#even if it's not particularly good or just a dump from my messy head

[noxtivagus]

i wna write

[beenbaanbuun]

club w/ wooyoung

wrote this after an interaction with mean girls at my local club…

wooyoung has been gone for a little over two minutes now - the bar must be busy - leaving you alone with an almost passed out san

normally you wouldn’t mind since you were well practiced in the art or staring down men to the point where they would dare approach you

y’know, stare into their eyes with a disgusted look for long enough for them to grow just a little self conscious

there’s only one man it’s ever not worked on, but he’s your boyfriend now

sometimes wooyoung can be about as good reading the room as san is holding his liqueur - bad… with a capital B

but the issue tonight isn’t men, it’s women

more specifically, a group of girls standing just a couple of meters to your right

they’re pretty, you think to yourself, but the way they point and laugh warps your perception of them until all you see is a group of mean girls

mean isn’t pretty

you turn to look at the dazed man next to you

he seems to have taken an interest in the way the lights swing around the room, following them like a cat with a laser

“san,” you grab his attention, “can you see those girls over there?”

you point him in the direction of them with a tilt of your head, and his eyes follow slowly

he nods, stumbling a little as the movement makes him lose his balance

you catch him and push him against the wall so he doesn’t have to focus so hard on staying upright

“are they talking about me?” you ask, “they’re laughing at something in this direction but i don’t know if i’m being paranoid.”

san comically narrows his eyes at the girls, looking like they do in the cartoons, and you let out a small giggle

and then san nods

“they keep looking at you,” he clarifies, “one of them just took a photo, i think.”

your furrow your brows

“what?”

“yeah,” he angles his head so he can see the girl’s phone screen, “something about your back must be really interesting to them. they’re sending it someone on snapchat…”

the thought alone makes your heart freeze in place, and you immediately stop having fun

the smile on your face drops completely, and the weird little sidestep dance you always do at the club comes to a stand still

a drunk hand finds the top of your head - a little too hard, you must say, but you’d never tell san that - and gently tousles your hair

“they’re just jealous,” he slurs his words with a smile, and although they’re sincere you find it hard to believe

because they’re all standing there in their tight black t-shirts that accentuate their chest and baggy cargo pants that fall perfectly from their hips

and when you look down at yourself all you can see is your black corset that makes your tits look great, but sometimes reveals too much back fat for your liking, and your tiny black mini skirt that now you look at it, makes your tummy bulge over the top in a way that you hadn’t noticed until now

your distressed tights that you normally love now look messy under your critical gaze, and the knee high black socks that go under them just look weird

and all of that is without even mentioning your platform trainers that are chunkier than any other trainer you’ve ever seen, and add at least two inches onto your height

you look weird, you decide as you study yourself

“what’s got the prettiest girl in the club so down in the dumps?” you boyfriend asks loudly as he finally arrives back to your tiny group with his and your drinks in his hands

the laughter that comes from the group of girls punctuates his sentence cruelly, and you shrink into yourself more

you don’t particularly want to talk about it, but thankfully, with san in the state that he’s in, you don’t have to

“where’s my drink?” san pouts, ignoring wooyoung’s question completely

“i got you one like five minutes ago,” he didn’t, but san is too drunk to remember that, “look,” wooyoung points to an empty plastic cup on the floor, “you had a single vodka coke, remember?”

san is, somehow, satisfied with the lie and goes back to chilling against the wall with a dopey smile

wooyoung smiles fondly at his friend before turning to you with a more serious look

“now, back to you, baby,” he passes you a cup of pink liquid which you immediately start gulping down

it only takes a few seconds before wooyoung snatches it out of your hands with a frown

“okay, so that’s concerning,” he grumbles, “tell me what’s wrong.”

you shrug, but your eyes betray you

wooyoung must notice the way your eyes flicker over to the group for a few seconds and his gaze decides to follow yours

the girls are giggling, as usual, but this time you make eye contact with one of them

she looks you up and down before frowning and raising her hands in a ‘what have i done?’ motion

and then like clockwork, the frown cracks and they all start laughing again

you stare as the one that had looked you up and down moments prior uses her finger to instruct one of the others to do the same

you frown

“i wouldn’t normally say this, but they’re fucking bitches,” wooyoung whispers as he reaches a hand out to touch your shoulder, “do you want me to say something?”

you shake your head - it would be embarrassing for you if you sent your boyfriend to tell them off for you

even if they are acting like bullies in a playground…

“no, woo,” you shake your head and put on your bravest smile for him which you can tell he doesn’t believe, “just stay here with me, hm?”

he sighs and nods before shuffling the two of you around until his body is blocking yours from the group’s vision

but it doesn’t do much, not when you can still hear their laughter over the music

you try and let it go, but it’s all you can hear

the song could be anything in the world but you wouldn’t know

your mind is still racing and you can still hear them and you just can’t find it in you to have fun anymore

you look at your boyfriend, trying not to think too hard about the sympathetic look on his face

“actually, can we just go?”

you feel bad about your request, but you’d feel worse if you were to stay and ruin the atmosphere for the two guys who would otherwise be having a great time

wooyoung nods and puts a hand on san’s shoulder to pull him off of the wall

with one arm around his friend’s shoulder, he wraps the other around your waist and the three of you begin to walk

it’s slow, with san’s stumbling and the insane crowd of people, but before you know it, you’re almost out of there

but just as you reach the door, wooyoung stops

“shoot, i forgot to put the drinks down somewhere,” he unravels his arms and pushes the two of you over to a wall, “stay here, i’ll be back soon, alright?”

you nod and watch as he weaves his way through the crowd

you lose him within a few seconds, and decide to focus your attention on san instead

no doubt he’d be sleeping on your couch tonight, you giggle to yourself

it’s always an experience when he spends the night at yours; more often than not you wake up to him asleep on the floor of your room rather than the sofa you left him on

one time you’d even found him cuddled up to wooyoung in his sleep

you still have the photos on your phone as blackmail

the thought cheers you up a little

not much, but enough to bring a small smile to your face

a smile that quickly vanishes when wooyoung comes storming out of the room, a sheepish look on his face and a wet patch down his front

he grabs both of you and without wasting a second, drags you out of the door and onto the cold street

“what happened?” you ask as he hails a taxi

one pulls up and wooyoung quickly tells the driver your address before the three of you climb in

he sits next to you and takes your hand in his

“wooyoung, what happened?” you repeat

san gags as the car starts to move

you ignore it - san may not be able to handle drinking, but he’s not (yet) thrown up from it before - and keep your attention firmly on your boyfriend

he shrugs, “nothing much…”

you give him a look that lets him know you don’t believe him

he tried to wait it out, hoping you’ll let it go after a few seconds, but you don’t

“fine,” he concedes, “i spilt my drink on one of the girls, purely by accident, and she threw hers back…”

“wooyoung!” you slap his chest gently

he just chuckles and puts his hand over your own, pinning it to the sticky wet patch on his chest

“they deserved it, hun.”

[tadpoles-r-us]

Lynneira Sylverwind

Previously (prior to game events) a Paladin of Lathander

Oath broken and branded a heretic (long story)

Currently an Archfey Warlock

239 years old

she/her, but will also accept they/them from close friends

High elf

Chaotic good

Acolyte background

Romancing Astarion and Halsin

Photographic memory, but struggles to retain memory of sounds

PNES sufferer (Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures)

In-character journal here

(cringy lore info-dump under the readmore, may be rewritten at some point to better articulate things, I just need to get the thoughts out of my head first)

Lynneira is a very unfortunate example of- not present tense “fuck around and find out” but past tense “fucked around and found out”.

She was raised by her mother, Elenor; a chaotic but kind druid who ran an apothecary in Baldur’s Gate. She unfortunately never met her father, Ronan, a perpetually anxious Paladin of Lathander, as he died on a quest before she was born, but her mother always made sure she knew that despite never getting the chance to meet her, her father loved her dearly. Lynneira was the type of child to be attached to her mother’s hip, always trusting her over anyone else. She struggled with even saying hello to anyone that came to her mother’s apothecary, but took a chance one day when a particularly friendly silver haired elven boy with bright blue eyes and messy curls greeted her first. “My name’s Astarion!” he’d said cheerfully, a slight lisp breaking up his words, holding his hand out to her in an almost too formal gesture for a boy his age. His mother had come in for an herbal remedy to aid in joint pain, so lucky for her, she saw this boy a lot. Even more lucky for her, when she started school, she happened to share a class with him, so she had at least one person she could rely on for company.

As the years when by, her friendship with Astarion only grew. Of course she made other friends, but he was her ride or die, and she was his. Any time a big life event came her way, he was right there with her, as was she with him. The two drifted a bit socially in college, Lynneira choosing to continue where her father left off as a Paladin of Lathander, while also sitting in on some druidic courses with the intent of one day taking over her mothers apothecary, whilst Astarion decided to dip his toes into the world of politics with law school. Although the two elves kept in touch, still hanging out damn near every weekend, their lives grew busier and busier, and as such, they continued on mostly separate paths.

As they reached their 30’s, Lynneira was never quite able to understand why Astarion went for the position of magistrate. Growing up, as friendly as he was, Astarion hated most forms of authority, so it deeply confused Lynneira that he’d ever choose to strive for that sort of position. What confused her even more was the decisions he was making in court. She’d noticed he was becoming more and more self-serving, and some obvious prejudices were starting to rear their ugly heads. This bothered her of course, so much so that one day after Astarion got off work, Lynneira cornered him, infuriated, and began laying in to him. His responses didn’t help his situation, being dismissive and blunt. Lynneira couldn’t remember much of the fight really, but she did remember her last words to him before storming off, “They’re people, Astarion! Good people, with families and lives and needs! Just because your self-serving ass has become too privileged to see that doesn’t mean I have to stand by and watch!”. Astarion didn’t bother chasing after her, whether due to his pride or something else he’d never really figure out.

Lynneira spent that evening sobbing into her mother’s shoulder, wondering what had happened to the sweet boy she’d known all these years. Worse still, she had no idea that that would be the last time she’d see astarion for a very very long time. She’d intended to check on him the next day, to catch him before he went in to work and ask to meet up later to well and truly talk things out, yet as she waited outside the courthouse, she never saw him. Worried he may be off sulking somewhere, she made her way to his parents house, asking if he’d been hiding out all day, but they hadn’t seen him since he left for work the previous morning. Beginning to panic, Lynneira checked everywhere she could, searching for weeks at all his favorite spots, talking to his co-workers, his out of work friends, anyone that may have seen him, but he never turned up.

Most people might give up by this point, leaving the search up to someone more well equipped to deal with the issue, unfortunately, Lynneira is not most people, she is a fiercely loyal person, and will give up anything and everything to keep her friends safe. Her search went on for months… then years… then decades. She never forgot his face, the final image of him a smug frown. She wondered if maybe he’d just skipped town, maybe he’d had enough of her bleeding heart, maybe he never wanted to see her again. This thought plagued her, but she told herself “no, he wouldn’t do that, if not for my sake, he would have told his parents, and they would have told me.”.

50 years in to her search, realized she couldn’t recall the sound of his voice. 100 years in, she was desperate. She’d tried everything, searched far and wide, she was out of options. well… almost out of options. At some point in her search, she’d found a book detailing an ancient form of dark magic, one that would allow the weilder to connect with the shadows. in her desperation, she decided to try it, she wanted nothing more than to see her friend again, to apologize, and to tell him something that she’d only recently come to terms with, that she loved him.

The ritual was simple enough to set up, it felt similar to that of a deity summoning which, Lynneira guessed it sort of was, in a way. Locked away in her room in the second floor of her mothers home, she was ready. Before she could finish setting up though, she felt a pull, her vision blurring. Lathander was calling upon her, and she knew better than to ignore him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he’d questioned. “I’ve tried everything… I need to see him again.” Lynneira responded, her voice breaking. “I will tell you this once and once only, child, if you do this, you will lose everything.” The chill that ran up her spine at this should have been enough of a warning, but of course, blinded by desperation, she did not listen. She stepped out of that talk with her god with only one thing in her mind. “I will see him again, if it’s the last thing i do.”

As she called upon the shadows, her vision went white, body trembling and writhing as she tried to hold on, dark whispers filling her mind. Unfortunately, she could not hold on, dropping to the floor as her head pounded, her vision and hearing only clearing quickly enough for her to hear her mother downstairs in the kitchen scream. As Lynneira oriented herself, she caught a glimpse of her own face in her bedroom mirror. Something was wrong, very wrong. her once blue and green heterochromic eyes were now pitch black, swirling with what looked like smoke. Though she could still see, it was as if her eyes were now made of shadow. Lynneira struggled to get to her feet, her head still aching as she stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen. She realized very quickly that her mother was nowhere to be found. Before the panic of that realization truly had a chance to set in, she felt a strange presence behind her.

“I’ll admit, you’re an interesting case.” a strange voice spoke. Lynneira flinched, falling to the floor as she whipped around to look at the intruder. She was met with what seemed to be a sentient suit of black armor shrouded in smoke. “Who- who are you? Where is my mother? What did you do to her??” she questioned her whole body trembling as tears formed in her eyes. “I’m your new best friend.” The figure joked, clearly attempting to calm Lynneira’s frayed nerves. It did not work. He sighed, kneeling down to Lynneira and holding out a hand to her. “On your feet, Oathbreaker.” he commanded. Lynneira shot him a questioning look as she rose to her feet, her brow furrowing.

“I am the oathbreaker knight.” The figure explained. “I exist to guide paladins through their next steps after breaking their oaths.” He paused for a moment, allowing Lynneira to process his words. “Breaking their-…” Lynneira trailed off, the tears in her eyes now freely flowing. “Fuck… I broke my oath.” This pulled another sigh from the oathbreaker night. “Not exactly, my dear. What you’ve done is worse.” Lynneira only seemed more confused. “What you’ve done, screwing around with shadow magic, goes against everything Lord Lathander stands for, it is the exact opposite of what he stands for actually. Shadow against light, and, given that you were warned of the consequenses… in his eyes, you are a heretic.” The words shot through Lynneira like an arrow. She braced herself on the kitchen table as she choked on the air around her.

“That… no… what does…?” Lynneira wasn’t too sure, given the lack of facial features, but she swore the oathbreaker night was looking at her sympathetically. “That means that should you set foot in any of Lathander’s houses of worship from this point forward, you are an ‘on sight’ target for his followers.” Lynneira chewed the inside of her cheek, mulling these words over. She then shook her head. “I’ll… deal with those feelings later… Where is my mother?” A sympathetic laugh rose from the oathbreaker knight. “The shadows took her, just like they took the color in your eyes.” Lynneira did not take these words in stride, her body crumbling under her as she realized what she had done. In her desperation to reconnect with Astarion, she, of her own foolish actions, had lost her god, her magic and her mother in one fell swoop.

It took Lynneira 25 years to get used to not having her mother around, 50 more years on top of that to try anything else in terms of her search for Astarion. She’d heard rumors of paladins reaching out to other gods after breaking their oaths, and she’d recalled stories her mother had told her as a child of a deity that she herself had worked with. Titania, the Fey Queen. Lynneira did not have high hopes of getting an answer, but after searching through her mothers belongings, she found a journal detailing how to contact Titania. She knelt in the living room, hands clasped to her chest. “Lady of summer, hear my call.” she pleaded. “I have no one else… I acknowledge that thats my own fault but… please, I need help.” For a few moments, Lynneira thought her prayer was not heard, but as a near blinding light filled the living room, warmth filled her chest.

“My dear child, it took you long enough to call me.” A sweet voice called. Lynneira squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light, seeing a beautiful woman with what looked like dragonfly wings standing before her. “Titania?” Lynneira questioned. The woman nodded, holding a hand out to her and pulling her to her feet. “I’ve been watching you for quite some time, unfortunately it seems you didn’t pick up on the butterflies I was sending you.” Lynneira tilted her head as she processed the fey queens words. She had been noticing a lot of butterflies getting in to the house after her mother disappeared. “That… oh, I’m sorry.” Titania shook her head. “No need, my dear, you never were the observant type.”

The conversation that followed with Titania was not one Lynneira was expecting. Normally, when making a warlock pact, the patron will ask for something grand in return for their aid, but all Titania asked for was Lynneira’s devotion (marking the area around her eyes and her forehead with fae devotion marks) and her efforts in protecting non-violent fae creatures, stating “My dear, you’ve been through enough.” On Lynneira’s end of things, she asked to have eyes in all realms the fae could reach, if anyone spotted Astarion, they were to tell her right away. Upon questioning Titania about why she was helping Lynneira, the response was. “Your mother was good to me, and asked me to protect you, should you ever request my help. So that’s what I’m doing.” Lynneira was confused as to why Titania agreed to this, knowing what she’d done. Titania laughed. “My dear, unlike Lathander, I see no harm in you attempting to tame the shadows. I live for a little chaos. It isn’t your fault he’s got a stick so far up his ass you could put him on a spit.”

For the next 25 years, Lynneira spent a vast majority of her time travelling, upholding her end of the pact and aiding any non-violent fae that were in trouble. she would double back to her mother’s house every few months for much needed breaks, but Titania insisted she keep herself busy. Eventually, Lynneira got word that Astarion had been spotted in Baldur’s Gate near a marketplace. She’d received the news well in to the evening, and still she wasted no time running to see if she could spot him. As she made her way down the street, she ran square in to someone rather large. Before she had the chance to get a good look at them, her vision went black.

[dabisqueen]

Mutual Affection

Dabi x Reader x Shigaraki

⇢ rating: 18+

⇢ word count: roughly 5.6K

⇢ plot: new to the LOV, you have the hots for Dabi and your boss. After a few drinks at the bar, the evening takes quite an interesting turn

⇢ warnings: 18+, blood, use of quirk, alcohol, kissing, fingering, vaginal sex, orgasm, cream pie, cum

⇢ NO MINORS ALLOWED!!!

personal note: by popular request. this was so much fun to write. If you get to the end, I will list the ridiculous (and totally dump) titles my friend @/scruffymctee and I came up with for this fic (thank god i did not choose them)

________________________________

It was a relatively mild autumn night, I was walking home from work when it suddenly hit me. My stomach dropped, a tingling spread throughout my body. I looked around, searching for the cause of the activation of my quirk.

My eyes roamed the floor and there it was - a trail of blood leading away from me. I followed it around the street corner and then I saw him in front of me. A tall slender guy with a long black coat and messy raven hair. He limped a bit and cradled himself with his arms. I could see the trail of blood leading up to him and quickened my pace.

Hearing me approach he spun around, trying to lift his arms, but flinched and bent over in pain.

"You're hurt," I stated shortly.

His answer was low and growling “Don't come any closer."

"Look, I can help!" I called out to him.

"How's that" his piercing blue eyes boring into mine.

"I have a healing quirk." I said and extended my hand to him.

"You're a healer?" His eyes took on a suspicious glow.

"I merely said I have a healing quirk." I corrected him.

"Whatcha doing on the streets at night, then," he snorted, "Shouldn't ya be doing some hero work with that quirk?"

I shrugged and averted my eyes, muttering, "Don't work for heroes."

My answer made him pause and he asked, this time a bit softer, more curious, “Ya don’t?"

"I don't particularly believe in the current hero-driven society," I admitted.

His eyebrow twitched up and concerned by the growing puddle of blood on the sidewalk I asked "You're gonna bleed to death or will you finally let me help you?"

"Okay, fine." He let his arms hang down in defeat. I approached, inspecting his wounds. There were patches of seemingly burnt skin tissue attached to healthy ones with crude surgical staples. Some of them were missing, others half molten. The cracks between the skin bled and there was new scar tissue torn open, bleeding. His chest had also suffered from burn impact. I wondered what happened but kept my mouth shut.

"Used my quirk too much,'' he shrugged as if he could read my thoughts.

"Huh, sounds familiar." I raised a brow in surprise, "Ok then, this won't hurt. If at all, it'll hurt me," I mumbled and I placed my hand on his torn skin.

A tingling sensation surged through me as I centered my body’s energy into his wounds, gently gliding my hand over them and the bleeding stopped as they closed up, from the inside out. His cerulean eyes never averted me, watching me intently as little beads of sweat started forming on my forehead, my face draining of all color. I was getting light-headed, a buzz ringing in my ear as I moved over to his chest, pulling up the shirt to attend to his last wounds. If I weren't that exhausted, I would have marbled at his toned abs. Pulling my hand away, I panted, cold sweat on my forehead.

"It drains life energy from me," I wheezed when I saw him look at me with growing concern. Nudging him to the side, I stepped past him to lean against the wall.

"You ok?" There was honest concern in his voice.

"Yeah, j- just gimme a moment," I took a deep breath, trying to calm down my fast-beating heart.

It was always like this. The worse the injury, the worse I felt afterward.

"N- Need to go home now," I stuttered and without waiting for a reply stumbled towards my apartment building.

"Here, lemme help ya," he steadied me and we both closed the distance to the door, up the stairs to my apartment. "Ok, I'm good from here. Thanks."

"Doll, no need to thank. If at all, I need to thank you!" He grinned apologetically. His genuine reaction kind of made him really likable.

We parted and before I went into my apartment, I shot a glance over my shoulder, calling out to him "What's your name?"

"Dabi" he waved his hand in a parting gesture as he sauntered down the hallway.

Two days later he came back, recruiting me for the LOV.

________________________________

They had a small spare room for me, just big enough to fit in my bed and a small dresser, no windows, but I didn't need much more. I was glad to have finally found people who accepted me as I was. And who shared my resentment for the current hero-driven society.

Dabi and Spinner helped me move the few things I owned from my current place and the moment I closed the door to my apartment I said a final farewell to the life and society I had known up until then.

Getting along with the other members of the League wasn't complicated, I even became Toga's "New LOV-sister”, as she proclaimed right away, smiling like a thousand volts. Interestingly enough, I found out that Dabi wasn't the most loved member of the group, given his asshole attitude he evinced daily. His harsh words were never directed at me, though. It seemed he had taken a liking to me and it wrapped me in a blanket of comfort, knowing that he was always close, watching out for me. It stirred a funny feeling inside me, the way his turquoise eyes always seem to follow my every move. Or the way he would always saunter close, taking a seat right next to me. Brushing my skin when reaching for something, pressing himself a bit too much against me when leaning over. The way he'd pull a loose strand of hair from my face, tugging it behind my ear while we talked to each other.

After I settled down I finally got to meet the boss, Tomura Shigaraki. Dabi let me into the lounge one evening where he sat at the bar, staring at his cell phone.

He didn't look up when he snarled with a raspy voice, “You drink?” gesturing Kurogiri to place some glasses on the counter.

Before I could answer, Dabi placed his hand on the low of my back and ushered me to take a seat next to the leader, him flopping down with a huff on the stool next to me.

Shigaraki had a slender pale build, white tousled hair spilling in his face, all dressed in all black with red sneakers. His face was almost hidden behind the messy pale strands of hair hanging in his face. I could only make out his red glowing eyes being glued to the screen of his handheld.

We drank as Shigaraki kept asking me questions about my quirk, how it worked, and scoffed quietly when I told him about the downside of it.

“Still think she'll be a hell of a use to us,” Dabi grumbled and Shigaraki nodded slightly, still staring at the display of his cellphone.

It was kind of irritating me that he didn't even look up so I scooted closer to see what he was doing. He was so immersed I got a peek of his screen and saw that he was playing an online game. I couldn't help but admire him playing, his fingers just flying over the screen. Suddenly he noticed my close proximity and twitched back, peeled his eyes off the screen to take me in. They widened, an enraptured look spreading across his face as he took me in, roaming my body, stilling at my eyes again. A rosy hint spread across his face and he quickly looked back on his phone, trying to hide his blooming blush underneath those unruly locks again.

Up close, I could see his face for the first time, and noticed his cute nose, slender lips and fine cheekbones. He looked almost adorable, angelic - even with the dry skin surrounding his eyes and forehead and his chapped lips.

I flustered and averted my eyes, taking a big sip of my drink, almost emptying half the glass, trying to calm my rattled nerves.

Our short interaction didn't go unnoticed by Dabi, who watched the entire scene in front of him. He cleared his throat and leaned over to pull me back towards him again, leaving his hand on my hips for the rest of the night.

In the following weeks, I made myself useful in different ways. Being the least known member of the League had advantages, I could wander out during daylight, running everyday errands. I put the small kitchenette to good use, after I cleaned the moldy fridge and scraped layers of burned food off the stovetop, providing the league with warm food, much to the delight of everyone.

Ever since we first met, Shigaraki kept requesting my presence at the bar each night, having me sit next to him, sharing a drink. Dabi always tried accompaning me, each time having some other new excuse up his sleeve to be there - like being thirsty as hell or someone having bugged the fuck out of him again so he needed to get wasted.

Over time, I started to wonder if he just didn't want me to be alone with Shigaraki.

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

Both men had been on a mission together and it was evening, I was in my room resting when the familiar tingling inside started, my stomach dropped and my quirk kicked in.

Worried, I made my way over to the bar, knowing that they both would be there. I barged in, seeing the warp hole just closing as Dabi and Shigaraki spun around towards me and I approached them.

"Who's hurt?" I asked.

"Guilty as charged," Dabi chuckled and showed me his burns and wounds. They were minor, but I healed them nonetheless. Dabi nudged his head towards Shigaraki. "He's hurt too."

I went up to him, but Shigaraki looked at me annoyed, hissing "What do you want?"

I saw cuts on his face and blood dripping down his neck, "Let me heal you," my words were soft.

"It's nothing-" He scoffed and ignored me, turning towards the bar.

"Boss, don't ignore me! You hired me for this," I almost lost my temper, "Now turn around!"

Dabi snickered, seemingly amused by my outburst “C'mon boss, don't let that lil’ doll get upset.”

Shigaraki stopped in his tracks and turned towards me, his eyes glowing viciously. I reached out to inspect his neck but he twitched his head back, his jaw clenched and I huffed annoyed.

"Boss, this is not going to work if you don't let me touch you," I grumbled.

Dabi snickered behind us, arms lazily stuck in his pant pockets, finding the little bantering going on quite entertaining.

Shigaraki's eyes narrowed and started glowing dangerously as I reached out for him again. He flinched and we glared at each other for several seconds.

"Fine," he finally spat, not pulling back this time, letting me slowly weave my fingers into his hair, pushing it back to inspect the wound on his neck. I felt him shudder under my touch, as my fingers brushed over his skin, coming to a rest on the wound. They started tingling as I used my quirk to close the lacerated skin

Moving on to the cuts on his face, I slid my fingers softly over them to seal them, a small drop of sweat running down my temple. I felt his gaze burn upon me, being this close to him had his soft breath fan my face. His body emitted a faint yet intoxicating scent of damp linen and dust. I needed to close my eyes for a second, trying to regain my composure, as a familiar heat started to build up between my thighs, arousal springing forward. Opening them again, I saw him staring at me feverently, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips.

I felt a faint move on my hips and I stilled, holding my breath. Shigaraki still stared at me, red eyes burning into mine and I felt it again - a feather-light touch, his hand just ghosting over my hips. My breath hitched and I bit my lip to suppress a gasp.

"Boss-" I whispered, my hand slowly descending.

Dabi turned around, seeing us like this, and chuckled “Getting all cozy without me, huh? " With that he stepped up to us, wrapping an arm around me. He cocked his head, winked at Shigaraki and pulled me off to the hallway. “Boss, go get cleaned up. Let's meet at the bar in a few with this lil' doll."

Shigaraki glared annoyed at him, eyes glinting but followed. I also went back to my room to freshen up a bit. As I returned to the lounge, I saw both men already at the bar, drinking whiskey, waiting for me. I slid onto the empty stool in between them and grabbed a filled glass.

“You did well today.” Shigaraki's eyes immediately darted up to meet mine.

A blush dusted my cheeks as I held his gaze, my voice trembling slightly as I whispered “Thank you.”

We continued drinking, Shigaraki kept mostly to himself, but Dabi was in his element, making snarky comments, witty remarks and getting me to laugh as a cottony feeling spread across my body. After the third drink, I caught myself leaning into him too far when he looked at me. As he grazed my ear with his lips, my imagination went wild with me, inhibition starting to fade.

My glazed-over eyes met his and his mesmerizing turquoise eyes kindled a rapidly growing fire inside me. My breath hitched as I felt him stroking my thighs, sliding his hands along them, peppering my neck with hot kisses.

Shigaraki behind me let off an annoyed grunt, as he noticed Dabis advances. “Fucking slut,” he mentioned to him, but that earned him merely a cocky wiggle of Dabi’s eyebrows.

Suddenly I was hoisted up, my squeals drowned when Dabi threw me over his shoulder, legs in a tight hold as he carried me across the room.

Shigaraki snarled, “Where do you think you're going?”

“My room, gonna have a little fun with this babygirl.” Dabi smacked my butt, having me giggle shamelessly.

“No you won't,” Shigaraki hissed and slid off his stool, walking towards us, "She's mine.”

Deadly silence engulfed us as Dabi stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh is that so?” he placed me back on the ground, turning around to shoot a threatening glance at his boss.

Feeling the tension rise I stepped between them and raised my hands in an appeasing gesture, “Now boys, no need to fight. How about you can have me-” I paused and swallowed, "both?"

Shigaraki made a punch-out sound, while Dabi clicked his tongue in approval and chuckled approvingly "Attagirl!"

Gathering all my courage I stepped up to Shigaraki, whispering, "Boss, I want you to join. But-" I lowered my gaze, "I haven't done this before," Shigaraki was still standing stiff in shock.

"A threesome?" Dabi closed the distance to us, "Awh doll, that's not too uncom-" but I interrupted him.

"N- No, not that, Dabi. I mean-” I fiddled nervously with my hands, gesturing crudely towards my lower half, “Uhm, this thing."

Silence engulfed us, Dabi’s mouth slightly agape, Shigaraki seemingly confused, scratching his neck, staring intently at the floor beneath him.

Dabi caught on first, a malicious glint starting to grow in his eyes, "Oh doll, you're a virgin! I think I'm in love!" he snickered.

I tried to hide my growing blush by throwing my hands in front of my face.

"Now, this is too sweet," he nudged his head towards Shigaraki, grinning a toothy grin, “He's one as well."

"Shut up," Shigaraki hissed angrily, not being able to suppress a growing blush spreading across his face.

"Awh, c'mon boss, this is your opportunity. Whatcha think? You're in?" The corners of Dabi's lips pulled up into a smirk, cerulean eyes on fire as he kept looking between me and Shigaraki waiting for an answer.

I turned my head to look at my boss, his scratching intensified rapidly when I stepped up to him, grabbing his hand, pulling it away from his neck.

His eyes, peeking out from behind his disheveled banks, darted to mine and I brushed some of the hair off his face so I could get a better look at him. He didn't try to stop me, fidgeting uneasily with his hands.

"Can't think of anyone else losing my virginity to but you…" I whispered, llifting one finger to trace over his scarred lips, his eyes widening slightly.

I leaned in towards him, noses brushing, my mouth hovering over his, "What do you say?"

He let out a desperate groan and crashed his lips on mine without warning. An approving whistle sounded from behind us as Shigaraki started mouthing at me, sloppy but with enthusiasm. I leaned into the kiss, intensifying it as he pushed me backward towards the door. We crashed into the wall, arms and legs entangled, tongues twirling around each other. I could feel the growing bulge in his pants grinding against my hips and I sighed into his open mouth. We parted, our breaths heavy, a silvery string of saliva connecting us as he muttered, "Fuck, I'm in."

Dabi snickered lowly, “Good, that's settled then,” and he stepped up, pulling me away from him.

"Your bed, boss, got the biggest,” and with that, he nonchalantly kicked the door open and pulled me down the hallway towards Shigaraki's room. I stumbled after him, hands intertwined with his, giggling high on endorphins.

Once inside the room, he flopped down onto the bed with me, as Shigaraki closed the door behind us, slowly approaching the bed.

Dabi nuzzled my neck, kissing it, letting his tongue slide over my skin, "Hmm… ya taste so good - fuck, I could come right here and now," he paused, "But we need to take care of the boss first.”

He pulled off and I scrambled to my feet, Shigaraki moving up to us. I grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He stood, shivering with excitement in front of me when I laid my palms flat on his chest and he groaned, deep and lustful.

I latched my lips on his, and he responded with a heated kiss, sloppy tongue, hands all over me. I stepped back, giving Dabi the time to pull off my shirt, exposing my bare skin and bra. He undid that one too with a snap of his fingers and it fell down my shoulders on to the floor. Eyes raked my body unabashed and hungry as Shigaraki started groping my breasts.

Dabi undressed down to his boxers, a raging boner sporting in his pants, Shigaraki stood still, not moving.

He crawled to the middle of the bed, leaned his back against the headboard and placed a pillow between his slightly spread legs. "Cmere," he growled longingly.

Laying down on my back between his legs, head nestled in the pillow, I could smell Shigaraki’s scent as well as Dabi’s and it made my head dizzy, my core tingle. Dabi kept stroking my hair and gestured Shigaraki to position himself between my legs.

“Need to get her all wet and ready,” and he pointed towards my pants while continuing to caress my cheek, the other hand stroking my breasts, tugging on my sensitive nubs, eliciting sweet whimpers from me.

Shigaraki panted as he pulled down my pants and underwear in one go. He kept staring at my wet folds, taking them in, a rapturous look on his face. Suddenly lunging forward, he buried his face deep in my cunt, tongue darting out. I yelped as I felt him eagerly licking a long, slow strip up my slit, gathering my essence on his tongue and moaning at the flavor. “Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he muttered, slurping up my juices, pressing his tongue inside to make me shiver. When I weaved my fingers through his hair, he closed his eyes, a deep guttural moan escaping his throat before he latched onto my clit, eliciting a wimperly cry from me.

“So eager, huh,” Dabi chuckled while he kept massaging my breasts, poking on my nipples, sending exquisite jolts of pleasure through my body.

Shigaraki pulled up, my juices covering his mouth and chin, red eyes dilated, messy hair sticking to his damp forehead. He lifted his hand, looking at me with a pleading expression, and as soon as he saw me faintly nodding, he slowly slid a finger in down to his knuckle, not far enough to break anything, just to get me to wail out at the intrusion. He kept sucking my clit relentlessly, tickling my entrance, making his fingers slick with my juices. All the while he kept rutting his clothed cock against the sheets, letting out throaty, drawn-out groans.

I was getting dangerously close to the edge, a white heat starting to build inside me “Dabi, I’m-” I whined, “I’m gonna c-cum-” and Shigarkai picked up the pace, laving his tongue over my clit harder, suckling with more intensity. With another wicked lap of his tongue, I came undone. I buckled under him, Dabi chuckling lowly as he kept stroking me, carrying me through my high. Lewd wet sounds filled the room as Shigaraki sucked up my sweet release. He groaned at the way my folds contracted around his finger, my clit pulsing on his tongue with each contraction of my climax.

Coming down from my high, I closed my eyes, feeling spent, trying to catch my breath. A thin layer of sweat covered my skin, making it damp to the touch.

Shigaraki straightened himself, messy hair, pupils lust blown, my release clinging to his lips and chin as he looked up to Dabi and the dark-haired man laughed low, “Go ahead!”

Shigaraki instantly freed himself of his pants, his cock bobbing out, hanging heavy under its own weight. I was thick and veiny, angrily twitching with his excitement.

I gasped and heard Dabi whistle behind me “Holy shit, Boss, ya need to go easy on her with that monster.”

“I-Its not going to fit!” I squealed, scared stiff, trying to close my thighs. I bent my head back to give Dabi a pleading look but he hushed and stroked my face, “No worries, he’ll go easy on ya, won't ya?" he threw Shigaraki a threatening glare.

Shigaraki ignored it and lifted one of my legs over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around my thigh to keep me in position. Keeping his pinky raised, he carefully slid his tip up and down my folds to collect my juices and pumped his length a few times to have them lube his dick.

As I felt the pressure of his tip prodding my entrance, my hands reached up to grab hold of Dabi’s and my eyes widened with fearful apprehension as he kept muttering words of encouragement to me.

Shigaraki was shivering with anticipation, the tip of his tongue peeking out between cracked lips as he slowly pushed forward. The head of his dick slid between my folds with ease. He hissed, his teeth tensed, and pushed further. I huffed and squeezed Dabi’s hand tighter, whimpering at the stretch. Dabi growled, “Hey there, careful!”

But he was already too far out of it, mesmerized by the sight of his dick sliding into my tight cunt. Without a warning, he snapped his hips forward, sheathing into me. The small resistance inside me had no chance against his brute force, ripping and making me wail out in pain. I arched my back as the pain of being split open tore through my body, my nails digging into Dabi's skin, leaving marks for sure but I didn't care.

"Fuck, boss," Dabis growled dangerously.

The burning feeling had tears running down the side of my face. I sobbed, feeling stuffed, aching. Shigaraki collapsed on my chest, panting heavily, trying to gain some composure. "Fuck, you're so tight," he hissed through clenched teeth. His breath was hot on my skin, his hair tickling my sensitive breasts and I felt his dick twitch inside me, increasing the sting.

I felt so full, I could hardly breathe. I looked up at Dabi, tear-struck eyes but he kept stroking me, wiping my tears away, mumbling doing so good, taking him so well. Shigaraki started moving his hips and it instantly tore a moan from my throat, having my eyes roll back in my head. Each of his strokes had me keen, running a chill up my spine into my brain and down again, settling right between my thighs.

With each of his ruts, the wave of arousal grew higher, more intense, the pleasure far outdoing the pain. My gummy walls started clenching around him as he popped a nipple in his mouth, twirling his tongue around it, sucking on it like a baby. His movements became faster, he grunted and moaned around my nub as he filled me up over and over again. And with each of his ruts, I felt him hitting a spot inside me, that soon had me see stars.

I could hear Dabi’s strained breath as he watched us both nearing our high. I kept pulling on his hands, knuckles white as my whole body tensed in anticipation of the nearing climax, hairs standing on end. Abandoning all self-control, I rocked my hips toward Shigaraki, taking him even deeper. "Fuck-" he panted, eyes glazed with lust, cracked lips slightly parted. My body tensed up as all resistance snapped like a twig and I came, my walls clenching around him like a vice. A white light blanked out my vision, my back arched as I keened, each rut of Shigaraki’s prolonging my climax, my pussy sucking him in with each wave of pleasure.

The way I contracted around him as I came pushed him to his own orgasm. He kept fucking into me now, the overflowing amount of slick seeping out of my pussy helped his dick slide in and out with ease. With one final stroke, he sheathed himself completely, his tip kissing my cervix as he came.

“Fuck- oh fuck, fuck,” he let out a strangled groan as he filled me up with his sticky cum. A few more sloppy moves and he stilled.

He rolled off me and sagged down into the sheets beside us, his crimson eyes glazed over. There was a lust-drunken emptiness in his expression as he was panting, trying to catch his breath. His hands were curled into loose fists above his head and he stared at the ceiling, cracked lips slightly parted. His pale skin had a deep red tint, his hair stuck in sweaty disheveled strands to his face.

I released Dabi from my vice grip and he cupped my face, bent forward to kiss me, chuckling “Now, that was something…”

He helped me up, tossed the pillow carelessly off the bed and turned me around, using his shirt he grabbed off the floor to wipe away the rosy cum and blood mixture from in between my thighs before pulling me onto his lap.

Instantly, his mouth was on mine, kissing me passionately, parting my lips to swirl his tongue around and taste me. I had been waiting for this so long, I melted into him, kissing him back, running my hands along his abs, down to where a white tuft of hair trailed down to his cock.

While he continued to kiss me passionately, he slowly pulled his boxers down and I giggled when I helped him wiggle it off his legs. His cock was long and thick - a heavy piece of muscle topped with a pink mushroomy head that was oozing precum - big enough to send anyone into oblivion.

Our lips met in a stormy kiss again as he thumbed his length, aligning it with my entrance. Bracing myself on his shoulders, I slowly started to sink down on his cock. My slick arousal helped his head ease in between my folds. He hissed, holding me by the waist as a light rock of my hips had the head popp in smoothly. I held still for a moment, it still burned a bit, my walls clenching around him with the need to be filled.

I took a deep breath and with a strong rut, impaled myself on his cock. Dabi threw his head back with a strained groan, while a sharp pain tore through my cunt as I was being split open by him. I arched my back, a deep loud whine escaping my lips at the invasion.

"S'much better than I imagined” he panted, hips shuddering below me. Dabi cussed at the sight of my belly bulge, while I was trying to get used to the exquisite stretch.

“Fuck,” he groaned again, and drew his cock out of me slowly, before pushing it back in with a strong thrust, whatching as my belly stretched around his size again.

Feeling him throb inside me, hearing his breath hitch and the low, breathy moan that rattled his throat was too intoxicating. I couldn't think straight anymore, only a greedy mix of mumbled sighs and moans tumbled from my mouth.

He started rutting his hips into me while holding me steady at my waist. I whined every time the head of his cock grazed that sensitive spot deep inside.

Dabi picked up the pace steadily until he was fucking relentlessly into me, pounding into my sweet spot over and over again. Each piston of his hips had us moaning, groaning into each other’s mouths as we continued to kiss each other. Every thrust hit that perfect spot deep inside, having me hurl higher towards a heavenly release.

Bringing our foreheads together, holding me there he groaned hot against my lips "Look at me," and I tried focusing my must blown eyes, staring into his electric blue ones.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, watching me bounce on his cock. He managed to keep that relentless pace up and as the pressure became almost unbearable, I whined "S’too much, m' gonna cum–."

Dabi brought his thumb down on my clit and started rubbing fast circles on it. I kept chanting his name, over and over again, tears rolled down my cheeks, the double stimulation proving to be too much as it pushed me over the edge.

My core released all its tension in a mind-blinding high. The world erupted around me and I came with such a force, my body went rigid and all I could feel was pulsing white heat that left my vision blank. A loud keen erupted from my mouth and I went limp in Dabi's embrace. The wet sounds were replaced by squelching ones as I released around him while he continued pounding into me.

"Fuck..." he stuttered as I kept coming around him, with every rut of his hips. His movements became erratic, his eyes fluttered, a primal groan escaped his throat as he spilled over, his hips sputtering thick hot loads of his release inside me. He sheathed himself again one last time in me, ripping yet another climax from me, gooey walls clenching around his length like a vice.

I collapsed against him, his dick continuing to twitch inside me while he stroked my back, murmuring good doll, well done… kissing the top of my head. My body was like a live wire, the tiniest touch sending ripples of goosebumps across my skin. We both stayed like this for a while, recovering from our highs. I could feel his dick softening, his cum leaking out and I cuddled up into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me there. Listening to his heartbeat slowing down helped my poor aching heart also calm down.

Absolutely spent and tired, I slid off of him with his help, feeling his still half-hard dick sliding out, our combined release gushing out of me.

Taking from the light snoring sounds next to us, Shigaraki had passed out, sound asleep, legs slightly spread, arms above his head, hands balled into fists.

I wiggled out of Dabi’s embrace, earning me some protest, and crawled down the bed to grab a sheet off the floor that had been dropped in the action and pulled it over Shigaraki’s bare body.

Then I slid back into Dabi’s arms, him pulling me close and I nestled my head into his neck while he pulled the other sheet over us. He kissed my hair, running figures on my back with his fingers and whispered, "M'proud of ya, did so good tonight."

As we both felt sleep overcome us, I snuggled into him, mumbling drowsily, “Should repeat that tomorrow,”

He let out a low hum of approval, nuzzling into my hair, pulling me in tighter as we both drifted off into sleep.

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[scuttling]

Head Over Feet - Chapter 4

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Spencer Reid/Female Reader (Unrequited) Word Count: 5,180 Chapters: 4/4 Complete Tags: 18+, NSFW, Unrequited love, Protected sex, Oral sex, Vaginal fingering, Rough sex, Friends with benefits, Praise kink, Daddy kink, TW Fire, TW Burns Summary: Falling in love with one of your two closest friends was never something you planned; it only makes sense that falling in love with the other would also come as a complete surprise. *Inspired by/in collaboration with @ssamorganhotchner. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Link to AO3 or read chapter 4 below! You pat Spencer on the back, rub your hand soothingly over his shoulders. He’s not crying, but he’s clinging to you like a child, and your heart aches for him a little.

“I’m sorry, Spence. I know it’s hard when you care about someone and things don’t work out, especially because of what we do. It’s complicated; sometimes people just don’t understand.”

He shifts out of your embrace, stands up, runs a hand over his face.

“I’ve spent most of my life not being understood. I thought maybe I found someone who finally got me.”

You get him, you muse; you’ve always been the one to translate his info dumps into useful commentary, to sense when he’s overwhelmed, anxious, to pull him back before his emotions get the better of him. You may only be his friend, but dismissing that fact hurts more than it should.

You sigh, step into the kitchen, fill your electric kettle with water and turn it on, pull a box of chamomile tea out of the cupboard.

“I’ll be right back. Watch the kettle,” you say, patting his arm, and you head for the bedroom.

Aaron has his undershirt on, and he sits on the edge of the bed staring at the tv—he’s not so much watching it as just looking at it, and when he catches sight of you in the doorway, he turns it off.

“What’s going on?”

“Chelsea broke up with him,” you explain, wrapping your robe tighter around your body. “He missed a function because of work, and she wasn’t able to see past that. It’s been a point of contention.” You know it’s a bit of a sore subject, even after all this time, because of his divorce; you try to tread lightly.

“I should go,” he says, standing, and instantly your heartbeat races. You step toward him, put your hands on his arms.

“No, don’t go. Aaron,” you say when he pulls back, looking around the room as if forgetting that all of the rest of his clothes are piled by your front door. “Please, I don’t want you to go.”

“He needs you.” His voice doesn’t sound particularly kind or unkind, just flat, and you sigh, reach up and take his face in your hands.

“Hey. I’m making him a cup of tea—to go.” He wets his lips, and you pull him down for a slow, soft kiss, drag it out, breathe against his mouth. “Please stay with me.”

“You want me to stay, and you want him to go,” he murmurs, clarifying, and you nod, kiss him again.

“Yes. Give me ten minutes?” He agrees, and you turn to head back to the kitchen, but he stops you, pulls you close for a kiss so full of hunger it makes your head spin. You wouldn’t have thought you’d have another round in you after all that, but it may not be completely out of the question.

Back in the kitchen, Spencer leans against the counter, waiting for the water to boil. His eyes roam over you, and then the mess on the floor—clothes, shoes… condom wrapper.

“I didn’t realize he was here,” he rasps. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have come.”

“It’s alright. I understand.” You walk around him, pull a travel mug down from the cupboard, an unspoken sign that a warmer welcome is not being extended tonight. “You’ll go home and get some sleep. In the morning, call her and apologize for the things you said. The situation may not be as hopeless in the light of day.”

“It feels pretty hopeless,” he counters, and you stand next to him, look up at him.

“There have been times I’ve felt pretty hopeless. You’ll get through it, with or without her.” He rests his elbows on the counter, his head in his hands, frowns exaggeratedly.

“I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t take me back. I was a jerk.”

“Love makes us brave and dumb; it’s an unfortunate combination—and you, Doctor, are not used to feeling dumb.” You tap him lightly on the arm, smile softly. “If she gets you as well as you think, she just might understand your reasons for saying what you said.”

“How did you get through it? When we… When I…” He trails off, but you don’t need him to finish; you both know what he means to say. “Because it feels like my heart is literally breaking, even though I know that’s biologically impossible.”

“It wasn’t without effort, or… help.” You think of Aaron in your bedroom, who has been nothing but patient and kind and caring, who has been there through sleepless nights and self-doubt and you being, honestly, a little insufferable; the thought makes you smile. You loop an arm around his, lean against his shoulder. “Or the knowledge that what is meant to be will be. I was meant to love you, Spencer Reid—but only like this: friends, partners, bad movie buddies.”

“I like this,” he agrees, and you stand close until the kettle beeps. You prepare his tea, snap the lid on the cup, hand it over, and he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Okay, I’m taking your advice. Wish me luck?”

“All the luck,” you say with a smile, and then you see him out, close and lock the door behind him. You make a second cup of tea—in an FBI mug, this time—and head back to your bedroom, press the cup into Aaron’s hand where he sits propped up against the pillows.

“Is everything alright?” he asks as you climb onto the bed, curl up against his side.

“I think so; I gave him some advice, he left in better spirits. Whether or not they can work it out is another story. He can take it from here, though.” Aaron takes a sip of tea, hands you the mug, and you take a sip and then set it on your bedside table. “I’m glad you didn’t leave,” you say softly when you turn back to him; you just look up at him for a moment, then wrap your fingers in his t-shirt, pull him close for a slow kiss. “I don’t ever want you to leave, you know?” You brush your nose along his, and he brings a hand to your cheek, kisses you back—it starts as something tender, but becomes steamier as it goes on, until you’re panting, breathless against each other’s lips.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers, and you kiss again, a bit rougher, more desperate, pull his shirt over his head. You sweep your hands over his shoulders, his arms, brush one through his hair.

“Good. Don’t leave me.” You rise to your knees, untie your robe, and he gets his hands inside it, runs them over your body, pushes the robe off and onto the bed. He presses up to pull his boxers off, and you swing a leg over his, straddle his thighs, curl in to kiss him deeply, wet and messy. “Don’t leave me, Aaron,” you breathe, beg against his lips, and you lean forward to slip him inside.

You grip his shoulders, moan as you sink down, and work your hips, pressing kisses to his face and hair. His hands caress you, running up your back, gripping your hair where it falls over the back of your neck. “Oh, baby. Fuck,” he groans as you move up and down, and the hand on your back slides down to press against your ass, to encourage your quick, eager movements. “You’re so good; you feel so good. I’m here, I won’t leave you.”

“Hmm. And I’m yours, right daddy?” You look up at him, chest heaving, grip his hair at the back of his head, and he nods, moves his other hand to your ass as well and squeezes hard; you whimper, tip your head back, slam down roughly.

“You’re mine, kitten, all mine; you belong to daddy.”

“Oh, fuck yes. Yes.” You moan, lean back in his lap, press your hands against his legs, and ride him hard; nothing has ever sounded better than his groans, looked better than his face while you fuck like you haven’t already gotten off twice by his perfect body tonight.

You let your hair fall back, bring a hand up to rest on his flexing stomach, and he surprises you by running his hands over your thighs, then your legs, pushing you up so you have to plant your feet against the bed. He wraps his big hands around your hips, takes control and moves your body up and down on his cock, your ass meeting his thighs with each of his thrusts. The new position means you’re leaned back further than before, and that he can see everything—your blissed out face, bouncing breasts, your pussy as it hugs him, enveloping him in tight, wet heat.

“Daddy’s good girl, fucking so pretty,” he grinds out, and you just hold onto his legs, moan while he works to bring you both off. “Come on my cock, baby, all over it. Give it to me.”

“Oh, god. Yes, daddy. I will, I will.” Your head drops back, exposing your throat, and you swallow hard, whine your impatience. You want to please him and find release, and it’s frustrating but so fucking sexy, the position he’s put you in. “Harder, please, please.”

“Harder? Are you sure you can take it?” He slams you down roughly, thrusts up faster, and you tremble both with effort and pleasure, press your nails against his thighs.

“I can take it, I can take you. Feels so good.” You’re breaking a sweat, can feel it prickling at the nape of your neck, behind your knees, and you bounce in his hands, clamp tight, nearly sigh in relief when your orgasm is just out of reach. “I’m gonna come, daddy, gonna come on your cock—oh, fuck. Fuck.”

“Yes, baby, just like that.”

Your climax is powerful, lengthy, and Aaron is loving it if the tightened grip on your hips, the low groans of pleasure are any indication. You don’t have it in you to help anymore, too worn out, but he continues to move your body until he comes, and you stare down at him, satisfied and out of breath and ridiculously—surprisingly—in love.

Oh, fuck. Three weeks go by, and you don’t talk about it—with anyone. It eats at you, and you simultaneously want to scream it from the rooftops and hide it in the dark and hope that the feelings pass.

You love Aaron. You’re in love with Aaron. Your best friend, friend with benefits, the man you suddenly on a whim decided to call daddy because you just can’t get enough of him: of his strong hands, soft hair, lips and voice and just… everything.

You’re not sure when exactly your feelings for Spencer went away, but it’s like they drifted off silently into the night, only to be gradually replaced by sharing big breakfasts and a hot coffee on your desk and wearing his flannel pajama pants just because they’re comfy and lazy morning sex on the weekends—

—are you dating Aaron? Because friends with benefits doesn’t feel like coming home to just the right person at the end of the day, like you missed him even though you work together. It doesn’t feel like desperation, like a need to know you belong in his arms, like a confirmation that he’s here because he wants to be, not just because you asked him to be.

Things haven’t really changed since that night—you still go to one of your apartments after work, have dinner, have sex some evenings or just relax others, sleep together every night—but you’re so nervous you’re going to slip up and say or do something to clue him in that you’re almost always on edge now. He notices, because he notices things, and because he notices you.

“What’s got you acting so odd lately?” he asks softly in your ear while you cuddle on the couch, reading, your back against his arm, legs stretched out in front of you. You’d like to crawl into his lap, wrap his arms around you, breathe against his neck, but you settle for this because it’s a little more manageable.

“Odd? Me?” He curls his arm around your chest, rests a hand gently on your throat. There’s no pressure, it’s just a soft claim, but it makes your heart beat fast.

“Yes, baby. You’ve been quiet. You haven’t flipped a page in a while. Is something on your mind?”

“Not really,” you murmur, and he taps a few fingers against the side of your neck.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” It’s soft, not a line your daddy expects parroted back to him, but a question Aaron feels the need to ask. You bring a hand up to rest on his arm, something of a hug.

“I’m just thinking. Enjoying sitting here with you.” You tip your head back to look at him, and he leans down to kiss your mouth, slowly, deeply, squeezing your throat just a little. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy, cared for, and a little turned on. “Are you enjoying me?”

“I always enjoy you,” he says quietly, brings his other hand to your cheek to cradle your face. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, looking up at him, into his deep, curious eyes—he seems to know there’s something more, but he also seems to know now’s not the time. “Do you want to go to bed?”

He nods, and you both get up, tidy up the living room, turn off the lights. When you climb into bed, you just kiss, for what feels like hours, curled up around him, skin on skin. Your next case takes you to Portland, where you are tasked with building a profile for a serial arsonist. It’s not going well.

“We’ve been over this,” Derek says, running a hand over his head. “The motives for arson are simple: vandalism, crime concealment, political statement, profit, and revenge.” You stand in front of a whiteboard with your arms crossed; the words he just said are already scrawled across it in your handwriting, in green dry erase marker.

“Well we’re missing something, so let’s go over it again. There have been no signatures, no hits on social media, nothing sent to the news outlets, so we’re not thinking ‘political statement.’” You draw a line through the words.

“No connection between the buildings, so we’ve all but removed ‘revenge’ from the list,” Emily adds, and you draw a line through that one too.

“Second building had no insurance, was taken over by the city—no one profited from that,” Penelope adds from the speakerphone. You strike it out, sigh.

“That leaves vandalism and crime concealment.”

“Nothing was found at any of the scenes to indicate crime concealment, but it is possible,” Derek reminds you; that one stays on the board. Emily taps her pen against her notepad, looks up at you with a cocked brow and points to the board.

“We’re forgetting one. Hero syndrome: when a firefighter or other first responder sets the fires with the intent of returning to help put them out.” You quickly scribble it on the board.

“So we know that in most instances, those who engage in acts of arson due to hero syndrome have had some type of failed attempt at heroism in the past, be it a botched detective exam, dishonorable military discharge…”

“What about someone who failed out of the arson investigator program?” Penelope asks, keys clacking in the background. “I have an Alexander Carter who works for the Portland Fire Department who has failed out of the program—wow, a whopping six times.”

“Could be he’s trying to prove what an asset he’d be,” Emily proposes, and you turn to jot it down, then freeze.

“Did you say Carter? Alex Carter,” you repeat, and she hums.

“Yes, Alexander Carter, age 30, 5’11”, 200 lbs, brown hair, brown eyes.” You cross the room in a hurry, search your jacket pockets for your cell phone, and Derek stands almost immediately.

“What is it?” he asks, and Emily and Penelope echo his question.

“Hotch and Spencer are with Alex Carter right now. They’re checking out the last scene, the one where the fire went out on its own and didn’t spread. The one that failed.” You look up at him, hold your phone up to your ear, dialing Aaron. It rings and then goes to voicemail three times before going straight to voicemail the fourth. Derek tries Spencer, but his goes to voicemail right away. “We have to go there. Fuck. Garcia, what’s the address again?”

The three of you rush out of the conference room, passing JJ, who gets a brief rundown from Emily and offers to stay back to keep an ear out in case they call. You, Emily, and Derek strap on your vests, and Derek drives—Speed Racer may be useful right now, but your hands are trembling. You sit on them so no one sees.

The building is up in flames when you arrive, and there are firefighters on scene as well as police, EMS… and the coroner.

“Where are they?” you all but scream at the detective. He stands, hands on his hips, shakes his head, and your throat goes dry. “God damn it. Say something. Where are our men?”

“Where do you think they are?” He gestures to the smoldering storefront, and you take a calm, measured breath and step away from him; nothing you say will do you any good, only serve to get you in trouble, and it’s not his fault anyway, not really. You try the fire chief, hope you don’t sound like you’re pleading when you ask him for news.

“My people are working hard to put the fire out; we don’t know the extent of it. We can’t say for sure,” he says, and it’s kind, but firm. Not a guarantee. Derek finds you, puts a hand on your arm, and you look up at him like he’s going to have the answers to this. Someone has to, right?

“We just have to wait,” he says, soothing, and even though you know he’s just trying to help, you could punch him in the face; it’s an unfamiliar feeling, not something you’ve ever felt when faced with Derek Morgan. You shake your head.

“Wait? Wait for what, for—for them to be pulled out in body bags? I can’t wait, I won’t wait. I’ve waited long enough as it is,” you mutter under your breath, turning away. You stare at the flaming storefront, trying to formulate a plan that doesn’t end with Derek tackling you before you can get close enough to call for them, but you can’t come up with anything, and it’s not necessary anyway: less than ninety seconds later, Aaron and Spencer come around from the back of the building, looking a little worse for wear, but not as bad as Alex Carter, who is badly burned on the left side of his face.

You are so relieved you could pass out, and it’s an honest to goodness miracle that you don’t. They get Carter to the ambulance, where the EMTs begin to treat him, and then they walk toward you.

You can’t help it, your feet move without you, bridging the distance, and you crash into Aaron, nearly knocking him over; you cling to his shirt and inhale the scent of smoke and cologne, listen to his heartbeat, think the words you’ve been so afraid to say out loud.

He holds you tightly, one hand on the back of your neck, murmurs words in your ear that you can’t make out; when Derek and Emily come over, you snap out of it, grab Spencer by the shoulder and pull him in too, and the five of you form a group hug and you are not the only one to cry.

You go back to the hotel so everyone can shower, wash away the soot; you would have preferred being able to shower with Aaron, to move your hands over his body and see for yourself that he is unharmed, to wash the stale scent of smoke from his hair, but that’s just not possible. You settle for a text that tells you he’s okay, he’s just tired and ready to go home with you—home, which is apparently wherever you are, whichever apartment you are making noise in, taking up space in, wherever you are leaving half empty cups of tea.

You’ve never wanted to kiss him so badly in your life, but the flight from Portland to Virginia is five hours long and almost torture. He sits next to you on the plane, which doesn’t usually happen, and he does paperwork, brushes his free hand against yours occasionally. You drift in and out of consciousness, so tired from the emotions of the day, and before you know it Aaron is smoothing his hand over your head to wake you up.

He drives you to his apartment, stopping only to pick up takeout from your favorite Indian place—the bags are abandoned on the kitchen counter, though, because the moment you are behind closed doors, everything changes.

You kiss him like it will be the last time—and maybe it will be, considering what you plan to say—your hands in his hair, breath on his lips, the taste of him on your tongue. This could be like Spencer all over again; you hadn’t realized then just how not on the same page the two of you had been, not even on the same chapter, maybe in a whole different book, so what makes this any different? What you have come to realize is love could just be comfortable, guaranteed sex to Aaron, and if he turns you down too, you’ll probably give up on all of it.

You move to the bedroom with the practiced motions of a couple who has walked this walk many times before, but this time it feels different. It feels like matching energies, like emotions that have been tamped down and are now allowed to be fully expressed, fully exposed.

Aaron gets you out of your clothes first, with sure, gentle hands, and then you strip him slowly, look him over the way you wish you could have earlier. You touch his arms, his chest, his stomach, then bend to run your hands over his legs, his feet.

“You’re whole. You’re here,” you murmur when you stand, and he takes your face in his hands, presses his lips to yours again and again.

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you; I meant it.” You wet your lips, look up at him, exhale softly. After a sentence like that, what the hell are you waiting for?

“I love you.” His eyes search your face, and you release one soft sob before he pushes you back onto the bed, covers you with his body, kisses you deeply, wet and passionate.

“I love you—fuck, I love you,” he breathes, his hands in your hair, on your face, and then he reaches down to grab your wrists and hold them above your head. You gasp, shudder, spread your legs for him, and he weaves a hand between your bodies, roughly rubs your clit. “Going to fuck you so good. So good.”

He stares down at you, wrists clasped in one hand, the other working to bring you close, or off, you’re not sure; you ache to touch him, but since you can’t you just breathe a little harder, hitch your knees up higher, give yourself to him.

“Please, daddy,” you sigh, and he knows what you want, guides his cock inside you and then slams it all the way in, so deep that you’re overcome by the feeling of fullness and your eyes water. It’s not pain, or even really pleasure, though it does feel good, but more like… completeness. Like you were made for each other in all the ways that count.

He thrusts into you hard, his knees digging into the bed, and you take kisses when he offers them, moan when he doesn’t, struggle against his grip on your wrists just to feel him tighten it. He pounds his hips roughly against you, uses his free hand to squeeze your ass, then your breast, and then finally, eventually, your throat.

He hovers over you, panting, staring down like he’s viewing a masterpiece and not looking at your sweaty, overheated face. “Can I have you? All of you?” He glides the hand from your throat down to your chest, rests it just over your heart, and you nod, surge up to meet him for a kiss.

“All of me—all of me.” He releases your arms, plants his hands against the bed and fucks you hard, and you slide your hands up his back, pull him down so he’s fully on top of you, heavy and solid and strong. “Take me, Aaron, I’m yours. Take me.” You lift your legs, knees almost up to his armpits, and he holds your hips, kisses you deeply, messy, pumps inside and then comes murmuring your name into your hair. You clutch him, buck desperately against him, mouth at his shoulder, and he shushes you softly, brushes his palm over your hot cheek.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he says with a kiss, and then he slides an arm around your lower back, tilts your hips up, grinds inside until you come digging your fingertips into his sides.

He rests your body against the bed, drapes himself over you, moves his mouth slowly up and down the side of your throat; you wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he presses a hand to the back of your neck, holds you close to him. After a few minutes, he speaks, low, into your ear.

“So this is why you’ve been so…”

“Odd?” you say with a smile, and he tilts his head so he can see you, smiles too, kisses you on the lips.

“Yes. Odd. Because you love me?” You shift slightly, pull back so you can see him better, card your fingers through his hair.

“Not because I love you, because I was afraid to tell you I love you.” He makes a face like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and you brush your thumb over the ridge of his ear. “I’m not sure if you remember this,” you begin, softly sarcastic, “but I recently told Spencer that I loved him, and it didn’t go over very well. I was scared that could happen with you, too. It was easier to just enjoy what we had.”

He looks over your features, sighs lightly.

“Do you remember the night you stayed late at the office to help me with the records retention? We ordered pizza and you raided Rossi’s office for liquor.”

“Yes, and it was very expensive Scotch and it went very well with my veggie pizza. You smiled more that night than I’d ever seen,” you say, almost dreamily; you’re such a goner for him, now—it’s like letting yourself tell him was the last straw, and now the floodgates are open and your affection pours out of you, thick and sweet and sappy. You press a palm to his cheek, and he covers it with his hand.

“That was the night I realized I was in love with you.” You look up, think back, try to place that night on the calendar.

“That was six months ago. Right?” He nods, slow and steady.

“Yes, six months ago. Two months after that, I… miscalculated. I got it in my head that you and Reid were in a relationship. I tried to pull back, give you space, but you never seemed to want that, so I selfishly continued to spend time with you.” You curl around him, press close for several soft, slow kisses, lightly tug at his hair.

“Well, that explains why you were so confused when I told you what happened with Spencer. Why you thought you couldn’t talk to me. Silly.”

“I just wanted to do the right thing. You were happy, and I thought it was because of him.” That makes you frown, and you think of what happened that night after Spencer’s, how you came here, broken down about being rejected by another man, and Aaron, who was in love with you, was so kind and gracious and sweet, put your pieces back together. You don’t deserve him, or any of it.

“I was happy. I’m happier now,” you whisper, because any louder and you wouldn’t be able to get the words out over the lump in your throat. “And I am so in love with you.”

“I’m happier now, too,” he says, hovering over your lips, “and so in love with you.” Saturday morning is for sleeping in as long as your bodies will allow—that only ends up being 8:30, but it still feels indulgent—and puttering around Aaron’s apartment, stealing kisses because you can’t so much as brush past him without his arms winding around your waist, without wanting to push your hands up the back of his shirt and hug him.

You both get a text at noon, from Penelope, stating under no uncertain terms that the team will be meeting at a bar you frequent, at 9 PM, and that everyone is expected to attend—significant others are not only welcomed, but encouraged.

“So. If you’re alright with it,” Aaron says when he’s driving to your place—he’s dressed and ready, looks handsome in a navy shirt with his sleeves rolled up, top button undone, but you didn’t have anything appropriate to wear, so you’re heading home to change your clothes. “This could be an easy way to tell the team we’re in a relationship.”

You don’t think it will be particularly easy, especially not for you, because you’ll be hounded for information all night, but the timing is convenient, and you just love to hear him say that you’re in a relationship, so you agree. You change, head to the bar, and when you meet up, Penelope and Emily are already there.

“Hey, guys,” you say as you hug Emily, and then Penelope. “Just the two of you so far?”

“Just us single ladies,” Emily says with a sip of her drink. “You didn’t bring the boyfriend? I thought we were finally going to meet the man who’s been putting a smile on your face,” she says with a grin of her own, and you shrug your shoulders, wrap your arm around Aaron’s.

“Actually, I did.” They both look at you, at Aaron, between you, then at each other, and then they aww in unison. You turn to him, smile, and he offers to go for drinks, excuses himself with a soft look and a brush of his hand.

“Holy shit,” Penelope says, and you can’t help the smile that takes over your face.

“Yeah, I know.” Well, that was a wild ride! Thanks again @ssamorganhotchner for the prompt—I know I changed a lot of it, omitted some things, but this is what happened when my fingers hit the keys! 🤣 Taglist 🤍: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing @uchihasteph @mugi-chwan95 @madamsnape921

[uvobreakmylegs]

Retrieval

I just wanted to write some gross shit sorry

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, graphic imagery, gore, blood, degradation, threats of violence

A trio of very intoxicated men stumbled out of the front door of the bar followed by you. You held the door open for a second as you called out to the men to have a good night and to come back soon, but before you could give any of them a chance to respond you had shut the door and locked it, the bell on the door jingling above you. Maybe you weren't being too subtle about wanting them to leave already so you and your coworker could clean up the place, but at the moment you couldn't say you cared too much. It was after midnight and you wanted to go home.

Your coworker, Corey, chuckled at you from the entryway to the kitchen.

“Not very professional of you.”

“Because people like that are coming to a sports bar for professionalism and not to get drunk off of their asses,” you answered, grabbing a bucket and rag to begin with wiping down the tables.

“It's on you if they call back to complain,” he teased.

You laughed.

“Like any of them will be able to remember when they wake up tomorrow.”

“Guess you got a point there.”

You hummed in agreement, wiping down the wooden seats of the chairs before glancing back to him; Corey was still standing in the doorway, checking something on his phone.

“Are you going to clean up back there or are you expecting me to do it for you?” you teased him.

Corey held up his hands in mock surrender before he disappeared back to the kitchen.

The small sports bar you worked at always got pretty messy, both inside the kitchen and out. Food crumbs, wet stains from spilled drinks and small things like loose change, wads of gum and people's small personal items littered the dark carpeted floor. The tables and chairs were usually in a similar state in terms of the food and drink residue. At least you had never needed to clean the bathrooms.

Moving from table to table, you would wipe the surfaces clean, letting the mess on top fall to the floor before you set the chairs upside down on top of the table. Whatever had ended up on the floor you'd get with the vacuum later. It was time consuming and monotonous, but there was a weird part of you that got a certain satisfaction of being able to return the dining area back to a clean state, even if it would be all ruined by the next evening.

Even if it was stupid, at least you actually had the freedom to do what you liked no matter how stupid it was.

Corey was playing something on his phone in the kitchen; knowing him, it was probably some new podcast he had gotten into. The noise you could hear from the back was drowned out when you turned on the vacuum cleaner, trying in vain to clean up everything on the floor. You really wished the owners would take the time and money to replace the carpet with some hardwood; it would make cleaning up easier and would just look nicer.

The bar was always last because it wasn't usually that bad and you could get away with a not so thorough job as you tried to finish up before your shift ended. Corey was almost always done with the kitchen at this point and would be ready to mop the floor after you wiped down the counter.

As expected, Corey was waiting in the kitchen doorway with the mop bucket right next to him when you made it to the bar counter.

“Any plans after you get off?” he asked.

“Sleep,” you answered.

“You sure lead an exciting life,” he said jokingly.

“It's going to be after one in the morning soon; what kind of plans could I have?”

“I don't know. Figured maybe you'd have a boyfriend waiting for you or something.”

Boyfriend.

That word brought back some unpleasant memories. Of things you wanted to forget, and what you had run away from all those months ago.

You tried not to show it, but Corey seemed to pick up on the way you tensed at that.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” you told him hastily, “not in the dating scene currently. I needed a break.”

He nodded slowly.

“Gotcha.”

You couldn't say that the two of you were particularly close, having only known each other a little less than a couple of months, but you did appreciate that he understood boundaries. Too many of the older staff were nosy and wanted to know your business, which frequently got on your nerves.

Wiping down the last bit of the bar, you were about to throw the cleaning rag back into its bucket when you both heard a loud banging sound coming from the kitchen.

“What the hell?” said Corey.

“I'll check it; you start mopping out here,” you told him.

He nodded as you brushed past him, your eyes looking about the kitchen as you entered it, trying to find the source of the noise. Setting down the bucket on one of the counters, you made your way to the back when you didn't see anything.

The culprit ended up being a large pan that had somehow fallen off the shelf. Most likely from being stacked incorrectly. That was annoying, since you now needed to wash it off, with it having touched the floor and all.

“Everything okay?” Corey called back to you.

“Yeah. Something fell,” you answered.

The wash you gave the pan was rather haphazard, but as you set it to the side to dry overnight, you figured that if the crew in the morning had an issue with it, they could clean it again. Right now you were five minutes away from clocking out and you wanted to get out on time.

“We're all good out here,” Corey's voice called again.

You were about to answer him when you noticed the bucket you had brought in, and when you ran over to dump the water out, you noticed the rag was missing.

“Ah shit.”

You'd left it on the bar counter, didn't you?

You had indeed managed to do that, and you slipped past Corey, standing on your toes and propping an arm on the bar counter as you reached for the rag.

“Could you maybe not step on my clean floors?”

“Sorry,” you called back, “need to grab something.”

Pulling the rag off of the counter by its tattered edge, you pushed off the counter a bit as you moved back to get off of the wet floor.

Somehow, you slipped. You felt your feet slipping against the wet tile as you fell backwards, and you had only seconds to try and brace for impact.

You hit something, but it wasn't the floor.

Corey had moved behind and grabbed you just in time. He held you like that for a moment so you could adjust your footing and stand up properly.

It was then you both realized that, in his efforts to save you from a nasty fall, one of his hands had accidentally ended up grabbing ahold of your breast, and he was currently groping you.

“Fuck I am so sorry!” he exclaimed, pulling his hands away the second you righted yourself.

“It's okay,” you answered. It came out a bit shaky, though that was mostly due to you almost falling.

“I swear that was an accident,” Corey continued.

“It's okay,” you insisted, “seriously, it's fine. I prefer that over having my skull break open.”

Corey nodded, but still looked sheepish, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head while he looked at the floor.

Eager to alleviate this new tension, you wracked your brain for something to say that would get things feeling not so weird again.

“Hey,” you said, “I didn't fall, so at least your floors have been spared from that.”

He chuckled a little bit.

“For the most part. But you still stepped on them in the first place.”

“I forgot I left the rag! Give me a break.”

“I will, if you move so I can re-mop the floor,” he said.

Happy that things seemed to have gone back to normal, you complied, walking back into the kitchen and tossing the rag into a bin. You grabbed the bucket again, hoisting it up to dump the murky contents into the sink.

A loud noise sounded from the dining area, like wood being split apart accompanied by the light tingling of a bell.

It was so unexpected and so noisy even in the kitchen that you jumped, causing you to spill some water onto the floor.

That noise..... Was that the front door? From hearing the bell it sounded like it, but hadn't you locked it?

“Sir,” Corey's voice sounded through the kitchen door, “w-we're closed.”

Corey saying that indicated that someone had come in, but that noise wasn't normal, and you set the bucket back down as you went back to the dining area to investigate.

And how did this person get in? You were certain you had locked that door.

You pushed open the door-

And froze.

Phinks.

He was standing in front of the bar's entrance, the door practically pulled off of it's hinges and hanging open. Bits of the door frame had splintered off from the force he had used to wrench it open and had been scattered on the walkway leading up to it.

But there was no way Phinks gave a shit about that.

The second you opened that door, his eyes were on you.

Rage.

Pure rage radiated from him, a blackened aura you swore you could see that slowly began to fill the empty spaces in the bar, his form stiff and his hands in fists that were clenched so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

Only months ago you had done everything to get away from this man. Now he had found you, and he looked like he was ready to kill.

Corey looked back when you had entered, and immediately noticed your terrified expression.

“You know him?” he asked you.

Words couldn't come out. They just stayed trapped in your throat as you looked between him and Phinks, your breathing becoming short and harsh.

That had told Corey everything, as he stepped in front of you and addressed Phinks firmly.

“Sir, please leave now. We're going to call the police.”

With Corey now in the way, you couldn't see Phinks. But when he spoke for the first time since entering, you could sense just how much angrier he had become at Corey's actions.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he hissed.

Corey turned back, reaching out to you as he said “go call nine-”

Faster than either you or he could even think, Corey was pulled over the bar and brutally thrown across the room, crashing into one of the tables, the wood surface splintering and the chairs on top flying.

“Don't fucking touch her.”

Phinks' attention was on Corey now, and he stepped away from the bar. Corey was groaning and disoriented. There was blood dripping down his face as well as his arm, and he was shaking so violently that he couldn't push himself up off of the floor, instead collapsing over and over again onto the bits of broken table.

Phinks stood before him and reached down to pull him up by the collar of his shirt.

Corey pushed away his arm and stumbled backwards, hitting the edge of another table. You could see his eyes now, and the way he looked at Phinks in terror and confusion.

“Pathetic,” Phinks spat.

The blonde rolled up the sleeve on his right arm, and began to wind that arm in a clockwise motion.

That was familiar, you realized, as a horrible memory was brought back.

A man had tried to cut the strap of your purse as you and Phinks were walking home one night. Phinks had noticed and pulled you out of the way, but not fast enough, and you had ended up with a large gash on your arm.

“You think I'm scared of you?” the man had said when an infuriated Phinks approached him, winding up his arm once, then twice and then three times.

Phinks punched him and the man went flying; across the empty street and into the side of a building. The impact had left a dent in the bricks and the man's blood smeared on the surface as his body slid down onto the pavement.

Your mind had gone hopelessly blank at the sight of that, the wound on your arm you had been nursing forgotten as you stared wide-eyed at your boyfriend, who quickly returned to your side and chided you for taking pressure off of the cut.

“Ph-Ph-Phinks,” you stuttered.

“Yeah?”

“You..... You killed that man.”

Phinks' gaze narrowed.

“What's your point?”

He was going to do it again.

That brought you out of your stupor, and you rushed to the edge of the bar as you yelled out “Phinks! Please! Don't kill him!”

More pleas for Corey's life were about to spill from your lips when he glared back at you, a silent command for you to shut the hell up. That look made you freeze up again, and you stood by helplessly, holding on to the edge of the bar as you watched Corey struggle to stay upright.

That murderous aura that had been around him was now stifling, and it affected Corey to the point that he was having trouble breathing.

You counted at least twenty times that Phinks had rotated his arm, the aura increasing every time he did it.

Phinks glanced back at you again, and rotated once more.

He punched Corey in the face.

And Corey's entire upper half exploded.

His head was completely gone, face caving in on itself where Phinks had punched until it burst out through the back of his skull. His chest and arms were blown to pieces from the impact, the smaller bits of muscle and organs ripping out of him and sticking to the walls while the larger pieces of meat slid down with the copious amounts of blood and collected into the booths below. His lower half that remained mostly intact slumped beneath the table he had been leaning against, the remainder of his insides spilling out onto the floor while one of his legs still twitched. There was a fine red mist in the air over what remained intact, slowly settling down and soaking into the dark carpet.

You couldn't move.

You just stood there, keeping your hold on the edge of the bar, occasionally tensing and untensing your fingers as you looked at the piles of red slush and bone that had been your coworker.

Phinks had already walked away from it, coming towards the bar. But he passed by you, slamming the door to the kitchen open and letting it swing shut as he entered. You could hear movement, the sounds of his shoes scraping on the brick-red tile of the floor, glass clinking, him cursing to himself, a faucet being turned, and a familiar sound of water filling up a small container.

But you still stood there, unable to take your eyes away from the horrific scene. Minutes, no, seconds ago, that had been a person. Corey had friends, family and aspirations. And within a single moment, that person had been reduced to a mangled corpse that would only fill half of a body bag. How would they identify him? Whoever cleaned him up, would they be able to get everything? Or would bits of him be left behind and stay forever buried in the cracks and crevices of the bar?

You had seen Phinks kill before and it had made you sick then, but nothing had ever been anywhere near as terrible as this.

Corey's leg had stopped twitching, but blood that had hit the wall continued to trickle down in small streams.

You heard Phinks let out a loud sigh as a glass slammed against a metal counter top.

“Okay,” he called out, “I think I've calmed down now.”

Those footsteps in the back became louder and the door swung open again. Phinks appeared by your side, and when he gently put a hand on your arm, you finally looked away from Corey.

Phinks opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he glanced over to the mess he had left.

“... Lets go to the back,” he said after a moment.

He pulled you with him into the kitchen, and you didn't fight him on it. He still looked angry, but it was considerably less than when he had first entered.

Phinks leaned against the rim of the sink, one hand staying on you as you were positioned to stand in front of him.

“Been a while,” he said quietly.

You didn't respond.

He tsked.

“Goddammit. I find you again after months, and now you can't speak because of that asshole out there. Look, I know I overdid it, but after seeing the way that guy touched you I couldn't control myself.”

His eyes narrowed and he continued “why the fuck did you let him get away with touching you like that?”

Somehow, you managed to find your voice.

“I-it.... It was an a-accident.”

Phinks' free hand came up to lightly slap the side of your head. It didn't hurt, but you flinched regardless.

He had used that hand to end Corey's life; he could easily do the same to you.

“Stupid. You actually thought a move like that was accidental? That bastard was taking advantage of you and you were laughing it off.”

That wasn't true. It had been an accident. But instead of volunteering those thoughts, you bit down on your lip as it began to quiver, tears starting to form in your eyes.

“Don't cry. Sorry. I shouldn't have hit you,” he said, his hand going back up to where he hit, softly stroking your hair.

“I'm just so fucking pissed at how gullible you are. What do you think would've happened if someone smarter had tried taking advantage of you? Fuck, some guys wouldn't need to be smarter; they'd just need to be strong enough to pin you down. Do you even realize how many ways you could've been fucked over before I found you? Did you even think about that? Or was that just me, because I'm actually capable of having some fucking sense?”

His hands settled on your shoulders and his grip became tighter.

“I've been stressed out of my mind trying to figure out where the hell you went, how the hell you managed to get away, or what condition you'd be in when I found you. I couldn't find you and I swear I was going insane. And after all that, when I finally manage to track you down, I have to see you letting some piece of trash grope you?”

Those hands slid up until they were around your neck, and his grip became tighter still.

“It would be so easy,” he murmured, “to just snap your neck and be done with it. Then the constant headache I get from worrying about you would go away. If you're going to fight and run away from me than what's the point?

“Maybe it'd be better for me if you were dead.”

It was deathly quiet in that kitchen.

Phinks still held that grip on you, and you were certain he could feel how fast your heart was beating through the pulse in your neck. You stood there, stiff and quiet as he looked you over, thinking to himself.

He really was considering it.

Any wrong move from you, and there would be two corpses to be found in the morning.

After a few painfully silent moments, he sighed again.

“But I think that if I killed you, part of me would die, too. Maybe that sounds stupid, but it's the truth.”

Finally taking his hands off your throat, he pulled you against his chest to embrace you.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” Phinks said, “but I'd be even more miserable if I didn't have you. Does that make sense?”

Your face was pressed against the front of his tracksuit and you found yourself focusing on the patterned colors of white, red and green.

“I've heard it said a lot that being in love means that you also have to suffer,” he continued, “do you think that's true?”

“..... I don't know.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper and was muffled by the way he pressed you against his chest, but he still managed to hear your answer as he actually chuckled, rubbing the top of your head.

“'I don't know'. Big surprise there,” he said sarcastically, “you haven't changed a bit.”

When he pulled you away he was smiling, wiping away your tears with his thumb as he told you “don't cry anymore. I'm taking you home.”

Hearing that only made you want to cry more.

“Go get your bag and anything else you brought in,” he continued, “I already went to your apartment and packed up your stuff there. Once we're done here we can head out.

“We'll be back home before you know it.”

[champagnebrock]

you should be sad | one

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

SUMMARY — caught up grading essays you end up being late to get home, your husband isn’t too pleased. a short conversation with your ex (who called from your dad’s phone) ends with a physical altercation which you decide is the last straw.

PAIRING — fem!reader x angel reyes

WORD COUNT — 3,451

WARNINGS — abuse, violence, strong language, mentions of blood, reader gets a glass thrown at her head, loss of a job, manipulation, mentions of alcohol abuse and drug use.

NOTES — so, this is a x reader fic, but you have a nickname (tok/tokyo) which will be explained a bit later (just wanted to clear that up so no one was confused)

POSTED — 08/22/21

CHAPTER ONE: free

—"HAVE A GOOD NIGHT TOKYO!" your co-worker shouts, waving as you pass her room.

you step back and wave, "night meg!"

you keep walking, adjusting the strap of you bag. you check your watch, six-fifteen.  shit shit shit. i'm so fuckin' late. once out in the parking lot, you pick up your pace even more, all but sprinting to your car. you should've just packed up your students essays at four like you planned, but you'd gotten distracted by two particularly good essays. when you finally looked back up again, it was six.

you packed your things at the speed of light, and then booked it, only slowing down to pass your co-worker's open doors. you speed nearly all the way home, shortening the thirty minute drive to fifteen. you pull into your driveway and fear shoots through your entire body as you catch a glimpse of your husband's porsche sitting in the driveway.

i'm so dead. dinner is not cooked and you weren't home when he arrived. instinctively, you touch the fading bruise on your wrist from the last time you'd been late. grabbing your bags from the seat beside you, you scramble toward the house, hitting the lock button on your key fob as you go. you carefully open the front door, your rottweiler dog ares bounding down the steps just inside the door, excited to see you.

he skids to a stop, plopping down on the carpet a few feet from you as you take off your shoes. you dump your things on the floor, and sink to your knees patting them so signal ares he's allowed to come to you. he barks once excitedly, and you wince, hearing a chair scrape heavily against the linoleum as ares nuzzles his face into your neck.

ares is solely your dog. you'd gotten him before you'd gotten married to dominic three years ago. well, partly true, you'd gotten him with your ex, and as much as your ex loved ares he felt like it made more sense for you to keep sole custody of ares because he was rarely ever home. dom absolutely hated ares and that has a lot to do with how protective over you ares is.

when things turned violent with dom, you felt as though ares was a god send. the minute dom even raised his voice, ares had his lip pulled back in a snarl. you loved ares with your whole heart. dom steps into the hallway, his tie askew, his hair messy and his dress shirt sleeve pushed up to his elbows.

"why are you so late?" he demands, stepping toward you and ares. ares has turned on dom—sensing like every other time that dom is drunk—his unclipped tail high, and his ears forward. dom steps back, nearly tripping over his own feet.

you stand up straight, "i got caught up with grading some essays,"

"sure you did," dom scoffs, rolling his eyes. "i was home an hour ago, no dinner, no phone call... i work my ass off to maintain your "lifestyle" and you can't even give me the courtesy of a phone call, really y/n?"

you so badly want to point out that the only reason his porsche hasn't been repoed yet is because you've been covering payments. the only reason that the power hasn't been cut off, is because you've taken a second job to cover the other half of the bills. your "lifestyle" is not the issue. him having lost his job a year and a half ago is the problem.

"i'm sorry," is what you reply instead, knowing that if you bend to his will you might actually get a few hours of sleep tonight. "what would you like for dinner? i think we have steaks in the fridge."

"i'm not hungry now y/n." he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. "i was hungry an hour ago, i ordered a pizza, which you can pay me back for,"

"right, okay, sorry. how much was it?" you ask, digging in the pocket of your dress, producing a fifty dollar bill. before you can search your other pocket for smaller bills, dom snatches it from your hand.

"this'll do, cover the emotional distress as well," he replies, shoving it into his pocket, and turns on his heels heading back into the kitchen. likely to make himself another drink.

you take a deep breath, and ares calms down as well. nuzzling his face into your lowered hand, you look down at him, and crack a small smile. you lower yourself, "you're the only man i need," you whisper kissing his nose. he licks your face and you groan softly, standing up again.

you scoop up your bags and head upstairs to your room to change into pj's. you had a late lunch, eating while you're students finished up their essays last period so you're not hungry quite yet. you take the steps two at a time, ares following closely behind you, stopping every few steps to glance behind him to see if dom will follow. he doesn't. which you're thankful for.

after a quick outfit change you plop down at your desk in yours and dom's shared office, though he never spends any time in here anymore. you place your cellphone on the wireless changer on the edge of your desk and pull the stack of essays out of your work bag. with your reading glasses perched on your nose you set to work.

after grading three or so essays, your phone begins to ring. the distinct sound of your adopted dad, bishop's favourite song, here i go again by whitesnake filling your once silent office. you can't help but smile, every friday night at ten bishop always makes sure to either send you a check-in text or if he has a couple more moments to spare, a phone call.

you pick up, "hey you,"

"tokyo!" a voice shouts into the receiver, a familiar voice, but not bishop's.

"angel?" you ask, pulling your glasses off your nose. "why are you caling? why are you calling from bishop's phone?"

"i just—" he's drunk. you sigh, elbows resting on your desk as you rub your forehead with your free hand. "i miss you," he hiccups and you feel your heart break a little.

you feel ares shift, perking up at the sound of angel's voice through the phone. he recognizes his dad's voice. you don't reply. you hear a bit of a ruckus on the line, shouting and then you hear bishop's voice.

"hey kid," comes bishop's voice.

"hey, what's up with him?" you ask, glancing out the open office door.

noise travels in your house, chances are if you can hear the tv, dom can hear you. you're surprised your voice calling out 'angel' hadn't caused dom to stomp up the stairs and rip your phone from your hand.

"club party, got a little too loaded, i left my phone and you know how he is when he's like this," bishop sighs, the exhaustion evident in his voice. "sorry,"

"don't be, it was kinda nice to hear his voice," you whisper, and bishop lets out a bark of laughter.

"well, while i have you on the line, how's work? how are you? how's my favourite grandson?"

"works good, i'm grading final assignments right now, then i'm done. i'm okay, kinda tired, but okay. and ares' is good, taught him a new trick on sunday,"

"oh? what trick did you teach him," bishop asks.

"ares can now close and open doors by himself," you reply, and bishop chuckles.

"what next kid? gonna teach him to talk?" he questions and you giggle.

"i think he's got that skill mastered bish," you reply, lowing the phone down to ares, "say hi to grandpa,"

ares lets out a short series of soft barks that almost sound like 'hi grandpa' and you hear bishop laughing hysterically on the other end.

"that's fuckin' trippy mija, almost sounded like he said it,"

"yeah he's gettin' good at that," you say, leaning back in your chair.

"well i gotta go chase down angel, he's gettin a little too— angel! get back from the fire! angel! ang— prospect! grab your brother! sorry tok, i gotta go!" with that the line goes dead.

you let out a breath-y laugh, and set your phone back down on the charger. you pick up your pen, and glance up at the open office door. dom's leaning against the doorframe, glass full of scotch in his hand. even though he's leaning, he sways slightly, the ice in his cup clinking.

"you were talking to angel?" dom questions, eyes never leaving your face as he takes a swig from his glass.

blonde hair longer then he normally keeps it, shaggy around his face, long bangs hanging in his blood shot brown eyes. he's not just drunk. the drinking makes his anger explosive, the drugs make him paranoid. up until dom lost his job you'd only ever seen him get explosively mad one time, that anger hadn't even been directed at you. he'd lost it on some guy making you uncomfortable in a bar. then, he got into the drugs, which made him volatile, and his anger was now always directed at you. something made him think you were cheating, so, he'd started isolating you. the only man you were allowed to talk to was bishop—who was as good as the only family you had.

you'd had to cut out angel, your ex, and one of your best friends. you also had to cut out his younger brother ez, who'd you only ever seen like a younger brother. there were so many connections and relationships you'd been robbed of since dom had lost his mind. dom is sick, that's evident. you should've left the first time he hit you, but you couldn't. he'd managed to fool you into thinking it was a one time thing.

then, the next week you'd found out he lost his job. not from dom, but one of your co-workers who worked with dom. it was a shock, but suddenly the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. when you came home that night, you confronted him, and you were met with a handful of jabs about your job. you were also met with a few jabs literally. he'd punched you in the face for raising your voice at him. it was around that time that dom started locking ares outside, or in a room when he wanted to yell, realizing that the one man dom couldn't take from you was the one keeping you just slightly out of reach.

you blindly reach for your phone, opening the voice recording app and hitting record. you keep your eyes down, attempting to play it off as just fiddling. it works. dom doesn't even register that you've even got the phone in your hands. he just stares at you expectantly. you shove your phone into your pocket, and look up, lacing your fingers together and giving him your attention.

"not really, he called— he stole bishop's phone, bishop took it. i just got off the phone with bishop," you reply, stumbling over your words.

there's an aura of calmness that exudes from dom, his voice is barely a whisper, and even though there's the clink, clink, clink, of the ice in his drink, you catch a small glimpse of the man you used to love. the man you married. not this possessive monster in your husbands body. however, just as you see dom, that man disappears.

"how is angel?" dom spits, and your whole body immediately tenses at the venom leaking from each hate filled word.

"i uhm, i don't know." you mutter, eyes moving away from dom's face and towards the glass in his hand.

dom's knuckles are turning white, and it takes exactly .2 seconds for you to realize what's coming next. you don't duck in time, the glass hitting you in the eye and then dropping to the floor shattering into millions of little pieces. a few of the shards embed in your legs, and you're just glad that ares isn't still laying at your feet. he's up on his feet, stalking slowly toward dom, his lip curled up showcasing his sharp white teeth, herding him out of the room.

you're in absolute shock. maybe you shouldn't be, you've been dealing with this for months. up until this exact instant, dom had never thrown anything at you. he never hit you with anything. you'd never feared for your life... until now that is. you feel blood trickle down your face.

"you can't stay in there forever!" dom shouts, he's in the hallway, staring right at you.

"what is the matter with you?!" you shout back, all the pent up anger, frustration and sadness pouring out of your mouth before you even have a chance to think about what you're saying, what kind of damage you're about to cause. "you have no damn right to throw shit at me because of a ten second interaction,"

he looks taken aback, "what did you just say?"

he shoves ares aside with his foot and marches into the room, slamming the door in your dogs face. you hear ares being to bark and growl at the closed door. you're going to stand your ground. a year and a half is long enough. you're leaving, tonight. be it in a body bag or of your own volition. you slam your fists down on the table, standing up using your socked feet to drag the glass to once side of the floor before standing up.

"i said, you don't get to throw shit at me." you snarl through gritted teeth, your eye throbbing in pain. "i am a person, with feelings. just because you lost your job, and feel like a worthless sack of shit doesn't give you the right to lay your hands on me, or make me feel less then dom,"

"oh you're in for it now you little bitch," he sneers, and lunges at you, but do to his intoxication, you're easily able to duck out of his reach.

you make a mad dash for the door, but end up slipping just before you reach the door. you hit the floor, and it knocks all the wind out of your lungs. that's when you realize in the seconds it's taken you to recover, dom's gotten a hold of your leg and is dragging you back from the door. he drags you away from the door, and drops his whole weight on top of you. you glance around, looking for anything to get your hands on. you being screaming, hoping, praying one of your neighbours will hear. you catch a glimpse of a larger chunk of the glass. if you could just distract him long enough...

"dom let me go!" you shout, wiggling your whole body underneath him, unfortunately for you he's got probably a hundred pounds on you. "get off of me! get off of me you prick!"

you smack at his chest, scratching your decently long nails at him in any attempt to get him off. you can guess what his play is, choke the life out of you. then it dawns on you, hit him where it hurts. literally. so, while he's distracted trying to grab hold of both your hands, you use all your strength to punch him directly in the balls. dom lets out a yelp, his eyes rolling back as he slides off you to left. you roll over, grabbing the glass shard and immediately push yourself up onto your feet. you hold it out in front of you, slowly circling him, and using your free hand to feel for the door knob.

"you stay away from me dom, this "marriage" is over. i'm leaving, tonight." you say, and he just groans.

you open the door, step out into the hallway, and then close the door behind you. you have ares sit in front of the door so you can cross the hallway to pack a few things. you hear ares growl and snap at the door every few minutes, and then the door click shut again. you change out of your pyjamas and into a black henley, a pair of black skinny jeans and your favourite leather jacket bishop had gotten you when you were fifteen.

you'd been denied the things you used to love for so long that finding yourself wearing clothes you'd promised dom you'd thrown away years ago is weird. this outfit had been such a comfort to you over the years, and now, it feels foreign. you hadn't worn skinny jeans in years, opting mainly for flowery dresses because you needed formal-causal clothes for work. your style had been suppressed by dom for so long that you almost feel weird wearing these clothes now. you'd started wearing less "biker-slut" (dom's exact words, not yours) clothes and more "respectable attire". you dressed like dom's friends wives. a style that when you were seventeen you and angel had made fun of.

"they all look the same," angel had laughed, and you nodded, "suburban mom chic, you'd never catch me dead in that shit!" you'd responded. you don't dwell on that though, you just shove the things you need into your duffle and pull on a pair of old combat boots you'd had hidden in the back of your closet. as you get ready, you begin to realize you'd hidden a lot of things from dom even in the beginning of your marriage. maybe you should've clued in then, but you were in love. it took him physically putting his hands on you to realize how manipulative dom was.

you'd been smoking since you were twelve, a bad habit, one you'd always tried to kick but being with dom made you anxious—even in the beginning—so you began secretly smoking. anxious that he'd see your flaws and decide you weren't worth the hassle. you'd even stopped speaking spanish, a language you grew up speaking. not your mother-tongue, but one you'd been taught by bishop, angel, ez and their parents. a language you loved. dom didn't speak spanish, so you'd never had anyone around to speak it to except ares. you catch a glimpse of yourself in the window, and find yourself smirking.

you don't see twenty-seven year old you in your reflection. you see seventeen year old you. long dark hair a mess, blood streaked on your face, a growing black eye, all black clothes. you used to be a force of chaos, no one dared to even glance at you wrong. now, you don't know who that girl even was. she seems like a completely different person. you remember being such a firecracker, always getting into fights with people twice your size and nearly always coming out on top, and now, now, you're fleeing from your home in the middle of the night with your tail between your legs because your husband couldn't keep his damn hands to himself.

seventeen year old you would be incredibly disappointed in you. seventeen year old you would've killed dom the first time he hit you. however, you're not seventeen year old you. what you are, is scared, alone, and hoping you hadn't burnt too many bridges in the name of your "love" for dom. you turn away from your reflection and take your wedding ring off. you set it on his bedside table, and then you grab ares' favourite toys, and head down the hallway. dom peaks his head out of the office, and ares snarls.

"you're making a big mistake!" he says.

"the mistake was staying to begin with," you snap back, continuing on your path.

you walk down the stairs, your students essays long forgotten as you head into the kitchen and grab the coffee can you'd secretly been stuffing money into since before you'd gotten married. then you head out into the night, whistling for ares. he trots down the steps, and out of the house into the passenger side of your car as you wait. you can hear dom stumbling to make it to the door, and you just close the door and round your car.

you slide into the driver's seat, and turn the car on. dom comes running out, waving something in the air, you don't stop. you just back your car out of the driveway. if you drive all night you'll make it to santo padre by six or seven am. you glance at ares, smiling, slightly to yourself. we're free. you think, turning on the radio and turning it up.

[jojosbizarreblog]

Hi hi! If it's still open, could you do

“Can I do anything that would make it better?” as a comfort prompt for Polnareff? He needs it 👉👈

Writing Event (Closed): Concerned/Angsty Questions Prompt 15 + Polnareff

"Can I do anything that would make it better?"

The journey to Cairo had many difficulties, you all knew that.

Hell, most of you and your group had experienced it, for fuck's sake. It got tiring after a while. Today was yet another tiring trial, fighting off some other person hellbent on bringing ruin and destruction to the group. But in the end, they lost, and your group managed to make its merry way to the hotel destination.

Swinging the room key merrily in your hand, you arrived at your hotel room. Polnareff and Kakyoin passed you and you waved at them. "Have a good night, you guys."

Kakyoin called back a similar sentiment but Polnareff barely even glanced over. Concerned, your eyes followed him as you took in his tense figure. This fight had particularly affect Polnareff, the enemy Stand user taunting the French about his deceased sister. But when you asked about it earlier, he had reassured you that he was alright.

Polnareff's door closing prompted you to focus on your own as you opened your own. The sight of a bed made you sigh in relief. You were incredibly relieved to be able to sleep in a bed tonight, not sure if you'd be able to handle a night camping out after this

Pushing your worries about Polnareff to the back of your mind, you dumped your bags onto the chair and table in the corner. Right now, the shower was calling your name. And after that, a one-night stand with the silken sheets of this hotel room's bed.

'2:47am'

That was the time right now.

The tail end of a sound had woken you up. Blinking blearily into the darkness of your room, you strained your ears to try to catch any more sounds.

Nothing

Grumbling, you rolled over and buried your face into the pillows. It must have been some poor unfortunate sod who arrived late to their room. Either that or someone drunk out of their mind.

It occurred again and you opened your eyes wide, sleep drawing its grasping tendrils away from your mind. The pattern of the knock was a specific one developed by the group, followed by an extra add-on that you knew was specifically meant to be between Polnareff and you.

Rolling out of bed you padded over to the door and pulled in open. “Polnareff?”

Indeed it was him on the other side. You concern skyrocketed as you saw the state of disarray he was in, hair down and messy and eyes red-rimmed from tears. He didn’t say a word but the beseeching look he gave you spoke volumes. You pulled your door open wider and stepped aside to invite him in and wordlessly he did.

Polnareff made a beeline for your bed as you checked the hallway and closed it. He was curled up under your covers by the time you reached the bed and you gently urged him to move. “Alright Pol, I know that’s confortable right now but I promise I have a better alternative.”

Getting into the bed yourself, you maneuvered both you and Polnareff so that you laid on your back with him resting his head on your chest. At the new position, the male seemed to relax just the slightest bit, letting out a sigh and turning to bury his fave into your nightshirt. “Thank you, my dear,” He said.

Threading your fingers through his hair, you said “Of course. Anything else I can do that would make it better?”

Polnareff tightened his arms around you. “Just stay with me?”

You simply hugged him tighter. “Of course.”

Event: Closed!

[lesbianrobin]

What do you think are the good and bad aspects of each season of ST?

ok 1. thank u for this question omg and 2. this answer may or may not be a mess, but either way it’s long (almost 7k words lmao) bc i’m insane, which is why it’s under a cut. it’s still by no means an exhaustive list but these are the things that just kinda came to mind.

also i realize you asked “good and bad” and i wrote this whole post as “strengths and weaknesses” which um. is not Exactly what you asked. but close enough <3 i also ended up including a lot of au ideas ksjdckmn bc like i personally hate when people say a certain plot or whatever was bad without suggesting anything that could have improved it yknow so whenever possible i tried to provide Some idea for fixing the issues i had with the show!!

season 1

strengths (this is probably gonna be the longest section but that’s because a lot of these strengths also apply to s2/s3 by default)

nostalgia and authenticity

this one’s pretty simple, but i think that season one did a good job of blending classic eighties media homages (such as the many many e.t./el parallels) with explicit pop culture references (such as mike’s yoda impression, mentions of the x-men, etc) to create a show that’s essentially dripping in early eighties nostalgia without it feeling too forced. before st, i think the most popular depiction of the eighties in mainstream media was that overly exaggerated neon scrunchie aesthetic from the mid to late eighties, and it was usually done in a comedic sense first and foremost. st took a different approach, instead focusing on the early eighties, a time that’s often ignored in favor of going either Full Seventies or Full Eighties, and i think that this choice likely resonated with adults who lived through the eighties and hadn’t yet seen something that felt quite so accurate to their own adolescence. a lot of young people who watched st were totally unfamiliar with this period of time, unfamiliar with books/movies like “stand by me” that st borrows from heavily, and i think st lent more seriousness to the eighties than most young people had experienced so far, and this was refreshing and interesting!

the use of dnd in the show is also quite genius in a way i’m not sure i can articulate?? it isn’t something Everyone would have played at the time, but it’s something that existed within a different context back in the eighties than it does today, and it really lent a sort of authenticity to the naming of the show’s sci-fi elements. like, of course these kids would name parallel dimensions and monsters and superpowers after these similar things in their favorite game! it just feels so real and it grounds st in our reality moreso than you might expect from the typical sci-fi or horror universe.

utilization of existing tropes

almost every single character in st clearly originates from some popular trope. the plot itself is riddled with classic eighties movie tropes. almost every single element of stranger things can be clearly traced back to some iconic eighties film or just to, like, overused horror/sci-fi/mystery/coming-of-age movie tropes in general. this might sound like a bad thing, but it really works in st’s favor! starting off with familiar tropes gives st the ability to easily create a lot of complexity and make a big impact by selectively deviating from those familiar, comfortable tropes!! while el’s whole plot, hopper’s character, etc, are all examples of this in action, i think the steve/nancy/jonathan plot is the greatest example. even from the start, the fact that good girl barb dies while nancy is off having sex with her asshole boyfriend is an incredibly thorough inversion of the most well-known horror movie trope in the book. how often do girls in horror movies have sex for the first time, walk home alone in the dark of night, and live to tell the tale? nancy and jonathan’s dynamic at first glance is a sort of classic “good girl meets boy from the wrong side of the tracks, discovers he’s actually got a heart of gold” thing, but instead of following this well-trodden path, st diverged. nancy is brash, impulsive, and at times downright insensitive. jonathan is angry, bitter, and actually a bit of a creep at first. while they have the capacity to emotionally connect and support one another, they can also bring out each other’s darker side, which is not what we’ve come to expect from that initial tropey dynamic.

in addition, steve, the popular rich asshole boyfriend, is actually... a human being! unlike the cartoonishly evil jocks that we’ve come to expect (especially from eighties movies), steve has complexity. despite his initial immaturity and selfishness, he’s also kind to barb, he backs off when nancy says no, he’s gentle and sweet when they sleep together, his first big Dick Move of the season is in defense of nancy, he realizes the error of his ways after the fight and does what he can to fix it, he’s worried about nancy when he sees that she’s hurt at jonathan’s house, and to top it all off, he ends up saving both nancy and jonathan’s lives when he could have just walked away, and the three of them all work together to fight the demogorgon. like... steve began as the most stereotypical character of all time, and by the end of the season, he had one of the most compelling and unique arcs among the whole cast!

finally, at the very end of the season, instead of dumping steve for jonathan as expected, nancy ends up getting back together with steve, and they’re both on friendly terms with jonathan. i realize that i just kinda. summarized s1. but my POINT is that i don’t think the dynamics between the monster hunting trio would be nearly as fun and interesting had the characters of nancy, steve, and jonathan not been set up to follow certain paths that we already had charted in our own heads. like, within the first couple episodes of s1, it’s pretty obvious that nancy and steve are gonna break up, nancy will get with jonathan, and steve will either die or go full evil or just never be seen again. like, duh! you’ve seen this story a million times! you know that’s how it’s gonna go! so, when the story DOESN’T go that way, the impact of each character’s arc and the relationship dynamics become stronger due to their unexpected complexity and authenticity. 

distinct plotlines separated by age group

this one’s rather obvious, but the way that the adults in s1 were essentially in a conspiracy thriller while the teens were in a horror flick and the kids were in a sci fi power-of-friendship story and all three converged at the end... wow. brilliant showstopping etc. not only was it just really well done and unique, it also gave stranger things near-universal appeal. like, there’s genuinely something for pretty much everyone in season one!

casting

obviously this applies to every season sorta by default, but when i think about what made season one So successful, i always think about the cast, and not just winona ryder. yes, she’s absolutely amazing in the show and it’s very doubtful that st would be as big as it is today without her name being attached to it from the start!! however, i think the greatest determining factor in st’s success is the casting of the kids, particularly millie bobby brown. like... el is just absolutely incredible. she’s amazing. this has all been said many times before so i won’t harp on it, but millie and the other kids are all So talented and charismatic and i think their casting has been instrumental to the show’s success.

strong visuals

the way that multicolored christmas lights which have been around for decades are now kinda like. a Stranger Things thing. jesus christ. those lights are probably the biggest stroke of stylistic genius on the show.

atmosphere and setting

this is probably like. the least important one here for me sdjncdsc because i think s2 and s3 both had like Even Better atmospheres and shit but s1 was good too and it laid the groundwork!! i know a lot of people would have preferred st be set somewhere more Spooky with lots of fog or giant forests or whatnot, and while i do enjoy thinking about alternate st settings and how they might alter the vibe, i think hawkins indiana was a good choice. as the duffers have said, placing stranger things in a fictional town allows them more flexibility than if they’d gone with their original plan of using montauk, new york. besides that, i think the plainness and like... flatness... of small-town indiana just Works. like, the fact that hawkins is never really scary on the surface is a big part of the horror in the lab’s actions and their impact. hawkins isn’t somewhere that people just disappear all the time. it isn’t somewhere known for strange occurrences (prior to s1, that is). it isn’t somewhere shrouded in mist and secrecy. hawkins on its surface seems like the sort of place with no secrets and nothing to fear, and that’s the point! the lab is out in the open! it’s right there! everything is so close to the surface, yet so far out of the public eye, and i think that really works.

the byers family’s whole deal (specifically the joyce/jonathan dynamic)

this is going here bc i miss it so bad in s2 and s3. i’m not one of those people who believe The Byers Are The Whole Point of the show, because st is and always has been an ensemble, and el, hopper, and the wheelers are just as instrumental to the plot as the byers, but ANYWAY, i do think the byers were one of the most interesting aspects of s1. joyce’s difficulties with supporting her sons as a poor and (implied mentally ill) single mother, jonathan’s stress as a result of having to earn money, care for his brother, and keep the house in order when his mother is unable to do so, and the resulting tension between them when will’s disappearance and supposed “death” brings the situation to a tipping point? holy shit! it’s so good! that argument after they see will’s “body” is just incredible and gut-wrenching. their relationship feels so real and messy and i think it’s just... good. also winona ryder REALLY acted her heart out and she carried a lot of s1 which i think people often forget to mention so i’m saying it here.

weaknesses

pacing/timing

ok so pacing is probably going to go in each season’s weaknesses, to be honest, because i think they all had a blend of some good and some bad pacing. good pacing is invisible pacing, though, so i probably won’t be putting it in any of the strengths sections and will only be focusing on it in the weaknesses. i’m also probably not going to talk about weird day/night cycle things, just because i don’t want to get nitpicky on timelines because that would require going back and rewatching things to double check timing which i don’t wanna do at the moment lmao. anyway, when i think of bad pacing in season one, i primarily think of two things: nancy’s little trip into the upside down and subsequent sleepover with jonathan, and the sort of staggered nature of the climax in the final episode. the latter is simple so i’ll explain it first: while i understand that each group’s respective climax is like part of a chain reaction and that’s why each big moment happens separately and at different times, i think that st is strongest when the whole group is together, and i think that makes the stakes feel higher too, so i’m not In Love with the way s1 separated everyone and gave each group their own climax. 

okay, now on to the nancy/upside down thing! idk if i’ve ever talked about it before, but i think the worst decision made in s1 by far is the inclusion of nancy’s brief trip into the upside down, wherein she dives headfirst into another dimension with absolutely no backup, watches the demogorgon chow down, freaks out and runs around for a minute, and then leaves. like... what the fuck? even putting aside what an idiotic decision this was (because i do think nancy’s tendency to rush into things headfirst is an intentional and consistent character trait), it just kind of destroys any remaining suspense surrounding the demogorgon and the upside down, and it accomplishes basically nothing besides scaring nancy enough to have jonathan sleep over, which is lame. i will break it down.

like, first of all, nancy just getting to waltz in and out of the upside down and get a good, long look at the demogorgon makes the entire thing far less mysterious, and by extension far less scary. like... before this scene, we the audience haven’t got a good look at the demogorgon. we’ve seen its silhouette briefly and we’ve seen a blurry picture of it, but nothing more, and i think that is far more effective at building fear than this jaunt nancy goes on which gives us a full view of the thing and makes it into less of a horrifying nightmare and into more of a humanoid animal. like, maybe this is just me, but i found the demogorgon far less intimidating after that scene than before. it also lets nancy and jonathan know For Sure that they’re right without providing any crucial information that they need to fight the demogorgon (aka it’s unnecessary to the plot), which removes a very compelling story element (the faith nancy and jonathan need to have in order to keep going against a vague and poorly understood enemy, the doubt they might have about each other and their own sanity, the possibility that they might be wrong, the trust they need to have in each other) a bit earlier in the plot than i believe is ideal. at the end of episode 5, nancy goes into the upside down and jonathan doesn’t know where she is and it’s intense!!! you’re thinking like, oh fuck, not only is nancy missing and fighting for her life now too, jonathan might be implicated in her disappearance!! some people already think he’s the one who killed will and people know that he took creepy pictures of barb and nancy before they both disappeared, maybe this is gonna cause some serious problems for him!! maybe nancy will find will in the upside down and she’ll help him survive!! fuck, maybe she’ll actually die!! this is huge!! and then episode 6 starts and they’re immediately like oh nevermind jonathan found the tree and got nancy out and she’s fine. my point with all of this is that nancy entering the upside down could have done A Lot in the grand scheme of the plot, but all it did was just... get jonathan to sleep over so he and nancy could have some awkward romance moments and steve could see them together and pick a fight. which could have honestly happened at Any point while nancy and jonathan were working together to hunt down the demogorgon, without ruining the demogorgon’s and the upside down’s mystique. so yeah <3

weird behavior and dumbass decisions that make no sense (aka the whole camera thing)

gonna go off about the teen plot again sorry but: why was nancy so unbothered and quick to forgive jonathan for taking those pictures? girl what the fuck are you doing? why wasn’t that a bigger deal? why was jonathan’s motivation for doing it so weak and why did they just kind of forget about the whole thing? why did nancy TRACK HIM DOWN AT THE FUNERAL HOME while he was PICKING OUT HIS BABY BROTHER’S CASKET to be like hey can you tell me what’s in this creepshot you took? it’s insane. it’s so insane. i mean i think the funeral home thing is hilarious and i don’t mind it being in the show necessarily but like my point here is that i think a lot of character decisions in s1 just kind of.. happened because they Needed to happen for the plot. like, they wrote this plot that required jonathan to be secretly taking pictures of the party and required him and nancy to work together after seeing something odd in the pictures, but they didn’t like... really consider what that event would mean for their characterization and relationship. the whole thing was sort of just dropped with minimal discussion and i think it did both nancy and jonathan’s characters a disservice and was really mishandled.

lighting and saturation/color grading

i am literally begging horror/sci-fi shows to let me see shit. i GET IT okay i understand that when you’re doing cgi effects it helps to keep the lights down and i’m not mad at any of the lighting in the demogorgon/upside down scenes!! i’m really not i think the demogorgon scenes in s1 all look sick!! but like... dude. the colors. where are they. why does everyone look like a vampire. i know blah blah this was probably an intentional stylistic choice intended to mimic film at the time blah blah but dude a lot of old movies are very colorful!! please just let people have color in their faces so everyone doesn’t look like a sheet of paper!!! also i’m white and not a professional lighting designer so yknow grain of salt but i think lucas was kinda poorly served by the lighting sometimes in s1. not Hugely so, not to the degree that i’ve seen poc be poorly served by lighting in other shows, but there were some times where it felt kinda like the lighting setup was just not designed with darker skin in mind. 

horror

i just personally don’t find s1 very scary like... ever. i don’t think they were really Trying to be extremely scary yknow so i’m not counting this as a big deal, but i do think that each season has improved on the horror aspects. i think s1′s horror lies more in the mystery and the unknown than in what’s seen onscreen, and as i’ve said already, i think s1 kind of fumbled that suspense ball.

season 2

strengths

the possession plot

i’ll warn u rn this whole s2 strengths section is probably gonna be really short bc idk like. how much there is to really say i feel like it’s all so self-explanatory skjncmn. anyway yeah the possession plot!! eerie as fuck, and noah OWNED. so did winona tbh and finn and sean etc but like. noah. wow! i think the possession plot helped the show maintain a good amount of tension and suspense throughout the season, and a lot of scenes with possessed!will are flatout disturbing to watch. in a good way. i think the mindflayer and will’s possession were far more genuinely frightening than s1′s demogorgon, and it provided a new layer of depth and intrigue to the antagonist besides just “bad monster want eat people.”

tone and aesthetics

halloween season... literally halloween season. halloween season. that is all.

actually i will elaborate a bit and just say that i think s2 did a good job of having the sort of foreboding vibe that s1 was often going for, but without the annoying darkness and desaturation. so points for that.

also st2 is like one of the best Autumn pieces of media ever like it just. like steve and dustin on those train tracks with the fallen leaves all around them.... god. god the vibes are unparalleled. all of the halloween stuff also really contributes to the nostalgia st runs on yknow it makes you think about childhood and trick-or-treating and you kind of get transported like damn... i remember going to the rich neighborhoods to score the good candy..... idk i just think the whole thing is incredibly effective. 

“babysitter” steve

by sending nancy and jonathan off together, the show created a problem: what to do with steve? this problem pushed them to create the unconventional and unexpected duo of steve and dustin, and the world is so much brighter for it. seriously though we all know steve and dustin are great i don’t need to argue that point. all i’ll add is that i think allowing steve to grow in this way, serving as a mentor figure and becoming genuine friends with someone so unexpected, really took the originality of his character to the next level. no longer content just to defy his archetype, in s2 steve begins branching out in ways that never would have been considered in s1, creating an incredibly complex and interesting person from the sort of character that most shows would have simply written out or killed off for convenience’s sake. and it works and steve and dustin are such a joy to watch and i love them. <3

the lucas/max plot

so first of all max mayfield is the most perfect baby girl on god’s green earth and idk what i would do without her but anyway. i think lumax is the best romantic relationship in the show and not just because they’re the only ones with like an age-appropriate approach to the whole thing. it’s also because their relationship accomplishes more than just putting the two of them in a relationship!! lucas and max spending time together motivates billy to do his evil shit, providing more conflict in the narrative, and it also helps establish max as part of the group in a relatively natural way while giving both her and lucas a great subplot. lucas (and dustin) has a crush on the new girl, they start spending some time together, and lucas ends up needing to decide whether he’ll keep the secret of the upside down and lose her, or risk both of their lives by telling her the truth. that’s a pretty big, character-defining decision that he gets to make!! max has to choose whether to trust this boy she barely knows and endanger herself, or to walk away and stay safe, yet another great character-defining choice that also contributes to the sense we get as an audience of max as somebody who’s incredibly lonely and desperate for love and connection. this post is way too long already and i have a ton more to say so i’ll stop now but yeah i think lumax really Works in the show without ever distracting or detracting from the overall plot and narrative in the way that some other ships (coughjancycough) often do.

balance between the normal and abnormal

s2 i think did a pretty solid job of melding daily life with more fantastical sci-fi horror elements. i enjoyed seeing so much of the kids at school in the first few episodes!! you really get a strong sense of where they’re at in life, what their daily lives are like, and you get a sort of gradual shift into madness that makes everything feel more grounded than i think it would if they had just leapt straight into the horror shit, yknow? 

the el and hopper dynamic

go back and rewatch s2 and tell me that’s not one of the most moving portrayals of parenthood and trauma and growing up that you’ve ever seen. you can’t. or well you can but i won’t listen. i really can’t imagine stranger things without el and hopper’s relationship, and it’s my absolute favorite part of s2. their whole dynamic is so beautiful and complex, and gives them each amazing personal arcs in addition! the black hole scene is literally one of the show’s greatest moments of all time. any given scene between the two of them in s2 is just guaranteed to be heartwarming as well as heartbreaking, and i think that makes for an incredible show.

weaknesses

flashbacks

okay this applies to Every season they All have too many flashbacks but in s2 specifically... please stop showing me shit from season one. i watched it. i know what happened. you don’t need to spoon feed everything to me!! flashbacks can be a really helpful way of delivering information to an audience, but st has a bad habit of not only being kinda demeaning in how often they flash back to shit that the audience already knows, but they also have a bad habit of using flashbacks almost as a crutch to avoid having to deliver information subtly and naturally. 

you know i gotta say it... the lost sister

this is so sad. the lost sister really is like a great concept for an st episode, and i’m not mad about the idea of st taking a break from the normal action to focus on one story for a full episode, but the execution of it was just dreadful. kali and her crew feel very over-the-top and stereotypical, and its placement in the season totally kills the tension and excitement that was built in “the spy.” 

i think the lost sister honestly could have gone over far better, even with the stereotypical fake-feeling gang kali has, if they had just swapped it with “the spy” like... ok, the end of episode five has el setting off to find kali and will collapsing on the ground seizing. right? imagine if, instead of immediately following will to the lab, we’d followed el. we don’t know what’s happening with will, but it’s a very simple cliffhanger that leaves us on edge without making us feel cheated by the show cutting away. we follow el on her little journey, everything happens much the same as canon, and then at the end, el sees hopper in scrubs. she sees mike, screaming, sees that they’re both in danger. holy shit!!! what the fuck!!! what’s happened since we left will seizing on the ground??? we feel el’s fear and confusion. she decides to go home. and then... boom. “the lost sister” is over. now, we rewind, right back to will seizing on the ground, and “the spy” commences. we learn how they got into the danger that el saw in the end of “the lost sister,” and we sit on the edge of our seats all through “the spy” and “the mind flayer,” KNOWING that el is on her way back to save them but not knowing when she’ll arrive!! idk i don’t think that would have necessarily saved lost sister but i think it may have alleviated some of the issues that i and many others have with it, timing-wise.

the nancy/jonathan sidequest

once again, the idea of nancy going off on her own little mission to find justice for barb after s1 is like. amazing. genuinely i love that plot for her and i can’t imagine anything better for her to have focused on in s2. unfortunately though i think her and jonathan’s little trip to see murray was just kind of... lame. the whole thing just felt like an excuse to get the two of them alone together, yknow? which is fine i guess people contrive all sorts of situations to get characters alone together for romance reasons but in this case i think it just really doesn’t work for me because of what it’s juxtaposed with. like, will is POSSESSED, and jonathan is just off on a mini road trip and sleeping with his bestie, and jonathan never seems to communicate to joyce/will that he left town, and joyce never like... thinks to tell him that will is like sick and fucked up and they’re looking at him in the lab??? like it’s so weird i know joyce always forgets about jonathan when shit’s happening with will but jfc you’d think at some point in that like... 72-ish-hour period where jonathan was out of town she would have thought about him. like at least once. maybe i’m forgetting something and she mentioned him sometime and i missed it but even still, i hate the juxtaposition of nancy and jonathan just like cheers-ing at murray’s place and sleeping together and whatnot while everyone else is dealing with possession or trying to hunt down dart yknow? it feels really boring in comparison and i think it could have been done far better. like it was SO insanely easy for them to get into the lab and get an admission of guilt and escape with it!! i think it might have been a lot more engaging if maybe someone from the lab tailed them to murray’s place and they had to like lose the tail and race to get the recording out to as many news outlets as possible before they got caught, or something like that. the tension in their plotline is completely resolved in episode four!! episodes five and six are just them screwing around and addressing envelopes. while there were a lot of strong ideas in this plotline (i really enjoy nancy going out of her way to get justice, and the fact that they have to water down the story to make it believable), i just think the focus on nancy and jonathan getting together hindered it a lot without adding a ton to the plot or their individual characters.

season 3

strengths

starcourt mall as a setting

while i don’t think the mall was utilized quite to its full potential (something i could make a separate post about if anyone’s interested), i do think that starcourt was a genius addition to the series. i’ve said this before, but building a new mall is a literal Perfect in-universe justification for a significant leap forward in fashion and aesthetics, and it provides a great location for characters to just... be characters. idk how else to articulate this i just think that the mall is a great setting to let people interact with each other and to bring people together who may not have been otherwise (i.e. scoops troop). not to mention how sick it was to see the mall get wrecked toward the end kdjncdkm like they were able to do so much more with the mall in terms of like The Finale than they could with just the byers house or the cabin or the school or even the lab. i love all the back tunnels they run through it’s such a fun like acknowledgement of how this glitzy eighties mall is just a real place where employees get shipments and take out the trash and shit idk it’s all about the perfect facade and what’s hidden what’s underneath what’s hiding in plain sight etc etc i’m just saying words now. anyway. 

willingness to experiment and go against expectations

gay robin. neon aesthetics. giant fucking meat monster. i know some people hate both the neon and the meat monster but i personally think they were kind of amazing and like. yknow regardless of personal tastes i think it’s impossible to deny that s3 had a lot of incredible visuals, and they’re all visuals that just wouldn’t have been possible if the show were too afraid to stray from its s1 aesthetic. robin being canonically gay (and her resulting friendship with steve) and the season’s striking visuals are two things that most everyone (besides like homophobes skjncdknm) can agree were great, right? and they were both departures from where the show began and what we all expected!! so yeah i think while some of the experimentation in s3 wasn’t ideal it was also that experimentation that allowed for some of the season’s strongest elements to come about.

the hospital sequence (and the season’s action/horror scenes in general)

this one is fairly self-explanatory. while they may have underutilized the “body snatching” element of the season, the hospital sequence with nancy and jonathan fighting off their possessed bosses did an amazing job of building tension and creating a genuine sense of really intense and personal danger.

in general i think that s3 melded action and horror rather well, particularly in the sauna test, the hospital, and when the mindflayer busts through the roof of hop’s cabin. horror can come from many things, and in this case, st elicited horror largely from the feeling of helplessness, and it was really effective for me personally. i think it worked better for me than s1′s brand of horror because it doesn’t rely so much on a lack of knowledge or a sense of suspense that inevitable disappears upon a second viewing.

the body horror we got in s3 was also really fun! that’s it i just think all the blood and guts and slime were fun and i would like more of them. once again, the impacts of body horror are less dependent upon the viewer being in the dark or unsure as to what’s happening, and as such i think it tends to be a little more effective at eliciting reaction in the long term.

timing and mechanics of the battle of starcourt/finale

i think the battle of starcourt is just fucking awesome, and beyond that personal opinion, i think it’s the most high-stakes and intense finale of all three seasons, and this is for two main reasons! 1. el is out of commission, and 2. (almost) everyone is in the same cental location. this means that (almost) everyone is in danger all at once, and they are all working together at the same time to fight the same threat. s1/s2 have their groups more fragmented for the finales, and while i understand why in each case and i wouldn’t call either season’s finale necessarily weak, i do think the centralized nature of the s3 finale just Works on another level. in s1 and s2, large segments of the cast are already perfectly safe by the time el dispatches the primary threat. in s3, however, everybody save for dustin and erica is still in danger up until the last moment, and el is seemingly (you can def debate how much power she still had in her when she peeked into billy’s mind and whether the memory broke the mindflayer’s hold on him or if she was actually controlling him to some degree) completely vulnerable. this increases the tension and raises the stakes, making the finale a real crescendo to fortissimo as opposed to a series of little mezzo forte moments. i hope everyone reading this knows music idk how else to phrase that my brain is stupid.

emphasis on friendship and adolescence (but in a different way than s1/2)

this is definitely a controversial one but i think that s3 really did like... show a side of friendship that had been more or less unexplored thus far in the show. el and max were amazing, and i think it’s really nice that we got an opportunity to see the kids have some growing pains as well as see them support each other through Normal Adolescent Stuff like boyfriends and breakups instead of just like. death and trauma. this is maybe just a personal preference, but i think it can be really enlightening and provide a lot of depth when you get to see how characters respond to normal everyday conflict and not just how they respond to giant world-ending conflict!! letting el use her powers for goofy teenage shit like spying on boys and messing with mean girls at the mall is not only fun for her and the audience, but it also really emphasizes just how much those powers are a part of el, making it that much more devastating when she loses them at the end of the season. 

weaknesses

tonal dissonance

so this is like. obvious. but it must still be said! i won’t go on and on about it since we all know this so i’ll try to like talk about it from an angle people don’t usually? anyway. it seems to me like they were maybe a little worried about s3 being too dark. while the choice to really lean into humor was definitely driven by the sorts of eighties teen films from which s3 drew inspiration (like fast times at ridgemont high), i think it was also done in an attempt to alleviate the more troubling implications of some events in the season, particularly the russian bunker plot. like, yeah, st can be incredibly dark, but if they’d played the whole “children being stuck inside of a foreign military base, tied up, tortured, and drugged” thing completely straight without the humorous elements that exist in canon, it had the potential to be like... disturbing on a new level. steve and robin don’t have powers like el yknow their kidnapping/torture doesn’t have any sci-fi elements to sorta soften the blow. they’re just innocent teenagers being brutalized and traumatized by grown men. so anyway yeah i think maybe the writers were concerned about this storyline coming off as too dark and they wanted it to be a little more whimsical but they ended up pushing way too hard in that direction and creating extreme dissonance at times. this goes for joyce/hopper/murray/alexei too, but to a lesser extent. i think the ridiculousness in that group felt a lot more like... realistic. but still. 

newspaper plot

once again i feel like i don’t even need to say this skjdncmn we all know it was insane how the show basically ended up delivering the message “while misogyny is a serious problem poverty and classism are not” and i’ve said it on this blog a million times so i don’t need to repeat myself. i’ll focus on another weak point of this plot: the fact that it completely separates nancy and jonathan from everyone else. once again, the show’s preoccupation with j/ancy held them back! like... can you imagine a version of s3 where nancy and jonathan both worked in the mall? i have a lot of ideas about this possible au and like how the plot could play out differently if they worked in the mall but first of all it’s just more realistic, second of all it further utilizes the mall as a central setting, and third of all, it would bring everyone together. as it is in canon, nancy and jonathan were unnecessarily isolated from the rest of the group, and this isolation was detrimental to both of their characters. like, they only ever get to interact with each other! if they’d gotten summer jobs in the mall, they could have had more interactions with the kids/steve/robin, and they absolutely still could have had a similar argument! maybe in this case, nancy notices the rat thing (or something else odd) herself when taking out the trash behind the mall, and she wants jonathan to ditch work with her to check it out bc she thinks it may be related to the lab. jonathan doesn’t want to ditch work because he needs his job, nancy argues that they’re working shitty mall jobs anyway and who cares if they get fired, and we get more or less the same thing as s3 without the cartoonishly over-the-top misogyny. i mean honestly i think the rat shit could have been cut entirely it didn’t rly... accomplish much of anything. in my opinion. like imagine s3 without the rat plot you literally would not be missing anything except it would be more surprising when the dudes melted into goo at the hospital. so yeah i think it would have been better if nancy and jonathan had jobs at the mall, weren’t isolated from everybody else, and were maybe absorbed into the party’s plot or the scoops troop’s plot from very early on, allowing them to interact with more characters and have a less... dumb.... plot. like god splitting up nancy and jonathan between the party/scoops troop would have been So Much better i just. sdkjcnksdmn anyway yeah.

briefness of group reunion/separation of groups

remember in s2 at the beginning of “the gate,” where mike and hopper had a confrontation and max and el met for the first time and el hugged everyone and steve and nancy had their sad little moment together outside... where’s that energy? obviously the s2 reunion wasn’t that long either, but it made space for some significant emotional moments to take place. s3′s reunion had some hopper/el/mike resolution, but besides that... there was nothing, really. i just think that the whole group getting together in s3 was SO exciting and powerful the way they did it (with both the scoops troop and the adults having their own Big Moment reconnecting with team griswold family), but the emotional potential was more or less squandered. 

i also think in s3 at times they were really stretching to keep everybody separated even though it made no sense. and like... in s1 the separation worked bc nobody else knew that (x group) was experiencing weird shit too, and beyond that, each group (as i mentioned in the s1 section) was sort of operating within their own genre and bringing something unique to the season. they’ve stopped doing that though! now, the groups aren’t separate bc each plot is tonally/structurally different, the groups are just separate bc... they need to be, because it’s a big ensemble cast and you can’t just have them all be together for a whole season or it would be way too difficult to coordinate things and keep the show dynamic. all this is to say that i’m excited for s4 because the location differences make it so there’s a Reason for each plot to be separate at the beginning, and i think that’ll work better.

general ridiculousness

i dont mean like i think it’s bad that they made jokes this is just me lumping in all the dumb shit like hopper not worrying about el and not wanting to check on the kids, him and joyce bickering long after they both know they and their children are in danger, max seemingly forgetting that billy is a racist abuser, etc etc. i think many of these are just a symptom of the show 1. trying desperately to keep the groups split up a certain way even though it may not make any sense, and 2. trying to fit into a certain genre/trope mold when their actual characters are more complex than the tropes they’re imitating. this is so fucking long already i am not gonna elaborate further rn but i trust u all know what i mean.

soooo... yeah, that’s about all! i mean it’s not all there are definitely many more things i could talk about and i know i focused sorta disproportionately on the teens which is my bad :/ but i’m done for now. thank you for asking, and apologies for the delay in responding!! i’m sure some people reading (if anyone read this far) will disagree with some of what i’ve said and that’s alright like i’m not The Authority on st or anything i’m just trying to talk about like my own thoughts yknow? so yeah luv u all i hope someone enjoyed reading this!!

[wreckofawriter]

Magnolia Final Part

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death

Summary: idk dude just read the other chapters first or this is gonna make no sense

A/n: I did this instead of studying for my finals, also it could probably use a neither round of editing but I was anxious to post it. And I really don't give a fuck if this is historically inacurate all research done for this was from Pirate of the Caribbean.

Part 1 Part 2

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

You considered the stars your friends, their predictability and reserve made them easy to get along with. You had been taught to read their language from your early days of ships and oceans. As a child, you would speak to them, whispering secrets from your bedroom window. Your young nights had been filled with time spent stretching from the top of your magnolia tree to try and grasp their beauty. Even now as you stared up at the heavens you wished to cradle them like priceless jewels, their wonder never faded. But you supposed their mystery is what made them so appealing, everyone wanted something they could never quite reach.

The news of your captured prince had spread like fire in a dry wind, the letters you had sent to Aldir and their neighboring kingdoms throwing many into action. Sirius’s kingdom was large, powerful, and merciless. Some wanted the prince for leverage, many others wanted blood; revenge driving them to empty treasuries and sharpen swords. At first, you had been sitting pretty, letters of bids coming to you at every stop you made. Eventually, prices got too high and kingdoms decided it would be easier to take than to pay.

Ash burned in the back of your throat, you stared at your feet as the second ship that week crumbled into the ocean. Its flames were heavy on your back, reflecting in the greys of the sea. A particularly large crack of the fire made the breath catch in your throat. Your fear of the element had persisted for years filling your nightmares with smoke and screams. 

As the distance between you and the defeated ship lengthened your heart began to calm. The air was thick with moisture, purple clouds bruising the dull sky. The ocean was frothy, waves lapping tirelessly at the sides of your ship.

Your mind felt dizzy, the taste of blood still thick in your mouth. Two more men had been lost in the fight which had taken place just minutes ago. One flung into the ocean and the other struck by a bullet. That was six bodies that you had been forced to dump into the sea the past month. 

You had to get rid of Sirius before more corpses were to be fed to the sharks. This had never been so strikingly obvious before yet, you hesitated. Nails dug into your palms, the voices in your head fighting a clamoring war. Your feelings were illegible, their messy colors smeared together in an uninterpretable painting. So you threw them away, ignoring the throb in your chest and taking a breath. Sirius was to be sold to the highest bidder and that was that. You felt your past’s grip on your throat loosening. There was only one way to get rid of what used to be, you had to kill it. 

   

Sirius had never been so bewildered before. His life had been a book that was written a thousand times over. The prince falls in love, the queen doesn’t approve, the love runs off, the prince finds the love, and then happily ever after. But life wasn’t as sweet nor simple as a children’s story and this may be the first time that he had ever truly realized that. All it took was the prince to be tied in the love’s basement ready to be sold to his death. 

Sirius woke with a start as metal clattered inches from his face. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as his breath slowly returned to his lungs. He stared at the plate which had woken him, it was piled higher than normal with two rolls dropped next to it. He peered up at the giver of this gift.

He recognized the small blonde as the one he had threatened a few weeks before, the fear he had seen in her eyes that moment now replaced with pity, bitter and soft like rotten fruit. 

“I wanna talk.” She said plainly, toeing the plate towards him like a bribe, he supposed that’s exactly what it was. 

Sirius sat up ignoring the hammer of his head. His hair stuck to his cheek, slick with sweat. The woman whose name he never learned dropped to a squat beside him, a small knife held in her hand. His eyes widened as it glinted in the small gas lamp hanging above his head. 

“Relax.” She sighed cutting the rope that tethered his hands behind his back. 

Sirius felt his shoulders groan in protest as they fell forward, his wrists aching and rubbed red. Hot pin pricks filled his fingers as he clenched and unclenched his fists. 

When he looked back up Adrie was now seated in front of him, her legs crossed. She glanced down at the food and then back up at him, “You can eat if you agree to answer some questions.” Her demands were simple. 

He let silence settle for just a moment, “Fine.” After all, what did he have to lose? His dignity? His pride? They had been sleeping with the fishes for ages. 

She pushed the plate towards him, watching him quietly as he began to eat, “You don’t look like much of a prince to me.” She hummed after a moment.

Sirius swallowed, licking his lips, “Does anyone after two weeks locked in the bottom of a ship full of scum?"

Adrie cracked a smile, “I suppose not.” 

She stared at him still, she was lying a bit. Years held prisoner couldn’t erase the royalty he was raised with, it stuck to him like wet stuck to water. Nothing and everything proved him a prince, you could take his crown but you could never take his title.

“How do you know y/n?”

Sirius was startled by the suddenness of the question but not remotely surprised it was asked, “She hasn’t told you?” 

“I wouldn’t be asking if she had,” Adire responded, her tone was blunt. 

He bit into a roll thoughtfully taking his time to chew slowly, she was patient, her blank expression, not faltering.

“I thought you were friends.” He mumbled with a full mouth. 

Her jaw tightened, “Y/n doesn’t speak of her past.”

“So you’ve come to me for information?” Sirius said mild mockery in his voice.

“Obviously.”

He eyed the woman curiously, she was not what he had expected of your right hand man. Sirius smiled loosely, “You sure you wanna disobey Captain’s orders?” 

“Start talking or I take the food and hang you by your ankles.” 

Sirius huffed glancing between her and his food, “Fine, you win.” 

“Good. Tell me everything.” She demanded.

Sirius felt his throat tighten around the potatoes he had swallowed, his mind ached with hazy memories of summer days and speeding hearts, “There isn’t much to tell.” 

“You’re a bad lair.” Adire hummed. 

Sirius sighed, eyes falling to the bright white scars which laced his hands. He wasn’t sure where else to start but the beginning. He told of a loud baker girl who snuck over the walls into his garden and brought him pastries and friendship. He continued with vague details, of growing up together with swords and stars, reliving each moment he shared. 

He felt his words stiffen as he spoke of falling in love with you. Part of him felt like he was talking of someone completely different. Someone who had burnt up with her parents in a small bakery a million miles away. What was left, muffling cries above him, was a shell of that girl her soul replaced with seaweed and smoke. He pushed the thought away, swallowing it with the lump in his throat as he continued to speak of a proposal he regretted and the consequences of disobeying his mother. 

The broken fairytale cut his tongue filling his mouth with a bitter taste. He attempted to wash it down with the rum his listener had brought to him but its flavor was just as bad, it's only redemption was the warmth that filled his stomach.

Adrie looked at him blankly, "I don't blame her for wanting you dead." 

Sirius wished she had stayed silent. 

"But I pity you, you don't deserve death." 

He didn't look up and instead finished his drink, "Your pity means nothing to me." 

She sighed standing to her feet, "I never thought it did." 

When her boots disappeared up the ladder he let his cup drop to the ground, it rolled knocking into his heel as tears dripped from his chin.

By the time you had dropped anchor just off of Haran, the moisture had dropped from the air. Dry winds and clear skies greeted your crew. 

Rowboats were dropped in the water quickly, the sun was setting fast and a night of cheap ale and cheaper women were in the forefront of many a man's heads. 

You were tired, the happiness of your crewmates falling short at your feet. Exhaustion had replaced all anger and sadness you had harbored for the past weeks making your eyes grow dull as the bags beneath them. The satchel burned under your arms had a note you had written agreeing to the Yerith King’s price. You had singed your finger on the wax used to seal the envelope, it still throbbed a bit with the unsteady beat of your heart. You tried not to think about much on your way to land instead filling your head with that faint burn and fog of the setting sun. 

Adrie watched as you played with the diamond strung around your neck, a new piece she had only seen in recent days. She assumed you had taken it from one of the ships which had recently burnt into the sea. The bright stone was so different from the rest of your jewelry she was surprised you wore it all. Obnoxious gems had never been your type.

She was wrong on this thought, large jewels used to be what you would stare at as you passed shop windows, wishing you had the money to clutch one in your hand. They used to be a dream and a wish, now they were just things you stole and sold to the highest bidder.

Sirius had been briefly told of the plans for the evening. Two men whom he had become somewhat accustomed to during his stay had tied him up. The knots were tighter than usual as they were to be gone for the night. In his usual nature, Sirius complained about the ache of his wrists and the cramps in his legs. His grievances went unheard and his company disappeared from sight. The boat was quiet within the hour, nothing but the creak of old boards and calls of gulls far above his head breaking the silence. 

He drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours, time passing in its usual way, slowly. Finally, a clear thought came to Sirius’s head, he had the whole boat to himself. That meant there was no one to stop him from escaping his certain and quickly approaching death. 

Sirius tried to twist his hands out of the rope for what must have been an hour and only resulted in drawing blood from his wrists. Switching tactics he began to slowly shuffle and roll around the cabin he was in, searching for anything that could cut rope. As the sun’s light began to fade his task was growing difficult. Just before he gave in to his exhaustion Sirius found a bent nail sticking about a centimeter out of the ladder that led to the upper deck. The next two hours were spent rubbing his binds against the dull metal until they finally snapped. 

    After a month of being held prisoner, freedom left him stunned. He stumbled up the ladder until he reached the ship’s deck. The warm breeze which washed over him felt like a gift from the gods. A smile stretched his aching cheeks and for the first time in a while Sirius Black let out a genuine laugh. 

He quickly found a small boat which he could lower to the water. He could be miles away before the sun rose and you found his binds cut. Judging by the port you had stopped at he was only a few days' row from neutral lands. There he could gather himself and write for help. He was saved.

Sirius’s glee was cut short as he realized that he was missing one vital thing; you. The only reason he was out here in the first place was for you. He had spent years following rumors across the sea, he had given up his place as king, he had spent hundreds of thousands on supplies. But the truth was even if he hadn’t done all that, even if he had stumbled across you within a week and spent no more than ten doubloons he still wouldn’t leave this ship alive unless you were by his side. 

Sirius cursed, slamming his fist into the deck. His eyes darted around in what felt like panic. He was trapped between your love and his life and while he had chosen the former weeks ago he had no way of securing it. 

In the dark, a glint of light was seen. A crate of liquor stowed next to the captain’s quarters revealed itself to the pale moon. The man's mind buzzed, he realized quickly that he would need to act fast, the hours of the dark he had left must be well used. 

The deal had been easy, one glance at the large gem and you had a buyer offering hundreds. You walked away with 400 doubloons knowing it was worth much more. Not that you cared, you had been hours from chucking the necklace into the sea. 

It was late at night now, the golden light of pubs and brothels spilling onto the gravel road you walked. Your legs still felt weak, they were accustomed to the sway of boats on sloshing waves not the strange sturdiness of the ground. You hadn’t been able to sleep well on land since you had stepped off it, you had always opted for a swinging hammock over a still cot. 

You swung your bag of coins round in circles as you made your way to the beach. The water was smooth save the ripple of waves drawn by the full moon. Sand glistened silver under your boots, the light crash of water on rocks echoing around you. 

You had never intended to spend the full night on land, your crew was well aware of this fact and none would be surprised to find you gone in the morning. You shoved one of your beached row boats back into the water, splashing about ankle deep before leaping into it. 

When you reached your ship, you sensed something was wrong immediately. The small voice which you tended to ignore was screaming in the back of your head. As you climbed onto the deck the strong scent of liquor overwhelmed you. You heard a soft splash and glanced down to look at the puddle you had stepped into. Swiping two fingers through the fluid and plopping them into your mouth you hummed. There was no mistaking the sharp taste of gin. You looked around to find the leak and instead locked eyes with a figure who stood about 20 meters in front of you. 

“Sirius?” You asked though you already knew it was him, you didn’t think you would ever forget his face, even if it was obscured by the shadows of the moon. 

He gapped at you, unsure of what to say.

You took a step closer and caught a glance of the bottle he held in his hand. Its thin neck was stuffed with a piece of cloth, the soft glow of a gas lamp flickering behind him. The second you realized what he had planned your gun was pointed at his chest.

“Drop the bottle Black.” you hissed with a steady voice despite the fact that your gun was rattling in your hands. Your thoughts were now fogged with fear, plagued by smoke and flames.

Sirius had suddenly found his voice, “I know you’re not stupid enough to fire that. One spark and we’ll both go up in flames.”

Your breaths quickened, vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes. “Why are you doing this?” You croaked. “Why do you want to ruin everything I’ve built for myself?”

“I’m not leaving without you y/n.” He shouted, “I can’t live without you. Just come with me. Please. Just come with me and it will all be fine.” 

You shook your head, “No.”

“Please, please! I need you y/n, I can’t go back without you!” He begged, snatching the lamp from behind him, “I won’t be able to live.”

It was in that moment that you understood he was just as desperate as you, just as lost and hopeless. You dropped your gun to your side, tears sliding slowly down your cheeks. Your throat tightened holding back a sob, “Okay.” You said with a broken voice.

Sirius cracked a small smile, “I knew it.” He sighed, “I knew you still loved me.” Setting down the lamp he opened his arms walking towards you. You met him halfway burying your face into his rough jacket.

“God I missed you y/n,” he whispered as you slipped a knife from under your sleeve.

“I’m so sorry Siri.” You mumbled in response before plunging the blade into his back. 

You held him as he collapsed forward, choking back on his own blood. You had begun to sob, hand still clutching the hilt of the blade which was lodged into him. Eventually his weight became too much to bear and you both fell to the ground. Sirius rolled off next to you, his hand still clasped around your own. The two of you started up at the stars listening as his breaths slowed. Just before they stopped completely you felt a small squeeze of your hand and for just a moment you saw the soft pink of a petal floating towards you.

You weren't sure how long you lay there, staring up at the sky but it was long enough for you to finally realize that you were the villain of your story. It was an odd thing to recognize considering in all of the books you had carried as a child you took the place of the protagonist; the one who swung the sword to save the kingdom You had always been the one to end your life with a happily ever after. 

Now you had realized that you had never been a hero. You had spent your life as a villain in the making, each step you had taken leading you closer and closer to your undeniable fate of evil. You had your chance to be the princess trapped in the tower, but you had ignored the prince and now took the shape of a witch. A witch who stole and killed and burned all that she hated. Some had to do it after all, we can’t all be heroes. There is no story without a villain, at least not one worth reading.

As much as the small baker girl who rested amongst the magnolia tree would have hated you, the woman you saw when you looked in the mirror was okay with who you had become. And if she was okay with it, then why did it matter what the past would have thought? You had been running from it for years and now you would never have to again. Because now your past ran from you. 

taglist:

@april-showers-and-flowers @fleurmoon @chaosinparadise @re-zerohora @pregnant-piggy @approved-by-dentists @theweirdobella @fific7 @whitewashedghanianlol @artemis1orion @justmesadgirl @bberree @songforhema @wangmangagavroche @evyiione @atomicpunkrock @fairywriter-oracle @moon-zodiac @secretsofageek @accio-rogers-blog @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @obsessedwithrandomthings-blog @coldlilheart @suseptiable-bur-siriusexual @inglorious-imagines @the-natureofme @trickylittlewitch @layaa-layaaa @teheharrypotter @sarcasticallywitty15 @rosieweasleyy @dracosgoodgirl @inglourious-imagines

so many of u changed ur urls so if I have the wrong person tagged or the wrong username let me know

Masterlist

[bokettochild]

Maybe a snippet about Hyrule hitting statues for potions? (Like Legend’s statues in Holodrum/Labrynnia or maybe Mipha’s statue)

Ask and ye shall receive! In no reasonable amount of time, but receive ye shall!

(This was a ton of fun to write!)

Everyone in their group had some... irregularities...

Time’s issue with pottery for example, or Legend’s need to collect every item that could conceivably (and sometimes inconceivably) be used for anything ever. Wars had a need to know where everyone was all the time, and Twilight had a tendency to gnaw on things, made worse by Wild’s propensity for giving him meat with bones still in it, bones that Twilight would gnaw on for the rest of the meal until someone pointed it out.

It was funny, really, to see his pup flush and spit out the bones with a startled expression, apparently never having realized what he was doing. It was funnier still that if the pup seemed particularly keen on one, that Wolfie would appear later to finish chewing it.

But chewing bones and collecting items, and even digging through pottery (which wasn’t a good thing he knows, Malon has scolded him a million times for it) are hardly comparable to Hyrule’s tendencies.

Hyrule liked to hit things.

Not people mind, or animals, or even buildings. Hyrule liked to hit statues, and apparently only statues.

The same look would come over the traveler’s face every time, considering and curious before he took off like a rocket towards whatever stone or metal figure lay before him. But no matter how consistent the behavior was, no one was ever fast enough to stop him.

The first time it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was just the traveler, the veteran and himself, and they’d been wandering about in Wild’s Hyrule trying to figure out where exactly the others were.

Usually, they wouldn’t have split up, but both he and the vet were fighting with their arthritis and Hyrule had insisted on taking a look to try and figure out something to help them. It was late, and neither of them had felt overly keen on arguing against the order, but the others were half asleep on their feet, so Time had encouraged them to hurry along to the village Wild had promised was nearby.

Finding the village was the easy part, the hard part was stopping Legend from wheezing up a lung when his protégé's first instinct was to smack the statue of Hylia in its center. Hyrule had looked disappointed for whatever reason after soundly punching Hylia’s likeness in the side, and it had only made the vet wheeze harder, leaning against Time heavily in order to stay upright as he cackled uproariously. Time didn’t really get why it was funny, but the fact that Hyrule’s first instinct was to smack Hylia did pull a smile to his lips.

Legend didn’t laugh the second time it happened though, in fact, he looked hurt.

They’d been dumped in a place that Legend called Lynna City, and while the vet wove his way through the streets with practiced ease, the others trailing after him like ducklings as he’d explained some of the history of the place, even telling them that it was the sight of one of his adventures.

“It’s changed a lot since then though,” The vet drawled, eyes glimmering in a way Time wasn’t sure he liked. “But there’s some things that don’t change.”

“Like what?” Wind had bounced in place, gripping Legend’s hand tightly as he had been doing since they found themselves in one of the cities alley ways.

The vet flinched, eyes darting to the side as he’d ushered them further along the pathways, only to be stopped by Warriors’ voice exclaiming in a breathy manner. “Like that?”

In the middle of the town square, there was a statue. A bright smiling face, sharp eyes and the vet’s signature messy bangs stared out at them from a face of stone, much younger looking than the vet himself, but easily recognizable.

Warriors whistled. “They have a statue of you? Wow, impressive.” None of his usual snark tainted the words, and the captain even looked vaguely uncomfortable as he stared at the fixture (if he remembered right, there was an exact replica in Cia’s rose garden).

“Like that.” Legend drawled, irritation on his face, but ears darkening and twitching in embarrassment. “I told Anbi not to but-”

The vet’s words were cut off by Hyrule running across the square and promptly smacking the statue. Legend’s irritated façade cracked to reveal a hurt expression beneath as he watched Hyrule wring his hands out and return to the group with a disappointed expression. “’Rulie?” The vet’s eyes shimmered with hurt as Hyrule shook his head.

“Nothing.” Came the disappointed sigh.

Legend was very nearly pouting out of hurt for a second before he shrugged it off stiffly and continued to lead them all through Lynna. Nothing was said of the statue hitting after that, save one time where Wars tried to bring it up only to be on the receiving end of a stink eye from the vet.

For not wanting a statue, Legend seemed rather hurt that Hyrule would hit the thing.

Wild was even more touchy, but it made sense that he would be, after all, the statue that Hyrule tried to go after next was, apparently, very important to the Champion.

They’d landed in Wild’s Hyrule again and the young hero was taking them all to the Zora’s Domain to investigate rumors about an infected lynel. Three heroes had flinched at the mere idea, and while time didn’t know what a lynel was, he was beginning to dread it, what with the hesitant murmurs and fearful looks shot between the trio.

They’d hardly entered the domain before Wild was suddenly catching hold of the traveler, prompting several curious looks from his party and from passer bys. But then they saw why.

Rising up in the center of the domain was a tall and graceful statue of a zora woman, and the minute Hyrule’s eyes fell on it he was surging forwards in Wild’s arms, barely held back as the Champion scowled.

“Rule, so help me, if you smack that statue I will toss you in the pools and not let you out for an hour!”

The traveler turned to his growling friend in confusion. “What?”

“Don’t hit her, that’s my fiancé.” Wild threatened softly, eyes glinting unnaturally blue as brows shot up.

“Sky could have said the same thing, yet here we are.” Legend drawled, earning curious looks from all those who hadn’t witnessed the first incident.

“But statues have rupees inside.” Hyrule blinked owlishly. “We’re hard up for funds, why shouldn’t I get us some.”

There was a moment of silence before Wild released the traveler with a weary sigh. “That’s not how it works here, ‘Rule.”

“Or in my world, I’d like to add.” Legend butted in, looking somewhat relieved.

Hyrule looked from one to another of their group, confusion clear on his face. “Then how do you get money?”

“I have a job.” Wars shrugged, and was echoed by both Twilight and Time himself, as Four motioned at the captain.

“I’m a smith.”

“I do odd jobs for people.” Wind added on.

“Same!” All anger had drained from Wild’s face as he smiled brightly at the sailr.

“I do landscaping work.” Legend drawled, inspecting a hand distractedly, nly to be met with th stars of the others. “Oh fine, I cut grass and blow shit up, happy?” He frowned in thought, cokcing his head. “And trees. I also work on trees. We also sell stuff out of the orchard and honey as well, and I kinda rent out the house to Ravio-”

“Point is.” Warriors broke through the vet’s murmurs. “We don’t hut statues for money. That would be considered rude in our worlds.”

Hyrule nodded. “Alright.”

And they thought that was the end of it.

The first time they saw a statue in Hyrule’s world, a goddess statue to be exact, Hyrule ran up and bopped the thing over the head, much to the horror of Sky.

A rupee bounced to the ground, glimmering and bright, prompting a smile from the traveler.

“But- but- but-”

“It’s just a pagan god.” Hyrule shrugged, rubbing the rupee off on his tunic. “And everyone does it here.”

Sky looked like he might either scold or cry, and Legend had devolved back into cackling, eyes watering as he looked up at his protégé with a fond smile.

Time shook his head. They all had their irregularities.

[kuroopaisen]

09:03 am || iwaizumi hajime

➵ iwaizumi can’t find his favourite jumper.

wc: 831

warnings: implied f!reader? maybe? can be linked to tiny love if you so desire

a/n: yue my love, this one’s for you. i’m not sure if you’ll see this, but if you do, i hope you’ll enjoy (sorry it’s shorter hhh). i value and appreciate your honesty and how willing you are to discuss and stand up for your thoughts. believe it or not, but i’ve learnt a lot from you. and, most of all, thank you for not only sharing these things with me, but also for supporting me in turn. i adore you and your feral racoon energy dksjklfdj

Iwaizumi likes to think that he’s good with the cold. He rarely complains about it – he rarely complains about anything, actually – and he’s done plenty of morning runs to know what cold really feels like.

But even he’s susceptible to a chilly five degrees. And the one thought running through his head during his jog back from his morning classes is that he really, really should’ve brought a jumper.

His warmest jumper was a good six years old, bought absentmindedly at the beginning of a particularly cold winter. It’s only grey, and so well-worn that the inner lining was soft as that Godzilla plush he’d coveted when he was six (not that he let anyone know about that). Iwaizumi isn’t the type to get too attached to physical things, but there’s something about that jumper that rooted a deep attachment to it in his mind.

Maybe he felt it symbolised something. Maybe all the memories he’d had in it had weaved themselves amongst the cheap fabric. Wither way, there was something sentimental about it.

After all, it had persisted through half a decade, and proved itself worthy enough to fly across the Pacific Ocean with him.

Twice. He’s gone through the laundry twice. And not a peep of that beloved grey sweater.

He sighs, rising to full height. There’s no chance he left it at uni, is it? No, but he didn’t take it to this morning… And he’d seen it the other night. He knows he put it in the wash.

He grunts, stalking out the laundry with clenched fists. How hard was it to find one jumper? Sure, any other jumper would do, but now it was about the principle.

He frowns as he approaches your door, not quite sure what he’s planning to ask you. Maybe you’ll have a more observant eye than him, if possible.

He knocks on your door thrice, as he always does.

“Come in!” You call, your voice light and cheerful. He’s glad, at least, that you seem to be having a good day.

He opens your door with a sigh, stepping into your exceedingly warm room. Your little heater appears to be working overtime, planted next to your desk but somehow emanating throughout the entire room.

You swivel round on your chair, eyes round and curious as you look at him.

Iwaizumi’s breath catches in his throat.

You’re perched on your seat with your knees drawn up to your chest, tucked under… his jumper.

Oh fuck. Oh shit.

“Everything okay?” You ask, tilting your head at him.

That just made you cuter. Shit—

“Uh, nothing,” he shakes his head.

“You sure?” You blink at him, a little baffled.

He wants to curse himself out.

You shouldn’t be so cute, just sitting there. You’ve made no effort to look ‘nice’, with messy hair and bags under your eyes, but somehow that adds to your charm.

But you’re gazing at him so innocently, in his jumper, like there’s nothing strange about it. And perhaps it is, in your mind. But his heart is saying otherwise. You look like you belong in it; like this is something so natural, so expected that he shouldn’t even so weird about this.

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly remembering that you’d asked him a question. “Good luck with your work.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

His ribs feel like they’re about to crack.

He nods, turning around. You’re out of sight, but you’re certainly not out of mind. He can tell that image of you in his sweater, as innocuous as anything and certainly not as big a deal as his body is making it out to be, will plaster itself at the back of his mind for a long time to come.

An ill-advised thought zips through his mind as he leaves. He stops at the threshold of your room, his back still turned to you.

You frown a little. Is everything okay?

I’m a weak, weak man, he thinks to himself. The heat in your room is unbearable now, but his desire to say the next few words are even more so.

“Keep it,” he says, looking at you over his shoulder. “It looks good on you.”

The words would’ve been enough for you to combust on the spot.

But it’s the little smirk that really does it.

Has your room always felt this warm? Or is it finally time to turn your heater down? Because your face feels really, really hot. A ‘I need to dump my head into a bucket of ice’ kind of hot.

You hadn’t intended to steal his jumper. It was just the first thing you’d found in the laundry this morning that was clean and looked warm. You’d planned to put it back before he got back from university; you’d just lost track of time.

But it’s yours now, apparently; even though it smells so much like him. That was one of the reasons you’d absentmindedly picked it up.

Oh, shit.

You’ve got it bad.

[chokemeanakin]

Heyyy first wanna say that I love you!! 💜❤️🤎🧡💙🤍💚🖤

Next, I’ve been really sick lately, like haven’t been bail to take down food for a solid week, and in and out of hospital for the last two weeks, so could you please write up an Anakin small fic or head canon or just anything with a really sick reader, but she finds it hard to exsept help? Your fives have been keep me alive I swear haha

Okay LOVE YOU💖💖

YOOO IVE BEEN WANTING TO DO THIS FOR WEEEEEEKKKSSS you literally read my mind !!! 😆😆😆 (also I’m so sorry that you’re terribly sick, I’m sending you all my love and I hope you get better soon. I love you too boo thang ❤️) HERE WE GO:

(Also fun fact whump is my area of expertise so if this gets to be really long I apologize — it’s just hard for me to narrow stuff down, anyway, enjoy)

Anakin x Sick (fem) Reader Headcanons:

Gif from @swprequels

The minute you get sick, you immediately shut yourself into your room and hide from the world.

You hate people seeing you at your worst, most vulnerable state. So weak, and needy, and messy and in pain. You’ve always been the type to push people away, no matter how sick you get, because you just can’t let them see you like that.

But like.... imagine you’re new to the temple or something. You haven’t been there for very long, and you still don’t really know your way around. And you wake up at night with the worst stomach pains, like writhing around in bed and crying and begging higher powers for any kind of relief sort of pain.

And you somehow manage to wrench yourself onto shaking legs and dig through the bathroom cabinet, only to find that you have no medicine that can help you.

The next logical step is you go to the medbay, but you have no idea where that even is. And so you’re left to drag yourself down the halls to the only other person who you can think of to help you, the only other other person you want to see right now.

Anakin opens the door shirtless, rubbing sleep out of his bleary eyes. You wish you could feel worse for waking him up when he was obviously sleeping, but your stomach is twisting and turning and a layer of cold sweat is forming over you and you need his help. So you swallow your pride and stand there as he asks, “Y/n? What’s wrong, baby?”

He doesn’t hesitate as he gently ushers you into his room, holding you up as he leads you to the bed. You’re glad, because you don’t think your legs can hold you up for very much longer. And he’s kneeling in front of you, taking your face in his hands and wiping away your tears as you clutch at your stomach and tremble beneath him.

“I-I don’t feel good,” is all you can manage before wincing at a particularly painful stab, shuttering as the nausea worsens.

He’s so worried, eyes scanning over every inch of you. He’s less soft now, and more action as protecting you and figuring out what’s wrong is his first priority.

“What hurts?”

Everything hurts, but you settle with the most pressing offender. “My stomach.”

His eyes drop to your arms, which are wound around your middle like you could squeeze the pain away. You’re hunched over, shivering violetently, skin pale in the darkness. Very obviously sick, although now he has to decide whether it’s bad enough where it warrants a visit to the medbay. His heart twists painfully.

“When did it start?”

“A couple hours ago.”

“Did you eat something?”

He’s rubbing his thumb along your cheek, capturing each cold tear as they’re occasionally squeezed out of your eye.

“Not that I know of,” you whisper. “I had the same as everyone else.”

“Okay,” he says after a moment, then stands. He keeps one hand gently cradling your face as he reaches behind you and pulls the blankets back. “You wanna lie down?”

You want to say yes, but suddenly you’re hit with a particularly excruciating twist of the stomach, and you know it wouldn’t be a good idea. If you move even slightly, you’re pretty certain you’ll be spilling your dinner all over the floor. The thought has you moaning slightly, curled even further into yourself, shaking your head. “Can’t.”

“Alright. That’s okay. Do you think you’re gonna be sick?”

A terrible wave of embarrassment washes over you, but you force yourself to nod.

Anakin doesn’t even have to ask to know that you won’t be able to make it the bathroom. He wouldn’t want to subject that to you anyway, knelt on the cold tile floor before the toilet. No, he wants you to be as comfortable as possible.

So he takes his garbage can and makes sure it’s clean before setting it on the floor or in front of you, in case you need it quickly. You’re hanging your head, sweating and shivering and whimpering every so often as the pain builds and builds and washes over you in waves.

“It’s okay,” Anakin sits beside you, hand rubbing your back in grounding circles. “Focus on your breathing. It’ll pass soon.”

You stay there with him like that for a long while. At one point, you’re begging him for some pain meds, or anything that can take the pain away, but he has to refuse because you’re just going to throw them up anyway. He feels awful saying no, because you begin to cry again and lean forward.

He senses it right before it happens. With lightning reflexes, he snatches the bin off the ground and holds it under you just as you begin to get violently sick.

It’s not pretty, and that thought is knocking at the back of your mind as you clutch onto the rim of the bin, emptying your stomach over and over and over, barely able to catch a breath before you’re hit with another round.

Anakin sits right next to you through it all, dragging his fingers along the nape of your neck to gather your hair over one shoulder, rubbing soothing line and circles into your back, hushing you and telling you to let it out, that you’ll feel better once it’s over.

He’s right about that. Throwing up scares you, and you hate it with everything in you, but for the time being you feel a little better. Once your food stops forcing its way back up and you can finally breathe, there’s a moment where the awful stabbing pain in your stomach is quiet and you can open your eyes and lift your head.

“You think you’re done?”

You take a moment to assess your nausea, not wanting to be hit with a surprise attack and make a mess all over the floor. But for the time being, your stomach has settled and now you’re left as a trembling, weak, shell of a human, barely able to sit upright on your own.

You nod and wipe your mouth, disgusted with the contents now on the back of your hand. Your pajamas have been soaked in sweat, and you’re sure you look absolutely disgusting. You’re too weak to care a whole lot, but the shame still bubbles up in your chest.

Somehow he’s got a glass of water, and he’s handing it to you so you can swish and spit. “Small sips, angel.”

Anakin sets the bin down, running his hand over your hair once more before standing. The loss of his warm presence has you shivering violently, teeth clacking together. “You want a bath? Or do you just want to go to bed?”

You don’t think you’d be able to sleep with your clothes stocking to you like this, so you choose the bath. He kisses your forehead once, saying, “I’ll go run it now. Stay here in case you get sick again.”

You nod and he leaves, the sounds of the faucet turning and water splashing into the bath sounding from the bathroom. He comes back to help you up, hands fitting right onto your disgusting sweaty and vomitty body as he half carries you to the bathroom.

And then he helps you get undressed, lowers you carefully into the water, kneels by the side of the tub and holds your hand.

Your eyes are closed and your head is pounding, achey and queasy and tired. You know you have to wash up, but you can’t seem to lift your arms.

So he does it for you 🥺

Squeezing some shampoo into his palm, gently rubbing it into your hair, using his hand to shield your face as he carefully washes it out. Running his hands over your arms and the top of you chest with soap, lathering you up and then rinsing again. And then he’s squeezing water out of a cloth, running the damp material over your face to clean it of sweat and sick.

And when he’s done, he stands and promises to be right back as he takes the bin full of vomit to the communal bathrooms, dumping it out in the toilet and then washing it in the showers. It’s early hours of the morning so no one is there, but he’d do it even if people were looking at him like he was crazy. 🥺

And when he comes back, he helps you out of the bath and bundles you up in a big fluffy towel. Runs it over your skin and dries you up, and helps you stand as you request to brush your teeth.

And then he brings you back into the room and helps you dress in some of his clothes, a pair of his sleep pants that he has to tie the string extra tight so they’ll stay up, and roll the cuffs up to your ankle about 10 times until you can walk without tripping. And he’s also got some sleep shirts that he’s never worn, and you swim in that also so he rolls up the sleeves until you can see your hands.

And now all you want to do is fall back into his pillows and go to sleep, but he asks you to hold on a while longer so that he can get you some meds. And he has you take some pills, encourages you to drink some more water, (“slow, baby”), and then he helps you lie back and get comfortable.

And if you wake up later in the night to get sick again, he’s waking up right along with you, holding you and hushing you and being the sweetest person you could ever ask for.

In instances like this, you can’t help but need and accept his help. And he doesn’t mind giving it, in fact he wants you to come to him. Anything that brings you pain, he’ll destroy.

And he’ll make sure you eat as much as you can, and that you’re drinking water. Constantly asking you how you feel, if there’s anything he can do. Runs a cold cloth over your face to soothe the fever, and massages your aching muscles until you’re all better.

The voice he uses when you’re sick 🥺. He knows that any noise can hurt your head, so he lowers his voice and it’s so smooth and deep and rumbly. So soft and gentle 😭 the sweetest voice bc his baby is in pain and he just wants to take it all away 🥺🥺

In other cases where you’re sick, like you have a cold, you’re more stubborn. You shut yourself away as soon as you get the first symptoms, denying any hint that you might be getting sick, until suddenly he realizes he hasn’t seen you in days and stops by to find you buried under covers, surrounded by tissues, all lights off in your apartment, sleeping fitfully.

And so he’ll sigh a little, clean up your apartment and then sit and watch over you. When you wake up, you’ll groan and burrow deeper into the covers and demand he leave. But he’ll just tell you to be quiet and drink this water.

Demands you tell him the moment you feel sick next time, even though he knows you never will. And then when he gets you some medicine and food, your cheeks are red with embarrassment and fever as you bashfully accept them.

But ofc you’ll get over it soon because Anakin’s here now and you might as well be miserable in his arms. So you push the covers off your overheating body and reach across the bed for him, practically falling into his lap from where he’s sitting on a chair by your bedside.

And he just simply catches you and strokes your hair and hushes you as you bury your wet eyes and flushed cheeks into his chest, sniffling pathetically.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he’ll promise, and hold you in his warm arms and rock you until you fall asleep.

Getting sick on Republic Cruisers is the worst. When that happens, you’re either on your way to or back from war. And so usually people are busy and running around, or exhausted and beat up. The ship is cold and everyone has their own problems to worry about, but you feel like ass and you just want to be alone with Anakin.

He feels awful when he sees you, and will order everyone out of the pilot’s room. And then he’ll clear the passenger seat off, urge you to sit down, wrap you up in as many blankets as he can find, and when he can only find a couple, he’ll sacrifice his Jedi robe. And you’ll nuzzle deep down into the cacoon of blankets and inhale the scent of Anakin’s robe, fall in and out of consciousness as you’re lulled to sleep by the soft sounds of the ship.

Anakin wishes there was more he could do for you in these instances, but the food isn’t good and there’s not usually any medicine. So he’ll keep a hand on your knee, or let you hold his hand in your lap as you sleep, and he’ll send a little surge of peace and soothing energy through the force and into you.

Will 100% find an excuse to carry you off the ship when you land, and then spend the rest of the day lying with you and tending to you and trying to make you feel better 🥺

He’s so caring and so protective and sweet. His gentle side really comes out, because his #1 thing is that he needs the people he loves to be safe, so if an illness is hurting you he will do anything he can to take the pain away.

Yes, he can’t take care of himself sometimes. But the minute you’re feeling a little under the weather, suddenly he has a PHD in medical science and he’s nursing you back to health like an expert 🥺

Also he’ll never deny you kisses when you’re sick, even if you warn him he might catch it, he just hushes you and kisses you softly on the lips. Then on the chin, then the nose, then the forehead.

Will always brush off your inability to accept help. If you say “no” or “leave me alone” or “I’m fine go away” he’ll just roll his eyes and plant himself there. Bc no matter how stubborn you can be, he’s even more.

And when you keep apologizing, obviously feeling awful for having him take care of you, he’ll just hush your worries and hold a tissue to your nose and go “blow.”

And then he’ll stay with you and watch over you until you’re all better. And even when you get back into the swing of things, he’ll watch over you like a hawk while you’re recovering 🥺🥺

You might get shy and ashamed and embarrassed when he tries to help you, but he doesn’t mind. You’ll just have to come to accept the fact that he’s always going to be there for you, to help you and hold you and make you all better ❤️

Sweet boy is so good to you 🥺🥺🥰

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[theysayitscrazy]

Depression Bites

This one is for @rebelwrites She was feeling a little down today and reached out to friends for a little pick me up. Here you go darlin, I hope it helps. If even just a little bit.

Clay Spenser x Reader

You’re feeling a little down and overwhelmed and your man comes to cheer you up.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on you. It’s a perfectly beautiful sunny summer day out, but you feel like a rain cloud is hanging over your head. You feel like you’re drowning and barely managing to stay afloat. Nothing you seem to do can shake the feeling. Like you aren’t good enough. That overwhelming feeling of drowning rises up again and you fight the urge to scream.

You look around the house and see nothing but messes everywhere. Laundry piled up on couches, half folded, half dirty, you don’t even know at this point. There are stacks of dishes piled by the sink and you’re officially out of clean silverware.

Work was a whole other nightmare. The special project you were in charge of was behind. You spent the day trying to get that caught up, only for your inbox to be neglected. The forty unread emails at the end of the day really set you over the edge. The feeling of despair bubbling over.

You logged off your work PC feeling defeated and turn and face your mess of a living room. The small apartment walls were closing in and you didn’t understand why. You’d been so happy last weekend. You and Clay had gotten away, just the two of you for a full three days. He’d taken some leave time to ensure you wouldn’t be interrupted.

You had finally felt connected again. After years together, things sometimes got stagnant with any long-term relationship, but Clay always made sure to remind you just how much you meant to him. He had surprised you with your favorite flowers the morning of your get away. He’d been extra attentive all weekend. Catering to your every whim while away. Ice cream for breakfast? You got it.

He’d be so extra sweet all weekend, and then you’d come home and back to reality. Not that he wasn’t sweet at home, just life got in the way. He’d been spun up the day after you returned and had been in and out ever since.

While you tried to navigate the mess that had become your home and life. You had both been so exhausted from your weekend away that you had dumped the bags on the floor by the door when you walked in. Taking one day off of work, had set you back several DAYS, and while your boss was understanding, you felt like you were failing.

Work from home life was getting to you. The lack of human interaction was getting to you. You weren’t made to sit at home, you were meant to lead the pack and run the social circles.

You head into the bedroom of the small one-bedroom apartment and climbed into the unmade bed. More clothes littered the floor than you cared to admit. You can’t help the tears that run down your face as you pull the covers over your head.

You hate this feeling. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You don’t understand how you could go from so fricken happy while you were away, to feeling this low and shitty a week later.

You hear the front door open and sigh. You know what he sees when he walks in the house. A mess, everywhere. “Babe,” he calls out.

You don’t have the energy to respond.

You hear his feet pad across the hardwood floors and then the bed dips as he gets on it. “Hey, you a sleep?” his voice is soft as he slides across the bed and wraps his arms around you. He cradles you within his strong arms and hold on tight, pulling you back against his hard body.

Somewhere along the way, he’d lost the shirt and you can feel his smooth, hot skin slid against yours as his strong arms cradle you against him. “Hey, you okay?” he asks, when he finally gets a look of your tear streaked face.

You shake your head no, and it breaks your heart to see the pain in his eyes. His pain, for your pain. You reach out and run a hand over his scruffy beard. He’d been growing it out lately, knowing how much you enjoyed it.

You roll over, and he turns with you, so he’s lying flat on his back with you resting your head on his shoulder. His arms stay wrapped tightly around you and you shudder out a sigh of contentment as you relax into his body. You idly run a hand across his bare chest and just breathe in his scent.

You close your eyes and just feel the moment.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and says, “You know it’s going to be okay, right? Whatever it is.” He squeezes you tighter and you let the tears fall down your face.

That feeling overwhelming drowning threatens to rise up again, but Clay turns again and faces you. He pulls you into him, so your head is cradled against his chest and tangles your legs together. His powerful arms are wrapped tightly around you and you drape an arm over his side, running your hand across his bare back idly.

You love the feeling of his smooth skin, the way the muscles ripple and contract from your touch, and your touch alone.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers in your ear.

You smile faintly, but he can’t see it. Your head is buried in his chest.

“Your strong, and fierce, and brave,” he whispers, peppering your head with kisses in between each word. “You can take on the world and kick its ass with just a messy bun and a little bit of coffee,” you can feel his grin as he kisses your forehead.

You smile into his chest, feeling slightly better.

“Even if your toes smell like cottage cheese,” he adds.

“Hey!” you huff with a watery laugh and smack his chest.

His laughter sends you over the edge and you giggle. God, you love the sound of his laughter.

“You’re an ass,” you inform him, a smile on your face as you look up at him.

His beautiful baby blue eyes are twinkling down at you as he gives you one of his very best smiles. One of those charming, only reserved for you, grins. “But I’m your ass, though,” he reminds you.

“Yeaaah,” you murmur, rubbing his beard. “Yeah, you are.”

He tucks your hair behind your ear and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “How about some ice cream for dinner and shitty movie on Netflix?”

You laugh and then say, “I know you did not just try and turn this moment into a Netflix and Chill, Spenser,” you roll your eyes.

He presses another kiss to your lips and chuckles, “I wouldn’t dream of it babe.”

“Would too,” you huff, a smile on your lips.

“Can I blame a guy for tryin? My girl is damn beautiful with her messy bun and stinky toes,” he smirks up at you.

“Oh, hell no!” you huff and poke him a particularly ticklish spot on his side.

He jumps and giggles like a fricken school girl.

You have a wide grin on your face as you stare down at your man in bed. For the moment you feel better. You can let the outside noise drift away and focus on the handsome and dorky man in your bed. “Alright, ice cream and Netflix,” you agree.

He sits up and presses a kiss to you lips before he pulls you into another bear hug. “I love you. Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see. It’s just a shitty day. It’ll pass. You’ll kick this in the ass too.”

You breathe a watery sigh and hold on tight to his broad and muscular body. “God damn, I love you too,” you respond and kiss his shoulder. You close your eyes and get lost in the feeling of the safeness that was your man.

[drowningbydegrees]

This was supposed to be a Whumptober ficlet, but that is... not what happened here. Instead, I come bearing mostly fluff.  Read on AO3

Jaskier makes it a whole six months past Posada before he comes to the inconvenient conclusion that this feeling stretches beyond mutually beneficial companionship. He’d kick himself for not recognizing it, except… Except that while Jaskier falls in love like breathing, it’s never like this. He’s never felt himself drawn in so thoroughly by someone else’s gravity, hopelessly stuck in their orbit. Worse still, he’s rarely loved anyone who so obviously didn’t love him back.

It’s three years after that, almost on the nose, when it dawns on Jaskier that he’s got that last part all wrong. To say that Geralt isn’t particularly talkative is a laughable understatement, but the lack of words aren’t a lack of affection. There are no terms of endearment and from Jaskier that would be quite telling, but means very little where the witcher is concerned. Geralt speaks in the way he unceremoniously dumps his cloak over Jaskier when the cold begins to creep in, in the way he often camps out in the corner of an inn to listen to songs he’s heard Jaskier sing a thousand times, in a hundred other gruff, offhanded kindnesses the witcher indulges in in the most taciturn of ways and never acknowledges.

They’re singing the same song, Jaskier recognizes eventually, but they’re on entirely different sheets of music, and that really won’t do. It’s not a seduction that the bard settles on, at least not in any traditional sense. There’s no lack of attraction (really, Jaskier is continuously baffled by how anyone could look at Geralt and not want him), but it’s background noise. He thinks of this more like finagling the two of them into some sort of harmony.

It should be a simple translation, he thinks, to convey what he means in a language Geralt might recognize. As often happens, Jaskier has a strategy. As also often happens, none of it goes to plan.

Geralt slogs back to camp like he’s carrying the whole world with him. Even from the other side of the fire with his decidedly human senses, Jaskier can tell that this is worse than usual. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Jaskier has set aside his pen and paper in favor of urging Geralt to sit.

Jaskier has often tried talking, conveying his concern or affection in the shape of words because that’s the language he knows. Geralt doesn’t speak it, or doesn’t want to. No matter how wounded he is, Geralt snaps in the face of anything like kindness. Asking to be let in turns out to be the quickest way for Jaskier to find himself pushed away. So, Jaskier doesn’t ask for Geralt to meet him halfway or to invite him to do the things he’s good at. Instead, he works with what he knows already.

Even in the waning light, the dark lines spider webbing across Geralt’s pale skin stand out. Jaskier has long since learned the cadence of Geralt’s potions because it’s always the same. There’s a sort of frenetic energy that seems determined to keep Geralt from sitting still. And then, rather rudely, all the benefits the potion bestows are yanked away. At least, this is how Jaskier imagines it to be from the way Geralt always seems to crash afterwards.

But the witcher knows this far better than Jaskier even, and he’s strategic about it. He gets wherever he plans to be long before the potion wears off. Tonight, Jaskier can already see flecks of gold in Geralt’s pitch black eyes, and so, while the witcher looks to be thankfully in one piece still, he can only assume something went very, very wrong for there to have been such a delay.

“Are you hurt?” he asks as he reaches to unfasten Geralt’s armor. Not everything the witcher hunts draws blood, after all.

“No.” It’s a single word, rough and weary, but more than Jaskier had really expected. Exhaustion is at least a less treacherous issue to deal with than injury, and Geralt really must be exhausted because he barely even glowers at Jaskier’s efforts to help.

Determined to speak in a way Geralt will understand, for once Jaskier doesn’t speak at all. Instead, Jaskier wordlessly tugs Geralt’s weapons and armor from his person far more efficiently than the witcher’s sluggish attempts would have managed. He does not allow himself to be distracted by the endearing flutter of Geralt’s eyelids as they droop only for him to try to blink them open again. He’d like to think it means something that Geralt would be this vulnerable in front of him, but that something is probably just that Geralt is far too overtaxed to fight it.

“Oh no you don’t,” Jaskier chides when he comes back from fetching their rations to find Geralt’s head drooping forward. Much as he’d like to just let Geralt sleep, he shakes the witcher’s shoulder and presses a couple of strips of jerky into his hand. “If you don’t eat something before you pass out we’ll both be sorry for it later.”

“I don’t-” Geralt starts, and it’s probably meant to be grouchy, but Jaskier can see enough of his eyes now to tell that they’re sort of crossed and unfocused.

“Yes yes. I know. You don’t need my help,” Jaskier finishes for him, shoving a waterskin at Geralt. “But you’ve got it, so let’s skip to the part where you stop complaining and let me.”

Much to Jaskier’s surprise, they do. Geralt makes a noncommittal sort of sound around a bite of jerky, but otherwise makes no attempt to shoo Jaskier away.

He’d had a plan, damn it, but Jaskier can be adaptable. He’d meant to say it with a hot dinner and maybe an equally hot bath or something. Geralt puts value on so few things that it had always been a sort of nebulous idea anyway. Instead, Jaskier says it with field rations and lukewarm drinking water. He says it with the effort it takes to lay out Geralt’s bedroll and then to bully the witcher into it. He says it by sitting nearby and keeping an eye out while Geralt drifts to sleep.

Geralt is lovely like this, in an eerie sort of way. Bit by bit, the black veins are fading and the chalky pale tone of his skin is warming, and he looks soft in the muted firelight. The frown that so often graces his lips is entirely absent, or perhaps just out of view since Geralt’s nose is all but pressed to the side of Jaskier’s thigh. Messy silver locks that have long since escaped their tie frame Geralt’s face and shoulder, like something out of a fairy tale, and surely, Jaskier thinks, no one could fault him for running his fingers through it.

It’s softer than it has any right to be, especially with the lack of care on Geralt’s part. For once it doesn’t look like someone dumped a bucket of dirt (or worse) over Geralt’s head. More importantly, the gentle scrape of Jaskier’s nails against Geralt’s scalp draws a quiet sigh from the witcher, and honestly he’s practically obligated to continue if it helps his friend sleep. It’s totally and entirely selfless, you see.

That’s he’s entirely distracted from the writing he’d meant to return to is just an unimportant detail. Jaskier might have kept on forever, but very abruptly, Geralt reaches up, trapping the bard’s wrist in his grip. It’s too well placed to be something the witcher did while dreaming or some such, and too firm to be anything but intentional anyway. Feeling rather caught, Jaskier stumbles over an attempt at an explanation. “Geralt. I- uh-”

But there’s no complaint forthcoming. Geralt doesn’t even open his eyes. He only turns his head a little, nuzzling into the palm of Jaskier’s hand. Before Jaskier can wrap his head around that, Geralt hums contentedly and presses a sleepy, feather light kiss to the bard’s skin.

It’s a soft, nothing sort of gesture, and Jaskier smiles to himself as Geralt’s grip goes slack with sleep. He frees his wrist from Geralt’s hand to smooth over the witcher’s hair once more instead. Of course he should have known Geralt was trying to make him understand too.

Message received. Jaskier allows himself a moment to watch Geralt sleep and a chaste kiss to the witcher’s temple. Still grinning like a fool, he gathers up his paper and pen and gets back to work.

Witcher Masterpost

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember Prompt # 28: Missing Out

Title: Unforgettable

Fandom: N/A

Based on this post as well as an ask box prompt. The prompt: “I’m currently dying for something set in a big house (any period) and the young master of the house has a party to attend but he feels awful and is trying to hide it and be a good host but keeps having to sneak off to cough/sneeze. Until maybe one guest notices and that’s how he meets his future wife.”

A young heir attends a Christmas party with his childhood friend as his date. They find themselves in an interesting position when he falls ill.

CW: Vomiting. 

(Author's note: Never written this time period before, but I would like to again in the future! I really enjoyed this prompt. And yes these two are definitely in love and will be married someday.)

The year is 1927, and two young men are seated in the back corner of a jazz club in New England, talking little as they sit, enjoying the music. As the band finishes their opening set and prepares to take a break, the older of the two men takes a deep drag from his cigarette, then glances at his companion.

"All ready for your parents' big Christmas shindig next weekend, Jesse?" 

Jesse rolled his eyes and scoffed, tapping a cigarette of his own out of the pack. "Sure John, of course. It's such a thrill to be a captive audience as they get smoked and strut around peacocking for their friends. Highlight of my whole year, that. Masquerade Ball, my ass. What drivel."

John chuckled, reclining back in his chair and taking another drag. "You're expected to bring a dame too, yeah?"

"Naturally. It'd be too bad for the heir of the Hamilton fortune to attend without a looker, wouldn't it? Shame all the women in this town are abhorrent."

John shook his head with another chuckle. "That attitude is why you're a perpetual bachelor, hombre. But I have some news that may interest you. Did you know Miss Greenwood is back in town?"

Jesse's interest was piqued in spite of himself. "Lillian Greenwood is back?"

"The very same. Home from university for the holidays."

Jesse leaned back in his chair, trying to look unbothered. "So what if she is. What's it to me?"

"Well I dunno, only that you might like to invite her to the Masq’. If memory serves, you never found her particularly abhorrent."

"We were kids!"

"You were damn near inseparable. You don't *have* to do anything, Jess. But as your oldest friend, I'm asking you to think on it. You'd enjoy the party more if you had company, and I'm sure she'd like to see her old stomping grounds again. Just something to consider is all."

Jesse made no reply as the band resumed the stage just then, but he did indeed think on it very hard.

***

John's information was proven true only a day later. Jesse was just exiting a drugstore he frequented with a fresh carton of cigarettes when he caught the eye of Lillian Greenwood, who was just about to enter the same store, and looking very fetching in a blue fitted coat and hat. Both their eyes widened in surprise upon seeing each other, and for a moment they were speechless. 

"Jesse?" Lillian finally said, a slow grin spreading over her face, so familiar to him. "It's been at least an age!" She seized his hands in hers, reaching up on tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. "How are you? I've missed you!"

"Lil!" He wrapped her in a hug. "I've missed you too! What are you doing back in this dump, accomplished University woman that you are now? I'm surprised you didn't run in the opposite direction from here a long time ago."

"Well I haven't graduated yet, silly. And I couldn't miss another Christmas at home. I missed everyone here so much. Oh Jesse, it's so good to see you!" She hugged him fiercely again. "You must tell me everything you've been up to! Come inside while I shop before we freeze."

He willingly followed her back in, looking fondly at the soft brown hair brushing across her shoulders. He was so sick of the horrid bobs all the girls were wearing, and he loved that Lillian was still wearing hers longer.

He trailed her through the whole store, gamely answering the barrage of questions she directed at him, but mostly content to enjoy her familiar presence. Eventually she stopped short, turning to face him.

"Are you all right? You're very quiet. You've hardly said anything."

"I'm sorry. Just worn out I guess. Been working extra before the holidays."

"You are looking a bit peaky. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jabber your ear off."

"No it's fine, honest. I'm just happy to see you."

"Likewise." She gave his hand a little squeeze, accompanied by a warm smile. Knowing he wasn't going to get a better opportunity, he took a deep breath.

"Lilli, do you remember that big bash my parents host every year for Christmas?"

"Oh yes!" she said, her eyes lighting up in pleasure. "It was my favorite part of the holidays!" 

"No kidding? Well anyway, they still throw it. The last few years they changed it to a Masquerade Ball, but otherwise it's still just like it was. It's a week from Saturday. I know you just got into town and all, and maybe you already have plans… but what do you think about going with me as my date?"

Lillian's grin was immediate, and she clasped her hands together joyfully. "Oh Jess, I'd love that! Just like old times."

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, attempting to smile. "Yeah, I guess. Same old dumb party. Like I said, if you're busy, don't worry about it. But you're welcome to come… if you want and all."

She looked confused and a little hurt at his abrupt backtracking. "Of course I want to come. I'll be there."

"Great. I better get going though. I'll call you in a few days to give you the details. It was great to see you, Lil." He pecked her on the cheek. "I'll see you around, kid."

He strode out of the store with hardly a backwards glance, leaving her shocked face in his wake. He hated himself for behaving that way, and he wasn't even sure why he did it. Perhaps it was because the "old times" she was referring to included the present he was stuck in, while she had clearly moved on. Perhaps it was the realization that he had resorted to asking his childhood best friend on a date rather than finding a real date to avoid the embarrassment of attending his parents' party unaccompanied. But whatever the reason, speaking to her had made him equal parts thrilled and miserable. Surprisingly, when he called her a few days later as promised, she again agreed to accompany him, despite his rude behavior in the drug store, and continued to insist she was excited for the party, despite his constant negativity towards it.

***

The Saturday before Christmas dawned bright and snowy, and the Hamilton estate was in an uproar all day with last-minute preparations. Every surface was bedecked for the holidays with ribbons and garlands and tinsel and wreaths and holly and candles. A Christmas tree stood in every room, making the whole house aromatic, each twinkling and topped with a star. When evening rolled in, so too did the guests, all as twinkling and bedecked as the house, filling every room in no time. The Masquerade Ball had begun.

Lillian arrived promptly. Jesse met her in the foyer. Even wearing a mask, she was easily recognizable. She looked stunning in a sparkling gown that accented her figure perfectly. Her eyes were a color that would be easier called unique than pretty, her nose a touch irregular, and her teeth a touch crooked, but Jesse had always found her beautiful. Yet he was in a foul temper, and had been the whole day, and seeing her gave him little pleasure. He noted she had pinned up her hair so it appeared “bobbed” like everyone else's, and even such a simple thing soured his mood further. Upon seeing her initially, he took her hand and kissed it, then gave a sarcastic bow. 

“Welcom, Lillian dear. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil

She curtsied daintily, smiling warmly. “The pleasure is all mine. You look very dashing and alluring in that mask.”

He chucked coldly. “You’re looking spiffy yourself, kid. Well, shall we get on with it?” He offered her his arm, which she took, almost hesitantly.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You seem… not yourself.”

“Fine and dandy. Ready to cut a rug and show a girl a good time. Let’s not keep the evening waiting.” He didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his tone, but continued to tug her toward the dining room, albeit gently. She reluctantly followed, casting him worried glances. 

The young Master Hamilton performed his part admirably through the whole evening, however, donning the persona of the host as easily as he did his mask. He chatted and danced and flirted with the appropriate people, giving Lilli adequate attention as required as well. His mother must have been pleased, for the night was a smashing success, from the dinner to the dancing to the decor. Everyone was raving the whole evening about what a splendid party it was. The best one yet, everyone said, just as they said every year. 

Jesse, however, was utterly miserable. The bodies packing every room made him too warm, the lights were too bright, the music and din of talking made his head throb, the food smells turned his stomach, and the aroma of pine everywhere left him feeling on the verge of a sneeze all night, especially since his nose had been on the verge of dripping since he awoke. He could only nibble the rich supper. He was barely able to swallow even small sips of Christmas punch without feeling the urge to gag. 

In order to keep his sanity, whenever Lillian was occupied talking to someone and he wasn't otherwise engaged, he would duck into one of the unused side parlors. In this sanctuary, away from the lights and sounds and smells, he removed his mask and composed himself. He would first allow himself to sneeze unhindered, finally able to stop his incessant stifling and sniffling, each time surprising himself at how wet and messy and ill they sounded. Then, if he hadn't been gone too long, he would rest his face against the icy window pane, breathing slowly and deeply as a halo of condensation spread out from his hot forehead. Inevitably though, the time would come when he was forced to replace his mask and reenter the ball before he was missed. He counted down the hours desperately, willing himself to last until the end of the party.

The evening began to wind down, and Jesse found himself ducking away more and more frequently. His stomach was in knots and his nausea was gradually rising, so composure was getting harder to maintain. He always checked to ensure Lilli was involved in a conversation before he did so, however. Imagine his surprise then, when moments after he snuck into his sanctuary yet again, he heard the door open after him and Lillian appeared just as he had given over to a violent sneezing jag:

Hiihhh'GEHSSSH'ieeew! ESSSHH'yuuh! Hrrr'USH'IIEWW! Kuhh-hhiiih-ISSSHYUUH!"

"Bless you, Jesse! Heavens, that was a fit! Are you alright?" she asked, approaching him and removing her own mask. "Have you been sneezing like that all night? You keep disappearing."

He flashed the most winning smile he could muster even as he wiped the mess from his face. "I'm just ducky," he said, swallowing thickly as his stomach also decided to give a nasty lurch. "All the pine in the air gets me sneezing. Must be a bit allergic. Sorry for worrying you. Let's go back out before we're missed. I think I owe you a dance or two."

She ignored his rambling and came to stand directly in front of him with a searching look. She lifted a hand and brought the back of it to his sweaty forehead. She clucked softly.

"You're sick, aren't you? You're not feeling well at all."

The thin facade that was holding him together finally crumbled. He limply leaned against the wall, nodding mutely. 

"Why didn't you say something? You should be in bed. You look awful."

"I didn't want to spoil the evening," he mumbled. 

"Well we need to get you out of here. You look like you're about to collapse."

"I am about to collapse," he said ruefully.

"Come on then. No one will miss us anyway. Let's go up the servants' steps over here so we're not seen."

"I don't want you to miss out on the ball. You looked like you were having fun."

She caressed his cheek fondly. "I came here tonight to spend time with you. I'm not missing out on anything."

They shared a smile, his first genuine one of the night. Then she took him by the hand and led him expertly along the least conspicuous route to his bedroom. The pair of them had spent hours exploring every inch of this house from top to bottom as children, every cupboard, cranny, and corner. He hadn't forgotten those times, and clearly she hadn't either. 

It was strange bringing her back to his room. They had spent hours together here too during their growing-up years. He couldn't help but imagine it through her eyes--what was different, what was the same. He realized bitterly that the only thing that was really different was the lack of toys and games everywhere. His room was a reflection of his life--boring and stagnant.

If she was thinking along those lines, she gave no indication. Instead she led him to his bed with a hand at the small of his back, guiding him into a sitting position and helping him remove his jacket and tie. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, and heat rolled off of him in waves. The drier air up here made him begin to cough as soon as he sat, the sound hoarse and desperate. She made a sympathetic sound as she carded her fingers through his damp hair, then dug through his dresser, pulling out a set of his pajamas and tossing them over. 

"Make yourself more comfortable, and I'll do the same." She headed to his en suite bathroom. "I'll be right back. Try to relax, Jess." She gave him a little smile, which he attempted to return, a hand going to his sore stomach even as he did.

Once the bathroom door was closed behind her, he slowly changed into his pajama bottoms and managed to strip down to his undershirt. All at once, his stomach had had enough, and he knew he was going to vomit. With the bathroom occupied, the next available option was the balcony off of his room. He dashed outside to the railing, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground below, heaving until he had nothing left. As the spasms slowed, his vision began to go gray and wobbly. He sank to his knees weakly, unable to do anything else, clinging to the railing in the freezing cold, which at first felt pleasant on his fevered skin. 

He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, and it would have been even longer had Lillian not come out to find him. By the time she did, he was shivering so violently that his teeth rattled in his head. She was speaking to him, but he couldn't register what she was saying. Finally she pulled him bodily to his feet and helped him inside, her arm wrapped around his waist as she supported most of his weight. She again led him to his bed, making him lie down this time and bundling blankets over his icy cold skin while she sat at his side. His consciousness solidified and the world stopped spinning, and eventually he noticed that while she was still wearing her party dress, she had removed her makeup and unpinned her hair, looking more like her old self. The thought made him marginally warmer. 

"Let me go fetch some tea for you, and some medicine," she murmured, stroking his hair. She stood and tried to pull away, but he quickly grabbed her wrist, his grasp surprisingly strong. 

"Don't go," he rasped, choking back a cough. "I don't want tea or medicine. It'll only make me vomit again. Just stay."

"Stay…" she repeated. "Right. I suppose I could stay."

She went to pull a chair to his bedside, but he stopped her.

"No, come lie here with me."

"Jesse…" she began. "That's not--"

"Why shouldn't you? You were my date. It's what everyone is expecting anyway," he said, a glint of humor in his eye.

She laughed in spite of herself. "I suppose there is that." Against her better judgement, she crossed to the other side of his bed and slipped under the blankets, trying to be mindful of her dress as she got comfortable. He immediately rolled over and nestled against her, and she wrapped an arm around him and began to rub his back soothingly.

They passed the night exactly like that. He was exhausted and very ill, and was clearly miserable the whole night through. However, he refused to let her leave the bed to fetch him anything and only wanted to lie against her all night as he slipped in and out of sleep. She vaguely recalled him being the same way when they were young, but she certainly hadn't expected such behavior tonight. Then again, she hadn't expected to be sharing his bed either. 

He slept fitfully, his symptoms keeping him from true rest despite his weariness. Away from the pine trees his sneezing was less, but the congestion and coughing was worse. He was achy and nauseous and too hot or too cold. He also wanted to be touching her at all times, so she slept even less, for between his tossing and groaning and his sweltering fever heat, she could not get comfortable. Yet she knew he needed her this way tonight, and was glad to be able to help her oldest friend. 

The morning dawned gray and cold. Lillian lay awake still, while Jesse was at last sleeping beside her, his face tucked into her side. She was trying to decide how best to convince him to let her go home and change when an opportunity for escape presented itself in the form of his mother.

Lillian heard her well before she saw her, for her best shoes clattered loudly on the stairs, and her inebriated giggling and whispering was impossible to miss. It was almost certain she hadn't gone to bed after the party. Lillian quickly slipped out from under Jesse's arm and slid to the floor, ducking under the bed. Just because Jesse seemed to think she was expected to spend the night with him did not mean she wanted to be caught in it, especially by Mrs. Hamilton, regardless of what did or did not happen. 

Mrs. Hamilton attempted to be stealthy as she peeked into her son's room, but only his fever-induced slumber prevented him from waking. However, even while intoxicated, what they say about a mother's sense is true, for she apparently noted something amiss and crept closer to her son's bed. Lillian could only see her feet and legs, but she assumed she Mrs. Hamilton reached out to feel her son's forehead, for the elder woman made a little sound of dismay and began to shake him awake. 

"Jesse, you're burning up! Oh my, what happened? Are you sick? Did it start at the ball? How long have you not felt well? Oh you're so pale! And you're shivering! My poor baby! What can I do?..." It seemed she had no end of exclamations and questions. Lillian couldn't help but roll her eyes.

Meanwhile Jesse made sounds of waking, sounding very irritated and confused at first. He didn't realize what was happening initially, and Lillian heard him say her name more than once. Thankfully his mother did not notice over the sound of her own constant flow of verbalized concern. Eventually Jesse realized who was speaking to him and began to give appropriate answers, leaving Lillian out of most of it, which the young woman appreciated. 

Mrs. Hamilton didn't stop speaking the entire time she was in the room. Eventually though it became clear she intended to fetch a doctor, tea, medicine, and one hundred other things for her son's illness. Jesse spoke only as much as he had to, his voice weak and hoarse and congested. He did not argue with her about any of it, knowing it was futile. Finally the well-meaning woman left, still talking even as she shut the door behind herself. 

Lillian gingerly rolled out from under the bed, startling Jesse when she appeared beside him out of nowhere. However a grin split his face when their eyes met.

"I thought you left me without saying goodbye," he rasped. 

"Well now you see I haven't. I do need to leave now though, before your mother returns with an army of doctors and finds me here. I would also like to change my clothes at some point and freshen up. Perhaps take a bit of a nap."

He looked devastated at this, but perked up as she continued:

"I'll come back soon though, as a proper visitor. I don't fancy ducking under the bed whenever anyone comes up the stairs."

"All right," he sighed. "I'll be waiting for you, then." 

She approached him, pressing her lips to his hair as he hugged her fiercely. 

"Be well, Jess. I'll see you soon." She moved to the doorway, her eyes twinkling in a smile. "And thanks for a great night. That was a date I'll never forget."