#hope she’s not giving same face syndrome

[astoldbychae]

Zolani East, The Zen Guru 🧘🏽‍♀️

Yoga Instructor @ The Yoga Garden in Tomarang

Born in Sulani, raised in Tomarang (Military Base). Passionate about health and wellness. Plans to open a Juice Bar. Loves Tigers. Volunteers at the Tiger Santuary weekly. Traits are Child of the Village, Child of the Ocean, and Snob. She was recently spotted hanging out with Nathan “Cash” Brower of the Newcrest Nuggets during his trip to Tomarang, which has caused some speculation of a new romance (and an unintentional uptick in her social media following). She hates social media but he advised her to start posting her flows online…

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl

A Homelander X F! Reader fanfic

A/N: I am still working on my other projects but I just wanted to write something fun and light to get me back into writing. I hope y'all enjoy this short little piece, btw i aint got no kids so i have very little idea how milk banks work, this will be a 2 or 3 part story.

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

Word Count: 3K

Part 1– Heifer

Such a small box, smaller than a shoe box, just big enough to fit its contents with enough space for his ghost to move. You stared at the small box as its buried in the family plot… you never thought of visiting this place to ever bury the last shred of happiness you had left, his body was born weak, so small you wonder if you’d given birth to a child or a chick, 2 months ago you had come home to find your now ex in bed with his ex, he had turned this betrayal on its head and blamed you for it, something about your lack of desire lately, about how your pregnancy had given him amounts of pressures he'd never agreed with, talking endlessly about his needs and how much you’d ignored him.

Whoever this man was, you didn’t recognize him.

Time blurred into nothing but disconnected colors and shapes, all you know was that the stress and anguish lead to this.

A box under soil.

Days passed and in your empty apartment, surrounded by all the stuff you bought you stood in front of the sink, throwing a bottle of fresh milk down the drain feeling tremendous guilt, the doctor said you would dry out soon enough but your breast had swollen so much your bras no longer fit– even the spare ones you bought just in case they’ve grown a size too big from what you expected, you booked an appointment with your doctor hoping they could give you whatever cocktail of drugs to dry you out and save you from the pressure and pain in your chest, it had been nothing but a passing message from a worried neighbor who had stop by to give you some mail that had been sent to them by accident when she mentioned her daughter-in-law had donated her excess milk after her little one refused to latch, she gave you the name of the charity and after much thinking you gave in, you lost your baby but there was some woman out there who could end up experiencing your same grief if their baby starved to death, yours simply born too small and weak to hold your finger for very long.

It felt good, you met the women running the charity and even some of the faces of the women you helped, as you delivered your frozen packs to the women’s clinic where the charity operated, it helped you heal, it gave your pain purpose, but as the months faded behind you a part of you worried about how much you keep producing, less than before but still too much, yet you keep going knowing it would end soon enough. 

Perhaps somebody in the clinic or the charity had dropped your information to these people but you'd received some mail regarding some research trials Vought International was running and how they needed some donors to drop fresh samples, in their pamphlet they offered to pay a decent amount--your divorce had been costly plus having to move to a new place and breaking your previous lease had left your bank account quite dry, this was cheap money, you had given your milk for free, you looked at the few pouches you had collected for next week's drop you saw a wonderful opportunity to make some quick cash.

You went to the Vought Clinic and saw a few other women filling up forms, reading old magazines or dilly-dallying on their phones until some nurse called their numbers, you filled the medical form, waited less than half an hour before your number was called, brought into a small bleach scented room, the nurse read your form and told you she would take a blood sample, a doctor came in, reciting whatever script he’d been given about what this project was, giving you big words you had no interest in, this was about providing better milk formulas closer to natural milk than anything currently in the market apparently, thanking you for your donation, he looked at your form smiling as he saw your inked words.

“You're still producing 4 months after…” The doctor handed you a disinfecting wipe and a freshly steamed breast pump in a silver tray– we just need two samples, please press the alarm to let us know you’d finished, then follow Nurse Potts to the front counter to sort out your payment.”

It had been an awkward experience, but there you were 300 dollars richer, you probably should’ve read those papers a bit closer before signing but money was money and you were told to come back if you could.

You did it a couple times for 2 months, much like a man donating sperm for pocket money or plasma to pay the rent.

That was the first mistake, you headed home and woke up the morning after wishing you had stayed out for an extra hour or two, perhaps caved in to your friends pressures and tried going back to dating (after all your ex was whoring himself all across the lower east side without moral qualms) or hookups so you would had gone to a different address, maybe you should had taken a taxi instead of taking the train and walking home.

Regardless you woke in some strange empty room, the only thing beside your person was a pair of pale pink hospital gowns, grippy socks, clean underwear and a pair of thick large towels, you screamed and banged on the door for an ungodly amount of time but nobody ever came, you stayed alone in that room for what could have been 12 hours or more… maybe less… who knew it was all too much, suddenly a sharp sound cut into the silence a note had been slid under the door, you rushed to the note.

It was instructions, they wanted you wearing their clean clothes, you could not leave the room unless you did so, and as much as you hated the idea, you wanted to get out so badly, you knew if you wanted to escape your only chance came in knowing your surroundings, you begrudgingly and tearfully changed, waiting until anything changed– the doors hissed opened, a woman in a sharp cream coloured suit stood there with clipboard and an armed guard, at the sight of the heavy looking gun– you froze.

Then you took the first step towards hell.

You knew the following things: You lived in some basement area– there were no windows, only elevators. You weren’t alone, there were other women here and they made sure to keep your interactions at minimum no doubt to keep all of you submissive and not getting any ideas, sometimes familiar faces will fade and you could only speculate nightmares. Lastly… your purpose, the reason you were trapped here in the first place was… to lactate.

A plucky little thing that stayed optimistic despite your shared horror called herself a ‘Heifer’ she wasn’t wrong… you lived in a small cell where everything had sat on top of each other feed to keep fat and producing milk much like a cow, whoever developed this diet knew of all the ingredients known to help production, and you knew there were putting something else in the food for your breast begun to feel uncomfortable, for a little while you thought you could fight it by starving yourself, then two men with guns came into the room and told you to eat or else.

The time you spend outside this microflat hong-kong style cell was in the milking room and the shower room, you were ordered to stay clean and quiet, at least in the milking room you had some television and could spend time with the other women, but they keep you isolated, you could do very little, sometimes music would play and a book would be dropped with your food but your happiness wasn’t priority, you had to fill a quota.

After a couple weeks of this you simply accepted defeat, too many guns… not enough spaces to run, and nothing to come home to… a man that wanted to sue you for more feeling as if the judge had been unfair, a pestering family who acted as if they had been the only ones who experience loss, an empty cot you still hadn’t gotten rid off and piles and piles of bills, in this quiet cool room you had spend endless hours thinking, you didn’t love your job, you had been distant from most of your friends and you could only imagine that they assumed you had run away or killed yourself after what happened nobody could blame you.

Existing for the sake of existing until you could figure out what to do next.

“Good Evening… I’m glad you’re eating so well” The lady you met the first day said as the door hissed open, she watched you like a hawk as you process this sudden interruption, clutching at your paper thin blanket, you looked at the floral fabric in her arms and the clipboard under her arm– I need you to sign this before you’re allowed upstairs”

“Am I being let out?” You said anxiously, no way it could be that easy you thought.

The lady let her smile waiver, looking at the unseen guard then at her wrist watch as she handed you the clipboard.

“Your performance might determine how soon you'll be release…”

“You assume I won’t go to the police…”

“That wouldn’t be wise Miss L/N but we assure you that you’ll be sufficiently compensated for the inconvenience.”

You wanted to yell, but a voice in the back of your head thought of this but nothing but pageantry, you were dead either way, but perhaps this could be your opportunity to escape, whatever they wanted to do now meant being outside of these buried walls, you signed the sheet without thinking, briefly considered stabbing the bitch in the eye but is likely they would turn you into swiss cheese before you even took a step too close, she took the paperwork from your hands and in change handed you a long sleeved dressed straight out of the mormon section in target, she closed the door and you dressed up.

The halls looked so odd when you didn’t wear your prison clothes, the other few doors housed sleeping and bored girls, your plucky friend hidden behind one of them, the new girl hidden behind one of them and the girl you seen before in the milking room once hid behind one of them.

They took you to an elevator– it was old box, if you had to guess by the button’s design maybe built in the late or mid 70s, you never left their side until the elevator closed before them, the box moved slowly, a dingy silver box with low honey coloured lights, so dim… and you were alone, as the light chime as it went up you felt your entire being sink into your stomach, your heart beating so fast you were sure you were gonna have a heart attack before the doors opened once again, swallowing dry spit, your eyes opened so wide it hurt.

Quiet… it was so quiet when the doors opened, you expected something else, something menacing… something frightening– not an old house, an old house in the middle of some evergreen forest, everything screams old, untouched, museum like, like it's meant to present this idea that somebody lives here but not really, despite it being an elevator hidden behind a bookcase, you take a few cautious steps, your naked feet bury in the plush carpet, there’s bird singing outside and the sun is so bright and warm it hurts your eyes, the cool tones gone and this feels like a bad dream, pinching yourself but you’re awake, tragically awake, a weird wiry smile creeps on your lips, an almost laugh escapes your lips before you can feel tears burning your eyes.

“Hello…?” You ask and you don’t know why.

As you venture into the living room, hands firm against the tacky dark pink wallpaper, you found old floral couches that matched the drapes and despite how old school it was it had a charm to it.

Then you saw him.

Perusing the VHS collection filled the entire bookcase on the wall, just rows and rows of VHS boxes, some plastic and some cardboard, the TV boxy and just as antiquated but who cared— he was there.

You ran before you even realized you done it, crashing into him with desperation, tears staining your cheeks and you could barely breath as you tried so hard to speak.

“Homelander please help me!! I’ve been kidnapped!! Please!!” You cried, pulling on his suit– please!!”

Those endlessly blue eyes more poison dart hide than veronica flower bush the more they stared at you calmly, his lips into a thin smile and his hand thad taken your wrist inflicting just enough force to keep you firmly in his grip… to show you how he wasn’t an ordinary man, he looked at you as your tears changed meaning as if you were the most unfortunate creature he’d ever seen, his lips parted just enough to show those sharp canines that had looked so charming in sidewalk posters, now you could sense their presence squeezing at your jugular.

“You are so much prettier in person, Y/N.” His voice is disturbingly soft and calm, intimately quiet as he takes a whiff of your neck, moving you to make it easier, his free hand creeped towards your hip– I was so glad when I saw your picture and you weren’t hideous.”

Trembling against him, a nonexistent cold draft blew against you, your whole body shivering and covered in goosebumps.

His eyes fixated in your breast, mouth agape as his tongue dared to lick his lip, watching you like a starved man at a las vegas buffet, his hand slithering upwards, you know where this is leading, you can’t stop crying but you can’t scream either, you're just there as his hand avoids your breasts and creeps towards your back and presses your bodies together.

“I’m so glad you signed that sheet, I was getting sad endlessly waiting for one of you to agree to the deal” He says quietly, you stare at him and you realize you should’ve actually read that stupid sheet– why so scared? I ain’t gonna bite.” He bites the air as a joke and you could tell that that single bite could have torn your finger off cleanly.

His eyes shift to your clinging fingers that stayed so stiff against his padded suit, you stopped squeezing at him now they rested limp against him.

“Let’s watch a movie…” 

It’s an awkward dance concluding in sitting down on a couch, its surprisingly soft and you’re sinking on the cushion while your mind dissolved in the sky, the coffee table had a humbled spread of snacks, pizza and milkshakes, not once did you notice, you stared at him clutching at your dress as he picked something out of the shelve, watching as his hand worked the VHS player, the clicks and whirling all you could focus on. He sat beside you as the speakers began to play the included trailers, he took the drink urging you to do the same with a menacing look, filling you with incomplete thoughts as you obeyed.

Malt vanilla marinated in your tongue, you had a terrible thought.

‘Milk’ 

You were there to provide milk… to whom? Why just milk? You thought they would sell your body or your organs, experiment on you but… they wanted your milk, but who was buying it? Who was drinking it? Where did it go? You stared at the pretty blond whose arm kept your shoulders still, you saw the news– you’d known he had a child and who knows with whom but his kid was old enough to not need it… was it for him? You thought… thinking of it as ridiculous until you remember how 20 minutes ago  he was staring at your tits as if he was malnourished, you looked at his lips pursing as he took a long sip of his milkshake and wonder if that was milk… from a cow… not a heifer like you.

Homelander smiled at you.

“I don’t like ‘The mothman prophecy’ , never been a Richard Gere fan” he said casually.

“He was really good in ‘Pretty Woman’ . This one is okay…” You looked at the screen your voice so stiff– what’s going on…? Mr. Homelander… I…"

“Shhh… watch the movie” He leaned against you resting his head on your shoulder– you tasted the best… every batch perfection– such delicate custardy taste… So this is what we are gonna do… I’ll keep you in this floor so you’re not so bored ."

You swear he’s purring as he rubs himself against you marking you as much as he was making himself comfortable.

“There’s cameras everywhere… The glass is bulletproof, doors won’t open without a fob and code, and there’s no phones or internet, but if you do manage to get out of here just be aware I’ll know.” He said such terrible things as if it was nothing– if you tried to off yourself there will be 3 armed guards and nurses here in less than a minute but if you behave I promise you– you’ll be allowed out, but only if you gain my trust.” He looks up at you as you focus on those thin lips of his– there’s no kitchen but your meals will be delivered… if you want anything just tell the camera over there.”

He pointed at the corner tucked in between two VHS tapes was a small camera.

“I like you Y/N you're cute… you’ll behave for me, right?”

You nodded, too afraid to disagree.

“Now… let’s finish the movie… I actually like this part”

You stared at the pizza box, you could at least tell that the pizza was from an american restaurant, which made you feel safe ‘Select Pizza and Grill” said in the box and you knew you were somewhere in Pennsylvania, far from your apartment in Clinton Hill.

You looked at your boobs feeling his piercing gaze on them, you started drawing lines connecting weird things together, back when you were donating your milk, girls joked about people buying for medicinal and fetish purposes, this spelled itself out for you.

Maybe you could get out of here… but you had to do something weird… but as you heard the birds outside and the warm light peeked into the room, you realized maybe you could leave… no you’ll leave, you’ll go back home and you would find a way to ruin this man and those bastards beneath you, you’ll get them out too, so you took one courageous breath and forced a smile on your dried lips.

“You really liked it?”

“Huh?”

“My milk…” You mumbled– you know I never tasted it myself but am glad to get a review.”

“It’s really tasty” he bites his lip.

Your hand plays with one of the buttons on the dress.

“It hurts a bit… I usually get asked to pump around this time… dunno if you know this but it's a bit painful when they get this swollen.”

The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know and as you leaned away from him pulling on buttons with slightly trembling fingers, you watched him follow your movements like a snake chasing prey.

“Would you help me out, mister superhero?” Is not flirty but is slightly playful and you’re surprised that you can lie that well, he’s so shameless as he shakes his head enthusiastically, mouth opening for you– please don’t bite.”

He gasps as you let him see all that he’d wanted from the get go, why he put you in that box, why you ended up in this place for.

His body was lighter than you thought as he sunk against you-- eyes closed, body limp against yours, he made the softest sounds it put you at ease somehow, for a moment you saw a very small being latched on your chest, you’d only experienced it once before, and it was seared into your mind as a painful yet tender memory, so you close your eyes dreaming of a fantasy far removed from this peculiar reality, half lid eyes found a man so blissed out your lips curved, this was unbelievable, the world most famous supe keeping you hostage just so you could indulged him.

But you knew now… that this was your way out.

[writinginpinkpink]

The Price of Life. [0.1]

homelander x fem!reader

summary: Homelander saved you and gave you life, but with one rule: be utterly loyal to him. Despite this, you went beyond mere obedience and provided him with what he needed most: love.

warnings: homelander, violence, swearing, smut (eventually), a bit of stockholm syndrome?

masterlist | requests open! | next

You didn't expect this mission to be your last. It wasn't like this was your first time stealing Temp-V for Butcher. But something clearly went wrong as the last thing your eyes could register before your mind went blank was a Cape with the American fucking flag on it.

You felt your body give up, as if you could actually feel the life draining out of you, until a stinging sensation surged through you. Suddenly, everything felt painfully alive. Every nerve burned, and you felt everything. Your muscles relaxed and contracted, your heart pumped with such force it felt like it was going to burst out of your chest.

Your eyes slowly opened, only to find a pair of intense blue eyes staring at you. The man was holding your head close to his chest. When he realized you were awake, he gave you an eerie smile, laughing to himself. Only now did you notice that the sleeve of his shirt was rolled up, blood dripping from his arm.

And only after noticing him did you see the needle still attached to your arm. You instantly got up, realizing what he had done.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" you yelled, even though you already knew the answer. You wanted to hear him say it.

"What about a 'thank you, Homelander! You saved my life' first?" he said, rising as well. You noticed the floor around you was covered in blood—your blood.

"For what? You tried to kill me just to save me?" you screamed, knowing that shouting at him was dangerous, but with his blood circulating through your veins, you felt every emotion sharply. "I tried to kill you? Believe me, if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. I made you. I gave you life. I'm fucking Jesus to you. The Butcher didn’t save you, Starlight didn’t save you, not even fucking Hughie. And now you are blood of my blood, you are my family now, do you understand? It wasn't rhetorical. Answer it."

He yelled, getting closer with each sentence until you hit the wall. His hands found their way to your neck, squeezing it just hard enough to send a message, but not to kill you. You struggled to nod.

"Exactly. You are now mine, and I will carry you around. We will be the fucking face of America. You and me. We are the example this country wants. I'm your hero, and now you will dedicate your life to me." You weren't surprised by his words. Since you joined the Seven, Homelander had seemed infatuated with you, for whatever reason.

"I hope you understand that I gave you life and, with the same ease, I can take it from you." He said, releasing your neck and kissing your cheek, as if he genuinely believed the twisted couple dynamic he had created in his mind.

"Go take a shower," he demanded, pointing to the bathroom. Still confused about what this new relationship meant, you complied, your burning throat serving as a stark reminder to avoid angering him again.

As you showered, you tried to connect the dots. What did he mean by "suicide mission"? Hadn’t Butcher and Starlight tried to save you? You weren’t sure if it was his blood making you feel this way, but resentment began to grow in your chest. It always annoyed you how Butcher bossed you around and treated everyone as though they were merely stepping stones to his goals.

Besides, you couldn’t deny that Starlight pissed you off a bit. She constantly forced you into the role of her shadow, making you the supportive friend rather than the protagonist. Every autograph you signed was alongside hers, and if her popularity faltered, so did yours. You tried not to let it bother you, as people enjoyed seeing your friendship, but it infuriated you that you were seen as the weakest female member. You knew you could break Tinker Bell in half if you wanted to, especially now that you felt stronger than ever.

As you dried yourself off before leaving the shower, you realized that this relationship with Homelander might not be the worst deal. You would finally receive the recognition you deserved and maybe even inspire some young girls to be like you. Besides, Homelander did save your life—he didn’t just keep you alive, but he made you stronger.

[lialacleaf]

A Touch Too Personal

Chapter 2

Summary: You had a crush on Ghost since you started working for Price in communications, but the gruff, reserved Lieutenant only acknowledged your existence on the job. That starts to change with a simple, thoughtful gift. Warnings: Fluff, Simon is bad at processing emotions, past trauma

Imposter Syndrome is often described as feeling unworthy of good things. There’s no basis for this feeling, it’s simply a learned reaction.

It’s exactly how Simon felt after you’d given him that blanket.

He’d never gone out of his way to do anything nice for you. Hell, he barely regarded you when he dropped off his mission reports, which he now felt badly about. Being in that stuffy little office was probably bad enough, but being disregarded entirely by the people who counted on you was probably even worse.

After his most recent mission, he’d actually been too nervous to see you, and sent them in with Gaz. He’d fully intended to deliver them himself, and profusely thank you for the gift, but he had gotten stuck a few steps from your door, and aborted the mission entirely.

He felt like such a screw up, which lead him to his current predicament.

“You wanna do what now?” Soap asked as he sipped his morning coffee in the break room.

“I wanna get her a gift.” Ghost said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why?”

Ghost was silent for a moment, starring Soap down with his piercing gaze. “Just ‘cause,” he said stiffly.

“You mean ‘cause of your blankie?” Soap teased and Ghost’s eyes widened. “Ah man she was so proud of that thing, couldn’t wait to give it to you.”

Ghost felt his face grow warm beneath his mask. “Alright, yes. She got me a gift, it’s only proper I do the same,” he said stiffly. “What do you usually get her?”

Soap took a long sip of his coffee. “Nothin’ at all.”

Ghost glared at him. “What?”

“You heard me. She doesn’t do it for something in return. She does it for the smile, the hug, and the thank you.” Ghost felt his blood go cold. “You gave her a hug, right L.T.?” Soap asked.

Ghost stared at him for a second or two, before turning on his heel and rushing out of the break room. Soap simply sighed and shook his head.

He was awful. An Awful, stupid, heartless creature. He needed to fix this, and fast, otherwise you might never regard him fondly ever again, and such an idea was suddenly very alarming despite his general disinterest in you as of a few days ago.

You’d done something so sweet for him, and he’d responded callously. He didn’t deserve the gift you’d given him.

Now he was faced with the challenge of making things right, but he didn’t know anything about you. What was he supposed to do that would redeem him in your eyes?

Soap said you liked actions more than receiving things in return. He could work with that.

~

Your fingers clacked away at your keyboard as the sun began to set, casting an orange glow through your open office window. You were sulking, hiding in your office so you didn’t risk running into him at the mess hall for dinner.

You’d finished your work an hour ago, but you were hoping if you waited until the tail end of the meal he’d be gone.

You felt so stupid, like you may as well have painted a clown face on and paraded around base telling everyone that you were a joke.

It could have been worse, you tried to reason. He could have simply not accepted it. It would have broke your heart if that had been his reaction.

With a sigh, you closed your laptop and pushed it into your bag. You could sulk more comfortably in your bunk. There was no reason to prolong your suffering in your hard-backed office chair.

Your tired feet carried you back to your room as your mind wandered. Did you really think that the Lieutenant Ghost would take an interest in someone like you? You weren’t anything special. Not like him and the rest of 141. You'd been so mystified by him that your brain had completely thrown logic out the window.

When you finally arrived at your room, there was a small, tan sticky note stuck to your door, and your brow furrowed.

My room, 20:00 -Ghost.

You felt your stomach drop. Was he mad at you? Was he going to tell you off for inappropriately giving him a gift?

You let out a sigh, shaking your head as you opened your door. You were too tired to think too long on it and instead focused on stripping your work clothes off in exchange for a comfy pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

You didn’t feel like going to the mess, even though you were starving, so you threw a package of noodles into your hot-pot and called it a day.

You didn’t bother putting on your work shoes when you slipped out to meet your Lieutenant, and slid on a pair of comfy slippers.

You knocked softly at his door, feeling awkward as a group of soldiers passed you in the hallway. You couldn't help but feel as if their whispers were somehow about you as if you were now the butt of a joke.

You hated feeling so anxious, so out of place. It was as if the rest of the world was laughing at you while you, emotionally speaking, tripped over your own feet.

His door opened with a creak, and your eyes flicked up from your feet to stare at the balaclava covering his face, not quite meeting his gaze.

You both stood quietly as you assessed each other, until he moved from the doorway and gestured for you to enter.

“Rough day?” He asked, taking in your disheveled state. His eyes seemed to linger on your slouched shoulders.

“Just long,” you stated, glancing around the room. You paused however when your gaze landed on his bed.

His blanket lay neatly folded at the foot of it, and you felt your heart jump to your throat. It was clear that he had been using it.

“Price said you’ve been working overtime.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, and the feeling of his hand on your shoulders and he pushed you to sit on his bed.

“There’s been a lot to do,” you said, situating yourself comfortably. A lie, but you doubted he cared about what you did anyway. Your work probably didn't seem very important to him.

He hummed in response, cupping your cheeks as he gazed down at you. You felt your heart stutter as his thumbs gently dug behind your ear, rubbing soothing circles all the way to your collarbones.

“Lieutenant?” You asked in confusion.

“Hmm?” He hummed, massaging your biceps with his large, calloused hands.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes slide closed. “What…what are you doing?”

“Making sure you feel appreciated.”

You felt your face heat up at his words as he pushed you to lay on your back, massaging your calf muscles, before moving to your ankles and feet.

Appreciated didn't even begin to describe what you felt.

"You do an awful lot for us. Wanted to make sure you knew we see it."

You felt floaty, a soft feeling blanketing your mind as the day’s stress melted away. You tried to stay awake, but your body felt heavy, the intoxicating smell of Ghost lingering in your nose as a result of being in his space, and before you knew it you were softly snoring.

Ghost watched you carefully, pushing a stray hair out of your face and running his gloved thumb across your cheek.

You’d looked exhausted when you’d arrived, and he was glad to see you resting, even if it was in his bed. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he scooted in beside you. The blanket was big enough for the both of you after all. You'd made sure of that.

Tag List: Please make sure your profile allows tags if you have asked to be on the tag list! :)

@abbyandersonsblkgf @berryjuicyy @ayanokomu @oreo-cream

@shuttlelauncher81 @whore-for-anime @hipvelociraptor @pokiona

@dilfgestivo @etherealinthewoods @ghostlythots @supernaturallynerdy @caspertheassholeghost @srmacaroni @oranoyaora @lake-145 @penguinobambino @kaysav608 @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @pukbadger @corpsebridenightamare @stateofcatatonia

@royal-jester @ede1facecam @doodle-cat16 @rensolaeir @tamishadawn @kristalhi @wolfyland07 @oxlunamoonxo

@captainpriceslut @dinogirl1o9 @vinithechocolatevampire @keiva1000 @nonamee1997sstuff @alexicrimson @tallmanlover

@carefree-flowerchild @zealouspursecowboydeputy @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @ssoliva @thecorruptedlovely @rk111 @mandus-world @bb-ss-ll @animarix @notsosweetcheeks @khleesi59 @salsa-reads-stuff @enrapturedbythemoon @cassiecasluciluce @fallingthroughdreams @mangohobbit @pearlm00n @nirvanaaaonly @cherrymoon4 @abbiesxox @soundsfunbutno @originaldeerhottub

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

The Lark Ascending (A Chaconne Story): Chapter 3 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Being a rising soloist isn't all it's cracked up to be as you face new challenges, all while encountering Agatha Harkness at every turn.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Helloooo welcome to chapter 3! This chapter briefly deals with/mentions imposter syndrome & performance anxiety, so if either of those topics make you uncomfortable you have been warned. The piece mentioned in this chapter is Gluck's Melodie, from Orfeo ed Eurdice :) As always, thank you for reading & I hope you enjoy! Feel free to let me know what you think, my asks are always open!

Previous Chapter

There were few things in life that brought you as much peace as playing your violin. Taking a few hours to tune out the rest of the world and solely focus on your instrument was the fastest relief to whatever stressors were occurring. Unfortunately, that tranquility had all but vanished as of late- much to your dismay. But you tried to put it out of your mind- your week had been a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and press engagements to kick off the summer concert season, and this morning was no different. Before this evening’s big Donor’s Gala you would be leading a Master Class with promising young musicians in the area. 

Getting out of the car, you took off your sunglasses, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the glaring sunlight. This morning’s temperature was significantly warmer than you anticipated, and you found yourself melting by the time you made it inside the symphony building. Setting your violin case on the ground, you allowed the AC to wash over you, while making a mental note to remember to bring a water bottle in the future as you had been forgetting all week. It was early enough the building was nearly deserted, or at least you thought so as you relaxed in the air conditioning. 

“Still getting used to the LA heat, dear?” 

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as you dropped your keys. Whipping your head around, you were unsurprised to find Agatha staring back at you, amusement coloring her features. The conductor appeared to have entered the building right after you did, black sunglasses in one hand and her bag hanging off her shoulder. 

While you looked like you were about to fall over, Agatha looked as put together as she always did, seemingly unaffected from the scorching temperatures. 

“Agatha,” you breathed out, slowly regaining your composure as you gave the conductor a quick once over, the gears turning in your head. Symphony rehearsal wasn’t until the early afternoon, she was awfully early. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d assume the same reason as you; the Master Class,” Agatha pointed out before motioning to your keys that were still on the ground. “You might want to pick those up, it would be a shame if you lost them.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you reached down to pick them up, feeling Agatha’s gaze remain on you. “Last time I checked, I was running this class alone.”

“Clerical error.”  Agatha insisted, carefully putting her sunglasses in her bag, before adding, “I’m sure someone was supposed to tell you I’d be joining you.”

“I’m sure.” You mused, thinking about how often this had been occurring as of late.

At first you didn’t think too much of Agatha’s unannounced appearances, because her explanations seemed logical enough at the time. When she dropped in on your interviews for your Artist in Residence with the LA Symphony, she claimed getting her interview done at the same time would be more efficient. During a meeting for PR, she rationalized needing to give her final approval as the orchestra’s music director. Even your late night practice sessions weren’t safe, as they almost always ended with the conductor sneaking up on you, her cackle echoing through the empty hall as you wondered if she was trying to kill you.

But the more she popped up, the more you wondered if her actions were as altruistic as she claimed them to be.

“Shall we?” Agatha prompted before taking off down the hallway, leaving you no choice but to follow her. 

Walking in silence through the deserted building, you thought of possible conversation starters, and were stumped. As comfortable as you still felt around Agatha, it had been a long time since you’d been around her this frequently. 

As if she could sense your hesitation, she gave you an inquisitive stare. “Stark tells me you’ll be gracing us with a performance this evening.”

“It’s just a little something,” you replied nonchalantly, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest at the reminder, opening the stage door for the conductor. “Anything to help the orchestra.”

Agatha smirked, her hand grazing your shoulder as she brushed past you. “How chivalrous.”

Clearing your throat, ignoring the rush of butterflies from her brief touch, you changed the subject, as this was one of the few times you had been alone with Agatha all week. “So how have things been with the MSO?”

“Oh you know,” Agatha hummed, switching on the stage lights, “I’ve overseen a few personnel changes, but nothing else, really.”

“Personnel changes?” You questioned, wondering why she was being so vague while trying to recall if Monica had mentioned anything to you.

Agatha raised her eyebrows, appearing genuinely curious. “You haven’t heard?”

Before you could ask what she meant, one of the staff members came backstage, informing you the class would be starting in ten minutes. 

Agatha started to walk out, but when she noticed you hadn’t moved she cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to make me endure this on my own, are you?”

A small smile graced your lips at her jest. “Promise me you’ll be nice, they’re just kids.”

“I have no issues with the children,” Agatha insisted. “Their parents, on the other hand…”

“Not a fan of the hovering parent?” You joked, joining her onstage, the bright lights shining down on you.

Agatha frowned, a dark look in her eyes as she mulled over your words. “Not quite, no.”

The conductor set off down the stairs without another word, taking a seat in the front row, carelessly setting her bag down with a loud thump. 

During your time together Agatha never mentioned much about her childhood, and you were never brave enough to ask. You knew from a few Google searches that her mother had been a rather well known concert pianist, but that was about it. Agatha had always been guarded, and as much as you tried to peel back the many layers that she used as self defense, you hadn’t managed to get through them all.

Taking a seat next to her, you checked the time to find there were a few minutes until you began. The sound of Agatha rustling through her bag was mere background noise as you scrolled through your phone. It wasn’t until you felt something cold against your arm did you notice a reusable water bottle was now resting on the armrest of your seat. 

“What’s this?” 

“You’re going to end up passing out on stage from dehydration.” Agatha said disapprovingly, her thick black frame glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose as her head was tilted down, reading an updated copy of the Master Class schedule. 

“I could have brought my own water,” you insisted, trying to ignore how touched you were by the thoughtful gesture.

The conductor folded the piece of paper she had been reading, adjusting her glasses as she gave you a pointed look. “I’ve watched you prance around like a parched baby deer all week, the last thing I need is for you to fall and break your violin.”

“Just my violin?” 

Agatha pursed her lips, blue eyes twinkling as she evaded your question. “A simple thank you would suffice, dear.” 

The weight of her gaze was nearly too much for you to bear, for you found it to be far more exposing than the brightest of stage lights, but you were unable to look away. Agatha’s fingers grasped the bottle, extending her arm until it was hovering over your legs. 

The conductor looked at you expectantly, and you had never been one to deny her anything. 

Lifting your hand, you accepted the bottle, fingers crossing hers as you held it in your palm. 

“Thank you, Maestra,” you said, watching Agatha’s eyes drift to your intertwined fingers, neither of you moving from the contact.

Agatha lowly hummed, untangling her fingers from yours as her hand came to rest on your upper thigh. Neither of you spoke, but for once the silence felt less suffocating, allowing you to reminisce on a time where this had been normal. Closing your eyes, you wished you could stay this way forever.

The sound of voices outside the hall grew in volume, zapping you back to reality. Clearing her throat, Agatha gave your leg a gentle squeeze before letting go, and you poorly tried to hide your disappointment. 

“Try to remember to drink that,” Agatha murmured as she stood up, and after a moment added, “I don’t want you to get hurt before the concert season begins.”

You weren’t sure why the confirmation that she still cared hit you as hard as it did, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face for the entire Master Class. Agatha kept true to her word, and was on her best behavior. You only remembered halfway through the class how good she was with children, as the faint memory of the school concert day she once planned rang through clear as day. 

She was still Agatha, of course. Her sarcasm and quick witted sense of humor could never be diminished, but she softened ever so slightly when offering advice after each musician performed. Her constructive criticism actually was constructive, and you were reminded how gifted of a teacher she was. 

You did have to reign her in when a few overzealous parents insisted on voicing their own opinions, but overall you were pleased with the turnout.

It was surreal in a way, being in this new position. When you were younger your dream was to be a professional violinist, and it often felt as if that was the only thing you had ever been fully certain of. But you had been having a hard time finding your own way; to be able to fully accept that you had earned this. To believe that you were worthy. Looking at someone as astonishingly accomplished as Agatha Harkness, you couldn’t help but feel like a fraud.

It felt like a facade the majority of the time, your violin acting as your mask on stage, effectively shielding all of your doubts to the outside world. But it was difficult to present that version of yourself when you were standing next to Agatha, for you found yourself falling back in time to when you were nothing more than her assistant. Naturally leading you to wonder if the conductor still saw you in that imbalanced light, or if she could ever view you as her equal. 

Once the last of the students left you lingered onstage, discreetly watching Agatha. The conductor was leaning against the grand piano, one hand perched on the edge while she scrolled through her phone. 

“I can feel you staring,” Agatha called out, not looking up from whatever she was doing. 

“I’m not staring,” you lied, clearing your throat as you took a step towards her. “Is everything alright?”

“Hm?” Agatha asked, finally glancing up at you. When you motioned to her phone, she arched an eyebrow. “Jealous I’m not giving you all of my attention?”

Spluttering, you shot her an indignant glare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Placing her phone on the piano, the conductor crossed her arms across her chest, smirking as she took a small step forward, invading all of your senses. “If you must know, I was going over tonight’s performance with the concertmaster, she had a few questions.”

It was then that you recalled last week’s symphony rehearsal, where you witnessed what you felt had been rather visible tension between Agatha and the concertmaster, Hela. Your stomach began twisting in uncomfortable knots at the memory, while you were forced to consider why the thought of Agatha being with someone else made you feel sick. 

“Hela, right?” You asked, careful to keep any trace of the growing pit of anxiety from your tone. 

“That’s right,” Agatha confirmed, an inscrutable expression on her face as she regarded you. “I’ve known her for quite some time. Her brother is the new CFO of the symphony.”

All thoughts of Hela were pushed to the back of your mind. Your eyes widened, unable to contain your surprise. “What? Where’s Hayward?” 

“In prison,” Agatha replied casually. “Well, I'll take that back. He’s supposed to be in prison, but I’m sure he was able to get a reduced sentence. The woes of the wealthy white man.” 

“Prison?”

“For fraud and embezzlement of all things,” Agatha shared conspiratorially, leaning in closer as she whispered, “I must say, it was quite a scandal. Still a bit of a mystery as to who tipped off the feds.”

The smug expression on her face was a dead giveaway, as Agatha had never been subtle. 

The sigh left your mouth before you could stop it, lips curling downwards to form a frown. “Tell me you didn’t…” 

“That I didn’t do what, dear? Uphold my duty to rid my orchestra of a bloodsucking leech?” Agatha countered, pacing around as she clasped her hands behind her back. 

“But prison, Agatha? Really?” 

The stage creaked with every step the conductor took, finally stopping when she stood directly behind you. 

“If I remember correctly you were never fond of him either,” Agatha pointed out, her breath hot against your ear as you let out an involuntary shiver from the pleasurable sensation. 

“I wasn’t,” you admitted truthfully, as Hayward had been a major thorn in both your and Agatha’s sides throughout the entirety of your time with the MSO. 

“Besides, I didn’t make him do anything. He was guilty,” Agatha said honestly, and although you weren’t looking at her you knew she was telling you the truth. Embellishments and dramatics aside, she had never lied to you. “I merely sped up the process of justice being served.”

Allowing the conductor’s words to wash over you, there was a pause as you decided to change the subject. “So, Hela’s brother?” 

“He’s business oriented like Hayward, but far more cunning. A lot more clever, as well. He’s also not actively attempting to sabotage me, so I’ve had more free time,” Agatha explained, and you then remembered what Monica had mentioned of Agatha being absent a lot this past season. 

“I’m sure you’ve been awfully bored,” you replied, your brain fixating on Hela and if there was any correlation between her absences and a potential relationship with the concertmaster.

“I’ve found…ways to keep myself busy,” Agatha delicately responded, taking a small step back. 

Turning around, you gave her a curious glance. “Really? Have you been doing anything interesting?”

“This and that,” Agatha vaguely offered, folding her hands across her chest. 

Deciding to test your luck, you took a step towards her. “I’m sure you’ve been doing something worth mentioning. Any traveling?”

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha scanned yours, deep blue orbs searching for something unknown as she appeared to contemplate your question. “Can't say I’ve had time for any vacations while I’m running an orchestra.”

“Of course,” you agreed, pondering over Agatha’s words while coming to the realization that either Monica misspoke or Agatha, for the first time, had potentially lied to you. But why? 

Taking your silence as an opportunity to strike, Agatha raised her right hand, index finger contemplatively tapping against her cheek as she observed you. “Quite nosey today, aren’t we?”

“I think a good musician should always try to be curious,” you weakly said, wondering why Agatha was being so secretive.

The conductor snorted, “I almost forgot how meddlesome violinists are as a species.”

Ignoring the dig, you approached her for a final time. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, but you weren’t sure where to begin as the words kept getting caught in your throat.

“I know it’s been a long time,” you started to say, as this was the first time you had addressed the elephant in the room. “But I’d like to believe that after everything we’re friends, right?”

The words burned your tongue, but you ignored the unpleasant feeling. You and Agatha were friends, sort of, right?

Agatha stiffened at your words, and for a moment you allowed yourself to believe you saw a flicker of displeasure cross her features. But, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. An uneasy silence fell between you, and even though Agatha was mere steps away it felt as though an  ocean separated you. 

“Yes, dear,” Agatha finally answered, voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’re friends.”

The sound of your phone dinging caught your attention, as you gave Agatha an apologetic smile. “I should probably check that. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Seven o’clock sharp,” Agatha reminded you as she traipsed across the stage, pulling her phone back out. “Don’t be late.” 

The best way to prepare the day of a performance was to get plenty of rest and stay hydrated. There typically wasn’t enough time to make any major changes to whatever piece you were performing, so hours of practicing was both unnecessary and a waste of energy. Lacking something to do with your hands, you instead spent the hours leading up to the gala in a fretful state. This had been occurring more frequently with each new performance you took on. It didn’t matter the size of nature of the event, the self-doubt you normally could keep at bay had fully taken over.

While your violin had once been your safe haven, an escape from reality, it was now slowly turning into an anxiety fueled nightmare. Lately nothing you did felt right. Every bow change was jerky, each shift of your fingers ending flat. Your vibrato was too fast, but then too slow. Nothing was good enough, and the more you attempted to fix it the worse it became.

Burdened as you were, how you ended up at the gala on time was a mystery, but you skillfully avoided the majority of the orchestra’s donors as you slipped backstage. Tony had managed to deliver everything he promised; a beautifully decorated ballroom with a room full of wealthy donors who had come to be entertained for an evening. 

Part of that entertainment including you, your brain reminded you, as you watched the ending of the orchestra’s performance of Danzón No, 2, Agatha’s hands cutting them off with a dramatic flourish of her baton. The room erupted in thunderous applause, and you forced yourself to look away as Agatha shook Hela’s hand before she exited the stage.

Greeting a few members of the orchestra who passed you, a cold sweat dripped down your back as you listened to Tony ramble on stage about reaching record high donations and how the night wasn’t over yet. You had to physically stop yourself from hearing his speech on the “treat” the audience was in for with the last performance; your performance. It didn’t feel right, receiving this praise, not when you could barely make it through the relatively easy piece of music you had selected for this evening. 

“You’re on as soon as Tony is done,” Pepper reminded you as she walked past with her tablet, most likely tracking the incoming donations.

The rushing sound of blood filled your ears as you stiffened, hands feeling clammy as you struggled to hold onto your violin. While you were no stranger to pre-performance jitters, this was one of the worst experiences you had with it yet, the room beginning to spin as you closed your eyes. 

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t go on with the way you had been sounding all day. 

Maybe you could pretend to faint, or be ill. The latter wouldn’t be too much of a lie with the way your stomach was churning at the mere thought of walking out on that stage.

There was a light touch on your shoulder, and you thought you heard someone saying something but it was hard to hear anything over your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Darling?”

Agatha’s voice managed to cut through, and you felt her hand on your shoulder rub circles as you managed to take a shaky breath, slowly opening your eyes. 

The conductor was hovering over you, concern etched on her face. You hadn’t felt her grab your violin and bow, but both were safely stashed on a table to your right. The room was far too bright, and your body far too hot as you squirmed. 

“Are you alright?” Agatha asked quietly. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

You briefly noticed the backstage area was mostly cleared, a stark contrast to the crowded flow of musicians that were there mere seconds ago, but you paid that no mind. 

“I know I need to go out there, but I don’t think I can,” you said, trying your best to breathe but the rapid tightening of your chest making it difficult to form complete sentences.

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha stepped away for a moment, grabbing a nervous looking stagehand and saying something incoherent to them before they hurried off. The conductor was back at your side, now holding a bottle of water as she opened it, handing it to you.

“Drink,” she gently urged you, and upon noticing your reluctance she sighed. “I know you don’t want to, but drink.”

Taking a small sip, you struggled to swallow, the cold liquid acting as a shock to your system.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, rubbing your back for a moment before pulling away. “Now, I need you to listen to me. Do you trust me?”

Your heart felt like it was about to give out, and the room was moving at such a rapid pace you had difficulty standing. There was almost nothing you were certain of, but the one thing that you had never truly doubted was your faith in Agatha. 

You barely recognized the sound of your voice as you let out a meek yes. 

“Stark is out there stalling,” Agatha explained, and it appeared she was actively refraining from rolling her eyes. “But he can’t stay out there forever, otherwise we might start to lose the money we’ve already raised.”

The tightness in your chest was gradually relenting, and you were able to breathe with more ease. “I’ll be fine to perform, I just need a minute.”

The conductor rolled her eyes at your comment. “A heroic offer, dear, but you’re not going out there alone. I’m going to perform with you. That little stagehand ran off to grab the sheet music. I’ve performed Gluck before, but it’s been a while.”

That managed to get your attention, and you stared at her in shock. Agatha almost always refused to perform the piano, and had only played for you once. Despite being considered one of the most gifted pianists of her generation, the conductor had not performed publicly in decades.

“You’re going to perform with me?” 

Rolling her eyes again, the conductor gave you shoulder another squeeze. “You have heard of a duet before, haven’t you?”

The room stopped spinning, and you were able to open your mouth without feeling the need to vomit. Managing to give her a weak smile, the conductor nodded, handing you back your violin. The nerves were still there, but now Agatha was standing beside you as she instructed the same stagehand on how she wanted the piano positioned and you no longer felt like you were drowning. 

Tony must have received the okay from Pepper to wrap up as he transitioned out of his long speech.

“Now, I know I’ve promised all of you a performance from our current Artist in Residence, but this is a special evening, isn’t it? I’m thrilled to announce she will be joined by the incredible, incomparable, Agatha Harkness. The Maestra will be putting down her baton to give all of you her first public piano performance in years.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched at that, but when she found you staring she gave you a reassuring nod.

There was more applause, and Tony jubilantly exited the stage, wishing you both good luck as he went to converse with Pepper. 

“Just focus on me,” Agatha whispered in your ear before you walked out together, the applause deafening as she strolled over to the piano, taking a seat as she stretched her fingers out over the keys.

Positioning yourself to where you could see her in your line of vision, you planted your feet firmly on the ground. Raising your violin, you set your bow on the string, trying to ignore the unsteady feeling threatening to rise yet again.

Agatha’s finger pressed down on one of the keys, playing an A to allow you to tune your violin. Rolling your bow, you checked each string until you were satisfied, giving Agatha a discreet nod that you were ready to begin. 

Locking eyes with Agatha, you raised your violin on an upbeat to cue her in. The second her fingers hit the keys, you were able to pretend there was no one else there, only the two of you. Moving through each measure, you focused on the notes you had memorized, and for the first time today it didn’t feel overwhelming. Your vibrato rang through with every note, and the sound didn’t make you want to throw your violin in a woodchipper.

Agatha was a sight to behold, hair carelessly thrown over her shoulders, sitting on the edge of the bench as she slightly slouched over, fingers dancing across the keys. Although she claimed she needed the music, you couldn’t help but notice she had barely glanced at it once, her focus on you. There was something so magical about watching her at the piano, even the simplest chord she played produced the most exquisite sound.

Melodie was a piece originally from the opera Orfeo ed Euridice. It had later been transcribed by Fritz Kreisler for piano and violin. It was a dance between the two instruments, with the violin line singing over the piano accompaniment. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking, and was a rather accurate representation of your emotional state as of late. 

The hesitation you had been feeling now gone as you allowed yourself to relax, focusing on growing every phrase as you and Agatha played off each other. It was funny, you had never rehearsed this with the conductor, but you played perfectly in sync. Every breath you let out Agatha inhaled as you watched her lithe fingers stretch across the instrument to form various chord progressions. 

As you entered the final phrase, your fingers delicately shifted down the fingerboard as you hit your last note, slowing the speed of your bow, and extending your vibrato as Agatha leisurely played her final chords until the noise died away. 

Holding still, you finally released, and as you lowered your violin there was tumultuous applause from the crowd, but all you noticed was Agatha looking at you in a way you had never seen before. 

The moment was over all too soon as Tony came back on stage, insisting you and Agatha receive a standing ovation as he gleefully announced that tonight’s gala produced an all time high number of donations. Agatha rolled her eyes discreetly at you, but you noticed how pleased she appeared. 

You were swarmed by enthusiastic donors, and Agatha wasn’t faring much better. The conductor made sure you were able to put your violin away before Pepper had swooped in, insisting you take pictures.

Agatha sought you out long after the crowd dwindled, a glass of wine in each of her hands.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The conductor asked, offering you one of the glasses. 

Quietly thanking her, you accepted the wine, taking a small sip, the alcohol swirling around your tongue and you turned to her in surprise as you swallowed. “Pinot Noir?”

“Your favorite, if I recall correctly,” Agatha politely remarked. 

“That’s right,” you confirmed, taking another small sip before lowering your glass. “Thank you, for earlier. I’m sure you’re tired of saving me.”

Agatha’s lips curled downwards, her eyebrows creasing as she gave you an unreadable expression, as if she hadn’t witnessed your earlier anxiety attack. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t think I could have gone out there on my own,” you admitted, the truth a bitter embarrassment. “I’ve been having trouble with my confidence lately.” You motioned to the now empty space and stage. “With all of this, it's just getting worse.”

Nervously biting your lip, you half expected for Agatha to crack an off-hand, witty comment on how obvious that was given your backstage freak out, but the conductor set her wine glass down, giving you her full attention.

“Go on.”

“I…” 

Pausing, you came to the stark realization you had never shared this with anyone out of fear of being judged. But then you looked at Agatha, her piercing blue eyes boring into yours, and your fears melted away.

“I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time,” you confessed, fidgeting with your hands as you stared at your feet. “This is all I ever wanted, but now that I’ve made it, I don’t know if I’m cut out for all of this…I don’t…”

“You feel like you don’t belong?” Agatha guessed, and upon your small nod she added, “You obsess over every miniscule detail of each performance, and it doesn’t matter how many people say it was good, it feels like it wasn’t great. Right?”

You felt your blood run cold, as the conductor managed to hit the bullseye of your recent anxieties. Blinking back the tears that had been threatening to escape, you took a deep breath before looking back up to find her pointedly staring at the ground.

“How do you know that?” You asked softly, surprise evident in your tone, because Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met. 

“Perfectionism is practically conditioned into us from the day we begin learning music,” Agatha reflected, still not meeting your gaze. “You know, my mother was a rather successful pianist.”

When you refrained from commenting, because you did know that, Agatha continued. “She’s the reason I started playing the piano. Sometimes I think she only had a daughter not because she wanted a child, but because she wanted to mold another version of herself. Nothing that I wanted ever mattered, it was always about her.”

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely, because you couldn’t imagine having a parent like that, but the conductor waved off your apology, clearing her throat.

“Don’t be. My mother was a fool, and she remained one for the rest of her life,” Agatha said, without a trace of sorrow in her voice. “My introduction to music was one filled with fear. I had been taught to never be satisfied with myself, because I could have been better. I wasted a large portion of my childhood seeking her approval, wanting for her to be proud of me. But I eventually learned that it’s impossible to win when you’re being set up for failure.”

This was the most vulnerable Agatha had ever allowed herself to be with you, and you nervously folded your hands across your chest.

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I moved across the country when I turned eighteen, and never saw her again until she was being put in the ground,” Agatha reminisced, finally daring to look up at you. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes over the course of my career, but one thing I’ll never regret is embracing fear.”

“Embracing fear?” You repeated, unsure of where she was going.

“Those thoughts you’ve been having,” Agatha prompted, her attention focused solely on you, “they don’t go away. They’ll most likely just get worse. So, you can either succumb to it, and let the fear of failure win, or you can embrace it and allow yourself the ability to recognize that greatness doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from having the courage to try at all.”

You had unconsciously shifted closer to the conductor as she spoke, until your shoulders were nearly touching as you both leaned against the edge of the stage. 

“Has that helped you?” 

“As much as it can. Music is unique, as is every musician,” Agatha thoughtfully replied.

The gears in your brain turned, thinking back on the multiple instances where Agatha had made a member of the MSO cry. 

“And do you use that advice when working with your own orchestra?”

“Funny,” Agatha deadpanned, grabbing her wine glass by the stem to take a sip before setting it back down. “There’s a difference between pushing yourself too hard versus settling for mediocrity.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” You pointed out. “They’re all world class musicians. I think sometimes you’re too hard on them.”

“They are,” Agatha confirmed, running a hand through her hair as you fixated in on her messy dark brown curls. “But some of them have become lazy. They don’t feel the need to improve at all, and that’s an insult to the craft. It’s my job as their conductor to make them want to perform at their very best.”

You knew Agatha meant well, and deep down you were sure the orchestra did as well.

“That makes sense, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I thought you were extraordinary this evening,” Agatha praised you, her hand coming to rest on top of yours. “You’ve always been extraordinary.”

The physical contact was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Relaxing under her touch, you felt your cheeks grow warm from the compliment. “Thank you, Agatha.”

Your glass of wine abandoned on the stage behind you, you allowed yourself the opportunity to enjoy this intimate exchange with the woman who had been haunting your memory for the past five years. Agatha, for her part, appeared to be comfortable as well, as her hand remained atop yours, unmoving from where she stood next to you.

“And for the record, Hela and I are friends,” Agatha murmured, grabbing your attention once more. Sensing your surprise that she picked up on what you had been hinting around, she rolled her eyes. “You’re a lot of things, darling, but you’ve never been subtle.”

Her words sounded eerily similar to what you had asked her earlier, but you had made it this far and after years of what if’s and errors of miscommunication, you had grown weary of the unknown.

“Friends….like how you and I are friends?” You quietly questioned, the implications of what you meant appeared to be obvious enough from the way Agatha gave you an amused smirk.

“No, dear,” Agatha murmured, raising her hand to gently stroke your cheek, looking at you in ways you had only been able to dream of. “Not like how you and I are friends.”

Tangling her fingers in your hair, Agatha chuckled at the involuntary shiver you let out as she leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. She was so close, and any self control you had mustered was slowly slipping. Your breathing turned shallow, eyes locked on her perfectly plump red lips.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but your brain short circuited as the conductor parted her lips, slowly moving towards yours. You could smell the wine on her breath, as you vividly pictured tasting it off her tongue. Using her free hand, Agatha tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at her, and you were lost gazing into her hazy blue eyes.

Before you could fully rationalize what you were doing, you leaned in, closing your eyes as your lips were about to meet. From the back of your mind, you thought you heard Agatha’s breath hitch as your heart raced from the anticipation. 

A loud slam of a door caused you to break apart. Agatha ran a hand through her messy locks, breathing heavily and you felt your cheeks grow hot as she gave your hand a brief squeeze before stepping away from the stage, straightening her suit jacket. 

A man came stumbling into the room before you could ask what almost just happened, holding what appeared to be a small cage. He looked familiar, did you know him from somewhere?

The man, who seemed to be oblivious to what he just walked into, spotted Agatha and began to nervously ramble.

“Maestra, I’m so sorry. The flight got delayed, and apparently you can’t only buy a first class ticket for an animal, so I was able to get myself one too. I tried to use my card to pay for it, but it didn’t go through, so I put it on yours. Then I tried to call you, but my phone stopped working. I tried to check into the hotel, but I realized I left my wallet at the airport. I remember you said you’d be here so I thought I’d come and-” 

Holding up a hand to silence him, Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. “It’s fine, Lang. Please stop, your voice is giving me a migraine.” 

The man kept going, shuffling around uncomfortably. “Well I can pay you back for the ticket but with my current salary it will probably take me around…a year, maybe?”

Agatha waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “I said it’s fine, Lang. Consider that your holiday bonus.”

The conductor sauntered over to the man, reaching her hands out to grab the cage from him. Gently setting it down on a nearby table, she opened it, pulling out a rabbit. She scratched his ears as held him, annoyance gone as she gave you a small smile. 

“Do you remember Scratchy, dear?”

Of course you did, you thought to yourself as Agatha brought Scratchy over to you, the hardened look in her eyes softening as you gave him a few pets. You discreetly nodded towards the man who was pacing the room, hands in his pockets, and Agatha sighed, her irritation appearing to return as she glanced back over at the man.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. This is my assistant, Scott. He’ll be joining me for the rest of the summer.”

Scott gave you a quick wave and you couldn’t hide your surprise. This was Agatha’s assistant? He certainly wasn’t what you had pictured.

“Great,” you said, feigning enthusiasm, trying to pay attention to the conversation between Agatha and Scott, as the man told a rather strange story of his travel day.

The more he talked the more confused you were as to how Agatha hadn’t managed to fire him yet.

But, all you could really do was wonder what would have happened if Scott hadn’t interrupted, and what this meant for the rest of the summer; as opening night was quickly approaching. Your heart fluttered, as you realized the more time you spent with Agatha, the more you secretly wished you had never said goodbye to her all those years ago.

[purriteen]

Ad victor spolia, chapter six

content warnings: incest, manipulation, eventual Stockholm Syndrome, toxic & dark!Coriolanus Snow (as if that isn't his default), named!reader, ANGST, eventual smut, non-con, age gap (5-6 years), somnophilia

author’s note: Tigris my beloved I'm so sorry 😭🫶🏻

BIG extra warning for this chapter!! smut, Coriolanus Snow is fucking insane, choking, non-con (again), he treats reader very badly in this chapter

you are responsible for your own media consumption I have warned you

word count: 4,024

Previous chapter

It had been a few weeks since Romulus and your supposed attacker, a man whom you didn't even recognise, were executed side by side. Everyone had extended their sympathies and condolences to you, not because you'd lost your childhood friend over an accusation that was so obviously false it was painful, or because you had to witness two likely innocent men being fried to death in a surprisingly swift manner, pioneered by doctor Volumnia Gaul herself.

But rather because it took so long for you to get justice. It seemed as if everyone knew more about your supposed assault than you yourself. Once again your brother was ten steps ahead, painstakingly fabricating your entire life and neglecting to tell you until it was already cemented.

You no longer woke up in his bed every morning. You no longer exchanged pleasantries over breakfast, congratulated him or feigned interest in hearing him talk about his day.

Coriolanus hated it. He had intended for the experience to toughen you up a little, make you see the world the same as him, help you see other people for the vipers that they are. But instead it seemed you had turned on him, pinning him as the viper.

Scolding himself for getting impatient with you had quickly grown unproductive, and so he realised he had to solve things elsehow.

That was where Tigris came in.

Although she didn't know it, she would play an important role in pushing you in the only right direction. Losing Tigris would be the last nail in the coffin.

Even if you weren't the same girl you once were by the end of this, Coriolanus would get what he wanted from you. He always did.

To the victor go the spoils.

Being told that your brother had arranged for Tigris to come over for tea was like a godsend, even if it had been arranged by someone you could only describe as the complete opposite.

Romulus' execution had washed away any hopes you had of your brother being a decent human being. You felt like a fool for believing he might actually be anything other than a callous, miserly serpent.

But it was no use crying over spilled milk. You had to get out of here, and your cousin was your only hope.

Unbeknownst to you, Coriolanus had been as meticulous in shifting Tigris' view of you as he was with everything else.

You immediately knew something wasn't right when you sat down with her in the sitting room.

You had never seen Tigris angry, and that wasn't about to change. But there was this unsavoury look in her eyes, one that you could most accurately describe as sorrowful. Every time that she looked at you, it was as if she was mourning something.

You couldn't bear it.

After a few minutes of fluctuating between lukewarm small talk and an agonising silence, you spoke up.

"Tigris.. Please, talk to me."

It was pathetically subdued, your request. Not conveying even half of the desperation you felt, nor the confusion, the disillusionment.

It only takes her a few seconds to respond, but as her golden brown eyes peer into you for those deathly silent few seconds, you feel as if several years of your life have passed by in a single breath.

"You've changed." Is all that she says, and judging by the look on her face, even that takes a great deal of effort. You can feel her eyes trailing down to your blouse, and it takes you a moment to realise why she seems to have latched onto it.

As you clothed yourself earlier that day, you hadn't thought much of the impression your outfit would give. You were used to having your clothes laid out for you every morning, and although you didn't particularly like it, it was undeniably convenient.

But today, you were dressed in a pussybow blouse, a crisp white colour with buttons and the bow itself in your brother's signature deep maroon colour. Your hair, which you had for years insisted on keeping relatively natural looking, was done up into an overly complex updo.

You looked like all those wealthy, prissy Capitol ladies you and your cousin used to secretly poke fun at. Like your power-hungry brother's wet dream. The version of you that he had painstakingly curated to align with everything that he wanted to portray himself as. You were aware that your image, your entire person, was to him an extension of his own image, but you would've never thought that Tigris would be fooled by it.

Your blood runs cold as the truth crashes into you all at once.

You knew your brother was vicious and that he certainly wouldn't hesitate to keep you and Tigris apart if it was in his best interest. But you never considered how all of this would appear to Tigris, what she would make of how Coriolanus had portrayed you.

At least, you never considered that it might be this.

You thought she would always take your side, that she would always be the one to listen when nobody else did.

The realisation that that is no longer the case hits you like a thousand bullet wounds, puncturing your remaining hope like a balloon.

"Tigris.." You begin, your voice trembling, a look of disbelief and pure regret plastered on your face.

"Why did you ask me here, Hersilia?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She too looks like she's on the brink of tears, her lips pursed.

"You were like a little sister to me. Then when Grandma'am died, you pushed me away, you wouldn't even speak to me," She breathlessly chuckles, wiping a stray tear with her sleeve.

"You love your brother, I can't blame you for that. But you didn't have to abandon our relationship for that.." She says, and although her voice is silken and smooth as always, with a tinge more of hurt, it feels as if she's just driven a dagger through your heart.

"That isn't-" You begin to speak, but you're unable to stop a sob from escaping your throat, the distress overpowering your voice.

Through tear-filled, blurry eyes you watch as Tigris rises from her seat, sniffling as she walks over to you. You're surprised when she takes your hands in hers, gently circling your knuckles with her thumbs. You can tell she's struggling to not burst into tears herself.

"I love you, Hessie, and I know there's still good in you. But you chose him, and if you continue like this you'll be stuck with that choice for good. I tried, but I can't help you any more than I already have." She whispers to you, pressing a shaky kiss to the top of your head, before letting go of your hands and leaving you all alone with your lukewarm cup of tea.

The door quietly shuts behind you, and a maid rushes in as you break into violent sobbing, completely unreceptive to her attempts to calm you down. The last thing you remember is Eugenie entering the room, and yourself finally allowing her to hold you as you bawl.

You know she means well, and she manages to calm you down enough to stop your hyperventilating, but you're also painfully aware that the pain you feel now will never truly go away.

The cathartic relief as you stop weeping will never come.

You awake later that day to find Coriolanus sitting at your bedside, your own bedside this time. You're back in your own room on the other side of the presidential palace.

He's still dressed in his woollen coat, his hair neatly styled as it was when he left this morning. He gives you a weak smile when you look up at him, stretching out his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, and the audacity of him to ask such a question in this moment makes your blood boil. Perhaps he's already forgotten how he ruined your life, picked it apart down to the bone, all without even telling you, the deceptive fuck.

You used to think your brother wanted to keep the family together, that you were important to him. You allowed him to ensnare you until he had taken everything you once held dear from you right under your nose. You hate that you allowed him to get away with it, with everything.

You don't even realise what you've done until he has your wrist in a grip so tight you feel as if he might crush it, his eyes narrowed and cheek marred with a handprint so bright red it almost looks comical.

You thrash in his grasp, your free hand balled up into a fist as you repeatedly jab it at his chest. But in a matter of seconds he has you pinned down on your chest, your wrists restrained behind your back.

His hot breath tickles your skin, making the hairs on your neck stand as he whispers, no, hisses into your ear. "Do you really think it's a good idea to pick a fight with the only person left in the world who cares about you? Huh?"

His cruel, taunting words cut deeper into you than a knife, making you thrash in his grasp once again as a string of cries and sobs spill from your mouth.

"You were never on my side, you sick bastard!" You spit out, but he quickly pushes your face down into the pillow which effectively shuts you up, his white-knuckled grasp on the hair on the back of your head painfully tight.

"Just shut up, you ungrateful fucking slut. You have no one left to turn to but me. You should be thankful that I don't cut out your tongue or banish you to the districts," He almost shouts at you, but you can tell he's already struggling to keep his voice down. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears as you struggle to breathe.

You realise once he straddles the back of your thighs what his intentions are, much too late, as always. His bulge presses against your thighs, horror and disbelief taking over you as you make a final, adrenaline-fuelled attempt at fighting him off. You manage to break your wrists out of his iron grip, only for him to release your head and instead force your hands back into place, his free hand rustling with his belt.

You writhe and shout, but nobody comes to your rescue. He must've cleared this wing of the building beforehand. "You're my brother, you degenerate fuck! If you do this you're no better than those district savages you speak so unkindly of!"

Your words are soon followed by an anguished yell as he bends your wrist at a painful angle, only letting up when you feel as if it's about to snap. In the blink of an eye he has you on your back, hands pinned down at your stomach as he leans in close, his face mere inches away from you.

"Yes, Hersilia, I am your brother," He hisses, grabbing you by your hair and forcing you to keep your eyes on him. "And I made you. I raised you, moulded you into exactly what you are today. You were no one and nothing, and I gave you everything," He continues, his words coming out strained and harsh as he speaks right into your ear, accentuating every syllable of that last word.

"Do you think I did all of that for nothing? So that you could stray from the future I built for us, for our family, so that you could abandon me?" He breathlessly chuckles, his hand working to undo the buttons of your blouse as you struggle to hold back tears, teeth digging into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

As he unties the ribbon around your neck, he replaces it with his hand, snug around your windpipe.

“Answer me.” He snarls, cruelly cutting off your air supply as he waits for an answer. You meekly shake your head in response, to which he lets out a humourless laugh and lets go of your neck. Within the blink of an eye his hand comes back down, hard, on your left cheek, before returning to slither around your neck.

"Useless." He mutters, taking a moment to burn the image of your dishevelled state into his mind before he lets go of your neck, yanking open the rest of the buttons of your blouse to reveal your bare midriff and bra-clad chest. You start to squirm again and he pins your hands above your head in response, his free hand grasping your chin hard enough to make you grimace.

"Hey, look at me. Quit squirming or I might as well let doctor Gaul run one of her little experiments on your head, yeah? Let her stir around your pathetic fucking brain." He practically growls at you, and with the threat of whatever lobotomy-like operation doctor Gaul had in store looming over your head, you finally stop writhing for a while and let the tears fall freely.

He resumes pedantically undressing you, holding your left hand up and pulling the sleeve off whilst the right one remains pinned over your head before repeating the process with the other. Finally he discards your blouse on the floor, a sly grin on his face as he takes in the sight of your barely covered breasts.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He muses, his hand tugging at the zip of your skirt. He soon gets impatient, carelessly yanking it down over your hips and finally tossing it aside, which earns him a surprised gasp. The look on his face is amused, clearly pleased with himself, as he takes in the sight of you in only your underwear.

"Didn't know my own little sister liked to dress like such a little whore," He taunts, making your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. You choose not to point out that he's the one who bought everything in your underwear drawer, although this set was definitely among the skimpier options.

"Look at you. Wearing that barely-there bra and those flimsy little panties, and yet you're still trying to hide yourself from me." He sighs, his hand delving in between your squeezed-shut thighs.

"Open." He instructs, and this time the playfulness has entirely vanished from his voice. You swallow hard, trying to brace yourself for the impending humiliation, and slowly spread your legs wider.

"That's better." He pats your cheek almost affectionately, and by god you want to bite his fingers off. You've finally calmed your crying, but when he hooks his digits under the waistband of your panties, you're damn close to starting back up. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

So you put on your best poker face, managing to maintain it as he slowly, slowly peels your panties off, revealing your puffy cunt to him. He curses lowly under his breath, and you grit your teeth as you watch him absentmindedly pocketing your panties. Next he hastily unclasps the back of your bra, pulling it off of you and carefully releasing your wrists, now that you're caged in between his arms anyways.

"Don't try to escape, okay? I've got guards stationed just outside. Just let it happen, unless you'd like them to see you naked too." He warns, and you let out a mumbled 'okay'. The fact that his guards know what's happening in your bed in this very moment, and aren't doing anything to stop it, makes your stomach turn.

Even though you were anticipating it, feeling his hands on your naked body makes your breath catch in your throat. His hands explore your exposed tits as his knees settle in between yours, ensuring that your legs stay spread and your sex remains on full display for him.

"Would you look at that, you're wet already," He mocks as he swipes his index finger across your folds, coating his fingertip in your juices. He leans down to whisper in your ear as he slowly pushes his index and middle finger inside.

"You've practically been asking for this, you know. I was going to take you in your sleep that night, when you passed out drunk in my bed, but I wanted you to be awake for this moment." He admits without the slightest bit of hesitation, sending a shiver down your spine. You bite back a groan when he starts to move his fingers in and out at a steady pace.

Without even saying anything about it, he's confirmed what you already knew deep down, that what he claimed lead up to you falling asleep in his bed that night was just an excuse, something he fabricated so he could keep you close to him.

"You're disgusting," You manage to whisper out through gritted teeth, earning you a disinterested sigh.

"And you're much prettier when you're not talking."

His words nauseate you, wondering what it was that everyone else saw in him to earn him the trust of the Capitol citizens. He undoubtedly had superficial charm, but you found it strange that nobody saw past it and saw him for the snake he truly was, even though you yourself had been played for a fool too once.

You're just about to say something in response when his fingertips graze your sweet spot, a whimper falling from your lips before you can stop it. Coriolanus' grin widens at this, starting to repeatedly prod at your g-spot with each thrust of his fingers.

You tense up when he pulls out slightly, pressing his ring finger to your entrance, and before he can push it deeper your own hand paws at his wrist, trying to push him away.

The look on his face instantly hardens, grabbing both of your hands in his and grabbing his previously discarded belt, raising an eyebrow at you as if to warn you that he'll restrain you again if you keep fighting back.

You avert your gaze in shame, mumbling out an 'I'm sorry' in hopes of dissuading him. He reluctantly releases your wrists, tossing his leather belt aside.

"You're on thin ice." He says coldly, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Without warning he pushes all three fingers back inside at once, drawing a whine from your lips.

Coriolanus relishes your mortified and sordid state, taking great pleasure in being the first man to taint your innocence. The first and only man who'll ever get to see you like this.

He goes slow at first, allowing you to adjust and himself not to miss out on any of your reactions, wanting to hear every little sound, study every facial expression you make. If he hadn't already waited so long for this moment, he'd have taken his time, made you writhe and squirm and beg him not to stop before he even considered properly fucking you.

But it doesn't take long for him to get impatient. He picks up the pace as he leans down to trail kisses down your neck, planting a dark hickey that would be hard to hide just below where your left cheek ended.

Finally he retreats, bringing his fingers to your lips and watching as you hesitantly take them into your mouth, licking your own juices off of his fingers. As soon as he deems them clean enough, and you mortified enough, he pulls them out and hurriedly undoes his button-down shirt.

You watch with dread as he unzips his pants, taking them off and leaving him only in his boxers and his open shirt. But soon his undergarments come off too, and your breath hitches in your throat when he bares his shaft. He's both thicker and definitely longer than you thought.

He wastes no time in pressing his tip, reddish and already leaking precum, against your puffy folds, rubbing it up and down a couple times to coat himself in your wetness, before grabbing ahold of your waist with his free hand and starting to guide himself inside with the other. It's a tight fit, and you can't help but cry out as the head of his cock slides past your hymen, providing a painful stretch.

Your hands come up to paw at his chest, but this doesn't seem to deter him one bit, as he simply keeps going, forcing himself deeper inside until you can feel his tip prodding directly at your cervix.

There's still another inch or two to go, Coriolanus thinks, but you'll have to work on that over time.

He steadily pulls back until his tip slides back through your hymen, the sore ring of muscles clamping down around him on instinct as he practically slams back in, burying his cock as deep as it would go. A shameless groan spills from his throat, his hand gripping at and bunching up the bedsheets right next to you as he repeats this motion a couple more times.

Deciding that your legs are getting in the way, he swiftly grabs you by the back of your knees and practically folds you in half, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist for stability. He leans down to press his lips against yours, and you can practically feel his victorious, shit-eating grin on your mouth as he slowly and roughly pumps his cock in and out.

From the outside, the two of you could pass for young lovers, tangled in an intimate embrace and bursting with mutual affection. But in reality, he's a serpent masquerading as a man, slowly, slowly sucking the life out of you.

"You're nothing without me," He grunts lowly as he fucks into you, hand wrapped around your throat. When he receives no response he squeezes slightly, eyes boring into yours. "Say it." He emphasises his words with another, harsher squeeze, refusing to break eye contact as he relentlessly pounds your weeping cunt.

"'M nothin', nothin' without you," You blubber out, looking up at him through teary eyes. You never thought your brother would take it this far, but now it's clear that he'd been waiting for his chance to defile you ever since you first moved into this house of horrors.

You've lost count of how many times he's forced you to cum around his cock by now. With him frequently asphyxiating you, never allowing you to fully catch your breath before his hands reclaim their place around your throat, your mind has been perpetually hazy for the past hour.

You know for sure however that he's came inside you twice already. Enough for his spend to be leaking out of your sore mound and trickling down onto the sheets. You pleaded with him to pull out the first time, but by the time he approached his second orgasm of the night you had given up.

At the end of the day, you knew that Coriolanus would never allow you to get pregnant out of wedlock, especially not with your own brother's child. He would make sure it didn't take one way or another, for the sake of his own reputation. Certainly not for your sake.

He lightly slaps your left cheek, his thrusts starting to get sloppy as his cock throbs deep inside of you. "Look at me. Look up at me, stupid fuckin' slut." He huffs, and even though he's called you worse before, the vulgarity of his words still manage to take you by surprise.

He flashes you a crooked grin when your eyes finally meet his, savouring the fucked out, defeated look on your face. Your beautiful eyes, lined with smudged mascara that trails down the valley of your cheeks, filled with misguided disdain and crushed hope. Your soft lips, puffy and agape as you gasp for air.

Coriolanus had never felt quite this enamoured with you before. On a bad day, you were pretty, but now that he had you splayed out underneath him, your sweet cunt wrapped around his shaft, you were nothing short of divine.

This was the version of you he adored the most.

Tame, vapid and pliant.

taglist: @caffeine-addict-slug, @phoward89, @catesbaroquecasahouse, @priyajoyy, @euphemiaamillais @harvey-malfoy

so likeee... y'all want an epilogue or no?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Off the Page 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: skinny!Steve

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You take a page out of Maria’s book and sleep on the train. The night at the hotel wasn’t long enough. By the time you ate, you were too tired to enjoy the fancy tub and your alarm woke you well before you were ready. As your stop comes, you’re still groggy and barely ready for your evening meet and greet. 

Isn’t this the dream? Running yourself ragged as a bestselling author? Seeing all the fans who love the words that you wrote? Who see themselves in the characters you created? So much a dream that you feel as if you’re falling asleep again. 

Wake up! You splash water over your face in the bookstore bathroom. It’s not glamourous. You have the small space to refresh before you face the masses. You hoped for a smaller crowd given the time of day and the lesser known location. How wrong you are; you can hear the buzz of fans through the walls. 

“Hey,” Maria enters without knocking. She’s like that. You and your agent have gotten rather cozy in those last weeks. A bit too much at times. “Almost ready?” 

“Yeah, sorry, I... is this blouse okay?” You ask as you touch the satin, patterned with violets, “I don’t even know why I bought this?” 

“It looks fine,” she assures, “you’re not a writer if you’re not at least a little eccentric, right?” 

“Oh, and what about book agents?” You challenge, “are they all so stylish?’ 

“Of course. We’re the face that sells the tour. All you have to do is smile and sacrifice your hand to carpal tunnel syndrome,” she teases, “just you wait until the interview. That's the heavy lifting.” 

“Interview?” You check yourself one last time in the mirror. 

“Didn’t I mention? The local station wants a sit down before we’re off tomorrow,” she explains, “I said yes. It’s a decent check and good business. Any publicity is good publicity. Publisher signed off on it too so... can’t back out.” 

“Oh, and you were going to tell me when?” 

“Right now,” she shrugs, “come on, your adoring fans are waiting for their elf queen.” 

“Oof, don’t,” you cringe, “you make it sound so lame.” 

“If it was lame, you wouldn’t be here,” she asserts. 

“Suppose you’re right,” you pack your things up into your bag and shove it in the corner. “Alright, I’m ready.” 

You follow her into the hall and through to the main area of the bookstore. It’s been closed early for the event, a meet and greet exclusive to those who claimed the limited one hundred tickets for sale. Each ticket includes the cost of a free signed edition and bookmark. Funny to think you’d once been on the other side of one of these things. The eager beaver reader aspiring to be the star author. 

As you come into sigh of the audience, they cheer. You’re still not used to that either. You wave and smile out at them. The moderator, an employee of the bookshop chain, calls for their attention over the microphone and introduces you. There’s another softer round of applause. 

You take your seat on the stool and let out a breath. You start with the reading. You try not to do the same chapter, instead cycling through your favourites. Some you even know by rote now. 

Then comes the Q and A session. You know all the answers. You find it’s always the same questions. Besides, you created this world, these characters, if there isn’t anything written, then you get to decide. 

A group a giggly women finish asking their questions about the ‘rumoured’ sequel to which you give your PR friendly deflection. After them, you wait for the next person to appear. There’s some scuffling at the microphone as they lower it. You wait patiently and smile at the slender blond man. He’s vaguely familiar. 

“Hi, um, my question is, whether Emeris is truly the promised knight or if he was just in the right place at the right time?” 

You nod as you listen, your thoughts whirring. It’s not an entirely out-there question. It isn’t what he’s asking that gives you pause. You swear you’ve seen him before. 

“Well, we can’t know for sure. I like to think of the promised knight as not a specific person fated from birth but rather a possibility for all. The promised knight is the one who can step up in that time of need and do what it is needed,” you explain. “I hope that makes sense.” 

The man doesn’t speak right away, himself stalling before he can respond, “yes, I guess it does. Thank you.” 

He lingers at the microphone for a moment as he watches you. He clutches a worn copy to his chest tightly. That’s familiar too. 

Strange. You're sure there’s lots of people who double dip. You have to admit you did it once yourself. Sometimes you just need that thrill.  

The blond man steps back and lets the next person ahead of him but he doesn’t go far. He stays close to the queue of people and you feel him staring you down. Everyone is watching you but his gaze just feels so much more intense. You do your best to focus on the person at the microphone. 

Several others ask their questions or just give their praise. The man remains. You can’t shake the sense of him. He’s like a shadow. You don’t know why you’re so aware of him. 

Finally, you finish up and it’s time to announce the special prize. It’s a raffle set up by ticket number. The package isn’t anything special; a collector’s edition, a mug, and some pens that look like quills. The moderator brings up a box filled with slips and you reach inside. You read out the number and the crowd mutters. 

“Me,” a deep voice rings out, a hand popping up from lower down. The blond man steps forward and waves his ticket, “it’s mine.” 

Strange coincidence. You keep your smile plastered on. You don’t need another Maria lecture about your tired moping. You’re handed the prize basket and you carry it down to meet the man. 

“Congratulations,” you say as he meets you at the lip of the low platform. 

“Thank you,” he beams up brightly, “it’s nice to see you again.” 

You try not to show your surprise, “yeah, uh... you too.” You don’t know what else to say. You don’t remember exactly where you saw him and definitely not a name; you hear too many of those to keep track. 

“Really?” He breathes. 

“Er, enjoy your prize. Thank you so much for coming.” 

“Of course. Always. Anytime,” he avows shakily. “’To you, my queen, I bid my blood and breath.’” 

You hesitate. That’s from the book. Emeris proclaims it to the elvish protagonist on her quest to reclaim her stolen homeland. It’s flattering yet slightly unsettling to have it recited to you. 

“Have a good night,” you say gently and turn to walk back across the platform. You’re tired, you need to get out of here. 

[tanniefm]

christmas & chill | jjk (m)

sequel to all to you

summary - it’s the most happiest time of the year with your needy boy.

pairing - jungkook x reader (f)

genre - established relationship, pwp, fluff

word count - 3.7k

song inspo - the entirety of ariana grande’s ep christmas & chill ofc!

warnings - reader and koo are hopelessly in love sigh, lots of cum, unprotected sex (pls don’t be dumb like them i beg), koo kinda switches lowkey sorry, overstimulation, hint of dacryphilia, koo’s a lil crybaby, extremely needy koo, praise, riding, backshots yayyyy, oral (f receiving), squirting, cum eating, pet names (ur his angel <3), reader is chubby coded (is that a thing? i’m making it a thing), reader suffers from FPS (fat pussy syndrome) whilst jungkook suffers from FDBS (fat dick and balls syndrome) 😞

a/n - a lil gift from me to u ♡ thank u all for all the love. i wanted to post something for christmas as a 2 year anniversary to my first ever fic i posted on here. hope u enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. see u next year!!

♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪♪°•°∞°•°♪°•

The semester is over, finals are a thing of the past, and your lovely new boyfriend is coming over in 15 minutes. Merry fucking Christmas to you! 

Due to finals being obnoxiously cutthroat this year, you’ve barely been able to spend any time with Jungkook. He offered to help you study multiple times, but you felt it would be more responsible to study on your own without any…distractions. You learned from last time that studying with him ends with materials being forgotten and clothes being strewn about. So for two weeks, you put a sex ban on the both of you so that way when you were able to reconnect, it’d be 10x better. Jungkook reluctantly agreed but had a huge pout on his face that you oh so lovingly kissed away. Ever since you two made it official, it’s like all you ever think about is being grossly lovey-dovey with him. In your defense, he makes it a little hard not to. He’s the sweetest boy in the world, of course you wanna shower him with kisses and endless praise and let him pump as much cum into you as his heart desires! The look on his face does you in every single time, just thinking about it is making you squeeze your plush thighs together. 

You shake your head to re-focus on the task of getting ready. Your roommate has the same plans as you do with her own significant other so she notified you she’d be gone for the weekend with a sly smile. Fortunately for her, this means she won’t have to hear the headboard banging rhythmically into the wall at 3 am anymore - well, at least for the weekend. You’ve decided to pamper yourself a little before he arrives. Showered, shaved, moisturized, spritz some sweet-smelling perfume, and even put on a little bit of makeup just to make yourself feel extra cute. You put on some fuzzy pink shorts that make your legs and ass look good, and a tank top with Hello Kitty positioned right in the middle of your boobs. You look and feel so fucking good right now. ‘Jungkook’s gonna bust in his pants again,’ you sigh blissfully to yourself. However, tonight you want him to fill you up completely. It’s what you deserve after such a stressful month of non-stop studying and crying over due dates. You give yourself a little smile in the mirror before you walk to the living room to turn on the tv for background noise. Watching movies is the last thing on your mind at the moment.

Your head springs up when you hear melodic taps on the door. Anytime Jungkook knocks, it has to be to the tune of whatever song he was listening to earlier, it’s a habit you’ve always found to be endearing. You skip to the door happily, excited to see your favorite boy.

“Hey angel, I got us- mph,” you interrupt his sentence with a deep kiss. Fuck, you missed him so much. Although you’d never admit it to his face, as he tends to get a bit cocky (which never lasts once you’re on top of him), this sex ban has been torture for you. You made the foolish decision of adding that neither of you was allowed to touch yourselves while you cracked down on studying. So to say you were pent-up was a gross understatement. You parted from him for air and saw how dazed he looked. Pink cheeks and shaky breaths. Just like always.

You smirk and look down at the bags he has in his hands. “You got food? Aww, you’re too sweet, come in! It’s freezing,” you say innocently. You grab the bags of takeout from him and usher him inside. He’d like to blame his rosy face on the cold wind, but you and him both know you just caught him off guard. And turned him on a little. These past couple of weeks have been what Jungkook would imagine hell is like. And then to add the extra challenge of not masturbating? November is over! What happened to Destroy Dick December?? Nevertheless, he’s ecstatic to see you again. He has so much to give you. He knows you can take it, he just wonders if he can. Other than his incessant horniness though, he’s just as excited to curl up with you under your warm weighted sheets and hold and kiss and love you endlessly. He walks inside to see you’ve transformed the living room into a cozy holiday getaway. Fairy lights decorated the tables and doorway, soft music flowed throughout the room, chilled wine set out on the table, and you, looking as gorgeous as ever. God, he’s so in love with you. He wants every holiday season to be spent with you by his side. He plops himself down on the couch and stares at your pretty figure retreating to the kitchen to collect plates and utensils. He notices that you’re wearing the short fuzzy shorts that he likes. The ones where he can clearly see the soft thighs he always imagines rutting himself between. Maybe if he’s good tonight you’ll let him. His dick slowly hardens at the prospect. 

You come back with eating materials in hand and sit next to him closely on the couch. “What’s all this for?” he asks distractedly. He notices you’ve also put on the perfume he can’t get enough of. It’s subtle enough to not mess with his sensitive nose but sweet enough to keep him wanting more. He wants all of you. Right now. “I thought I’d make the atmosphere nice and warm for us since it’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to be alone together,” you say smiling brightly. You dig into your food ignoring your very erect boyfriend. “You aren’t hungry baby?” you ask with a slight pout. He shakes his head slowly and scans your body up and down, seeing that you’ve foregone a bra. Your nipples poke through the little tank top you’ve thrown on and he desperately wants to lean down and put them in his mouth.

You snicker at how obvious he’s being. You knew he’d get like this as soon as he saw you. You’re surprised he didn’t crumble and fall to his knees the moment you kissed him. There had been many nights throughout these past few weeks where he’d text you alluding to wanting to see you, touch you, taste you, anything. All of which you would shut down and sternly tell him to not touch himself. “The only one that’s making you cum this month is me, do you understand?” you had firmly told him one night. He whimpered and whinily agreed. He’s such a good boy, your good boy.

Now with you right in front of him, looking the way that you do, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. You laugh and swallow the last bite of your food and turn to him. “Ok ok, I get it,” you say as you lean in to kiss him. He immediately wants to deepen it but you push him back before he has the chance. “Don’t you want to make a little toast first?” you don’t think he could get any poutier. “If I drink this wine can we have sex after?” you giddily nod and pour your glasses. “To us,” you clink your glasses together and watch as he hastily downs his whole cup. This is definitely gonna be a long night.

Without even considering letting you finish, he dives in for another long kiss. You smile into it and place your glass on the table to focus your full attention on him. Tongues dancing for dominance that he beautifully succumbs to. You climb on top of him slowly and straddle his firm thighs. You’ll never get over how such a strong man will willingly submit to your every whim. He’s so perfect. 

He runs his hands up and down your sides and feels how soft you are. He knows you’ve been insecure about your body in the past, but he’s always loved it. Even before you agreed to be his girlfriend, he’d savor any ounce of physical contact with you if it meant he got to feel your tiny squishy self against his lean muscular form. Your thighs squeeze around his hips and you push your heat against his straining bulge. He moans wantonly. This is what he’s been craving. Your warmth on top of him. The only thing that could make this better is you letting him inside of you to feel it completely. He bucks his hips into yours to hint at what he wants. But you know, you’ve known since before he walked into your place. If he had things his way, he would’ve picked you up and taken you on the front door. But he enjoys the teasing and the waiting. He enjoys the thrill of not knowing what’ll happen next. He enjoys anything you’ll allow him. 

Your kisses descend upon his jaw and neck as his cold hands fiddle with the hem of your tank top. He gives you a pleading look, silently asking if he can take it off, which causes you to nod as an affirmative. He quickly takes it off and leans back to do the same to his own shirt. Seeing his bare chest will forever be a treat for you. You're sure he could say the same if his ogling of your boobs is anything to go by. “You’re so pretty,” he sighs. His pupils dilate as he softly squeezes them in his hands. “Wanna suck on them,” he mumbles. You giggle and tell him to go ahead which he does swiftly. There’s something lethargic about watching him suck and play with your nipples. Even when not in a sexual context, he likes to have you in his mouth absentmindedly. You’re starting to think it’s become a comfort thing for him. He looks so at peace. His cold fingers contrast his warm tongue and it only adds to your pleasure. You rock against him harder which causes him to part from your nipples to whine. 

“Please- please can I be inside of you? I need it, I’m so full angel please,” he rushes out. “You wanna fill me up baby?” you respond gently, cupping his face with your hands. His doe eyes framed by your fresh set of acrylics is such a pretty sight to see. He nods and whispers another please. He looks so good when he begs. You wish you could take a mental screenshot of this moment.

You get up to discard your shorts and lacy pink panties while he impatiently just tugs his pants and boxers down to his knees. You’ve decided he’s had enough teasing for the night and quickly guide his throbbing length inside your embarrassingly wet pussy. He lets out a sob as you bottom out on him completely. You give yourself a brief second to adjust and let him recuperate from everything that happened in the last 60 seconds or so. You give him a small peck and ask if he’s ready, to which he replies with a soft yes and squeezes your hips for emphasis. With that, you slowly lift your hips and plop back down with a quickness. He’s so fucking big; not only is he long, but he’s slightly thick too. He’s always leaving your poor pussy sore but he fills you so fucking well you can’t find it in you to care. You set a fast pace as you’re overcome with your own need to feel good. You can’t wait for him to cum inside you. The moment you told him you were on birth control and that you were ok with him finishing inside he almost lost his mind. You’ve come accustomed and even excited to feel his love filling you in the most physical way. 

His hands grip your hips firmly as he throws his head back and takes the pleasure he’s receiving. You’re squeezing around him tightly and bouncing up and down on him so swiftly, he feels like he’s basking in the glows of heaven. “Ahh ____ you’re gonna milk it out of me fuck,” he moans loudly. His voice tends to heighten in pitch whenever he’s close and his eyes start to water as if he’s on the verge of bursting into tears. This however, only encourages you to get him there quickly. You wanna see tears streak down his face as he releases two weeks’ worth of cum inside of you. You bet he has so much. It might even overflow. With this thought, you move even faster, telling him to keep his eyes on you. “Don’t close your eyes baby, I wanna see those pretty eyes when you cum inside me ok?” you tell him. He tries his hardest to keep his eyes open, but the tears in his eyes cloud his vision. He blinks profusely in an attempt to clear them. He wants you to be the only thing he sees. He’s gonna cum any second now. It feels too good, you’re overwhelming his senses and he can’t hold it anymore. “____! I- fuck I’m cumming I’m cumming I”m sorry I can’t hold it,” his revere breaks as you feel spurts of warm cum release deep in your heat. You gasp and furrow your brows as you halt your movement. Pleasure racks through both of your bodies as you both cum together. You rock your hips back and forth to ride it out but it only causes him to whine loudly in overstimulation. He wants to go again. He still has more to give you.

“Keep going please I still have more,” he says breathily. Unfortunately for him, you are far too tired to keep riding him. Your legs are sore and you’ve frankly overexerted yourself. ‘Maybe I should take up on his offers on going to the gym,’ you think offhandedly. You place your head next to his ear and pant, “Fuck me baby, c’mon. Do whatever you want.” It’s almost as if a flip switches in his brain as he’s given permission to fuck you in any way he pleases. At this, he grips his hips and lifts you up slightly to pound his cock into you. His balls slap against your soft pussy as he sets a quick pace. You feel like a little doll with the way he fucks into you. You can’t help but notice that even when he’s fucking you like this, manhandling you into any position he wants, he’s still whining and looking at you with complete and utter adoration. He pulls you in to give you a sloppy kiss as he cums for the second time that night. He moans into your mouth as you feel the tears that seem to continuously fall from his eyes on your cheeks. He pulls away to give you both a chance to breathe. 

His forehead rests against yours as he gasps for breath. You feel his cock twitch inside of you. “Kookie..are you still-” you stop yourself as he buries his head into your chest and cries. “M’ sorry I just- I missed you so much. I’ve been wanting this so bad angel. I just wanna fuck you over and over again. I’ve been saving it all for you. Just like you told me to,” he sobs into you. Your poor baby, he’s been suffering more than you thought he has. You wonder how he would’ve coped had you not have added the dumb “no touching yourself” to your little challenge. Probably by stroking himself to the thought of you every night. You clench at the thought. He lifts his head with widened eyes. You didn’t cum! And he did! How selfish could he be? He gently lifts you off of him and lays you back on the couch. He gives you a big, loving kiss and makes his way downwards. “Wait! Not on the couch, this shit is hard to clean,” you hurriedly say. He smiles bashfully and picks you up to carry you to your room.

It’s like you weigh nothing to him, a sentiment that makes you blush and giggle into his neck. He smiles and pecks your head before he flops you down on your soft sheets (that’ll definitely need to be washed thoroughly once he’s done with you). He gets down on his knees and looks up at you. You are nothing but a goddess in his eyes. The love of his life. He’ll do anything for you. You stare back at him and card your nails through his hair, gazing at him tenderly. This is exactly how it should be. Him on his knees staring up at you in awe, and you, pushing his head straight to your cum-filled pussy. You’d laugh if he didn’t instantly wrap his lips around your swollen clit. 

He runs his tongue up and down your cunt, cleaning it the best he can whilst simultaneously trying to get you to climax on his tongue. He fucks his tongue into you as he brings his chilly fingers to your clit. You yelp and moan loudly. “Fuck yes, just like that baby. That’s so good,” you praise. His bright eyes look up at you as he rubs your slick bud in circular motions, his tongue never stopping its pace inside. He parts from between your thighs briefly to whisper to you “Please cum for me angel. Wanna make you feel good,” and goes back to eating you with intent. That does it for you, you see a burst of white behind your eyelids as you cum messily on his face. This has got to be the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had, as you can’t stop shaking and trembling. He kisses your shaky thighs and caresses them softly to bring you back down.

He kisses his way back up to your face to check if you’re ok. “You alright?” he asks delicately. He pecks all over your face as he sees you slowly but surely come back to him. When your eyes flutter open, you’re shocked to see that his face is drenched. “Did I…,” he smiles brightly and nods. “I made you squirt angel,” he says with a grin. He’s lucky he’s cute, otherwise you’d be extremely annoyed with his cockiness. He looks so proud of himself though, so you’ll let it slide this one time. While you’d love to just pass out and deal with the mess later, you can’t help but notice the incessant hardness poking your stomach. “One more?” you question. He pouts once more and nods with pleading eyes. “Just one more, I promise,” he says. You relent and turn over on your stomach, maybe if he goes easy on you, you can even rest a little while he reaches his peak. But this is Jungkook, of course that’s not going to happen.

He grips your hips and hikes your ass up to get you into just the position he wants. He’s kind enough to put a pillow underneath you so as to not strain your back as much. The tip of his cock has been leaking ever since he got on his knees to eat your pretty pussy that he loves, and the throbbing was starting to become painful. He runs his dick through your folds to slicken himself up and whimpers when the tip catches onto your slit. With a soft kiss to your back, he thrust himself inside. Since he’s eaten you and stretched you so thoroughly, there’s no need for you to adjust, so he starts jackhammering into your cunt right away. He still feels so full, he loves the sound of his fat balls pounding away your plush little pussy. When he feels this good, he can’t seem to keep quiet.

“Mmmm this is so good, so fucking good. I’m so sorry baby, I can’t stop. I wanna fill you over and over. Look so pretty with my cum stuffed inside of you,” and here come the waterworks. He’s so sensitive, fucking you like this almost hurts. But he can’t stop, not until he’s completely empty. His thrusts are nothing short of quick and concise. He loves when you let him use you like this. Nothing but sounds of your wetness, his balls pattering against your bud, and the sounds of your combined moans run throughout the small apartment. You’re definitely gonna get another noise complaint.

“Baby, you can slow down it’s ok, don’t overwork yourself,” you plead. His tears almost make you want to stop him altogether and give him a chance to calm down. Jungkook, on the other hand, has no intentions on stopping. “No! I can’t, I need to keep going! Please don’t make me stop I wanna cum again please please please,” he sobs. He’s so close, he can feel it swirling in his stomach. He just needs a little more and then he can finally milk all the cum he’s been saving for you out of him. You, incidentally, are close to cumming too. In fact, you’re learning that this feeling you’re experiencing is that you’re about to squirt again. “Koo- oh my god, I- baby I’m gonna-” you stumble. “Me too, me too, fuck. Let go angel, make a mess on me again,” he rushes out as his thrusts increase. He spits on his fingers and runs them along your hard little bud. You try to muffle your scream into your pillows as you release all over his chest and your sheets. Seeing and feeling you squirt all over him causes him to reach his climax as well. He pumps every last bit of cum that he has inside your battered pussy as he thanks you profusely. Just as you expected, it overflows and drips back down your thighs. Jungkook collapses as softly as he can on top of you as you both breathe heavily. His cock finally softens and he reluctantly pulls it out as gently as he can. 

As he heavily plops himself down next to you, he sees that you’ve knocked out, already snoring lightly. He chuckles and pulls you into his chest. “Thank you angel. I love you, so so much,” he whispers. This is exactly what he wanted for Christmas. You safe in his arms and full of his cum.

[voxmortuus]

Please could you do Will Graham x fem reader where she's kidnapped by him but he treats her so well? Like he is madly in love w her and even tho she doesn't like being kidnapped, she accepts her reality and starts to get along well with Will? And he's happy because maybe she can start feeling the same that him.

Smut and fluffy/angsty please! I love your work

►PAIRING: Will Graham X F!Reader ►UNIVERSE: Hannibal ►WORDS: 1.1k ►SUMMARY/PROMPT: See Above. ►SONG INSPIRATION: Obsessed by Elle Lexxa ►TRIGGER WARNINGS: Angsty Reader | Fluffy Will | Unprotected Vaginal Penetration | Acceptance of situation - Stockholm Syndrome | I may be missing some, but you get a general idea, so please proceed with caution if there is anything in there that is overly triggering please let me know politely and I will make sure it is added to the list. ►NOTE: Hello Anon Requester and Reader. So in a previous post I had stated I will no longer be taking on Hannibal and Hannibal character requests until further notice. However, this request would finish up my series of Obsession. So for you and for the sake of finishing my series, I will fill this request and make it my third and final part of Obsession. You can read part one and part two in the links next to the masterlist. Sorry if this isn't what you expected, or had envisioned yourself, I apologize. But I hope you enjoyed my vision. ►IMAGE & DIVIDER CREDIT: @nyxvuxoa ►My Master Masterlist | Hannibal Masterlist | Obsession Pt. 1 Obsession Pt. 2

You were just as lost then as you are now. You had no idea what was happening, but you were feeling it. You were feeling it deep, this sense of acceptance over everything. Maybe Will wasn't so bad, maybe there was good to him, after all, you never wanted for anything, you never needed anything, and anything you ever desired besides escaping you've gotten. The way you take your toast with a little extra jam on the bottom corner for your first bite, or how you take your coffee with a little pinch of cinnamon in the grinds before brewing. He took note of all of this, and you never felt unsafe with him. He never hurt you. All he's ever wanted was to love you, and for you to love him and here you are questioning the very same thing.

Knocking at your door he peeks in and looks at you with such a kind loving smile. "Good morning. How did you sleep?" He asks you.

Nodding you give a small smile tucking some hair away from your face. "I slept alright, thank you. Coffee? Maybe I can, I don't know, join you for breakfast this time instead of eating in here? The room is starting to smell like breakfast lunch and dinner." You give a small smile and a soft chuckle.

Will's eyes light up and he looks over you and with an eager nod he looked over you and gave you a genuine loving smile. Swallowing your pride, you give him a smile back and search his face. He seemed kind, caring even. You didn't want to judge but it was like you couldn't help it. He kidnapped you after all, but there was just something so soft and somber behind his eyes. You could feel that he could really do damage if he chose to, but he didn't. He didn't hurt you; he didn't want to. He's been nothing short of sweet with you.

You reach for him and look over him and give him a sweet smile and he takes your hand and kisses your hand gently before he unlocks your ankle from the chain and leads you to the kitchen. Sitting you down he smiles.

"Coffee? What would you like for breakfast?" He asked.

"Coffee sounds perfect. Breakfast... blueberry pancakes? With sausage on the side and an egg?" You ask with a small smile. "I can help if you'd like." You offer.

Looking at you he tilts his head and smiles nodding. "I'd like that."

Making your way over to the counter, it felt good to stretch your legs and do something other than reading, or sketching, even pacing your room was growing exhausting. You would attempt to see if he can take you out back to his beautiful garden later. But right now. Right now, you just wanted to enjoy doing something different after what seemed like days.

Taking a moment to watch him, you feel this urge to reach out and touch him. Looking up at him you smile. He looks over you, but it was this urge to reach out a little more. Pushing past, you start to realize a little more about him that was deeper, it was a deeper acceptance of things, you realize you're really not going anywhere.

"I want you to make love to me Will..." You state, almost hesitant, but genuine. "In your bed..." you add.

He stops and looks at you, tilting his head, a little concerned, but there was something in your eyes that spoke truth. He knew what this was, but he was also blinded by his own wants, needs, and desires. His utter infatuation with you.

He pulls you close and kisses you deeply. In a fever you wrap your arms around him and pull him even closer, your hands in his hair. Bending slightly, he picks you up, wrapping your legs around him as he takes you to his room.

Laying you upon his bed he looks over you as you toss your night shirt to the side and you sit up, reaching forward and pull at his pajama pants as he strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side. Dropping his pants, he scoots you further up on the bed, so your head rests on the pillows.

"Are you sure?" He asks. The first time he's asked for consent, but you know what, you were willing this time.

You look at him and nod. "I'm sure." you whisper as you press your lips to his and pull him closer.

Pressing your hips up toward him, you feel his member against your flesh, and you let out a soft whimper and a heavy breath. The kiss deepens. Feeling him stiffen against your warm, damp, needing core you whimper again and roll your hips against the stiffing flesh and with a small adjustment he slips his member between your heavenly folds, and he lets out a groan.

Feeling the way he stretches you, you let out a soft moaning whimper as you arch into him, your nails rake across his back up to his shoulders. His lips press against yours in a small fit of fever. With each thrust the grunts and groans matched.

He made your body feel hot, tingly, wanted even. Why did you not see this before? Maybe it was because it wasn't under your terms, but now, now this was your terms and it felt different. You could get more used to this than what you are now.

The roll of your hips matched the press of his in perfect unison, the moans from your lips bounced off the walls and it only fueled him even more. The way he filled you caused you to want more. You were absolutely lost in this moment, craving more you widen your hips and lose yourself completely to him.

While the act itself was intoxicating, what fueled you more was feeling that pining for a finish, feeling it swell within your core you clench your legs around him pulling him deeper into you. Letting out a seductive lustful scream in raw pleasure you feel this orgasm consume you. But it was when you felt him press deeper into you releasing his hot ribbons of seed, feeling them coat your walls you let out another trembling fluttering moan that fills the room.

After a few moments you both look at each other and you smile a somber calm loving smile. "Breakfast?" you ask.

With a chuckle he nods and carries you to the kitchen, setting you on the counter, his seed oozing from you as he smirks. It was this moment you realize that this man, you were going to enjoy the company of a little more than before. This moment right here that he knew you were going to be with him forever.

[yanderehsr]

Hi, how are you doing so far? Of that okay, can I please have how yan Natasha, Himeko, and Kafka would react that their darling become attached to them? Not only that, but the reader would also miss them when they will be at work for too long. And how would they comfort their darling who would feel lonely at times?

I hope you'll enjoy😄

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Kidnapped reader, Isolation, Stockholm syndrome

Natasha: She will be suspicious for a while, you could just pretend to have fallen for her, just so you could escape, it takes time before she believes that you truly love her, but when you allow her to touch you, to hug you, to do everything she ever dreamed of doing with you, how can she not believe it.

Natasha works almost all day every day, she comes home late, of course you miss her a lot. She is tired after working all day, but even though she is tired she will always have time and energy to comfort you and make you feel loved, it's usually cuddles until you both fall asleep.

"Did you miss me, maybe I should have come home earlier"

Himeko: She is over the moon when you return her affections, you give her an inch and she will take a mile, she wont allow you to back down, if you say you love her then nothing you say will change that fact in her mind. She loves it when you return her hugs, when you kiss her back and when you talk so happily to her so she can hear your lovely voice.

Miss her? Himeko rarely leaves the astral express, when would you get time to miss her. Oh, she gets it, even being apart from her for more than seconds feels like an eternity, she feels the same so don't worry. After you return her affections, she might even unlock the door and let you walk around the astral express.

"I will trust you, okay. You may walk around the express, but you may not leave, understood"

Kafka: Her heart actually skipped a beat when you gave her a hug for the first time, she has this smile on her face that looks different, it looks genuine. Finally, it took long enough, but Kafka was patient, finally you return her love. If she was touchy before, she is all over you now.

You will miss her, she usually gets long missions by Elio, and she can be gone for months. Kafka may even extend the mission, just to come home later, make you feel extra needy for her affection, it's as they say, Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

"You missed me didn't you, but don't worry. Now that you realise that you are all mine, I will give you as much love as you can take and more"

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Girl in IT- 8. The Panic! in the Breakroom (Christine's Version)

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Summary: Joel and Sugar spend some time apart and have serious conversations about their relationship's future. Everything is about to change...

Chapter Warnings and Tags: No outbreak AU, Boss x Employee Relationship, Sugar Daddy Lite, Reckless Driving, Talks about Periods and Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and all of the shitty things that could happen with it including blood loss, miscarriage, and painful pregnancies, Someone gets punched (it's Joel, he gets socked in the face), Sugar takes a backseat as chaos ensues, Badass Ellie Miller, Ellie is going through it, Joel is going through it, Sugar's going through it!, Badass Survivalist Bill to the rescue, There is no smut in this chapter (like at all), no beta we die like men!

Word Count: 8.2 K

A/N: Here it is, the first chapter of my big rework, as I mentioned in this post. If you've read the original posting of this chapter, you know it ended with a surprise pregnancy and a proposal. As much as I know many of you enjoyed that outcome, it was also a departure from my true intentions for Sugar and Joel's relationship timeline, which set off a chain reaction for this story. I was afraid of alienating my readers- I thought by avoiding a darker or more heartbreaking storyline, I wouldn't upset anyone and felt like giving a happy ending to this chapter was the right move. Upon reflection, I started to regret it. Trying to censor myself out of fear of losing readers and not staying true to myself is not the way to go, and I've learned from this lesson.

There is a massive plot change in this chapter. Most of the story is the same, but I have included several pivotal moments with Joel and Sugar that will change the tone of the rest of the series. I do promise that we will be getting our happy ending, just at a different pace. This chapter does have some triggering moments, so please read the tags before reading. I also want to note that chapters 9 and 10 will be completely rewritten. I have set those chapters to private as I continue to rework them, and I hope to get those chapters out promptly before we dive into 'My Wife in IT'. Thank you so much for reading and for sticking around. I really do appreciate it.

"The conference should only be a few days, baby," Joel reassures you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead before disappearing into the walk-in closet to grab a flannel.

As he starts getting dressed, he catches your lingering gaze and teases, "See something you like, baby?" A mischievous smirk plays on his lips as he zips up his jeans.

Unable to resist, you slide out of bed and join him. Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you pout and playfully protest, "Do you really need to go, though?" You reach around him to button up his shirt, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "The bed will feel so empty without you... and it's kind of weird being here alone."

"Well, with Ellie being in the house I bet you'll hardly feel alone, hell, I can just see her attached to your hip the whole time," Joel replies, spinning around and pulling you into the warmth of his broad chest, kissing the top of your head. "You won't even notice I'm gone when she's around, she'll keep you on your toes plenty."

"Have you spent time with Ellie lately? You know anything could happen when she's around."

Joel smirks, "You've got a point there. I still need to fix the oven from her latest kitchen mishap. But hey, don't stress. If you bring Sir Bubbles along, she'll be entertained for days. It's like she's more attached to him than she is to both of us combined."

"But do you have to go, Joel?" you protest once more, "I'm sure Tommy can handle things; he's a big boy."

Joel raises an intrigued eyebrow. "Bigger than me, Mami?" he murmurs, giving you a little pout.  

"No one is bigger than you, Papi," you tease, giving him a wink. Gazing up at the ceiling, a sudden wave of unease twists your expression. You find yourself clutching at your middle, groaning slightly in pain.

"Baby? Are you okay?" Joel is suddenly at your side, his face etched with concern. He pushes your hair out of your face, giving you a small smile.  

"I don't want to call it, but I think my period is coming," you reply sadly. 

"You would think with all of the times we've tried to get pregnant, surely it would take," you sigh, frowning as you stare at the ceiling, not wanting to face Joel and his disappointment. "I'm sorry, Papi."

"Why are you apologizing to me, Sugar? We have all the time in the world! Besides, I'm loving all of the attempts," he wiggles his eyebrows, pressing a kiss on your forehead. I'm more concerned about your health than anything else, okay?"

"Okay. I'm just worried because we're not getting any younger, and I don't think your knees can handle chasing a toddler," You tease, pulling him into a slow and languid kiss.  

"I'll have you know, all of this sex we've been having has given me a new lease on life, I haven't worked out so much in my damn life! I'm in my prime, baby." Joel runs a hand through his hair as he walks over to the bedroom door, scanning the hallway for Ellie. He turns back to look at you on the bed. "Promise me you'll see a doctor if you get any worse?"

"I can't make any promises-"

"Sugar, I'm serious. If you start to get worse, you call Ellie and have her take you to the doctor. I mean it, baby. Please. Just put my mind at ease, okay?"  

"Okay."

"Ellie!" Joel's voice echoes down the hallway. "Come here for a second!"

"Yeah?" Ellie pops her head out of her bedroom door. "Are you heading out now?" She strolls out, securing her hair into a ponytail as she settles beside you on Joel's bed. "Hey, why don't we swing by your place after the old man leaves to pick up my buddy? I can't wait for Sir Bubbles to see his new cat jungle!"

You flinch slightly, adjusting into a seated position next to Ellie. "Sure thing. We can grab some lunch on the way, too."

Joel clears his throat, retrieving something from his dresser and handing it to you with a smile. "I've been meaning to give this to you sooner, but since I'm leaving for a few days-"

You open the envelope he hands you, eyes widening at the realization that he's giving you an American Express card that matches his, your name etched onto the metal surface. "Woah, Joel, I don't think this is necessary-"

"If you're going to be spending time under this roof while I'm gone, I don't want you using your own money for things like groceries and necessities, especially if it's for you and Ellie. Use this card while I'm away; go to the mall and go wild," he glances at Ellie, who grins conspiratorially. "But no more guitars, Ellie. Not after the last time."

"How was I supposed to know the guitar was $10,000? The one in your office is twice the amount, I swear!" Ellie groans, knocking her shoulder against yours. "I'm sure Sugar will keep me in check, you have nothing to worry about, old man!"

"Hey, are you ready yet, asshole?" Tommy's voice suddenly booms from the front door. "We needed to head to Waco ten minutes ago!" he exclaims.

Joel sticks his head out of his bedroom door. "Yeah, just give me a damn second!" Grabbing his weekender duffle, he presses a kiss on your cheek. "Okay baby, I need to go. I'll see you in two days, okay?"

"Okay," you reply with a smile, pulling him into a kiss. "... and don't worry, nothing bad is going to happen to me, okay? Promise."

"Reservation for Miller," Joel tells the hotel receptionist, retrieving his wallet from his back pocket to produce his Amex. "It should be under Joel Miller."

"Welcome back Mr. Miller!" The receptionist beams, tapping away at her computer. "Let me just pull up your reservation. Give me a moment... Ah, yes, reservation for Joel Miller, one room, two keys."

"Wait, hold on," Tommy interjects, nudging Joel aside. "What do you mean one room?"

"The reservation for Miller only indicates one room," the receptionist replies with a sweet smile, her head cocked to one side.

"Well, there must be some mistake, miss." Joel's brows furrow with concern.

The receptionist glances at the screen, her brow furrowing slightly. "I apologize for any confusion, but that's how it's listed in our system. One room, two keys for Mr. Joel Miller."

Tommy exchanges a perplexed look with Joel, a touch of frustration evident. "Look, we need two separate rooms. Must've been a mix-up. Can you check again or maybe offer us an additional room?"

The receptionist hesitates for a moment before typing away on her keyboard. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Let me see if there's anything available." After a brief pause, she looks up. "I'm afraid we're fully booked tonight, with the conference and all, and the reservation is for a single room. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

"Please tell me there's at least a cot or a pull-out couch in the room," Tommy groans, shaking his head.

The Receptionist hesitates, giggling awkwardly. "Well, there's a king-size bed? I guess it's pretty spacious?" 

Joel and Tommy exchange glances, silently communicating their dissatisfaction with the situation. "Alright, fine," Joel concedes with a sigh. "We'll make do with what we have. But this better not become a habit."

The receptionist offers an apologetic smile. "I assure you, Mr. Miller, we'll do our best to make your stay enjoyable. If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to ask."

Joel and Tommy head towards the elevator, resigned to share a room for the night. As they walk away, Joel mutters to Tommy, "We'll sort this out tomorrow. Let's just get some rest for now."

"I guess it'll be like old times, brother, sharing a room and all," Tommy grunts. "I swear, if you snuggle up with me or fart in the sheets, I'll punch you right in the balls."

"If my memory serves me right, weren't you the one sneaking into my bed when things got a bit dicey in the night?" Joel retorts, arching an eyebrow while casually checking his emails on his iPhone. "Oh, Joel, I'm so scared of the boogeyman, can I sleep with you tonight?!" he imitates in an attempt at a childish voice, smirking.  

"It's really gonna be like that, huh? You're gonna play that card? What about that time after we watched 'A Nightmare on Elm Street'? Weren't you begging Mama to let you sleep in her bed, thinking Freddy's gonna suck you up from your bed like Johnny Depp? Am I gonna wake up to you screaming?"

"Oh, go fuck yourself, Tommy, you ass-" The elevator dings to their floor, a family staring back at them. Tommy clears his throat, navigating around the family, shooting Joel a look as he heads to the room. "Evenin'," Joel murmurs, tipping his head to the family. "Excuse me."

Tommy is already in the room by the time Joel casually strolls in, rummaging through the welcome basket the conference organizers had prepared for Joel. "Well, it's nice of you to grace us with your presence, 'Mr. Austin's Entrepreneur of the Year 2023,'" he teases, extracting a bottle of Johnny Walker. "At least they give you the decent shit." Taking a swig straight from the bottle, he hands it over to Joel.

"Nah, I'm not drinking tonight," Joel murmurs, dropping his weekender unceremoniously on the floor as he plops onto the bed, pinching the space between his eyebrows. "I want to stay sober just in case Sugar calls me."

Tommy takes another swig, settling on the couch beside the window with a view of the city of Waco. "I noticed that she was looking a bit pale. Something going on?"

"She told me that she's about to start her period, I'm assuming that they can be quite an ordeal," Joel muses, glancing at his phone screen displaying a photo of you and him at your birthday dinner. A smile creeps across his face as he observes the image, capturing the moment when you kissed his cheek while he smiled at the camera. "I just have a really weird feeling like something's wrong," he groans, stretching his back onto the mattress.

"Well, Sugar's a big girl; I'm sure she'll be okay. Hell, I know how periods go, with Maria and all. Maybe I'll have her check in just in case." Tommy looks out of the window. "This is nice, you know. The two of us. Feels like it's been ages since we've done something like this."

"That's because the last time we were like this, it was your bachelor weekend in Vegas, and you ditched me and fucked off on some strip club crawl with your friends," Joel chides. "Then you had the fucking audacity to crawl into my bed, only to throw up on me in the middle of the night."

"I told you I was sorry! Shit, you could have come out with us, but you were still hung up on Sugar, even then. I don't know if that girl knows just how much you've loved her all these years."

"All that matters is she knows how much I love her now. Besides, I think it's only a matter of time before I ask her to marry me," Joel muses, revealing a ring from his jeans pocket.

Tommy's eyes widen at the sight of the diamond ring, whistling. "Shit, Joel, you're serious. How many carats is that puppy?"

"Just about 2 carats. Do you think she'll like it?" Joel asks nervously.

"I think she would say yes even without that rock; the girl's been crazy about you."

"I'm scared shitless, to be honest," Joel murmurs. "Never would have thought I would be put in this situation again, getting married and all... wondering if it's the right thing to do since my first marriage crashed and burned."

"Well, it's not like you married for love the first time around," Tommy muses, taking another swig.

"Now I have a second lease on life, time to get married for real. For love, this time."

"So, you get the girl, you ask her to marry you. But what about after that?" Tommy asks, taking another swig of Jimmy Bean. "... are you guys planning on having any kids? Do you want any more kids? You're not getting any younger, brother. Surely you don't want to be chasing some toddler when you're pushing 60-"

"I mean, we talked about the prospect of having kids, Sugar's only 36. I'm not gonna deny her of something she may want because I'm older than her." Joel responds with a heavy sigh. "Truthfully, I would give her anything she wanted, no questions asked... but sometimes I think to myself, what about our kids? I don't want to die before they become adults, you know?"

"... but is kids something that she wants? Sugar's a beautiful woman, surely if she wanted a family, she would have already gotten one, you know?" Tommy muses, chuckling to himself. "Maybe she would have gotten her head out of her ass sooner and sought you out beforehand."

"What are you trying to say, Tommy?"

"I'm saying, maybe before you ask her to marry you, you both have all of your cards on the table, brother."

"What if she wants kids, though? What if she wants a family, and I'm too old to give it to her? I don't want to lose her, I can't lose her. Not when I've just gotten her. I didn't work hard for these last ten years only for me to lose the girl because I can't give her what she wants."

"I have a feeling you don't have to worry about losing her, Joel. I do think that you should talk to her, at least."

Joel nods, a knot forming in his stomach as he contemplates Tommy's words. "Yeah, you're right. I need to have an honest conversation with Sugar about this. I owe her that much."

Tommy claps Joel on the shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. "She loves you, man. Just be open and honest with her, and I'm sure you two will figure it out together."

"Yeah, I hope so," Joel murmurs, a mixture of determination and anxiety swirling within him.

"So, what's the plan for dinner tonight?" Ellie asks, idly toying with Sir Bubbles by the towering cat tree in the family room. "I was thinking of whipping up some homemade Hot Pockets. I saw Sam snacking on them the other day, and they smelled divine!"

"You know, Ellie, you could just buy them at Randalls for $2 instead of going through the trouble of making them."

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" She grabs her phone, tapping away at Safari. "I found a great recipe that seems easy enough! Why don't we head to Randalls and grab the ingredients I need?"

"The whole beauty of Hot Pockets is the convenience," you groan, shifting on the sofa while flipping through channels. You wince as you manage to sit up. "You're not one to do things half-assed, are you?"

"I'm a Miller; we don't do things halfway. We must embrace chaos in all its glory, you know?" She glances at you from the corner of her eye, frowning at your pained form. "Are you sure you're okay? You look really uncomfortable sitting there."

You offer her a small smile through the discomfort. "Yeah, I'm just fine. It's that time of the month for me, always a bit uncomfortable."

Ellie nods in agreement. "Yeah, I hate it when I have my period. The cramps, especially! How do you deal with it? Midol?"

"Well, I have a condition that makes periods hell for me," you admit. 

"PCOS is a beast I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It's like period symptoms on steroids, honestly. Bad cramps, nausea, heavy period flow, the whole nine yards and then some."

Ellie frowns at that. "How long have you had PCOS?"

"Since my mid-twenties?" you muse, scrolling through your phone. "It's been a while, that's for sure."

"Bullshit! That's like a decade! How can you deal with such painful periods like that every month? I would be yelling at the doctors to rip my uterus out!" Ellie pets Sir Bubbles, her face deep in thought. "I heard that women who have PCOS have a hard time conceiving. Is that why you haven't had any kids yet?"

You snort. "Yeah, well, I haven't been trying to have kids, either."

"But I bet it's different now that you're with Joel, huh? I bet he's been wanting to knock you up since you agreed to be with him," she smirks. "I mean, for someone who built his own house, you'd think he would insulate the walls a little more, make it more soundproof-"

"Ellie-" you grit through your teeth, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"What? I know it's just human nature to want to be intimate with your partner-"

"Ellie, deciding to have kids is a big step in any relationship. It's something that changes your life forever."

"...and is that something you want, Sugar? To have kids?"

"I don't know what I want, really," you respond truthfully, shrugging. "I never really allowed myself to think about the future like this before, and now that I'm with Joel... it's making me question whether or not I would be a good mother. I... I didn't grow up in the most nurturing home when I was a kid, but I do remember promising myself that if I were to have any kids, I wouldn't raise them the way my parents did."

"That's understandable," Ellie quips thoughtfully, settling herself into the couch as she faces you. "I don't think I would ever want kids. It seems so freaking scary and overwhelming; I can't fathom the kind of pressure you're feeling about it. Have you talked to Joel about this?"

"We've talked about it," you admit, the weight of uncertainty evident in your voice. "I don't know if he wants kids, but I'm just not sure if I'm ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready, you know? I'm scared of disappointing him. What if he sees it as a deal-breaker?"

Ellie nods sympathetically, her demeanor softening. "I get it, Sugar. It's a tough spot to be in. But Joel loves you for you, not for whether you want kids or not. And if he's the right guy, he'll understand your concerns and respect your feelings. Joel's a lot, but I know that this man would do anything for you. I don't think you have anything to worry about. Trust me, I live with the guy."

You exhale slowly, feeling a bit lighter with Ellie's reassurance. "Thanks, Ellie. I guess I need to talk to Joel and figure things out."

"Exactly," Ellie responds with a hopeful smile. "Communication is key. Just be honest with him, and who knows? Maybe you two can find a way through this together."

"You know, you're pretty wise for a little shit, but I do appreciate the words of wisdom, Ellie Bellie. Maybe you're not so bad after all," you tease, a chuckle escaping your lips. "Thanks for the armchair therapy. Should we get a move on to buy the ingredients for these hot pockets of yours?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ellie sighs. "We might as well head to Target, so we can get some Midol too. Grab your key; I'm driving! Can't have you navigating these streets in your condition. Plus, I've been meaning to take the Tessie out on a joyride!"

The next morning, you wake up to find blood on the sheets. Panic grips you as a sharp, stabbing pain surges through your lower body, causing you to double over in agony. You suppress tears as you carefully slip out of Joel's bed, realizing that your flow was so heavy it soaked through to the mattress. Gathering the sheets, you remove your stained pajamas and underwear, wrapping yourself in a towel to avoid waking Ellie down the hall.

On tiptoes, you make your way to the laundry room, groaning with each step. After depositing the soiled linens and clothes into the wash, you hobble back to Joel's bedroom. Sighing, you enter the bathroom and draw a hot bath. Glancing at your phone, it's 5:34 am. You meet your reflection in the mirror, eyes widening at the sight—your skin is pale and clammy. Quickly splashing water on your face, you try to shake off the discomfort.

You recall your recent FaceTime with Joel. You remember the sadness and concern in his eyes as he saw your pain. It's not like any period you've experienced before.

"Baby, I really think you should go to the ER," he pleads. "Wake Ellie up, have her take you-"

"It's just my period, Joel," you assure him, smiling through the pain to ease his worry. "Sometimes they get really bad, maybe this time is one of those times."

"I just wish you wouldn't be so stubborn, Mami. This is really concerning, maybe I should drive back-"

"I just think I should sleep it off. If it's not any better, I'll go to the hospital, okay? Sleep makes everything better," you promise, knowing your stubbornness may hold true. It's not new to you, but how is Joel to know?

"I wish I could keep you on FaceTime all night, just to make sure you're okay, but I don't want to keep you up with all of Tommy's snoring-"

"I'll be fine, baby, don't worry. You have a big day tomorrow, Austin's Entrepreneur of the Year," you tease, hoping to divert the conversation. "I love you so much, Papi. I wish you were here with me."

"I wish I was too, baby," Joel smiles. "Call me tomorrow? And please, if it doesn't get any better-"

"... I'll go straight to the doctor. I promise."

"Hey, Sugar, you don't look too hot."

"I'm fine, Ellie. Just a little headache," you assure her, managing a weak smile while holding up your Owala water bottle. "Probably just dehydrated, nothing a little water can't fix. I also got my period last night, and it always gives me problems. It's just a bit heavier than usual."

Ellie eyes you with concern. "Maybe it's time we get it checked out. Joel did say-"

"I know, Ellie, but I'm already behind on my reports, and Tess will flip if I don't finish them by the end of the day. I'll tough it out. If it gets worse, I promise I'll get myself checked out. I'll even let you drive me there, okay? Let's just keep this between us for now. I wouldn't want to bother Joel by being a baby about period cramps."

"Well, could you at least try to eat something? I swear the last time I saw you eat was yesterday. Joel's gonna kill me if something happens to you, and I really don't need that kind of stress right now. Not before the apprentice exam," Ellie urges, sliding her glass container into the microwave. "Besides, you can try out the Hot Pockets we made last night!"

"Isn't this supposed to be the other way around? I'm the adult in this equation; I should be looking over you, not the other way around," you chuckle. "What would Joel say if he saw us right now?"

"He would give us his best frowny face and bridal carry you out of here, taking you to the doctor," she replies, taking the seat across from you. "I'm not lying when I tell you that you look sick as hell. You should be at home, resting! I'm really worried about you, Sugar. For real this time. You need to at least eat something so you don't pass out!"

She places one of her creations on a plate, presenting it in front of you with a flourish as she begins to devour her own, inhaling it in a few bites. "Damn, that was good," she exclaims to herself, leaning back in her chair, taking a sip of her Baja Blast. "Come on, Sugar," she pleads, "Eat!"

You take a deep breath as you eye the hot pocket, your stomach churning at the overwhelming smell. With a hesitant smile, you lift it off your plate, taking a small, careful bite to avoid offending Ellie. "Mmm," you say softly, placing it back onto your plate. "You really outdid yourself this time, Ellie!" you commend, pushing the plate away. However, the effort to conceal your discomfort becomes futile as your head starts to spin when you attempt to stand.

Ellie's eyes widen as she quickly rises from her seat. "Sugar-"

"Ellie, I'll be right-"

Before you can reach the door, everything turns black.

"Sugar!" Ellie screams, dropping to her knees as she attempts to lift you, panic evident in her voice. "Somebody, help!"

Bill bursts through the door in an instant, his eyes wild as he assesses the situation. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know!" Ellie exclaims, cradling your head in her lap as tears stream down her face. "She wasn't looking too good, so I gave her a hot pocket, and she took one bite and fainted! What am I going to do? Joel's going to freak!"

"Bill?" Frank calls out as he enters the breakroom. "What the hell is going on?!"

"Frank," he says calmly, "Call 911. Tell them that someone passed out." He turns his attention back to Ellie, his eyes focused. "Ellie, do you know if she hit her head?" Ellie is frozen in place, her breathing erratic, the weight of the situation settling in.

"Ellie!" Bill shouts, trying to maintain control. "Focus! Did she hit her head or not?"

"I don't know!" she says shakily, her hands trembling. "Everything happened so fast!"

"Bill," Frank says uneasily, "She's bleeding," he points to your lower body, his eyes widening in fear. "It's a lot of blood, fuck, is she... what if-"

"Fuck this!" Bill mutters, urgency in his voice as he picks up your limp body. "Frank, get the van, we need to go to the hospital, NOW." He looks over at Ellie, who is crying uncontrollably. "Ellie, call Joel."

"But Sugar begged me not to call Joel-"

"Joel won't forgive you if you keep him in the dark. Get him on the phone, NOW," he commands, darting towards the door behind Frank. "... and pick up the pace! You're coming with us!"

Ellie grabs her phone from her back pocket, her hands shaking as she scrambles to call Joel. She curses as it goes straight to voicemail. "He's not answering! It's going straight to voicemail-"

"THEN CALL TOMMY, ELLIE!" he shouts as Frank parks near the entrance, engine still running. He hurries out of the driver's seat, opening the back door. "Ellie, sit here! I need you to elevate her head!" 

Ellie jumps into the car, phone in hand. Bill gently places you in the van, positioning your head across Ellie's lap. "Keep it elevated, okay?" Ellie nods, looking at you with concern. "Do you think she's going to be okay?" she whispers, placing a hand on your cheek. "This is all my fault-"

"Ellie," Bill says, heading toward the driver's seat. "This is not the time for that," he steps on the gas, swerving to avoid an oncoming vehicle. "Put Tommy on the phone, now!"

Ellie fumbles with her phone, quickly dialing Tommy's number. As the line rings, Bill navigates the van through the chaotic streets, tension thick in the air.

"Come on, Tommy, pick up," Ellie mutters anxiously, glancing at you still cradled in her lap. After a few tense moments, Tommy's voice crackles through the phone.  

"Ellie? What's happening?"

"It's Sugar. We're on our way to the hospital. Something's wrong," Ellie replies, her voice shaky. "I tried to call Joel but it's going straight to voicemail! Could you put him on the line? Please!"

"Shit, Ellie-" Tommy stammers, "He's about to go on stage-"

"What's going on?" Joel notices Tommy's unease. "Who is it?"

Tommy hesitates as he puts the phone on speaker. "It's Ellie, something's happened at the office-"

"Joel? Dad?" Ellie cries, her voice quivering.

"Ellie? Baby girl, what's wrong?" Joel asks worriedly, peering out to the stage as the emcee begins. "Baby, what's going on?!"

"It's Sugar, something happened at lunch-" she sobs, looking down at your pale form.

Tommy's eyes widen as he witnesses Joel's demeanor change rapidly. "Ellie, what happened to Sugar?" he soothes, trying to get her to calm down through her sobs. "Come on baby, breathe-"

"She passed out at work! I know, she shouldn't have gone in, but she swore that she was fine! I tried to get her to eat something and she looked sick all of a sudden... and then she was on the ground, bleeding! It all happened so fast, I swear! I'm so sorry, Dad! It's all my fault!" she cries.

"Joel," Bill cuts in, honking as he narrowly misses a car he overtakes. "I'm heading over to Austin General, ETA 2 minutes. She's lost a lot of blood." He runs a red light, a barrage of horns erupting from the maneuver. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to get her there."

"You're driving her there? Why didn't you call 911?" Joel demands.

"They would have taken too long, Joel. Minutes we do not have. Trust me, I'll get her there faster than they could," Bill hesitates. "Joel, I think she's-" The line cuts off as Ellie's phone dies.  

"BILL? ELLIE??!" Joel screams into the phone frantically as he runs his hand through his hair. He tries to call Ellie back, only to be met with voicemail. "Fuck!" he shouts, trying to call Bill. "Why aren't they answering?"

"Joel, you're gonna have to tell me what the fuck is going on-"

"Sugar collapsed at work. They're on their way to Austin General now. Grab your shit, we're leaving."

[and it's with my great pleasure to introduce you to our keynote speaker and Austin's Entrepreneur of the Year, Joel Miller!]

"Okay Mr. Miller," the assistant interrupts, hand on his earpiece. "You're up!"

"I have a family emergency, I need to leave," Joel replies, attempting to make a quick exit.

"No can do, Mr. Miller; it's your turn!" The assistant insists, pushing Joel towards the door.

"Are you deaf?!" Joel shouts, forcefully removing the assistant's hands from him. "I already told you, my wife is being taken to the hospital right now-"

"Just get on stage, say your piece for five minutes, and then you can go straight to the hospital," the assistant insists, shoving Joel towards the door, unfazed.

Joel's frustration boils over, and he shoves the assistant back, his anger reaching its peak. "Listen, I don't give a damn about your schedule! My wife needs me, and I'm not wasting another second here!"

The assistant, angered by Joel's defiance, clenches his fists. "You're not going anywhere until you fulfill your obligations. This is important!"

"Joel, we don't have time for this!" Tommy grits, glaring at the assistant. "If we leave now, we can miss the rush on 1-35."

The assistant grabs Joel's forearm, pulling him as he makes his way towards the door that leads to the stage. "You're getting on that stage, give your fucking speech, and then you can fuck off and get to your little wife-"

Joel pulls himself out of his grasp. "Are you fucking kidding me? Don't put your hands on me!"  

The man glares at Joel. "Look asshole, we fucking paid for you to come here, and you're not going to make some half-assed excuse about your sick wife-"

Joel's patience snaps, and he throws a punch, hitting the guy square in the face. "Don't talk about my wife like that!"

"Fuck! You broke my fucking nose!" he shouts, tackling Joel to the ground. He manages to land one good punch before Tommy intervenes, pulling the man off of him and shoving him to the ground. "What the fuck is your problem, man?" he yells as he tries to get up.  

"Joel, are you okay? Come on, let's get the fuck out of here before they call someone!" Tommy hoists Joel onto his feet, his lip split and a bruise forming on his cheek. They run towards the parking garage, Tommy throwing his keys at Joel as they jump in, peeling out of the parking stall. At the corner of Joel's eyes, he sees security guards running along the lot, searching for them.  

"Stop!" one of the guards yells, trying to block the truck at the exit. Joel swerves around, narrowly avoiding the guard as they pass the parking attendant booth. He hits the gas, driving through the parking arms, pieces flying over the dashboard as they merge onto the main road. "Joel, think they'll chase us?" Tommy asks, the tension thick as they speed away. "I don't think Maria will appreciate watching us on a high-speed chase on the evening news-"

"Shut the fuck up, Tommy!" Joel cuts him off, navigating towards the freeway out of Waco, heading to Austin. "Just let me fucking concentrate on the road!"

"Slow down, Joel! Dying on the way there won't help anyone!" Tommy yells as Joel narrowly avoids a car while speeding down the freeway. Fortunately, no police cars are chasing them as they make their way towards Austin. "I can't believe that guy wanted to fight you, and you just started throwing punches!"

"Tommy, not now," Joel grits his teeth, gripping the wheel tightly. "I knew I should've stayed home. If I were there, then-"

Tommy's phone rings, displaying Sarah's face on the screen. He answers the Facetime call, and Sarah's concerned face fills the screen. "Where are you guys?" she asks nervously. "Ellie's phone died, but the hospital just called asking for information. You're her emergency contact, Dad."

"Do you know what's going on?" Joel inquires as he navigates down the freeway. "I don't have my phone, but we're on I-35 right now, should be there in about 30 minutes."

"They can't release any information because we're not family," she says hesitantly. "I'm legally supposed to call her parents, but-"

"You can't call them, Baby. She wouldn't want them there. Tell them she's my wife, and I'm on my way," Joel insists.

"Dad, I don't think we should lie about that-" Sarah expresses her concern.

"I'm all she has, baby. I can't be kept in the dark. Were you there when it happened?"

"No, but Dad, she was bleeding. There was a lot of blood-"

"Damn it!" Joel slams his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes wide as he overtakes a few cars, stepping on the gas. "I should've followed my gut and stayed home. She was already in pain when I left yesterday!"

"Well, speeding down the freeway isn't helping, Dad!" Sarah shouts through the phone. "We're all concerned for Sugar, not just you. I sent Tess to the hospital to bring chargers and Bill and Frank's phones. I need you to relax; it's not going to help her if you two get into an accident!"

"I can't help it, baby girl. I love her, and it's hard to think straight. All I'm thinking about is how scared I am. I can't lose her. I've already known how it feels losing her all these years; I don't think I can survive a second time."

"I know, Dad," Sarah replies. "Just get to her in one piece, okay? I'll let you know if I hear anything back."

"What do you mean I can't go in with her?" Ellie groans, attempting to keep pace with the gurney as they rush you down the hallway towards a room, with Bill and Frank following behind.

The doctor raises an eyebrow at her. "Are you her family?"

"She's my sister!" Ellie asserts. "I was adopted by her family!"

"Doctor," the nurse interjects urgently. "She's lost a lot of blood; she's going to need a transfusion... she might be in the middle of a hemorrhage-"

"If you know she needs a transfusion, then what are you waiting for?"

"The patient has O Negative, and we don't have any on hand-"

"I have O Negative!" Ellie tells the nurse, showing her wrist. "I found out my blood type after an accident as a kid. Take it from me, please!"

The doctor eyes Ellie warily. "... and you're sure she's your sister?"

"Not by blood, but by heart. Please, doctor. She's important to me, and I know she would do the same for me in a heartbeat," Ellie pleads.

The doctor sighs, nodding his head in agreement. "Fine, if you say that she's your sister, then I'll just take your word for it. Nurse, prep her for a blood draw. She's a match."

"Hey! You can't park here!" The hospital security guard shouts as Joel and Tommy hastily exit the car, leaving it right outside the ER. Joel sprints through the hospital, Tommy trailing behind him. He reaches the receptionist's stand, his chest heaving. "Where is she? Where is my wife?!" he demands, attempting to jump over the partition, with Tommy trying to hold him back.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to calm down," the receptionist replies, glaring at both of them. "I'm going to need a name."

Joel hesitates but states your first name, adding 'Miller' as your last. Tommy shoots him a look, signaling the obvious lie, but Joel gives him a warning glare. The receptionist's eyes narrow at Joel. "She was just brought in 20 minutes ago. She's currently under observation but will be put in a room soon. Should be room 203. You can wait for her if you'd like."

Joel breathes a sigh of relief. "Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"I don't, but the attending Doctor should be with her. He could answer any of your questions," she hands him a clipboard. "I'm going to need you to fill this out for me with her information, and then you can head down the hall and take a left. Her room should be a few doors down that corridor." She assesses his disheveled state. "Sir, are you needing assistance as well?"

"I'm fine," Joel dismisses her as he fills out the form. He takes out his Amex and hands it to the receptionist. "I don't have her insurance card, but please put all charges on this card."

The receptionist's eyes widen at the color of his Amex. "Certainly, sir."

Joel strides down the hallway towards room 203, catching a glimpse of Ellie in the room adjacent to yours, a nurse tending to her bandaged wrist. His heart lurches at the sight, but he pushes the worry aside for the moment. As he approaches your room, he sees Bill and Frank sitting on a nearby bench, their expressions heavy with concern. Frank rests his head on Bill's shoulder, a distant sadness clouding his eyes.

"Bill!" Joel's voice echoes in the hallway. "Thank you for bringing her here!" He notices their somber demeanor and furrows his brow. "What happened-"

Bill hesitates, his gaze flickering with reluctance. "Joel, I think it's best if you go inside and talk to the doctor," he suggests softly, his voice strained with emotion. "He'll be able to explain everything to you." He offers a weak smile, though it fails to mask the worry etched on his face. "Frank and I are gonna head back to the office, alright?"

"Yeah," Joel stammers, nodding. "Thanks again, Bill... for everything."

"Anytime, Joel," Bill responds, his eyes watery. "Take care of her, okay? She's gonna need you."

Joel's stomach churns with apprehension, but he nods in understanding. With a final glance at Bill and Frank, he takes a deep breath and steps into your room, steeling himself for whatever news awaits him. He nods as he walks into your hospital room, audibly gasping at the sight of you, unconscious. A doctor is tending to you, engaged in conversation with a nurse. He turns around at the sound of the gasp.

"Mr. Miller, I presume?"

"What's going on with her, Doc?" Joel asks, his face reflecting a mix of worry and tears.

The doctor eyes Joel silently, a heavy sigh escaping from his chest.  

"Why are you not telling me anything? She's my wife-"

The doctor, catching on to Joel's distress, gives a serious look. "Mr. Miller, let's maintain a level of seriousness here."

"But she's practically my wife! I'd give my life for her, you understand? Please, man to man, wouldn't you do the same for someone you love?" he pleads, Tommy, looking away from his brother to keep himself from breaking down.  

The doctor, unyielding, emphasizes, "We have legal protocols to safeguard those who can't speak for themselves. I can't divulge information to just anyone; there are procedures that must be followed for the well-being of the patient."

"Well, what can you tell me, then?" Joel's voice wavers as he pleads with the doctor. "I'm in the dark here, doctor. Please," Joel begs. "Just give me something. Tell me she's going to be okay."

The doctor takes a deep breath before delivering the news, "She was pregnant, Mr. Miller. She has Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and is anemic. Due to significant blood loss, we had to perform a blood transfusion. Luckily, someone who accompanied her was a match."

Joel's heart sinks as the words hit him like a ton of bricks. "Was? So, Sugar and the baby... Are they okay?"

The doctor's demeanor shifts, his eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and gravity. "Mr. Miller," he begins cautiously, "Sugar lost a lot of blood during the procedure. She was suffering from a hemorrhage and was going into shock. I did everything in my power to save them both, but... I'm sorry, Mr. Miller. The baby didn't make it. Sugar almost didn't make it out herself. Without that blood transfusion-" He trails off, the weight of the situation hanging heavy in the air.  

"Ellie..." Joel whispers, realization dawning on him as he connects the dots. "That's why she's bandaged up?"

The doctor leans in, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "Yes," he confirms, his tone somber. "What we did was highly unethical and illegal. I don't appreciate being lied to, but your daughter's quick thinking saved Sugar's life. Despite the miscarriage, Ellie's actions kept Sugar alive. It was incredibly brave of her. I'm willing to keep this between us if any issues arise. Sugar is still with us because of her. That girl has nerves of steel," he chuckles softly, his gaze distant with memories. "Reminds me of my daughter. Us fathers need to stick together, right?"

Joel nods, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on you lying on the hospital bed. "I knew something was wrong... I should have stayed back. I can't imagine the pain she must have been in-"

"Unfortunately, this is highly common for women with her condition," the doctor interjects, his tone gentle yet matter-of-fact. "As much as we can dwell on the what-ifs, most times the baby won't make it past the first trimester. It does give us a little hope that she was able to conceive to begin with. Have you two been trying long?"

Joel's shoulders sag slightly at the doctor's words, a mixture of grief and understanding washing over him. "We've spoken about it, but only decided to try recently," he admits, his voice tinged with sadness. "But we never imagined it would end like this."

The doctor offers a sympathetic nod, his expression reflecting empathy. "I'm sorry for your loss, Joel. Losing a child is never easy, but please know that you're not alone in this. If either of you need support or someone to talk to, we have resources available. I want to have Sugar spend a day or two here, just to make sure her blood count gets back to normal. You're welcome to stay as long as you need to, okay? I'll make sure of it."

Joel manages a faint smile, grateful for the doctor's compassion. "Thank you," he murmurs, his gaze drifting back to you, his heart heavy with sorrow yet filled with love and determination. 

The doctor nods, glancing at Joel's disheveled appearance and the split lip. "I can get someone to fix that for you if you'd like. Waking up to see you like this might frighten Sugar. You must have been through hell to get here."

"Pretty much," Tommy says sadly, his eyes filled with tears. "Thank you for saving Sugar, doc. We really owe you one."

The doctor nods. "Yeah, well, thank your little girl; she's the real hero today." He gestures behind Tommy and Joel. Ellie stands at the doorway, nervously fiddling with the bandage on her wrist. Giving Joel one last nod, the doctor makes his way to the door, giving Ellie a comforting pat on her shoulder as he walks away. Joel turns his attention back to Ellie, a sad look on his face as he tries not to lose his shit in front of his brother and his daughter.  

"Ellie-" he starts, his voice shaky. "Baby-"

"Oh, it was nothing, you know, just another day at the office," she casually says, downplaying herself. "Besides, she's family, and we do anything for family." 

"You're damn right we do," Tommy boasts, pulling Ellie into a side hug. "You saved the day, Girlie."

"You sure did," Joel cries, pulling her into a tight hug, his tears soaking into her hair. "You did so good, baby girl. Thank you, thank you, baby."

Ellie hugs Joel back, sobbing into his chest and clinging to his shirt. "I was so scared, Joel. It made me think about what happened with Marlene, and I just froze! If Bill didn't step in, I don't know what would have happened—"

"Ellie—"

"... and I told her that she should tell you. She looked so sick, so I told her that she needed to eat something, and I gave her a hot pocket—"

"A hot pocket?"

"Yeah, we made it last night, and even then, I knew something was up. She was always wincing and flinching in pain, told me that she was on her period—"

"Ellie. She was bleeding out, then. It—" Joel takes her face in his hands, his expression serious. "She was pregnant, baby girl. She has a condition that makes her bleed heavily. Fuck, she must have been in so much pain—"

"Wait," Ellie says, her eyes reflecting shock. "What do you mean, she was pregnant? Does this mean that she lost the baby?" she says solemnly, turning her attention to you. "Joel, I'm so sorry, maybe if I had been more stubborn and firm with her, maybe-"

"Ellie, trust me when I say that none of this was your fault, baby girl," Joel pulls her into his chest as she sobs, his hand soothing her back. "These things happen all the time with women that have the same condition as her. Honestly, I'm just happy that she had you to watch over her, you did everything perfectly, alright? No more tears, baby. Sugar's still here with us, and that's all that matters, okay?"

"Okay," Ellie murmurs into his chest. "Joel, what's going to happen now? are you going to tell her? We need to tell her, right?"  

"Why don't you head back to the office with Tommy and let me worry about that, alright?" Joel responds, sighing as he sits at the edge of your bed. "I think you've had too much excitement for one day, I can talk to her when she wakes up, okay? Don't worry."

Tommy places a comforting hand on Joel's shoulder, pulling him into a side hug. "I'm really sorry, brother. If there's anything you both need, just let me know, okay?"

Joel nods. "Thanks, Tommy."

"Ready to go, Ellie?" Tommy asks, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "We better get moving before they tow my truck out front." Ellie nods as they both give you and Joel one last glance, making their way out of your hospital room.

"Let me know if you need me to bring you anything from home, alright?" Ellie tells Joel, giving him one last smile. "Take care of yourself. I love you."

"I love you too, baby. Get some rest, okay?"

Joel looks back at them helplessly as a sob escapes his mouth. He buries his face in his hands, finally allowing himself to fall completely apart. As heartbreaking as the miscarriage is, the thought of losing you at the same time is unbearable. How could he have turned a blind eye to the pain you were going through? How could he have almost lost you, just like that? The guilt and anguish weigh heavily on his shoulders as he grapples with the harsh reality of the situation.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he cries, reaching for your hand. Joel presses a soft kiss on your forehead, his tears falling upon your face. He wipes them away as he settles himself on the seat next to your bed, his eyes never leaving your face as he waits for you to wake up. Every fiber of his being yearns for you to open your eyes, to assure him that you're still here, still fighting alongside him.

Taglist: @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat@gwendibleywrites@brittmb115@joeldjarin@drewharrisonwriter@littlebunnybigheartfics

@missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @quicax3 @casa-boiardi @amyispxnk

@untamedheart81@paleidiot@laurrrra@la-vie-est-une-fleur29@bbiophiliaa

@thewiigers@survivingandenduring (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)

[the-kr8tor]

Can you do a period comfort Hobie for fluffy Friday? Like Hobie comforting reader while she has bad cramps or mood swings? Like maybe he buys reader chocolates or makes them himself or something? I have PCOS(poly cystic ovary syndrome) and my period is currently kicking my ass :(

Thank you in advance! I love your work and ttn has me giggling and kicking my feet it’s so lovely :)

Oh I know the feeling 😞 hope you feel better! Thanks for requesting ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, description of pain, FLUFF.

It's Fluffy Friday!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You groan out when another wave of pain sends you writhing on the bed, sheets crumpled out from under you, blanket kicked to the edge of the bed.

"Hobie!" You whimper out, clutching your stomach, tears prickling in your eyes. You already feel bad yelling his name, mood swings at an all time high, one minute you're clinging to him the next you're pushing him off you.

"Present!" He tries to joke, you meet him with a glare. Hobie winces, maybe he shouldn't have tried his luck. You asked him so nicely to warm up your heating pad. He thought you felt better, you even gave him your best puppy dog eyes and a cute pout to peck his cheek.

Hobie brings the heating pad on your lower stomach, briefly lifting off your shirt. You sigh, pain subsiding.

"'m sorry" you take his hand, "I'm being an asshole"

"What do you mean? You're always an arsehole to me" he tilts his head, trying his luck again at making you smile.

You chuckle softly, "I deserve that. Come here" extending your arms, you scooch a bit to give him space.

He lays next to you, your arm around his back so he doesn't fall off the edge, cheek on his rough jumper. Hobie rests his head on your hair, his long limbs cover your body.

"Yeah? But you're my arsehole" you snort at his efforts at making you smile. Hobie fixes your shirt so that the cold doesn't seep through your skin. "How do you feel now? One to ten?" He snuggles further into you.

"A seven" closing your eyes, you mindlessly play with the frayed edges of his jumper. Pain meds finally work its magic.

"What else do you need? I can quickly swing by and buy you somethin'"

"Just need you" you wait a few beats. "And chocolate" Looking up at him through your lashes, you give him a teasing smile.

"Pssh, how 'bout I make you some?" Hobie softly caresses your arms free of goosebumps.

"You know how to make chocolate?"

"What? Like it's hard?"

"That is the cutest fucking thing ever" you squeeze him, nuzzling your face on his chest. "So punk" murmuring out as you slowly drift off to sleep. "Teach me sometime, please" fighting it off for a few minutes, you kiss the tip of his nose.

"Get some rest and we'll make some" Hobie uses his feet to grab the blanket, laying it on the both of you. Tucking you in, he joins you for a nap.

Sure enough after you woke up, you felt a lot better with help from Hobie. You pestered him into teaching you how to make chocolates. But with the ache coming back, he lets you sit this one out.

"Just sit there and look pretty for me" He lifts you up on the counter effortlessly, hands squeezing your thighs for a moment.

Clutching your heating pad, licking the chocolate covered spoon that he's given you to keep occupied, you watch him whisk away, muscles doing all the work.

"Snack and a show" you tease, eyes glued to his biceps.

Hobie smirks at your comment, taking a small dollop of chocolate on his pinky, wiping it on the tip of your nose.

You laugh, eyes crossing to look at your nose. Retaliating, you do the same, wiping the chocolate on his cheek. He tilts his head mischievously, playfully fighting back.

"Don't even think about it–!" A good amount of melted chocolate smacks you on your forehead.

It's safe to say after your little food fight, the kitchen ends up covered in chocolate. Now you have months worth of it thanks to a miscalculation that you may or may not have done on purpose.

[supercriminalbean]

Tic tic tick!

Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

Summary: Reader suffers from a tick attack and Aaron is there to help after a bad day.

Warning: Tick attack (could say Tourette's syndrome if you like) Crying, pain, exhaustion. (Let me know what I have missed) Also this is not read through my bad.

A/N: Today sucked. I have never had a tick attack last that long without even 5 minute break it was 7 hours and I'm in pain and exhausted and just want to be held by Aaron so I wrote this. The reason I didn't label my reader as having Tourette's syndrome is because you can suffer tick attack due to different reasons and I want everyone who suffers from them to feel valid. I wrote mostly tics that I suffer from because I'm projecting. So I hope everyone is okay I love you all.

The day started out fine, hell in fact it was a great day. Work was going great, laughing away with your coworkers as they teased you like usual. But it all only lasted a couple of hours and then you ticked. A small ticking

attack causes you to hide in the walk in freezer for a few moments as you hope it would pass, of course it doesn't. In fact it gets worse and after a few moments you reappear, joining your coworker once more as you tick away. You hate ticking at work, the pain your body produces as well as the judgemental stares from customers. You're lucky you have the best coworkers and manager who allow you to hide out the back and do jobs as the ticks take over.

~~~

"(Y/n), it's been hours why don't you just go home" Kylie your manager suggests as you stand in the back office, tears welling in your eyes as you tick away.

"okay, I'm sorry" A small whimper leaves you as your head flies backwards wacking against your neck again.

"Don't be, take some pills you look in pain and just rest" She smiles sympathetically at you, she's seen you have many tic attacks before but never one that has last over 4 hours.

"I will, thank you" You force a smile as you keep ticing away. You make your way to your car, tears welling in your eyes as you tick away pain spreading across your body as it jerks sharply.

~~~

Hours pass by and the front door opens alot earlier than you expected. Meaning your boyfriend somehow had an early day and is now going to find you in bed instead of at work. You are snuggled up tightly in bed under your weighted blanket, your body jerking less wildly small sounds slipping through your lips. Aaron freezes as he walks into the apartment, listening carefully to the strange noises. It doesn't take him long to realise what it is, sighing softly as he walks into your room. His eyes soften as they land on you, the way you have wrapped the blanket tightly around you, tears sliding your face as you look up.

"it's been a bad day" Whimpering softly as your head jerks backwards, your tongue clicking away.

"Oh sweetheart" Aaron murmurs softly, crawling onto the bed towards you. "How long has it been?"

"Same attack, about seven hours" You slam your eyes shut as a tic takes a hold of your body, shutting control from you once again.

"Oh love, you should have called me" Aaron heartbreaks as he watched your body tick away. He hates it when you try and hide bad days like these, he knows just how exhausting they are and just how much pain they cause you.

"Nothing you can do" Smiling weakly as you take deep breaths, trying your hardest to stay calm.

"Not true" He murmurs as you open your eyes again. "I can order is food, and give you cuddles" He smiles as he watches your face light up even as a small tick occurs.

"Cuddles" You smile on agreement as your tongue starts to click away. "But I might accidentally hit you if we cuddle"

"That's fine" He smiles more opening up his arms. "Come here" He croons at you, his words sweet like honey. You can't help but roll yourself into his arms, allowing him to wrap his arms tightly around you as your body ticks away.

~~~

A couple hours pass by and the ticking slows down. A movie fills the room as you calm down from the events of the day, grateful to have the extra weight of your boyfriend's arms wrapped around you. Having tick attacks are rough, feeling emotional drained as well as physically exhausted is a horrible feeling. But having Aaron by your side nothing can get you down. His cuddles always seem to cure your bad days.

[freedomfireflies]

hi, i saw that you’re accepting requests and i’d really think you’d be the best to write this if you can. so i’ve been watching a lot of greys anatomy lately and i’m always thinking of harry as a patient. so could you do like a greys anatomy resident reader x harry ou blurb where harry is famous and all that just his normal self and reader is a resident at seattle grace hospital. so maybe reader and harry are secretly dating or engaged and when harry gets hit in the eye with the skittles he goes to the hospital to get checked out and reader takes care of him extra carefully and dotes on him and maybe meredith and christina and lexie see them and start to put the pieces together and all of that? idk if this made any sense whatsoever but if it did i really hope you can write something abt it 🥰 (also sorry this was so long lol) also, could you use the season 5 greys cast but have it be set in 2022? ahhh sorry if it sounds stupid and confusing 🤣

“It’s her face. No, look at it. Right there, it’s doing that weird, red, splotchy thing—”

“She doesn’t have hives, Cristina, just give her the water bottle and she’ll be fine—”

“No, I’ve seen this before, this is bad. This is really, really bad.” Cristina extends her hand to grasp onto the bottom of your jaw and tilt your head up for examination. “Are you having trouble swallowing?”

You swallow. “Uh…no, but…Cristina, I’m fine, I just...I was just...I wasn't even—”

“Mhm. Incoherent thoughts, got it,” Christiana replies, nodding as she glances down at her chart. “What about your heart? Does it feel like it’s racing? Can you breathe? Do you feel flushed? Nauseated? Dizzy?”

“Cristina,” Meredith laughs, attempting to wrangle the woman away from you. “You’re scaring her.”

“Good. She should be scared. What we’re dealing with is terminal,” Cristina retorts, and your eyes widen. 

“I…I feel fine,” you try again, but Cristina’s inquisitive and invasive stare immediately returns to you, drilling right through your pupil.

“Tell me…have you ever heard of Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire Syndrome?” she asks, in absolute all seriousness.

Meredith rolls her eyes while you blink.

“Uh…what?”

Cristina studies you carefully for a moment before nodding her chin at something just over your shoulder. “It’s quite deadly if not treated…immediately.”

“Cristina, what the hell are you talking about?” Meredith sighs, now moving to stand beside you.

“See, I thought I saw her exhibit some symptoms when we first wheeled him in,” Cristina begins to explain. “But I chalked it up to the side effects of celebrity sightings. The green eyes, the curly hair, the tattoos. You know, if you like that sort of thing.”

Shit. You swallow again.

“But then, her face started doing the same thing that it’s doing now,” she continues on, and you stumble over a shaky breath as Meredith turns to look at you. “So, I thought I’d keep her under observation…just to make sure she wasn't gonna keel over and die...and after a few tests, you wouldn’t believe what I discovered.”

Shit, shit, shit. She saw.

Meredith looks between you and Cristina now, desperate to be clued in. “Well?”

Cristina raises a brow at you, indicating the answer is yours to divulge.

But you can’t.

You promised.

“I…I was just trying to be nice to him,” you answer, the excuse burning its way out of your throat. “I thought he was probably…you know, nervous. Maybe a little overwhelmed—”

“Yeah, see, lying is also one of the symptoms of the disease,” Cristina interrupts. “Mhm, we lose millions of people a year to it.”

Torn between doubling down and just giving up, you look between them.

Then…you groan.

“Okay,” you huff as Cristina crosses her arms. “Fine. All right? You win. I’m fucking him. Happy?”

Meredith’s eyebrows just about fly up her forehead as she slips her hands into her coat pockets. “Oh.”

“Wow, look at that, you’re cured,” Cristina muses, tucking the chart under her arm. “Although, I can’t say the same for the raging case of stupidity.”

“Cristina,” Meredith scolds, but you simply shake your head with defeat.

“No, she’s right. I know better,” you concede, running a hand down the side of your face. “I just…when you said he was being brought in, I got worried something bad had happened, and I freaked out…and, I don’t know. I think I was just relieved to know he was okay.”

Cristina blinks. “Ew.”

With a smirk, Meredith shakes her head. “I think it’s cute.”

Cristina looks at her. “Ew.”

“Look, I promise it won’t happen again,” you finish as you meet Cristina’s eye, desperate to put this embarrassing afternoon behind you.

“Well, I would hope not,” Chrstina snorts. “Bailey would have an aneurysm, and then I would be stuck working with McDreamy all by myself, which is absolutely not happening—”

Suddenly, Meredith puts a hand on her friend's shoulder and begins to encourage her to step back. “You know, actually…Cristina and I have a few things we need to go do. All of a sudden, right now. So...would you mind going ahead and discharging the patient for us?”

Cristina looks at her, confused and unimpressed. “I’m sorry, what?”

In turn, Meredith shoots her an incredibly pointed look. “Yeah, you know…we’ve gotta do that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing—”

Cristina scoffs. “We don’t have a thing—”

“Yes, we do," Meredith insists. "The thing…with Alex…and the thing—”

“Okay, I’m sorry, did you hit your head? Or something? Because we don’t have a thing with Evil Spawn. Why on Earth would we have a thing with Evil Spawn? We never have things with Evil Spawn, that’s…I don’t even wanna imagine having a thing with Evil Spawn—”

“Cristina,” Meredith hisses until Cristina stops and looks at her.

“Oh.” She blinks, seeming to come to some sort of realization before she turns to you. “So...we have a thing. With Evil Spawn.”

Finally catching on to their attempt at discretion, you smile. “Right, okay. Well…good luck with your thing.”

“Yeah, thanks. Hey—” Cristina adds, just before Meredith can drag her down the hall. “No funny business. Okay? I don’t wanna come back and see something that’s gonna give me nightmares. Or a migraine. Or both.”

Flushing yet again, you nod quickly. “No, I wasn’t…we aren’t…that’s not—”

“Cristina,” Meredith tries for a third time with a defeated exhale. “Let’s go.”

“Fine. Fine.” Cristina steps back but not before offering you one last look of warning. “Seriously. I mean it, Junior.”

Your nose scrunches at the less than affectionate nickname before Meredith finally succeeds in dragging Cristina down the hall and out of sight. But you don’t miss Cristina’s comments that echo between the walls as they go. “God, it’s just gross. We were never like that. No, we were not. I mean, I don’t see the appeal. Does he sing when he comes? Is that, like…a thing? God, poor Lexipedia. She’s gonna be crushed—”

Despite yourself, you smile and exhale a relieved breath before turning on your heel to make your way for Harry’s room.

“—I loved it, I thought it was really sweet,” Lexie is saying as you walk through the door, smiling giddily at the man on the bed. “I mean, I’m…I’ve been keeping up with your tour. Not like…keeping up. Like, not in a creepy way or anything. I just…I saw. The posts. And…the stuff. You posted. And TikTok. The outfits and everything. Which I loved. And the album. I love the album. I tried showing it to my friend Mark. Well, he’s…I mean, he’s one of the doctors here. Mark Sloan? I don’t know if you…met him. He’s…yeah, he’s my friend. We’re friends. Just…just friends. Which is fine. I’m fine with it—”

You watch as Harry nods along with every unnecessary bit of information to spill from her mouth, grinning to yourself at his strained attempt to appear interested.

Which, to be fair, he probably is.

“—and he liked it, I think. He’s not really…you know, he doesn’t really get excited about a lot of things, but I think he liked it,” she says, sighing some before she seems to notice you out of her peripheral. “Oh! Hi. Sorry, I was just…I wanted to check in. See if he needed anything.”

“She’s been very sweet,” Harry adds, nodding his thanks to the excited woman now scrambling to her feet as she heads for the door. “I really appreciate it, Dr. Grey, thank you.”

“Oh, no problem. No problem…at all,” she beams, eyes falling down to the floor as if to hide the giddy expression on her face. “Yeah, so I’ll just…yeah. I’ll go. So nice to meet you, Mr. Styles. Sir. Mr…yeah. Okay. Bye.”

She forces herself from the room, quickly spinning around to race down the hall as you swallow a laugh and finally return your attention to the man in question.

He sits, perched on the edge of the small bed, a rather triumphant grin on his face.

Doing your best to remain professional, you pull a small light from your coat pocket and step up to him. “Okay, let’s see the damage.”

His lips press into a smug smile as you tilt his head back and dip down to examine his eye. You flick the flashlight back and forth across his pupil, searching for any signs of scratching or trauma as he waits patiently beneath you. 

“Looks good,” you muse quietly. “Does it hurt?”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “No.”

“What is it you said hit you?”

The smirk deepens. “Uh…some sort of candy, I think. Maybe a Skittle?”

Surprised, you lean back, hand dropping to your side. “I—what? Who the fuck was throwing Skittle’s at you?”

He shrugs once, rather nonchalant about the whole affair. “They just get a little excited, I guess. Maybe they thought I needed a snack.”

You snort as you pocket the light. “You really need to start setting some ground rules if you’re gonna let people stand that close to you. Okay, this really could have done more permanent damage. You’re really lucky it seems to have only hit your eyelid, but if it had been any closer—”

Suddenly, his fingers are slipping around the backs of your thighs to sneak you closer to him, easily and effortlessly settling you between his legs as you swallow a gasp.

He gazes up at you adoringly, thumbs rubbing circles over your scrubs as you swallow. “What are you doing?”

“Just…trying to get better,” he responds, lashes batting innocently. “Is there a problem? Doctor?”

Your lids narrow. “Okay, very funny. You can let go now.”

“Yeah…no.”

“Harry—”

“What?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek and anxiously glance over your shoulder to make sure the coast is clear. “We had a deal—”

“Right, and we still do,” he agrees. “I’m just looking at you. S’not breaking any rules, is it?”

You huff yet again. “Patients don’t normally hold their doctor’s like this. Except the old, creepy, pervy ones.”

He exhales a laugh. “Fine. Do you want me to let go?”

No. God, no. Never. “Yes, before Bailey shows up, and fires me.”

He studies you for a moment before obliging and bringing his hands back to his own lap. “So…am I all good to go?”

Swallowing the disappointment creeping up the back of your throat, you nod once. “Yeah, everything looks good. Maybe wear some sunglasses next time you’re on stage, though.”

He nods as well. “Great, so…I’ll go, then.”

“Mhm.”

He stands as you step back to make room.

The room grows silent. Eerily silent as a hundred missed opportunities pass between you.

Then, he reaches for his jacket. “Thank you for everything, Doc.”

Why the fuck does this feel so wrong, you can’t help but ask yourself. “Yeah, no problem.”

You don’t want him to be upset at you. But there’s a reason you made this arrangement. A reason you decided to keep your relationship to sex only. No feelings, no getting personal, no obligations.

But even despite all of that…you still felt your heart ache when you saw his name on the board. When you’d heard the passing comment that Harry Styles was being rushed to the hospital for treatment. 

Your mind had run rampant with the worst possible explanations, and you’d had to slip into the bathroom to collect yourself before you burst into tears.

Today, it’s a Skittle to the eye.

But what if tomorrow…

He makes his way for the door as you look down at your sneakers, expression weaving into a grimace at everything you wish you could do and say to make this better.

You can’t ask him to stay. Can’t tell him how you really feel. Can’t give in to what he wants, especially not here.

All you can do…is let him go.

You hear him stop.

And your heart stops with him.

“So…I’ll see you tonight, right?” he calls, and you feel your chest tighten.

Tonight. You turn around. “Of course, why wouldn’t you?”

He leans against the doorframe, smiling some at your response. “Attagirl. Same time?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” He steps back. “Cause I have a feeling I’m not gonna be feeling so well.”

You fight a grin. “Oh, is that right?”

“Yeah, I’m…gosh, I’m just already feeling a little woozy,” he says, pretending to stumble back into the hall. “And…my mouth has gone dry, and my hands just feel…antsy.”

He’s terrible at this. Absolutely awful, and you snort as you watch him retreat backward. “Uh-huh.”

“So, I just…I’m really glad you do house calls,” he continues slyly. “Cause I’m really gonna need your expertise and care.”

You wave him off. “Okay, goodbye. Go away now.”

He chuckles as you continue shooing him toward the lobby. “So…you’ll be there, right?”

“Yes, Harry. I will be there.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He comes to a screeching halt, nearly forcing you to crash into his chest as he thrusts his pinky into the air between you. “Swear it.”

You eye his hand closely, heart leaping into your throat. You will not fall in love with this man. You absolutely will not do it. You won’t. 

You intertwine your finger with his. “Swear.”

He beams proudly. “Good. I’ll see you tonight, Doc.”

You can say nothing as he turns around and heads down the hall, rounding the corner before disappearing from sight.

But you stand there. Hopelessly and so unbelievably fucked as the realization begins to settle atop your chest like an anvil.

Despite your best efforts, and your self control, and your desperate attempts at keeping it from happening...

You are in love with Harry fucking Styles.

And Cristina is gonna kill you.

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

now that I've had some time to think about Book Three's cover/description, here are some bullet-point thoughts

The art style has vastly improved from Book One. It feels like Tillie's finally comfortable with style, and the characters here don't have same face syndrome here. Also the color palette here is my favorite of the three covers. From everything that I've read from Tillie, the way she works with color is a strong point of her work... which again, makes me wish the entire comic was in color but nooooo...

It looks like Ricca has her own cane now, which makes sense given a bit point of her character through the series is her worsening vision like... even with her glasses, she's practically blind.

Clementine has a new hat. Y'know... because her iconic hat got left with AJ... y'all still remember AJ, right? The comics don't.

Dr. Barnwell the cat made it onto the cover.... you know I'm in too deep with these damn comics when I see some random person be like "Clementine's getting a new cat" and I say, out loud, "That's Dr. Barnwell, you dingus, he's been around since the end of Book One." AS IF ANYONE ELSE CARES!

I know too much about this series, y'all

In my defense, I'm a little snappy about stuff like that after Book Two came out and people were just making shit up about what happens, going as far as to fake screenshots, and tell people it's "just like fifty shades of grey" when uh NO? it's not? People were deliberately trying to deceive others over certain elements and it still makes me mad whenever I think about it.... ANYWAY

We also see Fen and Olivia featured here, too. Fen's one of the more interesting side characters we've gotten, and I'm glad she survived Book Two, and Olivia.... I notice the way she's drawn with the front of her body hidden. I know that's probably to not show spoilers for Book Two since that reveal's a big deal, but still.

"Clementine finally has it all–a safe place to live, a girlfriend, and even a cat…but nothing lasts forever. And when Clementine suffers a loss unlike anything she’s ever faced, a new mentor called The Gardener offers her a new family, and a new way of living… but at what cost?" This is the description we were given.

First of all, Clementine had it all at Ericson, and it didn't make her happy. In fact, it made her so miserable that she left... I kinda hope this book does something with that by giving her everything she wants [as in, the safe home, a romantic partner, friends, a cat, etc] and she's STILL unhappy...? And it ends with her leaving again? But something tells me it won't.

Clementine's going to suffer a loss "unlike anything she's ever faced"? Ehhhh, press X to doubt. I played the games, I lived through all of her losses. I don't think anything will ever top seeing her parents as walkers and then losing Lee right after.

I mentioned before that the obvious direction here would be for Olivia to lose her baby, or for Olivia to die after giving birth, but uh... Clementine's been through both of those things with Christa and Rebecca... but we have to keep in mind that we're so far removed from the games at this point that it's never going to bring those up, y'know?

Real talk though? I'm very intrigued by the idea of a new mentor character called The Gardener who is apparently offering her a new family and a new way of life... but at a cost. What cost? What new way of life? What new family? Are we joining a cult now?

Listen, we missed out on the opportunity for a cannibalism plot in Book One, and Miss Morro left a lot to be desired in Book Two, so like... go extra dark this time. C'mon, Tillie, do it.

Also, Amos is definitely coming back as a twist villain, I feel it in my bones. We didn't see a body at the end of Book One okay!

I'm mostly joking but also NOT JOKING AT ALL!

My offer still stands, if Amos comes back, the book is an automatic 5/5 stars, no questions asked.

Anyway, I'll keep y'all updated on this, and when it releases next year, I'll write my in-depth review... "I read it so you don't have to" and all that.

Just as a final reminder, and allow me to make it extra big so that everyone can see it:

Leave Tillie Walden alone. I don't care if you hate the comics or think they're an insult to the game or whatever else. You want to express that, then do it on your blog. Don't send it to Tillie. We have enough pricks harassing her as is, and you're the bigger asshole here if you think it's okay to send her shit like that, so don't.

Seriously, it's the last book and then Tillie's done with the series, and I doubt they're gonna sign her on to make more. The games still exist, you can still go play them, these comics aren't taking that away from you... and if you feel like they are, then don't engage with them, period. It's not hard.

I cover the comics in-depth for people who don't want to read them but are curious about what happens. They don't bother me in that "they ruined the games" way that they used to, so I can handle it. If you can't, then do yourself a favor and just don't. Just don't!

[thee-horny-thicky]

Can we please get sanyu’s birth in fes? 🙏

Thank you!

Ask and you shall receive! I cross posted this on AO3, and that one has a NSFW beginning. Anyway, enjoy!

You seemed unable to have an easy labor. Jona arrived when Suguru was out of town, with only the twins to help you give birth to your baby. He’d come into this world silent and breathless, making you fear he’d been stillborn. That wasn’t the case, and now, you had a lively toddler on your hands. You hoped his sibling would be just as lively in a few years, that the inopportune moment of their birth wouldn’t impact their health. Unlike your first birth, Suguru was present, and you had a medical team he’d handpicked at your disposal, but Sanyu was still weeks too early.

A painful contraction had you screaming, and Suguru muttered a swear under his breath. He hadn’t left your side, and you swore you saw fear in his eyes. You were scared, too. The contractions were more agonizing than you expected, and the sight of blood intensified your worst fears. You’d lost track of time and desperately wanted the baby to be out of you.

“Do something,” he snapped at the midwife, who was running around preparing for Sanyu’s arrival and ensuring your comfort.

“I’m doing all that could be done,” she replied, exasperation creeping into her tone. “I can only do so much since she insisted on having a home birth.”

If you were in your right mind, you’d scoff at her statement. If it were up to you, you would’ve been childless until your 30s, with a doula at your side as you gave birth in a hospital. Instead, at 21, you were stuck in a home you never wanted, giving birth to your second child, and the adopted mother of two little girls who had a blind allegiance to your tormentor and a feud with your eldest.

“Don’t blame her for this shit,” Suguru hissed, his tone possessing a dangerous lilt that was all too familiar to you.

Before the situation became bloodier than it already was, you grabbed his hand and squeezed. Surprise flickered across his face, as you rarely initiated contact with him. However, it had the desired effect, and he quickly refocused on you,

“I’m here,” he said, something about his statement relieving you.

Shit.

Have you finally developed Stockholm Syndrome? That must be the crappiest push gift known to man. His gentleness must be throwing you off kilter. Yeah, that was it. It’s difficult to believe that the same man who made your life miserable these past few years could be so sweet and caring, and your tired mind couldn’t comprehend it.

The thought of liking Suguru made your anxiety spike. As you felt the beginnings of the umpteenth contraction, you began using your favorite breathing technique. Breathe in for four seconds, hold your breath for seven seconds, and exhale for eight. When you recovered from the latest round of torture, the midwife peered between your legs, spread wide open for easy viewing. After prodding, she nodded and straightened.

“You’re eleven centimeters dilated now,” she said, her tone gentler than the one she used with Suguru. “You’re ready to start pushing now.”

Joy.

******

An eternity later, any phantom feelings you felt for Suguru had disappeared. Push after push had you sweaty, exhausted, and aching. Bodily fluids soaked the towels and spare sheets beneath you, filling you with disgust and resentment. If your husband had kept his grubby hands off you or just allowed you to use birth control, you wouldn’t be in the situation, in agony and wracked with worry. Sanyu would be a preemie, born outside of a hospital. Even in your delirious state, you knew that was a dangerous combination. You could only pray a healer’s reversed cursed technique would address any health issues.

Suguru’s face contorted with worry as you panted through another contraction. When you looked into his eyes, you saw nothing but a reflection of your own fears. For all his faults, he wanted the baby to be born healthy, and for your birth to be easy. His form of affection was so twisted, you knew he didn’t care about you, and there was no guarantee he’d care about the baby. He cherished having control, but in that instant, he had no means to establish it. That was what scared him more than anything.

“How much longer?” he asked, pacing around the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

The midwife didn’t answer him, keeping her gaze trained on you. “The baby is crowning. Now’s the time”

A wave of relief washed over you, and you heard Suguru whispering, “Thank fuck”. Knowing Sanyu was almost here gave you the strength to push with all your might, though the pain was unbearable.

“A little more!” the midwife encouraged as another cry left your throat.

A little more. Just a little more, then you could meet your baby, and the torture you were going through would be over.

Suguru returned to your side, grasping your hands as he whispered words of encouragement. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he was being so doting to make up for missing Jona’s birth, for forcing a second baby into your womb. The thought disappeared as soon as another contraction surged through you. You bit back another cry. Your throat felt raw from all the screaming, and you weren’t sure your vocal cords would survive another yell. You grimaced, your nails digging into Suguru’s hand. 

A sob left when your pushing didn’t yield the child, the overwhelming sensation of pain allowing helplessness to take over. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can, baby. You have to. Just a little more,” he coaxed, his voice low and reassuring, so opposite of the man you knew.

His touch was gentler than ever before, and though you despised him, his presence was soothing. With Jona, only the twins were there to support and assist you. Now, your son and the girls were with Manami, while you had a medical professional and your husband by your side. It was an upgrade, no matter how much you hated to admit Suguru’s presence made anything better.

“C’mon, Yua,” he said, that commanding tone you were very acquainted with bleeding through.

You suppose his patience was wearing thin, which never boded well. You took a deep breath, then pushed once more.

“The head’s out!” the midwife announced, giving you the strength to continue.

Tears of relief flooded your eyes, and with every ounce of strength you had left, you pushed out the rest of your child. The piercing cry that filled the air was reassuring. The midwife caught the newborn and began checking over for any complications. You slumped against the pile of pillows that’d kept you propped up, your eyes struggling to stay open. The placenta had to be delivered, but the worst of it was behind you, letting you have a moment to relax.

“He seems healthy,” she announced, her booming voice jolting you awake.

Huh, you hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep.

You watched through heavy-lidded eyes as she cleaned Sanyu of the blood and vernix caseosa, wrapped him in a blanket, and handed him to you.

“Hi, sweet boy,” you murmured, stroking back the patch of hair on his head, then guiding him to your nipple.

“He,” Suguru parroted, a grin on his face as he watched your son feed. “You gave me another son.”

You ignored him, too entranced with your baby boy, who was greedily sucking the milk meant to nurture him. Despite the lingering pain and exhaustion, the warmth of your son’s small body gave you peace. You forgot about the stress of his labor and the daily chaos of life, admiring his chubby fingers and toes, and his tranquil expression as he drank from you. It was impossible to harbor any animosity for Sanyu, despite the circumstances of his conception. His father may have been an asshole, but Sanyu was yours, your blood, your baby, innocent of Suguru’s many misgivings.

Everything faded into the background as you focused on the tiny life in your arms, a serene bubble enveloping the two of you. All you wanted to hear were Sanyu’s soft coos and his noisy suckling. The midwife continued her work as she prepped for the afterbirth, and you felt Suguru’s eyes on you. You ignored everything, unwilling to have the precious moment disturbed. Everything felt right in the world, and you’d cling to that feeling as long as possible.

After all, you knew it wouldn’t last long.