends the handshake and clears his throat once more. “To be clear, this is not an official contract, you still have to sign the paper,” he says but the smile cannot be erased from your face.

“Yes, of course! I will handle that right away,” you say. “This is so exciting! You will not regret this.”

“I better not,” he says. “This doesn’t change anything between us, we’re not friends.”

“Yet,” you say with a cheeky smile. He is much more relieved to see you acting as your normal self again.

“Y/N I’m serious—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. This is going to be so fun,” you giggle, seemingly ignoring what he just said. “Thank you.”

You’re looking up at him, a soft smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye. He falters again as he feels heat rising in his cheeks. He looks away.

“No need to thank me, just make sure that request is signed and submitted.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” you salute him and he takes this as his cue to leave. He turns and you call out, “See you around!”

He doesn’t respond, or rather he can’t. He’s already starting to regret this and not because of the reason you think. Seeing you all happy and excitement caused his heart to swell with a feeling he isn’t familiar with. He doesn’t like this unknown territory and change. But he has to admit…

It felt kind of nice.

[chaoticreation]

10/29/23

This area is a death sentence without transportation. I'm running out of food, I can't get my prescriptions, can't flee in an emergency, and me and Syd have been freezing for like, a month, aside from the past two days because it's been surprisingly warm out for October. But November is around the corner, and it's gonna get cold. Fast.

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Gfm requires at least $5 donation, so if you can't swing that, you can send less to:

ven.mo: https://account.venmo.com/u/rroche90 pay.pal: roryjroche@outlook.com

Edit, 11/7/23: And we also don't have hot water now either. When the plumber came to give me an estimate on the furnace, he found that the hot water heater had a bad leak, so that was turned off to reduce damage.

Edit, 11/12/23: Septic problems now, too. Sinks are backing up. Woo! Still no heat, btw. It's been a month without heat and it's getting colder. Friend bought Syd a bigger hospital cage, but it hasn't arrived yet, so poor girl has to continue to suffer. Still no transportation, either. HEAP has said they'll pay half the furnace bill if I'm on the deed, which I can't and won't do until the taxes are paid off. I'm not about to inherit that debt.

@sydthetiel is being kept in a tiny hospital cage in my office with a space heater. Not ideal, but it's keeping her warm at least.

We're really not okay.

Edit, 11/16/23: Still no heat or hot water. Plumber isn't even actually getting back to us lmao. Mechanic got back to us, though, and they've found that the brake lines are rusted and need to be replaced. They want an extra $3500 for that. So it'd be roughly $6,000 to get my van repaired. Or I can just fix what I can fix at $2,000 and take my chances with rusted brake lines, and be an accident waiting to happen because I'm desperate to not be trapped in a freezing house with no meds or food or water lmao. Or I just don't get to have transportation back. Or I have to buy a new used vehicle, for like, $15,000+. So... mostly there's just no hope left for me. I'm ready to just give up. It's too much to fix, and my odds of survival are at 0 anyway. I won't last the winter here, and I can't even leave.

Edit, 11/22/23: That plumber ghosted us. We got a new plumber. He came out yesterday and got the furnace rigged to work, just in time. As he pulled into the driveway, it started sleeting and snowing. Throughout the night. The problem is, the furnace isn't fixed, so it could crap out at any moment. The water heater is off, but still leaking, so it's time sensitive to have it replaced. But he's pointed out another problem with that; Rex's hoarding. We need to be able to get rid of enough of her crap to get the equipment in and out. He can do it, but it's gonna cost. Additionally, the chimney isn't in great shape so we have to do something about that, or it's going to defeat the purpose of these replacements. Waiting for the quotes on everything.

As for my van, it's ready to be picked up, without the brake lines being finished. We found a new place that said they'd charge between $700-$1000 to replace the brake lines. A lot better than $3,500, but still not money I have. So until I can do that, it's a risk driving it, but I really don't have a choice. I can't stay living like this, trapped in the middle of nowhere. It's defeating me mentally and physically. But there's another problem too, that won't be covered under warranty. A knock sensor. No idea how much it'll cost yet, but it needs to be replaced in order for the van to pass inspection in December.

I'm feeling incredibly hopeless. I can't even run, because I have Syd, and I'm not going to abandon her. She's my kiddo. She's in a bigger cage now, happily. But I'm at such a loss of what to do. We're not going to survive the winter here without these repairs, and fleeing is going to be really difficult, and I may not have a home to come back to in Spring if I did manage to leave for the winter with Syd.

[magellanicclouds]

Halo - An Essay: regarding waste management systems and devices for MJOLNIR armoured Spartans It has been a hectic sort of few weeks. Between work and getting sick again (for the fourth time already this year thanks to my crewmates who can't remember it's their duty to stay home when they're ill) I've been on the outs. I haven't had the energy for much, but I'm usually a pretty active person, so this has kind of made me loopy? Which feels like as good a time as any to talk at length about the concept of catheterizing Spartans for waste management in MJOLNIR.

Let me explain.

This Silly Post crossed my dash recently and I fully understand it is meant as lighthearted fun - we have fun here. But it also dragged out some strong thoughts I've had haunting in the back of my mind about this for years because I'm super normal about Halo, and have time on my hands and the right amount of sleep deprivation and medication on board. So I wrote 3500 words about it. And about Karen Traviss, who is pretty knotted up in this conversation, since she's the one who decided to start it back in 2011.

To preface, I'm not an expert, but I have worked in emergency medicine for 25 years, and been a fan of Halo for almost as long. I've had more of a lukewarm relationship with it the last decade or so if I'm being honest, but it will always have a home in my heart; I just think letting it under my skin like that in the first place may have made me feral and prone to biting. Thankfully, I can always happily rotate Fred in my mind until the heat-death of the universe, so that's nice. Anyway, full disclosure: the essay below contains discussion about medical devices, physical trauma, and I am sharing quite a lot of personal negativity about the Kilo-5 trilogy and Karen Traviss. That said, if you'd like to sit in on the length of what I'm about to yell into the sky about all this, you can find it under the cut. I love you.

Welcome to my dissertation.

Section 1 - The Relevant Background:

Equipping Spartans with urinary catheters weeded itself into the Halo universe in the 2011 book Halo: Glasslands, during a conversation between Spartan II Naomi-010 and ODST Mal Geffen. Glasslands was the first in Karen Traviss's Kilo-5 trilogy, and she is both the originator of this, and the only official Halo author or source to have used catheters specifically since. Some context: I don't personally like these books, or their author, or even her reasoning for why she chose to add this. My personal preference doesn't make something 'bad', and I'm not out to hurt any feelings. Kilo-5 isn't a total wash for me, there are some characters and ideas that I'd of otherwise loved to have seen explored through the lens of a different author, but these books felt smothered under Traviss's habit of always injecting her very loud personal voice into the narrative fabric. I think this is something that's fine to do in an original series, but doesn't really belong in an established third party IP. She bangs on about so much of her own narrow worldview and self-assured prejudices across the trilogy that still discussing them today creates division in the fandom, and sadly did a lot of lasting damage to a couple characters. But for the topic here, the dialogue that started all this cath chat came from Naomi-010, having idle conversation with Mal who asks her about bathroom breaks. “I’m catheterized. Another reason why that machine has to be so precisely calibrated. This suit plugs into me in a lot of places.” 'The Machine' she's referring to is a Brokkr assembly, which was introduced to the lore as a large mechanical armature used to get Spartans in and out of MJOLNIR. You can see them in action in cinematics from Halo 4 (+Spartan Ops) and 5.

One single mention, and it was big news. Traviss was naturally interviewed about it because of course she was - people can't help themselves but forget an entire novel and tunnel vision on 'but how pee pee?', and her answer has always irritated me. It's not in what she says, so much as what 'what she says' means in her voice. Traviss didn't answer it directly, but instead talked about how she likes to get into character's heads by addressing the mundane necessity of things that often go overlooked to expand a sense of familiarity with the character and their world. Sounds super reasonable, I know, but don't give her too much credit - that's not a quote. It's just me paraphrasing and honestly I was pretty generous in my wording. Probably because I agree! What bugs me about it, is if you've ever read literally any interview with her, or her personal musings about her writing process, you know there's a bit of an 'honesty' issue there. She's somebody who feels perfectly comfortable ignoring established character voices, traits, or histories to satisfy whatever roles she's reinvented for them, and too many others wind up as mouthpieces. How much are you really challenging yourself in finding characters' voices when most of them are just yours? And the part about familiarity with their world? I giggled a little. She doesn't care about their world, or their aesthetics, or their technology, or their medicine. Because she didn't care about Halo while writing these, and she's not vague about admitting that. It's a matter of pride for her to purposefully refuse to research those things, in the same way she disregarded Star Wars and Gears of War - she doesn't consider the effort to be a valuable part of her process. So instead she'll skim the foundation, gather some recognizable names, pick her targets, and trusts that her personal experiences combined with an outsider perspective will generate better content to seamlessly overwrite what existed. Cool, Karen. Annoying, but why bring all that up? We're here to talk about catheters, right? Well, the fandom for the most part begin and end their assessment of the dialogue at urinary catheters, but the whole quote implies so much more than that - "This suit plugs into me in a lot of places." We're not just dealing with a cath, but apparently with multiple additional external-to-invasive connections. Reader, this dialogue is a plinth to Traviss's bizarre refusal to research not only the franchises she's contracted to write in, but also just into the basic function and hazards of existing concepts that she wants to introduce, and all because she's convinced herself she's done learning about the world. Choosing to ignore the creative freedom of limitless potential in a future of technology that would be basically magic to us today, and instead degrade 529 years of advancement is certainly a take, but it's even more ridiculous to do it with a subject (The Spartan Programme) that is considered to be the peak of advancement in that future's setting. That's clownery, just like her alleged commitment to adjusting her perspective to suit a universe's world.

I want to close out this section with a question: Why is it that writers in the Halo space - both fan and official - cling so tightly to current-day modern concepts as if they'd still be perfectly relevant in 500+ years? Music, for example, apparently suffered a multi-century stagnation in lots of published and fanmade Halo media. Though my partner made a strong counterpoint about this to be fair: we still listen to music composed by Mozart. So there's an argument to be made there. Medicine though. There is way less latitude to embrace the classics there. It's been shown across several games, novels, and films to be sufficiently advanced well beyond anything we're currently capable of or even understand, so why undermine that and choose to drag it centuries backward? For clarity, I am not talking about what might be standard in the public or private sectors, nor the enduring things that'd be used by the public and military alike, like sterile dressings, syringes, supplemental oxygen equipment. Those are the Basics and they will be relevant to us indefinitely. But I'm talking about the UNSC. I'm talking about ONI R&D. I'm talking about Section Three. Retrograding tech and failing to address a necessity that applies to every living person in the Super Soldier Wizardry department makes my mouth flatten into a tight little line.

Section Two - Caths, and why this whole thing got written:

Indwelling urinary catheters, both urethral and suprapubic. There's a laundry list of problems here, but I've distilled it down to the three biggest when suggesting they'd have any safe practical application in Spartans: Care. Activity. Damage. There is unreasonable expectations of care and maintenance for caths with regards to people who can be on operations isolated for months at a time with no support of any kind and are often limited to carrying only what can be kept on their person. The level of extreme physical activity Spartans engage in on any perfectly normal day whether deployed or not is unfit for the stability and safety of a cath. And damage; obvious enough, but with this one I'll be taking a huge emphasis on concussive forces - explosions. Something Spartans are subjected to a lot. I'll be using the height of modern-day catheter quality as a baseline for this, since that's what Traviss felt was sufficient. Regarding Urethral vs Suprapubic, Traviss doesn't specify by name, but Naomi's comment in full reads to me that she's only catheterized temporarily while armoured, hence the assembly needing to be so finely calibrated. Foley caths are temporary urethral caths that would only supplement the urinary process while a person was armoured. Suprapubic caths however are surgically placed devices. They do need routine tube replacement to keep them clean, but unlike the Foley that just serves as an aide measure for an otherwise fully functioning bladder, suprapubic caths are usually placed in people with congenital bladder disfunction, or who've suffered injury or disease that left the bladder in poor health or failure. This type of access will always require a tube in place and this would be the exclusive method of urination - in or out of armour. My Big Three Concerns fit both types similarly, though there is some additional risks associated with urethral caths that I'll cover.

Care: Caring for an invasive cath is a not insignificant effort. They're prone to blockage, kinking, and bacterial growth. They're so frequently responsible for UTIs and kidney stones that these complications are just considered the Standard Fair for having a cath. Their need to be frequently replaced because of their penchant for bacterial growth is the kicker here - whole floral colonies sprout up in caths and can eek their way out into the body through compromised tissue and wreck havoc. They have no self-cleaning mechanism, and steadily deteriorate. Changing and replacing an indwelling cath is a procedure that requires additional supplies that'd have to be carried, and needs to be done in a practiced and clean setting; preferably medical. Granted, there are people who manage the removal and insertion of their own caths at home, but they still need to ensure a clean and safe environment while they do this. A Spartan could never be guaranteed that, nor would it even be wise to consider the vulnerability of removing so much armour to handle it. Modern day caths are recommended to be replaced every 30 days or so, with some models able to be in place for a few months at a time, but that's with constant daily care and cleaning; something that'd be unreasonable for a Spartan to maintain while entrenched who knows where for who knows how long, and without access to replacement medical supplies. Those endurance times between replacements are geared for the average public person who leads an average public life and care for their cath as directed and don't get into fist fights with Sangheili. Needless to say, the endurance time for the same device in a Spartan who leads a wildly different lifestyle probably cuts those times down to a third.

Activity: Modern day caths are designed to offer people the most utility and versatility possible. Both models are available for people who are bed-bound or have extremely limited mobility, as well as for those who are mobile, independent, and live out average lives. With regards to the latter, suprapubics are somewhat more common, if for no other reason than to reduce the Foley's higher risks of induction injury, but modern urethral caths also allow for regular movement and activity with a more reduced chance of becoming dislodged or damaged than they would have had a couple decades ago. But when I say regular activity, I mean going on a walk. Shopping for groceries. Doing basic house chores. Even light exercise and sexual activity can be managed with physician advisement and the appropriate precautions taken. Anytime a Spartan was fielded they'd have to be all the more overly-cautious about Movements Outside of Their Control during confrontations, maneuvers, ambush, environmental or vehicular incidents. Even when things go well there'd be too much risk involved. That said, traumatic decatheterizations happen more frequently than anyone would like, and I'm talking about regular old Joe Everybody. I respond to no less than a dozen of these incidents a year. Both types of catheter are held in place by a bulb balloon that's inflated from a port with around 10-30ccs of saline after the tube enters the bladder (30ccs would be more appropriate for better security of the line). Before removing a cath, the saline is removed to deflate the balloon and the tube is guided out - with a Foley cath, that means being guided out of the urethra. When a Foley cath is traumatically removed, the saline filled balloon - which is like five times wider in diameter than the average 6mm urethra - does a pretty devastating amount of damage on it's way out, penis or vagina; though a penile urethra has significantly more length to damage, and the penile meatus very typically is torn. These incidents run high risk of bladder hematoma as well, which requires urgent surgical intervention. The very worst traumatic decatheterizations I've responded to were all penile and had trauma to external tissue. Ever microwaved a hotdog a little too long?

Damage: How often are Spartans subjected to explosive and other concussive forces? Silly question - answer: a lot and often and unavoidable. And we know they still feel the powerful feedback. Despite shields and dampeners and a self-moderating gel layer, strong inertial forces are still felt through the suits. Across multiple novels we're given details about near misses and blasts, accelerated or uncontrolled falls, rattling their teeth, hampering their vision, hearing, or balance; they've been rendered unconscious and suffered internal injuries. The fact that most of these events don't flat out kill them is a credit to their armour and augmentations. For reference - when a person experiences explosive or concussive force from a distance enough to avoid separation of limbs, bisection, etc, the totality of their injuries can't and won't be seen externally. How they present on the outside is just the tippy tip of the iceburg - it's what's happened to them internally that you need to be concerned about. Cracked or fractured bones, torn musculature, arterial shearing, hollow organ rupture, cardiac and brain tissue bleed, to name some common ones, and this kind of trauma extends to all implanted devices as well. For example, rods and nails and other structural aids or replacements are much more resilient than your organic tissues, and can dislodge when tissues tear or rupture, damaging anything in their way like shrapnel. The fragile little balloon of a catheter will shatter when subjected to even relatively minor explosive force, so to even consider for a moment that this would be a viable piece of equipment for people intended to routinely be involved in explosive environments is beyond willful negligence. That there wouldn't be a better solution to the question of waste management - a necessity for literally all human people who make up the entirety of the Spartan branch, with the infinite funding of ONI R&D seems so stupid to me that I… well, that I wrote this. Because, friends - participating in active warfare is not cath-safe. The kinds of physical demands and forces on Spartan bodies are not cath-safe. The risks will never outweigh the benefits to this. Even while sealed in powered armour and a skinsuit tech layer, the very thought of Section Three engineers or Halsey or anyone involved in the development of MJOLNIR dismissing the glaring obvious failure of Spartans having any kind of externalized invasive devices is so unreasonably negligent that it could only be the brainchild of an author who's convinced that these characters are all actually just psuedo-intelligent government boogiemen who aren't as capable as they claim to be. But No. They are that capable, and they are that intelligent and the fact that they have a bottomless budget and deeply flexible ethics is literally what makes them so dangerous.

So if we have to address this, how do we do it? Apparently there was always an official answer for this. Former Franchise Development Director, creator of the Master Chief**, and extremely racist asshole Frank O'Connor weighed in on this in the same interview, where he almost immediate rejected and denied Traviss's catheterization claim and says that 'this sort of stuff' was the kind of thing he and the other creative heads at Bungie/343i talked and planned about all the time. So how does this work then, because we're invested now. According to 'ol Frankie's elegant input: they just pee freely into the suit. That's it. For clarity, he's talking about the skinsuit and not the MJOLNIR interior proper. He goes on to say that connectivity between body and MJOLNIR at all levels is fully noninvasive, but precise, and that it doesn't matter what kind of body output a Spartan introduces into the suit interior, because a hygienic valve system (??) will scrub it continually and collect all matter for recycling and reintroduction via capillary action powered by movement. It's not clear in what layers or intermediaries these mechanisms occupy, he doesn't break it down more than that. But that's the answer, and it did exist back when Traviss was penning Kilo-5.

Is this answer better than haphazardly plugging extension cords from actual organ systems into MJOLNIR interior? Yes. Like, leagues better by comparison, but also I still think it sucks. To me anyway. It's flat out gross as hell, which definitely fits the personal brand of a man who proudly overfed his cat and called himself "Stinkles", but also it just doesn't strike me as the kind of design strategy ONI would pursue for any of their assets. Beside it just being 100% torn from Dune's stillsuits, it's also missing that special brand of proprietary Section Three je ne sais quoi. There's layers upon layers of too-specialized equipment installed into these people for everything else, why skip this? A body function that should have been Point 3 on a 50 point list of 'stuff to manage'. Also though? It's a lot of freedom. This is just another easy opportunity to add yet another layer of dependence. Spartans are expensive equipment. It doesn't do to give them any fewer reasons to think they can ever walk away.

So anyway, I figured I'd take a crack at it. I came up with this while editing the last two paragraphs: [Waste management] - a fully internalized collection and processing device - lets say a cybernetic implantation - that entirely replaces the bladder. It has bio-organic lumens that interconnect it to the GI and Hepatic organs. The implant assists in accelerating the processing of gathering and refining waste materials with the help of nanobots that identify and redirect waste along the lumens of each system, plus they keep the implant clean and free of bad flora. All twice-processed waste gets refined a lot quicker and any water by-product of the process is refined and redistributed back to the organs along the lumens. None of the refined water is removed from the body for drinking, because that's an unnecessary step; it's already inside. (Drinking water would be the responsibility of a suit system more likely - like, sweat leeching in the skinsuit; refine, filtrate, purify, collect into a reservoir, and jettison the excess sodium. ) There is no 'extraction of other viable nutrient' from the remainder, it's been twice identified as waste. It gets catabolized and consumed by the nanobots as a fuel source, and no externalized waste is created at all while the Spartan is geared up. The implant doesn't always run like this - it only engages this way when the Spartan is wearing MJOLNIR, and when they're not, it just works like an out-of-the-box bladder. The intermittence of usage lets the organic organs truck along as usual, preventing risk of atrophy, and the Spartan can just use a bathroom like everyone else. I'm not a bioengineer, but I do like sci fi and I think all that sounds like something that'd be possible in this sandbox. And that's the real fun of it, isn't it? There's no way anyone today can anticipate what sort of gadgetry might be available 500+ years from now, especially in a fictional universe that includes military tech hybridized with reverse engineered alien tech.

I think it's fascinating when writers and artists shake loose and really grab the reins, and I love seeing the fruit of that labour in this particular tumblr community so often. We're not a huge Halo circle, but we're a passionate one, and if this essay leaves you with nothing else, I hope it will at least remind you to Go For It when you're writing your next fic or drawing your next piece, or composing, or sewing, or printing, or anything!

In Conclusion: Rest easy, friends.

Despite Traviss's word and even books that went to print, the official canon is that Spartans are not catheterized. If that's a bummer for anyone, canon can't stop you from writing whatever you want, but I do hope maybe you'll remember my reasoning for why it might not be the best idea? At least not for armoured Spartans. A Spartan, but they're laid up in hospital? Any non-Spartan personnel? Maybe you're writing in the public sector, a colony world or vessel? Sure - I'll bet caths are still plenty widely used. Why not? They're a blissfully simple and useful effective piece of equipment. It's just all about adjusting and adapting for practicality. Medical science, like any technology, adapts and evolves infinitely as we learn and discover new things. Treatments or drug algorithms I'd of used just last year have already undergone changes, and protocols are amended constantly. It's why a person 'practices' medicine; why a scientist is always a student. If questions like this or similar really need answering in your next work, remember: Give yourself the credit you deserve, and embrace the spirit of invention. Let my Cyber Bladder, by Sparklets be the candle in the window for you!

You may all retrieve your keys from the bowl and unsilence your phones. Stay safe and please text me when you get home. Thank you. ' u ' **Addendum: Former Bungie Creative Art Director Marcus Lehto is in fact the person who is most associated with the creation of the Master Chief.**

[scretladyspider]

please don’t scroll; I really need your help to reach my gofundme goal of $3500 and not become homeless.

Im Elle, a queer, ace, disabled person with ADHD, depression, and two cats. In November, I lost my job without warning. I have no savings as the job already had me living to the last dollar of every paycheck. I was denied unemployment and food stamps. I cannot work away from home, a physical job, or something with strict hours due to some yet-to-be-diagnosed illness.

this is my story — what’s going on & how I got here. (Smaller text used because it’s a lot of information/a long post.)

In early 2018, I was doing regular walk/runs. In 2019, I stopped being able to run, so I went on walks. Running took hours, then days, to recover from. My body couldn’t produce energy to do it consistently, so, walks. In 2020, I kept going on walks and tried to do aerobics. I was not able to keep doing aerobics. My body took hours upon hours to recover, where before it hadn’t, I was alone for almost all of 2020, and never developed COVID symptoms; it was what happened with running all over again. In 2021, it started to take more time to recover from walks. Then I started to need to take a nap immediately after I clocked out from work— and it was a work from home job. In 2022, I began to go from my sitting desk job straight to my bed most days, laying down exhausted right after work, even sleeping through lunch to get some rest.

On New Year's Eve 2023, I spent 30 minutes cleaning, including vacuuming my living room. I had to rest the rest of the day.

In the last five years, I've gone from running to being exhausted for hours by taking my garbage to the curb.

Imagine you were someone who enjoyed recreational exercise. Now imagine doing 1/100th of that and feeling sick for days. Thats me.

There are other symptoms also. More vulnerability to infection and more trouble fighting infection. Shooting, sharp muscle pains in large muscles such as the thigh or forearm, like a pinched nerve, that come and go at random. Pulse rate that skyrockets upon standing, to go back to normal soon after. Stomach inflammation. Inflammation without major swelling. Headaches. Complete inability to tolerate heat, leading to excruciating migraines that only go away with things like cold showers, electrolytes, and hours of rest in the dark with ice. Muscles that literally don't feel like they're getting oxygen. Random rashes. Face flushing. Being much more easily out of breath, yawning over and over, like I can't get air correctly. Weight gain, no matter what I eat or don't eat.

And just being so, so tired.

In summer of 2018, something… stopped working in my body. I felt sick all the time. I had a low, unexplainable fever nearly every day. Shooting nerve pain would wake me up at night. The doctor said I had a cold. But months went by and I didn’t get better. When my blood work and thyroid hormone level was normal, I was referred to a rheumatologist.

I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia after he made me wait 45 minutes, came in and asked “are you tired?", poked me hard, said I was tender, and left without running tests. This sort of “uhm the standard blood work came back normal, have you tried exercising more? I know you’re here because your body can’t recover from it but have you tried more of that? Also going to sleep at night?” has been the response over and over and over for five years. It got to the point where I even started to wonder if I was somehow making it up. I see a psych nurse. She thinks there's more than just depression, ADHD, and other things - though we both agree that managing those is vital too. She used to be a cardiologist, so this is reassuring. But when I have tried to see other doctors, it goes differently. Most of the time they see I have ADHD, a long history of depression, and hypermobile joints, and say that explains everything. I can't count how many times I've been told "well, you have depression” when the labs, if they even agreed to run them, came back normal. My standard blood work sometimes comes back with anemia, but I take an iron supplement. No improvement had come of it. I’ve had my thyroid hormone levels tested over and over, but never the antibodies. No imaging or referrals have happened, outside of one to a second rheumatologist. He ran no tests either; he just saw my joints are hypermobile and I was “sure taking a lot of mental health medications” (two at the time), and… that was that.

I had given up on actually even getting help until my SIL recommended a doctor she knew. For the first time in five years, when the standard blood work and TSH tests were normal, she told me we would keep looking. I actually cried with relief at that. It’s amazing to be believed after all this time.

Because of …. All of this, I'm trying to figure out how to either work for myself or find a work from home job that has flexible hours I can choose. I literally wouldn't be able to work a retail gig where I have to stand for eight hours, or even a 9-5 where I have to be there for those exact hours, because my body cannot do that right now. I want to get better but it's a long way off. First I need to know what's even wrong. I'm praying for a diagnosis soon. And treatment. At the least, management.

I have heard of EDS and I have been evaluated. I apparently don’t meet enough criteria, hence the diagnosis of JHS instead. It’s in the same family. I have also heard of POTS. I am pursuing testing. Same with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, MCAS, fibromyalgia… yeah. The thing is nothing outside of the standard blood count and thyroid hormone level test, no other lab tests have been done. There are so many things this could be that have never been checked. Lyme disease, for example, is extremely common where I live (it’s actually just extremely common worldwide) and matches much of my experience, but 1) in the USA the initial Lyme test relies on a strain of bacteria cultured in the 80s 2) there are over 100 strains of Lyme disease in the USA 3) in spite of decades of research there are doctors who don’t believe chronic Lyme exists 4) no doctor has ever checked and I only recently learned anything about it so I never asked. But… there are a lot of things to check that I’ve never had checked is my point. Fingers crossed someone can help me get there.

I do not have a partner who can try to support me through this, and my family already supports me however they can. My severance (which was low as I found out I was being paid much less than the rest of the team later) paid only my January rent.

Since my ability to work is severely limited right now, and I've been denied unemployment and food stamps, and I would need a diagnosis and to be awarded disability benefits in court (which can take YEARS that I don’t have), I have nothing in savings because of years of underpaying jobs the cost of living and being disabled and going through prior periods of unemployment due to this and other factors, I am left in a tough spot without help. Without this help, this gofundme... I have nothing.

So... here I am. A queer nonbinary disabled neurodivergent writer, trying my best, living with some undiagnosed illness that's severely impacted my ability to function, who got fired without real reasons (in America they can just do that to you without even telling you why), asking for your help to pay my February rent and January bills so I don’t repeat the trauma of being homeless. Or for you to reblog this.

Thank you for reading all of this.

It’s been on my chest for a long time. Even if it wasn’t for the gofundme, it feels good to talk about and be honest about my health. It reminds me you’re not supposed to feel like this all the time when I tell other people and they tell me I should get help and deserve answers. It’s reassuring to see competent doctors who finally believe me. I hope we figure it out.

no donation is too small— they add up. If just 100 people gave $35, the goal would be met. Sharing is also giving— it means someone who can help is more likely to see it.

You can also help via my venmo — secretladyspider

CashApp — secretladyspider

or find PayPal in my tip jar in my linktree

Goal is $3500 or over. Funds needed ASAP. If it goes over, that’ll help with February.

Thank you for anything and everything.

[harleykeeners]

Caught Red Handed - Buddie

Evan “Buck” Buckley/Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz

Prompt: Oceans 9-1-1 Rewrite. In which Buck and Eddie have been secretly together for months, and are found out in the worst way possible.

Word Count: 3500

Eddie knew his week would be screwed the second the cops stormed into the station and pulled the duffle bags filled with money out of the truck. The way Bobby froze in place and Chim’s jaw fell on the floor told Eddie that they were in big trouble. Immediately, the air tensed and he canceled every plan for the week. Everyone began asking questions no one knew the answers to and they were all frustrated. Bobby called the shift early and sent them all home.

With the stress of the day and the call itself, Eddie swings his arm over Buck’s shoulder, their quiet signal that Eddie is taking him home. Buck relaxes under his touch and lets his head drop onto Eddie’s shoulder. With a holler and a wave, they pile into Eddie’s pick-up. “That did not just happen,” Buck mutters as he drops his head on the dashboard and groans. “How the hell did it even end up there?” Eddie doesn’t answer as he shifts the gear to reverse and begins backing out from the driveway.

The drive is quiet, Buck staring out the window as Eddie places a comforting hand on Buck’s thigh. In moments like this, after a stressful call, they always go home with each other. It takes more willpower than they have to not rush into each other's arms after a frightening save. So, they go home and spend time together in the private of their own homes. Right now, Eddie doesn’t want to stop touching Buck. The heat of his presence is enough to ground him in this situation. With a squeeze of his thigh, Buck moves Eddie’s hand to hold his own, squeezing back letting him know he’s right here.

Silence is often just what they need after a call, and right now they couldn’t be more grateful Chris was at a sleepover. Immediately, Buck chases after Eddie’s touch, tender and searching. Eddie reciprocates, reminding himself that whatever happened today was a mistake, that there is no way any of them are capable of such a plot. Eddie’s fingers find Buck’s hair and he relaxes at the feeling of the blonde locks. “Wanna head to bed?” Eddie whispers. Sometimes, they get lost in each other to escape whatever terror awaits them outside. Right now, that monster is the LAPD and a whole lot of paperwork. “Yeah,” Bucks answers, “I could use some time with you in bed after today.” It isn’t meant to sound crass and Eddie chuckles. With a kiss pressed against his temple, Eddie goes to run a shower while Bucks gets a snack from the kitchen.

In the boiling water, Eddie allows his body to decompress. His anxiety washes away with the shampoo running down his face and he takes a deep breath. He scrubs away the day and allows his mind to wander. All he knows is that his coworkers made it out of the bank safe and that Buck is safe. Which is all he is currently concerned with.

Stepping out of the shower he doesn’t bother getting dressed past his boxers. After the day he’s had, he can’t find the energy. He finds Buck at the counter eating some dry cereal and holds his waist as he rests his head on the crook of his shoulder. “What’s going through your mind?” Eddie waits as the crease in Buck’s brow deepens. “There’s no way it could have been one of us. It just doesn’t make sense. Hen was unconscious the entire time in the vault, Chim can attest as he was watching the cam. We were with the drills, and so was Bobby. Everyone working is our alibi, so how did it end up in the truck?” Buck rants as Eddie massages his hips. He knows Buck tends to overthink, so with a kiss to the nape of his neck, Eddie says, “You think too much. We were set up, and that's for the cops to solve, not us. Let's go to bed.”

Buck lets out a soft laugh, “You’re evil…” Eddie plays innocent, knowing full well that the hands on his hips get Buck feeling a certain way. “No, maybe I’m just trying to get you to go to bed with me.” He doesn’t need to clarify and Buck happily smiles and turns to face him. Sometimes Eddie forgets he can do this, he can have Buck. That within these four walls, they don’t have to put on an act. Eddie doesn’t have to be conscious of his every move, notice where his hands are, or even worry about the pet names that slip from his mouth. At home, he can love Buck freely. No wondering eyes or HR rules are stopping him from consuming the man he’s been infatuated with for years. Maybe they’re more eager since years of yearning finally climaxed a few months ago and now Eddie has the privilege to call Buck his.

Seeing Buck in his bed under his crappy bedroom lighting has soon become Eddie’s favorite sight. So when Buck pulls away from his lips and flashes that smile at him, batting his eyes and pulling his shirt off, Eddie forgets about the call. Instead, he focuses on the man underneath him and chooses to lose himself.

As the door gets slammed, the seconds of silence as Detective Wash and Mercer impatiently await an answer seem to stretch till eternity. They had just returned from Athena’s residency, and while she had been expecting them, she assured them that the others wouldn’t. Currently, they are at the home of Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz. Wash and Mercer had just sent two teams to the Han and Buckley residence, hoping to get to the bottom of this heist quickly.

In a panicked movement, the door opens, and Edmundo awkwardly sticks his head out the door. Wash notices that he looks disheveled and that’s fair, it is 1 A.M., and they probably woke him up. Before he can even open his mouth, Mercer presents the search warrant and the team pushes past him and enters the home. “Hey! What the hell is going on?” Eddie shouts as Wash turns the lights on and directs officers into various rooms. Mercer barks orders, speaking over and ignoring Eddie’s complaint.

“You can’t seriously have enough plausible clause for a warrant?” he shouts. Wash shrugs, “Believe it or not, the court granted it. We’re going to need you to turn in all electronic devices on the premises Mr. Diaz.” It’s the first time Wash truly looks at Eddie and realizes he’s clinging onto a blanket around his torso with his chest bare. Well, it is the middle of the night, he’s caught people in worse situations.

The orders were to be as thorough and quick as possible, regardless of the mess left behind. Wash barks orders to flip every surface and take any electronics they see. Cabinets are pulled open and the clink of plates and cups are heard ringing through the house.

Just as he sees a team go into a hallway, he hears a scream. Ears perk up as every officer drops what they're doing. Wash notices, and he and Mercer dash to the scream, following the noise to a bedroom. Officers follow behind Wash and they enter the open room where other officers are and what they see leaves them surprised. In the bedroom, three officers surround the bed as a man is frantically screaming. “Eddie, what the fuck is going on?” Wesh immediately recognizes the man as another one of their suspects: Evan Buckley. He makes a mental note to check on the officers at the Buckley home since they probably got no answer. Once again, the firefighter is frantically covering himself with the bed sheets, and Wesh isn’t dense. The flashlights pointed at Buckley illuminate the red on his neck.

“They have a warrant,” is all Eddie says as he picks up some sweats and a hoodie the officers have thrown on the floor. He can’t be bothered to care about decency and gets dressed in the room. “They’re going to flip the place inside out, and they’re taking our phones,” Eddie angrily says. Buck is left with a shocked and angry face, but before he can speak Eddie throws him some clothes off the floor. “Get dressed, before they take all our clothes.” Buck laughs, “They wouldn’t.” He’s met with a stone glare as he looks at Mercer and Wesh. They signal to the officers to keep moving. “You can’t be serious,” he huffs as he frantically puts on a shirt and gets out of bed.

“Detective, this can’t be real. You don’t think anyone in our department did this,” Buck says as he rapidly puts on a shirt and some pants and battles the sheets he’s tangled in. “Your team was the one on the call, with the money in the truck, in the safe the diamonds went missing in. Doesn’t seem like an unlikely conclusion does it, Buckley?” Wesh says as he watches the officers pull books off the shelves and flip cushions off the sofa. Cabinets are swung open and Tupperware is thrown all over the floors. Eddie and Buck get the feeling they were told to be as messy as possible. Typical red vs blue behavior.

“You two are coming down to the station with me. We have some questions for you,” Mercer says as she rudely leads the men out of the house and into the squad car. Buck sends a desperate look at Eddie, and he can’t fight the instinct to pull him in his arms. So he doesn’t, and he holds Buck close in the backseat of the squad car, whispering comforting nothing into his ears. He feels Buck’s head fall onto his shoulder. He looks over to see the blonde blinking slowly, the sirens illuminating his face in a soft haze. Buck looks stressed, and knowing him, he’s probably thinking about the others, not even worried about himself. Eddie runs a hand in his hair and presses a soft kiss to his temple with a whisper, “It’ll be okay.”

The station is cold and the lighting is sterile. They are rudely seated and Mercer and Wesh stand menacingly in front of them. Eddie doesn’t let go of Buck, holding him as close as possible to his heart. “Mr. Diaz, I’ll start with you,” Wesh says as she begins to lead him to an interrogation room. Eddie kisses Buck quickly before following Wesh and sees Mercer take Buck to another room. As he sits at the table, he realizes he should have picked better clothes, the station is freezing.

“Mr. Diaz, where were you at the time of the heist?” Mercer asks. She wastes no time and Eddie gets the feeling it will be a long night. “What have you deemed the time of the heist?” he asks. Eddie isn’t willing to give any confusion that could be used against him.

“We’ve deemed the diamonds were stolen at around 22:30 P.M. The money, however, could have been at any time.” Eddie sighs, knowing they have no idea what they are talking about. “At 10, you would have found me giving medical attention to the victims inside the vault.”

“And you sure you weren’t using that time to steal the diamonds?” “Yes, you can ask Hen, she can tell you I was taking her vitals alongside Chimmeny.”

“And who’s to say they wouldn't lie?” Eddie laughs, “The 118 aren’t liars.”

And the air tensed, and Eddie saw a smirk cross her face. “So you and Mr.Buckley over there aren’t lying to them? I mean if you’re willing to lie about a relationship to people you’ve, on the record, called your family, who's to say the rest of them aren't capable of lying.”

“My relationship doesn’t concern this,” he seethes. What he and Buck have is between the two, alone. No one bears the right to know of the secret smiles and glances Eddie steals from Buck and cherishes. No one bears the right to know how Buck lights up when Eddie whispers “Evan” under his breath as he holds him close. No one bears the right to know the special moments Eddie cherishes.

“Oh, but it does Mr. Diaz. When you’re willing to lie to your coworkers about something as trivial as a relationship, who's to say you aren’t willing to lie to law enforcement?”

As Bucks sits at the table, Wesh sizes him up. Buck feels small and is quietly counting down the seconds till this is over. “So, would you like to explain why we found you in Mr. Diaz’s residence?” The question catches Buck off guard, “He’s my friend, after last night I didn’t want to be alone.”

Wesh sighs and looks hard at Buck, “Mr. Buckley, it’s best you not lie to me.” Buck tenses up, “I’m not lying, sir.” With a grunt, Merce asks, “So who gave you those marks on your neck?” Buck brings his hand up to cover the marks, and Wesh realizes he got him.

“You two are more than friends and are already lying for each other. How do I know you two didn’t plot this whole thing together and lie to your team? Clearly, you both already have experience conspiring together and lying to them. This shouldn't have been too hard for you two.”

Maybe it's a choice of word that enrages Buck that he says, “What Eddie and I are doing isn’t conspiring. Our relationship is between us.”

“So you admit you two are in a relationship?” Wesh asks.

“Yeah, so what?” Buck doesn’t see the point of this. He’s tired, he’s angry, and he misses Eddie.

“So you’re both just lying to your coworkers and your departments as you know that not notifying them is a violation of contract.”

Buck freezes, and realizes he messed up. “What does who I’m dating have to do with the diamonds?”

“Shows your character. You’re willing to lie to your coworkers, whom you’ve called family, and your department for something as trivial as a relationship. So lying to law enforcement about stealing $6 million in diamonds with your boyfriend shouldn’t be out of the question.”

Rages flashes before Buck’s eyes and he has to remind himself to take a deep breath. “First of all, what we have isn’t trivial. And second of all, we do plan to tell them, we’re just getting our footing first. Technically, we only need to notify our departments if it gets serious. Which, hopefully, it will but not now. That doesn’t prove that we’d be willing to pull something off like this. Keeping a relationship quiet is much different than stealing millions in diamonds.”

“No, but it shows you two are more than capable. Why wouldn’t you want to steal the diamonds? I know a wedding can be expensive, much more if you two plan to buy a home together in L.A. Some diamonds could really help.” Buck flushes at the implication he and Eddie will get married, while also processing how insulting that statement truly is.

Just like Wesh, Mercer is drilling into Eddie. “You have a son, right?” She asks as Eddie clutches his fists. He’s tired, he’s cold, and he wants to go back to bed. He doesn’t dignify her with a verbal response but just nods. “I know how expensive they can be. Especially with chronic illness. Being a parent isn’t cheap, much less in L.A. Diamonds wouldn’t hurt.”

Eddie is offended she would even insinuate something like that. “Listen, I get by. My retirement from the military helps with my bills and my job gives pretty good benefits. I work full-time and make do.”

“And I’d assume having a partner also helps,” she says as if it’s something Eddie should be ashamed of. “Yes, it does. He helps when I need it and we’re lucky to never be short. We don’t need the diamonds,” Eddie angrily says. He doesn’t understand why he’s still sitting here. “We’re both veterans so our benefits still roll in and the department takes care of its employees.”

“You say you were both on the drills, opening the vault. Did you know that your Captain left to make a phone call? So, who’s to say you two didn’t take advantage of your moment alone to sneak the diamonds?”

Eddie laughs, “I’m flattered you think Buck and I would take advantage of a moment like that. In reality, we didn’t notice and were still working. Had we noticed, then-“

“You two you would have stolen the diamonds,” Mercer rudely cuts him off. “No, we probably would have made out. You see, while I’m flattered, Buck and I aren’t sophisticated enough to pull off something like this.”

“Are you calling your partner stupid?”

“If that proves his innocence then, yes. Yes, Evan Buckley is too stupid for this.”

Buck is so tired he’s struggling to keep his head afloat. “Says here you were in the SEALs.” There’s no question, just a statement. Buck looks wearily at Wesh, a sense of nausea coming up his stomach. Buck only nods.

“So you and your boyfriend are both in the military?”

“Were. We’re retired. Different branches.” Buck already knows what’s coming up. “So two veterans don’t know how to pull off a heist? A SEAL no less?”

He huffs and crosses his arms, “Sorry, but larceny wasn’t exactly what they taught us at basic. Maybe in the Air Force, they’re the intelligent ones. But not in the Army or Navy. For us, it was more like folding your bed a certain way and shooting to kill. Sorry to disappoint,” Buck says and by that question, he’s done.

“Look, if you have nothing of value to ask me, I’d like to go. It’s late, and I wish to be with my partner and sleep this horrible night off. Check the cameras again on the side of the bank, you’ll notice Eddie and I never left our post at the drill. Once it was open, I reloaded the drill and Eddie was providing medical care. Ask anyone who was there, and look at the cameras, they are our alibi. So if you’re just going to keep and ask me pointless questions while making insulting assumptions about my life, then I’d like to go,” Buck takes a deep breath as he gets up.

“You’ve already insulted my relationship, my career, and my character. I don’t know what more you have left,” Buck says as he looks Wesh in the eye, and silently tells the man he is leaving. No debate about it.

As he opens the door in the interrogation room, he can’t help the snarky remark that comes from his throat, “And you’re welcome for all my service.”

The hallway is cold and busy. Several detectives moved bags of evidence that Buck recognizes as Bobby’s phone and Maddie’s laptop. He’s irritated and frankly, the level of insult he’s feeling would be dangerous to vocalize. However, it slightly simmers when he finally sees Eddie walk out.

He sprints to him and wraps his arms around him. For the sake of holding him close and feeling his body heat, Evan melts into Edmundo. They don’t say anything, throats dry from the hour-long interrogations. Instead, Eddie looks into Buck’s eyes and the anger fades away, replaced by a longing. A longing to be safe, to be held, to be home. With a soft kiss to his temple, a phone light illuminates Buck’s face as Eddie dials to call an Uber.

“Do you think they went to your sister’s house?” Buck says as they sit outside the station, watching the few cars drive by. “I hope not,” Eddie answers, grasping at Buck’s hand as they hold each other present. “No reason to go after anyone outside of the department,” Buck mumbles as he rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “You think they already brought the others in?” Eddie whispers.

The sound of a car wakes Buck from his nap. As they pile into the Uber, Buck snuggles into Eddie’s side, wanting to hide away from the world. The drive is quiet, it’s nearing 3 A.M. The cops have finally left their house, leaving the street empty and blissful.

Opening the door greets them to the disaster left behind, however the two men are too tired to even care. Awkwardly clearing a path over the books and papers thrown across the floor, they make their way to the bedroom.

Bucks the first to hit the bed as he collapses at the mere sight of it. With a quiet beg and a gesture, Eddie follows suit. Cuddling into his warmth, Buck mumbles, “Do you think any of us really did do it?”

Eddie looks at him, pretends to think for a moment, then says, “No. I don’t think so. But, the cops were right,” This catches Buck’s attention. “For you, I’d lie to the cops if it meant keeping you safe.”

End.

Sorry for the (Ch)Air Force drag but, Go Navy Beat Army.

[biscuitblinkeu]

I Speak for the Trees [Pt 1]

Jennie x Fem!reader

Word Count: 5471

Prompt: Jennie never planned to stay with her mother for seven months. She didn't plan on her mother and father divorcing either, and because of that, her relationship with her mother has always been rocky. They move to a new state, and that means a new town, new neighborhood, new school, new life. Her mother believes this will be a fresh start; Jennie believes it’ll be a disaster and hates everything about it, but when she befriends a strange girl everything gets a little brighter.

A/n: I do switch between point of views I believe— In Jennie’s POV reader is referred to as she/her/they, in your own POV it’s always you. But in short it’s because I’m too lazy to fix it. I’ve been writing this for awhile, enjoy! There’s also a second part that’s 3500+ words and unfinished, but I wanted to post this already…and I wanted to give you guys something while I’m finishing up one shots and chapters 😭 #lazyme

Jennie felt like a poor, unfortunate soul. Under her nose, it’s been decided she would fly out to see her mother. She didn’t know what possessed her father to agree, or what made him hide it from her till the day of her departure. Jennie felt betrayed almost. She felt like a piece of driftwood, trapped in a relentless storm where the sea pushed and pulled her as it liked, regardless of what she wanted. 

Jennie didn’t want to go to New Zealand, and that much was clear with the heated debate she was having with her father. She was never one to protest this adamantly, however, it was called for as it was the summer before her Senior year. 

“But Dad,” she said desperately. “Please, it’s my last year of highschool, I can’t leave when I’ve been at this school since the beginning— what about my friends? My job? My accomplishments? I don’t want to leave so suddenly.”

“That's completely understandable, but there’s something else, I know there is.” 

They stared at each other for a few tense seconds, and Jennie scowled.

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” she quipped. “It’s because I don’t want to leave you alone here. I can’t! Not like mom did! I am not like her — I won’t be like her — and I don’t want to see her! Why now does she want to come back into my life? We were fine. I was fine on my own; and now? Now she wants me back right when I was content,” she huffed, tone on the verge of a growl. Tears swam in her eyes and her nose twitched. “I hate her—”

“Jennie! You will not go there.” Her father interrupted sternly, a deep frown on his face. Jennie flinched, gaze snapping to the floor. How her father still held her mother in the light made her distressed. She’d ask him ‘why’ and he would say ‘it’s love.’

Although his warning made her want to surrender, to give in and welcome the despair, Jennie still had some fight left in her. She lifted her chin and met his gaze, defiance shining in her eyes. A fire of resentment burning in her chest. “But you know what she did to us. I have every reason to loathe her.”

Us. 

Her father let out a drained sigh, running his hands down his face. He looked her straight in the eyes, and Jennie knew she was taxing him with this arguing, and she knew she could be in the wrong. But she didn’t want to accept that when it felt like she was right her whole life. She wanted it to stay that way. 

“Jennie, you don’t have to fight all my battles. What happened with me and your mother is a thing in the past,” he began, and Jennie felt hurt. “I have forgiven her and…”

“You forget.” Jennie snapped, unable to help herself. He ignored her.

“I forgave but I haven’t forgotten. Jennie, I have forgiven. You continue to live in the past, and that is why you light up about this topic. Back then…I regret involving you in so much of my problems, I should’ve shielded you from them. It’s only my fault you feel this way about her.” 

Jennie shook her head no. 

“Yes,” he said. In the past he was so absorbed in his grief he didn’t realize quickly enough that Jennie was beside him, feeding into his emotions, growing resentment for her mother when things were complicated back then. Jennie was stuck to an ‘us’ when it’s really just a ‘him.’ Jennie wasn’t left behind, and she was too young to understand that. Now she’s too old to want to understand.

“Well, I still don’t want to go,” she said stubbornly.

“Look, you’ve never had trouble making friends before, I’m confident you’ll be at the top of your class at any school, and you’ll have no trouble finding a job, so what is it? Besides your…issues with your mother.”

Well that’s just it, Jennie thought sarcastically. She didn’t want to see her mother. But most of all, she didn’t want to leave her father. He would be alone in this big, empty house. They had no pets. The maids only come every other two days and he rarely goes out as it is. 

Jennie looked around the room at the drawn ivory curtains, the small, black sofas, the mahogany desk with papers strewn about, and to the bed, where her father sat elevated. Beside him on the nightstand were pill containers with prescription medicine and drugs. Her father had countless health problems, thankfully none serious, but who would take care of him? He was a workaholic.

What if all the maids got simultaneously sick, and they couldn’t clean or take care of things her father couldn't? What if the chef decided to go tour five-star restaurants to further his own culinary skills and her father starved to death? (Not that he couldn’t cook for himself, but still.) What if he slipped down the steps and hurt himself? Her eyes watered, and she clamped her bottom lip between her teeth to stop it from trembling. 

Her father knew what was going through her head just from the way she was staring at him. “Oh, Jennie…” he murmured, and she ran to his side and threw her arms around him, wailing. 

“Dad,” she cried, voice watery and wavering. “I don’t want to leave youuuuahh.”

“It’ll only be for seven months, dear.” He said, stroking her brown hair.

“Seven months?” She snapped her head up, missing his chin by a few centimeters, tears brimming in her eyes. “That’s— That’s so long; that’s more than half a year!”

He chuckled. “It’ll go by quickly, and you can call me as much as you like. And if you’re really having trouble I’ll tell her to send you back.”

She sniffled, thinking it over. “…You promise?”

“I promise.”

Jennie sat up, rubbing her swollen eyes. “I haven’t packed my bags.” 

“The maids did it for you.”

“I haven’t quit my job yet.”

“Jennie, you work for me: the company.”

Jennie pursed her lips. “I haven’t told my friends. I can’t leave without telling them….face to face, they’ll think I’m dead.”

“You have two friends, and I’m sure they’ll be fine with a video call,” he reassured, raising a knowing brow. “Besides, you have plenty of time to do so.”

“Okay,” she said defeatedly. “When do I leave?”

…

Ladies and Gentlemen, Korean Air welcomes you to Auckland, New Zealand. The local time is 5:47AM. For your safety and of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisles clear until we are parked at the gate.

As a result of turbulence, Jennie had to peel her fingers off the arm rests one by one. She was glad her father booked her a seat with privacy because she didn’t need anyone to see her like this. She ignored the finger-shaped dips in the arm rests and looked out the oval-shaped window. The sun was just beginning to rise.

Jennie exited the plane with a yawn just as her phone dinged with a notification from her mother. She’s had her mom’s number all this time but she hasn’t used it to call or answer any of the texts she was sent for years. Jennie opened it reluctantly.

Mom: Jennie, I’m at the East gate, just outside it. I’ll see you soon.

She didn’t have to ask for any directions as her boarding gate was nearby. She walked with her carry-on luggage, a medium-sized suitcase with a minimum amount of clothes and items. She would have to buy more, she couldn’t travel with her whole closet.

Jennie was reaching the E-Gate, and outside the glass door was her mom, waving at her from the curbside and shouting her name as if the sign she was holding up wasn’t enough. Jennie blinked, feeling warmth spread across her face. Must she do that? She couldn’t bring herself to stand there and stare at her mother incredulously, it’d only delay things further, and she was tired. 

Jennie let out a long, depreciating sigh, gripped her suitcase’s handle so tight her knuckles turned white, and walked to her mother. The closer she got, the more butterflies fluttered in her stomach. The kind she’d rather not experience. Her mother was the carbon copy of herself, her father would say. She hated it. Jennie reached her.

“Mother,” Jennie greeted coldly.

Her mom sighed, her smile looking a little dimmer. “Hi, Jennie. I don’t even get a hug? A ‘Hello, I missed you?’” She joked, trying to make light of their situation. It wasn’t working. “You’re not happy to see me?” 

“No, not really.” Jennie answered. “I assume you feel the same?”

Not responding, her mom took Jennie’s bag and put it in the trunk of her car and they got in. Her mom pulled out of the parking space and began to drive. “I know that I’ve been a bad mom…and I’m sorry. I really am. And I know that’s not enough right now, but this summer I’ll try and make the most of it. I’m in the process of moving, so we’ll be going to that house. It’s a fresh start for both of us. You still like the ocean, don’t you? The house is by the ocean—“

“I’m tired.” Jennie interrupted. “Can we please talk later?”

Her mom gave a nod. “Yes, get some rest.” Jennie closed her eyes. 

When she opened them, a few hours had passed and it was brighter outside. She raised her hand in an attempt to block the sun. They were driving slowly down a street lined with houses. It was a pretty lively neighborhood, with lots of people and animals. There was a slight salty smell to the air from the ocean.

The car began to slow as it turned down a corner street, and Jennie kept an eye out, trying to guess which house her mom had bought. Her mom had a taste for a clean and modern look, so any house on the street could fit. But some houses had different designs, some more simple than others. Jennie was baffled when her mom passed the house she thought she would have picked and pulled into the driveway next to it. In the end it made sense since there was a moving truck parked on the curb. The house itself was white, a type of smoky brown, and gray, with two floors and a nice garage and porch, but the front yard was hideous. Horrendous. Horrifying. Heart-stopping?

It was extremely overgrown. Wildflowers and weeds sprouted from the tall grass and it grew somewhat over the sidewalk and touched the lower walls of the house. She wouldn't be surprised if there were a few snakes living there. It was an eyesore, really, almost like the previous owners didn’t care at all about the land. The house stuck out like a sore thumb among the mowed lawns on the street. 

They got out of the car, Jennie slower since she was still groggy from waking up. A tall man walked out of the house and waved at her mom. He was the help, Jennie guessed. But when they hugged each other she knew they might be friends or coworkers. “Tom, I want you to meet my daughter. This is Jennie.”

He turned to her, grinning with slightly crooked bottom teeth. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Tom. I’ll be helping you and your mom move everything in these next couple days.”

Jennie nodded at him. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Before her mom and Tom got into conversation, Jennie asked if she could explore the house. Her mom said she should find which room she wants.

Inside, just through the front door, there was a foyer room, and further there was an open space that was most likely going to be the living room. The kitchen was just across that, and it was a pretty big kitchen space, dark marble counters, stainless steel fridge, and other things. There was an entrance to the basement, and a hallway with a bathroom, two rooms, and one closet. She didn’t want a room on the ground floor. 

Jennie made her way upstairs to find which room she would claim. She didn’t need the largest one, but there had to be a medium-sized one. On the right of the top of the stairs there was a larger bedroom. She walked further down the hallway and entered a room on the left, because if she went any further down it would just be a bathroom, and decided she would take it. 

The room’s walls were painted a light gray, and it had two windows, allowing plenty of light to come through. It was sized perfectly and would fit her needs. There was still a twin-sized bed in the corner; hopefully Tom would move it out. Jennie turned in a circle, mentally planning out where she would have her things and how she would design. There was already a closet built in the room, so she wasn’t going to need any large dressers. She would make the room look different from the one at her father’s— fresh start, her mom had said.

Jennie made her way to the windows and pulled open the old curtains, fully expecting to see an overgrown yard with weeds and sticks hidden between the tall blades of grass, but that wasn't what she saw. The backyard was mowed, landscaped, and overall very nice compared to the front yard. But something was off, something was out of place. There was someone in her yard that was definitely not supposed to be there. Jennie pressed her face to the wire screen, scrutinizing the figure.

It was a girl, and she was sitting on a thick branch of the big tree in the middle of her backyard, sipping a juice box and swinging her legs childishly as if she had no care in the world. Eventually, the girl’s leg-swinging pace caused her to lose balance and fall backwards. She fell first on her neck and then flipped onto her back. Jennie winced. 

“That was so mean of you!” The girl yelled.

 She unmistakably said that to the tree.

“What the hell?” Jennie murmured, brows knitted. She watched the girl with something akin to frightful fascination as the girl scolded the tree, her hands moving wildly in the air. She climbed back onto the branch a moment later, and Jennie’s gaze shifted to the juice box lying forgotten in the grass. (Litter.)

Oh. Oh. There was a stranger in her yard.

Jennie promptly ran to the doorframe of her soon-to-be room, leaning forward. “Mom! There’s someone in our yard! Mom!” She waited, rolling her eyes when she didn’t receive an answer. Her mom must still be outside flirting with Tom. Jennie quickly ran back to the window to check if the strange girl was still there, and after confirming she was, ran down the stairs and out the house.

Outside, her mom was being handed a basket by Tom, and as Jennie got closer she saw it was filled with treats of sorts. Jennie stopped short of her mom. “Mom, someone is in our yard sitting on the tree.”

“That’s nice honey. Why don’t you bring these boxes to the kitchen for me?” Her mother answered distractedly and she frowned. She was still making goo-goo eyes at Tom— and probably wasn’t conscious of it. (Yuck.)

“No– ugh. You're not listening to me. I said there's a literal stranger in our yard.” She told her again, then remembering how yelled at the tree like it would verbally respond, she grumbled, “A real weirdo at that.”

Her mom raised a sharp brow. “Yeah? How about you give them some of Tom’s baked treats? Maybe you could make a friend,” she suggested, smiling as she opened Jennie’s palm and putting a small treat-filled baggy in her palm. Jennie stared at it, the silly characters on it smiling at her mockingly. She scoffed and turned on her heel, making her way back upstairs with the goodie bag still in hand. 

She flopped on the twin-bed mattress, coughing when a cloud of dust flew into the air. Jennie rolled onto her back and stared at the ugly, off-white popcorn ceiling. 

She didn’t want to have to make new friends. She never wanted to live here. She never wanted to leave her dad. Yet she didn’t have a choice. 

Jennie closed her eyes and sighed. She laid there for a good ten minutes before she decided she would go back downstairs and find something to do. Anything to keep her mind off the fact that she was thousands of miles away from her family and friends. Downstairs, there were more boxes on the floor now, and Jennie groaned knowing she would have to help unpack. She found herself wandering to the kitchen, where the door to the backyard was. The strange girl was still there, staring past  the top of the fence at something.

Jennie sat on a stool, resting her cheek on her palm. She looked out the window at the girl, sulking. Numerous questions ran laps through her mind: Who was she? Why was she in the backyard? Does she go to her new school? Does she live around here?

“Hey, what are you looking at?” Jennie turned to see Tom was holding a stack of boxes. She could barely see his face. With a huff, he dropped them in the middle of the room before angling his head to the window. “Oh, I see you’ve met the neighbor’s daughter.”

“The neighbor's daughter?”

“Yeah. I think she lives next door. I heard the old owners of this house let her in their yard a lot. I heard their daughter and her were close.”

“You live around here?”

“You could say that,” he answered with a shrug. “Word travels fast in this neighborhood.” (Translation: Everyone is nosey.)

“Oh, okay.” Jennie replied. She doesn’t know if she should worry about seeing him around a lot or not. Tom walked back outside to get another round of boxes. Jennie left through the back door and could hear the strange girl now humming a song. 

“Excuse me!” She yelled as she approached the base of the tree.

The girl continued to sing and hum and swing her legs. “Hey!” She yelled louder.

The girl paused in her movements and sound-making, head lowering. “Oh, hello!”

“Yeah, hi. You can't, like, sit in a tree in your own backyard? Or in someone else’s yard?”

“But I like yours,” she responded.

“What?” Jennie said dumbly.

“You have such a nice tree,” she said. “Don’t you want to come up here?”

No she does not. She is not a monkey, or squirrel, or possum, or any animal that likes trees for that matter. “Who the hell are you?” Jennie demanded, moving her arms uselessly by her sides.

“(Y/n),” the girl responded easily, legs picking up their swinging again. 

“(Y/n),” Jennie repeated densely. “What the hell are you doing?”

You said nothing and began humming a song as you looked above the fence again.

“This is great—just fantastic.” Jennie muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “You mind getting away from my house, (Y/n)?”

You stopped and finally looked down at her. Jennie was momentarily stunned, she hadn’t expected you’d be so pretty. Even so…

“Your house?” You asked, tilting your head oddly. “You live here?”

Jennie fought, very bravely— might she add— the urge to slap her forehead. Did you not see or hear her come out of the back door? “Of course I d–”

“In a tree?” You asked with wondrous eyes, sounding awed. “Really?”

Jennie backpedaled. “No, what? Just, no, I–”

“I’ve never met someone who lives in a tree. Is it nice? Where do you put your head when you sleep? Do the animals tell you bedtime stories?”

“I don’t live in a tree! I live in that house,” Jennie told her, pointing to her house when she shouldn’t need to. 

“Oh,” You said, seemingly disappointed. (Jennie didn’t care.)

“Yeah. So are you going to be leaving soon?”

“Am I going to be leaving soon?” You repeated like a parrot.

“Yes, are you?”

“Am I?” You asked again.

Jennie sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. This was going absolutely nowhere. “Why are you just repeating…nevermind. I don’t have time for this. Goodbye.” Jennie said, turning on her heel to walk back inside. 

“Bye! It was nice to meet you!” You shouted after her, grinning. 

What a complete weirdo, Jennie thought, slamming the screen door shut behind her. She walked through the kitchen, intending to go back to her room and entertain herself with her phone, when she noticed her mom at the front door saying goodbyes to Tom. Jennie realized there were a lot more boxes sitting around now. 

The door shut and her mom turned around, eyeing the cluttered floor. “I guess we should start unpacking,” she murmured, hands on her hips. She looked at Jennie, seemingly hesitant. “You can rest if you’re tired, Tom managed to get the couches inside. They’re comfortable,” she offered. 

Jennie found herself shaking her head no. “I’ll help. It's a…” she yawned. “A lot of boxes.” 

Her mother raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, kneeling to open the first box in front of her. “I assume where Tom put the boxes is what room the things inside go in?”

“Yes, but don’t open the ones with green tape, I have to buy furniture for them tomorrow.”

So, in a slightly awkward silence, they unpacked the boxes, placing items in their respective places. Hours passed, and the sun sunk into the ocean and the moon emerged— as did the creatures of the night. The tree leaves blew with the wind and the ocean lapped the shore, a peaceful sound. 

Jennie was currently in the kitchen, organizing the plates and bowls into cabinets when she looked out the curtainless window to the backyard. It was pitch black save for the nightlights, and the strange girl was gone. 

“Jennie, why don’t you finish up there and we’ll call it a night,” her mom called from down the hall in the bathroom.

“Okay,” she responded distractedly. 

The juice box was tucked in a hole in the tree. 

…

Jennie was woken by gentle shaking of her shoulder. She blinked groggily, sitting up slightly. The face of her mom came into view. “What time is it?”

“12:26pm,” her mom told her.

Jennie yawned. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

“I figured you were jetlagged. And you’re probably hungry, so I ordered brunch.”

Jennie ate her french toast, listening to her mom tell her what the plan of the day was. They were to go grocery shopping to fill up the empty fridge,  to IKEA to buy some more furniture, and Jennie would have some time to walk around the neighborhood before sunset.

After she ate, Jennie went upstairs and dug through her suitcase's options and was surprised. The maids really did know what she liked, and she found it hard to pick an outfit since all of them were good. Finally settling on baggy blue jeans and a cropped, beige camisole with a matching jacket, she slipped into white flats and grabbed her wallet before heading downstairs. Her mother was already dressed and seated on the ivory couches scrolling on her phone, waiting. 

She looked up when Jennie approached. “You look nice. Ready to go?” she asked, standing. Jennie nodded at her and they walked out the door together. 

Jennie was in a particularly good mood after having food in her stomach until her mom brought up school in the car ride to the grocery store. The topic soured Jennie's mood considerably. She had hoped they would avoid any discussion about it till (at the latest— a stretch, really) the night before her first day of school. The idea of going to another school hadn't quite seeped in yet. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” her mother tried, glancing at Jennie before returning her eyes to the road. “I’ve heard great things about the highschool from Tom; his friend’s son goes there.”

Tom, again. Tom this, Tom that, Tom said this, Tom did that.  “Speaking of Tom, what’s going on between you two?” Jennie pried. Did her mom think she didn’t notice the subtle flirting and touches they had as they were unpacking? Something was going on, and she was going to find out.

A mask of indifference settled on her mom’s face. “Nothing. And don’t change the topic. You never know, you might love the school.” 

Jennie rested her forehead on the window, watching the outside speed past. “We’ll see,” she whispered. 

Shopping for groceries went by relatively quickly, and they were on the way to IKEA in less than two hours. At IKEA, they ended up purchasing two tables, a TV stand, shelves, bed frames, and some rugs. Most of it will be delivered to their house from tomorrow to the next few days.

When Jennie got home, she changed into black biker shorts and a lightweight, baby blue hoodie due to the temperature rising quite a bit. She decided she would walk around the neighborhood. 

“I’m going on a walk!” She yelled, sliding her shoes back on. 

“Is your phone charged?” Her mom’s head peeked out from the kitchen, brow raised in question. 

“76%,” she responded, waving her phone in the air. 

“Okay, don’t go too far and get lost, and be back by…let’s say six.”

Jennie was out the door shortly. She paused at the end of the driveway, her thoughts conflicted on whether to go in the left or right direction. (She chose left.) Mid-afternoon, the neighborhood was infested with crawling newborns on lawn blankets and buzzing families. It was a cosmopolitan melting plot, inclusive and close-knit all at once. She felt slightly overwhelmed. 

It didn’t go past her that she was on the receiving end of curious onlookers. Did she stand out that much? Nonetheless, she ignored them. 

She mentally noted there was an ice cream shop further down the street she walked, right next to the park. Jennie made her way across the street to another block of the neighborhood, and it was obvious the people living on this street were more well off. The houses were practically mini mansions, and their lawns fenced in.

Jennie heard a shout from behind. “Hey!…Hey, wait up!” 

Jennie glanced behind her and quickly snapped her head back forward. Jogging up to her was (Y/n) again— the tree girl— waving her hand in the air wildly as she willed Jennie to slow her pace. With a groan, she slid the hood over her head and pulled the strings so tight she cut off her air supply till she relented. She began to gradually speed up her pace, almost breaking into a jog. You don’t know me. Go away. The footsteps got closer and Jennie eventually gave up, walking normally again. 

Panting, the girl fell in step with Jennie. “You walk so fast!” You wheezed. Jennie fought back a devilish smile. 

You were wearing something similar to Jennie, except you had on a jacket instead of a hoodie. You had stickers all over your face, however, and Jennie felt slightly offended, being a sticker collector and all. That’s not how you use stickers! 

“How’d you know it was me?” She asked.

“That’s easy; it’s like you have a big target on your back,” you laughed, poking her back to emphasize your point. 

She slapped your hands away. “A target on my back?” Jennie murmured, face scrunched in confusion.

“You’re new, is what I mean, like a shiny new toy.” You elaborated, hands moving animatedly. Then, your voice falled to a low murmur. “Everyone more or less knows each other here.”

“And that’s a good thing? You don’t sound happy about that at all.” 

With the absence of your answer she noticed the weight of snoopy eyes had dissipated since you came, they were no longer burning holes through her. She also noted that the surroundings were quieter, like some of those outside moved to their backyards or went inside. She didn’t dwell on why. 

“So…” You dragged out. “What made you move here?”

“Oh, I’m just visiting for a couple months.”  

“Visiting relatives?”

“Just my mom.”

A sign that had the image of a wave and underneath, directions to the dock was coming closer. The salty smell of the ocean was also more prominent. 

You hummed. “Do you like pengui—” You paused. 

“Do I like what?”

She stopped walking after noticing you had stopped before the sign. “What is it?”

You fidgeted in place. “I can’t go that far.”

“Why?”

You looked nervous— and Jennie thought it was a strange look on you. “I’m forbidden, they don’t want me to find the treasure… they want it for themselves.” 

“Huh?” 

You smiled so bright Jennie had to squint. “Did you know penguins poop every twenty minutes?”

What in the world?

Jennie’s face scrunched up. She was feeling lightheaded from the way you talked. Her head was spinning in circles. Everything you said was completely random— nothing connected. 

She ultimately decided you weren’t worth the headache and continued walking forward. Like she thought, you stayed rooted to your spot, a pout making the corners of your lips fall. 

Before she turned to enter the gate that was a part of the metal fence around the shoreline, separating homes from the sand, she heard you tell her to wave at the ocean for you.  

Good grief.

…

It’s been a few days since Jennie had an encounter with (Y/n), and she’d be lying if she said she wasn��t somewhat curious as to where she was. She refused to dwell on the idea that she missed the loudness that came with her. She didn’t. Why would she? She likes quiet. The peace and calm—

At the sound of loud singing, Jennie practically fell off her bed and scurried to the open window. (Leaving it open is a habit of hers now). Her eyes widened. You were sitting in the tree again, a regular pastime for you apparently, another juice box crushed in your hand. This time, however, you had brought three pillows, and she watched as you threw them down at the base of the tree. 

Safety measures in case you fell again?

She found herself throwing on some sweats and leaving her room. 

From the base of the tree, you blinked down at her, your hair falling around you. Then, comically, you waved wildly at her. “Hi, you!” 

“Hello… You’re looking at the ocean again?” She wondered why you seemed so entranced by it, why you looked at it with such wonder. It was just water. She wondered why she even bothered talking to you; wasn’t she trying to distance herself?

“Yes! Want to see?” 

“I don’t know, I’m good down here. I’m not good at climbing,” she shook her head, recalling the time she injured her ankle after an attempt to climb a tree after her cousin. 

“You’ll be fine! I’ll help you,” you hopped off the branch, landing on the ground next to her. “I’ll be down here to catch you if you fall.”

Jennie bit her lip and looked to the side, imagining the pain she’d go through if she fell. “But…”

“But- you’ll be just fine! C’mon, start climbing up. You can use that wedge there…”

Sitting in the tree, Jennie wondered how she let you coerce her into doing it. The view was pretty nice though. Clear waters stretched out, white sand, and the sun. 

“See, I knew you could do it,” you said when you sat next to her. Jennie merely hummed. You shuffled about before your face brightened up. You turned to her, eyes practically sparkling. “Hey, did you know that…” 

Hey. You. Hey, you. It’s then when she realized you’ve never called her by her name. It was always “you” or “hey” in place of her name. 

Jennie tilted her head at you, cutting your fun fact off. “Wait, do you even know my name?”

You paused, and it was clear you were searching through your (possibly glitter infested) mind for it. The effort was clear on your face and Jennie let out a quiet scoff, a sign of her amusement. She knocked your shoe with her own. “It’s Jennie.”

You gasped. “I totally knew that, you didn’t let me remember.”

“Sure.” Ignoring your pout, she carefully climbed down the tree. “Make sure you don’t forget it.”

[cambion-companion]

Raphael x Aasimar!reader

My favorite chapter from my Ao3 fanfic Fallen in Flame.

Nostalgic for my cambion x angel dynamic.

Word count: 3500

Flames licked around you, the enveloping darkness surrounding you interrupted by dancing orange light as sparks of fire illuminated the edges of your vision. Instead of harming you, the strokes of heat caressed your legs, all while lapping a possessive trail up to the apex of your thighs and your burning arousal.

You felt strong unseen hands gripping and squeezing your flesh, the nails that bit into your skin drawing blood. These roughly intimate ministrations in the darkness were met by your sighs of pleasure; a drawn-out whimper as you felt him enter you, thrusting deliciously deep only to withdraw and repeat the motion.

A sharp pain in your rib jolted you awake, sending you bolt upright in your bedroll, a sheen of cold sweat on your forehead.

 

“Sorry darling, the noises you’re making are unconscionable even by my low standards.” Astarion withdrew his foot from your side and returned with a slight glower to his bedroll.

“Don’t you have a bear to wrestle?” Your words slurred together.

You were still distracted by the feelings of pleasure that had not disappeared as the waking world intruded.

You pressed your thighs together and bit back a moan as the feeling of being fucked roughly grew to a crescendo and then eased with surprising swiftness.

“What has gotten into you?” Astarion griped, giving your movements a roguishly appraising look. “If you need to relieve some tension, darling, all you have to do is ask.”

“Shut up, Astarion.” You retorted, squeezing your eyes closed as the phantom caresses stilled completely, mercifully, but left you feeling empty and frustrated.

“Mhm.” The vampire said tersely. “Sweet dreams.” Astarion made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and rolled over, facing his back to you as he entered his trance once more.

You waited for a moment before getting quietly to your feet, wobbling slightly and wracking your brain to make sense of what the hells had just happened.

Moonlight shone gently upon your person as you walked away from your resting companions. You saw Dame Aylin and Isobel speaking together near the rubble of an ancient stone building, repurposed for the moment to house training activities.

You looked at Aylin with mild jealousy, her beautiful full feathered wings gleaming white under the starry sky. Her silver eyes caught your own as she marked your approach and she gave you a curt nod, her gaze following you as you walked past.

Your fellow Aasimar, daughter of Selune as she was, had been little help when you asked if there was a way to regain the missing shard of your soul. She held pity for you, that much was obvious, but there was certainly an undercurrent of disdain as well. As though she saw you as something defiled.

“Away.” Aylin had said haughtily earlier that week when you first tried to speak more with her about your predicament. “I have a darling to adore.” Her attention spent solely on Isobel, her lover.

Aylin’s most helpful advice had been said in clipped tones of annoyance at your own persistence, “Ketheric is vanquished. Your goal must now be ridding yourself of the Illithid parasite”.

Perhaps it was the distance between yourself and the celestial plane, but you couldn’t remember your fellow Aasimar having such an infuriating sense of self-righteous arrogance.

You glanced back over your shoulder at the silvered couple radiating light from the Moonmaiden’s power. An odd wistfulness took hold of your heart, unbidden memories of Raphael and all he had allowed you to experience floated to the forefront of your mind.

Lost in thought you approached the edge of where the roiling shadows of Shar’s curse remained. The dark coils probed against where the silver moon shone her light upon the ground as if trying to test the strength of it.

Halsin had said it would take time for the land to recover, yet in your bones you could sense movements of a great healing taking place in the earth beneath your feet.

You saw movement in the darkness and stopped abruptly, the full moon behind you casting your image in shadow upon the ground and illuminating the path ahead. Another flicker of movement caught your eye; someone or something hiding behind the trunk of a gnarled oak tree long bereft of any leaves.

You withdrew your sword with the long sound of metal against metal finished by a delicate ringing and the ethereal glow the weapon cast around it.

Korilla stepped out from behind the dead tree.

She seemed preoccupied with keeping an eye on the distant toll house looming dark and seemingly empty against the grey horizon. She therefore didn’t mark your surprised expression at her sudden appearance.

“You should be more careful where you set camp.” She said, her voice a harsh whisper. “There are some things not even my master can protect you from.”

“You’re scared of a…toll collector?” You sheathed your weapon, in doing so your surroundings dimmed. “Seems a bit ironic, no?”

Korilla didn’t smile. “I came to warn you to stay away from there. You have proved prone to wandering, so heed my words this time.”

“Speaking of your master…” You waved your hand and negated the whirring orange portal Korilla had just conjured. “Sorry to disrupt your usual dramatic exit but I need to speak with him.”

“He isn’t taking house calls currently.” Korilla gave you a curious look, between suspicion and pity.

“Make an exception.” You growled; your stature so much taller than the shorter woman put in stark contrast as you walked into her personal space.

Korilla hesitated, looking you up and down with a dubious brow. Finally, she shrugged. “Your funeral, angel.”

She turned away, hesitated, then glanced back at you. “May I?” She asked sardonically.

You nodded, suppressing a small smile.

Korilla waved her hand again and conjured her flaming portal. You felt a prickle on the back of your neck as you followed her through into the foyer of Raphael’s home.

“Gaudy as ever.” You murmured, looking around and spotting a bronze statue of the cambion himself set high as it overlooked the marbled hall.

“Be good and stay here.” Korilla said sternly, making a beeline down the dimly lit corridor and out of sight.

She did not return.

You turned slowly on the spot, looking up at the grossly oversized chandelier. Something about the glittering lights reminded you of your own home.

You drew closer while watching how the flame inside each shining crystal moved around like some kind of viscous fluid. You realized it wasn’t flame at all and your stomach clenched.

You pulled your face away and averted your gaze.

These were remnants of souls, shredded and confined into crystals to illuminate the home of a devil. You imagined you could hear the echoes of their screams.

Footsteps, the rustling of leathery wings unfurling and the smell of cherries, musk and sulphur.

“What have we here?” Raphael spoke behind you. “A plucked hen willfully wandering into the fox’s den.”

You huffed an annoyed sigh and faced him, turning your back firmly to the haunting chandelier. “Rhymes?” You forced bravado, clenching your hands to keep from shaking, whether from fear or anger you didn’t know. “Very well, get it all out of your system.”

His yellow eyes flickered in mild surprise before darkening with delight. “But you are no hen are you, my dove?” He approached slowly, his wings moving and stretching languidly with each measured step. “I was going to wait until you came crawling back to me, but I do so enjoy taming my pets.” Raphael slid his hand up along your side, smirking when he felt you shiver beneath his fingers.

“I am not your pet.” You said with vitriol.

Raphael smiled sharply, his eyebrows angling just enough to accentuate the dangerous angles of his face. “Yet with every word uttered from that lush mouth, my grip on your lovely neck tightens.”

To demonstrate he placed his hand gently against your throat, giving a brief squeeze. “I do not enjoy unexpected visitors, my dear. What is the adage? ‘Curiosity killed the cat’?”

“’But satisfaction brought him back’.” You replied, fighting back a smile at his smoldering reaction. “Besides, I thought I was the dove. Or was it a mouse?”

“Take your pick of whatever prey you wish.” Raphael murmured, stroking your skin with deliberate movements. “Tell me, what ill-conceived notion brought you back to my House of Hope?”

“I want an answer, Raphael.” You said, leveling an impassive gaze on him as you pushed his hand away from your neck. “I was visited in dreams by an incubus not long ago.” Your eyes narrowed into slits as Raphael chortled. “Did you send it?”

“I am a generous host.” Raphael ignored your question and burning look. “Therefore, I shall overlook your lack of decorum. Intruding into the home of a devil such as myself isn’t the wisest course of action, columba mea.”

You winced at the sound of the infernal words. Raphael chuckled, amused by your reaction. He tilted your chin up, stroking a thumb along your tense jaw. “Instead of singeing your fingertips, I will offer you a less unpleasant penance.”

“Penance?”

“Why yes. You angels are all about such tripe, after all.” Raphael chuckled again, his face darkening. “Come.”

You hesitated, then followed him into the familiar dining hall. The food was still there, this time however you noticed the foul stench and the flies swarming around the spoiled fruits and meats.

“Did you servants go on strike?” You wrinkled your nose in distaste.

“Something like that.” Raphael intoned, unamused. “They have been preoccupied attending other messes.”

You stopped in your tracks, a cold shudder running from your head down to your feet. Your eyes locked on a feminine figure leaning casually against a dark stone pillar. For a moment you thought it a mirror, your own image made flesh stood casually watching you with a sly smirk.

“Haarlep.” Raphael gestured to your double, his eyes calculating each movement your body made in reaction to this revelation. “Meet…well, you two are already intimately acquainted.”

Your eyes widened in rage, and you reached for the sword on your back. “Devil.” You hissed, realizing too late all of your weapons had been magically stripped from your person upon entering through Korilla’s portal.

“An astute one.” Haarlep straightened slightly and gave you a condescending round of applause. “A nice change from the usual, Raphael.”

“’Haarlep’?” You intoned, pausing as you thought it over. You gave Raphael a disbelieving glance. “This creature bears an anagram of your name?”

Raphael looked slightly impressed. “What a clever little thing you’re turning out to be.”

Your eyes flicked between the cambion and the devil and like a strike of lightning on a humid summer night the truth came to you. “It’s been you.” You pointed with disgust at the incubus. “You’re the reason I’ve been plagued by…these feelings of…” You trailed off, hating yourself for the burning in your cheeks.

“She is a darling broken thing.” Haarlep said in an affectation of your voice. You watched your own lips move to form the words, chills dragging cold fingers down your spine. “I can see why you favor her.” The incubus approached with movements akin to a forest cat stalking prey, causing you to hiss warningly though gritted teeth. “Such a passionate little soul, even if it isn’t whole.”

“Please tell me you don’t speak in rhyme as well.” Steeling your nerves, you remained standing tall and unmoving.

Haarlep only giggled, the coquettish sound making you want to throw a punch and knock yourself flat.

You glared over at where Raphael had sunk languidly into an ebony chair adorned with gothic detailing carved into the black wood. He watched with detached amusement as his orchestrated scene unfolded.

“I signed no agreement to this.” You spat out, keeping a wary side eye on your double as it began circling you.

“Your body signed the contract for you. Your moans of pleasure illustrating a signature dripping with ecstasy rather than ink.” Raphael said, his flaming gaze dropping to the shine of perspiration on your chest. “But I am no incubus, I leave such…unimaginative methods to those more restricted by their natures.”

Next to you Haarlep pouted, pulling yet another simpering expression you hoped to never see upon your face again.

“Now, where were we?” Raphael put a finger to his chin in thought. “Ah, yes. Payment for your impudence.” He beckoned you imperiously with one finger. “Approach.”

Raphael smiled slightly as you grudgingly obeyed. “Kneel.”

You grimaced and wavered where you stood, looking down at his smug expression. You felt hands upon your shoulders and sweet breath on your face as Haarlep intruded into your space, pressing down to encourage continued obeisance.

“Get your hands off me, devil.” A moment of incandescent rage overtook your body at the fiend’s touch, a purely instinctual reaction you had not experienced when Raphael touched you.

Your eyes emitted a sharp blue glow and a burst of stark white energy rippled like a shockwave from your person, pushing Haarlep back several paces. The incubus’ form flickered for a moment before resolving back into your perfect double. The devil opened its mouth, sharp snakelike fangs protruding from your replicated lips as it made an ugly sound between scream and infernal speech.

Claws grew from its hands and Haarlep raised them to swipe at your side.

“Stop.” Raphael said sharply, and to your surprise the incubus froze mid swing. “I will not tolerate such chaos in my house.” He remained calm, untouched by your burst of divine energy, though his appraisal of you had changed into something you’d not seen from him before. He dismissed his incubus with a wave of his hand and impatient glare.

For the first time Raphael spoke your name, and what lingered of your soul within your body responded. “Kneel.” He said again, less genteel this time. “You will come seeking me willing and wanton soon, but that is not my intent tonight.”

You hesitated as Raphael gave you a look of rising impatience and so you knelt upon the hard marble floor.

“Good. She learns.” Raphael purred, looking down at you. He fell silent for a moment, relishing the sight of you so vulnerable before him. “What an interesting little display, we will have to explore such passionate reactions in the future.” He caressed the ebony wood on which his arms rested. “For now, I wish to discuss the matter of your soul.”

You laughed softly, surprising yourself. “I could say I’m shocked.”

“Part of your soul has tragically been parted from you.” Raphael leaned forward slightly, the wooden chair creaking beneath his weight. “And I prefer to deal with those who are whole. Half a meal is not as satisfying after all.”

“I taste terrible.” You said, an echo of Gale’s words to Astarion ringing in your mind. “I wouldn’t recommend trying it.”

“I have it on good authority you taste quite delicious.” Raphael said softly, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip with relish that made your skin crawl and your thighs tighten.

“Do continue to bite your lip like that as I explain my terms.” Raphael continued dryly, his eyes falling appreciatively to your lips. “I will assist you in retrieving the shard of your soul from your estranged kindred. In exchange, you agree to perform three favors for me.”

You furrowed your brow at him, perplexed. “Do you think I’m stupid, Raphael?”

“It depends on the day, my dear.” Raphael gives a short wry laugh and leans back again. “I think you are endlessly entertaining. Which is more than can be said for most who wander so prettily into the palm of my hand.”

You fall silent, the flames crackling in the oversized hearth as you mulled over Raphael’s offer. It was tantalizing how achingly close you were to what you’d fervently desired since landing on the beach beside the Nautiloid wreckage. Since being spurned and cast out of the only home you’d ever known.

“I require revisions.”

“As do all great performances.” Raphael didn’t seem at all surprised or put off. “Life is but a stage, after all. And you, little fledgling, are a most fascinating player.”

“I’m flattered.” You deadpanned.

“Don’t be.” Raphael drawled, his lips twisting into a sinister smirk. “Be careful how you walk this rope. After all you have no wings to catch you, and one misstep would see you hanging from it.” He demonstrated the motion of swinging with his hand.

Despite yourself, you heeded his advice. “I would require you to detail these ‘three favors’ before I sign any contract or make any deal with you. Also, I need a way to reach you, so I don’t have to track down Korilla every time.”

“You’ve had the means to reach me always at the tip of your tongue.” Raphael sighed theatrically and produced a small black sphere into his hand and tossed it to you. “However, this sending stone should suffice for those lacking in imagination.”

You caught the heavy stone orb and looked into it, seeing nothing but your own face mirrored back at you, distorted on the round surface.

“You may call, I may answer.” Raphael stood and offered you his hand, his skin glinting a deep cherry red in the flickering firelight. “Have we an accord?”

You hesitated, your knees aching. You stared for a long minute at the offered hand. Your very blood reviling against the decision you were about to make.

The heat from his skin enveloped your own as you slid your fingers against his and he helped you up. “I agree to seeing and reading the contract you draw up.”

“An angel after my own heart.” Raphael’s voice dripped sarcasm as his clawlike nails bit into your hand momentarily, but he nodded. “Very well, you may peruse the infernal text to your heart’s content.”

Raphael produced a roll of parchment from a conjured cloud of sulphur that stung your eyes and nostrils. He waited with veiled annoyance as you coughed several times.

You spoke again only after clearing the acrid stench from your airways. “Very well, I will have Gale help me translate this since you seem to be hell-bent on making it as hard as possible.”

“Please!” Raphael said in a wounded tone. “Everything I do is aimed to help.”

You rolled your eyes and took the scroll, wincing as it scorched your fingers upon contact. You hastily stowed it and your newly acquired scrying orb into your small pouch of holding.

“Once your binding signature is made upon the parchment, I will come to collect.” Raphael smiled archly at you. “If you do not seek me out first.”

You snorted. “Don’t count on it, devil.” Your words were lined with a touch of familiarity at your usual tension-laden banter.

“I require something more to set the balance. Your intrusion and your little display earlier have set the score against you.” Raphael approached confidently, taking your chin rather roughly before you could protest.

Your eyes widened, thinking he was going to kiss you again but instead his lips and teeth found the side of your neck.

“First Astarion, now you!” You squeaked with undignified aggravation, biting your tongue to suppress a groan of pleasure at the unexpected scrape of his teeth against your skin. You arched into his touch, a ripple of something primal awakening deep within you.

Then his saliva against your neck began to burn and you felt the devil’s mark take hold as Raphael withdrew and licked his lips, his flaming eyes hooded. “While wandering the chaos of the mortal plane, don’t forget the laws of cause and effect, sweetling. There is a reckoning for every action you take with one such as I.”

“As with all devils.” You winced, unable to keep the worry off your face as you felt the welted flesh of where he’d marked your skin.

“I promise you on everything I own.” Raphael leaned into your space again and brushed his fingers through your hair, scraping his nails against your scalp not unpleasantly. He paused, catching your eyes with his before continuing. “You’ve never dealt with a devil like me before.”

And with a sharp push he sent you plummeting through an infernal portal, landing flat on your back upon your vacated bedroll. The noise of impact followed by your groan of pain awakened the rest of camp. Karlach was first on her feet, sword in hand before Gale’s eyes even opened.

You fought to gasp the air back into your lungs, slowly sitting up and opening your bag to gingerly retrieve the contract Raphael had drawn up. Your eyes found the wizard of the party as he too began voicing the same questions being lobbied at you from all sides.

Your voice was shaky but determined. “Gale, do you have the spell Comprehend Languages prepared?”

[anime-rambles]

Safe with Us: Part 1

Pairing: Alpha!KiriBaku x Omega!MidoriyaTwinReader

Type: Angst, hurt, forced scenting.

Word Count: 3500+

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support and love for my work, I have been super busy at the moment in my personal life and haven't really ad a moment to breathe but I do have this finished and wanted to share with everyone. Part 2 coming soon. I have a new taglist form follow the link below and it will bring you too it. Much love as always, Tiff <3

Summary: You were Midroiya's twin, Bakugou's mate but life isn't easy and one day you were kidnapped, stripped from everything you know. Many years have passed, Bakugou has moved on but only now have you been able to escape, to return to your family. A family that has moved on.

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TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

There were many things in your life that you thought was unfair, for one, living with your father away from your twin, having a quirk without your twin and being an omega and not being allowed to be an omega. You know nothing of your omegain side, only that it was something to be ashamed of. That you were merely the lowest of the low and even alpha’s, your destined alpha would tire of you and seek other mates, and you had to be okay with it. 

Your father brought you to this group of alpha’s, you never knew why but one thing was for sure they were villains. When the time came for your first heat, that was the last time you saw your father. He had sold you to them, and left you behind. For many a year the villains took care of you, but not for free, you cooked, cleaned and just about did anything that was expected of you. There was one alpha in the group, a new guy, who took a shine to you. He often would tell you he would find a way to get you home, to trust him, that you will know when the time is right. 

There was an explosion in the compound, it had knocked you straight off your feet. The door to your room, which was more of a cage, unlocked and the door opened slowly. You could hear screams in the distance and you knew it was time to run. A red feather floated into the room and flew around you, pushing at your back towards the door. It is definitely the sign you’ve been waiting for.  So you ran, ran as hard as your feet would take you. Your destination? Unknown. You had nothing, no money, no shelter, you were scared of what would happen now, you could embrace your omega. You could hardly remember your mother, or even if she would take you in, your twin on the other hand… 

You ran to the nearest phone booth, putting some coins you had found in your pocket and dialing the only number you could remember, hoping he never changed it. 

Beep….beep…beep…

“Hello?” A voice croaked out from the end of the phone.

“Izuku” You whispered, tears already filling your eyes. 

“Yes, who is it? It's the middle of the night.” His voice sounded impatient.

“Zuzu, I ne-”

“Y/N, YOU’RE ALIVE, whereareyouareyouokaystaythereillcomeandgetyoudontgoanywhere..” Izuku interrupted you and tears flowed down your face, more happy tears than anything. 

+++

“So, you’re telling me, Izuku has a twin, that we’ve never met, that you knew of, that your alpha chose and never thought to mention it to me?” Kirishima stood in front of Bakugou with his arms crossed trying to wrap his head around this new information. Bakugou dropped his bag that he was packing and turned to Kirishima. 

“Look, I'm sorry Eiji, what do you want me to say? We both thought she died? she disappeared around the same time Izuku dad went missing and we know how that turned out, she was young and already showing as an omega, and yes my alpha chose her, she was my mate,  but she disappeared, my alpha disappeared with her and then you came into my life and woke him up again, waking him up with that big stupid grin of yours, and my alpha claimed you as my mate too.” Bakugou made his way to Kirishima and placed his hands on his face. Kirishima smiled up at him, not really bothered about the omega, Kirishima knew that if Bakugou’s alpha had already chosen the omega as a mate that his own alpha would do the same. Kirishima had a lot of love to go around. Often the pair would add an extra member during ruts but no one ever felt right for the red head to let them stay around. Kirishima was actually quite excited to meet her but he wants Bakugou to talk about it, to open up more. Kirishima lent forward to kiss Bakugou. 

“I know bro, so manly you are” Bakugou pulled a face and stepped away from Kirishima. 

“What did I say shitty hair, stop calling me bro when you are touching or inside me” Bakugou picked up his bag again and Kirishima just laughed smacking Bakugou ass as he left his room and walked into the main area of the den. 

Everyone in the pack lived there and had their own rooms, Kirishima also had his own room but barely spent time in there anymore since him and Bakugou began courting. Bakugou could see Midoriya pacing at the door, with Todoroki at his side trying to calm him down. 

“God Katsuki hurry up, she’s lost and alone, andprobablythinksweveforgttenaboutheragaingodwearesuchbadexcudsesforalphas..” Midoriya rambled on, and Todoroki tried once again to calm his mate down, he was failing…badly. 

“Let’s go nerd” Bakugou grabbed Midoriya’s collar and pulled him out the door with his pack behind him wishing them luck. Bakugou grabbed his car keys on the way out and threw his and Midoriya’s bag in the boot of his car. 

Once both alpha’s were settled in the car, Bakugou began to drive to the airport, you weren’t in Japan anymore. Midoriya sat ringing his hands together not speaking, he was afraid and unsure what you would think. His alpha had missed you all these years, his baby omegain sister. Both of you had dreamed of becoming hero’s together but when he had not developed his quirk and you had, you promised him you’d still make his dream come true. Then you disappeared leaving him all alone, Bakugou and him grew very distant, and the alpha’s hate grew and grew and the next moment they were both in UA, constantly fighting each other for no reason. The pain of losing you, almost killed both of them. It was only after both nearly losing each other in villain attacks, was what brought them back together and formed their clan with the rest of the class. Midoriya wanted to talk to Bakugou, he wanted him to say something but he could barely read Bakugou’s emotion right now so he thought it was best to stay quiet. 

Bakugou could sense Midoriya wanted to talk but what could he possibly say at this moment. Everyone thought you had died. Mr Midoriya’s body was found years ago and you were nowhere to be seen. The hero’s and police all deemed you dead, as you were an omega without any protection whatsoever. Bakugou blamed himself that he left you all alone, even though there was nothing he could have done, he did not know what Mr.Midoriya was planning on doing. Since that day, the emptiness had taken over Bakugou, his alpha disappeared along with you. It took many hard years of Kirishima constantly working and helping Bakugou that his Alpha came back, but there was always a part missing, that part belonged with you. 

It was like any other day, you were in Bakugou’s house learning how to build a nest which you decided needed to be in his room and Bakugou allowed this, he thought it was adorable watching you learn how to be one with your second gender. It was a lot easier for Alpha’s to join with their second genders, where omega’s had a lot of learning to do. They only join fully with their omega when they go through their first heat. Then Mr. Midoriya arrived and he never saw you again. Bakugou rubbed on his neck, on your mark you left on him. The both of you had not joined sexually as you were both young but you both decided to mark each other early so that if something was to happen to either of you the other would have something to hold onto, one last hope. Bakugou hated the idea at the time but went along with it, and now he was so thankful for your brain for thinking about it, as it was all Bakugou had of you. The nest you had built had been taken by police as evidence and any belongings he had or Midoriya had all gone to some police station somewhere. 

Bakugou’s auto pilot had brought the pair straight to the airport and by the time Bakugou’s brain caught up with his body they were boarding the plane. Bakugou turned Midoriya who looked like he was going to pass out. He grabbed his hand and they locked eyes. 

“She alive, and were bringing her home, that is all the matters, the past is the past,” 

Midoriya nodded at Bakugou and the plane departed on its journey to you. 

+++

Your father took you far away, to some little town in a European country with the plans to marry you off for a quirk marriage to create strong children. You inherited your father fire quirk and you were quite skilled at creating objects with fires and if you concentrate hard enough you could even make bombs but it took too much energy and often left you dizzy and breathless so you promised Bakugou you would leave all the exploding to him. 

Bakugou, you could hardly believe after all this time of hoping and wanting, you could go back to him. Sometimes you would be able to sneak away and see the news, you could see him and Izuku sometimes. You’d often get punished for watching tv but it was worth it, seeing them. You had this longing in your chest to be with Bakugou, a voice inside, telling you he was safe but you didn’t understand what that voice was. All you knew was that you were an omega, that's it, nothing more. Nobody would tell you anything else. You would've been used when you were younger, something about a heat? But you never had one, the alpha’s had said it was because you were already mated to an alpha as you had his mark, that you were only useful to a dominant alpha to break the mark or they could always kill the alpha that marked you but you never told them who it was. You always said it was a nobody, that someone attacked you and they believed you, well all but one alpha, his name was Dabi. He had tried multiple times to get close to you and even one time tried to burn off your mark but it was no use, you had a fire quirk and his flame did nothing to you. After not having your heat because of your joining with someone, they opted to wait for it to come naturally. This would take time. If you were focused to be with an alpha now, the up would not survive, that was also not an option with how powerful your quirk could be. 

Dabi was chosen to be your minder and breaker, you either stayed in your cage or in his room. They hoped that with Dabi’s pheromones your omega would choose him. You spent many nights forced into Dabi’s neck breathing him in, his scent made you sick and just the thoughts of him made your skin crawl. Dabi had also brought you to Japan a few times in the hopes you would be able to point out this alpha, one way or another you eventually would be his. But the hero’s always appeared and attacked him which was getting on Dabi’s nerves so he stopped bringing you. It was too risky. 

You're not really sure how you escaped. You knew the alpha with the red wings, Tango, he called himself but you felt deep down he was lying. You also knew he was behind it but you were never really sure why he helped you but you were grateful. You were finally going home to Izuku and to Bakugou. You knew after all this time the pair of them had probably stopped looking for you, there was no reason to believe you were alive so you couldn’t hold that against them. You also knew that so much time had passed, you were in your twenties now and Bakugou probably found himself another mate, you made a bargain with yourself that you would take all the comfort you could from him, until he mentioned his mate, then you would back off, it was only fare to whomever his mate was. 

You could feel something inside you come alive, but you were unsure as to what it was. There was a deep hunger inside and you started to heat up. Maybe you had caught a cold while running away from the compound. Izuku has mentioned an airport and you had managed to find a way to it, one or two hero’s had helped you along the way. They were friends of ProHero Deku, which you found so hard to believe that your quickless brother was a hero. That his dream came true. You were sitting outside the arrivals section of the airport afraid to go in, you knew no matter where you were standing Izuku would find you. 

The main doors opened and a group of people existed. You looked at them, in the back you could faintly see a mop of green hair and blonde hair. Your heart sped up and you panicked, your brian telling you to hide for some reason, that you didn't deserve to be safe and home. So you hid behind a tree, you could hear your name being called and it was getting closer and closer to you but you stayed behind the tree. 

Bakugou could see your arms sticking out from behind the tree. He knew you were scared, he could smell it in the air. Midoriya was already crying, he nudged Midoriya in a way to tell him to pull himself together. Both alphas reached the tree and stood still, they could hear your whimpers. 

“y/n, there's no need to be afraid,” Midoriya said in a quiet tone. Bakguou placed the bags on the floor. 

“Zuzu, Kats, is it really you.” They could hear the tremble in your voice and could smell your fear in the air. Midoriya motioned to his neck, Bakugou understood immediately and started to pump calming pheromones into the air to try and calm you. Even though Midoriya was your brother, your mate would be able to calm you down more. You started to calm down slightly and peaked at them from around the tree. 

“There she is, we're here now ‘mega, nothings going to happen to you ever again” Bakugou stared deeply into your eyes, he held out his hand to you and so did Midoriya. You took a cautious step towards them, looking around the area for the villains, for Dabi. They had often used the boys' images to trick you in the past to bring your heat forward but something deep inside was telling you it was them right here in front of you. You held out both of your hands and grasped both of them. You released the breath you were holding and looked at the two, both alpha’s had tears in their eyes but neither moved a muscle. 

“You’re both really here” You sobbed and threw your arms around their necks pulling them into you. Both alphas used their arms and held you tight breathing you in. 

“It’s been so long, an-an-d I tried so many times to sh-show you I was ali-vvv-e but they stopped me”You sobbed harder into them. Bakugou and Midoriya both pumped out pheromones to try and calm you down but it was no use, Midoriya could hardly breathe himself as he was crying just as hard. 

“Y/n, I failed you, I’m so so sorry” Midoriya fell to his knees, and sobbed into his hands. You pulled away from Bakugou and joined Midoriya on the floor. 

“Hush now, let's not live in the past, right now all I want to do is go home and I want you to tell me what it’s like being heroes. I’m so proud of you both right now.” You said and held onto Midoriya, once his crying had stopped he pulled you both to your feet. Midoriya let you go and grabbed his and Bakugou’s bag, giving the two of you a minute. You looked up at him and his eyes stared deeply into your eyes. 

“Hello you” You whispered, and made your way to stand closer to Bakugou. 

“Hey ‘mega” Bakugou wrapped his arms tightly around you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He tucked your face into his neck and you could feel his pheromones were much stronger here. Something inside you said you should kiss his glands, you could see his mark on his neck, the same one you had placed on him all those years ago, binding you both together. At the time it was just you being sappy, what you had not realized was that it was that sappiness that actually saved you all these years. 

“Missed you, a part of me died when you weren't here, never letting you out of my sight again, I’ll die without you” Bakguou whispered into your neck. You hummed for a moment, letting the comfort take over.

“I'm here now, Kats.” you closed your eyes and just breathed in his scent, you hummed again and let it take over. Bakugou giggled into your neck. 

“You purring ‘mega,” 

“Wait what, that's not you making that sound” You pulled slightly in his arms to look at him. He smiled at you. 

“Nope, that’s your omega sweetheart, she’s calling to my alpha, her mate.” Bakugou kissed your forehead, you let out an uneasy laugh. Bakugou could read you in an instant. 

“Don’t worry, I help you learn about your omega again, don’t expect you know a lot bout it, stupid kidnappers, and beside it’s my job as Alpha to teach you.” Bakugou’s brows creased and you lent forward to kiss them. He stopped all movements which caused you to giggle. 

“I trust you Kats, now let's go home yeah?” you asked as you wriggled out of his arms and made your way to Midoriya taking his hand in yours. 

+++++++++++

Many many hours later you were back in Japan, sitting in Bakugou’s lap while Midoriya drove you home. On the flight home you learnt all about their pack, and den. You learnt basically everything you had missed over the years. Midoriya told you about Allmight and what happened, how he’s a hero now. Bakugou filled you in about everything else, the little things you might have missed in Midoriya’s mumblings. The boys pushed you to talk about your time but right now you couldn’t process anything about it without panicking so they stopped asking and decided to wait until you were ready. 

Midoriya pulled into the driveway of the house, and some of the pack members were already outside waiting. You looked up at them and started to panic, your head screaming at you that this is where you lose Bakugou, that his new omega is up there. Bakugou could sense your panic and asked Midoriya to get the pack inside and he’ll bring you in, in a minute. Bakugou watched as Midoriya ushered everyone inside and he locked eyes with Kirishima who was smiling like a dork to him.

Bakugou pulled you to him and kissed your forehead. “Come one ‘mega, what's going on in your head of yours.” You took a moment to breathe and pulled back to look at Bakugou and spoke. 

“I can’t do it Katsuki, I made a deal with myself that I can have you until we made it back to your pack, and I would give you back to your omega but I can't do it , I can't do it, I can't do it.” You sobbed into Bakugou. He released some pheromones and when your crying had slowed down he began to speak. 

“Y/n, I never took another omega, you’re the only one for me” Bakugou wiped your tears away. “But, b–ut, Kirishima? You mention him very differently. I assumed he was your new omega.” Bakugou took a breath, “I really didn’t want to do this so soon, but only recently did I start seeing Kirishima, he brought my Alpha back but sweetheart, Kirishima is an alpha and the pack alpha and I love you both so much, in my heart something clicks with it being us three, but we’ll give you time to heal okay, Kirishima agreed to stay away to help.” Bakugou rubbed your neck as he spoke, you stayed quiet. You weren’t quite sure how to react, were you happy? Yes. Were you mad? No. Something inside you was very excited to meet this new alpha, and you could faintly smell something new on Bakugou but you just imagined it was someone from the clan but now everything made sense and you started to smile. 

“Let’s go meet everyone then” You smiled brightly at Bakugou and kissed his lips. Bakugou’s smile joined yours and he released the breath he was holding.

[discount-shades]

Dead or Alive Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Stagecoach

A/N: Again gold stars to those who get all the western references. 

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader 

Warning: Western themed violence. 

Word Count: 3500 ish

Summary: Some old fashioned robbery. 

Previous     Masterlist     Next  

“Here, try these on.” Natasha hands you a pair of blue jeans before flopping onto your bed to watch you pull them on. Never having worn pants before, it feels strange to have fabric clinging to your skin. “Hmm,” Natasha muses, “They will have to work.”

Nodding, you grab the men’s shirt she hands you, buttoning it over your corset and tuck it in. The borrowed clothing will have to do until you have enough money to buy your own. She hands you a beat up felt hat. With your hair tucked into it you could almost pass for a boy. Almost. 

You had asked Natasha to help you pick out what to wear for the robbery. Jake hadn’t shared what the plan was so she had just set you up with an outfit similar to hers. “Bob has an old duster coat that you can wear.” She cocks her head to the side with a mischievous grin. “It will hide the curves.” She makes an hourglass figure with her hands and heat floods your face.

Straightening the cuffs you look at yourself in the warped mirror above the vanity. It’s hard to recognize yourself. Taking a deep breath you smooth down the front of the shirt. “Thank you, Natasha.” Turning to her, you smile. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. 

She smiles and stands to hug you. The woman’s story had closely resembled your own, except she had burned down the brothel she had worked in before running off with Bob. The two of them were inseparable, and made an amazing team. “I’m just paying it forward like you will someday. Plus it’s nice to have another woman on jobs.”

The door opens with a loud crash and causes you to jump back from each other. “Sugar you are going to—“ Jake’s words trail off as he looks at you. His eyes are so intense you can feel them rake over your body and linger on your legs. A wave of self consciousness overwhelms you. 

“We’ve been over this Jacob, knock on the door.” You cross your arms and glare at the man who has been struck dumb at the sight of you. “Do you need me to teach you? I’m sure I can explain the concept with simple words.”

Jake gives himself a little shake before responding. “If you didn’t want me in your room you would lock the door, Sugar.” Your frown just deepens. “Also take those clothes off, you are going to wear this.” 

He tosses a simple yellow cotton dress at you. “You’re giving me a dress? How is a dress any good for robbing people?”

“Lending, I am lending you a dress. You are going to be the bait to get them to stop.” 

Wrinkling your nose, you look at the dress. “Why do you have a dress? And why can’t I just wear my blue dress?”

“Because of this.” Jake ignores your first question and pulls out a piece of paper he had folded in his pocket and hands it to you. Unfolding it you see that it is a wanted poster with your name and face on it. The likeness is not good, but the description of your blue dress is spot on. “No stagecoach driver will stop for any woman in a blue dress with this going around.” 

“They want me alive?” Your eyes scan the text. “They are just going to hang me when they catch me, what do they want me alive for?”

“You’re not that important.” Jake says with a casual shrug. “The only reason you get a poster is probably because you escaped with us.”

“It looks bad if they put a ‘Dead or Alive’ bounty on someone who just stole a horse and is only worth $100.” Natasha explains. “Come on, let's hang it up.” Natasha grabs the paper out of your hands and heads out the door. When you go to follow Jake stops you. 

“You can’t wear that out of here.” you glance down at your clothes, your outfit is almost identical to Natasha’s. 

“Why not?” You frown at him in confusion. 

“It’s indecent.” Jake's eyes are wandering the room, like he is trying to look everywhere but at you. It’s a change from the look he gave you when he walked in. 

“A lot more indecent things happen behind closed doors in this place,” you remind him.

“Yeah but…” He trails off motioning at your legs. Rolling your eyes you brush past him. He could tell you what to wear on the job, but not when you were hanging around The Hard Deck. 

He groans before you hear his steps following you into the back room you had entered that first night. In the daylight you can see that the back wall is covered in Wanted posters of the members of the gang as well as newspaper clipping of what you assume are reports of the jobs they have pulled. 

Natasha is tacking your poster off to the side under one of Jake’s from a few states over. “$5000 Dead or Alive,” you turn to Jake as he walks up behind you, “I guess that makes you important.” Your eyes travel over the murders listed under Jake’s name and the robberies he is listed as having committed.

“Or something.” He watches your eyes linger on his listed crimes. “I’ve never killed an innocent person, everyone I’ve shot dead was trying to kill me first.” His tone suddenly shifts as he points at poster of Bradley. “I’m worth more than Rooster at least.” Natasha groans at his answer and you feel like you have stumbled upon a long standing argument.

“Not for long!” Bradley bounds into the room brandishing his own poster. He slaps the paper into Jake’s chest with a grin. “Read it and weep, Hangman,” he taunts. You sidle up to Jake and read the poster. ‘Bradley Bradshaw Wanted Dead or Alive $5500’

“They got your nose wrong,” Jake holds up the poster to compare the picture to Bradley’s face. “At least I’m better looking on my poster.” A grin splits your face but you don’t say anything, not wanting to encourage Jake. You would never admit it but he was even better looking in real life. Too bad the man was insufferable. 

“You’re just jealous I’m winning.” He snatches the poster out of Jake’s hands and hangs it up on the wall. 

“I think Mav is winning,” Phoenix points to the poster with the older man on it, and you let out a low whistle. The man had a $15,000 bounty on his head. It was impressive that he was still alive and free. 

“We all can’t be Maverick,” Bradley says with an eye roll, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Drinks tonight to celebrate our newfound notoriety.”

“She can’t.” Jake peels Bradley's arm off your shoulder and turns to you and Phoenix, “Be ready to go at dawn tomorrow.” His eyes meet yours. “Wear the dress.” 

“Yes, Sir.” You mockingly salute him as he stomps out of the room. 

– – – 

“What’s her name?” You stroke the nose of the pretty sorrel mare that you were going to be riding. 

Jake frowns at you, “The Sorrel Mare Bob Stole From The Card Cheat.” You snort in laughter. 

“I’m going to call you, Daisy.” You smile at the mare, smoothing her forelock and dropping a kiss on her nose. 

“Are you sure you can ride?” Jake asks with a worried frown, he had been reluctant to agree to let you ride your own horse. “We can double on Jet.”

“Is that worry I detect in your voice, Jake?” At your teasing his concerned expression shifts to a scowl. 

“I’m not worried,” he denies, “I just don’t want you falling off and slowing us down.” 

“I grew up riding horses.” You explain, “I’ll be fine.” He looks like he is going to say something else but decides against it and gives a jerky nod. 

“Mount up, let's go.” He commands. You fit your boot into the stirrup and swing your leg over Daisy. At Phoenix’s suggestion you wore the blue jeans under the cotton dress to protect your legs from the saddle. 

“Your stirrups are too long.” Jake's voice is gruff but his hands are surprisingly gentle as he adjusts the length and eases your boot back into the stirrup. “Good?” he asks. At your nod he trails his hand down your calf before going around to fix the other side. At his touch your heart thuds faster in your chest, and you take slow even breaths to hide what his touch is doing to your nerves. 

The man was infuriating. One minute he was rude and demanding, the next he was treating you like you were some fragile, innocent thing and it was making your head spin. If he was consistent you would be able to tell where you stand with him but with his constantly changing moods all you know is that he is usually irritated with you. 

It is over a two day ride to the place where you will be springing the trap for the stage. When you make camp the first night Jake grabs the bedroll tied to the back of Daisy’s saddle and throws it into his tent without looking at you. Natasha tries to hide her smile when you glance at her in confusion. 

The food is better than your last ride, the jerky joined with fruit and fresh bread, but the group goes to bed early. In the tent you strip down to your underthings and get in your bedroll next to Jake. “You knew I was going to be here and you packed me a bedroll.” You can't help the little grin on your face as you throw Jake’s words back at him. 

“You hog the covers.” 

“Yeah, Ok,” you respond. He just huffs and mumbles goodnight. You snuggle into your bedroll, grinning. 

– – –

The temperature drops during the night and as you grow colder you move closer to him in your sleep. Jake wakes as you begin to snuggle under his blanket. The thought of shoving you back to your side of the tent on principle briefly crosses his mind until he feels the cold brush of your fingers against his chest. 

Jake sighs and reluctantly pulls your cold body, bedroll and all, under his blanket. In the presence of his warmth you nestle closer and he suppresses a hiss when you bury your cold nose into his neck. He has to suppress a whole lot more at the gentle flutter of your breath on his skin. He tells himself that if you were warm at night it would keep him from listening to you complain, deliberately ignoring the fact that he has never heard you complain before. 

As a rule Jake liked to think of himself as a gentleman. He tried to uphold the morals that his mother taught him and he was determined to not end up like his father. But there was something about you that pushed his buttons. One minute he was furious at you and the next he wanted to kiss you. 

He loved seeing the fiery look you got in your eye when you fought with him. He loved the way you didn’t back down even when he could tell you were nervous. He loved the sight of your legs and ass in those blue jeans you got from Phoenix. It was scandalous and indecent and he hated that others got to see you dressed like that. 

Jake sighs. If he was going to survive this trip he had better get that memory out of his head. The feel of you curled up against him did nothing to make it any easier. 

– – – 

You reach the stretch of road that you had planned to rob the stage from mid morning on the third day. The road passes through a shallow ravine that is equal distance between the last stage station and the town of Pine Creek. The road is seldom used and only traveled on the weekly supply runs on Mondays and Thursdays, and by the stage on Fridays. If they got lucky, no one would be coming by and it was over a day's walk to the nearest town. 

You watched silently as, at Jake’s command, Jet lies down like a dog on the side of the road. Jake kneels down beside his head stroking the horse as he lets out a breath and closes his eyes. “Is he going to sleep?” You asked in surprise.

“Probably, he knows the drill.” Jake smiles fondly at the horse before standing and turning to you. “Now when you see the stage, you need to wave your arms and make sure you can get them to stop before they hit Jet.” You nod mutely. “Those stage horses are bred to run, they will run you over so don’t stand in front of them.”

You nod again, heart pounding. Jake looks like he is about to say something, but just gives your arm an awkward squeeze before mounting Daisy and joining Natasha and Bob out of sight.

You take a deep breath and kneel down next to Jet’s head. It had to look real for the driver and the man riding shotgun to stop. They would only stop for someone who looked weak and helpless. You need to cry. Slowly you allow your mind to fill with bad memories. 

Your parents' deaths, being forced to work in the dance halls and brothels. The gut wrenching realization that the good thing you thought you had at the Hanging Dog Ranch was an illusion, and that Roberts only wanted to use you like everyone else had. The fear of the trial and being hung, and your uncertainty of the future. If this job didn't go well you were not sure what you would do. 

Slowly you let the tears fall as you sobbed by Jet’s sleepy head. The wind blows dust into your face to leave streaks of dirt in the tear tracts. You hear a soft bird call. It’s the signal from Jake, letting you know that the stage was coming. Sniffling, you wipe your nose and glance up the ravine at the cloud of dust. It was too late to go back, too late to call it off. It was time to put your acting skills to the test.

– – – 

Jake had to stop himself from leaving his cover at the sound of your tears. He knew it was an act, at least he hoped it was, but the sound of your sobs caused an aching feeling in his chest. He had thought you would only try to look scared, but you had committed to the role better than any actress playing the role of damsel in the melodramas he had seen. He grits his teeth and pulls his bandanna up over his nose.

When the stage is in sight you stand up. “Help!” You sob brokenly, “Please help me!” He watches the driver take in your appearance and the sight of Jet laid out on the road behind you. The man mutters a curse and begins to saw on the reins, slowing the galloping team of four to a stop. 

This was your moment, you had their attention, you just had to keep it. “Oh, help me please!” Jake suppresses a snort as your voice takes on a southern twang when you beg for help.

“What seems to be the problem, Miss?” The man riding shotgun asks concern in his voice. 

“It’s my horse, Sir,” he can hear the tears in your voice. “I heard a rattler and it must have got him, he just collapsed as I was riding him!” 

The two men confer quietly before the man riding shotgun gets down, still holding his gun at the ready, as he goes to pass a large boulder you call out to him. “Stay away from that rock, that’s where I heard the snake!” The man quickly sidesteps the rock and his hold on the gun relaxes as he approaches the downed horse. Jake watches you step back, careful to keep out of the man's reach.

Jake takes that as his cue to move. With another bird call to Bob and Phoenix he creeps up on the stage. When you see him you begin to wail and clutch your hair, calling out to the driver, asking what you should do. The man is about to answer when Jake climbs into the shotgun seat pulling his revolver at the same time.

“Not a word.” He growls, shoving his gun into the man’s side and pulling the man's gun out of his holster. At Jake’s move Bob and Phoenix both crest the ravine on their horses, rifles pointed at the man with the shotgun. At your release word Jet lunges to his feet and trots a short distance away. 

The man with the shotgun goes to raise it but reconsiders when he sees he is outgunned. “Give the guns to the girl.” Bob orders and Jake’s heart pounds as you step forward to collect the guns. This is where it can all go wrong, one false step from you and you can quickly become a hostage. After covering your face with your own bandanna you quickly step forward to collect the man's side arms as well as the shotgun, with that task done Jake is able to focus on the driver. 

“Get down.” The man scowls but compiles. “Everybody on the stage come out with your hands raised and no one will be hurt. Jake hears a muffled sobbing from inside and two women step out. He throws them a length of rope and instructs them to tie up the driver. He knows you will be tying up the man riding shotgun and sure enough the man is marched into his line of sight with his hands bound behind him and Bob and Phoenix following with their guns trained. 

“Search the women for weapons,” Jake instructs you, as he jumps down to see if there are any other passengers who want to play hero, thankfully the stage is empty and after searching the women you bind their hands. “Search the stage, Sugar.” Jake is secretly surprised at how quick you are to follow his instructions considering how much you usually argue with him.

While you search Jake gets to work cutting the horses free from their harnesses and severing key lines in the rigging so even if they are able to catch the team they will be unable to pull the stage.

“You got them, Bob?” He hears Phoenix ask and she must get the confirmations she needs because he sees her begin to search the passengers. If they have any money hidden on their bodies she will find it. 

He finally frees the last horse and with a smack on its rump it gallops out into the wilderness. There is a good chance they will eventually return to one of their stables. Teams run back and forth on the same stretch of road for years. The horses know the way home better than the drivers.

With that taken care of he joins you in your search. He uses a lock breaker to pop the luggage compartment and begins throwing clothing out of trunks, he pockets some cash and finds more hidden in the lining of suitcases but no $10,000 payouts. You join him searching the luggage and he can tell that you haven’t found anything by how increasingly frantic you are getting in your search.

“Where is it.” The harshness in your voice startles him. You are facing the women and your whole body is tense. “The dowry you are bringing to Roberts. Where is it?”

The women cower in fear as you stalk toward them. 

“He sent it on with riders and an armed guard.” The older woman says between sobs. “It’s not here!” 

Jake watches you kick the stage cursing before you abruptly turn back to the younger woman. “This is the man you are marrying.” Your voice has lost its sharpness and is now filled with pity. “A man who would protect his money and not his wife.” 

Jake turns to Phoenix who had gone over the interior of the stage and she gives him a nod. “Well it was lovely meeting you all here today but I’m afraid we must be going.” Jake whistles and Jet comes trotting over. He mounts up and kicks his foot free of the stirrup for you to use and pulls you up behind him. The thread of worry that had been eating at his gut this whole robbery disappears when he feels your arms wrap around him. 

“You’ll never get away with this!” The older woman calls out. “William Roberts is a powerful man and you have made an enemy of him!” 

“Roberts is a bastard and I hope he rots in hell.” You snap back and he smirks at the women’s scandalized expressions. With a grin hidden behind his bandanna Jake digs his heels into Jet and takes off. 

[bluemoonperegrine]

Ted's on First - Part I

This is the first scene (~1200 words) of the long-awaited Waffle House fic. It's taking me forever to get this thing written, but I'd rather take the time to do it right.

Although this is set in the Bittersweet Symphony universe, you don't have to have read any of it to follow this.

UPDATE: The whole fic is here on ao3.

Rating: Gen Characters: Elsa Bloodstone/Jack Russell, Ted Sallis (Man-Thing), original characters Word Count (eventually): ~3500 Warnings: Canon-typical violence (eventually)

Ava knew the pair was trouble the moment the plate glass door swung open. A gust of humid, marsh-scented air preceded two fit thirty-somethings whose dress better suited a pop culture convention than southern Florida.

“Mornin’,” Ava called over the din of her washing dishes behind the counter and the mess of eggs and hash browns Tom had sizzling on the grill. Between the late hour and their location on the outskirts of the Miami metro area, the two of them could run the Waffle House.

A swarthy, clean-shaven man of Indian descent nodded acknowledgement as his eyes swept across the nearly empty diner. Dried mud spattered his dark boots and the bottom of his black duster. The fact that his long coat was buttoned closed despite the warm night air outside suggested he was packing. All he needed was a pair of sunglasses to cosplay Neo from The Matrix.

Ava glanced at Kendra, who perched on her usual stool at the far end of the counter. The big-boned woman with natural Black hair was watching the new arrivals as well. Kendra nodded, then returned her attention to the door.

Neo stepped aside to make way for his companion: a Black woman with her hair in cornrows. Her garb was similar to Neo’s with the exception of her medium-length leather coat. She also surveyed the nearly empty dining room, skipping over Kendra to linger on the customers sitting at the table on the right side of the door. Those two, an attractive older couple who’d been playing footsie under the table, wore motorcycle safety gear.

“Sit anywhere you’d like,” Ava told Neo and Trinity.

After giving her a cursory smile, the woman headed for the table on the left side of the door. Neo followed. 

Ava dried her hands, pulled her order pad and pen from the pocket of her yellow apron, and strode around the end of the counter toward the older couple. Kendra smiled and said quietly in Creole “I’m watching” as Ava moved past her.

Despite his back being to her, the tanned, forty-something man with salt-and-pepper hair sat up straight as Ava approached. After frowning over his shoulder in Kendra’s direction, the handsome man gave Ava a friendly smile. His companion, a fair-skinned, dark-haired woman who was beautiful even with her brows knit together, continued studying the single-page menu.

Ava prompted, “Need another minute or two?”

“Mi vida?” the man asked his probable wife. Neither wore a wedding band.

The woman frowned harder at the menu. “Nearly,” she replied with a light British accent. “You go ahead.”

“Okay.” After glancing over his wife’s shoulder at Neo and Trinity sitting their table ten feet away, he turned to Ava and smiled. “The cheeseburger platter, please—”

Ava jotted it down. “Lettuce, tomato, pickle?” 

“Yes, please,” he said with a Latino accent. “And a cup of coffee. It’s late, you know?”

The man’s smile had grown bigger somehow. Ava felt herself returning it as she admired his green irises and how the corners of his eyes crinkled—

The British woman pointedly cleared her throat. “I’m ready to order.”

“Right!” Ava blurted. She felt her face heat up as she met the woman’s displeased countenance. Her husband chuckled, as did Kendra from her spot at the end of the counter. “What can…”

The Latino was looking over his shoulder again as if he’d heard Kendra. The notion was ridiculous, as was how something dark had seemed to move under the table. The couple was probably playing footsie. 

After taking a breath to compose herself, Ava addressed the British woman. “What can I get you?”

“The steak hash brown bowl,” the woman said frostily, “with jalapeños—”

 “Ahht!” the man mock scolded.

The woman heaved a sigh and leveled an impatient look on her husband. “Jack, I am not using that silly lingo.”

Jack’s face fell. “But you have to! It’s a rule.” He grinned at Ava. “Right?”

Ava gulped, wishing her customers were the usual ones who came in after the bars closed. Drunks she could handle. These two were weird and she still had to deal with Neo and Trinity. “Uh…”

The woman handed the menu to Ava as she shook her head at her husband. “You can,” she said, trying to withhold a grin. “You know what I like.”

Her husband’s smile became more of a leer, which made Ava blush and the woman chuckle. “Go on, and stop torturing the poor girl.”

Jack turned back to Ava with a polite smile. “She’ll have hers scattered, chunked, diced, peppered, and capped.” He grinned at his wife, who rolled her eyes as the corners of her mouth tugged up.

“And to drink?” Ava asked them both because she had no idea who’d reply at this point.

“Tea?” Jack asked his wife.

The woman gave Ava a skeptical look. “Is it orange pekoe?”

Ava yearned for drunk patrons who only wanted coffee. “I guess? It’s Lipton’s.”

“Coffee,” the woman sighed, “black.” She looked fondly at her husband. “Bring lots of cream for him.”

“Yes, please,” Jack said. In a stage whisper he added, “Don’t mind her. She’s hangry.”

“I am not hangry!” The woman’s mouth snapped shut. She blushed as her husband chuckled.

Ava willed herself to not react and risk provoking the not-hangry British woman. “Back in a minute with coffee,” she said and retreated, catching Kendra’s eye as she walked past. Her friend followed her behind the counter as she called the order to Tom, a ruddy white man who looked older than his fifty years.

Grateful for the clanks of metal utensils on the grill, Ava murmured to Kendra in Creole, “He can hear you.”

Kendra looked his way. “Seems that way,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t see me, though.”

Ava put two mugs on the counter and poured coffee, leaving room for cream in one of them. “Untrained?”

“Maybe,” Kendra replied. She didn’t seem concerned. “Jack seems harmless. But he is keeping an eye on the other two. His wife is too. She’s using the reflection in the window.”

Ava took longer than necessary putting coffee creamer cups in a bowl for the Latino. “This really isn’t a good night for things to get interesting.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kendra said, laying one hand on Ava’s shoulder. The touch had no weight, only a gentle coldness. “Don’t you worry.”

Ava nodded, grateful for her grandmother’s presence. 

As she picked up the mugs with one hand and the bowl of creamer in the other, she looked at Neo and Trinity at their table on the far side of the counter. With only stars and headlights from I-75 traffic lighting the night sky, the floor-to-ceiling window behind the customers acted as a mirror. Kendra, who looked about thirty, wasn’t there, of course, but Ava’s reflection was. They both were tall, but Ava lankier. Her black hair was in a multitude of thin braids, the bunch of them gathered at the nape of her neck with an elastic hair band. Her black T-shirt, pants, and yellow apron and visor were nothing to write home about. College tuition and bills had to get paid somehow.

Trinity and Neo must have felt her eyes on them. They glanced at her simultaneously.

“Coffee?” Ava asked.

“Yeah,” Neo said with a neutral American accent. “That’d be good.” Trinity nodded agreement.

Ava returned it as she headed for her other customers. “Coming right up.”

--------------------------

For anyone who's read "Past Is Prologue," Kendra is the same Kendra in that fic. 😊

Also, I was lazy in the Bittersweet Symphony fics and made Elsa American. She's British here because it's more accessible for anyone who hasn't read that series, and easier to differentiate her from other female characters when writing from Ava's POV.

[scienceacumen]

Uranium contains about 18 million kCal/gram (those are food Calories; capital C), or about 18 billion calories/gram (those are heat calories). One pound of fat is about 3500 kCal or about 3500000 cal, so 1 gram of Uranium would result in about 5,000 pounds worth of fat when comparing energy to energy ☢️

📷: Kazatomprom

[bullet-prooflove]

3500 Follower Celebration: What You Like: Nick Torres x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @divergent146 @delightfulbelieverwerewolf @sarahedwards16 @lapricot @stxrryswvrld @whateversomethingbruh @district447 @reneejett4 @stelacole @fangirling-and-lovin-it @kabloswrld @keyweegirlie

Hitting “you really thought i wouldn’t remember what you like? please, give me a little credit.” square on the 3500 Follower Bingo Card

It’s been almost a month since the last time you were with Nick, since he’s touched you, loved you. When he finally gets his hands on you, he’s like a man dying of thirst, his palms roving, lips seeking. He treats it like an seduction, taking his time as he removes each layer of clothing until you’re bare underneath him.

You feel so good, the softness of your curves pressing urgently against his body as he presses you into the mattress. You could drive a man to madness with those pretty little moans of yours. His fingers entwine with yours, pinning your wrist to the mattress as he dips his head low so that he can look into your eyes. The tip of his cock is notched at your entrance, your wetness smearing over him as he teases you just a little

“You really thought I’d forget what you like?” He murmurs, his lips brushing over yours as he enters you, sinking in just a little before he withdraws and starts all over again. It’s nowhere enough but that’s the point, Nick wants you desperate, needy. He wants to be the only thought in your head when you come for him. “How much you enjoy it when I take my time?”

Your head tips back into the pillow, your breathing hitching. Nick’s heated lips ghost over the curve your throat and you tighten around his dick, gripping him perfectly.

“Oh baby.” He whispers against the line of your jaw. “I’m going to spend all night ruining you.”

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