#back to wall toilet pan

[athomebathrooms]

For those seeking a blend of discreet elegance and ergonomic functionality, behold the back to wall toilet pan. Crafted with precision engineering and contemporary design, this toilet pan seamlessly integrates into any modern bathroom space. Its streamlined silhouette ensures a space-saving solution without compromising on comfort.

[ohmygraves]

the first time you and ghost became roommates, he didn't have a lot of things.

he had his essentials, packed in a duffel bag and like, two moving boxes and that's it. he didn't even have his own furniture or pots and pans, so the two of you didn't cook for the first few weeks living together. he seems perfectly content with just living with the furniture that came with the apartment, an old beat up sofa and dirty stained dining table, together with a few chairs and old mattresses in each bedroom. you made it a goal to get rid of the smelly bed as soon as possible, working your arse off to afford new beds for the sake of your back.

ghost, or well, simon, don't feel the need to own too many things. he thinks it's a nuisance, since well it'll be tiring to pack so many things when he needs to move again for some reason or another. even when he stayed in the barracks, his room was always the most bare out of everyone.

you were the opposite, of course. you liked having lots of personal items and memorabilia, or just trinkets that you like in general. your shared flat is full of your items, posters hung up on the wall, framed pictures, potted plants, consoles and books, whatever you have. it felt like the place was only occupied by you, and with how often simon was away on deployments and missions, it might as well be.

you both split duties when he's around. you cook, he does dishes. you take out the trash, he cleans the bathroom. you tidy things up and he'd mop/vacuum it. he insisted that you cook since he's not much of a cook himself (which, explains why he doesn't have a single kitchen utensils in his stuff) and that you're better at cooking than him. he'd gladly deal with all the dirty jobs for you, wouldn't be the worst thing he did anyway.

you and simon get groceries separately (his "groceries" consisting of some type of booze and maybe toiletries, perhaps some snacks if he's feeling fancy), but very rarely you go together with him to tesco or something. you always have to remind him to note whatever things needed to be replaced at your shared flat, so that you don't have to go multiple times just to get a bottle of dish soap or toilet paper.

you two bicker like an old married couple sometimes, because he's a smart ass and would tease you, and you'd get mad at him for eating your things or using your soap/shampoo.

sometimes you wondered if rooming with simon was a bad idea, but he had always made sure to keep your job easy for you except for a few minor inconveniences he did on purpose just so you'd scold him. he helped move furniture and do the heavy jobs for you, and not to mention he leaves you alone, never nosy or get too friendly with you. although at the same time, he expected you to do the same for him.

if he tells you when he's coming back after missions, you'd get him a treat when he gets home, some beer already chilling in the refrigerator and his favorite snacks on the counter, together with his favorite takeout dinner (of course, you'd ask for the money back. you're not made of money if you're rooming with someone). some snarky note like "shower first before you sleep, stinky" or "it's 30 pounds for everything, you're welcome".

simon didn't think much of it, but he definitely took you for granted. you're a nice roommate, you two get along, and you're a great cook. you made sure to feed him whenever possible (because you're convinced he'd actually forget to eat when he's alone, considering his groceries as mentioned before), and not to mention you made his masks and balaclava smell nice and clean when you do laundry.

you'd patiently help him sew, teach him how to mend his clothes when he has the time (which is still a funny sight seeing how small the needles looked between his thick massive fingers). he always gets frustrated, telling you that you did a much better job than his lousy stitches that wouldn't even hold up after one wear. you'd sew all tears and holes on his masks and clothes, patch the holes up when you could.

in return, he'd bring some of your favorite snacks home. he always said something along the lines that it was on sale, or that it's buy one get one free, but you noted that he always brought home your favorite things after you mended his clothes, or helped him in some way. you didn't mind, you liked the snacks and it's nice that he shows his gratitude in this way.

you try to ignore the thumping of your heart every time he hands you things while saying "reckon you'd like this."

[icallhimjoey]

what about tupperware!joe and reader going to her cousins wedding that she asked him to join her for? what was that day like?

thank you for this request! our pasta babe is back 🍝 - read more than this here for context! Wordcount: 2.6K

---

More Than That

“Hey!” Joe popped his head around the corner and made you jump. “Sorry,” he was quick to apologise, unable to hide his smile as he stepped outside. “You hiding?”

You were hiding.

It irritated you a little that Joe found you. That he’d gone into the women’s bathroom to look for you. That an open emergency door had prompted him to just go and check outside to see if you were there.

Well, you were there, but that wasn’t the point.

You’d slipped into the bathroom and hoped no one had seen you sneak away. You needed a moment to yourself, just a minute to breathe, and when you saw the emergency exit propped open just past all the toilet stalls, you’d immediately favoured a bit of fresh air over locking yourself in a small cubicle.

“Yea,” you squinted into the low sun as you watched Joe step into place next to you, joining you there in the orange light of the golden hour as he leant back against the wall, using overstretched legs to keep him in place.

Joe grinned cheekily as he found a packet of cigarettes in his chest pocket and asked, “From me?”

You weren’t hiding from Joe. Not exactly. More so... just, the whole situation you’d found yourself in.

You'd placed yourself in.

That maybe was the worst thing.

You were wholly responsible for how you currently felt. There was no one else to blame.

“Of course I am. I’m upset that you found me.” You huffed a laugh through your nose, hoping it didn’t sound as deflated to Joe’s ears as it did to yours.

“Here,” Joe spoke around an unlit cig in the corner of his mouth and held out his packet towards you.

You didn’t smoke but hesitated for a second as you looked at what Joe was offering you. Bringing Joe to your cousin’s wedding had been a mistake. Not because Joe was Joe, but because... this was your cousin’s wedding. Your whole family was here. You weren’t hiding just outside the emergency exit of the women’s bathroom just because the weather was nice. So, you know, maybe a cigarette would actually help. Lord knew the open bar hadn’t, so far.

“Oh my God,” Joe snatched the packet away the second he thought you were going to go for one. “Is it that bad?”

He was never going to actually give you one; you didn’t smoke. He wasn’t going to be coaxing you into his filthy habit – he wouldn’t dream of it.

“Was it your dad? I probably shouldn’t have talked to him for so long, should I? I’m sorry–” Joe slid the packet of cigarettes back into his pocket, and in the same move, he managed to find his lighter there.

“No, you’re...” you took a deep breath through flared nostrils. “You’re fine, it’s not that.”

It was that, a little. Joe knew.

Watching Joe walk over to your dad at the bar and give him a friendly smack to the shoulder as they shook hands before ordering drinks they then cheersed had made your stomach churn.

Literally.

You were staring at them and had brought a hand up to cover your stomach to which your aunt had then said, “Aw, butterflies?” completely misreading what was happening.

“No. Just panic and anxiety, thanks.” you had answered in full truth but your family members within earshot had just laughed.

Bringing Joe to your cousin’s wedding was a mistake.

Your olive branch to Joe telling you he loved you and wanted to be with you probably should’ve been saying yes to going to see a film with him, or whatever. Something the two of you could do by yourselves, where you’d be in the dark with attention not on each other, where other people’s attention was not on the two of you.

You weren’t really sure how you thought this was going to pan out.

In what world had you expected this to go any differently?

Why the fuck had you invited him?

You leant your head back against the brick wall of the wedding venue and stared at the glamorous view of the grimy carpark.

“Then what is it, hmm?”

Joe was pushing this being-kind-in-the-daytime thing a little too much. Granted, it was actually evening by now, but you’d never seen his face in the sunshine for so long before today, and it was unsettling how you hadn’t had your hand down his trousers yet.

You’d been hanging out together for hours by now.

“It’s just that,” you started, sighed deeply, and then finished with, “The pasta buffet wasn’t the best.”

That made Joe laugh.

There was no way you were going to tell Joe that it bothered you that taking him as your date to a wedding meant that everyone assumed you were a couple. One with a serious relationship. They all wanted to meet him, and they all asked you how long you’d been together, asked him why they’d not seen him around before, asked you how the two of you had met and...

It was all just... a lot.

Having to skirt around answers because Joe was stood right next to you, and you didn’t want to hurt his feelings and lie, but you also definitely didn’t want to tell the truth.

You didn’t want to tell your mum he wasn’t your boyfriend, because then why take him as your date to your cousin’s wedding? But you also couldn’t tell her he was just a friend, because by now you had sort of established that you were more than friends, hadn’t you?

You had let him fill your fridge up with his Tupperware, and that wasn’t even a euphemism.

A plus one to a wedding was just too soon.

Way too soon for whatever the two of you were, anyway.

It sucked that this only really occurred to you after you’d arrived.

Joe didn’t think so.

Joe was really excited that you asked him to be his date for this. He’d told you so on the way there. And then you’d held his hand for a little while after he’d reached for it. You’d let him fidget with your fingers, let him link his arm with yours before he moved the hand he was holding up to his mouth to kiss.

“You can’t do that when we get there.” You’d told him sternly, and he’d just smiled and had said, “I’m surprised you’re letting me do it now.”

You’d frowned at that and looked at how your fingers intertwined and noticed how the sun was reflecting off the skin. The sheen of your nails. How the light caught on the metal of one of his rings. Then Joe’s thumb moved to softly rub at your skin, and you recoiled.

Too soft a moment.

Best to avoid those.

You’d shaken your hand from his then, and Joe’d pursed his lips into a smile, sarcastically said, “Yea, you’re right. Thirty seconds is plenty.”

“Don’t complain. I’m taking you to a wedding.” You’d smirked right back at him, and definitely didn’t know how heavy those words were going to be weighing when you got there. When you had to introduce Joe to people.

Disgusting.

You should’ve never told him the colour of your dress.

Joe perfectly matched you like you’d gone and shopped for your outfits together. Four separate people had complimented you on it, and whilst lovely, it had ruined your appetite a little. Or a lot.

Hence why the pasta buffet hadn’t impressed you.

“The pasta buffet was all right.”

“No it sucked.”

“Hmm. Not as good as I make it, I get it. You’ve gotten used to the good stuff now.”

Joe was trying hard to make you smile, overacting his confidence in his cooking. It worked, sort of, but every little raise of a corner of your mouth only lasted a second.

Today had been difficult.

Still was difficult.

“Hey... are you okay?” Joe’s voice lowered, softening for you. “You look like you need a hug. Can I hug you?”

“No.”

You turned your head to look at Joe, your hair catching on the brick, and you were met with a crinkled forehead filled with worry and a pouty mouth that exuded disappointment.

Joe really wanted to hug you.

“Let me help?” Joe tried again, turning a little into you, the shoulder of his jacket creasing against the rough surface of the wall.

An idea.

“You can fuck me up against this wall if you really want to be helpful.”

Joe froze, mouth slightly agape, and ended up dropping the cigarette from his lips when you pushed off the wall and got right in front of him. Joe fumbled, patted down his jacket to make sure that if any of the ashes got caught on his clothes they wouldn’t do any damage. He barely got a look in, because you planted both your hands either side of him on the wall and made him shrink into his shoulders a little.

“Oh my G–,”

“Want to be helpful?” You got your face right in front of his, voice stern and eyes on where the hair of his mustache curled onto his top lip a little.

“Hmm? Kiss me.”

Joe could feel your breath on his face and in a moment of weakness he gave in. Got his hands on your face and moved you back a little, only to then lean forward himself and meet your lips with his.

Risky behaviour.

You’d just spent all day trying to be vague about if Joe was your boyfriend or not, and now you were kissing each other pressed up against a building by the carpark. Out in public. Where people could see you.

You let your whole body sway forward and Joe happily accepted your weight against him, your hip bones firmly pressed up against his own. Your hands moved from the wall to curl around his neck, pulling Joe into you more as you did.

Yea, this was more like it.

If Joe kissed you for long enough, maybe you could forget about the way you stumbled through, No, he’s just... he’s not my- that’s Joe. He’s just Joe, you know? several times earlier that day.

And Joe gave into your affection easily.

Into he way you pressed up against him.

The way your arms tightened around his neck.

How you sighed into him when he started giving you more.

More of his tongue.

Of his touches.

More of the noises that he knew you loved - little hums, smacks of lips, hard inhales whilst his nose dug into your cheek.

Hands squeezing your ass.

Oh yea, you were getting into it.

You would go in for a kiss, and he would stick his tongue out a little, meaning you'd essentially get a mouthful of tongue before your lips met and, yea okay, so you weren’t going to actually let Joe fuck you up against this wall, but just inside there were a lot of lockable cubicles to slip into for some quick action.

But then you slid a hand down to feel if he was getting as into this as you were, and you were abruptly stopped.

Two strong hands grabbed you by your biceps and pushed you back.

“No.”

“But–”

“No.” Joe spoke to you like you were a child, eyebrows raised and lips jutted out.

You frowned deeply and groaned a little in protest before letting your head fall and bumping his chin with your forehead.

Having sex would have made this day so much better.

Joe smiled a pressed a small kiss right onto your hairline, before he wrapped his arms around you and forced you into a hug.

A hug.

You didn’t hug him back, but let him embrace you without fighting him on it in your way of compromise.

“I asked,” Joe stressed, stretching the word, “If you were okay. Hm? Are you? Do you want to leave?”

An idea.

“Yes,” you moved to kiss Joe on the lips once more, just a peck. “Let’s get out of here.” you bit into your bottom lip and smiled as you grabbed Joe’s hand. It was obvious what you were insinuating.

Let’s get out of here, go somewhere more private, wink wink, nudge nudge.

You were about to step back inside, but Joe didn’t move, still leant up against the wall, and you were pulled back by the hand that held yours.

Joe gave you a look, one that made you slump your shoulders before begrudgingly mumbling, “I’m fine.” through an eye roll.

“Oh yea, because that’s convincing.” Joe rolled his eyes right back at you and you had to really fight to not smile at that.

“I am. Promise. But I do want to leave, please. This was–...” you stopped yourself before you finished your sentence with something that could potentially hurt Joe’s feelings.

You’d never really minded that before, but you had taken Joe to a wedding. Things were different now.

“Yea,” Joe sighed, reading you right and agreeing a little. “I know.”

Joe got it. Joe got it plenty.

You’d been miserable for most of the day, but hadn’t faltered in giving him smiles whenever you caught him looking at you. Joe had to try really hard to make sure his eyes didn’t do what they always did when he really adored someone. Well, what they always did when he looked at you. He knew his eyes always gave him away.

He had to be casual.

Normal day-time-activity casual.

But, listen. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to fuck you up against this wall right here, but you know, he’d said he was going to not resort to just having sex the whole time with you anymore. That he was going to hang out with you and keep his clothes on the whole time, because there was this want to connect past that. He wanted more than that.

Still wanted that too, though.

But maybe not in a carpark outside of wedding venue that held all of your family inside, you know?

You knew.

“I know.” Joe said again, a little solemnly, eyes finding the cigarette he dropped earlier and staring at that for a moment.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come today. He definitely shouldn’t have spoken to your dad for so long. Joe’d seen you look, but you dad was a nice guy. There were lots of things to talk about.

An awkward silence followed before Joe suddenly pushed himself to stand up straight.

An idea.

“You were right.” he said, before squeezing your fingers with his. “The pasta buffet sucked. Want to go find some proper fettuccine?”

You broke into a slow grin and took a moment to process Joe’s reaction to your unkind unfinished sentence, but weren’t given enough time to mull it over. Joe stepped past you, back inside, into the bathroom where you then heard a confused, “Oh sorry– I thought this was the ladies–”

“It is.” Joe smiled at your mum as he dragged you past the mirrors.

“It was lovely meeting you.”

“Are you–”

“Bye mum!”

And off you were.

Off to find some proper fettuccine.

You hadn’t lied when you told Joe you were fine. Today had just been too much, too soon.

You wanted revert to just seeing each other in either your or his bed for a little while before you’d try your hand at this again, because the unpredictability of the day had been nothing short of torture.

But, ultimately, you were fine.

You knew.

Joe wasn’t as convinced though, but he’d been removing forks from the left overs in his fridge for long enough now to know that some good pasta would help.

Pasta would make this day so much better.

Joe knew.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

@dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee,

@figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4,

@hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke,

@lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr,

@munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories,

@phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn0628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420,

@songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73,

@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[violentdelights-violentendss]

Bath Time

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Tangerine

Synopsis: You successfully manage to drag Tangerine into a bath after a long and strenuous job.

Requested by: I lost the username…I’m so sorry!!!!

Warning: Nothing.

(So sorry this is maybe too short and very bad, but I just wanted to post something to show you guys I’m alive and currently working on all your requests!!! Please send many many more! I love writing all of them!)

You were cooking in the kitchen, making a plate of carbonara for yourself. Tangerine’s necklace was heavy in between your breasts. He always left it with you when he went on jobs.

The bacon sizzled in the pan, making you come back from your memories. You took one out of the pan, dropping it in your mouth. The juicy flavor covered your tongue, even if scorching.

As you hummed along to the song playing on your phone, the door squeaked open. Instantly, the music was too loud and the sizzling of the bacon hurt your ears. Fear slithered down your spine, freezing you.

Dry and heavy steps started trudging towards you. Silently, your hand shaking, you grabbed the knife on the counter, stepping quietly towards the wall of the kitchen. You gripped the knife just like Tangerine had taught you to do, ready to stab the intruder that had come in your home.

The steps were getting closer to the kitchen. Your hands started trembling even more, and you clasped the knife tightly to not drop it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a shape flickering closer. Without waiting, you twirled away from the wall, ready to attack the man.

“Darling?” Called a familiar voice.

Slowly, you opened your scrunched up eyes. In front of you, Tangerine stood in all his bloodied and exhausted glory. His clothes were covered in blood, and the bags underneath his eyes were bigger than when he had left. Your trembling knife was pressed against his throat. The knife tumbled from your hand, falling at your feet.

“Tangerine?” You stuttered, fear still clawing your jaw shut. The man didn’t reply, but wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer, hiding his tired face in your neck. You didn’t hesitate to embrace him. You didn’t care that the blood, his or someone’s else, was soaking into your white shirt.

He stayed silent for a second before you heard his tire voice croak out, “Missed you, love.”

“I missed you too,” you whisper back, holding him tightly against your chest. You inhaled his perfume, letting your hands tangle in his curls. “Come on, we have to get you in the bath.” You gently grabbed his hand, supporting his fatigued body and carrying him towards the bathroom. Tangerine followed limply, his feet dragging on the floor.

You reached the bathroom, heaving and panting, delicately sitting Tangerine down on the toilet seat. His eyes were glazed and his head hung low. You spun towards the bathtub, flicking the tap open and turning it to choose hot water, which soon started pouring into the bath. Grabbing one of the bath bombs you kept tidily on the side, you dropped it in the water, watching as it dissolved, turning the water a sunset pink, the room now smelling like roses.

As the water gurgled, filling the bathtub, you knelt down in front of Tangerine. “Darling, I’m going to start undressing you.” You whispered calmly, not wanting to trigger his fight or flight responses: it had happened once when he was in this state and it had not been pretty. Tangerine didn’t seem to see you, but your words must have gotten through to him, his head nodding slightly.

You started unbuttoning his vest, slowly peeling it off his sweat-covered body, gently folding it. Then came the button-up shirt that was splotched with blood — a gruesome painting. You reached his pants, unbuckling his belt. You tugged them down with the boxers, helping him to stand so he could safely get into the bathtub.

Tangerine let himself be moved, as if he were a puppet, once loved and now forgotten. He sunk down into the water, leaning heavily against the side of the tub, eyes pointed to the ceiling, lost in memories of the mission you were sure were going to haunt his already tormented dreams.

You quietly started washing the encrusted blood off his face, body and hair, humming a quiet lullaby to soothe his tired mind. After a while that Tangerine had been soaking, listening to your quiet voice and feeling your warm touch on his skin, he seemed to snap out of his daze, slowly blinking awake. “Hey, Tan.” You welcomed him back, watching as he seemed to come back alive, warmth flushing his cheeks.

Tangerine looked at you as if he were seeing you for the first time, his eyes starting to glimmer with tears when his heart realized he was safe. Immediately, you were pulled into his arms, and into the water, simply embracing him as tightly as he needed. “God, I thought that…for a minute, during the mission, I wouldn’t make it back.” He croaked in your ear, pressing a kiss to your lips, his tears falling onto your lips, running down to nestle on his necklace.

You shivered at just the thought, pressing him closer. “You’re here now. You’re here. Safe.” You said, gently rocking Tangerine in your arms, hoping to reassure him.

You stayed, embraced, in the cooling water for hours. When you later tried to move, Tangerine simply held you closer, pressing soft kisses against your neck. You sighed, getting comfortable, knowing it was going to be a long night. But you were ready to be there as long as Tangerine needed you, and Tangerine loved you till the end of the world and back: you two were going to be together for all eternity.

[absurdthirst]

Hey! I hope you’re having a nice day and don’t feel pressured to answer this, but how do you think the Pedro boys would react to having triplets? (I just learned im having two boys and one girl)

Heaven knows I’m already worried about mine with the casually offered reductions and all the talks about how difficult it’s going to be since it’s my first time. My heart goes out for the Pedro boys in less advanced universes knowing the complications that could come up.

Having Triplets:

Javier Peña: Gets drunk. Like - very drunk. Smokes an entire pack of cigarettes while he drinks. Worrying. Obsessing over the idea that he was already nervous to be responsible for one kid, but three???? He's never gonna sleep again. He's going to be grey by the time the kids are born, or bald from the stress. Once he's gotten over his hangover, he's asking questions. Demanding to know the risks and he has a fucking notebook full of questions for the doctors every time you go. Turns into the most solid father that you've ever seen.

Ezra: Speechless. For the first time since you have met the loquacious prospector, he is completely speechless. "I don't quite thing your suit's gonna be fitting you soon, little gem." His life has been one big adventure and he has just floated along. Now he will have to put that sharp mind to work to make sure that his little family has their feet firmly planted on a safe planet. Ezra will be planting roots - just don't ask him where he acquired the things he brings home for the babies.

Mando: Have you ever seen a wall of metal worry? That's what it would be like. This towering hunk of beskar would just lurk and be underfoot. Silently watching and you would wake up to any and all little luxuries that he could possibly get his hands on. The man would invest in a real bed for Maker's sake. He would even get a medical droid, putting aside his dislike for most tech to make sure you had the best help available.

Pero Tovar: Pero wonders why you are as big as a horse. (You hit him with a frying pan for saying that) When the midwife tells him that she feels more than one babe in your belly, he starts to worry. Childbirth in his days is not without risk and multiple babes are even riskier. He will start praying to God to allow the babes to born healthy and breaking his back even more to provide for the four of you.

Frankie Morales: His military training is the only goddamn thing keeping this man from having a panic attack, or a stroke. Definitely going to be getting high one last time before he flushes the coke down the toilet. If for nothing but to work out that fear without you knowing. To your face, Francisco Morales would be the most calm, rational man with dealing with the idea of triplets. He even trades in his beloved truck for a van - not a mini van, because those things drive like fucking ass - but a cargo van to haul the kids and all their shit around. He will be working himself into the ground to his get license re-instated so he can be earning more. He can't raise triplets on his retirement alone.

Agent Whiskey: In complete denial. Absolutely refuses to believe that you are having more than one baby. Like complete disassociates when it comes to that. Despite Ginger confirming it and everyone talking about the babies. He's convinced that everyone is pulling some elaborate trick on him. Right up until the moment he has baby number one in his arms and you start pushing again for the next one. Then shit gets real.

Dave York: Dave is another cool cucumber when it comes to dealing with the idea of triplets. He starts planning. Logistics is what matters. Paying for these kids. He will start taking more contracts and being away from home, but he always tries to make sure he's home for doctor's appointments. Surprisingly handy. Already put together the three cribs and started stocking up on diapers. He's changed his share before with Molly and Alice, but this time it's going to be interesting with three at the same time.

Oberyn Martell: Thrilled. He will be on the maester's ass to make sure that the births are smooth sailing for you. Multiple babies at once? He will enjoy running his hands over your swollen belly and making sure that the servants are nearby all the time so you do not have to do a thing. Spending hours with you in the water because it easy on your body with all three babies growing. Present for every moment from the moment your pains begin, until you are holding all three.

Max Phillips: Mixed feelings honestly. Three little baby biters? Pretty cool. Three sets of dirty diapers to change? Less so. Max is smarmy and cocky, but the cracks of that facade start to show when he realizes he's made three tiny little half vamp/half human beings that will need to be cared for. He might even put his little feud with Evan aside because the man has bigger fish to fry. But expect him to start offering you blood smoothies. You know, for protein.

Marcus Pike: The combination of stress and excitement inside him is like being pulled in two different directions at once. Immediately starts reading books on the subject of twins and making a detailed list of everything you need to buy. Will be making full use of his paternity leave to help you with the babies.

Marcus Moreno: It's a good goddamn thing he's a super hero. Marcus literally saves the world, so he is used to stress. There's a little bit of panic behind those rimmed Clark Kent glasses he has and he wonders if his powers was what caused this. He knew that copper IUD was a bad idea. He can only hope that Missy loves being a big sister, because she's gonna have 3 younger siblings.

Max Lord: Passes out. Literally the man faints at the news that he is going to be a father to triplets. The internal panicking that this man does rivals ten men. Nearly enough to do something stupid like wish he had the dream stone back, but not quite. You end up having to calm him down.

Zach Wellison: Gets a second job. Then a third. You practically don't see the man for nearly three weeks after being told that he's going to have triplets with you because he's working so damn much. Trying to make sure that he can buy everything you need and provide for the babies. Only starts to slow down when you remind him that you need him with you now. You don't want to do this alone. It takes him a minute to get that through his head, but he's pretty happy as soon as he gives himself a moment to be.

Dieter Bravo: FREAKS OUT. Like has a melt down as he denies it. Until he can see the ultrasound and has the three little nuggets pointed out to him. He's wide eyed and asking you if you want some of his drugs. You might need them more than him. When you decline, he takes all of them himself and starts to ask if you feel any different now. Playing with your stomach and talking to the babies as he lays out why is he upset. He's scared. Scared he's going to screw up and then it's three little people he's fucked up. Showing exactly why Dieter will end up being a good dad. Whacky as shit, but a good dad.

Javi Gutierrez: Obsessed with them. He has already been thrilled by your pregnancy and having a baby, but now that there will be three? Completely in love with the idea of built in best friends. The decorating of the nursery is now tripled and Javi just completely throws himself into it and treats you like a queen the entire time. Waits on you hand and foot and marvels over your changing body. Gets you one of those belly harnesses to make sure that you are as comfortable as you can be.

Tim Rockford: Have you ever seen the scene of a man pacing back and forth and running his hands through his hair? That's Tim. Like seriously concerned with how he is going to pay for three babies. On a detective's salary. There's going to be a lot of overtime in this man's future.

Joel Miller: What the hell can he do? Not like he can go back and unring that bell. He's panicking, his heart racing and his entire body feeling weak but he hides that from you. Does you no good and he won't have you worrying. He's fucking worried. Because this is a shit world you live in and there's a very real possibility that he will lose you and the babies. Rest assured that he will BURN THE WORLD DOWN to keep you and them safe.

🎉🎉Congratulation Anon!!! I hope that you have a smooth rest of your pregnancy and birth! Fingers crossed and good vibes being send your way!!!

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Oh my god they were roommates

barbie dolls:lily Evans x you

word: 2.4k ish

summary: your roommate lily had a hard day so you treated her right

warnings: lily has a tongue piercing, you're called Gay by narrator (me), you suck girl dick, lily is trans I said so I'm right you're wrong (/j), noodles mentioned, lily cums in your mouth and you slurp that shit up like a 7/11 slushie, I got sleepily can you tell when, lily uses the toilet while your brushing your teeth idk if that bothers you just check out after they stop banging, I think that it you really just give lily some head and pass out, lily is a ceramic teacher

You had first been a little worried moving in with some rando, but within minutes you lost most of your anxiety. The longer you spent with your lovely roommate, you learned more and more about her. You two quickly became less roommates and more roommate-friends. Her name was Lily Evans. She had fiery red hair, a beautiful laugh, perfect posture, and extremely kissable lips. In a perfectly roommate-y way, you were probably in love with her. She was so kind and so smart. You could go on and on but you were on a time crunch. Less daydreaming, more cooking.

Lily had some particularly pissy clients today. One almost threw a slap of clay at the wall, a couple broke up while she was trying to teach them how to throw a bowl on the pottery wheel, a group of teenage boys asked her if they could make bongs, and someone had the audacity to try to mansplain her own profession.

Lily had called you while she was eating her lunch, telling you everything. You nodded along, giving her all the support. She hung up after her lunch break, you quickly jumped up to your feet and started scittering around the apartment. You did her laundry, folding it gently, and placing it into her dresser. You vacuumed and swept, took out the trash, went out and bought all her snacks, organized them on her bed, and began making her favorite for dinner.

You jumped slightly at the sound of her keys, turning around with the box of pasta like a deer caught in headlights. Lily stared at you, holding onto the strap of her purse. She stared at you blankly, looking between the box and your face. You felt underdressed. Still in your pajamas, while Lily was in her put-together outfit, with a few clay splotches.

“Hi.” You whispered. She jerked her head.

“Hi?” Lily hung her keys in their place, muttering and keeping eye contact as she did. “What are you doing?” You shrugged, glancing back at the boiling pot of water and simmering pan of Alfredo sauce.

“Making your favorite dinner.” Lily jutted her bottom lip out at you.

“That’s sweet,” Lily whispered. She sniffed at the air before turning back to you. “Smells like Clorox?” You nodded.

“I cleaned. And did your laundry, among other things.” Lily stared at you awkwardly.

“Why? Is someone covering over?” You shook your head.

“You had a hard day. I wanted to make you feel better.” Lily whined at you, looking close to tears. She quickly pulled you into a tight hug, crushing the pasta box slightly. You huffed, patting Lily on her back. You heard her sniffle. You tilted your head slightly, gently pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I think I’m going to go cry in the shower now if you don’t mind,” Lily whispered, pulling back. You nodded. She left toward her room as you turned back to the pot, dumping the noodles in.

“Did you like buy all the snacks I like and drop them on my bed?” Lily asked. You glanced over your shoulder.

“yeah, I did do that.” Lily pressed her lips together. She nodded. Lily disappeared into her bedroom again. You continued making dinner. You glanced up at the sound of her slippers dragging across the floor. Lily had a new outfit and a towel in her arms, all wrapped up in her green robe. She stopped by the oven, placing a kiss on your cheek before leaving to the bathroom. You thought about how most friends didn’t kiss, cheek or otherwise.

You heard the water turn on, stirring the pot. You thought her lips on you more as you continued making dinner. You thought of them lower, on your neck. You thought of them on your shoulder as she pulled your shirt off. You thought them on your hip as she pulled the waistband of your pants down. You thought of them as she pulled your underwear down with her teeth. You thought her painted and chipped nails as she gently pulled your legs apart. You thought of her staring up at you as she kissed your inner thigh. You pulled the pot off the stove, taking it to the sink. You dumped it into the awaiting strainer.

You thought her hands gracing over your bare back with the sun shining through her curtains with small flowers embroidered on them. You thought of her holding onto your hand as you walked through the grocery store, trying to find what you needed to finish a last-minute baking project. You thought of her hands rubbing up to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, and back again while you fell asleep on the couch. You thought of bringing her lunch at her studio. You thought of braiding her hair into her nighttime pigtails with her eyes struggling to stay open. You wanted more than just sex with her. You wanted more than just friendship with Lily.

The water turned off, just as you were plating dinner. You were setting down your two plates on the small round table across from each other. You set out two glasses of water in Lily’s favorite cups. Lily came out of the bathroom soon after that in her pretty pj set. You both ate dinner, debriefing about the day. Lily thanked you a million times. You were able to brighten her moods though, her laugh bouncing off the walls. Lily helped you set the plates in the dishwasher. You both moved into the bathroom, brushing your teeth in silence. Stood around a single sink dipping your heads down to spit like the drinking bird toys. You sat on the closed toilet lid, digging in the bottom drawer for Lily’s comb and detangling spray. You ignored whatever she was doing over the sink, focused on trying to find the matching hair tie to the one in your hand. It matched her pj set.

After you found both hair ties, you left to the couch. You sat down, setting out her comb and detangling spray to the side. Lily joined you soon after, sitting down on the floor in front of you. You gently sprayed all her hair, before combing through it. As you moved through the motions, splitting her hair, and braiding the two parts, Lily told you about the conversations she overheard at her work. Just as you finished the second braid, Lily turned around. She smiled at you.

“I switched out my tongue piercing, look.” Lily opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. In the middle of the pink was a pretty little green ball. You nodded. You wanted to run your tongue over hers.

“ ‘s cute.” She nodded.

“Right?”

“We should make out sloppy so I can play with it.” Lily stared at you, a small grin pricking at her lips.

“What?” You shrugged. Lily tilted her head.

“I was just joking. you know, platonic validation and all that.” Lily sat up, leaning against your thighs.

“Cause, you know, if you wanted to-“ She trailed off. Your breath caught. You would’ve exhaled but she would’ve heard the uneasiness.

“Well, I mean if you’re offering.” Lily nodded.

“Oh, I'm offering.” You glanced around the room, now sitting in the silence of two roommates who are most definitely gay for each other. Lily pulled herself up onto the couch next to you. Lily paused a moment, staring into your eyes. Lily asked if you were sure. You couldn’t want something more. You pressed your lips to hers. You were quickly heating up, her tongue slipping past your lips as you pulled her up onto the couch. Lily straddled your lap, holding on to the back of your neck. She nipped at your bottom lip. You ran your hands up her thighs, squeezing at them. Lily seemed to enjoy that, grinding down into your lap. You let out a breathy moan. She muttered your name. You pulled your head back, staring up at her.

“I'm not having couch sex with you, my room is like four steps away.” Lily pecked your lips before standing and sticking her hand out. You latched onto it following her as she led you to her bedroom.

“Four steps too far.” You whispered, not really wanting her to hear you. Lily looked back at you and rolled her eyes. You were shoved onto the bed in seconds, Lily straddling you again. You brought her lips back to yours. Lily pulled at the hem of your shirt, breaking your kiss. She dropped the shirt behind her. You gently pulled at the bottom of her pajama shirt. Lily smiled at you, raising her arms. You pulled the shirt over her head dropping it off the edge of the bed. You trailed your kisses down her neck, leaving behind a few marks on her clavicle. You pulled one of her nipples into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around it as you pinched the other.

Lily whispered your name. You decided you wanted that sound to be engraved into your skull. You slipped your hands under the bottoms of her thighs. You flipped her over, her back hitting the mattress. You pulled yourself over her. Lily smiled up at you as you kissed down her stomach. You met her eyes as you dragged your tongue over the edge of her shorts. She nodded at you. You gently pulled her shorts down her legs before tossing them away. You returned to her stomach, kissing her underneath her bellybutton. When you pulled your face back, you could see her bulge through her thin cotton underwear. You lightly kissed it, feeling her hips jut upwards.

“hurry up with it, don’t tease me,” Lily whispered. You tsked, dipping your fingers into the band of her underwear and pulling.

“Isn’t that half the fun?” Lily quickly grabbed the nearest pillow. She swung her arm and smacked your shoulder. You pulled her underwear past her knees as she set the pillow back. She maneuvered her legs, helping you slip off her last layer. You flung the underwear somewhere over your shoulder as you leaned back down. You lightly blew air between her legs, seeing her stand up more. You gently pressed your lips to her tip, staring up at her. Lily groaned. You pulled her legs over your shoulders. You swiped your tongue over the bottom of her length before pulling her into your mouth fully. Lily moaned as you swirled around her tip. She dropped her hand to the back of your head. As you continued to bob your head, you slid one hand under her leg to massage her balls.

Lily pushed her head back against the mattress as you licked around her tip again. She squeezed her thighs tighter around your head. You moaned around her length. Lily muttered your name as she got closer. You pulled off her, kissing her tip. You dragged your tongue up the side of her dick before drawing her into your mouth again. You moved your head up and down faster, making her breath quicken. You kept your hand between her legs and your mouth on her cock as Lily got closer. She kept one hand on your head as the other trailed to her own nipple.

She tweaked it as she felt herself fastly approaching her climax. Lily jutted her hips up, pushing her length further into your mouth. Lily moaned your name under her breath as she came in your mouth. You swallowed, slowly pulling off her. You licked at her tip, catching the last bit of her cum, before swiping at the corners of your mouth with your thumb. You pressed your thumb into Lily’s mouth. She swirled her tongue around the pad before you pulled her into a kiss. Lily gripped your hips, pressing you against her. You stuck your tongue against hers, feeling her piercing. Lily moaned at the taste of herself. You fiddled at the piercing with the tip of your tongue. Lily pulled back, spit smeared around her mouth.

“Keep kissing me like that and we might have to go again.” You smiled and pecked her lips. You gathered her an outfit from her dresser. You soon after that pulled Lily into the shared bathroom. She used the toilet while you brushed your teeth. She changed into new pajamas before joining you at the sink. She started brushing her teeth as well. By the time you finished, you sat on the toilet lid, watching her. Lily was so beautiful, her moans sounded so beautiful too. As she was rinsing her mouth you felt a craving for something sweet.

“Ice cream is good aftercare right?” Lily spit out her water into the sink, looking over at you. She nodded.

“most definitely. And we could watch another episode of our show.” You excitedly nodded. Lily dropped her toothbrush into the holder.

“Roommates who also give head can cuddle on the couch, right?” you asked as Lily walked with you to the kitchen. She thought about it as she pulled out the ice cream and two bowls.

“Are we still roommates?” She whispered.

“my head game was so bad you're kicking me out?” Lily snorted as she scooped ice cream into the bowls.

“No I just mean, do you want us to be more?” You sighed. You shrugged.

“I think maybe that’s a question that I can decide in the morning when I’m thinking about something other than you.” Lily smiled sweetly at you, handing you your bowl. She gently kissed your lips.

“When are you not thinking of me?” You scoffed, walking behind her to the couch.

“Oh it's practically never, but it might be easier to make important decisions when your moans aren’t ringing my ears.” You whispered as took your first bite of ice cream.

“Are we on episode 7 or 8?” You rolled your eyes at her before informing her you were on episode 9. Eventually, you both finished your ice cream, setting it on the coffee table. You crawled into her arms, laying on top of her as she traced shapes on your back. You both fell asleep in the living room with your show on. In the morning you’d make hard important decisions, tonight you were just doting on Lily.

[citrusscale-remastered]

Magisterium Actors AU

[The Bronze Key]

Call: I keep on forgetting that this house isn’t real

Aaron: Did you shit in the fake toilet again?

Call: Again??

Call: No I was trying to turn on the water

~~~~~ Alex, bopping Aaron on the head with the Alkahest: Cain instinct

~~~~~ Call, holding a crystal: Dude guess where I just got this from

Jasper: Wait where

Call, pointing back at the chandelier, missing several crystals: It’s sugar glass and it’s so good

~~~~~ Kimiya: Hey babe, how are we feeling about dying

Jennifer: The contour’s going crazy, I’ll be the deadest corpse in the water

~~~~~

Tamara, sneaking through the cave wall set: *hums mission impossible*

~~~~~ Alex, holding out the Alkahest: Whoosh! Kablam!

Rufus: Cut!

Aaron: Stop making mouth noises! This is the fourth time I’ve had to die!

~~~~~ Tamara, pointing at a fish: Hey Captain Fishface, it’s your twin!

Call: I’m demoting you to petty officer fishface now

~~~~~ Call, gesturing to the truck of animals: Wow!

Call: Look at all these chickens!

~~~~~

Call and Aaron: *eyes closed, intensively focusing*

Alma, whispering: Jen?

Jen:

Call, cracking open an eye: Jen are you fucking asleep?

Jen:

~~~~~

*Alastair napping with Havoc on his lap*

Call: Dads when they didn’t want a dog

~~~~~

Alex: So… I just wiggle my fingers?

Alma: Yes, the CGI’s going to put everything in later

Aaron: You look so stupid doing that

Alex: This is literally why I kill you

~~~~~

Jasper, vlogging: Hey guys, this is the storeroom

Jasper: This green noodle is gonna try and kill Call

Tamara: And this green noodle is my sister!

~~~~~

Call, filming Panopticon scene: Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room, a rubber room, a rubber room with rats and rats make me crazy.

Anastasia: The youth of today

~~~~~

Iron Trio, imitating poster behind them: Hang in there!

~~~~~ Tamara, behind the camera: Me when I pretend to be straight

*phone pans over to Jasper and Celia’s date scene*

Jasper: -so this ferret, yeah?

~~~~~ Part One Part Two

[featherandferns]

hii ik this isn’t a prompt but i’ve been sick all night like throwing up and really bad stomach pains and i’ve been mostly alone so i was wondering if maybe you could write something ab jj being there for you and comforting you if not that’s totally fine🩷🩷🩷

aw no! hope you feel better soon! i totally get what you mean; i've had this awful cold for a few days and today is the first time i manged to sleep right through the night without fever dreams. hope this is okay <3

(content warnings: mentions of vomitting/sickness)

When you wake suddenly in the night, it feels as though God has chosen your head to play pin-ball in. Your brain rattles in your skull, swaying from side to side as if you’re at sea, and you blink awake with a wince. Something’s not right.

That’s when the stomach cramps kick in. Acid churning and burning like someone’s shaken a bottle of soda. It’s hot suddenly. Overwhelmingly so. You move to kick away the blankets but the force of it makes everything so much worse. The pain in your head and stomach. The dizziness and the—

You’re going to be sick.

Darting out of bed, you rush to the bathroom, barely making it to the porcelain of the toilet in time. The cringe-worthy echo of vomiting bounces off the walls. There wasn’t any time to even flick on the lights. It seems as if your body is hell-bent on churning up and out every single morsel of food and drink in your stomach, and then some. Vaguely you register someone scraping back your hair and rubbing your back.

“Sorry,” you mumble against the cool seat of the toilet, for some reason.

“Don’t apologise,” JJ shushes. “You good?”

There’s no time to even shake your head before the next bout of nausea hits. It’s answer enough – no, I’m not good – and JJ pets you through it. He flushes the toilet when you stop. Momentarily leaves you on the floor as he kneels to fill up a glass of water from the sink, handing it down to you.

“Take small sips, m’kay?”

You give a shaky nod. Your body is reacting like you’ve downed three cups of coffee in ten minutes. Shivering and jittery. Great - here comes the fever.

“Maybe it’s something I ate,” you think aloud in a slur.

“Dunno. There’s lots of bugs going round at the moment,” JJ says gently.

The ground seems nice despite it not having been cleaned in at least a year. You curl up on the cool tiles. JJ shrugs off the tee shirt he was wearing in bed, laying it over you as a make-shift blanket.

“I’m hot.”

“Damn straight you are.”

You don’t have the energy to laugh, but there’s a faint, quivering smile on your face. JJ strokes your shoulder as he sits beside you, watching you, eyes heavy with concern.

“You’re covered in goosebumps.”

“I feel like I’m boiling, though,” you tell him, shrugging off the tee-shirt.

JJ relents. He grabs a flannel from the sink side and dabs at your sweating forehead. It seems that even the risk that this might be viral isn’t of concern to him.

After about ten minutes of the two of you sat in the dark bathroom – you shaking on the floor and JJ stroking your shoulder, forearm and head – he manages to coax you back to the pull-out. Drenches the flannel with cold water and lays it across your head. Digs about in the cupboards for some (semi-out of date) anti-nausea pills. Helps you take sips of water from time to time. Once he’s done faffing around the house, doting on you, he climbs into bed and pulls you to lie against him. You gladly do so. There’s no complaints when your clammy skin hits his chest, or when your jitteriness keeps the two of you awake. JJ strokes your shoulders and back, pets your hair and softly scratches at your scalp. You’ve never seen him so mellow and calm. So focused on one thing: caring for you.

Somehow, you drift off. When you come to, JJ’s managed to sneak out of bed. He’s in the kitchen – you can make him out standing over the hob through your wave-like vision – and he’s stirring something in a pan.

“JayJ?”

He glances over at your raspy call.

“Hey,” he smiles. “Making you some soup. Drink more water for me, please.”

If you weren’t ill, you’d tell him to can it and to not tell you what to do. But it feels nice to be doted on sometimes, especially when you’re poorly. So, you oblige and sip at the water. It does help sooth your stinging throat, messed-up from the sickness. The stomach cramps are starting to ease and it makes you wonder if it was food-poisoning after all.

“I sent the others out whilst you get better, by the way,” JJ says. He’s pouring the soup into a bowl now.

“You kicked them out?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t use those words exactly, but yeah, pretty much,” he shrugs. You roll your eyes. There’s a faint, tired smile on your face.

JJ wanders over with the soup. He helps you sit up and takes perch next to you. You sip at the warm food, humming gratefully as your stomach sighs with gratitude for having something to focus on.

“What kinda soup is this?”

“Old Maybank family secret,” he says.

You quirk a brow at him, unconvinced.

“Campbell.”

That makes you smile. “Knew it.”

Once you’ve eaten as much as you can, you sigh and snuggle back into the covers. More painkillers and another wet flannel, and you fall asleep by JJ’s side. He doesn’t want to overheat you, so he just lets his feet tangle with yours. As you nap, he messes on his phone. No complaints that he’s missing a day of surfing, when the waves are meant to be the best today. No complaints that he’s sleep deprived from looking after you. No complaints that you’re a sweaty, slurring mess. Just you and him, and the unrestful rest that comes as you wait for the stomach bug to pass.

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Lily- a DCA!Serial Killer AU drabble

CW: vomiting, mention of drug use

" 'Boy,' she said courteously, 'why are you crying?' "

Sun read aloud to the collection of children at the day's reading circle, his voice module shifting to a higher, feminine pitch to match the character Wendy when speaking her lines. Today's book was 'Peter and Wendy' by J.M. Barrie. Some of the children gathered around him giggled, finding it as silly as when he was pretending to cry as Peter Pan just seconds earlier. A smile of his own was etched on the sun animatronic's face plate, it always elated him to hear the children laugh.

" 'Peter could be exceedingly polite also, having learned the grand manner at fairy ceremonies, and he-' "

"M-Mr. Sun…?"

A small voice croaked his name, and a smaller hand rose in his peripherals. He knew the voice, and his eyes fell on one particular child. His jovial smile became one of concern. The child didn't look very well.

"Lily, are you alright?"

The child, Lily, looked up at Sun with watery eyes slightly obscured by her glasses. She was shaking, appeared rather pale, and a hand was gripping at her shirt over her stomach. It was a familiar sight to Sun. As well as the children, as some had warily begun scooting away from her.

"I…h-have to go…"

Sun knew what that meant and he nodded. Tucking a bookmark in between the pages, he sat the book in his chair and carefully scooped Lily into his arms. "The reading circle will continue in just a moment, Sunbeams! We will be back very soon! Gavin, please make sure the little ones behave," he instructed one of the older kids as he was already on his way to the library's bathroom, hurrying inside.

He knelt with her in front of one of the stalls, removing her glasses and tucking them over the collar of his sweater, then he brushed back her black hair for him to hold. With his other hand, he rubbed Lily's back as she began to cough and retch into the toilet. He gave her a sympathetic look.

"There there, Sunbeam. Get it all out," he gently instructed the poor girl. He had done this a few times with her in the past. The poor thing was prone to sickness due to a heightened sense of anxiety, least that's what Lily's mother told him over the phone the first time it happened. Fortunately, Sun was unbothered by such predicaments. He was used to dealing with ill children.

When Lily had finished, he moved to the wall and let her sit in his lap. He returned her glasses to her, then reached into his pocket and gave her an apple juice box he grabbed before coming here. She sipped it while he continued rubbing her back. "Are you starting to feel better, Lily?" he asked, soft enough that his voice didn't echo.

Lily rubbed at her eyes and nodded with a sniffle, but that didn't stop her from crying. When asked what was the matter, she hiccupped, "I-I feel bad, f-for making you always stop story time…! I-I don't mean to…I'm sorry, M-Mr. Sun…!"

"Aww, Sunbeam…" Sun pulled her into another gentle hug, a hand going in circles on her back. "There is nothing for you to be sorry for. I am not at all upset, sweetie. Only worried. I know you can't help this. Just take a breath. Everything's alright." Sun held Lily close as she buried her face into his sweater, shaking a little less. The small girl sniffled, letting out a shaky breath. She adjusted her head in an odd manner, almost like she was…nuzzling him. He continued rubbing her back as the smallest sob escaped her.

"…I wish you were my mom…"

His hand froze in place.

Sun went completely still. His smile fell entirely, his eyes trained on nothing. It was barely a whisper, but he heard it. He heard it. In that moment, he looked back. Every time he saw Lily and her mother together. She ran when dropped off, and walked when being picked up. She never willingly held her mother's hand. The rare times Lily would glance back at him. The look on her face…

"What was that, Sunbeam?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

Lily flinched a little in his arms, keeping her face buried. She let go of him, rubbing at her face. "N-Nothing," she answered meekly.

"Oh, alright then." He forced down his building anger. 'Later', he told himself, and he stood up, placing Lily on the ground. "Now, how are you feeling? Are you ready to go back to the circle?" Thinking for a moment, Lily eventually gave him a shy nod. He smiled warmly. "Wonderful! Let's hurry off to Neverland, shall we?" He lightly booped her on the nose, glad to see it warrant him a giggle out of her.

Holding her hand, he walked out of the bathroom towards the reading circle. Though outwardly cheery as he greeted the little ones and resumed reading, that sting still lingered at the base of his chest. Silently, he sent a message.

"Moon."

"Yeah."

"Jackie Langman."

"Lily's mother?"

"…"

"…I'll look into her."

"Thank you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moon sat on the edge of the pier, his legs crossed. The tide was high, and he didn't want his uniform getting wet. He stared out at the empty, moonlit horizon of the bay. No boats were out at this hour, everyone had already docked in for the day. It was a quiet place, free of prying eyes and cameras. No motor engines disturbed the night's peace, leaving only the sound of the wind and the waves…

And the approaching footsteps behind him.

Moon didn't need to turn around to know who was walking down the pier. Before long, Sun joined him in sitting, placing himself at Moon's left. Seeing the high-rising water, he crossed his legs, too. Sun hung his head low, heterochromatic eyes shining back at him in his reflection as his hands rested on the pier's edge.

"…What did you find?" he asked.

Moon glanced at Sun briefly from the corner of his eyes. He could sense something looming in his twin's tone. He looked back out to the horizon with a sigh. Right. Cut to the chase, then.

"Jackie Langman. Single mother, divorced her husband--Lily's father--when Lily was only 3. Began shooting narcotics around that time. Reports from neighbors claim to have heard shouting from inside their home and things being broken. Police could never find anything. Jackie claims to have gone to rehab for her drug use, but there are no records indicating she ever went."

Moon heard the sound of wood creaking on his left and glanced to Sun, whose shoulders were tense. His hands gripped the wood, causing it to begin splintering. His rays rattled like a snake's tail. Moon let out another small sigh. "Sun-"

"Why didn't I see it sooner…?" Sun interrupted. His brows were tightly knit, teeth gritted together. His colored pupils had shrunken a little. "Three months…Lily's been part of the reading circle for three months. They were there…The signs were all there, and I didn't see it."

"Sun, you can't burden this on yourself," Moon told him calmly.

"Do you know what she said to me earlier?" Sun continued, like Moon hadn't said anything. "In the bathroom, as I held her. She told me, 'I wish you were my mom'." Moon's eyes widened slightly, hearing this. Sun smiled, but it was full of bitterness and self-disgust. "That was when I realized. Only then did I…" An inhale rattled in his chest, clearly fighting to keep himself composed. “I hate that I had to pretend to not hear what she said…”

Moon remained silent for a moment, allowing Sun the chance to collect himself. "Sun. As much as you hate it, we can’t let anything rouse suspicion. Especially from the kids. But don’t worry. What matters is that we know, now. And we can do something about it. I've already looked at potential guardians. Her dad is just as crooked as Jackie, so he's a no-go. Lily has an aunt up in Milwaukee; she seems pretty clean, and it looks like she's tried to fight for custody over Lily in the past."

"We need to act now." Moon blinked, confused by Sun's sudden declaration. "Whatever we do, we need to do it now."

"Sun, hold your horses. We still need to find a way of getting to Jackie, and make sure Lily is out of the way," Moon explained. "I understand your anger, but we can't jump into this-"

"And why not?!" Sun's voice cracked as it rose. The wood under his hand cracked as well, his face plate twisted with rage, as well as fear, colored pupils now rattling pinpricks. "We can't sit and plan and wait too long about this, Moon! We just can't! We need to act now, before it's t-too late…!" His voice wavered, and his eyes flickered before squeezing shut. Sun's breath shuddered as he tried to control it, like he was fighting to keep himself from crying. "I-It can't happen again…"

Moon waited once again, giving Sun a needed moment. Then he reached and placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Sun. Look at me." He instructed softly. Sun did so, his optics shining. Moon gave him a gentle, but firm look. "It won't be like how it was with her. We won't let that happen. I promise you."

Slowly, Sun managed to calm himself down. He took a breath and thumbed away the oil tears in his eyes. Once composed, he gave Moon a faint smile. "Thank you, brother…"

Moon returned that smile to Sun, lightly patting him on the back. Then he stood up, stretched his arms over his head, and offered a hand to Sun. "Shall we get to work?"

The other animatronic accepted the hand and was pulled to his feet. Sun gave a firm nod, walking with Moon back down the pier. "Let's do it." He would save Lily, no matter what it took.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:3c

@moonlit-dreamers

[alcinaslittlemaid]

Sick Doll🌡️ + Bad Dream💤

Papawise x fem!reader

Warnings: emetophobia, sickness symptoms,

Fluff, papa being a sweet old man, but a little suggestive!

Summary: You have a sick bug, papa takes care of you❤️

“Bleughhhh” You retched into the toilet, your mouth had been spewing vomit all morning and most of the night. You were exhausted, your vision was spotting, your brain was being smacked constantly with a frying pan, your stomach was twisting into a pretzel, not for the right reason this.

You gagged, kneeling by the toilet bowl with your shaking hand over your mouth,

God I wish papa was here…. You sighed and stood almost downing bottle beside you.

Dollyyyyy…..

Dollfaceee……

Does Babydoll need her papa?…..

You shook your head, thinking the voice was your brain hallucinating. You lurched carelessly back to your bedroom

“Hmmmn I wonder if papas home?” You pondered hopping down the stairs cautiously, almost smacking face first into the wall beside you.

You could hear papa talking to someone, his gruff voice an almost immediate comfort to you

“Yeah, but what happens when that kid gets away pen? Huh? You have to keep your eyes and mind on the prize and another thing-“ He stopped, noticing that you were stood in the doorway listening.

Papa was sat in his caramel brown, arm chair, puffing on a cigar, propped up by pillows for his sore back. Last of the summer wine was playing on his tv.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to evesdrop sugartits” he puffed on his cigar blowing the smoke at you, your peered away coughing on the fumes, noticing another familiar clown looking at you in that usual vintage clown suit “Hiii Y/n~” penny squeaked giving you a tight hug, a thick alien purr rumbled in his chest.

Papa was looking at you intently “Buttercup? Are you feeling okay?” He hummed “Y-yeah I’m fine”

“Mutton chops we know when you’re lying” they both chimed together “Back in my day, you know where lying would get you?” Papa growled lowly “W-where?” You swallowed hard slowly backing away.

This man was unpredictable. “A spanking”

“You’re not too old to go over my knee sugar~” he teased making you blush slightly.

You glanced up, a thick drop of Drool from penny’s cherry lip “eugh pen”

“Don’t change the subject doll” He stubbed the cigar out in the ashtray “Come here~ Come to papa~” he patted the silky thigh of his clown suit, You nodded, wondered over and sat on his lap. He smiled and scrunched his clown nose, pressing his hand to your forehead “Awhhh my little kitten is sick”

“Your forehead is cold and clammy dolly”

He cooed

“Penny~ Looks like we’re gonna have to play doctor-“ papa opened his eyes, there penny was stood in a nurses uniform, holding a needle with a sharp syringe “Pennywise loves to play….” He huffed “Doctorrrrr”

You stared at him in disbelief and shock

“Woah woah woah penny! No!” Papa held you close to his chest “sugardoll shhh it’s okay”

Papa lifted you into his arms, cradling you “papas girl aren’t you doll” he cooed kissing your nose “come on, let’s climb the wooden stairs to Bedfordshire” papa chuckles at his little joke before lifting you bridal style, carrying you up to your bed, pennywise following behind.

“B-But Papaaaah I’m not-“ you were soon cut off by your own yawn, you body and mind betrayed you “Come on doll~” he carefully tucks you in “Papas sweet little girl” he kisses the top of your head and tucks you into bed, placing some ibuprofen on the bedside table.

Later that evening, You aggressively tossed and turned in the blankets, kicking and squirming in the sheets. Your heart was racing, your body sweating.

Your vision distorted and blurry, the room was spinning violently

“Ahh-ahhh Uhh” you glanced over at what was once your chair, but not sat a 6ft creature staring back at you.

Your about to scream when it crawls towards you, prowling and screeching, it’s slender black arms and pointed teeth glare at you, it’s sharp claws ready to rip into your flesh, it suddenly pounces on you.

“Ahhhh! Shit-“ You woke up in a cold sweat, your mind drowning in terror and your head spinning with a throbbing

headache.

The door swung open briskly, papa was stood in the doorway “Babydoll? What’s wrong I heard screaming?” Papa rushed in, he was donned in a silk dressing gown “My dear? What’s wrong?” He asked

taking a seat beside you placing his hand on your forehead “Oh sugar doll your sweating profusely, here drink some fluids, keep hydrated” papa stroked your head, nuzzling his hand into your hair handing you a glass of water “I just- I had a bad- I had a horrible dream, where a creature was about to rip me to shreds and and and” You practically chugged the water from the glass in pure thirst “Then I remember floating- fuh- floating towards a bright yellow- no three bright yellow orbs of light I felt my body floating off my bed-“

“Pennnnnyyyy” Papa huffed looking over at your wardrobe, penny’s glowing yellow eyes burned from the darkness “Whhhhhaaaaaat?” He giggled with a sadistic smile “Did you?” He snarled “Mayyybbbeeee, oh come on old man, a little fear never hurt anyone” he chuckled causing a thick glob of drool to spatter against the floor, you saw papa rolling up his newspaper, thrashing penny over the head harshly with it “You Stupid courteous fool!” He snapped “Aghhh! Ow ! Ow !ah” Penny hissed looking over at you “Your gonna pay for that bitch” He growled again, a playful tone in his voice.

“Pennywise the dancing clown! Apologise to y/n right now” papa growled

“Ughhhh fine” Pennywise approached your guest bed “I’m sorry for frightening and tenderising the little lambs meaty flesh” Pennywise drooled over you, his teeth sharpening “Pennnyywiseee” Papa lifted the paper again “Ugh I’m only kidding” pennywise joked wrapping his arms around you “I wouldn’t hurt a thing” He purred, his mood changing almost drastically “Good boy” Papa smiled sitting on your bed again “You feeling okay doll?” Papa asked, looking at you as you lay curled up in the blankets.

You nodded, another yawn leaving your lips “You want me to stay with you until you fall back asleep?” He asked stroking your head to which you nodded again, resting your head on his pillow “Alright sweet doll” He smiled,

And with that, pennywise snuggled up next to you and you both fell asleep, papa watched over you with a warm smile, staying by you all night.

🖤❤️

[maggyme13]

Moving above the Underworld (1/?)

Ellie just moved into a new flat. Introducing herself to her downstairs neighbor with a cake she did not realize what the future held for her and him. And what had an asshole coworker to do with it?

AN: I never saw Sand Castle and only know about Captain Syverson because of the Henry Cavill Character Rabbithole of Fanfiction. But I thought he would fit the best (visually), so I chose him.

Don´t like-> Don´t Read Minors DNI

Warning: asshole Coworkers, This Series WILL contain dubcon! Wordcount: Around 2k

Masterlist Series-Masterlist

„Finally, the last box is empty. Only took me- what- a month?“, the young woman groaned. Her back was hurting from lifting too much heavy lumber at work. “Now, I gotta get food in the oven and take my hard owned shower. And why am I talking to myself again? If he hears me, he won´t look at me all grumpy but as I am crazy as well. Gotta tone it down, Ellie.” Stripping her dusty work clothes, she made her way into the small bathroom of her apartment. It had dark gray tiles on the floor, with Creme-colored walls, a toilet, a bathtub with a shower, and a sink with a mirrored cabinet above it. Her washing machine and dryer were in a small adjoined room next door. “Still got to introduce myself to my neighbor properly. Now that he is back from his holidays. Guess I could bake something. What do I have in the pantry? What do I have… Flour, sugar, eggs, milk, chocolate, baking powder. Mhm...”, she continued thinking out loud while washing her longish dark-blonde hair and face, “I could make some Straciatella cake with chocolate topping and split one dough into two servings. I could do with something sweet for my breaks.” Ellie fought getting some dried varnish off her arms. “Tomorrow is Friday. That means he should be home when I get off work, right? I still can leave it at his door with a note either way.” Dressed in some of her most comfortable clothes and with her hair up in a towel Ellie ate her Pizza while also preparing the cake dough. If she sat down to eat, she knew she would never be able to get back up and get her shit done. “Note to myself: Get more painkillers at the pharmacy tomorrow.”, she groaned again when a sting of pain spread through her spine, “Would only be half this bad if the idiot would have helped me instead of taking like ten smoke breaks.” She had just placed the pan in the oven when the sound of a door closing and being locked reached her ears; her neighbor was leaving it seemed. He was always gone at strange and unscheduled times, and the woodworker wondered what his job was that he had no schedule. But she was too shy to ask. Not that it was any of her business. “Forty minutes to wait. Hope this works out.” ___

Before she left her flat, she quickly the molten chocolate over the cakes so it would be ready once she returned late that afternoon. “Let´s see if I can even move tonight. Would be nice though.”, she wondered aloud after one last stretch. Just when she wanted to open the front door it was opened from the outside. Her neighbor had returned. He was a giant of a man. Nearly two meters in height with shaved hair, a short full beard, and muscles. His arms were close to the width of her lower legs, his torso as wide as an old beer keg, and his legs fit the rest of that body. When Ellie had seen him the first time she had believed a god stood before her. Cheesy, she knew, but that was the first thought that had crossed her mind. As usual, he was wearing all black: Black shirt, trousers, and shoes. That showed off his tattoo-covered arms and the crook of his neck. He was no one she wanted to cross paths with when he was angry or in a dark alleyway. “G-Good morning.”, she greeted as usual with a small smile on her lips. “´Morning.”, he rumbled back, not cold but tired sounding. Listening to her music, Ellie made her way to the nearby subway station that would bring her to her workplace. Each day she traveled one hour to and from work. And whenever she had to make overtime, she hated it even more.

___

“G-Good evening, Sir. I am sure- cut that- I know you know I moved into the flat a-above you a few weeks back. I- I had no time to introduce myself properly so here I am. Name´s Ellie Miller. I am a skilled Woodworker. Please let me know if I am too loud or do something wrong. And I can leave my number in case something happens.”, she stumbled over her words. Far too shy and nervous standing in front of her neighbor. “Mhrmm.”, he answered quirking one of his eyebrows. His gray eyes staring right into her soul it seems. “Oh- I. I made a cake as an introductory gift. I hope you are not allergic to anything.”, Ellie handed him the box with the cake, “I will leave you to it then. Ha- Have a nice evening.” Fighting the urge to bow (whichever), the woman turned and walked back up to her apartment, feeling his eyes on her back until she closed the door behind her. “That was scary.”, she breathed out, her back pressed against the closed door. The box was returned to her the next Monday morning, clean and with a note that stated: ´Thank you. Welcome to the house.´ The grateful smile that danced around her lips after reading those words only left when she stepped into the workshop and was met by her favorite coworker. He was in his early forties, friends with the boss, and believed women belonged behind a counter and not a band- or circular saw. But he could not get rid of her. Both her work ethic and the results of her work were perfect and not once a customer complained about her. “Boss wants to have a word with you.”, he sneered and Ellie sighed. What had she done now? “You wanted to see me, Sir?”, she asked once stepped into the office. “Your new tasks. Make sure not to mess them up this time. And no more leaving early. Now back to work!”, her Boss told her without looking at her at all. “Yes, Sir.”, she mumbled, taking the binders with her. She had three weeks to build a whole (though small) kitchen, one bedroom interior, one sideboard beneath a sink, and an office table. “Oh joy, over time. Again.”, she groaned, her head hitting the top of her workstation, “At least the table and bedroom are made of oak. We have enough of that lying around. Let´s get that done, I guess. No moving tonight again. Yayy.”

____

It was the Saturday after she had finished the given tasks (with high praises from the customers) and was finally able to relax a bit. And that usually meant doing nothing (productive) all day long, wearing her most comfortable clothes (or sleepwear), maybe some baking, and reading. This time her choice fell on a simple but delicious apple cake with cinnamon-sugar crumbles, and so she got to work. “This one will taste incredible with some fresh whipped cream.”, Ellie hummed. She had last made it a few months back and she yearned for it now that she smelled it again. Her kitchen was clean, she grabbed a cup of tea and launched herself into her couch with the book she was reading at that moment in time. “DAMN. It smells like a bakery in here! I am getting hungry just standing here.”, a man exclaimed in the hallway. He seemed to have a Latin-American accent,” Didn´t know you could use a kitchen without blowing it up.” “My neighbor. She tends to do it often.”, her neighbor answered in a neutral tone. “Think I could ask for some?”, the first man asked and Ellie perked up. “We have shit to do.”, now her neighbor sounded slightly annoyed. “Spoilsport.”, that last mumble of the foreigner made her chuckle, and decided to put some cake and whipped cream in a container and hang it on her neighbor's doorknob. A whole sheet was far too much for one person to eat. Even though when that person was a bit chubby. Two hours later, she did just that, with a small note attached that read: ´I overheard you earlier. Sorry for listening in. I made far too much for one person, so please enjoy it. I hope it was okay that I placed it on your doorknob. I did not want to interrupt whatever you were doing ~ Ellie.´ From that day on, whenever she made something, she would put it in a container on a little stool she placed next to the stairs leading up to her apartment. And every time the container would be empty and clean the coming day. She did not do that because she wanted something in return, but because she loved to bake and share (it). Around that time Ellie started to feel like she was being followed whenever she left the house. No matter where she went. If it was to work, on the way to customers, shopping for groceries, or simply for a walk through the neighborhood. At first, the feeling was only sporadic and every other day, but once she had realized the feeling. She got more and more aware of it, but whenever she was to look around, no one was there that looked suspicious. Up to a point where she had anxiety attacks only thinking about leaving through her door. Two months into that situation Ellie almost knocked out one of the Coworkers she liked with a piece of wood when he had startled her at work. She apologized profusely and promised baked goods as an apology. He declined. But asked if she was alright. She told him yes, that she was simply overworked and ready for her days off the upcoming week. But of course, it should not be that easy for her. The last Customer was screaming to her, that she was a failure and knew nothing about what she was doing. That she should quit and be a housewife like a real woman would. It took everything for within her to not start to cry, and because she had managed to do just that, she treated herself to a ´feel-good´ hot chocolate. Again, the dreaded feeling of being under surveillance crept up her spine and she hurried home to order some food from a local Italian restaurant. With how her day had been, she needed her favorite comfort food. Exited for a calm(er) evening with incredible food, she opened the door for the delivery guy. Who was in his mid-thirties, with oily skin, unruly hair, and some dirt on his uniform. He smelled of booze, but that could be caused by the large stain on his shirt. It seemed like someone had dumped his beer on him. Not being one to judge someone who was looking the way he was, anyone had a bad day once in a while. Heck, she just had one THAT day. Her friendly demeanor left though when the man whistled lewdly and

started to make inappropriate comments. “Thank you, for your delivery, Sir.”, she smiled, trying to close the door on him. He put his hand between the door and frame to stop her from doing so and pushed the door open again. “What are you doing tomorrow? Say at 6 pm.”, he grinned. “Nothing of your concern. Now have a nice evening.”, she tried again but he did not budge. “Go on a date with me and I´ll leave.” Ellie just wanted to tell him off again when the main door opened again. “Your Car is blocking my spot.”, her neighbor stated after a second he needed to take in the scene before him,” Get it moving or I´ll call your boss.” “Sorry, Sir. Think about it Sweetheart.”, the man winked before finally leaving. “No thank you.”, the woman whispered more to herself than anything else, before addressing her savior, “Thank you for that. H-he did not take No for an answer.” “You good?”, he asked, his eyes roaming over her like he was looking for any injuries. “Yes, Thank you again.”, and with that, she returned to her kitchen to hopefully be able to relax. Part 2

AN: Thank you for reading! Reblogs and Comments are always appreciated!:)

[panboiiibish]

Theres blood...

Blood?

Why??

Fuck...

what did I do?!

What happened why am I covered in blood?!

I dont even recognize my reflection, it's so covered in red that only wide terror filled eyes come through.

Why am I covered in blood?

Oh gods...

It hurts.

Why?

Fuck my stomach feels like its filled to the brim...

Toilet.

Rushing to the toilet the brunning volcano thankfully doesn't erupt through my lips onto the floor. It plops into the shit water with a heavy sound as tears cascade down my face.

Fuck it hurts, why is there so much?!

It's just more blood. It fills the toilet bowl as the seat is covered in my bloody hand prints.

Fuucckkk....

WHAT DID I DO?!

Whimpers escape my lips as I raise on trembling legs. A pain shoots through my body worse then just a normal ache or cramp. It starts in many places. My stomach is the worst, but as I shift my weight to take a step away from the bloodied mess iv made I stumble and bite back a whine from a shot of white static running up my heel.

It's bad.

This is bad.

I feel like I've survived a car wreck only to be stranded without medical help.

What happened?

Why cant I remember things?

FUCK!

My foot really hurts but I wasn't expecting to have another pang of pain when I grabbed onto the door handle for stability.

Shit my hand.

It looks so bad..

Theres blood everywhere but I can at least see the palm of my hand looks torn through. Like with a dull knife.

Why would I know what a dull knife wound looks like?

I wobble through the bathroom door while contemplating my missing memory. Pinprick eyes darting around to find if there are any others in this seemingly empty building. A groan leaving my chapped lips as another pang of pain comes from my stomach. My, for now, good hand reaches down and presses onto the point of pain. And I'm greeted with a hiss from my own lips. Bullet wound, I've been shot... and from the pain weaving through to my back it thankfully was a through and through.

Why do I know this?

Who am I?

Shuffling down the corridor my bloodied hand leaves a trail on the pristine white wall in a sad attempt to keep myself steady. It was hard with every step shooting more pain through my calf and any tension made bile rise back through my esophagus.

Tears pricked my waterline once more but I tried to hold them back. It didnt feel right crying right now. Nothing feels right.

Why is this happening...

Were am i..?

This place looks so desolate. With every shift of my feet dust is kicked up and covered the legs of my... My camo pants?

Why am I wearing camo?

A string of groans and grunts have from my lips as my wounds only burn more. The exertion of my already battered body only making the blood loss worse. Along with the racing of my broken mind. Nothing makes sense and the pure silance only sends a deep chill down my spine.

Its early morning depending on the bright golden lighting filling in from distant windows. But I don't really have the mind to look out at the world. Instead i keep on shuffling. Trying to keep my whimpers and groans at a quiet as i still dont understand what is happening.

Please.....

What did I do?

Why is this happening..?

Did I kill someone?

My mind is battling against a hazy fog covering any kind of memories I could try and think of. While static black starts to fade into the corners of my eyes going unnoticed from the mix of emotions piling in my mind.

I don't know how I got here.

Or what I'm doing.

Why am I wounded?

And...

Who am I?

Hii! Its Pan! This is very different from my normal writing but it's an idea iv had for an while. Just wanted something dark and gritty after all the light and fluffy stuff I write. It is in my bio that I do dark work. X3 Welp give me your thoughts on this one! Might make this into an x reader if its liked, or it might go into the lore of one of my ocs. Maybe both XD Anyways have a nice night!

[streakyglasses]

to love me so (i got you, babe)

From an anon prompt I got a while back: Chris and Street working through an unplanned, positive pregnancy test.

TW: referenced child abuse, referenced sexual assault (neither overly graphic), anxiety, concerns about disapproving families.

Read on ao3, ffn, or below the cut.

Two blue lines stare Chris in the face. Two. 

She’s faced gunmen and bombs and poison, and none of that was as terrifying as the air in her bathroom right now. Her blood rushes past her ears, her lungs strain against her ribs to try to expand, and her brain freezes. 

“Fuck,” she chokes out. The vanity is cold where her fingers claw at it, gripping so tight her knuckles turn white as her knees threaten to buckle on her. 

Fuck. 

Her mind spins as every day from the past two months replays in her mind. Every birth control pill. Every night, and afternoon, and morning with Street comes screaming back to her in technicolor. Where it would normally be comforting, now it feels like she’s searching for what went wrong. Like trying to find the missing piece that caused a car crash while she’s standing in the wreckage. 

Sweat breaks out on the back of her neck, a shiver running up her spine, and the familiar pull of her stomach bottoming out sends her crashing to her knees in front of the toilet before she can think. The small breakfast she had, the near-constant queasiness that she’s felt since Monday making it difficult to eat much of anything, comes back up. Her body heaves until her throat feels like razor blades. She groans once it’s all over, letting her head rest against the cool of the closed toilet lid while her heart stops racing. 

Peeling herself off the floor is a monumental task. She’s dizzy, the edges of her vision blurring when she gets to her feet, and she waits for it to clear before she opens the bathroom door. Her bedroom feels unfamiliar in a way it never has before as she grabs a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt and turns back to the shower. It’s as hot as she can stand it in an effort to cut through some of the—whatever—she’s feeling. 

As awful as her apartment feels, the notion of going out into the world like this feels even more dangerous. Knowing the TV won’t help and it will be hours before Street gets home, she closes her bedroom blinds and slides under the covers as her mind keeps spinning. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

She planned to get up before Street got home. To make dinner or fold laundry and create some semblance of normalcy. But it’s easy to lose track of time and it isn’t until Street’s warm hand rests on her shoulder that she even realizes the day has gone by. Turning on her back with a groan, she sees his eyebrows crease with concern. 

“Hey, Babe. Are you still feeling sick? You could’ve called and I would’ve come home. It might be time to go to Urgent Care and see if they can give you something?”

Sterile white walls and blue latex gloves pop into her brain. Then ultrasounds and doctor’s appointments and a barrage of other scenes that she’s just barely able to keep at bay. She shakes her head to clear them as much as to answer him.

This isn’t how she wanted to do this. 

“I’m fine. Change, I’ll make dinner,” she mumbles, desperate for some control. His wrinkles grow deeper but he doesn’t fight her on it. She sits up and slides out of bed, not looking back on her way down the hall though she can feel his eyes dead center between her shoulder blades. 

Dinner is the leftovers that she made last night that she didn’t want any of, and she still doesn’t. The chicken sizzles in the pan as the veggies heat up. When Street reemerges, he sees her sipping ginger ale and tapping on the counter in an uneven rhythm. He gets down two plates and two glasses of water even though he isn’t sure she’s hungry, milling around because if he sits down the only thing he’ll do is stare at her. To curb his concern, she cuts one of the chicken breasts in half and takes a small serving of broccoli, but it mostly ends up pushed around her plate while she listens to him recount his day. 

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks again, putting the dishes in the dishwasher and glancing at her in his periphery. 

“We need to talk.” Chris says, her voice gravelly. She can’t look at him and keeps her eyes fixed on the stove where her reflection blurs out of focus. When he fills her vision, face more worried than before, her stomach drops again and she stands. Jerking her head, he follows without a word to her bathroom. She picks something up before he can see what it is, her face pale under the white light. 

“I realized today,” she starts, almost whispering and eyes down, “that I’m late. Between that and the—” 

Heart beating against her chest, Chris has to stop and remind herself to breathe. She risks a look at Street and can tell he isn’t quite with her. Her need to be on the same page trumps context, and she holds out the test to him, tucked into a plastic bag. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Her teeth cut into her bottom lip and she doesn’t breathe as she waits for his answer. He takes the plastic bag from her and looks at the lines like he doesn’t quite believe they’re there. Every nerve in his body turns over, but when he looks at her face and sees the uncertainty in her features, everything stops. 

“Are you okay?” 

She doesn’t know what she expects, some knee-jerk reaction of how he feels, but it isn’t that. Tears rush to her eyes once the question lands, and Street drops the plastic on the vanity to hold her instead, his hand tangling in her hair and his soft voice reaching her ear while hot tears soak into the collar of his shirt. 

“I’m here,” he tries to soothe her, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. His instinct is screaming to tell her it will be okay, but he doesn’t know that, his mind starting to spin with more questions and what-ifs. All he can do is promise her his life, so he does. “I’m right here.” 

Finally in his arms, Chris feels safer than she has all day. Street knowing is a huge relief despite whatever might come next. She snakes a hand from around his back up to her cheek to wipe away some of her tears, leaving her face red and puffy. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, unsure if it's for her reaction, or the whole thing, and still unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know—”

“Hey, no,” he stops her immediately, but gently. He pulls back enough to cradle her face in his hand, heart breaking at the sight of her. 

“You’re not alone. We’re gonna figure this out. I’m sure your head’s been going all day?” Chris nods small, Street repeating the action, and he catches her eyes again. 

“Why don’t I make some tea and we can throw something on TV for a little bit? Try to give your mind a break. We can talk about it more later, or tomorrow.” 

It’s out of her nature, all of her instincts screaming to find a solution immediately, but the exhaustion in her bones is a surefire sign that he’s right so she agrees. He takes a step back and she splashes water on her face enough to get rid of the film of tears, and then follows him down the hallway.

Street feels like he’s existing outside himself as he goes around her kitchen to make tea. Her kitchen. Because they haven’t moved in together yet. Because they’ve hardly been dating for half a year. They haven’t even talked about moving in together. Haven’t talked about the future very much at all. He hasn’t even thought to talk about children. 

“Calm down,” he murmurs to himself, quiet so she can’t hear, trying to get a hold of his brain. Glancing over, he sees the tension in her shoulders and jaw as she stares at the TV, and takes a deep breath. He finishes the tea and puts extra honey in hers. When he sits next to her, he gives her a gentle smile, and she whispers her thanks.

His mind continues to turn as they settle on a remodeling show. It’s easy enough to pay attention to without actually absorbing anything, and he feels the weight of her head on his shoulder a few minutes into it. Wanting to be as close as she does, his arm wraps around her until her soft skin contrasts the cool leather against his skin. Her hands find his other to hold on his lap a few minutes later, voice not directed towards him when she speaks, but the living room as a whole. 

“This is your decision, too,” she says, an edge he can’t read to her otherwise flat voice—the tone he’s only heard her use when she’s scared. “I need you to know that.” Holding in a sigh, he squeezes her hand and kisses her head. 

“Thank you. Do you want to talk now?”

Exhausted, she shakes her head and settles back into him and the couch, making herself as small as she can. 

“No, I just wanted you to know. Before anything.”

“Okay,” he says as lightly as he can. “We’re gonna get through this, Chris.” 

“Okay,” she whispers, unable to look up from the circular stain on her coffee table. The drone of the TV eventually lulls her into enough of a sense of calm to go to bed. Street’s barely a step behind her. 

She doesn’t look at herself too closely as she gets ready for bed and waits for him to get comfortable under the covers before she turns the light out and burrows next to him. He’s surprised when she lies her head on his chest. Though he usually wakes up with an arm over her stomach or their ankles locked, she’s rarely this affectionate when they’re trying to fall asleep. Still, he welcomes the weight.

“I can hear you thinking,” she murmurs against the cotton of his t-shirt. Leaning into her, he presses a kiss to her head and takes a deep breath. 

“Only ever about you. I love you.” 

Despite the fear that’s running through her veins and the way her hand keeps unconsciously finding her lower abdomen and making her flinch, she relaxes. 

“I love you, too.” 

She’s asleep not soon after. He’s glad for it, because it gives his mind plenty of room to race without extra attention. The edges of her bedroom are visible through the darkness until they morph into his childhood room and he closes his eyes against the pervasive, painful memories. 

More crop up. Ones he thought he’d long forgotten about. The scent of beer and cigarette smoke and a hot hand wrapped around his lanky arm tight enough to leave a ring of bruises. Of a hushed conversation between his parents that quickly turned into a screaming match he had no choice but to listen to: wanting another baby, not wanting another baby. His father’s enraged voice screaming he never wanted the kid they do have. 

Foster homes. Foster homes and group homes filled with tiny voices and angry teenagers and not enough food or time to go around. A vow he made to himself, when he doesn’t remember, that he’d never do to a kid what was done to him. And the paralyzing fear that the part of his father that he’s sure exists in him somewhere will jump out on its own one day, and who all will be left in the fallout. 

Sighing, Street carefully slides out from under Chris to cross back into the bathroom. He rubs at his face under the too-bright lighting until he only sees his current self and opens her cabinet to pull out a small orange bottle of tiny white pills. 

Take twice a day as needed. 

It’s now, he thinks, if there was ever a time to need them. 

He turns back to the bedroom and can just see her sleeping form in the light that floods out. He doesn’t know if it’s the sight of her or a placebo effect that seems to immediately make his heart calm down. It’s a conversation that has to be had, but not in the middle of the night. Not when he can get back under the covers and pull her close and, for all intents, it’s still just the two of them. He does. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Chris is awoken by a bout of nausea that sends her careening over Street and towards the bathroom. There’s little in her stomach to actually come up, but the more she thinks about what position she’s in, the worse her anxiety gets and she heaves more violently. It feels like she’s being ripped in half. 

He follows her as quickly as can. The sight of her from the bathroom doorway, so opposite of the previous night, freezes him in his own worry. A choked sob escaping snaps him from his mind and he rushes to her side. His hands are warm but shaky where they hold her shoulders steady and rub circles on her back. 

“You’re okay, I’m right here,” he tries to soothe her. When he brushes back her sweaty hair from her forehead, though, all Chris can picture is more mornings like this—for the next however many months. A hospital bed and a swollen stomach and a tiny, crying human that’s going to need things from her she’s not at all aware of or prepared to give. Things she’s not sure that she has in the first place. Street’s laugh as he chases a nameless toddler around an apartment messy with toys. Probably some spilled out next to his SWAT backpack that she’ll watch rush out the door every morning, straight towards imminent danger. 

Bile burns her throat as she wiggles out of Street’s grip and away from his voice to white-knuckle the porcelain even harder instead. Taking the hint but not willing to leave her, he sits back on his heels and watches her shoulders shake for what seems like hours. When the attack ends and she’s left feeling her own hot breath on her face, she’s exhausted. She spits into the bowl and leans back against the wall. 

“So much for calming down,” she hiccups, trying to cut through the tension. Opening her eyes she sees Street’s lips pressed together, his fists clenched to keep his own anxiety from spewing out. 

“It’ll be okay,” he promises, standing and handing her a shot of mouthwash followed by a glass of water. She swishes it around her mouth until the feeling of what just happened is only a memory. Looking up towards his hazel eyes, he’s holding a hand out for her, and she smiles tiredly when she takes it and he pulls her into a hug. Everything settles around them again as they sway on the tile.

“Breakfast?” He murmurs a few minutes later.

For the first time in days the mention of food makes her aware of just how ravenous her body is. She nods against him and then turns towards the sink to splash her face. 

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to eat. But yes, please.”

“Eggs and fruit?” His eyes search her face for any discomfort for uncertainty, but there’s none and she agrees, following him towards the kitchen. 

Breakfast is an easy affair, if quieter than normal. She turns on the TV to let something fill the space and starts cutting fruit while he cooks the eggs. They sit at the dining room table, her foot brushing up against his leg every few minutes, eyes meeting but never lingering. When all that’s left are crumbs and thin trails of yellow yolk over their plates, she speaks up. 

“You go first.” 

Street’s breath catches and his eyes jump to hers.

“What?” 

“Go first,” she encourages him. “I—this is your decision, too. It’ll make me feel better knowing however you feel about what you want to do. Please?” 

Raising his eyebrows, he can count on one hand the amount of times she’s been so vulnerable, even since they’ve been together. His mind grasps for a place to start as anxiety courses through him, The only thing he can think to do is push his plate to the side and reach across the gray wood to take her hand. 

“I never thought I’d be in a position to want kids.” 

It comes out before he can think it through, but at least it’s out. He can’t look at her and keeps his focus on their intertwined fingers as more pours from him that he didn’t realize he’d internalized so deeply. 

“If there’s one person I would have a kid with, it would be you.” 

Chris sucks in a sharp breath. In his periphery, he sees her nod to keep going, and reminds himself that they’re in this together. 

“But I can’t imagine my life, our life, with a child, either. I promised myself I’d never hurt a kid, not after everything… you know.” 

On a shaking exhale, he squeezes her hand tighter. Tears come to his eyes that he doesn’t try to wipe away. It’s so still, the air between them, so quiet. Fragile. He’s always been more fragile than he’s let on. Covered it up with leather and motorcycles and walking out of explosions. But sitting across from Chris with the circumstances that are in front of them, he feels stripped beyond all of those defenses. Just a fragile, scared kid himself. 

“I don’t,” he sighs, slowly bringing their gazes together and seeing the emotions etched across her face. “I don’t want to live every day of my life scared that I’ll turn into my dad and do something I’ll never forgive myself for. If having a kid means running the risk of becoming like him, or hurting you, or myself, that’s not a risk I want to take.” 

His words land and her jaw clenches as she tries to digest them all. With his other hand, he finally dries the tears that fell, wishing her to say something soon. Another moment passes. She memorizes the wood grain and hears his fears echo in her own mind.

“I agree,” she whispers. She gazes up at him even as terror seizes her blood in her veins, trying to lose herself in them so she won’t panic again. 

“I don’t want this. Not right now, at least.” 

For Street, it’s a relief. But he looks at her again and it’s clear there’s a lot more weight on her shoulders. He cocks his head in a silent question and his heart skips when her hand stars to shake in his. Her thoughts collide with reality and fly from her mouth almost too fast for him to make sense of them, only worsened by how unsteady her voice is.

“But if—when—if we’re not. We can’t tell my family.” 

She covers her mouth to try to stifle her cries and screws her eyes shut like plunging herself into darkness will make it all go away somehow. With the same urgency from barely an hour ago, he lets her go to move around the table and wrap her in his arms. She pushes her chair back to give him the space and barely moves again as he tangles his hand in her hair and starts to whisper in her ear. His guts are spinning too fast, the heaviness of the realization paired with the need to comfort her all overwhelming. 

“Okay. Shh, Chris. That’s okay. It’s just us right now. No one needs to know anything.” 

Her tears don’t last long, a momentary whirlwind that she manages to knock herself out of before it gets anymore out of hand than it already has. Pulling back, she coughs roughly and shakes her head to clear away the last of the episode. His hand catches her face and brushes over her cheekbone. He doesn’t have to vocalize the question for her to nod and them to move to the cough. 

He waits for her to get comfortable before lying next to her so they’re on their sides and facing one another, observing the ropes of tension running through and determined to help unwind them. She lies between him and the back of the couch, kept safe from the world through his body crowding hers in the way only he can, and still make her feel like she can breathe. She stares at his jaw.

“I don’t know where to start,” she whispers. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead and feels her hot exhale on his neck. “I don’t know when.” 

“Not your fault,” he counters, features soft. “Whatever or however this happened, we’re in it together.” 

His words are like a balm and her lips quirk up small. Able to set her cacophony of feelings to the side over how they got here in the first place, she shifts back to where Street’s already been for hours. 

“My mom sucked, too. Bad. I swore off kids the day she died and haven’t thought about it since. It’s just my family, and the team… as ridiculous as that is.” 

He thinks he knows where she’s headed, but he doesn’t interrupt aside from telling her that nothing she’s feeling is ridiculous. She sets her ear over his heart to hear it beat and focuses on the feel of the couch against her bare legs. 

“Aunt Helena and Uncle Sarzo,” she starts with a sigh, “they love me, but it would be a lot for them to have to process. A lot of the rest of my family wouldn’t approve, and Deac and Annie, too, I—” 

Groaning, Chris squeezes her eyes shut again and wishes she could just say what’s firing around her brain and cutting off the blood flow to her heart. 

“My family is so important to me, and I don’t want to hurt the people I love with this decision. But I can’t do it. We’re more important to me,” she finally gets out. Street understands all that goes unsaid. 

“The one thing I’ve always admired about you is how yourself you are, Chris.” He says, hearkening back years with his words and his hand splayed over her back. “I know how much your people mean to you, but this is our business. No one else’s. That’s okay.” 

“That’s not all,” she interrupts, still in her head even as it processes what he said and lets his words calm her. He looks down at her, but she’s staring into his chest. He tightens his grip, determined to hold it together when she sighs with more exhaustion than she should ever feel again.

“It’s my body.”  She finally whispers, then buries her face in his chest and breathes in his scent as deeply as she can until it blocks out the awful memories clawing at her throat.

“It’s your body,” he affirms gently, rubbing up and down her back as she speaks even softer. 

“A lot of people have had control of my body when I didn’t want them to.” 

Street feels his heart crack and tells himself he needs to keep his breathing even and his hands steady where they are. He presses ever closer, like he can shelter her from the darkness of the world forever from where they are on the couch, and feels her chest as it rises and falls. 

“I want control over myself—I need it. And I’m scared that if we tell people, even after it’s done, they’ll—say things. Try to exercise control over us, the decision we made, my body.”

Blowing out a slow breath, he pulls the unfolded blanket off the back of the couch so they’re covered, and buries his face in her hair. He doesn’t say anything and feels her arms come around him, too. Time slows as they hold one another. He thinks he feels their heartbeats sync, and breathes her in deeper.

“Thank you,” she murmurs against him a few moments later, comforted by everything familiar about him. He nods against her and kisses the top of her head, not yet pulling back to meet her eyes, but speaking low enough his breath just brushes against her ear. 

“This is our choice, and you’re in control. We don’t have to tell anyone. And if you, or we, ever decide to, I will do everything in my power to make sure no one says anything about what we chose and we did.” 

He feels her smile against him, but her tone isn’t as sure. She sounds tired when she speaks.  

“You can’t make sure of that. It’s always going to be more on me than you.” 

“I know,” he agrees, voice sad, but unwavering. “But I can make it clear that we did this together from start to end. That we made the best decision for us, not just you.” 

She closes any of the remaining space between them. He holds her tighter, his tone softening. 

“But we don’t have to worry about that right now, because we don’t need to tell anyone anything. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She guides his head down enough for their foreheads to touch and opens her eyes into his. His irises are a deep, mesmerizing web of colors that sparkle even with barely any light around them. “I love you.” “I love you, too,” he grins small, then kisses her. His hand runs through her hair. “We can go wherever we need to later, or tomorrow. Whatever you want.” 

Her eyes narrow with a minute shake of her head. 

“You don’t have to come.” 

“Together, Chris,” Street says. “Start to end. If you want me there, I’m there.” 

Her hand brushes against her stomach again, but this time it doesn’t feel like the end of the world. It feels like things will be okay. Eventually. As long as they’re together. 

“I want you there,” she says, not a trace of doubt in her words amidst her lingering concerns over what there will entail. His lips are soft and easy when they find hers, his thumb grazing over her cheekbone and their eyes locked. With the blanket cocooning them and his cologne hanging in the air she breathes, Chris is fairly certain they’re the only two people in the world. He senses her fragile calm and kisses her again. She’s certain she never wants that to change. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

*i know this isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea. i personally love stris with non-biological kids, but pregnancy/birth is very different, and i have a hard time finding my/their characterization in that situation. but not ever saying never, either! all that's to say, i appreciate the reads/tags/reblogs/asks (please let me know your thoughts! i love to talk about their characters and this show so much) esp. on a fic like this!!

xo

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Incorrect quotes

Thanks @pluppsauthor here!

Rules: go to this site to generate some incorrect quotes for your OCs!

Ash: If it pleases the court I would like to say that my opponent is TALKING SHIT!

Gwen: ...

Lexi: My back hurts.

Robbie, walking into the room: Take the spine out.

Akash: What type of dog is this?

Kelsey: That’s a tortoise.

Robbie, looking at a map: It’s a barren, featureless wasteland out there, isn't it?

Kelsey: Other side, Robbie...

Rose: What situation is not instantly improved by the addition of fishnets, I ask you.

Maddie: Being a fish.

Rose: Well, shit.

Kelsey: Remember! Curiosity killed the cat!

Rose: Yes, but you forget that satisfaction brought it back. So yes, Ash, go find out if that thing can catch fire!

Kelsey: You're a bad influence.

Rose: And you don't know your sayings.

Noelle: I reserve the right to judge a movie based on when it was made, thank you very much.

Carmen: You consider anything made before 2000 old and bad.

Noelle: And I reserve that right! After all....

Noelle: I bet you wouldn’t like the average movie made in 1879!

Carmen: There were no movies made in 1879.

Noelle: *slams table* WRONG! There was ONE movie made in 1879! The first movie! A zoopraxioscope of a horse galloping!

Gwen: Oooh! Let’s go ask Jedi if he saw it in theatres!

Noelle: Fine! I don't give a shit!

Kelsey: You seem to give a lot of shit for someone who claims not to give a shit.

Lexi: A mouse!

Robbie, pulling out a knife: Go back to where you came from or I'll stab you.

Noelle, pulling out a frying pan: It'll make a nice meal!

Akash, giving the mouse cheese: You deserve a treat, little guy.

Jedi, gasping: It's Ratatouille!

Maddie: His name is Remi, dummy.

Lexi: ...I was going to say to just trap it and throw it out the window... what is wrong with you people.

Kelsey: Be right back, gonna hit the toilet for a quick power sob.

Jedi: Here is my wall of inspirational people.

Lexi: Is that a picture of you?

Jedi: Yes, I am big enough to admit that I am often inspired by myself.

Lexi: I'm against crime, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Carmen: I’m a bad person, I’m a very bad person, I’m a horrible person.

The Squad:

Carmen: No you’re not, Carmen! We still love you, Carmen!

Maddie: Thanks for not telling Ash what happened.

Gwen, dumbfounded: I wouldn’t even know where to begin trying to explain this.

Akash, laying in bed: Get out of my room.

Robbie, standing just outside of the door frame: I’m not in your room.

Gwen: CHARACTER. FLAWS. ARE. FUCKING. IMPORTANT.

Rose: Me when someone tells me to stop eating mayo packets like they’re gogurt tubes.

Gwen: Rose, is that legal?

Rose: When there's no cops around, anything's legal!

Lexi: What happened to your nose?

Gwen: I used it to break some guy's fist.

Hehe this game is so fun!

Tagging @cwritesfiction @riveriafalll @dyrewrites @willtheweaver @paeliae-occasionally

+ ANYONE ELSE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites

[possibilistfanfiction]

idk maybe this is too big, but beatrice’s reaction at receiving diego’s email in 🐸 🗺? i really really like how you write their attraction towards one another. and here’s a set of 🌮🌮

[thank u for the tacos, maybe i'll have some birria later :)]

//

it's not a good day.

it's not a bad day, either, really.

you got out of bed in the morning. you ate breakfast — congee with an egg and some peanuts. you did the physical therapy exercises you're supposed to have kept up for your shoulder, even though it's been two years; they still help, especially when it's cold and rainy, so you do them. you went to the climbing gym, earlier than lilith ever would; you make your way up some V6s and V7s, but with no enjoyment, sluggish and tired for no reason. you went back to your loft — you'd signed the lease a few months ago under mary and shannon gentle urging and lilith's not-so-gentle demand, because even if you're not here often, beatrice, you need a home. you showered in the dark, blatantly ignoring whatever scars still sting sometimes. you washed your hair with expensive shampoo and conditioner a stylist you like — who lets you sit in the chair in silence she allows to be comfortable and doesn't pester, doesn't try to get you to try anything feminine, schedules you for trims you prefer more frequently than not if you're in town — and try, very hard, to feel real. you dried off, and put on comfortable clothes, and ate lunch, some leftover jerk salmon from the night before.

time moves weirdly on the days where it's not good enough to be solid but not bad enough to cease to exist at all. your therapist says this is normal for people with ptsd, but nothing feels normal about it. it feels like you're underwater, or like that one time when you were eighteen and got completely crossfaded at a party mary and shannon had thrown: everything is hard, and slow, and before you know it, it's nearing four and the light is fading.

you have things you need to do: photographs you need to edit; contracts you need to sign; to start coordinating a tentative upcoming trip to antarctica and south georgia this summer. you make yourself tea and will yourself to at the very least check your email; shannon had said that it helps her when she's having a bad day to set up one task she can do, to ease everything just a bit. you haven't really moved in, not in the way you should: you have a big desk, multiple monitors, all the gear you could hope for; you have a big bed, too soft, sometimes, and a couch. you have a nice, large tv on the wall. you have a few dishes and pots and pans in the kitchen. you have what you need in the bathroom: a toothbrush and a razor and toilet paper and your skincare serums and two clean towels, bar soap from mary dragging you to the farmer's market. you have nice olive oil and two throw pillows. you have a custom hangboard against one wall. there's empty space everywhere, your loft far bigger than you would ever need. not a home, not yet, in any way you can really feel, at least today. especially today.

but you boot up your desktop computer, because you are steadfast and there are still things you need to do, still things you need to shoot so you can show the world what matters. what has to matter, far beyond you and your small life.

most of your emails are boring — the option to do sponsored content for a new camera; an updated contract for an upcoming documentary you're going to help photograph for; a notification that the film you had ordered had, indeed, shipped — but there's one from someone you have never heard of that catches your eye.

you read through it, twice: someone named diego, a grad student at a university in the city, had emailed on behalf of his advisor, dr. ava silva, wondering if you might want to partner on an expedition to guyana. they need a climber, and diego claims that dr. silva loves your photography. you remember, vaguely, from an article before you had — before — that dr. silva apparently has some sort of preternatural ability to find new species of frog, and so it's intriguing, the prospect. everything feels more solid, like you're coming up for air after holding your breath for too long, when you think about the rainforest, and this little project and its simple, pure, important goal. you google ava silva phd frog and there's a link to a bunch of scientific journals, a formal headshot from the university — dr. silva is, well, beautiful, and young — and then, like the world rights itself, a picture of dr. silva smiling, dirty in the way only the real wild can produce, grinning with real joy. she holds a tiny frog — bright blue — in the palm of her gloved hand. there's green behind her, all around her.

if nothing else, you think, you'd like to meet this dr. ava silva, who finds such clear joy in small creatures, in making sure they're seen, and recognized, and named.

you email diego back, offering to be connected to dr. silva, because you want to know more. you order dinner and watch something that makes you laugh and even fish out some chocolate for dessert. you wash your face and moisturize; you brush your teeth; you fold back your duvet neatly. it's a life, you think, one that you are determined, even if it's hard, even if it's impossible, to make worthwhile. maybe tomorrow you'll get to learn more about the world from someone who fills it so fully. maybe tomorrow will feel clear. maybe tomorrow will be a good day after all.

[sixhours]

Chapter 5 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know &lt;3

~*~

Joel is waiting on your porch holding a large toolbox when you jog up at ten past the hour.

“Sorry, I’m late, got held up.”

He glowers, rumbling in his deep Texas drawl. “I said five.”

“And I said I got held up,” you reply easily, bypassing him to unlock your front door. “The kitchen’s through here.”

He follows with an exaggerated hmph and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“There,” you say, pointing up at the kitchen ceiling, a spot just above the cabinets, running down the back wall. “I think there was a leak at some point. Pipes froze, maybe.”

He walks slowly up to the wall and splays a hand against the drywall, testing its solidity. “Bathroom’s upstairs?”

“Uh-huh. Right above this.”

“Sounds like you already know what the problem is,” he says over his shoulder. “Whaddya need me for?”

“I need to make sure the floor in the bathroom is sound. And…I was hoping you could help tear out the old insulation and re-insulate so the pipes don’t freeze again.”

He shakes his head. “I told you–”

“I know, the committee, but I’m sure I can get the insulation for trade, and if you have a few free hours–”

“I don’t.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard.

God, he will not make this easy.

“Okay. Fine. But can you at least look at the floor?”

He sighs, “Alright. Lead the way.” 

You show him up the narrow staircase and into your bathroom. At the far end, a clawfoot tub and shower take up most of one wall. There’s barely enough room for both of you, so you let him go first. Yellowed stains creep up the floral wallpaper behind the tub, rippling across the floor underneath.

“If you step right here, you’ll see what I mean,” you squeeze tentatively past Joel in the tight space, using your foot to push down on the painted hardwood between the tub and the toilet.

You reach out to pull him toward you by the arm, but he jerks away as if burned by your touch.

“I can get it. Get outta there.”

You slide back out, hands up in mock defense, letting him take your place. He frowns at the dip in the wood when his boot puts weight on it, then stands up, hands on his hips, staring at the ceiling.

“Is there an attic in this place? Should check–”

“No,” you say quickly. “I’ve been up there. Just a bunch of junk. No water damage.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re sure? ‘Cause if there’s rain gettin’ in, there’s no point in fixin’ the floor until the roof is sealed up.”

“I’m sure. So...you think it’s safe, or…?”

“Only one way to find out,” he says, reaching for the toolbox and retrieving a hammer. He drives the claw into the wood and meets little resistance, pulling up on the first board, which bends too readily, like a twig. You wince as he goes back for more, ripping out three, four, five of the narrow oak planks like they were nothing. The subfloor underneath gives way just as easily. 

“Yeah, that’s all rot,” he says, digging into the hole he’s made, shining a flashlight into the gap between the floor and the kitchen ceiling. “You’ve got a joist here to support the tub…but it’s half gone.

“You’ll have to take out the wall on this side,” he stands up with a muffled grunt, the sound of a man with sore knees. “Plumbing’s on this wall, prob’ly leaked down from here.”

“Well…shit. I hoped it wasn’t that bad,” you lie.

“Look, if it were me, I’d ask to be reassigned,” Joel says, tucking the hammer back in the toolbox. “No shortage of houses around here.”

“I know. I’ve just…I’ve grown attached to this place,” you say, letting your voice waver. Even better if he thinks you’re crying. “It’s the first time I’ve had a…a real home in a long time, y’know? ”

You expect him to roll his eyes at this overplayed sentimentality, but he doesn’t, just considers you with that unreadable expression. You drive the point home with a shaky, hiccupy little breath.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I can do the work. It’s not gonna be pretty, drywall don’t hold up and we don’t have much. I need time to get the supplies, but–”

“Thank you!” you burst in before he can finish. “I mean, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.” You squeeze his arm, and this time he doesn’t pull away, only flinches.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go usin’ that bath,” he nods toward the tub. “And I wouldn’t use the kitchen until we get the joist replaced.”

“It’s fine. I can shower at the clinic, and I’m no cook.” He scowls as though you’ve given too much information, but you press on. “How can I repay you? Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t drink,” he says. He’s already picked up the toolbox and is headed for the stairs.

“Well…think about it,” you tell him. “I owe you one.”

“Right.”

~*~

You thought cornering Joel into helping with your house would give you time to work your way into his good graces, but he doesn’t make it easy. When he’s not on patrol, he’s working on community projects, leaving only a handful of free evenings to focus on your house. You always seem to be working at the clinic during those times, and part of you wonders if that’s his intent.

In the meantime, you try to get information about Ellie through subtle questions of the community. You learn her schedule, and you know who she hangs out with, and where she volunteers, but no one seems to know anything about her past.

Over the next few weeks, you come home to find your kitchen walls stripped to the studs, a steel support post holding up the clean half of the rotted floor joist. The bathroom closed off with a tarp, a note stuck to the blue vinyl.

Mold. Stay out.

He’s left an old plastic joint compound bucket on the floor, the implication clear.

What a gentleman.

He always sweeps up, wipes down the dust, and stacks his salvaged supplies and tools out of the way before he leaves. He takes out the rotted innards of your bathroom in fat black contractor bags.

You occasionally cross paths with him as he’s packing up to go, and each time you try to engage him in conversation, he answers in monosyllabic grunts and makes a wide arc around you to get to the door. Too many evenings like this and you realize you need to step it up, or the project will be finished before you’ve had a chance to learn his middle name. So on a particularly slow night, you feign a headache and leave the clinic in Shiela’s capable hands.

The whine of a saw echoes down the hall as you close your front door. You hear Joel’s low voice talking from the kitchen and you move toward the sound, keeping your steps quiet, feeling like an intruder in your own house. Through the doorway, you’re surprised to see Ellie at his side, both of them crouched over something behind the kitchen island.

“You keep your fingers clear, hand on the grip; no, not like that. It’s not a pistol. Here,” he reaches over and adjusts her grip on the drill. “This is forward. This is reverse.”

“Righty tighty, lefty loosey,” Ellie says. “I got it, I got it.”

Joel grunts. “You want a ninety-degree angle or the screw’ll get stripped. Put some muscle into it–”

There’s a mechanical whirr as the drill springs to life, the grinding of metal on metal. Then from Ellie, “Ah, shit.”

“It happens, try again,” Joel says. His voice is soft, and patient, lacking his usual gruffness.

“Hey–”

The pair startles, standing and wheeling around. You recognize the soft snick of a switchblade opening at Ellie’s side.

“Whoa, sorry,” you say. “It’s just me, I got the night off, I thought maybe you could use a hand–”

“We’re good,” Joel snaps.

“Yeah, I see you’ve got it covered,” you say, turning to the girl. “Hey, Ellie. How’s it going?”

“It’s fine,” Ellie says, shrugs. “I read those comics. They were pretty good. Maybe not as good as Savage Starlight , but still…pretty good, yeah.”

She’s wearing a purple t-shirt and her sweatshirt is piled with Joel’s jacket on the kitchen island. You step forward into the room, eyeing her exposed, scarred arm.

“So…what’s the damage?” you ask, turning to Joel.

He runs a hand through his messy hair, looking up to the ceiling, where the drywall has been torn out to expose the underside of the bathroom subfloor.

“There was mold in the bathroom drywall and the floor’s rotted out about five feet from the wall. The joist’s gonna need to be replaced, but that’s a two-man job. I might be able to talk Tommy into helpin’, but he’s got a new kid so...” He trails off as if he’s offered too much personal information, wiping his hands on a rag before tucking it into the pocket of his jeans.

“This should hold her ‘til we can get a crew in here to replace the joist. But no baths, I don’t trust this thing with that kinda weight,” he says, gesturing to the temporary support.

“You calling me fat?”

“What?” For a moment Joel looks panicked, then he rolls his eyes. “I mean a tub that size weighs a shit-ton and you fill it with fifty gallons of water, you got yourself a problem. It’s a miracle the damned thing hasn’t already fallen through.”

He continues to detail the project status, but your attention drifts back to Ellie, who’s playing with the cordless drill, holding it out in front of her like a gun. This puts her arm on full display, and now you’re close enough to see the snaking, vining cordyceps blisters under the skin, the imprint of someone’s dental work in the flesh.

“I won’t have the insulation ‘til next week, Tommy says there’s some extra up in the rec center but god knows what condition it's in. Salvage runs don’t usually turn up anything worth a shit…”

There’s no mistaking it; that’s an infected bite…

No wonder FEDRA wants this kid , you think, a cold seed of certainty planting itself in your stomach.

Suddenly Joel is in your face, stepping between you, pushing you back. “Ellie, go home.”

“But–”

“ I said go home .”

“Fucking hell, man,” Ellie huffs, snatching her sweatshirt off the counter and stalking out of the room.

He waits until you hear the front door slam before he speaks, slowly and deliberately cutting his words. “I know what you’re doing,” he growls, still standing too close; you can feel an angry heat coming off his body, the faintest kiss of his breath on your face, and your back is inches from the wall.

You hate to admit it, but you’re almost turned on.

“And what is that, exactly?” you counter. “Treating your kid? Trying to get to know my neighbors? What exactly am I doing that’s so fucking objectionable, Miller?”

He seems taken aback at your sudden venom, the use of his name. There’s a glimmer of sorrow in his eyes, but it quickly turns dark. “She’s not your friend. We don’t need no friends,” he hisses, the Texan drawl thick with agitation. “Just…back off.”

You gape at him, barking a laugh. “Wow. You’re a piece of work, you know that? Does this moody, macho-bad-boy thing go for everyone? Or am I just that fucking special?”

“I’m…” he starts, swallowing hard. You wait for the rest, but it doesn’t come. He scowls, and you feel him edge back. The rush of cool air between your bodies should be a relief.

He doesn’t clean up, doesn’t grab his tools, just shoulders his way around you and out the door.

You seethe, barely containing a sudden urge to break your fist on the wall while pretending it’s Joel’s stupid face. You settle for a few deep breaths, unsure if you’re truly irritated with him, or with yourself for letting the arrogant asshole get under your skin.

The headache you were supposedly faking has manifested behind your eyes, and you don’t fall asleep for a long time.

~*~

He’s standing on your front porch in the morning, blocking the doorway as you’re leaving for the clinic. He jumps, caught off guard when you open the door and find him there, looking lost.

“What–”

“What are you–”

You speak at the same time, cutting each other off.

“I live here,” you say, feeling a fresh prickle of ire reseat itself in the pit of your stomach. “What’s your excuse?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I…yeah.” Joel rubs at the back of his neck, visibly agitated. There’s a long silence before he finally mutters, “I wanted to apologize.”

Another long pause.

“By all means, go ahead,” you prompt.

His eyes narrow. “...what?”

“You said you wanted to apologize, but I didn’t hear an apology,” you smirk, knowing you’re being pedantic, but it feels too good to watch him squirm.

He gapes, mouth opening and closing for a few delicious seconds before he huffs. “Whatever. Need my stuff.”

He invites himself in, barreling past you and straight toward the kitchen. You follow on his heels. You don’t know you’re going to ask the question until it’s out of your mouth.

“Christ, Miller, why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He’s kneeling, shoving tools and supplies into the toolbox with force, but his head snaps up at your words.

“Shut your damn mouth,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

But you can’t stop yourself. You’ve spent the night tossing and turning, angry at yourself for how much you’ve let this stupid man get to you, and now you have him cornered.

“You get off on being a dick? Is that it?”

He’s suddenly on his feet, crossing the distance between you in two long strides. He’s so fucking close you can feel his body practically vibrating with rage. His eyes bore into yours, lit by an angry flame.

You sneer. “You wanna hit me, big man? Go right the fuck ah–”

His mouth descends on yours before you can comprehend it: The press of lips, the hard clack of his teeth, the scrape of stubble against your chin. Rough and hungry, almost needy, the kiss shocks you into a numb silence.

Your hands come up to his chest, pushing him away, too stunned to speak. You’re both breathing hard. He licks his lips, watching you, something unknowable flicking across his face before he turns, grabs his toolbox, and walks out.

What…the fuck.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, to make sense of this strange and abrupt shift, when you hear his boots thudding on the hardwood floor. He re-enters the kitchen and looks at you, flushed and contrite.

“I shouldn’t’ve done that,” he says roughly. “That’s not–”

You don’t let him finish. You turn and grab him by the collar of his flannel, throwing yourself against him, meeting his ferocity with your own. You kiss him with tongue and teeth and bite, pleased when he doesn’t pull away when his hands find your hips and dig into the soft flesh.

That’s more like it.

You tug at his belt buckle with skilled fingers and have it off before he knows what’s happening. He moans into your mouth when you bite his lower lip. You soothe the nip with your tongue, diving in, tasting him.

“Fuuuuck,” he hisses, hands fumbling at the waist of your scrubs. You help, undoing the front tie, letting the soft fabric slip down your legs. You anchor your arms around his neck and he takes the hint, pulling you up so you can wrap your legs around him. He turns you both around, slamming your back against the wall hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

More fumbling as he works his jeans down his hips–a challenge with you hanging off him, but somehow you manage. His breath is on your neck, the painful nip of his teeth at the hollow where your jaw meets your ear. Your panties are roughly pushed aside and he’s inside you, thick and hot, too full, too fast. You bite your lip to avoid crying out.

Braced against the wall, he thrusts into you, your head hitting the wall with each thrust. His brow furrows, head down in concentration, and you run your hands down his back, muttering encouragement. 

“Yeah, that’s right baby, fuck me,” you hiss, and his hand grips your jaw, covering your mouth, his eyes meeting yours in a silent warning as he punctuates his intent with a hard thrust.

Not a talker, should have known, you think, letting your teeth graze his palm, tasting salt.

You breathe, trying to stay open, to let him use you. A pleasant burn settles low in your abdomen as you get used to his invasion, but you’re barely there, just a vessel for him to fill.

His pace speeds up and you feel the telltale tensing in his back, his neck. Suddenly you’re unmoored, almost dropped, sliding down the wall. He turns away with a grunt, finishing in his hand. The emptiness between your legs throbs, half pain, half unsated desire.

There’s a long silence as the proverbial dust settles in around you. You feel a happy surge of triumph. After days of trying to breach his stony exterior, he’s finally in your territory.

“Miller–”

“I’m clean,” he says, moving to the sink, turning on the tap. His face is flushed, whether from embarrassment or arousal, you’re not sure, but his eyes are soft.

“Good. So am I,” you say brusquely, plucking your scrubs from the floor, pulling them up, and cinching them at your waist. “So this doesn’t need to be a one-time thing.”

He shakes his head, not meeting your gaze. “I’m not lookin’ for anything.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as if this encounter was the start of a romance, a prelude to anything but more fucking.

Barely passable fucking, at that.

“Neither am I,” you say. “But I have some experience with…relieving tension.”

This is as close as you’ll come to revealing your hand, letting your real-life identity bleed into this one. Not something you do as a general rule, but under the circumstances, you’ll take the risk.

He arches an eyebrow, and the expression is such a drastic difference from his stony glare that you allow yourself to admit that he’s incredibly attractive. He’s muscled from years of hard labor, hair just on the edge of salt and pepper, and when he’s not scowling, his eyes have a dark, seductive, come-fuck-me look that makes your stomach do pleasant somersaults.

“It’s a trade economy, right?” you continue, moving around him to wash your hands, smoothing loose strands of hair behind your ears. “Consider it a trade for work on the house. Payment for services rendered.”

He doesn’t respond, looks so confused that you have to bite back a smile, but you know he’ll take the bait. The desperation in his eyes, the frantic way he’d pushed inside you–this is a man who hasn’t had a physical connection in months, maybe years.

“Think about it,” you say flatly. “I’m late for work.”

You leave him standing in your kitchen, his belt buckle still undone.

~*~

He has you again two days later. You return from the clinic to find him in the bathroom on his back, wedged between the toilet and the tub. He grunts in acknowledgment when he hears you come in but doesn’t look at you, intent on his work. 

“You’re missing a shutoff valve for the shower. I’m not a plumber,” he says gruffly. “But I can do the work if we find the right fitting.”

“Oh?” you feign interest, seeing an opportunity, stripping off your scrub top and tossing it in the hamper.

“You’ve got three different kinds of pipe in here and they’re held together with fuckin’ bubblegum and spit,” he grumbles, as though the shoddy craftsmanship is somehow your fault. “No point in insulating until I clean this up and get the valve in, it’ll just leak again and you’ll be shit outta–”

When he finally sits up and looks at you, you’re standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a bra and panties. The nice ones.

“...luck,” he finishes, lips parting, eyes dark with desire, a catch in his breath. You bite back a smirk.

Men are so fucking easy.

“Wash up,” you say. “I’ll be in the bedroom.”

There’s the brief sound of running water as you wait for him on the bed, then his footsteps over the threshold. He looks nervous, unsure, as though he hadn’t just taken you up against the wall two days ago.

You crawl to the edge of the bed, reaching out to undo his belt, and his jeans, sliding them down over narrow, muscled hips and thighs. He’s already half hard, not bad for a guy pushing sixty. You take him in your hand, watching his lids grow wanton, heavy with lust. You move to take him in your mouth, but he grunts and pushes you back on the bed, gripping your thighs to pull your hips flush with his. He’s inside you before you’re fully ready, and the sensation is more pain than pleasure.

Your hands come up under his shirt, running your fingers over the warm brown skin, the softness of his abdomen in sharp contrast to the hardness between your legs. You feel the edges of a scar.

A bite?

He’s lost in you so deeply, thrusting and churning, hips snapping against yours. He doesn’t notice you pulling the shirt up at first, doesn’t see you run your fingers around the outline of the bright pink, welted crescent.

“Fuck, so fuckin’…tight…”

Not a bite , you think, no teeth marks . Your doctor’s mind is already calculating the possibilities. Stab wound, maybe. Not a blade, too jagged.

He stills as he realizes what you’re doing, eyes meeting yours in furious betrayal before slapping your hands away. He pulls out of you with a low, angry growl, and strong arms flip you onto your stomach, gripping your hips where he’d bruised you yesterday. He re-enters you hard enough to take the breath from your lungs. His sharp, angry thrusts elicit a harsh cry from your throat, and this only serves to make him move faster.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he snarls. “Showin’ off your tits. Think you’re…so…fuckin’...smart…”

“You kiss your kid with that mouth, Miller?”

“Don’t,” he growls, a guttural warning, and you fight the urge to laugh as an almost vicious thrust pitches you forward, your hands splaying in the sheets to keep yourself upright. His fingers thread their way through your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat. His hand on your scalp is almost intimate, the way it kneads the tender skin, and you find yourself moaning with pleasure.

Before you can truly enjoy it, he pulls out and finishes with a groan on your back, warm liquid seeping down the crack of your ass. 

“So I take it that’s a yes?” you half laugh, half pant over your shoulder.

“What?” He’s pulling up his pants, fumbling with the belt buckle.

“Payment for services rendered.”

He glares at you and huffs an angry breath, but his final word is a whisper.

“Yes.”

~*~

There is a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth. You learn more about Joel during these brief encounters than you have the rest of the months you’ve lived in Jackson.

He likes you up against the wall, or on your hands and knees, fast and rough. He never completely removes his clothes, just enough to get the job done, his flannel shirts like armor guarding his heart.

He never undresses you, either, never does so much as pull down your panties, preferring to push them aside.

He likes you to be silent, but he has a dirty mouth. He smells like wood smoke and sweat and gunpowder.

He hasn’t kissed you since that first time. When you try, he pushes you away, turns you around, and takes you from behind. He won’t let you go down on him. Maybe he’s not into that, you know some guys aren’t, but you suspect it’s too personal, too intimate. Too vulnerable.

He never, ever comes inside you.

Somehow you think this isn’t what your superiors had in mind when they told you to find out who this guy’s daughter is, but it’s progress.

“Y’know, you don’t have to pull out,” you say, wiping ejaculate off your stomach with a tissue. You’re tired of washing his come out of your nice underwear, your bedclothes, your hair.

He’s sitting on the edge of your bed, pulling on his boots. You feel him pulling away, as always, and it’s a desperate move to try to keep him just a little longer, to edge your way into the cracks in his stony facade.

He scoffs at this, shaking his head, pulling the laces tight with a snap .

“I know condoms are hard to come by,” you continue evenly, the crisp voice of a practiced physician reciting rote facts, “but there’s no risk of pregnancy.”

He stiffens but doesn’t turn to look at you. “And I’m s’posed to believe that?”

You bristle, surprised to find this lack of trust stings…a little.

“What, you think I want a kid with you? You think I want a kid in…in this ?” you scoff, gesturing outside. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miller. I just hate doing laundry.”

“Accidents happen,” he grumbles, and you get the sense he speaks from experience.

“Was she an accident?” you ask, trying to imagine a younger Joel’s strong, calloused hands cradling the tender skull of a newborn Ellie, but you can’t picture it.

“Ellie? She ain’t mine.”

Oh.

You’ve touched on something, you’re so close you can taste it. What’s more, he doesn't leave immediately. He seems to be lost in thought, defenses down. He’s rubbing absently at his arm, his shoulder, kneading the muscle where his neck meets his collarbone.

“Well,” you say, clipped and final, “I haven’t had a period since I was 25. There are no accidents here.”

He looks at you with an unreadable expression; is that sadness…or pity? You don’t like the feeling it stirs in you, the twist in your gut. You suddenly wish you hadn’t started this conversation, hadn’t bared this much of yourself. It’s sloppy.

He opens his mouth as if to reply, but you’re unable to meet his eyes. You climb off the bed and head for the bathroom. Cold water on your face brings you back to yourself as you wipe off with a rough washcloth, then pull on your jeans and a soft, worn t-shirt.

Fuck. Too close.

By the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s standing in the hall. He looks like he wants to tell you something, and you meet his eyes, silently pleading.

Don’t.

Seconds pass, and you can almost see the moment his expression shutters, closes up, and suddenly he’s Joel Miller again, the neighborhood asshole. He scowls and makes for the stairs.

“You wouldn’t know it,” you say, in a desperate move to regain the upper hand, to find your footing on the roiling ground beneath you.

He stops on the first step but doesn’t turn around. “Wouldn’t know what?”

“That she’s not yours.”

~*~

When he’s gone, you walk up to the attic to check for new transmissions on the recorder.

You follow a straightforward procedure: Play back the tape, log the messages on a notepad, then wipe the tape for next time. You stash the logs at the bottom of one of the boxes of junk in the back of the attic. If someone did find the radio up here, you could get away with telling them it’s a hobby.

She ain’t mine.

His words ring in your ears.

Was the girl kidnapped? She doesn’t act like a victim, but maybe she was taken before she was old enough to understand what was happening. Maybe she has only ever known Joel as a father, and the mother is out there trying to find her. Were you chasing after some petty custody battle?

You brush the idea aside. You can’t imagine why FEDRA would care, and it doesn’t explain the scars on her arm.

You finish your notes and store them for the night, left with more questions than answers.