#because it makes me right away think about how much i weighted tomorrow morning and guilty for the chocolate i ate (that still ended up

[nereidprinc3ss]

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him. 

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened? 

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a  little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough. 

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes. 

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him. 

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was. 

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again. 

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again. 

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table. 

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world. 

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms. 

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now. 

[gentrychild]

O great Owl and thou noble fic-finding rats I come because I have failed to find that which I need.

There is a work, apart of your Anyone universe, where Izuku is writing a Quirk Analysis Paper and he wakes AfO up so he can see a mutation quirk which enlarges AfO's arm. I have combed through all of Anyone and then through your side works that take place in this universe. But I found nothing.

The only thing I can think is that it was a tumblr post or a fanfic one of your blog mates wrote for you. But alas, I am still here.

In exchange I swear that if my firstborn ever starts stealing quirks I will buy all the therapists, and if that fails I will leave him to your fic-finders with no rivers in sight. And they may nibble on him for all of forever.

With reverence and sincerity, -me

I have some bad news and good news for you. The bad news is that his is something I wrote and posted on Tumblr, and you will never find it again even if you scroll through the entire Anyone tag. The good news is that you must be especially lucky as I found it by pure luck in a file I had forgotten.

----------

Izuku, sitting on his bed, books and notebooks opened on all of its surface, clicked his pen. Once, twice, thrice, the sound echoing in the silent apartment without doing anything to bring the answer the teenager desperately needed.

Usually, deadlines weren’t a problem for him. For some obscure reasons, the teachers in his high school were trusting him no matter what he did and forging his mom’s signatures to excuse his many absences had become the routine. However, he needed to finish this paper for tomorrow morning, so Hebisuga could read it and save her grade in Meta Analysis. That way, she would stop worrying so much about this subject, focus back on her Japanese, and write once again her ridiculously good flash cards that she always accepted to share with Yuuto and him.

But right now… Izuku’s brain just wasn’t cooperating.

He got up, his back protesting as he stopped hunching over for the first time in a couple of hours, and he left his bedroom. His notebook in hand, he walked past the bathroom and knocked at the door of the master bedroom, currently invaded by the bane of his existence while his blissfully ignorant mother was away.

The door opened in the second, All for One appearing in front of him, his hair messy and his face showing the trace of the pillow but no sign of sleepiness. The villain was one of those persons who immediately passed from sleep to alertness while Izuku needed three cups of coffee to be semi-conscious.

“What is it?” the villain asked. “Did you-“

“Show me your mutation quirks, please. Preferably the one that can offer some kind of protection.”

“What makes you think that-“                                                                       

Izuku clicked his pen once again and just stared at the quirk-stealing-fiend.

All for One finally obliged, making his arm grow in size, muscles growing until it had gruesomely swollen up, and he even added some spear-like bones. Bewildered, he answered every questions Izuku had about the drawbacks, the weight, how much he could still move his arm, and so on.

Because if analyzing quirks was his passion and could become a job, words in a book didn’t mean anything to Izuku. He needed to ask questions, to make theories, to see them in action.

Once he was done and had all the elements he needed, he thanked All for One and walked back to his room without offering any explanation. But of course, his roommate didn’t need one.

“Did you just use me to finish your homework? At three AM?”

[its-time-to-write]

i know now it’ll pass - ch. 6

Last chapter! Thank you all for the love!

am i better yet?

You stay inside the entire time Jamie’s visiting. You end up calling Georgie and telling her you’re sick, a side effect from poor rest. She clicks her tongue and has Simon deliver some food that he swears clears up any type of ailment. You accept it readily and wave goodbye, promising to come over as soon as you’re better. 

It’s Saturday night and Jamie leaves tomorrow evening so he can be back in Richmond for Monday morning training. Sometimes you can hear his voice through the walls and you think your heart is going to burst with all the emotions it causes. 

You’re angry at yourself, first and foremost, but there’s something about actually hearing him that makes you realize how much you love him. Then comes the sadness because you screwed it all up, and you’ve come to realize that Jamie would have loved you no matter what. He had made it through the worst of your relationship, why did you convince yourself he’d leave you?

You’re fed up with all these fucking feelings so you grab one of the muffins Simon sent over and slip out the front door. The cool air kisses your skin as you lug your weighted blanket into the perfect position. Ah. Bliss. You make sure the porch light is off before completely settling in.

The routine is familiar and adds an element of normalcy that you so desperately need.

—

You’re woken up at precisely 4am by Simon and Georgie’s door creaking open and someone slipping out. You don’t even have to look to know that it’s Jamie. You can tell by his footsteps. He’s headed out for a run and doesn’t know you’re there because it’s still dark. You think you should probably head inside so he doesn’t see you when he gets back, but the thought is barely formed before you fall back to sleep.

—

You wake up again in your bed with the oddest sense of déjà vu. You know for certain you were asleep in the front of your house, and there’s no way you got yourself here. The weighted blanket is placed with care, covering you in all the right spots. You roll out of bed, throw on your robe, and pad downstairs to find out who’s making noises in the kitchen.

You round the corner to find Georgie making breakfast. “Morning love,” she says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You hungry?”

You nod mutely and sit down as she hands you a plate.

“You need to lock your doors,” she says as she flips knobs on the stove. “You never know what sort of people could just walk into your house while you’re asleep on your porch.”

“Georgie,” you say slowly as she grabs a cup of coffee and sits across from you, “how did I get here?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, mug conveniently hiding her expression.

“I mean, I was outside. Then I woke up inside. And I know you and Simon didn’t get me there, so how did I get here?”

You don’t know why you’re even asking. The answer is obvious, isn’t it?

Georgie must think so too, because she doesn’t directly respond. Instead she says, “Had an interesting conversation with my son this morning. Came back from his run all flustered.”

You note the way she says my son, not “Jamie.” 

She continues, “Said he found a girl asleep out front. He was worried about her and I said not to, that’s just the girl we’re always having ‘round for tea, but he was having none of it. Said you’d be better off inside in your own bed, with someone to make sure the door was locked because you always forget to do it.”

Georgie sips her coffee again, looking straight through your eyes and down to your soul. “It’s funny, because he talked like he knows you. Odd, innit?”

You choke on your toast.

You gasp out, “Odd,” in agreement, but Georgie is still looking at you with those piercing blue eyes.

“You know my baby tells me everything,” she says. “Not always right away, but he does.”

You nod. There’s no salvaging this. You’re going to have to move again to Chelsea or someplace equally new and foreign, and it’s your own fault for never being honest.

You’re about to open your mouth to say I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you’ll never see me again and it’ll be ok, when Georgie places her hand on yours.

“I love you like my own child,” she says. “And maybe that’s because I see myself in you. I don’t want you to get stuck in your head the same way I did. Which is why I think all you need is another chance. One where you’re told by more people than one that you’re loved and wanted, and most of all that you’re safe. Which is exactly what I told Jamie. He’ll be over here in about five minutes.”

She takes another sip of her coffee with her free hand as you choke again.

“Georgie,” you sputter, “he doesn’t even want to see me! He told you what happened. Oh my god, I need a hairbrush.”

“You’re wrong, love,” she calls after you as you rush to your bathroom, “He absolutely wants to see you.”

—

You’re thundering down the stairs exactly four minutes and fifty-eight seconds later just in time to hear Georgie answer the door and promptly exit, leaving you with Jamie. Jamie, who you haven’t seen in months.

This is going to be a shit show, you think, but then you remember everything Georgie has ever said to you. Including the phrase, “He absolutely wants to see you.”

You don’t have time to twist that into something negative because Jamie Tartt is standing in front of you in your kitchen looking like the best thing you’ve ever seen, and it’s taking every ounce of your self-control not to launch yourself into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before he can say anything. “I shouldn’t have run away. I broke your heart on purpose and that was a shitty thing to do. And I’m sorry for becoming friends with your parents and not telling them. I should’ve handled it better.”

Jamie’s frowning. You wish his face were at least neutral.

He says, “You’re sorry,” as though he can’t believe those words are coming out of your mouth. You cringe a little. 

“Yeah,” you say, “I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. I know that doesn’t make anything better, but… I am.”

Jamie asks, “Why?” and you have no idea what he means.

“I just told you why I’m sorry,” you reply. “Not sure how much clearer you want.”

Jamie shakes his head. “No, fuck, I mean- why are you sorry? Why do you think you have something to apologize for?”

That catches you off guard. That’s not even remotely close to how you thought he would respond.

You’re trying to figure out what to say when Jamie starts talking again.

“Look- I knew what it was like for me mum when I was growing up. Sometimes you meet the wrong person and they fucking… fuck you up. So when you meet the right person, you’re all scared and it’s all shit so you do the things you should have done with the wrong person. And yeah, I was fucking wrecked when you left, but I understood. I’m me, and me is a lot.” 

The corners of your mouth turn up ever so slightly at the odd turn of phrase.

Jamie takes a breath. “What I’m saying is, maybe we have things to work on. But I want to work on them. With you. Not with someone else. Fucking hell, babe, I’ve never laughed as hard as when I’m with you. Like, imagine there’s this bird and she’s fit as fuck but then she talks and says the funniest shit and but then flips the switch and actually listens to what you have to say? Has actual empathy, like. It’s a fuckin’ breath of fresh air after being with the lads all day.”

“Right,” you say. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“Oh fuck no,” Jamie replies. “I was mad. Yeah. Proper mad. Got over it, though. Talked to Ted a lot, and Dr. Sharon. Worked through some of me own shit. Mummy says you’ve been working on your own shit too.”

You slowly nod. “Yeah, I have. It’s been alright. She gives me hope, you know? She has a perfectly wonderful life and she was able to get out of her own head long enough to enjoy it. Not let it slip through her fingers.”

You’re both silent for a moment. It’s been forever since you’ve seen Jamie up close, and you still find yourself lost in his eyes. 

You both have the same thought at the same time and suddenly your arms are wrapped around his middle and his are holding you tightly, his cheek resting on the top of your head. 

“I’m not letting you walk away again, yeah?” he says. “Mum’d fucking kill me if I did. You’re the only one I want anyway.”

You nod into his chest. “I love you so much,” you say, voice muffled. “I can’t believe that I get to have you.”

—

Jamie tells you over dinner that night that he’s the one who bought your flat. It’s waiting for you to come back. You finish out the month in Manchester then move home to Richmond.

A year later, there’s a forest and a picnic and a ring on your left hand. Eight months after that there’s a garden and starry lights hung in trees and a white dress. You’re surrounded by friends and family and a sign that says, the Tartts and glasses are clinking the whole night as you kiss someone who chose to be patient with you. You’re two people who saw exactly who the other was, and chose to love each other for it. 

Table of Contents

[gretavanlace]

Poppins (Epilogue)

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, language, oral sex (f rec), dirty talk, impact play, etc, happy tears, idk

Thank you for sticking with Poppins and all the heartbreak that came with it. I hope we can all breathe a collective sigh of relief and acknowledge that this was the only ending that was right for our dear characters. I love you all and thank you for going along for the ride with me❤️ ps- I didn’t expect to post this until tomorrow so it’s very lightly edited, forgive me

Josh’s warmth is what wakes you. His weight carefully hovering over you; chest pressed against your back, mouth humming along with tiny, breathy sounds as his lips travel the curve of your jaw.

You nuzzle further into the pillow, which feels a little too warm under the muted sunlight filtering into the room for your liking. You’ve never been much of a morning person.

Slowly though, he and Lil are changing that. Their sunny dispositions mirror one another’s and feed off of shared glee as they happily greet each new day. It is nothing short of infectious.

It’s difficult to be grouchy in a home filled to the brim with their lovely early hour enthusiasm.

“Time to open your eyes, sleeping beauty.” His voice curls across the shell of your ear, low and slow. You know that voice all too well.

“Better slow your roll, Joshua,” You mumble, eyes closed, body still heavy with slumber, “She’ll be awake and climbing into bed any second.”

“She’s been awake, sweetheart.” His lips are kissing love into your hair, lungs breathing you in deeply. “We read outside on the swing, and shared an apple. I fixed her hair pretty and helped her get dressed, and then Grandma came and whisked her away for a birthday girl breakfast. It’s just you and me.”

A smile flashes on your sleepy lips, stealing his heart away, “All that without me?”

He drops down against you a little heavier, a delicious weighted blanket of a man. “We decided to let mama sleep in. You looked very peaceful.”

Mama, mommy, mom when she’s exasperated…every iteration makes your body flush with maternal devotion and pride.

It had been over a dinner of pasta and salad when she’d first called you mommy like it was the most natural thing in the world. Picking at her plate, fist clutched around her fork, shoving a cherry tomato around, she’d explained how uncle sammy had made her angry that afternoon.

“I told him I wanted to hold Rosie’s leash,” she’d lamented. “But he said I’m too small to hold it at the dog park because she tries to run. I’m not too small though, mommy, I’m not!”

Josh had soothed her with something you hadn’t really heard through the blissed out ringing in your ears, cleared his throat, and excused himself.. You’d found him leaning over the bathroom sink, blinking tears away.

“Josh, I didn’t…” you had stumbled stupidly over your pitiful explanation, “I didn’t ask her to call me that. I’d never do that. I’m sorry, I understand why you’re upset….”

He’d turned on you so quickly you’d taken a step back in surprise, “Upset? Are you kidding me? I’ve never been less upset in my life. I don’t think I can even remember the definition of the word right now.”

Words kept in whispers, lest she overhear, he had pulled you into his arms, chin hooked over your shoulder to keep you close as he spoke, “I’ve waited such a long time for my little girl to have that moment that she just had. To be able to talk to her mama about her day while pretending to eat her vegetables. You belong here, sweetheart…you always have.”

What always stands to you about that moment of tears and whispers in the bathroom, of all places - what you think will always make you smile the hardest when you remember that night, is the fact that he never once asked you how you felt about it. He never asked if it had made you uncomfortable. Never questioned your love for Lily, he knew. He knew.

And now here you lie, cozy under the covers with your beautiful Josh pestering you with adoration and kisses, while the incredible little human being who calls you mommy shares a birthday breakfast with her grandmother.

“All alone,” Josh hushes into your ear, breaking the spell of innocence clouding your head. “Just me,” he leans up on his elbow, making room for his hand to slip beneath the sheets. “And you.”

“Joshua Michael,” you scold lightly, parting for him when his fingers begin to walk up the inside of your thigh, “You’re an insatiable pervert, you realize…a deviant.”

His giggle, huffed and sultry, somehow parts your thighs even further. “I’m not the one spreading my legs like a whore. I’ve barely touched you. Naughty girl.”

A shiver shakes your spine, driven by his words and the fingers he’s now sweeping over your panties. He is sunshine and light, love and laughter, all wrapped up in a gorgeous package that can switch on a dime and drench you in filth.

“I also happen to love it when you middle name me…” he confesses, circling your clit just to listen to you sigh. “Makes me impossibly hard.”

As if to prove himself, he grinds his cock into the small of your back, smiling against your cheek when you whimper.

“Listen to you,” he sounds mockingly sympathetic, “you’re very whiny, and so soon. Why, baby? Are you wet? Is it all slick and hot right here?” He presses at your panties a touch harder, “Would my pretty girl like to cum?”

“Listen to you,” you turn the tables, reaching back to drag your nails against his scalp. “You’re being very dirty. I think you’re feeling whinier than I am. You just hide it better. Isn’t that right, Josh? You’re just eager to fuck me all filthy and nasty in this big empty house where no one can hear, aren’t you? You want it, don’t you?”

He’s rocking into the swell of your ass now, fingers sliding over you, pressing satin into your folds, tapping at your swollen clit, teasing teasing teasing.

“Yeah,” his breath pants over your cheek, hard and quick, “yeah I fucking want it…and so do you. Cotton candy cunt is just begging for me, soaking your sweet panties, crying for cock. For my cock.”

Cotton candy never fails to make you weak, he’d called it that the first time he’d made you see stars, pressed up against the door that now stands open because there is no one here but the two of you.

His fingers have sneaked into your mouth, and you can’t seem to repress a prayer of his name as you suck and lick at them.

“Shh,” he hushes, so cocksure and sexy, “don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Give it to me,” you pull away, longing for it to sound like a demand, but it slips off your tongue like the plea that it is as you reach back, trying to fight your panties down from your awkward position.

“Wanna taste you first,” he yanks your underwear down for you. “Want that beautiful pussy in my mouth, right in my fucking mouth,” with you bare enough for him to sink his fingers into the globe of your ass, he cracks a swift smack against it. “Tell me you want me to lick you. Tell me you want to cum pretty on my tongue.”

Your body is writhing now, twisting feverishly in a futile attempt to roll over and rip your nightshirt off all at once.

He’s having none of it, “I said fucking tell me,” he spanks you again, harder this time, groaning when you cry out, saturating the room with a needy, wailed moan.

“I want it, baby, please,” oh, how easily he can reduce you to a quaking, begging fool, not a thought in her head but Josh. “I want your mouth. I want to cum for you. Make me cry, Josh, make me fucking cry…make me cum.”

He growls out as his teeth drag over your cheek, and then your eyes are struggling to focus on the ceiling, head spinning from being flipped over without warning.

“Make you cum?” He’s taunting you now, kissing his way down to your breasts, making love to your nipples with his devious mouth. “Make you cry? Now why would I want to make my sweetheart cry?”

A soft bite arches your back away from the mattress, “Josh, baby….”

“Josh,” he whispers, tongue traveling the valley between your tits, “Josh, baby, don’t you sound meek? Like the prettiest wallflower who just wants to feel good…my sweet, sweet, sweetheart. I told you to fucking tell me…”

You know what he wants, and so you give it to him. “I want your mouth on me. I want you to lick me,” your hand fists in his hair, pulling him from your breast. “This, right here,” now you’re pinching at his plump, velvety bottom lip, fingertips pushing in to say hello to his warm, wet tongue “my pussy wants it so bad. Wrap these pretty lips around my clit until I make a mess.”

His face is buried between your legs so quickly you have to blink your way out of confusion. Just as quickly, you’re gripping and tugging at his curls, hips rocking up into his kiss while you beg him to stroke his dick while he devours your cunt.

“Yeah?” He mumbles, heavy and hot, into your aching flesh, “You want me to touch my cock while I eat this gorgeous pussy?”

“Yes, yes, yes…” you fall away into nothing sounds, mewling and keening into the morning light. A grunt as he shakes his face back and forth tells you he’s given you what you’ve asked for…and the sounds that chase that grunt shove you closer to the edge.

“I’m gonna cum…I’m gonna cum so hard,” it’s but a breath, you don’t know if he’s even heard you until his fervent nod answers back, save for the moans muffling from between your legs.

It is a warm wave that explodes over you as though you're the jagged, rocky shore. At the crest of it, you bolt upright, cradling his head against you as you pump your hips in time with your throbbing pulse, groaning like a jezebel until the walls drip with your sobs.

He doesn’t pull away until you’re pushing at his forehead and gasping for reprieve. When his breathtaking face resurfaces, it’s pink-cheeked and shining with your release.

“I’m fucking covered in you,” he crawls up, running the back of his hand across his mouth, mussing the soft hairs that perch above it. “Do you have any idea how fucking good you taste?”

He’s shoving and kicking his pants away as you pull his lips to yours, savoring your cunt and his need, all over them.

“Fuck me,” you’re clawing and pulling at him, hands flying about without care or thought as he bites at your collar bone.

“Yeah?” The tip slides, swollen and warm, against you, nudging at your quivering clit. “You want this? You want me to stuff your snug little cunt all full of me? Fuck you wide open?”

Your teeth are clenched and grinding though your reply, “Yes, fuck me…I want it, Josh. Give it to me, give it to your girl.”

That lazy drag against your center continues, “Think you deserve it, sweetheart? Does my baby deserve my cock this morning? Have you been a real good girl? Pout sweet, yeah? Make me want to give it to you.”

You turn your eyes soft, wide and wet, “Don’t you want to give it to me? Haven’t I been so good for you? Came pretty on your tongue just like you asked.”

A weak sound, something akin to a whimper, ripples out of his chest as he presses into you, gentle and slow. “Maybe you deserve just a little, huh? Don’t you, baby? Maybe you deserve just the tip, hmm?”

“Yes,” you lie, “Just the tip.”

He’s a liar too, and you both know it the second he slips inside.

“So fucking warm, sweetheart,” his mouth sinks into the crook of your neck, as he continues his relentless teasing, slipping just the silky soft head in and out of you “So fucking tight. Perfect, wet pussy, pretty and pink, greedy…all mine.’

“Yours,” you nod, pulling him in with your heels dug firmly into the base of his spine until you’re deliciously filled with him and rolling against his body like a glutton.

“Oh, you think you’re just gonna take what you want?” He sounds so sure of himself, but you can feel the resolve leaching from his frame, “Squeeze my cock with that needy cunt, then, sweetheart. Show me she loves it with a filthy little hug, dirty girl.”

You clench around him with a whine you wish you could say was purposeful, for as well as it works. The second it escapes your parted lips he’s pounding into you. Pressing into your lower stomach with a flattened palm and a hitching, “You feel me right here? You feel my cock right here, baby? So deep…fuck, so deep.” Fucking your body into the mattress as you claw at his shoulders, and gnash into his chest savagely.

“That’s it,” he grits out, huffing the words out between cruel snaps of his hips, “Tear into me, sweetheart. Make it fucking hurt. Harder,”

A growl, so reminiscent of a wild animal’s call, bursts forth from your heaving chest as you bite and suck at him, and it only serves to make him fuck away at you faster, deeper.

“Come on and cum for me,” his fingers are wrapped around the nape of your neck now, shoving your mouth against him. “Bite, baby, fucking bite. Hard. Do it.”

Sinking your teeth into his alabaster skin you let go, pulling away without weakening your grip, leaving a raised, purple and pink constellation in your wake as you shudder and convulse beneath his weight…calling his name, howling and shaking as those tears you’d begged for finally streak over your temples to chase each other into your tangled hair.

He’s lost it above you completely - cursing and grabbing at you wherever his wandering hands happen to land, his beautiful cock twitching frantically as it spills inside you. Filling you up, wet and dripping, as you both search for sure footing.

You haven’t all the time in the world, and surely you waste far too much of it staring at each other with his hands cupping your face - at last, he rolls to his side, curling himself around you until you feel safe and sound.

“You’re obscene, you know that?” You smile up at the ceiling, watching the fan as it swirls lazy circles above your heads.

“Oh yes, my love, I know,” he sighs, brushing a lock of hair from your face, “I make no apologies. We should shower.”

You nod, half sad to see it end, and half elated to get a move on for Lily’s big day. “Let’s shower, then I’ll run and pick up her cake. It won’t say Elizabeth this year, I can assure you. She’ll be in therapy over that for years,

Joshua.”

“Yeah, yeah…” his grip sinks into your ribs, tickling you gently. “Can you believe she’s five today? Five! I hate it.”

“I hate it too.” You nod, solemnly. “Talk to the science department on campus, tell them we need an anti-aging device or something.”

A laugh bursts out of him, dragging one out of you alongside it, “I’ll get right on that. Jake’s gonna be here around one, I told him his job is to blow up balloons. It’ll keep him quiet.”

“I bought a helium tank.” You remind him, toying with his fingers.

“He doesn’t have to know that.” His lips peck a quick line along your cheekbone. “I think he really might like this one. It’s getting kinda serious…well, as serious as Jake is capable of.”

“The girl he met in Lansing?” The jealousy that once might have lived inside your question is nonexistent. “Is he bringing her?”

“No,” his fingers tangle back around yours, “said today was Lil’s day and he wouldn’t draw focus from that. You know how he is.”

“He loves her so much,” now you’re choking up, but it’s because of Lily, not because of some errant territorial claim. Jake isn’t yours, and he never really was.

“That he does,” Josh nods and then tugs at you as he rolls off the bed and onto his feet. “C’mon now, sweetheart, shower time before the two most discerning women in our lives come back and discover us in a compromising situation.”

You follow after him, leaving the twisted sheets behind you, asking if he’ll wash your hair.

He turns around, eyebrow hooked like you should know better as he adjusts the water temperature. “Of course I’ll wash your hair, baby. I’ll take care of you. I’m always going to take care of you.”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @jakesgrapejuice @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake

[softguarnere]

Hi! Can you write something hurt/comfort with Eugene or Joe?

Staring At the Ceiling With You

Eugene Roe x reader

A/N: Hi anon! I have noticed recently that I have a lack of Eugene content, so hopefully this fic will help fill that void. Also I've been in kind of a Gene phase ever since listening to Shane Taylor's podcast episode 🤭 (As usual, this is based off the fictional depictions from the tv show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) Fic title comes from "Lavender Haze" by Taylor Swift. Thank you so much for the request, and I hope you like this 💕🕊️

Warnings: Insomnia

Cold weather in the winter months started ushering in unwanted memories after the war. Now, though, the thoughts sometimes slip in with no excuse or explanation, no matter the temperature. Even after a long day at work, when he should be worn out and ready to collapse into bed, they find a way to cling to him like damp clothes – and they’re just as uncomfortable.

Outside, frogs sing in the warm summer night. Their chorus floats in through the cracked windows, covering up the sounds of his footsteps as he makes his way back to the bedroom, careful to avoid any floorboards that might creak. As of recently, he’s become very familiar with which ones like to groan, announcing their presence when the rest of the world is quiet.

Eugene is slow and deliberate with his movements when he lifts the quilt and slips into the bed. He could kick himself when you stir. He didn’t intend to wake you; just because he’s awake doesn’t mean that you should have to be.

You roll towards him, outstretching your arm until you find him. Then, you latch on. He can’t help but smile. To think that you were the brightest spot in the dark night that was the war, and that now you’ve come home with him . . . He still can’t believe it.

For just a moment, it seems like maybe he didn’t disturb you. He lets out a breath and allows his full weight to sink back into the bed. Then, you mumble, “You’re coming to bed late.”

“Désolé.” He presses a quick kiss to your temple. “I didn’t want my tossing and turning to keep you up.”

You shake your head, hair rustling against the pillows. The movement is slow with the fog of sleep that clings to you. “Wouldn’t have . . . Sleep better when you’re here.” In the dim light of the moon that sneaks into the room from the window, your eyes flutter open. You study him. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“We can talk about it tomorrow morning. Go back to sleep, (Y/N).” But once you’ve set your mind to something, it’s useless to ask you to let it go.

You sit up in the bed. Rubbing sleep from your eyes for a moment, you then stretch before settling back against the headboard. Gene pushes himself up, too, so that he can look at you head-on in the night.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” you guess.

Gene shakes his head. “Just can’t turn my mind off lately.”

Through the darkness, he can see the crease that appears between your eyebrows as you think. He wants to reach out, to smooth it away, to remove all the worry that rests there.

Finally, you break the silence. “I want to help you, Eugene. What would you like for me to do?”

Even after all the time that you’ve been together, your sweet words bring heat to his cheeks. You care about him. He knows that, obviously, but your readiness to help when you could be resting shows how compassionate you are.

What would he like for you to do? If it were up to him, you would both be asleep right now. You should be wrapped up in his arms, the both of you breathing deeply, oblivious to the world as the frogs sing and sweet dreams dance in your mind. That’s what he wants . . . He just can’t seem to get there.

“Hold on.” You slip from the bed and down the hallway. For a few moments, Eugene is alone, wondering if he should have followed you.

Creaking floorboards announce your presence as you return. He should really work on fixing those. Maybe tomorrow. Saturday. That would be a good day for it. Assuming that he gets some sleep before then and feels up to it.

“Here.” You press a warm cup into Gene’s hands before making your way back to your side of the bed and settling in again.

Eugene sniffs the cup’s contents before taking a sip. It’s warm milk and, if he’s not mistaken, a little bit of honey. Nice and soothing. “I haven’t had this since I was a kid.”

“I know.”

“Huh?”

“You told me that, once. Back in Holland. It was some offhand comment you made about how your grandma used to make you warm milk if you couldn’t sleep.”

He really can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You remembered.”

“Always stuck with me.” You shrug, like it’s no big deal, but he can still see your smile. Of course you remembered. “Now – “ you pat the pillows, drawing attention back to the matter at hand. “ – When I can’t shut my mind off, being held by you always works wonders.”

“Oh yeah?” Part of him feels guilty – do you also have sleepless nights, and Gene just didn’t realize that you were also being affected? At the same time, though, a certain sense of pride settles into his chest at the admission that you like it when he holds you.

You lean into his side, wrapping your arms around him as you fit your head into the crook of his neck. “You want to try?”

“Oui.” He lets you guide him down, settling into the pillows as you both adjust your positions so that you can be comfortable. He rests his head on your chest, rising and falling with your even breathing, listening to the strong and steady beat of your heart. You run your fingers through his dark hair, and his eyelids begin to feel heavy.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” he whispers into the darkness. “For all of this.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “We’ll figure it out, Gene. Don’t worry.”

With your soothing presence and determination, he finds himself quickly slipping into sleep. He won’t worry. Not tonight, anyway.

[bloody-bee-tea]

IntiMarch 2024 Day 19 - Trust me enough

The prompt for this was "I'm here for you"

Suguru is an insanely private person, Satoru had enough time by now to realise that. Sure, Suguru talks about what he likes and dislikes and he shares funny little thoughts with Satoru, but he never ever talks about his childhood, his parents or any other relatives.

Satoru knows that Suguru is living alone, even though he’s never been to his place, and that’s all, really.

It’s not that he minds it, much. Suguru is his best friend, despite the obvious holes in his lives and even though he never talks about any of that Satoru doesn’t feel as if he’s being kept out of the loop or if Suguru is keeping secrets from him.

Suguru is still the person Satoru trusts most. It just seems like maybe Satoru isn’t the one Suguru trusts the most because he very adamantly does not want to talk about why he looks like shit.

“You sleeping okay?” Satoru asks well into their evening, when Suguru is half asleep on the couch, listing more and more towards Satoru, his eyebags so deep that for a moment Satoru thought it was make-up.

“Sure,” Suguru’s non-answer is to that and Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Bullshit,” he whispers, which makes Suguru tense for a moment, before Satoru simply pulls him closer towards himself. “Sleep here if you can’t at home,” he decides and Suguru doesn’t even seem to have the energy to protest that, because he goes heavy against Satoru and then that’s that.

He doesn’t even wake when Satoru drags him over to his bed and that, too, is worrying.

It’s not often that Suguru stays over, but it’s by far not the first time they share a bed, so Satoru has no qualms about sliding in right behind him, already thinking about what he could make Suguru for breakfast tomorrow.

These days he’s always buying food for two, because he wants to be prepared for when Suguru drops by without a notice and looking as if he’s ready to keel over at any time.

Satoru is not much of a cook, but during that time period where Suguru lost a few pounds for no reason whatsoever he learned how to cook decently well. It’s still not one of his favourite things to do but he knows enough by now to make balanced meals that won’t kill the both of them in a week or so.

Suguru had regained his weight with Satoru’s constant pestering and so mostly Satoru doesn’t even feel bad about it.

Except for the fact that he needs to pester Suguru in the first place because he’s not taking care of himself. Or he’s trying too hard to take care of himself.

No matter what, Satoru knows he’ll have to bring it up and rather soon, because seeing Suguru waste away in front of him like that is not something he enjoys doing.

But that is a conversation for the next morning.

~*~*~

When Satoru wakes up, Suguru is already awake. He’s still in bed though, and he does seem marginally more rested than the night before so Satoru counts it as a win.

“Had trouble sleeping?” Satoru asks, lazily stretching and daring to throw a glance at the clock.

It’s fucking early and Satoru falls back into bed with a groan.

“No, not when I’m here,” Suguru gives back and it has Satoru perking up, because that is more than he usually gets out of Suguru.

“Listen, Suguru,” he starts and watches how Suguru almost immediately clams down on him.

“Don’t, Satoru,” he warningly says and Satoru shakes his head, his hands reaching out to tangle in Suguru’s shirt.

“No, you will listen,” he orders him and he’s not afraid to stare him down.

Other people might be scared by that gaze but not Satoru, never has been and never will be. Suguru really should know better than that.

Suguru stays stubbornly quiet, but that’s fine since it’s what Satoru expected to happen in the first place and it’s not as if he needs Suguru to talk anyway.

“I just wanted to say, that no matter what, I am here for you. If you ever feel like talking about what the hell is going on with you, then I’m here. You can tell me anything, though I hope you already know that. I just—” Satoru bites his lower lip as he reaches out to push Suguru’s bang away from his face. “I just want you to be okay. And if I can help in any way, then you’ll let me know, alright.”

Suguru continues to stay quiet, which is fine and all, so Satoru gives him a small smile.

“That’s all. Now, any special orders for breakfast?” he then asks as he untangles himself from the blanket and from Suguru and gets out of bed.

“Put some fruit in whatever the hell you’re making, you always eat too much sugar,” Suguru says as if Satoru isn’t the one who has been in charge of keeping both of them healthy lately, but he still nods.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“And Satoru?” Suguru calls out for him, just as he’s about to leave the room.

“Mh?” he asks and turns back, surprised to see the serious look on Suguru’s face.

“Thank you. I—can’t, yet, or maybe ever, but—thanks.”

“Always, Suguru, I promise,” Satoru replies, his heart fluttering in his chest, because this is the very first time that Suguru even so much as hinted at the fact that something might not be okay.

It’s a start and Satoru will gladly take it.

~*~*~

Suguru’s health continues to decline. His face is gaunt, his eyes are tired, the bags are permanent and his appetite is almost non-existent.

Things have never been perfectly fine for Suguru, Satoru knows that because he was already working a job by the time they met and it was more than clear the he kind of needed that one to stay alive but this is reaching new heights.

New worrying heights, Satoru despairingly thinks as he watches Suguru push the food on his table around instead of eating it.

“Suguru,” he carefully starts and Suguru is so out of it that he only gets a weak grunt in reply. “How many jobs are you working?” Satoru wants to know because he suspects it’s no longer just one.

“Two, sometimes three,” Suguru lifelessly replies and Satoru is honestly just waiting for the moment his head drops forward, right into their dinner, like in the movies.

There are a lot of things Satoru wants to ask, wants to know, but he definitely knows that if he pushes too hard or goes on and on with his questions, Suguru will clam up again and he doesn’t want them to fight.

Suguru is so much more prone to fights lately, his temper short and bad and Satoru blames the sleep deprivation and the malnourishment.

So Satoru doesn’t say anything more, and instead puts a few vegetables on Suguru’s plate. He loves those, usually, and Satoru hopes that maybe like this he’ll at least get a little bit of food into him.

It doesn’t work and even though Satoru’s heart sinks, he lets it go.

At least for now.

~*~*~

Suguru’s hands are shaking as he picks up his glass of water and Satoru notices it with worry. Suguru is running himself ragged with whatever the hell he’s doing and Satoru can hardly stand to see it.

“Suguru, are you okay?” he asks, out of the blue and in the middle of a rather dramatic monologue in the movie they are watching but he couldn’t care less.

He only cares about Suguru.

Suguru gives him a warning glance but when Satoru doesn’t back down he lets out a deep sigh.

“I’m staying safe,” he says as if that’s any kind of answer to the question Satoru just asked and so Satoru leans forward, closer into Suguru’s space.

“Okay, but. Are you okay?” he asks again and just like that Suguru bursts into tears.

It’s so surprising that it takes Satoru a few seconds to react but then he’s quick to pull Suguru in his arms.

He shakes and he sobs and he cries for a very long time, and it feels as if Satoru’s heart is being torn into two.

Suguru should never be like this, should never be as desperate and defeated as he is now and Satoru wishes he would just talk to him so that maybe Satoru can fix it.

When Suguru’s sobs die down, Satoru nuzzles the top of his head and asks: “What do you need?”

“To not work three jobs,” Suguru bitterly mutters, his voice still heavy with tears and Satoru nods.

“Okay. Do you need to do that for rent?”

“Among other things,” Suguru cryptically gives back and Satoru sighs.

“If you were to live here, would that make things better?” he asks and curses under his breath when that makes Suguru pull away.

“Satoru,” he warningly says, but his face is still read and there are tear tracks on his face, so there is no way in hell that Satoru is going to back down right now.

“Answer me.”

“I—I could maybe drop one job,” Suguru finally admits, “but I can’t do that, Satoru, you don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me. Why can’t you?”

He’s not asking for the reason Suguru is working three jobs, or what ‘other things’ even entail; all he wants to know is why Suguru cannot move in with him and not bother with rent anymore.

“What if you get sick of me or we fight or something? I’d have nothing.”

It’s a valid concern, even though it makes Satoru wonder what Suguru had to go through so far to have to worry about something like that, but it’s also an easy fix.

“We’ll write you in the lease. That way it’ll be your apartment, too, and you have a legal right to be here, even if I should want kick you out. How’s that?”

“And I pay half the rent?”

“No rent,” Satoru shakes his head. “Absolutely not. It’s not as if—you said one job. Living here with me would only allow you to quit one job.”

“Yeah,” Suguru says, already closed off again and Satoru knows that he’s not getting any kind of explanation as to why he needs the jobs in the first place.

“What if—what if we do the same thing with my bank account?” he asks and Suguru stares at him with huge eyes.

“Huh?”

“I mean—you know I have more money than I reasonably know what to do with thanks to my family, so—why not use that? We can make it a shared bank account and you can take as much or as little as you need. We’d pay the rent from that account too, so it’s almost as if you’re paying your share and then you don’t have to worry about money again.”

“Fucking rich people,” Suguru mutters under his breath but some of the desperation has left his eyes and that’s all that matters to Satoru right now.

“I’d still want to work one job and save that money up in case—”

Things with us go wrong, Suguru doesn’t say but Satoru hears it loud and clear.

“Suguru, I don’t want you to stop working at all, not if you enjoy doing it. I just want you to stop working three jobs at once and killing yourself over it.”

Suguru works his jaw, clearly thinking things over and Satoru—for once in his life—is content to wait him out.

It’s important that he doesn’t push him too far too soon, because he definitely doesn’t want Suguru to shut down on him again.

“I’d—have to think about it,” Suguru finally says and Satoru lets out a breath of relief.

That’s better than he dared to hope for, if he’s being honest.

“That’s fine,” he immediately agrees and tries to pull Suguru into another hug again, but he stops him with a hand on his chest.

“Satoru, I might not ever tell you,” he warns him, without elaborating but Satoru understands anyway.

“That’s fine, Suguru,” he gives back and tugs on Suguru’s arm until he gets the hint and crashes into Satoru’s chest. “You either tell me all of it, or just some or none at all and it’s all fine. If you don’t want to talk about it, then that’s fine, just know that I’m here. If that changes, I’m here.”

“It—it’s not just me, Satoru. I can’t—it’s not just me. If I fuck up, it’s not just me that’s going to suffer.”

A thousand questions are at the tip of Satoru’s tongue at hearing that but he swallows them all down. He already pushed enough for today, Suguru’s admission is proof enough of that.

“Okay. Think about it. The offer stands and it has no expiration date.”

It’s all Satoru can do, at the moment, besides being there for Suguru.

Suguru opened up more to him than ever before and for now it has to be enough.

~*~*~

Satoru wakes up to incessant knocking at his door. He groans as he rolls around to check the time and then he curses when he realises it’s the middle of the night. Satoru has half a mind ignoring whoever it is that’s disturbing his sleep right now but the knocking doesn’t slow down and there’s no way Satoru can get any more sleep like this.

So he rolls out of bed, disgruntled and mad, and he hopes both those emotions show on his face as he yanks open the door.

Only to freeze completely in surprise when he spots Suguru at the other side, with a little girl in his arms and one standing behind him.

Suguru looks scared and tired and weary and both girls are silently crying.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru says when Satoru can’t find his voice fast enough and it finally jolts Satoru into action.

“Come in, come in,” he steps to the side, motions for them to get in, and only barely catches the girl still standing when she falls forward as her support moves away.

“Fuck, Nanako,” Suguru mutters, but Satoru hoists her up in his arms and the girl is asleep before her head hits his shoulder.

“I’ve got her. Let’s put them down in my bed. Do they need something?” he asks, gently pushing Suguru towards his bedroom.

“No, they just—sleep would be good.”

Not just for the girls, Satoru suspects, and so he nods.

“Alright, off we go then.”

They get the girls situated quickly and silently and when Suguru wants to leave the room with Satoru, Satoru stops him with a hand to his chest.

“You, too, Suguru,” he says with a nod towards the bed.

“I need to explain,” Suguru protests and Satoru narrows his eyes at him.

“Is anything you want to explain to me time sensitive? Do you have to be somewhere tomorrow, is something going to happen if you don’t do something on time?” he asks and waits until Suguru shakes his head. “Then off to bed you go,” he says and pushes Suguru back towards the bed. “I’ll be here and we can talk after you got some sleep.”

“Fine, fine,” Suguru mutters and then pulls Satoru into a hug. “Thank you.”

It’s not as if Satoru has done a whole lot yet, but he still hugs Suguru back before he shoves him towards the bed again.

Satoru is burning with questions but Suguru seems ready to keel over at any moment and an explanation can wait until the next day.

~*~*~

Satoru wakes up to the smell of coffee. His back hurts something fierce from sleeping on the couch but he drags himself up anyway because the coffee smells exactly like he usually takes it and he’s not surprised to find Suguru in the kitchen, most of the breakfast already done.

“Good morning,” Satoru says, making a beeline to his coffee and Suguru briefly turns away from the stove to give him a small smile.

“Morning.”

Suguru quickly finishes the last two pancakes before he drops everything on the table and sits down opposite of Satoru.

“Are you awake, like, truly?” Suguru asks and Satoru would be offended if it wasn’t such a valid question.

Suguru has had whole conversations with him he doesn’t remember a word of because he was still half asleep at the time.

“I am truly awake,” Satoru promises him and Suguru sighs.

“Okay, explanations then,” he whispers and Satoru’s hand shoots out, covering Suguru’s with his.

“If you want to. You are under no obligation to tell me anything,” he reminds him because it’s important that Suguru knows that.

Sure, Satoru can’t deny that he has a million questions but if Suguru doesn’t want to answer a single one, then Satoru would rather take a no than make Suguru do something he doesn’t want to do.

“I know,” Suguru quietly admits. “I know that, Satoru. I want to. It’s long overdue anyway, I shouldn’t ever have kept any of this a secret.”

Maybe, Satoru wants to agree, but it’s not his place to say and Suguru will have had his reasons, so he bites his tongue and stays quiet.

“The girls were fostered in the same family that I was,” Suguru starts. “Nanako and Mimiko. I—they are eight now. My foster parents got them shortly before I moved out and I talked to the CPS about it but they didn’t listen. My foster parents—things weren’t nice there,” Suguru admits and doesn’t quite dare to meet Satoru’s eyes. “I didn’t want the girls growing up there but no one was listening to me.”

“So you kept in touch,” Satoru guesses, focusing on that instead of anything else Suguru just said. The girls didn’t seem like they were afraid of a stranger last night. They seemed to trust Suguru.

“I tried to keep visiting,” Suguru agrees with a sigh. “My foster parents quickly caught on and demanded money in exchange.”

“You had to pay to see them?” Satoru asks for clarification and lets out a long breath when Suguru nods.

That certainly explains the three jobs he was working.

“I wasn’t ever allowed to see them at home, though, they always dropped them off somewhere. Nanako and Mimiko are bright girls, lively and wonderful, but they got quieter and quieter the more time passed. They wouldn’t talk to me anymore, wouldn’t mention what was going on at home at all. It worried me.”

“And I’d guess rightfully so.”

“Yeah. I went there, yesterday, without prior announcement. I still know where they keep the keys, so I got in. Satoru, you don’t know—” Suguru breaks off with a sob and Satoru moves around the table to hug him.

“They kept them in a cage,” Suguru hisses out between his tears and Satoru goes cold all over.

“What?”

“There was this huge fucking cage in the living-room, like a kennel. They kept them like dogs!”

“Fucking hell,” Satoru whispers because what else is there to say, really.

“I tried to get them out but my foster parents came home before I found the key. They attacked me with a knife for it.”

“They did what? Suguru, are you hurt?” Satoru frantically asks, moving away to flutter his hands all over Suguru’s body, trying to spot any injury.

“I’m fine, Satoru, I’m fine. A paramedic already checked me out, I got one surface slash; it got bandaged and that’s it.”

“You called an ambulance?”

“And the police, too, after I knocked both of them unconscious. All of this happened in the afternoon; I’ve been at the station since maybe 4pm,” Suguru tells him and it’s no wonder that he seems absolutely exhausted.

“What’s going to happen now?” Satoru asks because if the police is involved things might be difficult for Suguru.

“The girls said they want to stay with me, and I also said that I’m amenable to that. I can foster them, no problem.”

“But?” Satoru asks because he senses a big but coming.

He knows Suguru too well after all.

“I—” Suguru awkwardly clears his throat. “I might have told the police that I’m moving in with my boyfriend and I gave them your address for any further correspondence.”

Satoru’s heart threatens to beat right out of his chest but he forces himself to appear calm, even though he feels anything but.

“Suguru, you don’t have to, you know that, right? My offer stands, no matter what and if we have to move to a bigger apartment to accommodate all of you in separate rooms, then that’s no problem. You don’t have to do that because you think you owe me or anything.”

“What if I’m doing it because I’m in love with you?” Suguru gives back and leans in, almost close enough for their lips to meet. “What then?”

“Then I’d say you’re moving in with your boyfriend,” Satoru whispers, before he closes the distance between them. “But I just need to make it clear that you can change your mind at any time. The last few weeks must have been hell for you and I just want you to be okay, no matter what. If this isn’t what you want—”

“Satoru I’ve been in love with you since basically the moment I met you,” Suguru interrupts him with a chuckle and Satoru gapes at him.

“I see,” he finally mutters, darting in to press a kiss to the corner of Suguru’s mouth. “Alright then.” One more kiss. “Are the girls okay with sharing a room or do we have to move?”

“I think for now they are okay with that,” Suguru replies and pulls Satoru so close that he doesn’t have another choice but to sit on his lap. “Thank you. Seriously, Satoru, you’re the best. I don’t know if I could have done any of this without knowing you’d have my back.”

“I always have your back, no matter what.”

“And me coming with the girls now is not too much?”

“Hell no,” Satoru immediately says because he honestly means it that no matter what, he’ll always be in Suguru’s corner. And if he allows it he’ll always be by his side, too.

“I love you,” Suguru sighs out at hearing that and drops his head to Satoru’s shoulder.

“I love you, too, kids and all,” Satoru replies, burying his hand in Suguru’s hair, and pressing a kiss to it as well.

There will be a lot of phone calls to make—changing the lease and the bank account, first and foremost—before they get Suguru’s stuff from his apartment and buy things for the girls, but for right now, Satoru enjoys this quiet moment in his kitchen.

It’ll likely be the last for a while, he thinks when he hears the tell-tale squeak of his bedroom door opening, but as long as Suguru is here, Satoru couldn’t mind that less.

[thewatercolours]

King's Quest Ficlet: "Birthday Tradition"

One of the best parts of Graham’s birthday was always when Triumph got to sleep over. It just so happened that the day he rescued the tiny gerbil from the market was the eve of Graham’s ninth birthday, and he begged his mother to let his new pet sleep next to him on his pillow. 

“Just so he feels safe. He’s never been here before. He could get scared in the dark.” 

“Well, just for tonight. I want you to make a little hutch for him tomorrow, or something. And you have to promise me you’ll just lie still and not stay up all night playing with him, or you’ll be grouchy in the morning.”

“I promise!”

He was valiant at keeping his promise. He lay still, and didn’t even let himself roll over in bed as he normally did. But he couldn’t help craning his neck to watch all Triumph did. Because the little guy appeared to be nocturnal, or perhaps it was the cool of the night after the hot July afternoon. Whatever the case, no sooner had Graham blown out the candle than the antics began. He explored the hayloft bedroom thoroughly, sniffing everything over loudly. He got the zoomies, and began dashing back and forth from one end of the blanket to the other, colliding forcefully Graham’s foot more than once. He made numerous attempts to climb the makeshift bookshelf fashioned from crates, and managed to knock over the old pair of antlers Graham once found in the woods, making a dreadful clatter. Every inch of Graham trembled to get up and lift him out of trouble, to open cabinet doors so Triumph would have more places to discover, to herd him back to the corner where the bed was and stroke him and tickle him and train him to do tricks before morning. But a promise was a promise.

It was certainly hours before Graham finally succumbed to sleep. If he could have helped himself, he would have. But wakefulness slipped away, and the next thing he knew, early morning was spreading warmly through the barn window.

As consciousness dawned, Graham felt a warm moisture on his cheek.  He shifted his head, just enough to see Triumph curled up on the pillow, nose nearly touching Graham’s cheek, breathing in and out with a sleepy slowness. 

Graham grinned, and lay even more still than he had last night.

The next year he begged his mother to have another Triumph sleepover the night before his birthday. Triumph had grown to what was presumably his adult size, about as big as a teakettle, and contrived to take up most of the pillow. The next year, Graham gave the entire pillow up to him, because gerbil and pillow took up roughly the same space. And so it went on, year after year. Madeline and Ginger took bets on how many years it took for gerbils to mature to full size. He exceeded their bets.

On the birthday eve when Graham found himself taller than his mother, Triumph found himself wider than the rickety stair up to the loft. Graham tried coaxing him up the steps with melon slices, but the boards creaked dangerously under his weight.

“I’d call it quits,” Rosie said, stroking Triumph doubtfully. “He’s too big.”

“He’s not!”

“Just look at him, Graham. He’s pretty much the size of a pony.”

“We can make it work,” said Graham, putting his back against Triumph’s rump and pushing.

“Even if you got him all the way up there, look at the size of the trap door! At best, you’d get him stuck. Besides, I know you come down and fall asleep by him all the time - why does he need to specifically go up there anymore?”

“Tradition!” cried Graham, indignantly. “You said we don’t outgrow birthdays in this family!”

Rosie shrugged. “Suit yourself. I think you’ll realize before too long that it just won’t work. Only don’t get him hurt, or break the stairs. And Cookie? Once you’re done, either way, come say goodnight before you turn in, all right? I’ll be in the kitchen.”

There couldn’t have been a more willing animal than Triumph. He would have got through that trapdoor if he could. He succeeded in climbing to the head of the stairs, but the trapdoor proved impossible. No amount of shoving, pulling, entreaties to hold his breath or take a running start worked. 

At last Triumph ruefully shook his head, and descended backward down the stairs (which was, admittedly, pretty impressive.)

Graham folded his arms and considered. Why was this a big deal to him? Well, it was true, he was stubborn when it came to traditions. When he’d been tackled by a village bully and lost a chip of tooth and had to go to the pixie in the hollow to fix it, he had still put the chip under his pillow for the Tooth Fairy. He didn’t even believe in the Tooth Fairy anymore, but tradition!

But something else was bothering him deep down. Maybe the idea that Triumph was getting too big struck a little close to home. Several unrelated thoughts flashed through his mind. The half-finished application to the academy, stuffed into a drawer and not touched in weeks. Madeline’s observations about all the empty seats at the tavern, what with the youngest regulars disappearing one by one, off to find their fortunes or their hearts’ desires. The slightly terrifying itch of his own feet.

He scratched Triumph behind the ear. “It’s all good, buddy. We can just stay down here, like normal.”

The kitchen door squealed as it swung open. Rose stood hunched over the dishes in the sudsy basin. Graham hugged her from behind, round the shoulders. “Good night, Mom.”

She reached to pat his cheek without turning round. “Have a look under the table cloth, if you’ve got a moment.”

He raised a brow, but knelt and stuck his head under the green fabric. There sat a large-ish, irregular shape wrapped in brown paper. He pulled it into the light, and shook it. Something shifted inside, but it didn’t make much of a sound otherwise. It felt solid, but not particularly hard.

“I hope you don’t mind another break with tradition,” Rosie said, still scrubbing away at a pan with baked-on grease. “I know I usually give you your gift with your breakfast. But after all that in the barn, the timing felt right.”

Graham’s heart leapt. He was a sucker for presents. “Aw! Thank you!” he cried as tore through the paper, still kneeling on the floor. “You didn’t have to!”

His fingers found leather. Gorgeous red brown weather, well-oiled, both firm and supple. And colourful tassels. A button-over pouch. Iron rings. Straps. A brass buckle. And he pulled it all clear of the paper and sat, amazed, at what was in his lap.

A full saddle kit, with a pack and reins. It looked perfectly sized for Triumph. Graham could hardly believe it. “But this - this costs -”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” his mother said, pretending to be as absorbed in the washing up as ever, but throwing grins over her shoulder every other moment. “I said he was the size of a pony, didn’t I? And saddling him up costs a lot less than buying you an actual pony. You know you need a steed to attend the academy.”

Graham’s heart was beating double time as he ran his hands over the perfect saddle, breathing in the rich scent of fresh leather. “But - can Triumph even -?”

“The girls and I took him down to the tanner’s and tried him out with the saddle before we committed. Ginger got on his back and everything. He took to it incredibly fast! It didn’t seem to bother him at all. And you know he listens to you when you talk to him just as well as if you were speaking Gerbil. You’ll have him trained with the reins in no time. If you even need those.”

Graham seized his mother and swept her into a hug so tight and she could hardly breathe. She had to go up on her tiptoes to keep her feet touching the floor. “Graham!” she cried.

He didn’t let go. “Mom, this. Is. Awesome.” At last he drew back, eyes shining. “Can I try it out? Now? I’ll just take him up and down the country road. And then I’ll go to bed. I promise!”

“Graham, we’ll be waking up to set up for market. Before the sun comes up!”

“Yeah, but, it’s my birthday. Almost.”

“If you don’t you’re going to do that thing where you bounce off the walls, aren’t you?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“But you will. Go run along. Take Triumph for a spin. Happy birthday, my lad.”

She knew Triumph could be a swift steed for her boy, but it was hard to believe he could take off any faster than Graham did as he raced out the door, hugging the saddle to his chest and crying Triumph’s name.

-

Triumph's backstory of being tiny and growing to an unwieldy size inspired by @captmickey (wonderful ficlet here!) and @gerbiloftriumph (lovely art here!)

[khaotunq]

trick or treat!

HI LIZ!!! AkkAyan college for u~

This fic lies abandoned in my folder because there were too many things I couldn't decide on (like where Ayan ended up going for uni. Mostly where Ayan ended up going for uni.) but here is a snippet!

*

Ayan had sent his flight tracking number before boarding and had sent him a sleepy selfie before take off, but it had been radio silence ever since, probably because he was sleeping to try and escape the worst of the jet lag.

  The flight landing had been delayed and Akk had resorted to braiding the leaves of a plant in the lounge just to keep himself busy, so he was caught off guard when the doors slid open. He shoved up from his seat and was almost immediately bowled back into it by a warm, familiar weight. Ayan was home. He was used to these airport reunions by that point, so Akk wasn't shy about wrapping his arms around him in front of Ayan's entire flight, most of whom didn't appear to have sprinted past the gate the way Ayan must have.

  He probably felt like hours of travel, but he smelled like home. Akk pressed his face into his shoulder and squeezed, hard. Something he hadn't noticed before that moment settled somewhere behind his sternum.

  "Hi," Ayan said, content to be squished. His bag had been abandoned on the floor several feet back, but he made no move to retrieve it, apparently trying to fit himself into Akk's lap. "You smell good. I missed how you smell."

  "You're ridiculous. No suitcase?"

  He shook his head. "Got everything I need right here."

  He said it with both hands curled into the material of Akk's t-shirt. He wasn't talking about his bag. Akk smiled. "Ready to go home?"

  Ayan's expression, when Akk lifted his head, said he was thinking something cheesy so Akk kissed him gently to cut him off. He tasted faintly of toothpaste and Akk had to pull away to snicker.

  "You'd have complained if I tasted like the fact I've been dead to the world for several hours."

  "I wouldn't have. Not today." And it was true: he was so elated to just have Ayan back in his arms after months that he wouldn't have cared if Ayan had been doing wasabi shots immediately prior to arrival.

  Ayan didn't respond, but he looked pleased. He let Akk tumble him off his lap and brightened even more when Akk went to retrieve his bag and offered his hand to Ayan rather than making him carry it.

  "Tell me my mum's out of town for a week."

  Akk snorted. "She's making you lunch as we speak. We'll stay with her tonight but tomorrow I'm going back to mine, and you're welcome to join me."

  He was yanked to a halt because Ayan stopped dead and pulled him around. "I love you so much." He looked deadly serious, and if this conversation was anything other than Ayan not so subtly telling him they weren't leaving the bedroom for a week, Akk would have melted.

  Instead, he smiled and leaned down for a kiss, squeezing his hand. "I love you too. Now come on. The car's going to be unbearable."

  It was Ayan's car – he'd insisted on Akk taking over its paperwork because it would just sit and rot in a driveway otherwise, and Akk had a funny feeling Ayan would find some excuse to not officially take it back. He was going back to university after the summer and it would just be a hassle to keep changing it around, Akk thought he'd say.

  They exited the airport and were hit with a wall of heat that had Ayan whining in protest the way he did every time he forgot he was from Thailand.

  "Did you not park in the shade?"

  "Your flight was late – it was in the shade when I got here three hours ago."

  "We were only delayed by maybe 45 minutes."

  Akk just smiled at him.

  Ayan lit up. "You missed me! You got here early? I thought you were at work this morning? Did you call in sick just to wait for me at an airport? Look at you – you did!"

  "Don't be ridiculous," Akk said, letting Ayan hip check him to absolutely no effect whatsoever as they crossed to the section where Akk had parked. "I had holiday hours to use."

  He waited a moment, smiling. "I've taken the rest of the week off."

  Ayan dragged him around again and all but jumped on him. They were in the middle of the car park with the sun beating down, but Ayan's mouth was on his properly for the first time in months and there wasn't a force on earth that could have kept Akk from dropping the bag and wrapping both arms around Ayan to kiss him back properly, almost lifting him completely.

  Ayan settled back onto his feet and grinned at him, a little more flushed than the travel and sun could account for.

  "Can we stop at your place first?" He asked, a little breathless and toying with the hem of Akk's shirt. "Maybe you forgot something."

  Akk laughed and shook his head, beeping the car open and heading around to the driver's side, letting Ayan shove his own bag into the back.

  They stopped at Akk's.

  They were late to lunch.

[gauze-valley]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 1

Prompt: Emergency first aid, self done stitches

Finished my first post for @whumperless-whump-event's first prompt a liiittle late but I did it! This snippet is a precursor to. The only other thing I've written on this blog, which you can find here and here (in order!)

If u like the whole "caretaker has to care for themselves and suck it up so they can be there for people" trope, this might be for you!!

my stuff for this event probably won't be too polished, sorry about that! I'm just here to actually get myself to write :')

CW: Graphic description of self-suturing a wound, needles, graphic description of pain, laceration

[~1 and a half pages, 3rd person POV, OC/non-fandom]

If nothing else, at least the wound is only leaking. The stasis spell has held up surprisingly well, but the mirage-like waves in the magic aura around the wound tell Ira that he's made the right call in deciding it needs to be properly dealt with now, if the pain hadn't said as much already.

But he's exhausted. His limbs ache and there's a weight pulling on his body. He hasn't been off of his feet since early in the morning. A small reckless part of him says to recast the spell and lay down for a bit- what's the harm? He'll be closing this thing himself, and surely he could do it better with a little rest.

That'd be stupid, though. The overuse of healing magic is a risk for most already, let alone someone like Ira, whose mixed essentia halfway wants to reject every bit of holy magic that enters his body. He'll already be feeling the effects of this tomorrow, he's sure, and a second cast could put him entirely out of commission.

It's with a slow reluctance that he goes about cleaning the wound, sterilizing the area and wiping away the topmost layer of blood so he can actually see the edges More begins to seep out in response, but it's slow- the spell is still holding, and it's far more long than it is deep, so it seems safe to close. Unfortunately, the pain suppression is beginning to wear off, but that's all the more reason to get this over with.

Staring into the bathroom mirror, he tries to steel himself, conjure the motivation. He's done things like this before, in fact, he's done much worse procedures on himself than stitching a simple laceration, but his head is pounding and he just wants today to be over. Not that tomorrow will be any better. He's still needed- he won't be resting unless this gets much, much worse, and he intends not to let that happen.

Pushing the needle through the skin is easy. His hands are steady despite how worn and heavy they feel. They always are. Gritting his teeth through the pain, trying not to let the feeling of thread dragging through the punctures disrupt his focus, is much harder. Every sharp tug makes his skin crawl with disgust.

Ira resists the urge to rush it, because he's smarter than that and it's difficult enough to keep it neat considering the awkwardness of having to look down or look in the mirror for guidance, but fucking hell, every time this process is prolonged by having to clear away the blood again, he wants to scream.

Finally, he ties off the sutures, giving a relieved sigh that he immediately regrets as a dull pain shoots through his entire side. He carefully cleans the remaining blood once again and properly dresses the wound before throwing on a loose T-shirt. Now all he needs to do is clean up here before Six and Joy get back.

A ringing from the other room interrupts his thoughts. His phone. Muttering curses to himself, he walks over to snatch it off the bed and answers.

"Yes?"

"Chaplain Stepford, um, I'm sorry to bother you, but Chaplain Hart is busy and so is everyone else and-" Ira pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, it's Clea. Can the acolytes not go an hour without his supervision?

"Is it urgent?" He interrupts, his tone short and exasperated.

"Not… exactly right now, but it could be. I think Lane's making a bad call about something and he won't listen to me."

"About what exactly? Spit it out." God, he knows he should be receptive to his students coming to him for help, but just once it'd be so nice if literally anyone else could deal with it.

"He wants to completely seal a wound, because he thinks-"

That's all he needs to hear. Lane should know better, but of course he doesn't. Of course he'd not only overestimate his own skill but completely disregard all warnings about only using drastic magic when it's completely necessary. "No. No, absolutely not. Tell him that if he does that without my approval, I'm releasing him from my mentorship."

"I already tried telling him that that'd probably happen. He said I'm just upset because we have different ideas. Can you come talk to him?"

"I'll be there in less than ten. Make it very clear to him that his ass is expelled from the program if I get there and that wound is mended shut. He's far from skilled enough to attempt that, I don't care how much he's read about it. If he insists on being a moron before I can get there, find another chaplain immediately."

"Okay, thank you-" Ira hangs up before Clea can finish. Really, he should probably thank her for bringing this to his attention, but all he can think about right now is how much worse the pain is getting, and how long it'll be before he can collapse into bed, and the utterly overwhelming thought of being on his feet all day again tomorrow, but this time with a fresh wound.

Forcing himself to struggle back into his robes feels like a monumental task. He doesn't even bother to take off his casual clothes first, he just wants to get this over with quickly and without bending his side, as much as he can avoid it.

He pops a couple of over-the-counter painkillers before he leaves, hoping that'll be enough for now.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #241

…I think I must still be grieving. Last night, I ended up accidentally doing something dumb that led to me staying up all night. A writing prompt, of sorts. A very difficult, very frustrating writing prompt that took me all night to complete, and that I basically hated doing the entire time because I felt sad, frustrated, and helpless. But I was doing it for a while, and I lost track of the time, and then suddenly it was morning, and I didn't realize it until it was too late, because my adrenaline was activated and that masked my feelings of weariness until the morning sun peeked over the horizon.

I won't share this prompt or the results; we'll just say that I was successful. It's silly and ridiculous and I'm not even sure why I did it. It's not as though it's connected to anything tangible or even real. But… still… I guess I didn't want to feel like I was leaving someone behind.

…

Well. J and I went to Great Barrington, but I sure as heck wasn't gonna be allowed to drive; driving while sleep deprived is just as bad as driving drunk. But J still wanted my company, so I went along for the ride. To be clear, I know I could have stayed home and rested, but I like that J likes when I'm around, and I like to do what he likes, so I happily went.

The new leisure writing medium I found is far superior to the old one. I am not heartbroken about the mistake I made anymore. In fact, I am going to consider it a blessing in disguise, much like most setbacks seem to be at first glance, until you look at them right.

Another dear friend of mine sent me a song today; a different friend than the one who sent me a song yesterday. They noticed I was grieving, I think, because they read the letters I send to you. And they sent me a beautiful song about cardinals, no doubt, at least in part, because of the couple very sad emails I wrote to you about cardinals, and I imagine, at least in part, because lately I've been expressing that I am grieving.

I'll show you the song; I thought it was very beautiful, and I think maybe you'll like it, too:

To try to explain the context, at least in my country, it's common folklore to believe that if you see a cardinal, it's because a loved one in the spirit world is visiting you to tell you that they're thinking about you and that they love you. When we of my house see a cardinal, we like to imagine that J's late brother, Daniel, is visiting us. There's no way for us to know whether that's true, of course, but it's a nice thought anyway.

…You're chilling out in the spirit world, right? Do you know if there's any weight to this bit of folklore? I know you can't tell me, but I'm gonna ask anyway, because why not? Why not.

Hey, Sephiroth? Do you have any folklore in your world that is similar to what I described? Do you have cardinals in your world? I wonder…

I didn't experience a death; I experienced a different kind of loss. But still. Still. It's beautiful that my friend thought of me. My eyes welled up again when I heard it. It's a wonderful feeling, to know that I am being thought about lovingly by kind and upstanding people.

…Do you feel similarly, when you receive my letters? If you receive my letters? I imagine not, but maybe I'll think like sometimes you might. It's a little less hopeless that way.

…I didn't do much else today. My brain is soup. But. We are home!! And because I wasn't the one driving this time, I got to snag up a bunch of the pictures along the drive to Great Barrington!!! That being said, though, I'm not sure how good any of them are; I couldn't get my eyes to focus for shit. But that's what happens when you stay up all night by accident like a weirdo...

...Beautiful drive, right? Isn't it beautiful?

Hey, Sephiroth? I'm gonna go to bed soon. I have work tomorrow, so I'm gonna grab a shower, and, as much as I know that we can't make a sleep debt go away just by going to bed a little earlier than normal, I'm still going to go to bed a little earlier than normal, because my whole body feels like it's made of bricks, and it's my own damn fault.

Hey, Sephiroth? Try to learn from my recent fail, okay? I hope you'll be in a safe place where you are able to get a nice hot shower and a nice sleep in a big, warm, soft, comfy bed sometime soon.

I love you. Please stay safe out there. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[missvelvetsstuff]

Where you goin, Star?  

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader meets Bucky when the truck hauling her show horses breaks down as she is trying to leave for an event and he works for the mechanic. Passionate, secret love affair ensues. After a confrontation with her father, Bucky decides she deserves better than a poor biker like him and leaves town with his friends Steve and Sam.

Three years later, reader is trapped in an abusive relationship and about to give up hope of things ever improving, when Bucky comes back.

Chapter 10

Warnings: swearing, angst

The next morning Star spent 2 hours with the physical therapist, who gave her stretches and exercises she could use to build her strength back up.

Then she spent an hour with a nutritionist to help learn how to gain the weight she had lost, healthily.

Then a psychiatrist who specialised in addiction and PTSD.

Each one left her with a stack of papers and scheduled appointments for the coming week.

By the end of the day she was released from the hospital and taken in Tony's car to Stark Tower. Pepper showed her to a beautiful suite with a small kitchenette, fully stocked with healthy snacks and treats.

"You can make your own meals but we have a chef who can whip something up any time you need." Pepper smiled at her.

Star teared up. It had been so long since anyone even tried to be nice to her that she felt overwhelmed. Everything felt like too much. "Thank you Pepper. I think right now I could use some sleep."

Pepper gave her a gentle hug "Of course. There's a Stark phone on the desk with instructions included. It has the numbers you will need here. Me and Tony, the chef, the detectives. That sort of thing."

She showed Star the dresser and closet, filled with clothes.

"I guessed on your sizes but these will get you started and we can go shopping when you're up to it. Try to get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow" and left Star alone with him.

Bucky sat on the couch in the living area "Do you want me to leave too? I don't wanna-"

"No, please stay" she blurted out then covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to be alone."

Bucky shook his head "You don't have to apologize to me, I'll be here as much or as little as you need.

I know that we need to have a talk but no pressure. I'll be here when you're ready. Do you want me to put my number in your phone? In case you need me?" He looked at her hopefully.

She handed him her phone. "I think I'm going to take a bath, wash that hospital smell off." And grabbed some pajamas.

The bath was wonderful, deep tub with jets and never seemed to run out of hot water. When she left the bathroom she saw Bucky dozing on the sofa so she gently laid a blanket over him and went to bed.

Star crashed hard but woke up in a cold sweat and ached all over, her head pounding. She shook her head, which made it ache more, and reminded herself that this was just part of the withdrawals and they will pass with time.

When Star was up to it a few days later the detectives and a couple of attorneys that Tony recommended came in to discuss her accusations against John, a divorce, her inheritance from her grandmother and her fathers fortunes. Everything was all intertwined.

The divorce papers were drawn up quickly and were very simple. The majority of John's possessions were in fact hers and she was giving him nothing since she had evidence of infidelity and abuse. She braced herself for the drama because she knew John wouldn't just walk away. The last 3 years with her father's money and connections had emboldened him. She was honestly surprised that he hadn't shown up already.

Star wasn't doing well emotionally. Going over the horrible things that John and Brock did to her was difficult and reliving it all was giving her nightmares.

Bucky held her hand through all of it, she really didn't have anyone else but the more she remembered the more questions she had for him. She wasn't up to dealing with that yet. While she felt safe in Stark tower she worried about her horses so Tony sent a security detail to keep them safe.

On the third day, after lunch, she received a text from Tony's bodyguard, Happy Hogan. John was downstairs in reception demanding to see her and Happy was asking what she wanted him to do. She called her attorneys to see if they could come in and when they both confirmed, had Happy tell John to come back in 2 hours, so she had time to eat, shower and wait for them to show up.

After her shower, Star looked through the closet to find something comfortable but not too casual. She found a short sleeved green wrap style dress and sandals, impressed at how perfectly the dress fit. She made herself a mental note to thank Pepper and compliment her eye for size and style.

Bucky had told her he had business with Tony, Steve and Sam today so wouldn't be around until the evening. She had gotten used to having him around all the time so felt a little exposed seeing John for the first time but she knew that Happy and Rhodey would keep her safe. She did send Bucky a text to let him know John was coming over.

When Happy knocked on her door she had been sitting on the couch, daydreaming about getting back to her horses and the life she wanted. None of her dreams gave her any insight on how or where Bucky would fit in all of it.

The knocking startled her out of her thoughts so she stood up, smoothed her dress down and took his arm as he escorted her down to the conference room where she saw Rhodey waiting. He gave her a quick hug and whispered reassurances in her ear.

Star took a deep breath and entered the room to see John sitting and Clint standing behind him. She wondered briefly where Brock and Jack had gone but was relieved they weren't there and figured John had fired them for letting her survive and get away from them.

John stood and smiled at her "Sweetheart I've been so worried about you" he reached towards her which made her flinch and Rhodey stepped up between her and John.

That pissed him off "Whats this about? I cant even get near my wife? What the fuck is this game, Y/N?"

Happy looked at him coldly "I already advised you of the conditions for this meeting. If you try to touch Ms Pierce again, you'll be escorted out of the building."

John tried to look loving but didn't have it in him "Ms Pierce? I don't understand. My wife has been missing for days and I just want to take her home."

"Why? So you can finish the job?" She spat at him then Star sat, with Happy on one side, Rhodey standing behind her and her attorneys on her other side.

John forehead wrinkled "Finish what job? I'm just glad you are safe and-"

"No thanks to you. Don't play innocent John. We all know what you've done. I was willing to let you walk away with your secrets but you had to try to hurt me even more."

Her lawyer, Jeri Hogarth stood up "Alright folks, lets get started here.

Mr Walker, I'm Jeri Hogarth and this is my associate Desmond Tobey. We've been hired by Ms Pierce to handle your divorce and her inheritance.

Did you receive the divorce settlement that was sent to your office?"

John nodded but before he could speak she continued.

"Good. Have you retained someone to represent you in the divorce?"

John shook his head "No one will be getting divorced here. I'm taking my wife home with me."

Y/N shook her head and chuckled.

John smirked at her evilly. "Now sweetheart, you know what happens if you divorce me. You'll lose everything. So let's go home and work this out."

Star scoffed "Work this out? You tried to kill me you bastard, there's nothing to work out."

John chuckled condescendingly "Honey, you know I would never hurt you. Your drug habit has gotten out of control and now you've brought all these other people into our personal problems, your delusions. You know how I feel about that."

Jeri interrupted "Mr Walker, unless you intend to sign the divorce settlement as is then you should hire an attorney to represent you."

John shook his head "Don't need one."

Jeri sighed "Very well then the notes from this meeting will indicate that you have declined representation at this time." She looked at her associate "Desmond"

Desmond Tobey stood "My client has indicated that the settlement as written is the only offer that she will make. If it has to go before a judge she will produce evidence of Mr Walker's infidelity and physical abuse. Meaning the media will soon have access to said evidence which will affect his current job." He looked John in the eyes "Do you understand that, Mr Walker? She is willing to air out all of your dirty laundry for the world to see. Based on what I have seen so far it would be enough to destroy your political ambitions and make finding any employment difficult."

"But her father wanted-"

Desmond cut him off "Mr Pierce is deceased and the allegations would affect the stipulations of your inheritance."

John looked at Y/N "Are you sure you wanna do that honey? Tell the whole world you're a drug addict?"

Y/N glared at him "I wouldn't have even taken any pain pills if Brock hadn't beat me until I miscarried, while you watched. I wouldn't have kept taking them if you hadn't worked so hard to make my life miserable. I've been clean for almost a week and have no desire to take them again. I wouldn't have overdosed if you hadn't had Brock drug me."

John shook his head "No honey, that's not what happened. Brock caught you when you fainted after taking too many pills and drinking alcohol on your lunch with Pepper." He looked to her attorneys "The drugs made her confused but I'm so glad you're getting clean, baby."

Jeri sighed "We have a syringe with traces of morphine and two sets of fingerprints one belonging to Brock Rumlow and the other Jack Rollins. Ms Pierce was drugged"

"I told Brock to take her to the house and meet our doctor. Brock must have done something after her left with her. I had a meeting with an important donor that I couldnt miss." He made himself tear up "He worked for her father and was her bodyguard for years. I thought I could trust him." He looked at Y/N "Baby I'm so sorry that I-"

Jeri cut him off "The NYPD picked Rumlow and Rollins up at a motel near the airport this morning. They had tickets to Rio. No extradition treaty with Brazil." She looked through some paperwork "Rumlow isn't talking but Rollins on the other hand. We'll just call him the Canary because he won't stop singing."

John laughed nervously, his face visibly paling "He's just making shit up to save his own ass."

Jeri nodded "I can see how one might think that, he has admitted to some heinous crimes but he has all kinds of proof. Claims he knew Rumlow couldn't be trusted and he wanted to cover his ass. Pictures, paperwork, recordings, it's pretty extensive."

Desmond spoke up again "Are you still sure you don't want to sign the settlement?"

John gulped loudly "I'm sure. I think you're bluffing. If you really had all that evidence then you would just arrest me."

Y/N sighed "I just wanted this over. I don't want to spend months dealing with divorce court and a criminal trial but if that's what it takes to be rid of you and keep what is rightfully mine, I'm in." She looked at Jeri "I think that's enough for today. I need to rest."

John stood and hit the table angrily "Absolutely not! Y/N you are my wife and are coming home with me. Today. Right fucking now! I don't know who you people think you are but you have no right to keep me from my wife." He reached for her but was slammed against the table, hands held behind his back before he knew what hit him.

Happy had to hold back a laugh as John started squirming and yelling for Rhodey to let him go. Clint stood back with his hands up, giving Y/N an apologetic look before quickly leaving.

Jeri looked at him squawking like a chicken and shook her head "Looks like we're done for today. Mr Walker, there are two NYPD detectives waiting outside of this room who will be taking you in to be booked. I would recommend you find an attorney asap. Tomorrow I'll be speaking to a judge about returning the Pierce inheritance and properties to Ms Pierce so if you do make bail you'll need to find a place to live quickly. If you have any questions, feel free to call me. After you get out, of course, I don't take collect calls, unless it's a client."

Y/N stayed where she was while John was handcuffed and read his rights. Someone had called the press so John's perpwalk would make it to the evening news.

Happy looked to her once John was on the elevator "You ok ma'am?" She looked at him and nodded "Lets get you back home then." He helped her up and they took the elevator up to the top floor.

When they entered her suite, Bucky was waiting at the table with take out for dinner. He looked at Happy questioningly, Happy nodded that she was ok, just shaken up and left her with Bucky.

Bucky smiled gently at her "Hey Star. I heard you had some company."

She grimaced "I knew I would have to see him again eventually but it still caught me off guard." Bucky helped her sit on the couch and sat across from her waiting for her to continue.

"John refused to sign the papers, insisted he did nothing wrong. Even when they told him that Rumlow and Rollins were arrested and Rollins is singing. He still seems to think my father will somehow protect him."

She sniffed "something smells good. Did you make dinner" and smirked at him.

Bucky feigned shock "Now Star, you know damn well I can't boil water on my own."

She giggled "I thought you might have learned something in 3 years. Poor Peggy having to feed all of you all this time."

Bucky shook his head "I'm afraid the only thing I learned was that I can't live without you."

She rolled her eyes "Yes, I'm sure you were terribly lonely. Even Dot wasn't enough to assuage your loneliness."

Bucky looked confused "Dot? Why would she be with me?"

Star shrugged "Beats me, she was with you when you came to my father's wake. Brock said you took her with you when you left town"

Bucky shook his head "We know how trustworthy Brock is. We stopped at the clubhouse the morning of the funeral, she was there and claimed she wanted to pay her respects and be there for me. First time I saw her since we left. I barely even noticed she was there."

Star rolled her eyes "I'm sure. It wasn't Dot that kept you away so long? Your letter said a year at most but you were gone 3 years."

She looked at him with tears in her eyes "I kept thinking you would come back and tell me it was a mistake. That you would save me. I thought you'd stop the wedding but you never did and I gave up."

Bucky reached out to hold her hand and was encouraged when she didn't pull away.  Tears forming in his eyes as he answered. "I meant to come back sooner, I just I just. Everything got all fucked up." He looked at the floor.

Star sat quietly as he composed himself. He finally looked back up at her. "I planned to be back sooner. I figured I'd get the Harley mechanic certificate and then take some business classes here.

When Wanda told Peggy about your engagement it hit me hard. I was almost convinced that you were better off with John. He had your fathers support and was on his way up. Steve and Sam talked me down after a week long bender, reminded me that it was your father telling me I wasn't good enough. Told me Brock probably hadn't had the chance to give my letter to you. I threw myself back into the classes and was really doing well.

Then you got married and it was all over the news, up and coming candidate and heiress marry, wedding of the year, fairytale romance and all the other bullshit the media put out.

I saw your wedding picture on the front of one of the tabloids. You looked so beautiful but your eyes still looked so sad. I felt like a failure. I left you to your father's devices and it was my fault you weren't happy. I told myself you had the letter but still chose John."

He stood and started pacing, running hus hand through his hair.

"I thought you deserved better than a man who ran away like I did. I knew that I would never deserve you again, could never be good enough. I dove into a bottle of Jack Daniels and refused to leave. For months I barely left the house except to the liquor store. Finally one day I saw some tv interview with John and lost it. Tore the house up, put my boot through the tv.

Peggy came home that night and that was it, Steve tossed me into the shower until I sobered up and read me the riot act. Told me that a violent, drunken asshole definitely didn't deserve you and I better get it together or I would lose the few friends I had. So I cleaned up, joined AA and haven't had more than a couple of drinks since." He paused for a breath "Ok full disclosure, I got a little drunk after I tried to talk to you at your stable. I went to your parents house to confront you and Brock but John's car was there and Nick showed up to stop me. He bought me a couple of drinks after that."

"I'm so sorry, Star. I failed you so many times that I'll understand if you can't forgive me." He sat back down and took her hands "I didn't know what to do. When I met you I was sure I'd never be able to settle down. I figured any real relationships I tried were doomed to repeat my parents history. Dad in jail and mom forever alone because she couldn't bear another heartbreak.

You just blew me away with your free spirit and how you loved me so easily regardless of the fact that I was a dirt poor biker who couldn't afford his own apartment. The world felt brighter when I was with you. I thought we had a real chance.

Then we came home to your dad and I felt like he was reality showing me how impossible we were. I tried to stay hopeful that I could make myself good enough for you but obviously didn't do a great job.

I know now that I will never be good enough in some people's eyes including my own but I'm gonna try. I realized that the only opinion I care about is yours. If you think I'm good enough then I will keep trying to be. I don't want to live without you again, even if we're only friends. I haven't touched anyone else since you and I meant it when I said you're it for me. I love you, Star and I'll spend the rest of my life showing you how much. If you let me."

@pattiemac1

Before Star could respond they were startled by loud banging on the door.

Chapter 11

[funnylittlelad]

Dreams - steddie blurb (wc: 823)

The flashbacks don't come like Steve expected them to after the first series of monsters, nor the second, nor the third, nor... well, you get it. They don't come in neat easy to discern packages like in the movies. Sure, sometimes he gets the images, the sounds, the smells. He was prepared for that. What he wasn't prepared for was waking up at five in the morning shaking like a chihuahua for what feels like no reason. He can't remember having a nightmare, or any dream for that matter. It's been a while since he's dreamed. That stopped around the third or fourth series of monsters. It's like his brain gave up trying to bring him good images.

He doesn't know how it happens exactly. There are some muddled memories of sliding out of bed, slipping on shoes, and stepping outside. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that Steve Harrington's life boils down to this moment. Five in the morning on a Saturday walking down the street in his flannel pajama pants. He doesn't realize how far he'd gotten until he sees headlights. At first, he thinks it's Hopper and dread sets in. The last thing he wants right now is to deal with a pity filled mustache. As the headlights grew closer it became clear that it wasn't Hopper. Not because Steve could see the vehicle better, but he could hear it better.

Thrashing metal music can be heard through the closed windows. Eddie. Eddie who he hasn't seen since... everything. Steve didn't know how to face the center of his nightmares. Eddie unconscious, Eddie lifeless, Eddie with blood spurting from his mouth, Eddie on Steve's back as he carries him to the gate. Yet, dread doesn't set in. Relief does. The van pulls off to the side of the road and slows to a halt a little ways away from Steve. Eddie hops out in his own pajama pants and jogs up to Steve’s paused form.

“Wasn't expecting to see you out so early, your highness,” Eddie smiles, but his eyes search Steve for any signs of foul play.

“Ditto,” Steve manages to get out weakly.

Eddie’s smile softens. His eyebrows knit and Steve knows he understands.

“Gotta couple clients that keep weird hours,” Eddie shrugs, “Jeez, Stevie, you’re shakin’ like a leaf.”

Before Steve can muster up a response Eddie is placing his jacket over Steve’s shoulders.

“M’not cold,” Steve mumbles.

“I know. The weight will help. C’mon, let's get you back to bed.”

Eddie tosses an arm over Steve’s shoulder and guides him to the van. Or the chariot as Eddie called it. Maybe he just called it that to make Steve laugh. Maybe it worked. Steve expects to be driven home. He finds himself strangely glad when he isn't. The weight of Eddie’s jacket, the musky scent of him surrounding Steve, and the light humming coming from the driver’s seat quells his shaking. Steve isn't surprised to find Wayne has already left for work. The apartment they were provided is dingy and outdated, but hey it has two bedrooms. The Munson's are moving up in the world.

Steve is led to Eddie’s room. It’s organized chaos much like Eddie himself. There's a unmade full sized bed pushed into a corner that Eddie gestures to.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll take the floor,” he says.

“A- uh-” Steve clears his throat.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at Steve curiously. Steve is trying very hard not to overheat and melt.

“Actually, would you… stay in the bed with me?” Steve asks.

Eddie smiles so softly Steve imagines he could use it as a pillow and never have another nightmare.

“Anything you wish, your highness,” Eddie bows with one arm over his stomach and the other flown out.

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. He feels a little silly for being nervous at all. It’s Eddie. They climb into the surprisingly comfortable bed. Both lay on their side to peer at the other through the dark.

“D'you wanna talk about it?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Tomorrow.”

“It’s a date.”

Steve smiles. He doesn't argue or protest, he just smiles. Eddie takes the plunge and reaches out for Steve. It's a pleasant surprise when his arm is met with Steve’s effortless cooperation. Steve sinks right into Eddie’s chest like he was always meant to be there. He can hear Eddie’s heartbeat and it soothes his own. Laying here wrapped up in Eddie the rest of the world falls away. Steve knows he’ll have to explain his absence, but that's for tomorrow. Right now, there's only time for Eddie’s heartbeat.

“G’night, Eds,” Steve mutters.

“G’night, Stevie.”

It's been a while since Steve Harrington has dreamed. That stopped around the third or fourth series of monsters. It's like his brain gave up trying to bring him good images. Tonight, surrounded by nothing but Eddie Munson, Steve has some of the sweetest dreams known to man.

[cno-inbminor]

gravate (pt. 3) (final)

a/n: so i just realized i never posted part 3 onto tumblr even though it’s on ao3. this is very long overdue, so sorry!

ch. summary:  ajax tests just how much he can fall into the depths of his own personal hell, and somehow finds a way to crawl back out.

warnings:  angst, drinking, ~16k words;  smut tags (MINORS DNI): distension, sub!lumine, dom!childe, size kink, cunnilingus, blowjob, vaginal fingering, begging, degradation and praise, possessiveness.

[the attempt at finding the yellow brick road]

Ajax wonders if this is what they mean by a “waking nightmare”, because when his eyes struggle to pry open the next morning, battling against what feels like the weight of the world, the dread that stews in the pit of his stomach is something akin to that oxymoron. Having been rattled into staying up by his own shaking heart, it was a miracle that he even caught any shuteye. And even then, the ache in his bones from a restless dream of sprinting across school grounds to try and catch up to Lumine’s fading figure makes it difficult for him to delineate the fine line between reality and fantasy.

A few swipes and taps on his phone show that his texts to said girl have been left unanswered. They weren’t frantic by any means, but she would always answer his “see u tomorrow” texts before, and now it sits with two pitiful grey check marks. Ajax can’t tell which is worse: being completely unacknowledged, or being left on read.

Tell me how to fix this, he wants to beg, wants to grab her shoulders and plead until she finally relents and gives him an answer. But that involves part of his pride, and he still feels that some part of Lumine’s reaction to this whole situation is overexaggerated and completely unwarranted. He doesn’t want to remember how broken she looked when he first screamed those words at her. In fact, he’d much rather replace those horrid memories.

“Are you okay?” His mother asks him when he trudges down the stairs, exhaustion visible in his gaze.

“ ‘m fine,” he murmurs, grabbing the steaming bowl of pork and century egg congee placed by his usual seat at the dining table. The hair ruffle he gives Teucer is half-assed at best, barely lifting a smile when a cheery “Good morning!” is sent his way. Irina wants so badly to intervene somehow, but given that Lumine had the same look in her eyes last night on the way home and that the two didn’t speak a word to each other, she figures they’ll resolve it somehow.

Right?

-

Lumine avoids him with a twenty foot pole in between them. Does it drive him absolutely bonkers? No doubt.

Aether has begun to hover around her more often than before, keeping his gaze steely and guarded when they meet eyes. Ajax was hoping that he’d at least have the other twin on his side, but that was his naivety grasping desperately at any loose ends. In Lumine’s, that streak of sadness still shines through before she turns away almost immediately.

He is lost.

Signora steps in to try and impart him with some sage words, but he wants none of it. Eventually, she snaps at him.

“If you’re going to mope like a lost puppy that ran away thinking its owner didn’t care for him, you might as well just quit. It’s sickening to watch you like this. We know you can do better, and much more without her trying to stop you from reaching your full potential.”

She readjusts her cap before leaving him on the bleachers, ready to jump back in for her next set of drills. “Think about it, and come find us on Saturday at Dottore’s party if you agree. Otherwise, don’t bother.”

Ajax continues to watch as Kaeya slithers up next to Lumine, characteristic limb draped across her shoulders, using her as a crutch, his chest heaving so his lungs drink in all the oxygen they can. Normally, she’d scold him lightly for getting her jacket all wet with any lingering pool water, but instead, she just shoots him a tired smile. Her hands show him the journal and Ajax can only assume they’re discussing his stats.

He punches down the shadows of jealousy that emerge when Kaeya murmurs something into Lumine’s ear before sending her a worried look. She merely waves it off, attempting to reassure him that whatever he asked about was no problem and of little consequence, but ultimately failing. Even as Kaeya brushes her bangs away, she doesn’t falter, yet Ajax seethes. That should be him comforting her. That should be him questioning the dark eye circles and thinking about what he could do to ease any of the burdens off her shoulders.

Diluc seems to catch the tail end of the conversation and gives a hesitant, yet firm few pats on Lumine’s shoulder as an act of encouragement. She showcases her best appreciative grin before she has to move and help Kokomi out with something.

Ajax can’t handle it anymore. He stands up from his seat abruptly, shakes out the tension as much as he can while stepping into a lane, then dives into the pool without a second thought.

It’s just him and the graceful fight against the water, nothing else. No regard for the screaming in his lungs, the ache in his calves.

No need for Lumine.

-

Dottore meets Signora’s gaze before arching an eyebrow that weekend, having caught Ajax walking steadfast through the front door. She merely gives him her all-knowing, shit-eating expression, and he knows they’ve got him good now.

“I don’t need her,” Ajax drawls two hours later, drunk and murmuring to himself in the guest bedroom. “She’s barely talked to me all week, and I was just trying to h-hic-elp so you know what? I don’t need her.”

Dottore sits next to him with a bored expression. “So you don’t want me to drive you to her place like we normally do?”

“...I do, but I can’t,” Ajax pouts before falling back onto the bed. His world spins in a nauseous fashion, making him screw his eyes shut. “She probably locked me out.”

“Dick move.”

A tiny part of his brain tries to speak some sense into him, attempting to convince him that Dottore’s just adding fuel to the fire, but he waves it away, quite literally, and hinting to the senior that yeah, he’s feeling pretty drunk right now. The larger, more inane and nonsensical part of his inebriated mind says that yes, his upperclassman is right, and Lumine’s hypothetical locking of her window and therefore barring him from entry is indeed, a dick move.

Ajax wakes up hugging a plain body pillow the next morning, and Lumine wakes up with frustrated tears in the corners of her eyes as she slams her window shut.

-

Over their last two year of high school, there are a number of times when Lumine considers talking to Ajax again. She gives herself ample opportunities to do so, often making excuses to stay back and completing extra errands before asking Aether to pick her up. She wonders if her anger is misguided. Maybe she should’ve been more understanding, been the bigger person to extend a hand and hope that the sinner would reach out and realize the negative influence surrounding him. Maybe she should’ve created more opportunities for him to apologize to her and explicitly delineate why he shouldn’t have said the things he said.

But maybe she didn’t love him enough. Maybe she was in the wrong for having left Ajax to fend for himself with Signora, Dottore, and Pulcinella. Maybe she should’ve spoken up more strongly in the beginning against the Harbingers instead of laying it down gently in front of him. Maybe this could’ve all been prevented on her end, and she wouldn’t have to watch Ajax in the pool for an extra hour and a half, silent and morose as he pushes himself to the absolute limits.

Maybe she wouldn’t be in this position where she could feel and watch the physical separation of her soul, so close and yet, so, so far away.

-

[the endless pining]

There is a dull pain in his chest when she walks by – the bang of a gong, the beat of a drum, the soreness of a phantom scar. After two years of feeling the same thing five days a week, occasionally during the summers, and often on the weekends, he wants it to fade. He craves a certain numbness to everything he feels when he sees her. Ajax wants to blame it on puberty, as Anastasia and his mother so often do. Said mother often laments about never having Lumine and Aether over anymore (read: mainly Lumine), and he tries to ignore it. It’s her fault that she never comes by anymore, her fault for never dropping off baked goods or a portion of Xiangling’s new concoctions, her fault for never really being in his life anymore. She was the one who chose to walk out of it with little to no reason, he tells himself.

It’s easier to fall prey to his delusions. He ignores the memory of his health teacher’s lesson on the five stages of grief and the way the word “denial” in all of its bold, Times New Roman print audacity, glares menacingly back at him. It makes him want to tear up the worksheet, but that would be an infraction and he’d like to not be benched from competing this weekend.

But she radiates and glows wherever she pleases. He knows she doesn’t mean to, that it is just in her name and hair, and people gravitate towards her like moths to a flame. Ajax had been one of those moths for years and she had hosted and warmed him. A bitter, conniving part of his soul draws the analogy of the spider and the fly, except she chewed him up and spat him back out in a state of worse than worn. But he stops himself because as strong as his negative feelings are, Lumine was anything but manipulative and evil.

Nevertheless, he still blames her for leaving him, for turning the other way. He was in the right, he believes. Ajax did what he had to do, and she just couldn’t accept him and wrap her brain around it.

He meets her eyes over and past Xingqiu’s head and part of him is tired. The world around them falls to a quiet hum, their steps seem to slow to a turtle’s crawl, and he takes in everything he can about her. It could be the strands of golden locks that are a little out of place, the eyebags signaling unhealthy levels of exhaustion. It could be noticing that Lumine has swiped on a coat of mascara and done her eyeliner, or the color of her lip gloss has changed. But every time, what shakes him most to the core, is the mixture of vulnerability and gentleness that bores straight to his soul. The gaze is all too familiar, one he had seen in all stages of happiness, anger, grief,  compassion, and love. And with the extra punch, her eyes harden, and she turns away to direct her attention back to Xingqiu.

Everything comes back to a full roar, and it’s the same breeze of the whiplash, multiple times a day. The environment picks up the pace once more, and he must continue with his day as if he isn’t missing the other half of his soul. Because no matter how much he hates her, wants to grab her shoulders and yell in despair to question her actions, possesses all the bitterness and darkness in the universe, he, undoubtedly and sorely, misses her.

-

When graduation comes, he gazes longingly as she crosses the stage to receive her diploma, giddily accepting the whoops and cheers from her friends in front of her and parents sitting in the audience. Ajax pretends he doesn’t hear his siblings calling out her name or his father’s voice more sonorous than her own father’s. He drinks in every detail of her that he can, hoping that he doesn’t look too much like a lovesick puppy. The entire time when they were waiting beneath the stage before filing out into their chairs, Ajax never caught a glimpse of her. It was predicted, to be fair, since their last names were some ways apart. After two years of never reconciling, part of him wasn’t about to start now. From what he’d heard over his mother’s purposely loud phone call with Lumine’s mom, she was attending a different university than his, a fact that didn’t settle well at all with him. In fact, it had kicked him right in the gut and stomped on his lungs. The sudden dread of realizing that this year might be the last time he’d ever really see her was more devastating than he expected, and he wanted to dial in her number from muscle memory right then and there.

But for what, he has no idea. He still didn’t want to apologize, had no clue of what the right words would be, and the fear of her potentially ignoring his phone call all together was a blow to the pride he refused to face. So Ajax just stares and stares, hating and loving her more than ever for residing in his brain at all times, and wishing that he’d been the cause of her glowing blush kissed by the overhead lights. She shakes hands and sends a wave to her parents, but walks too quickly for him to see how she’s decorated her graduation cap. While Ajax was good at whipping things up in the kitchen, he didn’t have a single arts and crafts bone in his body and had simultaneously rejected Tonia’s offer to do something about his own cap. He had no idea what he wanted anyways.

The rest of the ceremony goes off without a hitch, their voted class song blaring through the speakers at the end as they shuffle and file out of the building to meet their families outside. Ajax supposes he should be proud of himself to some degree, for there was a period when his truancy and occasional delinquent behaviors were rearing to get him in serious trouble, but his older siblings had all gone off to college without issues. The glomps he receives from his parents feel like forgiveness and pride, his mother quickly rallying them up for photos. Ajax has no problem picking Teucer up in his arms for a shot, then later crouching down so Tonia can climb on his back and press a loving kiss on his cheek for the pose. Anthon just stands next to him, half hidden by Ajax’s billowy gown.

“Ah, wonderful!” His mother exclaims, spotting a familiar figure walking by them. Naturally, his heart skips a beat when he sees two figures and their blonde strands blowing in the wind, now somewhat unkempt after having been stuffed into an ill-fitting cap for three hours. Irina quickly asks Lumine’s mother to take their whole family shot, grins wide and trying to crowd together as much as possible to fit into the frame. Instead, he stares straight past the camera and towards the twins standing idly behind, taking note of everyone passing by and giving them hugs and congratulations. Even Kaeya and Diluc, already-graduated upperclassmen and fond of the twins, hand their own congratulatory bouquet to a flustered Lumine. She tries to balance it with the other bundles in her arms, saying something that he can’t hear but it makes the other two laugh (or crack a smile in Diluc’s case), and Ajax does his best to ignore the waking jealousy in his gut.

And Kaeya, the conniving snow leopard that he is, sends him a teasing glance before leaning down to place what seems like an extremely tender and affectionate kiss on Lumine’s cheek. It lasts for an eternity in Ajax’s mind, his vision honing in on his next victim as the world turns red. But before he can step forward and wipe that smirk off his face, Tonia tugs on his gown to gain his attention. Any ill will immediately dissipates from his system, giving his little princess all his focus. She waves him down to her height, then whispers, “Look at Lumi’s cap.”

He had been so caught up in Kaeya’s little scheme that he didn’t realize Lumine had been precariously holding her cap between two fingers, but the face of it was completely open towards him and accessible to read. And when he does, Ajax feels sick. Sick, but giddy, moved, torn, and guilty.

Shades of blue swirl together, like the ocean front of the nearby beach they used to frequent. In a calligraphy font and in black paint to stand out, they read, “Take the world by storm.”

The saying itself was mediocre at best, common, and publicly cliché to some degree. But coming from Lumine, with their history and her sentimentality, it meant something much more. He would always say that to her when describing his aspirations and goals, ready and eager to make history in the world of competitive swimming. Part of the enthusiasm had died and disappeared when he and Lumine had their disastrous falling-out. “We’ll do it,” he’d say. “Take the world by storm and leave them in the dust.”

“Well, if anyone could do it, it’d probably be you,” she’d reply with a fond smile.

“Let’s call it – by the time we’re 25, you’ll be there to watch me sweep gold at the Teyvat Championships, and I’ll be the youngest and most decorated swimmer in Teyvat history.”

The gut-wrenching slime of guilt seeps through his lungs – he could be overthinking it. It might not have anything to do with him at all, or anything to do with the fact that he just couldn’t be the bigger person and apologize properly. Maybe, maybe she wanted to rub it in his face that she could move on with her life and it didn’t have to have him in it. He realizes how much his thoughts don’t make sense, but there’s a reason why Tonia pointed it out in the first place.

But with how openly he’s staring at her, it’s not unexpected that she feels it and returns his attention. Once again, he is stricken with the soft vulnerability in her eyes, how her grip on her flower bouquets seem to tighten with anxiety. He’s never wanted this – signs of fear of him, that he couldn’t just walk up and give her a hug like the old days, and chat about simple nothings.

The best they can offer each other now are small, tired smiles. She turns on her heels and walks away Aether, Kaeya, and Diluc by her side, Kaeya’s arm still slung over her shoulders, her parents soon following them.

The most painful goodbyes, he realizes then, are often the ones you cannot say.

-

[what i’ve mistaken for as enemies but really it’s just karma]

Second year of university

At first, it’s shock. Then betrayal. Then confusion. Then all three in a nasty, deadly cocktail coursing through his veins.

Ajax hasn’t seen her since his family’s annual summer barbeque. Lumine had spent most of her time playing with his younger siblings, mainly Tonia, who bemoaned her current love life (or as much of one a middle schooler could have.) She’d been donned in a cute bikini set, her top covered with a larger, off-shoulder tee that inadvertently helped keep his sanity intact. Luckily, he was distracted by chasing Teucer around in their pool, giving tips on his form and helping keep time.

With the aim to keep the peace in front of family members, they were amicable and cordial at best. She hands him a plate without a word, he grabs her preferred drink without prompting. She grabs him an extra skewer and puts it on his plate, and he makes sure she gets a generous slice of tiramisu at the end. Those brief interactions let him live in an alternate reality where things hadn’t gone so disastrously wrong. Instead, they’re making plans to go to university together, managing schedules, looking into which organizations they should try to join, and convincing her to apply as a manager for his swim team.

Which brings him back to the present moment as he stretches and looks three lanes over, and stops in his tracks. In a jacket too big to be hers, long hair tied back into a high ponytail, smiling beautifully at the young man next to her that isn’t him, his brain simply thinks, “What the fuck?” Said object of Ajax’s disdain hands over his own jacket to her and she drapes it neatly over her forearm, later patting him on the shoulder for good luck. Lumine then turns away completely, entirely missing him and his eyes boring into the back of her head, and simply focused on getting back to the rest of her team. His gaze follows her until the ends of her ponytail disappear around the corner, then wants to smack himself.

“Focus, you idiot,” he murmurs to himself, going through his routine stretch again. There’s a different adrenaline that begins to flood his system, fueling him more than before to make sure he comes out the victor -- almost as if to show Lumine that she joined the wrong side. Her position is supposed to be next to him, cheering him on, just like the old days.

The large, metaphorical elephant in the room only visible to him doesn’t stop him from sweeping first in his events. However, Xiao, as he sees the name on the board later on, comes in close seconds, and Ajax bristles. To him, the guy looks severely constipated at all times, a tight and slight grimace on his face, guarded and stiff as he shakes out any water from his hair when he takes his cap off in the locker room. He speaks sparingly to anyone, and Ajax wonders if the guy has any friends at all.

Ajax happens to watch them wait outside the arena, Lumine talking rapidly on the phone and looking around, probably for their team bus. The streaks of dyed teal hair on the figure next to her is visible enough to clue in on who’s waiting with her. Other figures in similar university jackets stand nearby, conversing with each other in a lighthearted atmosphere. Ajax would need to be blind not to see how attentive Xiao is towards Lumine. He hovers and follows her every step with half of one of his own, clearly not wanting to be overbearing, but also warning others to think twice about approaching his manager.

The ginger-haired man watches Xiao watching Lumine. But then his back stiffens, and as if he has eyes on the back of his head, golden irises meet his own azure blues.

It’s almost alarming how similar they are to Lumine’s, the shade just a little deeper under the sinking sun. They pierce into his very soul, as if to scrutinize yet challenge his attention, to ask and say, “Why are you looking over here?”

Ajax blinks once before turning away, ambling over to join his own team and ponder on today’s events.

-

A month later, he sees Xiao again at a meet in Fontaine, this time catching him in the locker room. He has so many questions for him, mainly about Lumine and a couple about his training routine because for someone of his…size, his speed is incredibly impressive. Part of him wants to know how Lumine is with the team, if she treats them as well as she treated her high school team (read: himself), if she’s overworked and burdened. But surely at the university level, they have the means and resources to hire more student managers to help out, and yet, Ajax knows that Lumine would push herself to go above and beyond to ensure their health and safety.

Xiao meets his gaze on accident, giving a slight nod of acknowledgement before walking past him. There’s a smell of ocean waves as he pushes by, and a small part of Ajax wonders if there’s anything reminiscent of him in Xiao to Lumine. The sinister, more possessive fraction of his soul cackles in glee, relishing in the idea that Lumine can (potentially) never keep her mind off of him. No matter the fact she’s out there supporting someone who’s so consistent in competing with him, he would always reign and continue to show his swimming prowess.

His rational side knows how silly the thought is.

After the finals, Ajax comes out first again, Xiao another close second. They accept their places on the podium and he keeps an eye out on the audience stand, scrolling and watching to see if he can spot Lumine. It doesn’t take long, that glowing head of blond locks like a beacon in the darkness, and he wishes she was cheering for him instead of her teammate. He misses the confidence and cockiniess he would feel when her jovial screams rang above all others back in high school.

Sure doesn’t feel like winning without her, no? A little voice whispers inside his head.

Not now! He chides himself.

When they go to the locker room to grab their stuff, Ajax sits down for a few moments, head between his knees. A few teammates clap him on the back and shoulders, some wondering if he’s feeling unwell and if he needs help leaving. He’s all fine, he assures them, simply daydreaming in bittersweet solitude about how he’d like to hug Lumine around the waist and spin her in circles, to bask in her excited giggles and protests to put her down.

There are only a few swimmers left getting their things together when Ajax finally looks up, letting out a huge sigh from deep within his chest. He looks to the side to see Xiao about to leave, fitting a wireless earbud into one ear and fingers fiddling with the other.

“Xiao, wait,” he calls out before he can stop himself.

Xiao’s stare can weather even the toughest mountains, Ajax realizes, as part of him wants to wither himself. He can’t help but attempt to relieve himself with a small gulp. Something about Xiao’s stance looks like he could take him down in the blink of an eye.

“What is it?”

Fuck. How is he supposed to phrase this?

“W-what’s your manager like?”

The squint of Xiao’s eyes is almost menacing, as if saying how dare you, and he shoulders his duffel bag like he’s about to just walk out without giving any dignified answer. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck – “L-lumi was my high school team manager,” Ajax confesses in an attempt to save himself. At least he has history with her, and not like some other scumbags who might just be looking to get into her pants.

Xiao seems to soften a bit with the outburst, seemingly less guarded, and checks his smartwatch for the time. “Then surely you would know what she’s like now.”

“We…haven’t kept in touch much.”

Which is a huge understatement, but Ajax isn’t about to spill out their whole life history together.

Xiao looks him over once more before an imaginary lightbulb goes off above his head. Ajax doesn’t know what to expect, but it most certainly isn’t a tilt of the other’s head and a gentle, “You must be him.”

This can mean one of several things: either Lumine has gone and completely besmirched his name (which she’s partially in the right to do), has recounted their story but left out all the gruesome details of their falling out, or simply just referred to him as a childhood friend who competitively swam and went to the same high school as her. Regardless of the correct option, all of them cause a painful twinge in his heart, and it’s his turn to be defensive.

“Walk out with me,” Xiao demands, spinning on his heel and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, and leaves Ajax no choice but to follow. With the difference in height, the latter manages to match his pace and keep his steps small.

“She completes her duties and takes care of the freshmen well, since you’re wondering. The coaches appreciate her help and dedication, as well as prior experience from high school. Of course, university coursework is more demanding, and she spends free time during training to catch up. Nevertheless, we all feel grateful to have her,” Xiao provides, speaking more than Ajax has ever heard from him. Even in short interviews and highlight clips on YouTube, his sentences have always been brief and straight to the point, but rarely in such sizable chunks like now.

Something warm, akin to pride almost, blooms in Ajax’s chest at the description. It sounds just like her – helpful and hardworking.

“But she keeps her distance,” the former continues. “Most of them don’t notice it, but it’s not hard to see the wall she’s put up once you think about it.”

“...what do you mean?”

“The team usually eats together after training in the athletics complex, but she rarely joins us. The offer always stands regardless, but how many university students really have important things to do after 7PM? She speaks more on her current uni life, but not much about anything before. In fact, she’s only mentioned you to me once or twice – never by name though. The others are unaware of the connection.”

Ajax does his best to stomp down any jealousy at the implication of Lumine’s vulnerability, yet winces when he realizes how touchy of a subject he might be for her. He thought by now, it would’ve been known by most of her team that the two had some history.

Xiao stops in his tracks. “You should leave before she sees us together. I’d rather not have her needlessly worry.”

“Makes sense,” the ginger nods. “So…she doesn’t stay with anyone after practice?”

His head shakes. “I usually train another hour or two on most days, but unless she’s finishing up errands, she’s usually gone.”

Oh.

Ajax’s brain goes into overdrive at this new fact. Lumine staying after practice with him before their fight could be left to 1)  the devices of her not having another way to get home and 2) out of principles of friendship. But what about post-argument? The final two years when he’d course back and forth in the lanes for an extra hour, absolute silence between them as she flitted around? All the times when she’d leave without a word on the back of Aether’s new scooter, just minutes ahead of his mother picking him up? All the moments when he thought, “Jesus Christ, our managers have so much to do every day, what the fuck? And they let Lumine handle it all alone?”

Because why else would she stay behind for so long?  

On the bus home, he forces himself to nap, neck stretched back against the headrest, because he doesn’t want to think, to feel and come to the uncanny realization that…

He’s so afraid of the answer.

-

You were wrong, Ajax. You’ve been wrong this whole time.

-

He thinks he must be dreaming.

The liberty of owning a vehicle on campus means he can get away whenever he desires. He’s not confined to the coffee shops that were within walking distance, no doubt the most popular study spots. The music was always too loud in those places and the other students were then unable to control their own volume, which only sprouted the planted seeds of a headache. So with a hellish week of exams coming up, and even with individual study rooms dedicated to athletes in the athletics training building, Ajax itched to just get away from campus.

His maps took him to a small cafe about thirty minutes out, twenty minutes of it spent on the highway and completely out of the college bubble. Ever since seeing Lumine at the swim meet, he had been on edge and weighed down by the endless dreams plaguing his sleep. Sometimes they were nightmares, replaying the most hellish moment of his high school career, and other times they were fantasies he never wanted to wake from. Holding her hand, intertwined fingers in an unmarked flower field, foreheads pressed together as the sun kissed her golden locks. He hated the sound of his alarm playing in the back, loathed the sensation of being pulled away from his subconscious and instinctively fighting against it. Just another minute with her, please.

To whom he was pleading to, he never had any idea. As his eyes would blink open and fight against his leaded eyelids, he would curl into himself and hug a spare pillow to his chest. He would screw them shut and scour his brain for any connection to bring him to those moments of bliss again, and then feel the despair in his heart when he had to accept the reality before him. Almost three years of wishing, pining, and loving from afar, it never got easier.

Which is why he freezes in the doorway with one strap of his backpack over his shoulder, gaze immediately trained on the head of flaxen strands and the hauntingly familiar physique. Her back faces him and he almost stumbles on his way to the barista, shakily ordering a simple latte and fingers fumbling over his credit card. He keeps looking back at her, wondering if his brain is just playing tricks on him, but the white and blue cecilias in her hair are unmistakable.

Can he call it fate? Destiny? The universe finally so sick of his bullshit that they shoved an opportunity in his lap to finally right all the wrongs he had committed against the girl of his dreams?

The few minutes it takes for his latte to be prepared flies too quickly, and he takes a deep breath before walking over to her table, each step leaden with hesitation. He rounds the edge with bated breath, ready to prepare an excuse in case the girl he’s approaching is not Lumine at all.

Amber eyes meet his surprised ones and match his shock.

“A-ajax?”

Her heart wrenches when she sees his dark eye bags, cheeks slightly sunken in, and ginger strands more mussed than usual. There’s a painful swelling of her chest when he sends the smallest, most tired and apologetic smile her way, all tension leaving his system at the sound of her voice.

“Long time no see, Lumi.”

His tone is soft, so full of affection and longing that she momentarily forgets they haven’t properly spoken in three years. She had internally forgiven him by the time graduation rolled around, having seen the positive change in him during training sessions. Everything about her old Ajax had returned and matured, but she wanted to hear him say those two words first.

I’m sorry.

That’s all she’s ever wanted from him.

“It’s been a while,” she chokes around the bubble in her throat. “Please, go ahead.”

As he situates himself in the seat across from her, she rearranges her notes and materials, having spread them out over her time there. “You’re pretty far from campus,” Lumine attempts to fill the silence.

“Everything’s too full and loud over there,” he shrugs while grabbing his own laptop out. “I thought it’d be good to get away.”

“Same here,” she says before taking a nervous sip of her now-cold cappuccino. “You have exams coming up?”

“Three this week. The worst honestly. You?”

“Just one. But we’re only two weeks away from finals, so I thought I’d start making study guides now rather than later.”

“Smart girl,” he chuckles. “You’ve always liked preparing in advance for big exams.”

“It’s a good habit, maybe you should learn,” she teases.

“I probably should.”

No studying gets done for the next hour as they catch up, filling each other in on their majors and classes they’re taking. It’s all small talk laced with intimate details of each other, nods of understanding and moments of unspoken words. There’s only peace and serenity in the atmosphere surrounding them, and Ajax feels like the weight of an elephant has been lifted off his chest, soaking in all her interactions and mannerisms to make up for lost time.

He’s glad to see she’s doing well, for the most part. Well-fed, well-rested, hair shiny and lustrous as ever. Ajax likes the floral designs of her nails and takes it as a sign of her occasionally treating herself, which she should. If it were up to him, he’d take her out every weekend to at least get away from the pressures of university life and just indulge. But most weekends are occupied by swim meets, so maybe that’s her getaway. And speaking of swimming…

“I saw you three months ago,” he blurts out when they reach a lull in the conversation. “At the swim meet in Mondstat.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, uhmm,” he rubs the back of his neck. “You were walking one of your swimmers out – um, Xiao. Yeah. Almost didn’t recognize you with your long hair in the ponytail. ”

She had seen him. In fact, she made very grave efforts to not look his way and focused all her attention on making sure Xiao was okay. Lumine didn’t miss his name at all on the sheet with who the swimmers were in each heat and round. The faint scar on his right tricep had given him away instantly, and that hadn’t stopped her from sitting on the edge of her seat at the screen, watching the rounds with bated breath. Ajax in the pool was a force to be reckoned with, and while Xiao had come as a close second in the finals for several events, she internally rejoiced at Ajax’s victory.

“I saw you, too,” she confesses, blush rising to her cheeks. “I just couldn’t find a chance to say hi.”

“You couldn’t, or you wouldn’t?”

Lumine flinches, but also not quite appreciating the sharpness of his tone.

“I-- I didn’t mean that,” he immediately backtracks, guilt gnawing at him. “That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

They both can’t bear to look at each other, gazes staring off to the side as they find their next words to dispel the awkward air.

“Lumine, I-- I’m sorry.”

The incredulous look she gives him is to be expected, he supposes. His apology is so severely overdue, and it hadn’t exactly been the moment he thought of when coming up with ways to do so while in the shower.

“I’m so sorry for everything. The name calling, my shitty attitude freshman and sophomore year, for not listening to you about Dottore and them when I should’ve, for never apologizing until now because I’m a coward and have issues with pride, I just – I really am…sorry.”

Her silence is terrifying, tearing and tugging at his heartstrings. The last time he felt so nervous was before his first, big swim meet back in middle school – and yet, this somehow feels a hundred times worse. For an apology that had been so deeply buried inside, finally unearthed, raw and genuine, he can only hope for the best. There’s a drop in his stomach when Lumine begins to nibble on her bottom lip, perhaps subconsciously picking at some chapped skin, but then she reaches over for his hands that are tight around his empty mug.

Her hands are warm, but he can feel the trembling in her fingers.

“Thank you, Ajax,” her eyes just the slightest bit teary as she smiles at him. And he knows, he just knows, that they’re going to be okay.

-

[the reparations]

At first, Lumine wonders if she was too lenient in her forgiveness – that as soon as Ajax received permission to close that terrible chapter in his life, he would revert back to old tendencies, or find something else to criticize her for. She worries that Ajax will be up to no good again and slowly destroy his body from inside out. But she is elated to realize that no, Ajax is back to his old self again. His ambition and drive is quite healthy, to say the least, and he does his best to support her in any way possible.

For Ajax, every interaction with Lumine afterwards is bittersweet, to some degree.

He bemoans all the lost time in high school, ruminating on how different their life would have been had he just listened to her. Would they have created new memories on the night of graduation? Would he have taken her to a house party? How many nights could he have had to wake up next to her? Could he have heard her voice during swim meets, cheering him on despite the cacophony surrounding them?

They make time for each other, switching between meeting at each others’ apartments or respective university libraries, occasionally the cafe. The number of times they’ve fallen asleep over a video call while getting some studying done increases exponentially, neither of them willing to end the call and instead just muting themselves until they absolutely have to go. Ajax goes through a cycle of nicknames for Lumine, ranging from Lumi to Lulu (to which she crinkles her nose at because it sounds too close to lululemon and now he does it on purpose sometimes) to love bug to girlie to moya zvezda, the last always causing an eruption of butterflies in her stomach.

But somehow, one of her favorites is when he just says, “Hey you,” and holds his arms out for a hug, a grin stretching across his face from ear to ear. His hugs engulf her completely, smooshing her face to his chest while he breathes her in, and she does the same. The serenity that washes over them is palpable and she feels a little less empty – sure she has friends and the swim team to fill up her social meter, but with Aether gone on an academic scholarship in Sumeru for university, she couldn’t help but feel just a bit lonely. Quiet nights in her studio apartment, faint Chillhop beats playing through a Bluetooth speaker, the occasional booming bass of vehicles out on the road – alone. It had hit her the first few nights just how little she’s spent her life by herself, always somewhere with someone; parents, Aether, Ajax, Ajax’s family.

And now Ajax was becoming her new piece of home again.

Yet each playful shove, each whimsical peck against her temple, each wink sent towards her at different swim arenas, each little gift that appears unexpectedly on her doorstep, she becomes more and more frustrated. Sure, Lumine can be the one to stomp into his apartment, grab him by the collar of his shirt, yank him down, and kiss him silly while releasing all her pent up energy. She’d have to be knocked unconscious to not see that Ajax’s feelings for her are way past anything platonic, and probably have been for some time now, so why can’t he just say it?

Is it too much to ask for? To want Ajax to pick her up and pin her against the wall, trap her between his firm body and the grey wall of his apartment hallway? Is it really just her hormones and years of restrained love threatening to beat out her chest?

“You should come to this party with me,” he suggests offhandedly one late night, ripping Lumine out of her reverie. She’s been dazed and spaced out for the last few minutes, though he’s not sure why. Has she been overworking herself? “It won’t be big, and most of the people there are pretty chill. A couple notches down from a frat party for sure.”

“When is it?” she asks as she pulls out her planner. Her fingers run down the tabs until they hit March and flips open to the monthly preview. Ajax takes a moment to sit in awe and admire her scheduling abilities, everything neatly color-coded and arranged in each individual square.

“Think it’s the Saturday before spring break.”

“Oh, makes sense. Yeah, I’ll be free,” Lumine agrees with a shrug of her shoulders. Despite the cool, calm nature she’s attempting to exude, her heart pounds in overdrive and nausea threatens to infiltrate her system. A party? With Ajax? With alcohol and dancing and weed and ample opportunities to accidentally end up in a young adult romance trope with him? And drinking games?

Ajax takes a long sip from his to-go latte, courtesy of the coffee shop within this library on Lumine’s campus. Past the glass windows, the sky is dark with stars peeking through wisps of clouds, signaling it was rather late. Regardless, he’d rather be here sitting mere inches away from Lumine and attempting to get some work done than back in his bed, alone, with only her on his laptop screen to fill the void.

This party would be the first time they’d get to hang out without ever worrying about time constraints – they would be free to do fuck all (within some malleable legal limits), and just be with each other. Have a sleepover, shoot the shit, watch some movies – anything, anything, to just have more time.

“Does that mean you’ll pick me up?”

“For sure. But they live pretty close to my apartment, so I was thinking of picking you up and then walking over there. Maybe 15 minutes at most.”

“Sounds good to me. It’ll be nice to let loose after midterms.”

“Fuck, I forgot about midterms,” Ajax whines, shoving his shoulder against hers. “Why’d you have to remind me??”

“So you can start studying now, dipshit. Be proactive.”

“You should help me study.” Lumine finds it horrifying that she’s actually falling for his miserable attempt at puppy-dog eyes coupled with an overdrawn pout. She beats it down with all her strength and looks back to her planner.

“If you think I’d touch anything from your intermediate Excel class, then you don’t know me at all.”

“Come on, you know that’s my worst class!”

-

Ajax does the best he’s ever done on midterms, and Lumine, naturally, passes with flying colors. Before they know it, he’s dancing around the room, trying to get his black skinny jeans over his thighs and ass while searching for his phone. His phone awakens as he peers over it, greeted by his home screen background of a selfie of him and Lumine. Sure, his teammates gave him a little grief over it, but as long as they realized that she was untouchable, he'd take their shit.

About twenty-five minutes away, Lumine double checks her outfit in the full-length mirror, needlessly smoothing over non-existent wrinkles. She worries if it’s too much or too little. How chill was chill?

If Ajax reacts negatively in any way, she has a backup outfit ready to go. The last thing she wants is for him to feel embarrassed or burdened by her in front of his friends.

“No, you look good,” she tries to hype herself up. “It’s Mona and Kokomi approved.”

“If he doesn’t kiss you by the end of the night,” said astronomy professor in-the-making warned last night. “I’m going to drown him.”

“And the last thing we want is for you to be charged with conspiracy to murder,” Kokomi chimes in. “But seriously Lumine – you look wonderful! Stay close to him, too. He’s clearly head over heels for you, so this should be enough to push him in the right direction.”

“You really think so?”

“Trust me, I know so. The stars can back me up on it, too.”

Lumine is threading thin rose-gold chain earrings through her piercings when there are three raps against her door. Her heart kicks into overdrive as the anxiety creeps into her veins – this is it: the moment she’s been half-dreading and half-waiting for this whole week.

“The door’s unlocked!” She yells from her bedroom, finishing last touches on her makeup and hair as Ajax lets himself in. The sound of his footsteps draws closer to her location as he announces himself and she’s scrambling.

“Sorry I’m not fully ready, but I’m just about done,” Lumine apologizes profusely. Ajax leans against the frame of her bedroom doorway, relaxed and trying to alleviate her worries.

“Don’t worry about it, I was…early…”

Oh gods. Oh Archons above.

She will truly be the death of him.

Lumine looks radiant, the epitome of peace and comfort yet so confident and alluring. Her golden tresses are tied back into a high ponytail, perfect curls cascading down with stray bangs at the sides. Dainty and sophisticated chain rose-gold earrings paired with some light makeup and a faint sheen of lip gloss shine back at him. A long sleeve, ivory white blouse with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows is loosely tucked into dark-wash jean shorts that may be too short for his sanity. Her legs stretch for miles in the confines of a pair of black tights despite her actual height, and he has to exert all mental effort to will away any excitement below his belly button.

“Wow,” he exhales, dreamy and in disbelief at the luck in his life. “You – you look amazing, Lumi.”

She can hear the reverence in his tone and lets out a huge sigh of relief. “It’s not too much? Or I’m not underdressed?”

He still can’t tear his gaze away from her outfit, even as he shakes his head. “No, not at all. It’s perfect.”

You’re perfect.

The beam of joy Lumine sends him soothes his soul. She gives one last cursory look in the mirror before grabbing a small purse just big enough to fit her phone and a few other small items. “Let’s go then.”

Okay, so maybe he let her walk ahead of him initially with bad intentions. Yes, he has looked at her butt one too many times, but he has a really hard time controlling himself! And in those shorts…

Ajax has to shake his head, fighting for some clarity. Lumine takes the cake when she toes on a pair of black low-top Converse, completing her look. He hasn’t said a word this whole time, even as she waves him out of the apartment so she can lock the door behind them. But again, Ajax knows his manners. He offers her his arm and she happily loops her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“What a gentleman,” she teases. “Your mother would be proud.”

Sweet, sweet Lumine. If only you knew.

“Well, with four sons, she’s had time to figure out what’s important to teach us. You know she used to give me mini-lectures on how to compliment girls? And all the details of the menstrual cycle?”

“All important things to know. It came in handy though – I’ve had my fair share of getting emergency pads from you back then.”

“Pads are expensive, too. You should pay me back,” Ajax teases.

“I’m sorry, and just who said homemade cookies were enough payment? Hm?”

Their bickering goes on for the entire walk to the house, laughter wracking through their system as they keep trying to one-up each other. Ajax was fair in his assessment of the atmosphere of the party – it was fairly chill. Music played through speakers at a comfortable volume, nothing too bass heavy, too fast, or too slow. A random movie played on the flatscreen in the living room, drinks set up in the kitchen and other options to make cocktails, everyone simply mingling together and catching up. A few smoked weed on the deck in the backyard, their figures barely illuminated by the fairy lights strung up above them.

Lumine blends in beautifully with the crowd, chiming in and chuckling when appropriate. Given the little space available, she remains curled into Ajax’s side most of the night, his arm around her shoulders and fingers mindlessly combing through her loose bangs. In return, once her cup is empty and she no longer wants anything to drink, her own arm stretches across his waist, and Ajax tries very, very hard to not think about how close it is to his crotch. One way he attempts to divert his thoughts is by pressing chaste kisses into her hair at random, but then he just gets drunker on the scent of her shampoo, and it’s just a slippery slope all around.

She feels warm, intimate, and content. A perfect way to wind down from the stress of exams, truly.

There are a few rounds of Rage Cage, one of which Lumine ends up being the unlucky soul to down most of the drinks in the center. Ajax swoops in as a dark knight to help her drink the center cup with the most alcohol in it, the others ooh-ing softly at the grand gesture. It’s been a while since Lumine partook in a drinking game, and he quickly fills the cup with some water for her. Afterwards, the host changes up the music and everybody gathers back in the living room to dance and sing along.

“‘So testosterone boys and harlequin girls’,” both she and Ajax belt out to each other, little care in the world for how poorly they may be dancing. Their heads nod along to the beat as the lyrics spill off their tongues from the deep recesses of their nostalgic memories. At some point, she throws her head back and can’t stop laughing and Ajax simply follows, unable to stop himself from looping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. It’s almost second nature for Lumine to cross her arms behind his neck, and their proximity doesn’t seem to faze them much.

Whether it be fate, an algorithm, or a poorly-made party playlist, the beginning guitar strums of I’ll Follow You Into the Dark come through the speakers. A few groan and demand for the song to be skipped, but Lumine and Ajax pay no mind to them. Ajax is too tall for her limbs to rest on his shoulders comfortably for longer than a few minutes, and she opts to hug him around his waist. In turn, he shifts his embrace to her upper back, and they sway comfortably in their imaginary world. She keeps her head tucked beneath his chin, eyes closed shut as she feels his heartbeat against her cheek. It’s steady and strong, a reminder of how lucky she is to be alive and on this plane of existence, to be loved and cherished by someone like Ajax.

“You’re the best, y’know that?” She mumbles quietly but with a slight drawl. There’s still some effects of alcohol lingering around.

“If I were the best, I wouldn’t have said those things to you back then,” he can’t help but reply, bitter and unforgiving towards himself. “I’ve gotta spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“I just really wanted you to say sorry, and I got it. You’re forgiven, and you’re here with me now, and I wouldn’t want anyone else, okay?”

“Maybe,” he replies and kisses her head gently. “You deserve the world, Lumi.”

“Jax–”

“I lied, you deserve the entire universe,” Ajax interrupts. “Like – like stars. Who gives a shit about the other stuff out there, it’s always about the stars anyways.”

“...don’t let Mona hear you say that.”

“I’m just saying – you deserve all the stars. Actually, no. You are the stars, Lumi. All the stars in the night sky, shining so brightly and so full of wonder,” he rambles and Lumine can’t help but giggle.

“Now I know you’re really drunk. I don’t think sober Ajax would say this.”

“I know sober Ajax definitely thinks it,” he resorts under his breath.

Lumine pulls back to take a good look at him. She expects to see a glaze over his eyes, signs of inebriation and pupils unfocused. But she instead sees an intensity she hasn’t seen before, boring into her soul, and she’s trapped. She’s frozen as he lifts a hand to trail his fingertips reverently against her right cheekbone, his thumb later following suit with an affectionate stroke. Suddenly, Ajax looks nervous, maybe a bit excited, and her eyes follow the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows around nothing.

“It’s getting late,” he whispers. “Do you…do you wanna go back to my place and drink some coffee? Sober up a little and watch a movie or something?”

If it were any other person, she would have turned them down and called an Uber home. But it was Ajax, her Ajax, and she wants this so bad.

“...yes, I’d like that.”

-

Ajax wonders if he’s actually thirty years old, coming up with the excuse of coffee so that Lumine would come over and hang out after the party. In fact, he later realizes halfway home just how insinuating the suggestion is, and while sure, they were plenty flirty with each other just minutes ago, this was about to be a big jump. Long-harbored feelings haven’t exactly been explicitly established, though it can be argued that for them, there really is no need because they most likely know how the other feels about them by now.

Just thirty minutes later, they’re giggling and reminiscing on middle and high school memories – the joyful ones, at least. Lumine mentions offhandedly about a past fling and another blind date she got set up on by Mona, recounting how the mechanical engineering major junior spent twenty straight minutes discussing his senior thesis project that his family was apparently helping fund for, something to do with a racecar that he got to ride in along – and Lumine hadn’t even asked about it.

“I learned that being inside has its perks,” she concludes, chuckles soft as her body melts into the couch cushions. “This,” her finger gestures at the space between them, “is much more fun, in my opinion.”

Ajax turns towards her with an elbow perched on top of the backrest, empty cup in his lap. The golden glow of the living room lamp accentuates her features and he’s just so in love with her – to the point where maybe he was much more jealous than the average man at a mere mention of a date that clearly went nowhere. She scooches closer to him, the ankle of her bent leg nearly touching his, hair out of its bind and cascading over her shoulders, drowning in his swim team jacket that she hasn’t bothered taking off since being handed it in his car. To him, Lumine looks more ethereal now than when he went to pick her up.

A true angel descended from the stars and heavens, and he will happily worship her for the rest of his mortal existence.

“You’re beautiful, Lumi,” he says in a gentle tone, words tumbling off his tongue before his brain can stop them. A furious blush blooms over cheeks and he takes her cup without a word, placing both it and his on the coffee table before facing her once more. Adorable.

Whoever leans forward first, nobody knows.

And they’ll never know. With the rush of blood and hormones, the pounding in their hearts and ears, fingers reaching out with a mind of their own, Ajax can’t think about anything but how sweet Lumine’s lips taste, how soft they feel between his own, how easy it’d be to cradle her chin and kiss her harder so that she would open up her pretty little mouth for him. And when she would let out an adorable, breathy gasp that’d shoot straight to his crotch, he’d take the opportunity to catch her bottom lip between his teeth, sucking gently before giving a nibble, then letting go.

Even though they’ve never been so intimate with each other (to his knowledge), this feels familiar. There’s something nostalgic about tangling Lumine’s sun-kissed strands between his fingers, really hoping he’d never have to go another moment without kissing her. A drug shot straight through his veins, he feels himself getting so deliriously drunk on her, the scent of her body wash further ruining him to smithereens.

Though she pulls back to catch her breath, he dives without much urgency to plant butterfly kisses against the smooth, untouched column of her neck. The jealous claws of possessiveness urge him to paint artistic shades of purple and blue, his own personal canvas that no one could even dream of touching. Initially, he wants to practice some patience, but the thought that someone else had marked her before him unleashes a sinister rage. Teeth begin to nip and bruise at the skin just above her collarbone, and he drinks in every whimper that leaves her lips. Her nails dig deeper and deeper into his shoulder blades as she clambers into his lap, causing him to smirk on the inside.

Lumine would have to be incredibly drunk to not feel the stiffness digging into the bottom of her thigh. There’s little to no space between their torsos, especially with how Ajax keeps tugging her forward, desperate hands and arms wandering around her back and waist. Him doing so creates a slight rocking motion, and just the tiniest bits of friction set her nerves on total overdrive. He has to have more, more, more, because if he doesn’t, he might just combust and make a mess of this night.

The fabric of her shorts rides up, and Ajax manages to register just how painfully hard he is, even more so when his hands slide up her thighs and his thumbs push into the clothed center between her legs and she gasps, his name slipping off her tongue with so much pleasure that he nearly cums right then and there. Only Lumine has the ability to unravel him so quickly, his pent up desires and dreams finally coming to fruition after so many years. As his thumb pads more forcefully, searching for her clit and mouthing at her neck, Ajax refuses to hold back and bites down on her neck when she lets out a breathy moan, her hips bucking into him once more.

“J-jax, please–” she mewls, mind fogging more and more with hazy lust. He wants to take her apart piece by piece, have her cum on his tongue, then his fingers, then at least twice on his cock. If allowed, he wants to wake her up in the morning by treating her as his personal breakfast, to ensnare her dreams so that she could understand even a sliver of how crazy she drives him at all times. Ajax can only imagine how addicting she’ll taste, that maybe he can’t hold himself back after just one taste of her sweet release, and that he’d die happily between her thighs.

He kisses her hard again, her tongue meeting his and so, so eager. His conscience falls deeper into the depths of hell, imagining this tight heat around his cock. Perhaps she’d struggle to take all of him in while the pink muscle dances around the tip, and he could train her to open her throat up and–

Hold back, slow down. “Use your words, Lumi,” he half-growls into her lips, unwilling to stop kissing her for longer than necessary. “Be good and tell me what you need.”

“You know what I need,” the starlight whines as her fingers drift down toward the button of his pants, digging in but waiting, as if needing his permission to move forward. Such a good girl, the voice in his brain purrs. Mine mine mine, all mine.

“Maybe,” Ajax murmurs before giving a punishing bite into her shoulder. Lumine didn’t realize her underwear could get any wetter, but perhaps she enjoys proving herself wrong. “But I need to hear the words from you. Are you sure you want to do this?”

He pulls back to look into her eyes, searching for any hesitancy. But all he sees are blown pupils, slightly parted lips, a heaving chest, and disheveled golden strands, and almost loses it. They haven’t done too too much past kissing, yet how does she looks so close to being fucked out already? He can’t imagine how he looks right now, perhaps half-crazed and thrumming.

Her lithe fingers curl deeper into the fabric of his shirt, and professes in a pant, “Please fuck me.”

Fucking hell.

Who is he to deny his goddess’ wishes?

Without another word, he picks her up, palms splayed beneath her thighs as an invitation to keep her legs crossed tightly at the base of his spine. The tiny squeal that leaves her when she does the same with her arms is delightful to him, followed by disbelieving giggles as he speedwalks to his bedroom. She scatters pecks on his neck, even working on a few marks of her own. Knowing she won’t drop, he lifts a hand to teasingly swat the round of her ass. “Be careful, girlie,” his voice a dark murmur in her ear.

“Or what?” she retorts, hints of a grin on her lips. Even when he sits on the edge of his mattress, she keeps her face buried in his neck. Ajax struggles to keep himself tethered, so tempted to act on primal desires and needs.

“Listen carefully,” he softly demands. “I don’t think you need to be reminded of this because I think you always knew – but you…you have always, always been mine. No matter what you think, you were never anyone else’s.”

His teeth nip the shell of her ear before they drift downward to catch the flesh of her earlobe. Just the tiniest exhale sends her back arching into him, her nails digging deeper into his shoulder blades.

“And I have every intention of teaching you just how much you belong to me.”

Oh.

Lumine has little time to catch her breath before Ajax pulls away to kiss her again, his palms scorching and weighted as they pull at her blouse from where it was tucked into her shorts, desperate to grasp at her waist. The feeling of her skin beneath his is soothing– after so long of admiring from a certain distance and just bearing with the emptiness in his soul, to finally have her in the most personal way possible, he is warm again. He can move forward and feel fulfilled, take on the world because with Lumine by his side, no one can stop him.

For every ounce that she is his, he is hers and more.

Regardless, he has no patience to grapple with the buttons of her blouse, instead shimmying it upward and over her head, sliding the material down her arms so she could hold onto him again. He loves how perfectly she fits against him and always has, that his upper torso completely envelops her petite frame. His hands wander and leave goosebumps in their paths, shivers passing through her system. It’s too cold and too hot all at once, a burning flame in her sternum as she pleads and pleads – for what, Ajax can’t quite figure out, but he does his best to keep the heat at bay.

Her pitiful whine sounds foreign in her own ears when she’s shifted off  his lap – but he makes up for it by getting her shorts and tights off. The thought that she should’ve worn a skirt instead is somehow the only logical thing she processes, her hands fumbling with his to slide the material down as fast as possible. She craves, no, needs him touching her again, the warmth and security he provides her. Lumine couldn’t care less that Ajax is less than delicate with her three-dollar tights, his nails creating crescent tears and digging into the flesh of her legs. On another day, he’d like to humor a fantasy of his where he could just rip them apart at the crotch, hook her underwear to the side, and press his face into her weeping–

“Get this off.” The pouty command makes him chuckle, alongside the fact that Lumine is practically clawing at his undershirt and somehow also gripping the ends of his flannel’s sleeves.

Seeing his sculpted and toned torso during swim meets only maddened her further, and she often spent half the meets a little dazed and horny because it was really nice watching the muscles in his back stretch and shift, how his arms come around from underneath the water during the butterfly, and she is digressing – you think after so many years, she’d get used to it. But Ajax has a wonderful body with nearly perfect form at this point, and she can’t not appreciate it.

In enough time, her naked body wraps around him once more, her dripping core grinding softly against his very apparent erection, with nothing but a thin cotton barrier between them. He hisses against her lips when he feels just how wet she is, wanting nothing more than to shift his cock past the hem of his boxer briefs and fit himself inside her. It takes all of his willpower and more to reel back and focus on wanting to taste her, but Lumine counters that by leaving the bed and forcing him to stand by the edge.

She wastes little time dropping to her knees, buttocks planted neatly on top of her ankles and Ajax curses, “Fucking hell – no wait, Lumi, you don’t–”

He’s never been so painfully hard in his life, all the blood filling his cock making it more sensitive to the chilled air. A hand cards through her hair before tracing her jawline, his thumb resting on her bottom lip so they part just slightly. The hazy, wild lust in her golden gaze causes his brain to short circuit, before it completely fries when she – “Can I please have your cock?”

Soft, yet confident, exigent under the guise of pleading – she could ask him to jump in front of a moving train and he would without a second thought.  

“Such a good girl for me,” he purrs, pushing his thumb deeper past her lips and applying pressure onto her tongue. It’s not enough to stop her from giving it a light suckle, from weaving it around the digit and he needs her mouth on him now.

He removes the drool-covered digit from her sweet temptation to tuck it with the other into the band of his underwear, dropping it down with no fuss and no regard for how the tip catches and snaps back against his abdomen. His balls feel so heavy as he strokes himself, pace slow and languid. He watches her gaze zone in on the drop of precum leaking from the top.

Lumine can feel  her mouth pooling at his length, so hard and thick, long enough that her abdomen and pussy clench at the mere thought of how deep he could be in her. She has half a mind to completely forgo sucking him off in favor of pushing him back onto the bed, straddling his hips, and sinking down onto him. But she knows better – she needs prep and time, and would like this night to last as long as possible.

“Shit.” His voice breaks when she repositions herself to be closer, his cock resting against her cheek. How Ajax doesn’t cum when she licks away his pre and latches softly onto the tip is a fucking miracle.

He can’t think about anything past the tight, wet heat worshiping him, her eyes slipped shut as she bobs her head up and down. At times, she tilts her head to the side and lets it dig into her cheek, a visible bulge protruding beneath the skin. Ajax catches the glisten of spit trailing further and further down his length as he pats her cheek. So filthy, how debauched and earnest she looks and sounds, drawing open her mouth as much as possible to take him in.

The guttural choke when he slips a little too far down her throat sends both his hands into her hair, fingers digging into her scalp. On instinct for her comfort, he pries himself away to give her room to breathe and catch her breath. But to his surprise (and pleasure), she follows his motions, determined to keep herself latched onto his length. Her moan is protesting, as if asking him, “How dare you deny me?”

And he loses himself.

Whatever hand she had to grasp the rest of his dick falls to hold onto his thigh when he bucks his hips into her face, surrendering to his basal desires. She just feels so fucking good, pliant and obedient, receptive to everything he’s giving her. Ajax wants nothing more than to spill his cum down her throat and see it overflow past her lips, to see it drip down her chin as she attempts to down it all. He’d swipe up any remaining and feed it to her, and he knows, he just knows, that she would accept it, probably make a lascivious show out of it just to rile him up.

“L-lumi – shit – do you know how many nights I’ve dreamt of doing this? To fuck your mouth and train you to take all of me?” A garbled mewl follows more enthusiasm, more suction as she leans forward and her throat fits more of his cock, a snug fit that drives him past the point of no return. “Look at you girlie, so fucking good for me. You were made for me, I know you were,” Ajax growls as he feels the tension grow in his gut. “God damn.”

The denial of his own orgasm aches like nothing else – as much as he wants to see her struggle to swallow all his cum, he wants to savor it. He’d rather see it leak out of her tiny slit – Archons, he can picture it right now. Globs and globs of viscous ivory mixed with her own cum, red and swollen, puffy clit peeking above at him, and he’d fuck it back in her, either with his fingers or his cock, he can’t decide and –

He yanks her up from underneath her forearms, frantic to feel her lips against his again. Ajax could care less that she was just blowing him, their tongues tangling together in a crass dance. But no matter how sweet her mouth is, he knows that there’s only one other place where it’d be even more decadent.

He pushes her back against his pillows, slotting himself between her legs. As they widen to bring him in, he can hear the squelch of her sticky cunt and thighs, and his mouth begins to water. He would have teased her and made her beg any other day, but he has to find out, to know what he’s been missing out on all these years. Ajax wastes no time laying prostrate on the sheets, nose just millimeters from her swollen clit that’s begging for attention. Her heady scent clouds his brain even further and her plush thighs position over his shoulders. His heart thrums when her hands readily grasp onto his ginger strands, combing through them, nails scraping lightly against the nape of his neck and his scalp.

Ajax gives her no warning, only sticks out his tongue to lave against the length of her sex, and groans immediately as his taste buds assimilate. There’s a slight saltiness to it, something unexpectedly addicting but he knew this would be the case – that he would have a hard time eventually stopping himself. Now that he knows exactly how she tastes, he could eat her out for hours, hooked on her scent and the tremble of her thighs.

He sucks on her clit before bringing it between his teeth, the gentlest nibble he can manage, but his hands push down as she bucks her hips, the most licentious moan he’s heard yet from her. It only fuels him further, tongue zealous in its duty to break her until she thinks of nothing but his mouth on her dripping pussy.

“Oh my god,” she gasps and whimpers, back arching as her eyes screw shut. Part of her is embarrassed by how quickly she’s going to cum, the stirring in her gut already brewing into something more intense than she knows how to handle. “Ajax, please, slow down–”

“Already close?” The swimmer sounds smug and she wants to knock him down a peg so badly, but he slips his tongue inside her entrance with determination. “Good, you’re right where I want you.”

“I don’t – ah – too fast, want – want, want –”

“Tell me what you want, zvezda,” he teases. Her arousal is blinding and she’s so close, but she doesn’t want to be, and there’s a tinge of fear by just how high she’s climbing, how wound up her insides are – the pleasure is too mind-numbing.

“Want – want you!” Lumine finally cries out. His face just isn’t close enough and she pulls him in as much as physically possible. Ajax enjoys being trapped between her plush thighs. All for him to squeeze and mark – he further denies her by sucking bruises into the sensitive flesh, relishing in her moans and gasps, her pleads and oblivion. His thumb rubs circles into her clit, so slick and hardened beneath his touch. As he admires his work, she tenses.

“Oh the Seven, fuck – Jax, please please please, I’m close,” she wails. “Jaxie, please, ‘m gonna cum –”

His mouth replaces his thumb as he pulls her closer.

“ – cumming, I’m cumming, cummingcummingcumming–!”

The snap of the spring in her system is visceral, the moan ripped from her throat close to a scream, and Ajax growls into her core, eyes fixated on her expressions of bliss and parted lips, drunk on the taste of her cum with his tongue now inside her. He refuses to let up, drinking in everything she has to offer and more and it’s not enough for him – he wants to hear the shrieks of overstimulation, to send her over the edge again and again – the dry sobs from her so, so addicting, the shuddering of her entire body, the fight it brings to remove itself from his clutches.

But he wants to see it all over again on his cock this time.

Lumine does her best to catch her breath when Ajax eventually lets up, crossing her legs up and over so he can sit up. She shivers and sniffles, coughs when she realizes how dry her throat is, and leans into Ajax’s touch when he cups her cheek, fingers swiping away some stray tears.

“You did so well,” he murmurs. “Was that okay?”

It was more than okay, she’d like to say, but she simply nods instead.

“Stay right here, ‘m gonna go wash my hands.”

The smallest yet cutest pout appears as her fingers loop around his wrist before he can leave. “Do you have to leave?”

“Solnyshko,” he sighs. “You really think you can take my cock without any prep?”

Her cheeks turn a deep rouge. “Maybe,” rolls off her tongue before she can stop it, and immediately clamps up afterwards.

Something dangerous flashes across his eyes – they drift towards her flushed pussy, and it clenches around nothing beneath his gaze.

“Definitely not for our first time, but someday,” he promises her. “Sit tight, love.”

The water runs and Ajax puts his weight on his palms, clutching the counter top. It’s close to 3AM and his eyes are bleary with adrenaline and lust. He pumps some soap into his hand and washes his hands thoroughly, later wiping away the remnants of Lumine’s climax off his face. When he returns, she’s still laid out all pretty for him, soft and beautiful and all his.

“I should’ve asked you this earlier, but…” and she hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. Ajax waits patiently while sitting on the edge of the bed, slightly perpendicular so one of her legs can be stretched across his thighs. The hickeys and bruises scattered across her skin are exquisite, in his humble opinion. His personal canvas, all for him to mark up and paint to his desires. “...are you clean?”

“I am,” he reassures. “You?”

“Yeah,” her voice demure but with eyes lit up, and not just from the moonlight coming through his window. “I’m on birth control, too...”

“So you’re saying…since we’re both clean and everything..”

Lumine’s gaze follows his to his nightstand drawer where, no doubt, the condoms are located. Her teeth sink deeper into her bottom lip as she shakes her head.

“One thing at a time, Lumi,” his hand smoothing down some of her wild baby hairs. “I should’ve let you know as well, but in case you can’t tell already, I have a hard time controlling myself around you.”

Her little giggle warms him to the core, later dying off when his finger flicks over her right nipple, another joining to pinch and roll at the pink bud. It dissolves into a tiny squeak as he pinches harder, pulling at it before letting it bounce back to sit perky and tall on the peak of her breasts. He senses the impatience in her labored breathing, as well as the subconscious rolling of her hips, and he’s pleasantly surprised to see how wet she is again – the slick shines back at him and he wonders if he could get away with devouring her once more.

It’s his duty to quench her thirst though, to trace the tip of his middle finger over her entrance and lather what he can in her precum. Ajax watches her face with full attention, how it morphs as her eyes roll back when he slides the digit into her weeping cunt, and he curses under his breath because holy fuck, even around one finger, it already feels snug. What she might feel like around his shaft – it twitches and bobs on its own as he curls inside her, trying to find the spot that’d make her preen.

“You’re so wet,” he says with so much awe, soon following with his ring finger. It feels even tighter now – as the pads curl and tap against her g-spot, he mimics her sharp inhale. They’re gentle at first in their ministrations, basking in the slight upturn of her lips as she falls prey to the pleasure. “So tight, too.”

Her breathy chuckle has tones of joy and embarrassment. A free hand flounders until she can take hold of his dick, stroking it lightly and bringing it back to full attention in no time at all. As he switches up and slowly scissors his fingers, she hits him with, “Well…I do enjoy being stretched open…”

Deep breath in, Ajax. You can’t lose it now.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And I intend to win,” she sings.

“Oh Lumi,” he sighs, fitting his index finger in and savoring the moan that leaves her with her eyes rolling back. “There’s no way you’re leaving my apartment in the morning after I’m done with you.”

Ajax pushes through her whine and focuses on the vice of her pussy, imagination running wild. “Do you want this?”

“Ajax, my hand is literally on your dick right now, please.”

He leans forward to kiss her sweet. “What can I say, consent is sexy,” murmured against the apple of her cheek. Ajax shushes her when she whines at the loss of his fingers, her eyes wide and pleading as he replaces her hand with his soiled one, spreading her fluids on his cock. He pumps it a few times, standing by the bed now, and smirks when Lumine wets her lips with anticipation. “You seem eager, princess.”

She should not feel like crying so many times in one night – yet it wells up once more because she is empty, denied her most carnal want by the person she loves the most. Why won’t Ajax just fuck her?

Perhaps he’s finally reading her thoughts because he grabs her waist, adjusting her so her pulsing core lines up to his length. His hands push on the backs of her thighs to keep her spread open for him, though she helps out by hooking her forearms beneath her knees. He kisses a hovering ankle, fixated on how spread open her lower lips already are just by the tip. The sticky warmth reminds him of the control he’ll need to exercise, to take deep breaths in so he doesn’t immediately cum inside her.

The first couple of inches is exhilarating – Lumine wasn’t lying earlier, her core tight at the intrusion. “Breathe,” she hears him reminding her, one of his hands rubbing circles into her clit and the other into her stomach. “You’re doing so well, Lumi.”

“So big,” Lumine whimpers. “Fuck, more, gimme more–”

“Patience, girlie,” he pushes in a couple more inches, now almost half his length buried into her cunt, thrusting languidly and shallowly. “Still okay?”

“I shouldn’t have to beg this much to be fucked –ah!” He plants both hands on her hips and slides all the way to the hilt, surrendering to the suction that pulls him in, and now so, so close, to losing his mind.

Ajax wants to spend forever in her tight heat, bullying past her gummy walls as they clench around him. To spend eternity working her open and molding her pussy to the shape of his cock. He looks forward to the days when she will cockwarm him while they’re studying, to have a hand splayed wide against her waist, a bulge evident in her belly. her eyes glassy and hazy as she absorbs nothing from her textbooks – or in the mornings when they’re half awake…

“You can move,” her whisper brings him back to reality.

And so he does.

The full drag along her pussy sends her reeling, barely any time to regain herself before he thrusts in again. And he keeps it slow, methodical, searching for any signs of discomfort in her.

Instead, he’s greeted with her happy sighs, a dreamy smile gracing her lips, soft, delirious praises of, “Feels so good, Ajax…love you–”

She becomes wetter than he thought she ever could, his pace quickening as a creamy ring begins to form at the base of his cock. The sighs dissolve into whimpers and moans, her legs trembling in the air. Ajax is powerless and spanks her once, twice, thrice, moaning when her cunt somehow tightens even more. “Perfect, so perfect, personal little fucktoy of mine…”

“Fuck, yes–”

“You like that?” He pants and fucks her harder, balls slapping against the round of her ass. “You belong to me, Lumi – your pussy was made to perfectly fit my cock, my own cocksleeve. No one else can fuck you like I do, to keep you so full, shit, look at me.”

Lumine doesn’t even realize her eyes are closed, so deep in her pleasure that her eyes have to adjust.

“Wha–”

“Look down, you can see my cock right here,” he hisses, a hand now pressing down onto her stomach. The extra pressure has her wailing, all cares of keeping somewhat quiet as to not disturb his neighbors now abandoned. She manages to keep her eyes peeled open to see the distension in her belly and feels euphoric – Lumine swears she can feel his dick in the back of her throat, mewls and cries wracking through her system.

His fingers swipe fervently across her clit, ripping another moan of pleasure from her. Ajax can’t believe they’re here now, that he’s finally taking all of her for himself. After years of dreaming and fantasizing, he can finally deposit all his cum into her, to fill and breed her, to stake his claim. He yanks her forward so her ass hangs just slightly over the edge, supported by his grip and pelvis as he continues to fuck into her. Changing the angle is what kills her, a spot deep inside her that only Ajax could ever reach with his massive length – her cervix? – and she all but screams before white-hot pleasure causes tears to form.

Is it too much? Not enough? Her brain no longer functions for her own good and only focuses on cock, Ajax, the need to be plugged up with his cum swimming in her womb–

“Cum for me, I know you want to,” authority laced in his voice. “You’re so fucking tight, want you to lose it on my cock and take my cum–

“Yes, wan’ your cum so bad, please give it to me,” her boneless limbs flailing as she makes grabby hands, all but sobbing. His balls tighten – everything he’s ever wanted and more, right here in the palms of his hands – no, he has to service her first, so she can become just as addicted to him as he is to her, to become familiar with the future that her fingers alone will never be able to fully satisfy her, just like how jerking off will never be the same for him now.

She’s climbing, climbing, climbing, so much higher than when he was eating her out earlier. He keeps her stuck between his hips and the bed as he presses forward to kiss her, lips messy and jolting from the force of his thrusts. But it’s exactly what she needs, and before she can register it all, Lumine tips over and her orgasm absolutely rips through her.

Her scream is muffled against his mouth, as well as disguised by his growl of approval as he fucks her through her climax, prolonging it as much as possible with the additional help of his continued ministrations on her clit. Ajax believes this is the wettest and tightest she’s been all night, nearly flooding his cock and making it so easy to fuck her silly.

“Good girl,” and he truly sounds so proud of her. She’s still mewling and whimpering, now twitching from overstimulation, confessions of love spilling off her tongue as they turn into incoherent babbling. That empty look in her eyes, yet somehow full of adoration, her body and mind seemingly broken from his shaft splitting her open. “Wanna fill you up, have you take all my cum – can I, Lumi?”

Somehow, she’s able to nod.

Another day, he’ll have her beg for it, to render her the point of basal desperation.

“Gonna cum, zvezda, keep it all inside okay? Shit, such a perfect little cum slut for me, fuckfuckfuck–!”

He slams all the way inside her, deep, guttural growl unearthing from within him as thick ropes of cum paint her walls and crash against the entrance of her womb. Ajax can’t remember the last time he came so much because it never seems to end, always just a little bit more to fill her up with. He blacks out and comes back to reality maybe a minute or so later, still buried in her heavenly heat and seeing his excess cum begin to escape where they’re joined.

The sound it makes when he pulls out is downright filthy, coupled with a lascivious protest from his fallen angel, and it’s definitely worth not cumming down her throat earlier – to see his cum trail out of her in globs, staining his bedsheets and painting a white mess on all over her labia.

“Be right back, lemme clean you up,” he whispers into her ear, pushing past the ache in his thighs to quickly return with a warm washcloth. “Sorry, lyubimaya,” for when the material brushes against her sensitive clit. Eventually, she’s as clean as she can get, and Ajax gathers her in his arms to bring her to the toilet. It’s important for her to pee now, no matter how much she just wants to sleep.

“I’m right here. Mouth rinse is right there.”

A few minutes later, Ajax has the sheets changed and Lumine in his embrace, arms wound securely around her while petting her slowly. His fingers take out stray tangles as he murmurs sweet words to her, telling her how good she was for him, how much he absolutely adores her, how happy he is to be with her.

“You know,” he starts, then continuing when she hums to signal that she’s still awake and listening. “That was a great first kiss and everything.”

“We’ve kissed before, you dummy.”

“...what?!”

“You were drunk and made out with me after you had your first kiss with a girl at one of Dottore’s parties.”

“...and I don’t remember this.”

“And you don’t remember this.”

“Shit, is that why you pushed me onto the ice all those years ago?”

She shrugs in his arms and snuggles further into his chest. “You broke your pinky promise, so it was warranted.”

“What did I–:

“ – you asked to be my first kiss, then promised you wouldn’t forget anything, and absolutely did so the next morning. I never brought it up.”

Ajax groans into her hair, a mix of embarrassment and shame and regret all melted together in his chest. “I’m never drinking that much again. We could have been together years ago!”

“Well…we have each other now to make up for lost time. G’night Ajax, I’m so tired…”

And they’re both out like a light.

-

When Lumine wakes up, she nearly panics.

Because the last time she woke up in Ajax’s arms was back in high school before everything disastrously fell apart. Though this time, she’s naked save for a pair of clean boxers from Ajax, very much the little spoon in his hold, and a hand of his has surreptitiously cupped one of her breasts. His even breaths ground her to reality as she blinks awake, taking in all the decorations and personal tidbits that went unnoticed last night.

Staring straight at her is a picture frame on the nightstand, and in it is an old, old photo. In fact, given the length of her hair, it was probably taken back in high school. The quality is just a bit grainy, another sign of the passage of time, but very clear that it was her. It’s a shot of her back, arms crossed behind her, looking over her shoulder mid-laugh into the camera lens. It’s one of the purest, most candid expressions she’s ever seen on herself, sidebangs drifting with the wind, peeks of the ocean visible past her figure. She hadn’t expected her picture to be taken, but clearly Ajax has treasured it. There’s wear and tear on the frame, and she wonders when he had it developed.

Lumine notices a tiny hand drawn heart in the corner, clearly done by an amateur with a permanent marker. To think Ajax would draw something so cheesy makes her laugh quietly, but it’s comforting in its own way. It’s so clear, clearer than day, just how much he loves her; how much he regrets what he said and did, how much he thinks of her on a daily basis.

And she can’t wait to experience it all.

[fin]

[sloanerisette]

How To Win Your Senpai In 10 Days Chapter 3 - Camp Digimonth 2023

Ok that was a long break between updates, sorry, BUT I wanted to get this chapter out by the end of January, and I managed to do it! This chapter is a LOT longer than the last one, because there was a lot I wanted to put in, and honestly there was a ton of editing I did because I kept adding stuff, taking stuff away, rearranging stuff, and I think ultimately I'm happy with where it is now. I didn't want it to feel too bloated, so I took out a few things, but I think this will be a very fun chapter!

I hope you all enjoy, because if this chapter is where things really start to heat up, from here on out it'll be a roaring fire!

If you want to read it on AO3 or comment, you can do so here!

Without further ado!

---

Yesterday it felt like the sky cracked open and fell apart all around her. Like the ground opened up and swallowed her hole, leaving her falling and flailing forever.

Mimi had to use all her strength not to cry in front of her parents over what had happened, and instead put on a brave, bright face for them over dinner as they talked about being back and asked how her time with her friends was.

Once she was heading off to bed, though, she stared down at her phone, looking at the last texts she had with Joe.

[Tachikawa Mimi]: We’re taking off in a few!

[Kido Joe]: Make sure you get plenty of rest on the way over.

[Tachikawa Mimi]: I will!

[Kido Joe]: And make sure you wipe down the tray table on the plane! Those things are ridden with germs.

[Tachikawa Mimi]: Way ahead of you!

[Tachikawa Mimi]: I’ll see you soon Joe, I can’t wait :)

[Kido Joe]: Me either. See you soon, Mimi.

Nothing since.

She felt guilty for not asking if he had gotten home safely, but she was still feeling too hurt to talk to him. She’d have to face Joe tomorrow at the picnic, but that would be something to handle at that point. For now, she wanted to lie in bed and wallow over all that had happened.

Mimi was never the type to wallow in sadness, she knew that, but right now her heart hurt too much to do anything else. Her phone had been abuzz both from her friends in New York and the other Digidestined about the flight to Japan, plans for tomorrow, what it was like being back after so long… and as much as she wanted to get in hours long conversations with them all and stay up well past midnight to talk, she just didn’t have it in her.

For now, she would just go to sleep and look forward to the fact that tomorrow she would be able to wake up and have a picnic with her friends. The last time that had happened was far too long ago and had been under less than ideal circumstances, and even if she wouldn’t be able to show up with Joe, hand in hand, she would still be with her favorite people in the world to enjoy the day.

As she slowly started to drift off to sleep, she held that thought close to her in hopes that it would ease her mind and heart even a bit.

Unfortunately, Mimi’s slumber wasn’t nearly as restful as she hoped it would be, instead plagued with the day’s events playing on repeat in her mind.

By the time she woke up, it wasn’t even 8 in the morning yet, and after a half an hour lying in bed, looking at the ceiling without being able to fall asleep, Mimi finally pushed herself out of bed.

She needed to busy herself and do something before she’d need to get ready for the day, and as she checked the kitchen, she was relieved to find that at some point yesterday her parents had gone to pick up ingredients to bake.

Even with the heavy weight hanging over her, Mimi couldn’t help but feel a bit excited at the prospect of making something for her friends after so long, and quickly got to work to prepare some treats for the picnic. She was in her element, and for now, working on this brand new cookie recipe to wow everyone kept all those painful thoughts at bay.

She settled on white chocolate and matcha cookies, given this was the first time in so long she actually had matcha to work with, and the combination sounded especially tantalizing to her. By the time they were in the oven, her parents were finally up, surprised at how much of a whirlwind the kitchen had become.

“You’re up early, sweetheart! I figured you would’ve wanted to sleep in after how busy yesterday was,” her father teased her gently.

With how focused she was on baking, Mimi’s smile was so bright, that she had to continue to force it now that the reminder of yesterday slammed back in her mind.

She had to keep up that smile so her parents wouldn’t get concerned. They came back to Japan and her parents were so happy to know she’d be able to spend time with her old friends again.

Mimi couldn’t just show them how she was feeling after all they had done to come back…

The brunette swallowed hard and forced a wider smile than before, “We’re all having a picnic today! I wanted to bake something nice since no one’s had a chance to try my treats in so long!”

Her voice broke a bit at the very end and Mimi internally cringed, praying they didn’t catch it.

“Oh! That sounds like such a great time! All of you have fun!” her mom chirped happily, and Mimi let out a quiet sigh of relief that it seemed to pass by with no issue.

“I will, mama, thanks,” Mimi smiled. Her mother moved to the oven and leaned forward to look at the baking cookies.

“They smell delicious!”

“It’s a new recipe I thought up! I think they’ll be a big hit!” Mimi said, “I made plenty for all of us, too!”

“Well, I can’t wait to try them!” her dad said.

Now her smile was a lot more genuine as pride welled up in her. Maybe she wasn’t feeling good, but knowing that she was in the process of making some amazing cookies her friends and family would love had her feeling just a bit better.

“I think I’m going to get ready while this first batch is baking,” Mimi finally said after a few moments.

“Do you want me to take them out for you when they’re done?” her mom asked.

“Please! You two can take as many from the first batch as you want!” she said, before running off to the bathroom.

After last night, a nice, hot shower was exactly what she needed, and she continually reminded herself that things would keep going. She would still be able to enjoy the day with her friends despite what happened with Joe.

Even if she had to quietly pine from afar, having her closest friends nearby would be enough to ease the pain of her aching heart. At least she hoped it would be.

After she was done, she put on her best sundress and did her hair and makeup before she checked her phone to see she had gotten a few new texts.

[Kido Joe]: Hey Mimi!

[Kido Joe]: Do you need a ride to the park today?

[Kido Joe]: I have my brother’s old car, so I can be there any time.

A sad smile settled on Mimi’s face, and she couldn’t stop the gentle flush that graced her cheeks.

Why did he have to always be so kind and thoughtful and considerate and helpful? It would’ve been easier to handle if he wasn’t, but… that was just Joe. Always thinking of others.

Her thumbs hovered over her phone screen, shaking slightly as she thought of what to say to him. After a moment she swallowed down her nerves and began typing away.

[Tachikawa Mimi]: Good morning! If it isn’t too much trouble, it would be great! I’m gonna have a lot of stuff to bring with me, and it’d be great to not have to take a bus over!

[Kido Joe]: Sure! Just let me know when you’re ready.

[Tachikawa Mimi]: Of course! I just gotta wait for some more cookies to finish but once they’re cooling I’ll text you!

[Kido Joe]: I’m excited to try whatever it is you’re making. I’ll see you soon.

[Tachikawa Mimi]: See you soon!

She could handle this. It would be no problem.

***

With two containers filled to the brim with cookies in her arms, Mimi barreled out the door, ready to head down and wait for Joe to get there. However, just a few steps out and she bumped into someone, causing both her containers and an armful of books to spill across the walkway.

“Oh no!” Mimi cried out, letting out a sigh of relief as she saw a second later that they were safe and sound.

Right after it clicked that she bumped into a person who had also spilled their things, too.

“I’m so sorry!” she cried out as her head whipped around to look at who she ran into.

A young woman, who couldn’t have been much older than her, with big, round glasses that made her eyes look almost owl-like and short, messy brown hair. She was wearing an oversized hoodie and a long, striped skirt that went to her knees. She had black shoes on and high socks to match. Mimi couldn’t help but think how they seemed like such complete opposites. She helped pick up one of the books that the girl hadn’t gotten yet and handed it to her.

“Don’t worry about it, it happens,” the girl told her as she took the book from Mimi and brought the stack of books to her chest as she started to stand up. Mimi grabbed her two containers of cookies that had thankfully remained sealed and dirt-free, and stood up, too, offering the girl a smile, which she returned.

“You’re not hurt or anything, are you?” Mimi asked, and the girl shook her head.

“I’m fine. Honestly, this many books is pretty usual for me, so it’s ok,” the girl said chuckled, “Are your… are those cookies…? Are they ok?”

Mimi laughed and nodded, “They’re cookies, yeah. Matcha and white chocolate chip. They’re ok, thankfully.”

“That’s an interesting combination,” the girl said, tilting her head curiously, “I’m sure whoever they’re for would have really missed out.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m having a big picnic with a bunch of my friends today and I decided to bake a ton of cookies. I’d feel awful if I wasn’t able to bring them these,” she said. A light bulb turned on in Mimi’s head and she opened up one of the containers and offered the girl a cookie, “Here, you can have one, too!”

The girl blinked in surprise, but took it and took a bite and started to nod to herself. Her eyes went wide and she looked down at the green and white cookie she held.

“This is really good, thanks,” she said when she swallowed. Mimi smiled wide.

“Of course! I’m glad you liked it! It’s a new recipe, so I was kinda nervous about it,” she said.

The girl laughed, “Well if the rest are that good, I’m sure there won’t be any complaints,” she said before popping the rest of the cookie in her mouth.

“Thanks!” Mimi chirped happily, “Oh! I’m Mimi, by the way.”

“Manami,” the girl returned with a nod, “Did you just move in?”

“Yeah! Right here,” Mimi said, pointing to the door behind her.

“I live just two doors down. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too!”

She had a new friend now— sort of. Though she wasn’t sure if they would be particularly close or hang out a lot, Mimi was always glad to meet someone new and make a new friend. However, Mimi’s eyes went back to Manami's books and she tilted her head curiously.

“I’m heading to the library to study today.”

“Really? But school hasn’t even started back yet!” Mimi cried out. Manami shrugged lightly.

“I know, but my classes this year are going to be pretty intense, so I want to get ahead of the game,” Manami told her.

Mimi couldn’t help but chuckle softly and Manami quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh! Sorry! I’m not laughing at you or anything. You just reminded me of a friend when you said that. He’s always studying and doing schoolwork, and most of the time we have to drag him along to do anything,” Mimi explained, unable to help but fall into a bout of giggles.

Manami ended up smiling and laughing, too, “I can relate to that a little too well. I’m kind of a workaholic.”

“Nothing wrong with that!” Mimi insisted with a nod. She always felt that way with Joe, especially with how important his academic future was to him, but, just like she told Manami, she always did her best to make sure he took care of himself. Even when she was across the world, she’d send the occasional text to try and remind him to take a break and take care of himself.

“Just make sure you take care of yourself, and it’s all fine, I think,” Mimi added with a smile, which Manami returned.

“Ah, I’m not keeping you from your picnic, am I?” she asked. Mimi blinked.

“Oh, no, don’t worry! My friend is on his way to pick me up but I don’t think he’s here yet,” she said.

“That’s a relief. Do you want to come down with me? I need to get to the bus stop before the next bus gets here,” Manami said as she adjusted the books in her arms slightly.

“Oh, sure!” Mimi chirped happily.

The two girls made their way down, talking briefly about Manami getting ready for her last year of high school and Mimi’s recent arrival back to Japan, and conversation flowed easily as they stood on the sidewalk while Manami waited for her bus.

The two girls laughed and made their way down, talking briefly about Manami getting ready for her last year of high school and Mimi’s recent arrival back to Japan, and conversation flowed easily between the two as they stood on the sidewalk while Manami waited for the bus to arrive.

“It was really nice meeting you today,” Manami said. Mimi beamed brightly.

“You, too! I didn’t have many classmates who lived near me back in New York, so it's nice to have someone close.”

“The people who lived in that apartment before you were this elderly couple. They were really kind, but they weren’t exactly people to really talk with.”

The two girls burst into a titter of giggles, and Mimi’s chest felt a bit lighter once again. When things took such a downward spiral yesterday, a part of her wondered when she’d feel better. But so far today she made a new friend in Manami and would be able to see all of her friends soon enough.

And that included Joe, even if seeing him would break her heart just as much as it would make it soar.

The sound of a car engine rumbling in the near distance caused both girls’ heads to turn, and that gnashing of conflicting feelings started to well up in her gut again. She kept up a smile, not wanting either Manami or Joe to see her so upset.

Even if he was dating someone else, she didn’t want to take it out on him. Even if it hurt like hell, she didn’t want him to think she didn’t support him.

“I hope you have a good time with your friends today.”

Manami’s voice stirred her from her thoughts, and Mimi smiled.

“Thanks! I hope studying goes well,” she said, offering her a small wave as Joe’s car pulled up to the street.

“Thank you,” she said simply. Mimi padded over to the car and opened the door, bracing herself all the while. Though the smile on her face was genuine, she still had to do everything she could to not show any pain.

“Morning, Joe!”

Joe offered her a warm smile as she poked her head in, hands still on the wheel, “Good morning, Mimi. How’re you?”

Admittedly, she couldn’t exactly be honest with that answer, but at least it would only be a white lie compared to a bold faced one.

“I’m doing good. Excited for the picnic!” she said brightly, holding up the container of cookies for him to see, “Also made something preeeeeeetty good, if I do say so myself.”

Joe chuckled gently, “Well you know I’ll never say no to anything you make,” he said. She tried to push down the elation she felt in that moment, unable to help but feel warm at just a few simple words.

“You ready to go?”

She nodded and got in the passenger seat, turning her head briefly as she heard Manami walk by.

“Bye!”

Manami turned her head and waved to Mimi and then stopped in place, eyes wide with surprise.

“Joe?”

Mimi’s head whipped around to look at Joe, whose jaw was slack and eyes wide.

“Manami?”

As her new friend came closer and closer, a bolt of realization struck Mimi and her eyes went wide, beads of sweat starting to form at her brow.

This couldn’t be happening. This had to just be a friend from school. It couldn’t be— it couldn’t be what she knew deep down it was.

She could feel her heart pounding in her ears as the girl she just met stopped at the side of the car.

“This is your friend who just moved back to Japan?” Manami asked, and Mimi felt utterly nauseous.

“Y-Yeah! I’d introduce you, but it looks like you two are already acquainted,” Joe said.

“Yeah, she lives just a few doors down from me,” Manami said.

“So, uh, Mimi… this is my girlfriend, Manami,” Joe said slowly, and though she felt like she couldn’t look at either of them in those moments, she forced herself to look over at Manami.

“It’s nice to meet you again, Manami,” Mimi said, letting out a soft, forced laugh.

After how low she ended up feeling yesterday, becoming friends with Manami had been a respite from it all. But that had been dashed in an instant, and she wanted nothing more than to sink under the dashboard and never come out.

“So you’re meeting all your friends for a picnic today?” Manami asked, then looked down at the containers of cookies Mimi held, “You should try and get as many of those as you can, they’re really good,” she added with a smile.

This was Joe’s girlfriend. The girl he chose while she was gone.

“Yep. Mimi thought of it yesterday while we were at lunch,” Joe smiled, “You’re going to the library today?”

Manami nodded, “Yeah, I want to try and get ahead on some of the things we’re going to learn in science this year.”

Manami would be at the library while the rest of them were going to have a good time together. She wouldn’t have to worry about any of this and could instead distract herself with the company of her friends. She could just—

“You should come with us!”

Both Joe and Manami looked at Mimi in surprise.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude on your group,” Manami said slowly.

No, Mimi wasn’t sure. Honestly she wasn’t even sure why those words spilled from her mouth so messily. A part of her wanted to see what they were like around each other, sure, but to bring her along? This was a day for their group, as Manami had said. But it was too late now, it was out there, and she couldn’t take it back.

“It’s fine with me… if it’s fine with Joe?” Mimi suggested. Maybe he would say no.

“Uh, sure, that sounds good,” Joe croaked out. Manami smiled and shuffled her books into one arm, then got in the back passenger door.

“Thanks for inviting me, Mimi.”

Mimi sank in her seat slightly.

“Of course. It’ll be great to have you there.”

The rest of the car ride had been painfully awkward, not just for Mimi, but for Joe as well, who was radiating anxious energy during the drive. His fingers drummed against the wheel at stops, and he was laser-focused on the road ahead. She was pretty sure even Manami was able to sense his awkwardness, with the way that she stayed quiet after her first few comments to Joe had been met with silence.

Frankly, the arrival at Odaiba Seaside Park had been a blessing, and it took all of Mimi’s restraint to stop herself from running off ahead to find Sora and cry. This picnic was her idea and there was no way she could ruin it at minute one.

Just about everyone else was there already, and they were all talking and having fun— something Mimi wasn’t entirely sure she could muster up today.

Tai, Kari, and Davis, and Ken were passing a soccer ball back and forth, while Yolei was sitting with Izzy as he typed away on his laptop, the clacks of the keys filling the air. Sora and Kari were deep in conversation, punctuating their words every so often with a laugh. As the three of them approached, Mimi forced a bright smile and waved to her friends.

The closer they got, though, the more of their friends that turned to greet them, and they were met by confused looks from most of the group.

“Hey Joe, Mimi, took you a while, huh?” Tai asked with a teasing grin on his face, barely catching the ball as Ken kicked it towards him.

“Sorry about that, we didn’t miss out on much, did we?” Joe asked.

“We’re just waiting on Matt, TK, and Cody. We had the idea of bringing along our Digimon, so they went to get everyone,” Izzy explained.

“That sounds great!” Mimi said, actually feeling genuine excitement for the first time today. She’d be able to see Palmon after so long, hug her, be able to cry to her, and they’d all be able to be around their partners. It would be just like old times…

“Yo, Joe, I didn’t know you had a sister!” Davis shouted out, and both Mimi and Joe cringed.

“You dork, he doesn’t have a sister,” Tai said, shaking his head as he took a few steps forward, “Obviously he brought his cousin along,” he added with a scoff.

Manami turned a faint shade of red and Joe grimaced. The attention of the entire group was on them, and suddenly he felt himself getting hot, and it wasn’t lost on Mimi as she looked at his face.

“A-Actually, you guys… I’m really sorry for bringing someone without letting everyone know, but… this is my girlfriend, Manami,” he said. Manami laced their fingers together and held up their hands, smiling as she adjusted her glasses.

Mimi’s gaze moved across the group of DigiDestined, trying to get an idea for how everyone was feeling at the news: Tai and Davis were wide-eyed with their jaws dropped, Sora’s lips were pursed in a thin line, her expression so neutral in a way Mimi wasn’t sure she had ever seen before. Ken and Kari both seemed surprised, but they offered her a simple smile, though it seemed to Mimi that Kari could sense the tension in the air just as well as her, and Yolei seemed… incensed.

“Wait, girlfriend? But I thought Joe was dating Mimi!” Davis shouted out, and Joe instantly turned a deep, beet red and he ducked his head. Mimi’s face heated up, and she averted her eyes from the group, unable to look at any of her friends, and especially unable to see what Manami’s face looked like in those moments.

Manami was silent for a moment, more confused than anything, before she let out an awkward laugh, “Oh, uh, no, that’s me,” she said.

Davis opened his mouth again, but instantly closed it as soon as he saw the look on Sora’s face.

“Sorry,” he peeped out after a brief few seconds of silence.

Tai’s eyes went wide as he looked at how serious Sora looked, then he craned his neck over to look at Izzy.

“Have you heard back from the guys yet?” Tai asked as he walked over to him.

“They’re almost at the Digital Gate, so we’ll be opening this up for them shortly,” Izzy said.

“I’m so excited to meet all of your Digimon,” Manami said as she folded her hands together, “I’ve never actually seen too many, besides that big one that was in the harbor a few years ago, let alone met any!”

“Our partners are all a really interesting bunch,” Sora smiled as she glanced over at Mimi, “It’s gonna be nice to see Palmon again, huh?”

Mimi let out a gentle sigh, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen her,” she frowned.

“It’s not fair that you guys don’t get to have your Digimon around as much!” Davis said.

“Well, we can always keep our partners with us for a while if we all want to,” Izzy said.

“Hopefully Gomamon doesn’t flood the tub again…” Joe sighed, before he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Manami said with a wide smile.

“He’s great, but he’s… a lot. You’ll see what I mean.”

Manami laughed, and Mimi felt her heart ache again. Couldn’t they get this picnic started already so she could be preoccupied? Kari walked over towards Joe and Mimi.

“Do you have a partner, Manami?” Kari asked sweetly.

Manami shook her head, “Oh, no, I don’t, but I’ve been in the area my whole life, so I’ve seen just about everything that’s gone on,” she said, before looking up at her boyfriend, “Plus Joe has told me plenty of stories.”

A light bulb turned on in Ken’s head and he snapped his fingers.

“Joe borrowed your bike to help Davis and I get to the Rainbow Bridge, right?” he asked. Davis looked at him, then to Manami, then back to Ken, and then at Manami again.

“Whoa! You’re right! I didn’t even recognize you!”

Manami laughed gently, “Yeah, he sprinted over to me and told me about how his friends needed to get there to be able to stop an evil Digimon.”

Joe’s shoulders slumped, “It was a lot of trouble finding it after,” he sighed.

Davis rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from the oldest DigiDestined, “Oh… sorry about that…” he said quietly.

“Oh, it’s ok,” Manami said, waving it off, “We ended up finding it, and we watched you two defeat that huge Digimon. It was incredible!”

Davis beamed with pride.

“Oh, it looks like they’re ready, everyone stand back,” Izzy called out as he pushed himself up from the grass and stepped back. The group gathered around Izzy’s laptop in a wide half circle, all of the DigiDestined waiting with rapt attention.

The screen turned white, and a blinding light shot out, at which everyone covered their eyes. When the light died down, Matt, TK, Cody, and twelve Digimon were standing there.

“Maybe next time we should take a few trips,” Matt said, shaking his head, “I wasn’t sure if we were all going to fit.”

“Well, at least this is better than the computer lab. I don’t think we would’ve survived a dozen Digimon landing on top of us,” TK laughed before he waved to the group. As Matt glanced across everyone there, a brief look of surprise crossed his face as he noticed Manami. He fixed Joe with a hard glance, before he slowly lightened his expression.

“I hope you all weren’t waiting for us too long,” Cody said as he dusted off his shirt and pants.

“Nah, you’re good,” Tai said as he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder towards Joe, Mimi, and Manami, “They just got here, so you’re right on time.”

TK’s eyes widened as he noticed Manami, “Oh, I didn’t know you guys were bringing extra people,” he said.

“It’s good to see you again, Manami,” Matt greeted her simply. Mimi felt her heart sink. He already knew her?

“You too, Matt. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you and Sora.”

…Sora, too? She could feel tears start to well up in the corner of her eyes, and she blinked them away as quickly as she could, hoping no one else saw. She looked at Sora, who shot her a guilty, apologetic look.

“So, uh,” Joe cut in, “That’s Davis and Ken,” he said, gesturing to the two boys, at which Davis grinned and waved, “Izzy and Yolei, TK, Kari, and Cody, that’s Tai, and, well, you already know Matt and Sora.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you all! Joe’s told so many stories, and it’s great to put all these faces to your names,” she said as she offered the group a bow.

Joe felt himself heat up as Matt stared himself down, tugging at his collar to try and cool off a bit.

Luckily as soon as the introductions were done, everyone was immediately distracted by the herd of Digimon running forward to meet up with their partners.

“Mimiiiiiiii!” Palmon cried out, and at that point, Mimi couldn’t hold it back any longer. She let herself cry— this time, out of happiness, as she fell to her knees and pulled her partner into a tight hug. Palmon hugged her just as hard and started crying, too.

“Oh, Palmon, I’m so happy to see you. It’s been too long,” Mimi whimpered, burying her face in her partner’s shoulder.

“That just means we’ll have to have a great day!” Palmon cheered in between her own sobbing, patting Mimi on the back gently, “I’m so happy to see you, too, Mimi.”

“Do you want to… do you want to stay with me for a while?” Mimi asked, finally pulling herself away, her eyes watering and her lip wobbling.

“I’d love to!” Palmon grinned.

Mimi cried again, this time a rougher sob, and she buried her face in her hands for a moment as she tried to gather herself. At this point, Palmon stopped crying, and looked over her partner in concern.

“Mimi, are you ok?”

“I-I’m ok, Palmon, really. I’m just… so happy to see you. I really needed this,” she said as she wiped her eyes.

A couple yards away, Gomamon had all but flown towards Joe, nearly knocking him over as he leapt into his arms. Manami laughed at the sight.

“Oh, Joe, old buddy, old pal! You actually decided to pull your nose out of those books, huh?” Gomamon teased as he patted his partner on the shoulder. Joe’s chest felt warm at his partner’s teasing, but fixed him with a deadpan stare.

“Great to see you too, Gomamon,” he droned, unable to keep it up for too long before his face cracked into a smile.

“It’s always great to see me!” Gomamon winked, before he looked at Manami and blinked.

“Did you bring your cousin?”

A deep blush consumed Joe’s face and he furrowed his brow, “She’s not— this is my girlfriend, Manami.”

Gomamon seemed shocked, tiny jaw dropped as he looked at his partner.

“Huh, I didn’t expect that,” Gomamon said. Joe looked at Manami and mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ to her.

“Who did he expect?” Joe thought to himself.

Thankfully, besides the brief flush of embarrassment, Manami moved past it quickly enough, “It’s good to meet you, Gomamon. Joe’s told me so much about you.”

“Of course he has!” Gomamon said triumphantly, “I bet he’s told all of our best stories!”

“Well he did tell me about the time you ate all their rations while you two were lost in the ocean on a… mattress?” Manami said as she placed a finger on her chin, trying to remember.

“It was a whole bed, thankfully,” Joe said.

Gomamon puffed out his cheeks, “Oh, so that’s the story you tell? Not any of our cool ones?” he asked, and Joe started to laugh.

“Relax, I told her about everything,” he smiled.

Gomamon’s brow raised, “Wow, I’m not used to you joking around this much.”

“I made one joke, Gomamon.”

“I know,” Gomamon grinned. There was a beat of silence, and then Manami just about doubled over with laughter.

“You two are so cute!” she said, wiping a tear from her eye once she started to calm down a bit. Gomamon looked over at her with a proud smile on his face.

“I like her,” he said.

Joe was transfixed on Manami in those moments, a fond smile gracing his features.

“Me, too.”

***

Sora and Biyomon walked over to Mimi and Palmon, and Sora squatted down to be on Mimi’s level.

“Are you alright?”

“You know her?” Mimi whispered, and Sora’s eyes went wide. She could already piece everything together just based on how painful it seemed to be for Mimi to say those three words.

“He never told you about her?” Sora asked as she felt all the air pushed from her lungs. She turned her head to look at Joe, Manami, and Gomamon, then focused back on Mimi, now adjusting herself to sit cross-legged on the ground.

“He didn’t tell any of us about her besides you two,” Mimi said, unable to help the harsh edge in her voice, swallowing a lump in her throat and letting out a shaky breath before continuing, “And I poured my heart out to him yesterday.”

Mimi choked out a weak sob and in that moment Sora felt her heart break.

“You—”

“Told him I love him? Yes,” she said, mere moments from crumpling as her shoulders shook, “And he decided the right time to tell me about his girlfriend was right then.”

Sora was getting angrier with each word Mimi said, and when she looked over at Matt who was busy talking with Tai and Izzy, she could tell from the look on his face that he was feeling the exact same way. She distracted herself from it in that moment as she pulled Mimi into a tight hug, which the two Digimon quickly joined in on.

“I’m so, so sorry, Mimi. I’m so sorry,” Sora whispered.

“It’s…”

Ok? Of course it wasn’t.

But what else was she supposed to do? She promised herself she wouldn’t take it out on him. That wasn’t fair on him. Even if she wanted to be, she just couldn’t manage to be mad at him.

“It’s fine,” Mimi choked out, forcing a smile on her face as she briefly pulled away from the hug. Seeing how strong Mimi tried to look in those moments left Sora pulling her into another hug, and Mimi melted into her friend’s arms and let out a quiet sigh. Once she managed to calm down a bit, she wiped her eyes and pulled away, and Mimi swallowed a lump in her throat.

“So… you and Matt know her?” Mimi asked slowly, and Sora once again had that guilty look on her face as she looked away.

“Y-Yeah,” she choked out, “We ran into them one weekend while Matt and I were out. We were just as surprised as you are.”

“Oh.”

“Mimi… are you ok…?” Palmon asked, and Sora turned back to see that Mimi seemed on the verge of tears again.

“I-I’m fine, Palmon,” she said, silently glad she had decided to put on waterproof makeup this morning.

Footsteps stomped over, and both girls looked to see Yolei and Hawkmon approaching. Yolei looked as mad as she seemed when Joe introduced his girlfriend to the group.

However, as soon as she reached her seniors, Yolei’s expression softened, and she too, squatted down and hugged Mimi.

If there was anything good about all of this, it was that she was getting a lot of love from the people she loved most.

“I’m so sorry, Mimi, oh my god. Oh my god I’m so, so sorry,” the words spilled from her lips messily.

“Thanks, Yolei.”

“I have so many tuna mayo onigiri for you! You can have literally all of them today, I'll fight Ken if he even gets near them.”

Mimi coughed out a laugh, and this time the few tears that spilled from her eyes were from laughter.

“You’re the best,” Mimi said as they finally pulled away, “I know I suggested the picnic, but would it be bad if I just stayed with you guys the whole time? Or at least… didn’t go near Joe?”

“Not at all!” Yolei chirped immediately.

“You’ve been dealing with a lot. We can all hang out with you today if it’ll help,” Sora smiled.

Mimi was glad to have such good friends.

“Yolei, you don’t mind coming with me to help get the food set up, do you?” Sora asked.

“Not at all,” Yolei said as she shook her head, “Will you be ok until then, Mimi…?”

Mimi nodded, “I’ll be ok, promise,” she said before she handed the containers of cookies to the girl, “Do you mind taking these over, too? I made cookies.”

Yolei let out a wistful sigh, “You are literally the best,” she beamed.

“We’ll be right back, Mimi,” Sora said, waving goodbye as the two girls and their partners walked over to the small caravan of coolers.

“Ok everyone! We’re going to get lunch ready!” Sora shouted as she clapped her hands, getting everyone’s attention in an instant.

Mimi watched as all their friends gathered around Yolei and Sora, everyone getting plates full of food. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched everyone excitedly grab her cookies, unable to stop the laughter from bubbling from her throat as she watched Davis stuff a few in his mouth right away. That joy disappeared just as quickly when Manami grabbed a few for herself, Joe, and Gomamon.

Thankfully, she didn’t have too long to be caught in her thoughts, as Yolei was rushing back as quickly as she could.

“Mimi! I got you so much stuff!” she called out, panting for breath as she finally stopped in front of her senior and offered the plate. Hawkmon was a few steps behind her, carrying a plate stacked high with food.

“It’s a wonder you didn’t drop all of that everywhere!” Hawkmon chided, before he sat down, shaking his head and tutting at his partner’s behavior. Yolei smirked before she handed Mimi a plate of food and sat down next to her partner.

“Thanks, Yolei,” Mimi said before she picked up one of the many onigiri that was stacked on her plate. She picked it up and took a bite, allowing herself a few moments of peace to quietly enjoy it, as bittersweet as it was. She had missed delicious, convenience store snacks like this, and to be able to enjoy it surrounded by friends was something just as special. But with all she had been thrown into, even the simple joy of her favorite snack had lost some of its luster.

As Sora and Kari walked over, they could see the hurt clear on Mimi’s face.

***

As Matt walked towards their little group, Joe could immediately feel the danger he was in. The way blonde’s eyes were narrowed at him, his stiff body language, and the way his fists were clenched, Joe felt his fight or flight response screaming in his brain. Somehow Manami and Gomamon hadn’t seemed to notice, and in fact, Manami waved to Matt in greeting.

“Hey Matt, do you wanna hang out with us?” she asked. Matt’s expression lightened and he put on a smile.

“Actually, I was hoping I could talk to Joe for a few minutes? Just some…”

Matt’s eyes narrowed on Joe again, and he swallowed hard.

“Guy chat.”

“Oh, sure! Gomamon and I will go find Sora, then. See you in a few,” she said, waving goodbye to Joe with her fingers before she padded off across the park to the girls. Gomamon flopped over her shoulder and waved exaggeratedly to Joe.

“Well, at least Gomamon will have someone to help take care of him when I die…”

“What is wrong with you?” Matt hissed under his breath as soon as the two were out of earshot.

“I— I—” Joe stuttered.

Matt folded his arms as he stared down his friend, “Well?”

“Mimi… told me how she felt about me last night when I dropped her off…” he said, unable to look at Matt in those moments. He rubbed the back of his neck, his face hot just knowing how Matt was glaring at him.

“And you brought her along today? The hell is wrong with you?”

Joe’s eyes went wide as they snapped to Joe, and he shook his head, “No! No no no! I didn’t plan on that! Really!”

Matt took a deep breath and then let out a slow exhale to calm himself, “Then what happened?” he asked, unable to keep the slight bite out of his words.

“So I asked Mimi if she wanted me to pick her up, since I just… you know… wanted to offer that same friendship I always have. I wanted to make sure things wouldn’t change because of what happened yesterday,” he started.

“So, uh, when I went to pick her up, Manami saw us… Apparently she and Mimi are neighbors now…” he sighed, the information still turning over in his mind uncomfortably, “And Mimi asked if she wanted to come along.”

Matt quirked an eyebrow curiously, quiet for a few moments, before he shook his head and moved some hair out of his eyes.

“I can’t believe you, man,” he huffed out.

“How was I supposed to know Mimi liked me!?” Joe asked.

“Anyone with eyes can tell,” Matt shot back, “You even knew she liked you.”

Joe threw his arms up in the air, “I didn’t think she would still like me! It’s been so long since then that I just figured…”

Matt rolled his eyes, “You’re the only one.”

The blonde ran a hand through his hair as he looked over to see Manami with the girls, sitting between Sora and Mimi.

“I-I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to drop everything like this…” Joe grimaced. He struggled to swallow down a lump in his throat.

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Matt told him.

“…Yeah, I’ll… I’ll try and find a chance to apologize to her,” Joe nodded slowly. He owed it to her after yesterday. Seeing her like that had been tough, and it was why he wanted to offer that olive branch by driving her over.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone else about Manami?” Matt asked. Joe scratched at his cheek and sighed.

“It wasn’t on purpose. I mean, we’ve just been so busy that I haven’t had many chances to talk to anyone,” he shrugged. Matt fixed him with a steely gaze as he put his hands in his pockets.

“Why didn’t you tell Mimi?”

Joe froze, slowly turning his head to look at his friend.

“Uh, well, to be honest…”

***

The sun was slowly starting to make its way to the horizon, the sky turning orange against the deep blue water that was right by the park. The small group of girls— sans Manami— were sitting together near some of the boys playing soccer.

“I still can’t believe he brought his girlfriend that none of us knew about,” Yolei huffed out as she angrily took a bite of one of Mimi’s cookies.

Kari and Hawkmon sat next to Yolei quietly, unsure of how to react. Gatomon had finished eating and was curled up in Kari’s lap, asleep. After a bit, Kari cleared her throat.

“He is usually really busy, plus he goes to school pretty far from the rest of us…” she reasoned, “We know how he throws himself in his work, after all…”

“But the fact of the matter is, why would he date someone else when Mimi is right here!” Yolei shouted a little too loudly as she wildly gestured to her, causing Kari and Sora to cringe.

“I mean, I would be lucky and honored to date Mimi. Anyone would be,” Yolei added with a shrug.

Mimi sighed as she looked down at the last bite of onigiri, “I wish we could’ve moved back sooner.”

It was a selfish thought, but she couldn’t help it.

Mimi ate that last bite and began to chew, when Yolei’s eyes went wide and she clapped them against her knees.

“You gotta win your man, Mimi,” she said, deathly serious.

“Yolei, no,” Kari and Sora both immediately said, though that didn’t deter her.

“I mean, I don’t know Joe that well, but everyone can tell how into each other you two are,” Yolei said. Sora grimaced.

“Am I wrong?” Yolei asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“…No,” Kari said quickly.

“Even if you aren’t,” Sora started with a look that brooked no argument, “You can’t just try and get in between their relationship,” Sora told Mimi.

“I would never,” Mimi said, “He means too much to me to ever do something like that.”

Kari smiled and Yolei frowned.

“That’s our Mimi,” Kari said, and as Mimi looked at Tai’s younger sister, she returned the smile.

“But—”

That one word seemed to spark something in Mimi’s mind.

But she had waited years to come back so the two of them could have their relationship.

Mimi had these feelings for a long time, and she knew Joe had them for at least a while, too. She obviously didn’t want to take any of this out on Joe, or not be supportive of his relationship, but… was it entirely wrong for her to be upset about this?

That was Joe. That was the Joe she had known for years ever since they ended up in the Digital World and became best friends. That was her Joe, and if she hadn’t been whisked away to New York, they’d probably be a thing right now, right?

The thought kept burrowing deeper into her mind, refusing to let go.

It wasn’t right for her to get in between Joe and Manami’s relationship, but…

…Didn’t she deserve a chance to fight for him? At least a little bit? After she laid it all out for him, only to have her heart shattered and to still be hurting?

She had been waiting so many years for the two of them to have a chance at a relationship, and she couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. Not when she, not so deep down, wanted to try and get Joe to see that they belonged together, because even if she wanted nothing more than for him to be happy, she still wanted that happiness to be with her.

There was no way she could ever say it, but now the thought was stuck there: she had to win her man.

[paigelts05]

The no-go-extension [FNAF, Renegade AU]

https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/The-no-go-extension-FNAF-Renegade-AU-929917763

Renegade File Server Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858029

Published: Sep 18, 2022

I'm here again making more FNAF AR emails content. This time, I'm focusing on Nora and Tristan's exchange regarding the kerfuffle with the toy animatronics and thier facial recognition systems. And as this is the Renegade AU, there is a lot which is said in person, and many conversations that the email server does not see. Note, Nora is 32 and is 5 foot 7 and a half and Tristan is in his mid 20's and is over 7 feet tall. Nora only looks 'younger' because she works with people who are ridiculously tall whilst she stands at an average man's height. =°•.🌹 Story 🌹.•°=

°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*° "'HR'? That holds all the water weight of 'I'm telling dad'!" Nora huffed as she stared up at Tristan. "I had to go above your head about this! Everyone was telling me to add the extension! I couldn't just not implement it based on YOUR rejection. Thier research team would suspect something if I didn't!" The stress of being the one to build the vast majority of the toy animatronics all by herself was getting to Nora. Tristan, Charles, and Izzy had been saddled with their own back breaking work, each in a different department, courtesy of Fazbear Entertainment; thier contractee. "Well, anyway, it seems that both of us were fed conflicting information." Tristan shifted his gaze from Nora to glare at the deactivated Toy Freddy and Toy Bonnie that sat within Nora's workstation. He wanted to help her tear the facial recognition systems out of those machines, but he had been saddled up to the neck with Faz Ent's 'compliance team' work. "Well, I need to find a way to fix that issue by tomorrow morning, AND I have to finish up that stupid fox!" Nora slammed her fists down on her desk, "And I mean what I said about marketing." Tristan reached out to Nora, as he usually did, but she jerked away, giving him only a glare. "Look, Faz Ent' would have my head if I hadn't responded like I did," He couldn't even look at Nora now without feeling a pang of guilt. He had to make Fazbear Entertainment think he was the compliance team member they thought he was; act the bad guy, but was it worth ... This? "You should know this better than anyone by now." Nora stayed quiet for a moment. She didn't even look Tristan's way as she finally spoke. "But I've got those three robots to finish, and the guys over 'there' just keep sleeping on the job." The silence between the two was deafening. The contract, the robots, Nora's useless 'team' over at Faz Ent', being split and used as if they were themselves just employees of Fazbear Entertainment... It was becoming too much. Each felt a hand on one of thier shoulders. "I know you're stressed, with Fazbear Entertainment having us each work in one of thier departments. But we can't let that get to us." Charles, exhausted out of his mind, was behind the two of them. By the sounds of it, he had heard everything. "How!" Nora yelled, "I have two robots to overhaul in a night because everyone was telling me different things, and another due way too soon!" "Well, we have a lot at our disposal." Charles stated, "first, by having us work from our own building, we have been afforded the upper hand of being able to speak with one another without them being able to monitor our every move: we can speak in person. You two have done a good job so far of keeping suspicions low, acting the part they gave you, but you haven't been using our advantage, and we need to speak in-person far more than what we're doing right now." Both Tristan and Nora were quiet. "I have a feeling that this contract was designed to break us." Charles continued, "make us do the heavy lifting, treat us like they treat their own, then blame us when things go wrong to keep thier name clean." "And make us take the truth to our graves." Tristan's voice was almost a hiss. His life had already been threatened by the contractee once this week: an exec with a gun is never something you should brush off. "And the bastards are trying to get those robots to kill my Nora." Nora's face flushed red. "I- is that why they pushed me to install those blacklisted extensions?! And - you! You were - how do? AAARGH!" The suddenness of this revelation was becoming too much, and she hid her burning face behind her hands. "If you'd have told me, we wouldn't have had this argument!" She finally formulated what she had to say from behind her hands. "I couldn't." Tristan grimaced, "I was trapped at my desk with every testing and safety report due now now now, and if I emailed you, I'd have a bullet in my head right now too." Nora couldn't respond. Her blood went cold. She couldn't fathom or stomach the thought, but it was now burned into her mind. "Look, when those bots activate, they'll be normal for a while. Enough to get past testing, if bearly. You've tested them a bit yourself, right?" Tristan turned to Nora for an answer. Nora nodded. "So they know your face." The words that followed felt like bile in Tristan's throat. "So that when Fazbear decides they're done with us, they can send the command to kill, and have them target you." Nora felt herself shaking. Her life was in danger. The Toy Bonnie and Freddy were practically done, all that was left was the finishing touches. They could be activated at any time - now even - and just as easily, they could kill her. "I'm scared..." She whimpered, her boisterous demeanor all but gone. "We all are. We need to remove thier facial recognition systems as soon as possible." "But how did you figure out that they were trying to kill me?" Nora's question beckoned in an eerie silence. Tristan had explained how Fazbear Entertainment would use the toy animatronics to kill Nora, but he never said how this information fell into his hands. "I'd rather not share who I got this information from. For thier safety, as well as mine." Whilst he wanted to share all he knew, it was clear that some secrets were best kept for now, "They contacted me in-person and told me what was going on. They've also sent me a catalogue of news articles from many years ago. No doubt they're trying to prepare me for something dangerous ." Nora and Charles nodded. This was confirmed to be as bad, if not worse, than they imagined. But they just had to hold out until either the contract ended or Faz Ent' broke thier end of the contract. "Again, I suggest we work on removing the facial recognition systems first." "But how will I do that!? It's late and you're all busy or tired!" Nora felt fit to burst out sobbing. "You could get 'outside help'. We may be exhausted, but this could well be a life or death situation. We can afford to direct our attention to helping you; we know you'd do the same if another of us were in your position, and I think that falling a bit behind is the least of our worries right now." Charles once again proved to be the voice of reason, "and the systems are not supposed to be there anyway, correct? And the bugs? Non-reproducable? What if we make sure it never happens again." "I think I know what you're getting at, but I don't know if they'll notice." Nora looked over at Charles and Tristan, "they'll know something's wrong if they suddenly start working differently." "How about that workaround Tristan considered. We can make it act the same, but be ultimately benign." Charles replied, "it'll be as if you're following both sets of orders, so you can fall back on whichever one the higher-ups wind up demanding in the end." "And the fox?" The mass of parts in Nora's workstation that reminded her that she had such an exotic machine to try and build in such a short period of time made her worry for her life. "I can get marketing to push the release back a few weeks." Tristan looked at Nora, and for once today, the pit in his stomach was not there. "I can buy us the time we need." Choking back tears, Nora nodded. "Thank you." She wanted to cry, but if she wanted to live to the end of the week, now was not the time for emotions to get the better of her. The trio was quiet for a moment before Charles broke the silence. "You two get a head start. I'll call Izzy. We work two to a machine." Nora and Tristan nodded. They had to get started now or never, and work fast and smart. They had facial recognition systems to uninstall, and they were certain that it wouldn't go away without a fight. °*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°

[calypsoff3]

Forty Two.

Putting out my blunt walking over to my friends “I’m going to my wife’ home y’all” I announced, I have been a little off with the whole going to the house when her family are going to be there, and they are already there, I just don’t want the drama, I don’t want to argue. My dad being there just makes it so much worse; my mother literally told me she doesn’t want to play no part in that. She just told me that I am on my own with that which honestly makes me laugh but she knows, she knows that my dad would try and make remarks, so she said no that she won’t come. But I have been sat here having blunt after blunting just thinking on what I want to do, what I am wanting with myself. This is about me and my mental health so with the whole going there is a lot but I am going to pack an overnight bag and go there, she really wants me there and I am not sure if that is because they are saying things to her, if they are making her feel like she is alone when she’s not, I just don’t want to disappoint my wife so I think I need to do this for my wife, I have to do it for her, it’s unfair on her that I’m not trying when she is always there for me in so many ways “ain’t your pops going to be there?” Bouba said, all these niggas know about that nigga “he is but he’s in my home, why am I hiding, you know but yeah” Hoodie chuckled “you stand your ground Chris, I think you need to not hide away from it” he is right “I know bro but y’all can stay here but I will be there overnight, if anything goes off then let me know but yeah” I sighed out “you know what Chris, a-lot of fathers ain’t shit, I don’t think you should hide. It will make him think he got the upper hand, and yeah. You go there and be with your family and give Raihan my love” Bouba said “appreciate it bro, I will go and pack my shit” I am going to end up making a dick out of myself, Robyn did text me in the morning and I know she is missing me so much and I feel it from her, I feel it so much from her, but I just find it hard and overwhelming with everything. I adore my wife to the ends of the earth but there is some things I need to battle. I am doing this for her, she asked how I was in the morning but didn’t mention a thing, I asked Rylee and she said they are there, but I want to make her happy.

“So what are you up too then?” Maxwell asked me “Driving” I said as I am sat in LA traffic “did you decide if you was going to see the family or not? Do you feel that pressure of going?” Chewing on my top lip “erm, I was shocked in the morning. I slept; I have been sleeping more now. I feel more at peace, but I think it’s because Robyn and I are on good terms and it’s me, I haven’t lashed out, I haven’t done anything or said anything to upset her. I think my moods depends when I am feeling that way but yeah. She erm, she did text me and I was like shit, today is the day and she’s going to say it about coming but no. She said hey poppa how are you? I miss you and love you. I messaged her back once I woke up and said hey twin I’m good, just got a sore head. Put a feeler out there about you know, I may not come, making the excuse and I said I do miss her I feel it from her. So erm yeah she messaged back and said take tablets and rest, I will see you tomorrow, that was it. But I text my daughter and they are there, so I am going” I hate this fucking traffic here, so annoying “you have been saying that Rihanna has been changing her persona to accommodate you, her not mentioning it. How does that make you feel?” He asked “erm, less stress. Less weight on me for doing it, she hasn’t guilt tripped me doing it at all. I am going because I want too for her and the kids” which is true “she is understanding you Chris and I think we need to appreciate that. So you’re going there now? Chris I really want you to go there with your shoulders back, head up and go there with an open mind, do not walk in there closed off. You greet these people; I know you’re side eyeing me right now but greet these people. And then go to your wife, show her love, the kids. You aren’t crazy or damaged like he thinks Chris, you are in a happy and good space, and you need to show that, you are seeing your love. And it’s your right to be there, and Chris if there is things said who cares. And if you feel you can’t handle yourself you walk away or look at your comfort and that is?” He asked “Rihanna” we both said and laughed together “I believe in you Chris and I’m going to be thinking about you so please keep me updated with a text or whatever” I adore Maxwell so much, it’s unreal “bro when you coming to California? I need to see you” Maxwell laughed out “come on now, we will soon” I love this man a lot, he is my homie.

The drive is a little busy, filled with SUVs which is annoying because where do I park, now I wonder who and how many people are here but it’s whatever. Locking my car door, I won’t take my overnight bag with me. I will come back for that bag, making my way to the house. I really don’t know the code for this home or anything, she changed it but I guess I will wait it out until someone answers. Pressing the buzzer, stepping back. I have my shades on and a Snapback, this way I can hide behind it and whatever, but I am doing this for my love, this is what matters. I was going to press the buzzer again, but the door opened “dad?” Tianna said “hey baby” walking into the house “what are you doing here” hugging her “I came here because why not? Why can’t I come” Tianna hugged me close, squeezing her “yeah but like you know, pawpaw is here” kicking the door shut “who cares, this is my home too right” she nodded her head “I am happy you’re here dad” I cooed out, moving back from the hug “who is this?” I pointed “dad, that is Melody” letting out an oh “oh wow, you grown. Sorry just my mind everywhere, you good?” She got a little sad, I think she is sad I have forgotten her “hi” she breathed out “sorry” I apologised “it’s ok, I would forget me too. I messaged you on Instagram, but you ignored me” I cringed “I am so sorry, I’ve been busy. You are so grown, proud of you” she put her head down “where is everyone?” I asked Tianna, she pointed at the living room “mom has had enough of Raihan because she carries him everywhere” letting out an oh “he can use the crutches they gave him” letting Tianna walk into the living room, it is loud in here “he refuses so she carries him” walking into the living room, I am already apprehensive about coming but now that people have started going quiet, I need to remember what Maxwell said to me “hello people” I said, looking at Robyn and the way she is smiling at me, looks like she is about to cry, she is emotional seeing me but why is Mel even here “hey” I said, Monica wasn’t expecting me to even say hi “hi Chris” she said, dapping Rorrey and Rajad “good seeing you” Rorrey said before I went over to Robyn, she is sat when Nora “you can sit here” Nora got up “no, no sit” leaning down and pressing a kiss to Robyn’ lip “daddy!” Junior shouted, moving back and picking Junior up “what’s up son” walking off towards a spare seat in the corner.

Smiling at Raihan “are you being a big boy? Are you using the things the hospital gave you to walk?” I asked him, he smiled at me “daddy, look at me. Look at me” Junior is grabbing my face “yes I do it” look at this little liar “wait Junior” moving his hands away “are you lying to me?” He shook his head “ok, well you a big boy now Raihan, mommy can’t be carrying you like that. You’re not a baby anymore so I want you to do it” looking at Junior “dad, can I have some chips. I asked mom and she said no but you’re here so yes?” I laughed “I think you’re going to eat some lunch; Deb is here so no” he groaned out “dad!? Oh shit” Rylee said, “I didn’t know you was here” I smiled “surprise, too busy with Melo huh” there is no space in this room; I feel like everyone has become awkward now “move!” Rylee grabbed Junior and moved him “there is no space so” she sat on my lap “nice” I said smiling, she looked at me “you not speaking to pawpaw?” She said in a whisper “they are staying for the night” these kids tell me everything “mhmm so am I” Rylee laughed “literally, Melo is coming by the way. Don’t be annoyed, and no he doesn’t go upstairs. Also his parents invited us to theirs” pulling a face, Rylee reached over and took my shades off “better” Tianna is also looking for a place to sit “there is no room in the inn” Rylee said to her “girls” I said, Tianna sat on Rylee’ lap “seriously” I laughed “and I sit here” Junior was about to sit on Raihan and the way I grabbed him as he jumped up “no, he’s not well. Don’t be mean, sit on the floor” pushing him down “where is Imani?” My little pookie not here “she’s gone to her friend’s house” letting out an oh, she has friends “what is Mel doing here?” I asked Rylee “I don’t know” Melody is just staring at me but maybe she wishes she had a dad, not sure.

Looking up at Robyn as she made her way over “why are y’all here, sit on the floor, crowding dad” Robyn is jealous she ain’t sitting on my lap “come, you want the bathroom” Raihan got his arms up “no, he needs to use what the hospital got him. He’s being lazy” I said “Chris” Robyn said, let me back off “ok” I just said “mom is breaking her back” Rylee spat “stop it” Robyn said through gritted teeth, let me just leave it alone “girls, get up for me. Let me help your mom” I don’t want Robyn to hurting her back actually, this is not good for her. Picking up Raihan for Robyn, but she honestly needs to let him do it alone. Following behind Robyn out of the room and then I had to do a double take, who is this boy in the house “hi uncle” I have no idea who this boy is, I just walked out. Robyn closed the door behind me “I am super happy you came” she said “I can tell, who is that boy? In the house, who had a grown child?” Robyn let out an oh “that is Curtis eldest boy” I groaned out “he doesn’t do anything for my kids, you know that right Robyn. Like you know he doesn’t fucking care about my kids? He has that child in this house!?” Robyn shushed me “please” she said “I am right, don’t shush me. It’s fucking wrong, and why are they are staying here? Let me guess Curtis son is staying?” Robyn just stared at me “that is enough for me Robyn, I don’t get it” is she stupid “it’s one night. My mother asked me, it’s just one night and they are going off. Just please, don’t do this. For me, please” licking my lips “and I was going to stay here” I walked off to go upstairs, I just need to be quiet, I don’t want to upset Robyn.

Scrolling through Instagram, Melody is right she did message me on there. Placing the blunt between my lips “Big Breezy” looking up from my phone, seeing Melo come out outside, I am having a blunt outside. Locking my phone standing up “I had to come out here sir, you not going to kick me out now” dapping him laughing, moving the blunt back laughing “no, you good. You better be treating my daughter right” stepping back looking at my blunt, getting my lighter out “of course, I fought hard to get her” lighting my blunt back up “she seems so very happy, I can’t lie she does. You respect my house and I respect you” looking at the house, I wonder why my wife is a pushover “did Rylee tell you that my parents wanted to meet you both?” Nodding my head “she did, heard your dad is a little crazy” Melo chuckled “he’s loud” Robyn waved us over, I waved at her. I think food is ready “you see Rylee being your wife? Like for the long run? Let’s walk” I said “Rylee knows me, she accept my faults and what I go through with my own house and I respect her. She makes me happy and I would like to marry her yes but we are young” he got a point “Good answer, you know you have a lot of fuck ups to go through and I won’t ever judge you for it because I mean look how I am, I fucked up a lot but don’t let a bad bitch cloud your judgement, these girls are pretty. But they don’t know what is inside you, like you said she accepts your faults, don’t take it for granted. So when you inviting me to your games?” Stopping outside the house “whenever you want, front row seat. Next to my dad” I rolled my eyes playfully, Robyn was about to shout but saw us “come in, sit down and eat” she told Melo “he was looking for you, glad he found you hiding here” nodding my head “Chris, I want to say that it is just for one night” side eyeing her “I was going to say I stay or them but I won’t, that would be selfish of me” I don’t want to do that to her even though I want too.

Pulling the dining room chair out, I’m sat next to Robyn of course but I came out late “Chris you want me to warm it for you” I shook my head “I’m good D” sitting down and shuffling my chair in “you took your time?” Robyn asked “I know; just had a phone call. How is Raihan and the sleep walking?” Robyn laughed “he can’t really walk so he ain’t doing much at all; he was crying and I put him in bed with me” nodding my head “cool” taking my Snapback off “ayo Chris, when can I see your games room? I been hearing a lot about it you know, Rylee said your home is a maze, she rates it” I wish Melo didn’t but he did “if you want to hoop then we can, come up whenever without the ladies, they ruin things” Rylee side eyed me “I didn’t know Rylee had a boyfriend” Monica said “and he’s sat with us, shocking after what he did with Tianna” I laughed “well you right, but if I did that in your home with your daughter would you pat me on the back?” I had to say it “and I appreciate that what we do with my kids is our business, Rylee came to us and we accepted it. Tianna issue you ain’t need to bring it up at all, but it’s like you have a kink in doing this, we good over here. Just watch yours got it” see how kind I am “having another house shows you both have marriage problems” my dad piped up “and what does that got to do with you? On a real? You’re feeding off Monica money which technically is my wife’ money, I have another house and what? You have no right to even speak to me, I don’t ask about you so don’t ask about mines nigga” I don’t care about him “nigga? Wow, in front of the kids” he said “they all know what you are? I ain’t care anymore, you in my house. You tell me who is most unwelcome huh? My kids are going to ride for me not you, you don’t care about my kids. You have this step child in my house; for what? Show you are grandad of the year. You can stay here, because I allow it, because I’m not telling that you need to go, I know how manipulative you are I know you told Monica you wanted to stay here to piss me off, but stay. I’ll be in my bed, you lodge in a bed here. Don’t bother me” staring at him, my dad just stared back at me.