#i count it as 1 1/2 because one was a blip

[buwheal]

I try so hard to be nice. Seeing spamton so distressed makes me feel awful. I wanna reach through his screen, give him a hug and tell him it’ll be okay. But I’m nothing but a letter to him. Words on a screen he can easily ignore.

I want him to be happy, I want to whisk away every single bad ask and wrap spamton up in a blanket and give him the warmth and love he deserves. I really, really wish I could.

I suppose for now sending this will do. Thank you for the amazing stories, bu ❤️‍🩹 you’ve genuinely broken my heart for this poor man, I cannot wait to see more

But he hasn't. He doesn't ignore what you guys say. He really really cares about what you say, in fact. Easily ignorable, but he is paying attention. Anyways, thanks :-)

[sp4ceboo]

CHAPTER 1 ~ THE SURVIVORS

beneath a crimson sky masterlist | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5

pairing: stray kids ot8 x afab!reader

genre: apocalypse au, dystopian, dark, adventure, action, thriller, fighting, eventual smut, romance

a/n: i cannot holler enough about how excited i've been to post this

chapter warnings: mentions of suicide, somewhat vividly described sick people, one mildly creepy dude, not a very juicy chapter because ya girl has to set everything up

chapter word count: 4.2k

The day they came, the sky ran red.

Red like cherry candy. Red like blood.

There were no warnings to indicate the end of life as it was. The ceiling of your world - of everyone’s - was its same innocent blue until, irrevocably, it wasn’t. One by one, the things blipped into humanity’s airspace, swarming in like they owned it, and the blue was vanquished, taking the status quo with it.

You were watching through the window of the lab instead of monitoring the cells you’d been culturing. The sound of shattering glass as one of your colleagues dropped something informed you that you were not the only one who wasn’t paying attention to their work; you rushed into the common room, where another colleague was switching to the news channel.

The source of the feeling of impending doom that had clouded your thoughts since that morning was confirmed as your eyes fixed on the screen. Before, you’d chalked it down to procrastination and yearning for the weekend, but as you watched one of the objects in the sky whizz down and make a landing space for itself by demolishing a block of flats with nothing a blast of light and smoke, you realised just where it came from.

Your boss cursed next to you, colourful and far too crude for the workspace.

As you saw what she was seeing on the TV, you decided you’d forgive her.

A previously invisible ramp in the side of what must be a spaceship had opened, and down it came a horse, a white horse, shining and resplendent, and yet the rider was the opposite - sallow faced and gaunt, arms too long and spindly with too thin skin stretching over fragile ribs. Worse was the face: it was all wrong. The nose seemed too high up, the mouth grotesquely wide and smiling.

You wished you could tear your eyes away, but you were transfixed, with the same horrified fascination a child watches a snail wither and shrivel into itself upon encountering salt.

The rider reached back with finger bones like spider’s legs and retrieved an arrow from the quiver on its back. The camera jolted as the cameraman took a step back, and began to shake as its head snapped to the side, its gaze catching on the lens. You recoiled, unadulterated fear rearing in your head, slicing through your thoughts - those eyes, like black holes, like endless hunger, pinned on you as if they could devour you through the screen.

You knew it then. You knew it, as if the thought had been planted in your head, a seed of fear and wrongness. This is your end, you heard, in a voice as black and velvet as night, and with so much depth it was as if there were thousands speaking at once. It cleaved through your head: The first horseman has come.

In a move too powerful and smooth for arms that spindly, the rider shot its arrow, and you saw it fly, so close to the camera you could almost taste the reek of illness as it tore by, burrowing itself into the cameraman's shoulder. The view pitched and fell, lurching towards the red sky before a new angle took its place.

You’d wished it hadn’t. From the new camera, you could see the cameraman who was hit retching and coughing, clutching the arrow buried in his shoulder. It thrummed from the impact, grotesquely sticking out like an extra limb, strange and stiff and now part of him. His torso undulated, convulsing, and he vomited up something big and bloody enough to be an organ onto the road. Behind him, the crowd was backing away, but you already saw the signs of infection - a woman covering her hand with her mouth as a cough wracked her body, a man pressing a palm to his side as his stomach cramped.

The first horseman had come.

Pestilence.

Soon after that, your colleagues began to rush home with wild, frantic eyes. You sat there, frozen, staring at the TV screen that had long since gone blank. Your parents called, their tinny voices breaking up every few seconds - no doubt millions of people were calling their own families all across the world - and told you to stay where you were to avoid infection until the authorities got everything under control.

They were sure it would all turn out alright. You weren’t - you made sure you told them you loved them before hanging up.

Next your sister called, coughing. She’d been working her shift at the hospital when the first horseman struck. There were no cures they could find, no concoctions that worked, no injections or antibodies or anything: they couldn’t even see what was causing the sickness, because the scans showed nothing unusual. Some patients held on longer than others, alive and just showing normal flu symptoms while others died before they could even reach the hospital.

You stayed on the line with her until she lied and told you she’d be alright, making a half assed excuse about feeding the dog so she could hang up.

You knew she just didn’t want you to hear her die.

It felt like cheating - it still feels like that - to be locked up in the lab, enveloped in silence aside from the hollow sound of you breathing and the growl of your stomach, safe while the rest of the world is either dead or collapsed and dying.

You’re beginning to wonder if you’re the last one. Not just because you didn’t glimpse anyone on your brief trips to the petrol station nearby to pilfer food, three masks secured over your face, but because your phone’s dead and the sockets in the lab don’t charge it. Power is down. Water is down, too.

Humanity is on its knees.

Yet still you hope, sitting with your legs tucked to your chest, wedged between the centrifuge and a table that’s set up with a long dead computer. You stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll hear footsteps, wondering when the rustling outside turns out to be a human, not a starving, half diseased fox; there has to be someone - you refuse any other alternative.

You’ve waited for someone to come and rescue you, for the TV to switch back on and a smiling reporter to tell you that it was all some gruesome puppet show put on by some crazy cult, that they’re all in custody and that everyone is fine. That everything is fine. You’ve waited, but no news has come. Still you won’t admit you’re on your own.

You can’t be the last one, and yet it feels that way - like you’re just a solitary, lone heartbeat in a city that used to be full of life, a reluctant survivor drowning in a sea of bodies.

Your head lists to one side, pressing your cheek against the cool metal of the side of the centrifuge so you don’t have to stare down the long space between the lab benches: it’s like being an air stewardess in the aisle of a plane, but the only passengers you have left to inform about safety precautions are the judgemental plastic chairs.

The lab is twice as long as it is wide, with two lab benches against each wall and one free standing one all the way through the middle. Normally, the huge space is a relief, because the previous labs you’ve worked in were at best cramped and at worst sweaty and bereft of air con, but now, it just makes you feel smaller, more alone.

Dim light filters through the gaping side of one of the blinds. For a few days, you kept the blinds open, hoping you’d be able to see if anyone was coming to save you, but you’ve closed them now. Looking out of the glass only ends in seeing bodies on the lifeless pavement outside.

In your dreams, your friends and family slam their hands against the windows, their mouths open in bloody screams, begging you to let them in. Each time, you try, and each time, the door won’t budge. Still, they accuse you, cursing and yelling, saying that you’re a greedy, useless coward.

Sometimes, you agree with them.

Their ships still hover overhead in the crimson sky, as if they’re watching the suffering they’ve caused, rubbing their hands together gleefully while supping on human fear, witnessing with greedy eyes as their first horseman of the apocalypse wipes out everyone - except, apparently, for you.

There’s a strange silence that hangs over the city, as if even the earth is holding its breath. No planes roar overhead, no cars horn in the streets, no trains hiss to a stop in the station - your world has lost its heartbeat. The quiet smothers you, suffocating, reminding you exactly who you are: a survivor, who even when granted luck and life, wishes it was someone else who made it out, someone else who has to shoulder the burden of trying to live in this mess.

To your left, on the table with the computer, there’s a small pile of knives, neatly stacked and ordered in size and sharpness. You took them from the kitchen on day six, the day after the water stopped. You’ve survived them and their temptation for a whole week now, pretending that they’re for your protection, but you’re still all too aware that your life has a timer on it, and there’s an all too easy way to end it early.

You can’t, though. You can’t do it. You tried, but you can’t - you couldn’t even pierce your own weak flesh with the dull steel, nor could you draw blood to stain that same steel the same red as the sky. Some voice within told you that you would be squandering humanity’s last hope at survival and filled you with enough guilt to not touch the knife pile again.

It’s just that you don’t want to be the last hope. You don’t want to be the one who fights valiantly to survive. Undoubtedly, that makes you a coward, for wanting to give in, for allowing things to just happen to you. Your mind won’t let you forget that. Even that is a weakness in itself.

The moment you decided to remain in the lab, not an inkling of a plan in your head, you doomed yourself to an isolated end.

At least if you had left, you wouldn’t have had to die alone.

It’s with that miserable thought that you begin to notice the strange noises. There’s this odd rhythmic thumping, mixed together with these strange scuffling noises and higher register sounds; they shatter the silence that you hate but got used to all the same, interrupting it rudely and irritating you, almost as if the hush had been speaking, you listening avidly to it.

Your heart rate picks up, and you immediately reach for a knife, cocking your head and straining your ears as the noises come closer. Slowly, you realise you know those sounds - the footsteps and voices of people running, people chasing.

A cry leaves you. It comes out strangled and weak, your voice cracking and buckling from lack of use. Your fingers tighten around the handle of the kitchen knife. Suddenly, you feel utterly stupid - there are people out there, surviving, and maybe other people, chasing the survivors but no doubt also trying to stay alive, and here you are, holed up in the place that you used to go for work every day, alternating between sleeping and contemplating death.

Your new found clarity is like lightning in your blood. You leap to your feet as if struck by it, electrified, your breathing quickening as you cock your head, listening harder. Yes, those are voices - human voices, and yes, those are footsteps - human footsteps.

The choice is made the moment it enters your mind.

Still holding the knife, you use your shoulder to barge open the door to the lab, and then the next - the one that contains the little chamber for sterilising before and after entering. You don’t bother to sanitise your hands as you leave. All the organic matter left out by you and your colleagues is long dead.

You’re unsure what you’re going to do once you glimpse the makers of the noise, just that you need to see that there are still humans out there, that all that time you spent thinking you were the last, you weren’t. The insignificance you feel as you hear them approaching is nothing but a relief, a weight off your chest - confirmation that you are not the last hope.

Despite the selfish slant of that thought, your heart jumps. You’re unexpectedly aware that all of your past conclusions are idiotic: a strange, philosophical grave you dug yourself into. The sound of human voices seems to have jolted you out of the madness of it all, of the horsemen and the weight of responsibility that was like rocks in your pockets while you were trying to swim. An almost smile cracks your tired face as you push open the door.

You freeze. This is something you can’t quite get rid of, even in your new-found excitement - the fleeting moment of paralysis when you step foot outside and the sky is neither azure blue or grey and scudding with clouds but red.

It took you at least five trips to take what you needed from the nearby petrol station’s convenience store, yet each time you went from a simple white ceiling to a boundless, crimson sky, you couldn’t help the hesitation that stilled your bones. The sight of it, so bloody and swarming with alien ships, awakens the instincts of a hunted prey within you. Your heart pounds, ready to fight or flee, your legs bending a little as if you could curl into yourself like a frightened mouse hiding from a barn owl.

You know you can’t hide. Worse, you know that they’re watching from their safe little vantage point, embedded in the sky, as you venture out of your stronghold and prison and workplace, holding nothing but a kitchen knife.

You feel stupid all over again.

You’re determined to not let it stop you - instead you push yourself to a jog, mentally berating yourself for not exercising even a little during your stint of self pity in the lab, because your lungs tighten after about fifteen steps, invisible iron bands appearing around your chest and constricting it.

Keeping your eyes ahead of you, you pick your way around a body slumped twenty metres from the lab, face down on the pavement. If you were brave enough, you would close their eyes and arrange them into a respectable position, but you’re terrified that you’ll turn them over and it will be the face of someone you know.

The footsteps are approaching. You can hear individual voices now: muffled cursing, panicked words, and you duck backwards into the shadows cast by the block of flats, the one with the Korean BBQ shop on the ground floor, watching as four men sprint across the open space of the petrol station. More footsteps sound, and your brow furrows, wondering who could be chasing them for them to be running so hard.

They’re all carrying knives. You don’t really notice that, though - you’re busy taking in their dirt smeared, masked faces and the horror in their eyes as they realise they’re backed up against the convenience store, wondering if whatever they’re so worried about means you should just leave them to their fate and run.

A crash sounds. You jump, as do the four men, the two older looking ones pushing the younger ones behind them. The biggest one, dressed in all black and broad in the shoulders, reaches up, one hand brushing over the mask covering the lower half of his face like some sort of nervous tic, his fingers tightening on his knife. Behind him, the tallest pushes so he’s standing in line with the other two, despite the dirty look sent to him by his other companion. The last hurtles into the convenience store, most likely looking for a back exit you know he won’t find.

Hesitantly, you take a step forward, craning your neck to glimpse their attackers, and surprise momentarily nails your feet to the ground.

You expected a horde of monsters eating up the distance towards them, or zombies, or anything inhuman pertaining to the end of the world that would insight the type of panic that reigns in their eyes. It’s nothing of the sort - nothing creeping or crawling or oozing, not even a pack of feral dogs that you heard pass by one night.

They’re humans. Several, maybe a dozen, their faces twisted with anger. But when you look closer, you see the signs of disease: red eyes, sallow faces and emaciated limbs like those of the first horseman.

Worst of all, they don’t look crazy. They look gravely sick, and even more furious, but there is no drool slipping from the corners of their cracked lips, no feverish glint to their eyes, and yet the very marrow of you tells you that this is not normal, human rage. This is something else. This is Pestilence.

Pestilence that will no doubt find you once it wipes out these four men.

You’re closer to them than the sick ones are. The moment you lurch into a sprint from your hiding spot, you know there’s no going back - whether you like it or not, you become one of the survivors, and whether you survive for much longer or not, you’re going to try and help them.

As you cross towards them, your foot splashes through a puddle - a glance confirms that one of the pumps has begun to leak, trailing petrol that has oozed down towards the road and collected by the curb. An idea forms in your mind, and as you run, you yank at the hairband in your hair, tugging it out roughly despite the complaints of your scalp.

“Lighter,” you gasp, skidding to a halt in front of the men. “Give me a lighter. Now.”

The one wearing all black lets out an involuntary shocked noise, his knife arm unconsciously lifting before he lowers it, while the one on his right looks at you distrustfully, scowling. There’s no sign of the last one or a possible lighter he might have - no doubt he’s still looking for an exit through the store, becoming more and more panic stricken as he can’t find one - but the tall one reacts immediately, digging through his pocket and handing you the item he finds.

Your fingers tremble as you fix your hairband around the lighter, making sure it’s tight enough that the button stays down and the flame remains on. It twangs off when you pull it too tight, and you scrabble for it, scooping it off the concrete and trying again, cursing under your breath and praying that you’ll make it out alive long enough to see if the look the scowling one is giving you will actually kill you.

“They’re close,” the one in all black says with an Australian accent. “Really close.”

“I know, I know,” you mutter, fumbling with the hairband.

At last, it snaps into place. Spinning around, you turn and hurl it, launching it through the air. It hits the ground once, and for an awful moment you think you haven’t thrown it far enough, but then it catches the petrol and a roaring wall of flame surges up, so fast that the woman at the front of the mob runs straight into it.

She’s probably still going to die, if her sickness is anything like that which struck down the camera man those weeks ago, but nausea still tugs at your throat, and you look away, paling.

“Holy shit,” someone mumbles.

You turn. The man who they sent into the store to look for an exit has returned, lingering in the doorway as he stares up at the fire. From what it sounds, he’s Australian too, and he’s got lovely freckles, his hair a partially grown out blonde. You glance over at the others to find the scowler and the one in black, who carries himself like a leader, talking to each other quietly as they look at the roaring flames and the pacing figures behind them. It’s clear that the barrier separating you and the sick ones won’t last long.

You make another split second decision. It seems that you’ve become more decisive, since you never used to be this direct, but you guess that’s what the end of the world does: change people, shaping them to improve at survival, for the better or worse of others.

“You can come with me,” you offer. “I know somewhere we can lay low.”

The leader and the scowler exchange a glance. Freckles gives them both a hopeful look, while the tall one looks doggedly at the silhouettes behind the wall of flames as if he can will them away with his gaze, clearly already having made his judgement of you and leaving it up to the other three to decide. Eventually, the scowler gives the leader a curt nod.

The leader holds out his hand. “I’m Chan.”

You shake his hand and introduce yourself, giving him a brief smile.

“I’m Felix,” the freckled one says warmly, then points at the tall one. “That’s Seungmin.”

Seungmin jerks his chin at you. “Hey.”

Felix nudges the scowler. “And this is Minho.”

Minho eyes you like he might rip you apart with his bare hands, his gaze appraising as he looks you up and down, sizing you up as if he might need to take you down at any moment. You don’t miss the way his arms fill out his shirt, nor do you miss the daggers he stares at you.

You look away first, feeling a little intimidated as you gesture half heartedly down the road. “It’s this way.”

“Thank you,” Chan says, flashing you a dimple as you begin to walk. “You saved our lives.”

You frown. “Who were they, anyway?”

“It’s got something to do with the Pestilence from the first horseman,” he replies. “They go crazy when they’re near death.”

You laugh, although it sounds hollow. “I can’t believe this is real. I can’t believe I’m alive right now. I can’t believe you guys are alive right now, either.”

“We’re lucky, for sure,” Felix agrees. “We weren’t near the buildings they collapsed when the army sent the fighter jets, either. Were you close when it happened?”

“I didn’t know,” you confess, shame filling you. “I… I was hiding.”

The words are out before you can stop them. You expect accusatory looks, or even to be called a coward, but they just nod, Chan sighing, sympathy clear on Felix’s face. It lightens something in your heart, makes you realise that despite everything that must have happened to them, they’re still people - people who you’re bringing into your hiding spot.

“I work here,” you explain as you let them in. “Or used to, I guess.”

Chan glances around. “It’s a good place. There aren’t many buildings which are safe or haven’t been broken into.”

“You could stay,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

It’s stupid, really. They’d never agree. You’d be the one who would benefit the most, gaining people to watch your back, while to them you’d just be another mouth to feed and another body to protect. You do have a life debt on them, but when everyone’s lives are threatened, you suspect life debts don’t mean as much.

Minho’s gaze snaps to you from where it was wandering over the lab. “There are four more of us, you know.”

“And they’re noisy,” Seungmin adds.

Neither of those statements, you realise with a jolt, is a no. You fight to keep your facial expression under control. Your heart pounds - no doubt the cave woman bent on survival that woke up inside you the moment your instincts had to kick in is jumping for joy at the prospect of safety in numbers.

“I’d manage,” you reply, disbelieving. Surely they’re joking. “I wouldn’t mind some company.”

Chan is regarding you with a strange look on his face. You get the impression that he likes taking in strays - because that’s what you are, a stray, hoping to be let inside but far more likely to be shut out, relying on their kindness more than anything. You’re unable to think of any advantages to adding an eighth mouth to feed on top of his own, but you can see he’s weighing something up in his head.

Of course, they could just kill you and shove your body out the front door. For some reason, they haven’t, and now you’re stretching their kindness, possibly thinner than it can go. All the same, Chan is still looking at you, his strong features softened by his curls and the dimple that shows when a little smile tugs at his lips, almost as if he’s already fond of you.

“Why not?”

taglist: @estella-novella @0bticeo @lixies-favorite-cookie @smashleywow @realrintaro (let me know if you want to be added)

[bbyboybucket]

Okay besties, today I’m giving you the run down of Buckys finances and networth. Because as I’ve said multiple times, he’s obscenely wealthy despite the fact you’d never know by looking at him.

Now first off, MatPat (my fav YouTuber who I’m so sad is retiring, literally adore him) did a mini theory a few years ago, calculating Bucky’s compound interest in previously earned money from WWII in his frozen bank account while he was presumed dead. It totaled out to $51,143. This is just the money that he earned in the 30s/40s and has grown interest on. This is assuming the money wasn’t given to his family and for the purpose of this post, we’ll go with that it wasn’t. However, MatPat didn’t account back pay, for disability pay, and other military pay/benefits.

So as a starter point, we’ll use $51,143. Next, I’m going to calculate his back pay from being MIA/POW because he would have been considered active duty. A MIA/POW is given back pay of 50% of the average per diem rate, for each day held in captivity. The 2023 rate is $157 per day, and I assume that would be similar for him because TFATWS takes place in early 2024. So that means Bucky would get $78.50 per day. There is no time limit on how far back pay can date to, so the entire span of Bucky’s capture is accounted for. As per the Smithsonian memorial in CA:TWS, Bucky was captured in 1944, making it exactly 70 years of capture. So, the back pay for those 70 years, is $2,005,675.

Next, we’ll look at the different forms of disability pay he would receive. I’m only going to look at canonical, confirmed disabilities for this. Bucky would be classified under SMC-N 1/2, where one arm was amputated above the elbow and/or was amputated so close to the shoulder that a prosthetic cannot be worn. Now obviously, Bucky does have a prosthetic but it is implanted into his body, as a majority of his left shoulder seems to have been amputated. Since he is single and has no dependents, aka has no children and is not taking care of any family, and he is still able to work, he would be receiving $6,182 a month.

He also has PTSD, which he would most likely get a 70% percent disability rating for, as 100% is very rare to receive for mental and is considered to be extreme impairment in daily functioning. (He could recieve 80 or 90% but I’m being generous here and trying to give the most realistic assessment). All this means, his mental illness pay for PTSD would be $1716 a month.

It’s also canonical that he has brain damage via The Wakanda Files book. We know in that book, he’s described to have pretty severe TBI. However, we don’t know anything of his symptoms and the book only describes of the brain scan looks bad and that the serum is keeping him from being more impaired. The VA uses 10 areas of impairment as criteria to rate the severity of TBI disability. The only canonically confirmed area that we know Bucky deals with is memory. Since we know no other symptoms and we know he’s not extremely impaired, I’m going to estimate he’d be rated at 50%. Which would give him a compensation of $1075 a month.

Now, we can assume Bucky is retired from the military. From being a retired sergeant, we can assume his monthly pension is around $5,482.

Reminder, all VA pay is untaxed. All of these together, his monthly salary is $14,455. However, this is not including disability back pay. The VA sometimes will pay a lump sum from back from when the diagnosis was made. Assuming the Wakandans were involved in Bucky’s trial and pardon, I’d assume some of his medical records were brought in as well. Back dating to when he was being treated in Wakanda, that’s 7 years, however we don’t know if the blip would count so for that reason, I’ll say 2 years. So, his lump sum would be around $215,352.

Now, endgame was in October, six months before TFATWS, meaning it took place around March/April. Within, the span of October to March, Bucky woulda have accumulated $86,730. Because even if his pardon wasn’t official yet in October, he would still receive payment for that month.

Finally, in grand total, all of this is $2,358,900. His networth would be in a similar, slightly lower range. Meaning: yes, Bucky Barnes is a millionaire and nobody would ever guess.

[lockes-woods]

That's on Period(t)

(1/2)

A/N:

Mihawk eases your period pain in a way only he knows how. This was supposed to be a short drabble pwp, but apparently, I can't write straight smut, I have to have a plot. No request; just the ramblings of a dysphoric enby.

Mihawk x reader (x Shanks in spirit)

Content warning; period sex, dysphoria, fingering, and P in V sex.

MDNI

This low-key ended up being 4715 words (longer than most of my chapters in my other fics). This one kinda got away from me, hopefully, it's coherent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An unintentional groan escaped you as you shifted in your seat trying to find a comfortable position. Despite the fact that you had been camped out on your couch for the better part of the past ten hours nothing felt right. You felt powerless as another onslaught of cramps started in your lower abdomen. You whined as you hugged your heating pad as close as you possibly could to your lower stomach, praying to whoever was listening that it would stop. At this point, you wish you could cut yourself open and stuff it inside of you. Every sharp pain felt like your uterus was screaming to make its presence known. That paired with the breast tenderness that made it impossible to bind left you feeling like a dysphoric wreck.

It didn’t help that the last time you were out you kept getting misgendered by everyone you encountered from older women needing help reaching the top shelf in the grocery store to the pharmacy tech that helped you fill your birth control prescription. The latter also dead naming you because you haven’t been able to legally change your name yet. If you weren’t so desperate to make sure you could start up on your next pack as soon as possible you would have avoided that interaction altogether. Logically you knew they were just doing their job, but it was still a shitty situation to go through when you already felt awful. You were counting down the time in hours til you could start your next pack of birth control and put a stop to this mess.

You just had to wait til Sunday at seven in the morning when you took that along with your other morning medications. You immediately regretted glancing down at the time on your phone. The countdown you had going on informed you that you still had eighty-two and a half hours of your period left. You sighed to yourself; you still have over three days to go. You were just thankful that you had off from work today. You needed time alone after all the triggering encounters you had the day before. Most of them wouldn’t even have been a blip on your radar normally, but your hormone imbalances made each small inconvenience feel life-altering. That was the main reason you hated your period, while the dysphoria and physical pain sucked, it was most annoying not being able to regulate your emotions regularly. You still felt bad about snapping at your roommate before he left for his shift.

Shanks was always annoying and a bit of a brat but his comment about how cute you looked in your Christmas pajama pants and oversized t-shirt (that you had stolen from him) was the last straw. He was always playfully flirting with you. While you knew it meant nothing to him it pulled at your heart as a constant reminder you would never be anything more than friends. It wasn’t like you wanted him to break up with his boyfriend. It was quite the opposite you often wished the three of you could be something more but you knew that was a pipe dream. You still felt sensitive about your lingering crush on him and his boyfriend. Those feelings were only amplified by your hormone imbalance.

You had told him to fuck off and threw pillows at his head til he made his way out of the apartment. While this was far from the first time you had told him to fuck off it was the first time you said it in a genuine tone; instead of your normal playful way. You knew you would just need to buy him a beer the next time you went out to apologize, but it still made you cry in frustration as soon as you were alone in the apartment. Because of the nature of his job as a firefighter you hated leaving things on a bad note before his shifts. It was in a similar vein as the old saying that you should never go to sleep angry. Despite your exhaustion, you’d probably end up staying up until he got home at one in the morning out of guilt.

Speaking of Shanks, his boyfriend, and your defacto third roommate, should be home soon from his twelve-hour shift at the hospital. You had an anxious turn in your stomach at the thought of him. You hoped that he hadn’t told Mihawk about your altercation. It was already hard to get a read on him and you didn’t know if you could handle him being mad at you while your emotions were already a hot mess. You tried not to focus on it as you queued up another episode of your comfort show and snuggled deeper into your secondhand couch. You absent-mindedly snacked on the candy and chips you had strewn about the coffee table. Your eyes began to droop as you took in the familiar storyline you had seen countless times. You had just begun to phase out into sleep as you heard the familiar opening and firm shutting of the apartment door. A groan was pulled from your throat as you suddenly shot up into a sitting position causing a cramp to shoot through you. Blinking up with bleary eyes you took in Mihawk slipping out of his shoes and placing them on the rack next to the door.

“Hey, Angel did I wake you?” Mihawk asked, staring down at you with his honeysuckle eyes, as he slipped off and hung up his work bag.

“No?” You said, shifting in your seat for a more comfortable position. Your passing grimace as another round of cramps cut through you wasn’t lost on Mihawk.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked, taking a seat on the armchair facing you.

“Not really,” you sighed, “I’ve been tethered to this heating pad all day and the Tylenol I took barely took the edge off of my cramps. I wish I wasn’t allergic to ibuprofen.” You groaned as the cramping continued.

“Have you tried any alternative methods to relieve the pain?” he asked.

“Like what?” you asked back, outside of drugs and heating pads you weren’t aware of any other methods to ease cramps.

“I’ve heard orgasms are a good method to combat menstrual cramps.” He answered casually. You immediately broke eye contact and began to play with the frayed edges of your well-loved heating pad. You could feel the heat rush to your face at his suggestion. While you weren’t a virgin, you were still kinda prudent when it came to things of a sexual nature. You were getting better at feeling less embarrassed about discussions involving sex, but it was times like these that you reverted back to your abstinence-only upbringing. It didn’t help that one of your closest friend’s very attractive boyfriend was the one prompting the conversation. You were so in your head that you didn’t hear Mihawk shift from the recliner to the cushion next to you on the couch until you felt the coldness of his hand tilting your chin upward to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way, it was just a suggestion. You know we hate seeing you in pain.” He said.

“It-It’s okay, I just don’t know if the mess is worth it.” You said meeting his gaze. Your heart softened at the concerned look in his eyes. It almost made you want to cry.

“You could always do it in the shower?” he suggested.

“What about the no fucking in common areas rule?” you ask, the look Mihawk gave you was more than enough to confirm what you already suspected.

“You motherfuckers,” you started pulling out of his grasp and swinging a pillow at him full force, “You really broke the one rule I had before you moved in?!”

“To be fair we had already broken the rule before and I moved in,” Mihawk responded with a slight upturn of his lip, “I believe Shanks’ exact reasoning was that we were grandfather in.”

“You’re the only other people who live here! Who else would it be for?!” you responded raising your voice at the prospect of Shanks’ audacity. You were about to hit him with the pillow again, before dropping it once you realized what it could have come in contact with.

“Both of you are cleaning this apartment from top to bottom on your next day off,” you say glaring up at him.

“That feels more than fair,” Mihawk responded, a smirk still present on his face. You were about to lay into him more before another wave of cramps made its way through your lower abdomen.  

“Now are you going to shower?” Mihawk asked, promptingly.

“It wouldn’t work anyway,” you sigh turning your gaze back to the cloth covering your heating pad.

“How do you know before you’ve even tried it?” Mihawk asked.

“I i-it won’t-” you started, “I c-can’t” You tried again before giving up and attempting to make a hot exit back to your room. Mihawk locked his hand around your wrist in a firm, but gentle grip as your feet hit the ground. You could feel the heat of embarrassment spread from your face to your ears, back down to your chest.

“What can’t you do?” he asked calmly, keeping a steady grip on you.

“I-I, fuck,” you sighed, before reluctantly meeting his gaze, “I’venevermademyselfcum” You rush out attempting to get away, before Mihawk’s other hand grips onto your other wrist.

“Have you ever cum?” he asked, with no trace of judgment in his voice.

“I mean yeah, but only with certain partners. It’s not like I’m seeing anyone now, so it’s pointless to even attempt it.” You sigh, sliding back into your seat with a pout. Mihawk released his grip on your wrists once it became apparent that you were not going to try and run away again.

“Do you want help?” Mihawk asked. You almost laughed before meeting his gaze and realizing that his offer was completely genuine.

“But-Shanks,” was all you managed to get out before your brain stalled out. You were half a second from spirally before he gently cupped your face and pulled your attention back to him.

“Shanks will be fine with it, trust me,” Mihawk said as he gently ran his thumb against your cheek; gaze never leaving yours. “The only reason I can think of that would make him upset is the fact that I’d be with you first.”

“But-how?” you asked, still trying to absorb this new information.

“Shanks has been holding a torch for you for years,” Mihawk said, “He’s liked you from the moment you met.”

“Why’d he never make a move?” you asked after a moment.

“He did the night you met, but you just thought he was being friendly.” Mihawk explained, “He didn’t want to lose you, so he took on the role of a friend.”

“But we’ve been friends for over three years,” you responded, “He was the first friend I made in the city,”

“Trust me I know. I was jealous of you for the longest time, but after getting to know you I get why he didn’t want to lose you,” Mihawk confessed. He gave you a moment to process before continuing, “We’d love to be with you if you’d have us,”

“Wait-So is it an open relationship? Are you like polyamorous?” You ask trying to process all of what Mihawk had just told you, but your brain was too busy buffering.

“I believed it would be considered closed polyamory,” Mihawk said stroking your bottom lip with his thumb, “There would be three of us, and any of us can be together, but there would not be any additional people,” he explained, patiently. You nodded pensively, as you began to get what he was saying.

“Okay,” you reply after a minute.

“Okay? Like you’re in?” Mihawk asked to clarify.

“Yeah, I’m still not totally sure what the logistics would be, but I know I want you both.” You confessed looking up at him through your lashes. Mihawk didn’t waste a momentary second before pulling you in for a desperate kiss. You moaned as his tongue came into contact with yours for the first time, you let him lead the kiss. One of his hands remained cupping your face the other gripped your waist and pulled you into his lap. A gasp escaped you as you felt his hard-on press against your core. You let out a loud unobstructed moan as he pulled back from the kiss and began to nip down your neck, while shamelessly grinding up against you.

“Fuck, Mihawk” you whine, before his lips once again connected with yours. You instinctually wrapped your legs around his waist and looped your arms around his neck as he stood up from the couch and made his way to the bathroom. He delicately placed you on the bathroom counter, you whined at his loss as he pulled back and stripped off his top. You bit your lip to contain a groan as you took in his backside when he turned to turn on the shower. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him shirtless, but it was the first time you felt okay checking him out. Steam began to envelop the bathroom as he stalked back towards you.

“Are you sure you’re okay going from kissing straight to period sex?” You asked looking up at him.

“Angel, I’m a surgical resident; little blood isn’t going to scare me off,” he said, with a small quirk on his lips, “Are you okay with going straight to sex?” he asked as he stroked the waistband of your pajama pants.

“Yes, Sir” you answered, a mischievous smile never leaving your lips as Mihawk gripped your chin and jerked your face upward in a firm grip.

“What did you just say Angel?” he asked with an unsettling air of calmness.

“Sir,” you responded smugly, doubling down, “That is what you like Shanks to call you right?” you asked, “Or is there someone else he’s calling out to when he cums?”

“Darling, I’d tread lightly if I were you; I’d hate to have to spend our first time together correcting your behavior.” He said, stroking your cheek.

“So, you don’t want me to call you Sir?” you asked, with an air of faux innocence. You bit your lip to contain your smile as you saw a phantom twitch in his right eye. You had only ever seen Shanks be able to warrant that reaction. You decided to reel in your teasing before you crossed to the point of no return.

“Angel, as long as you’re cumming on my cock you can call me whatever you’d like,” he whispered into your ear, nipping at it. The smirk returned to his face as an involuntary whine left your lips.

“Now, I’ll ask you again. Do you want this?” he asked pulling back to see your whole face.

“Yes,” you whined as a wave of cramps shot through you; reminding you of why you were here in the first place.

“And your safe word?” he asked.

“Peach,” you answered, “Yours?”

“Code,” he answered, “Do you have any hard stops?”

“Just please don’t touch my chest or refer to me in feminine terms.” You say trying your hardest to maintain eye contact while being vulnerable.

“Of course, darling,” he said pecking your forehead, “Is it okay if I take this off?” he asked tugging at your oversized top. You nod enthusiastically lifting your arms to help him. Once it’s off you tug off your pajama pants and period underwear leaving you bare. It takes everything in your power not to cover your chest as Mihawk takes you in; a soft look on his face.

“What?” you ask after a moment.

“I always knew you were a beauty, but I never expected you to be this lovely,” he answered earnestly stroking up and down your sides. You could feel the heat return to your face at his genuine response.

“Can we get in the shower now? I don’t want to bleed on the counter” you ask looking up at him. He nodded; your comment seemed to snap him out of his daze. He once again had you wrapped your legs around his waist as he picked you up and walked over to the shower. He shed his pants and underwear before stepping in. A pleasant sigh escaped you as the hot water graced your skin. Thankfully you and Mihawk both preferred showers that were just below scalding. He placed you down and turned you so that his front was to your back. The shower head spray was adjusted to hit your lower stomach and core. An involuntary whine escaped you as you felt his hard-on pressed against your back. You were about to start grinding back against it before Mihawk placed a firm hand on your hip to keep you in place.

“Patience, love,” he said, reaching down to rest his other hand above your mound, “I have to prep you first; is this okay,” he asked reaching between your legs. You nodded, spreading your legs to give him better access.

“Words,” he said, hovering right above where you wanted him.

“Please, Sir,” you whine, unable to grind up to meet him because of his other hand holding you stationary. He hummed in approval finally stroking over your slit. He made a few agonizingly slow passes before finally breaching your slit. He again traced your entrance twice before inserting a single finger.

“Please, Sir more,” you whined, “I can take it-” You started before a moan cut through you as he ground his palm against your clit. He looped his arm around your waist pulling you back so that you could rest your body weight against him giving him better access to your core.

“Shh, it’s okay, just let Sir take care of you,” he responded, placing a kiss behind your right ear, before kissing and sucking his way down to your shoulder. You fell lax against his sturdy frame as he slipped another finger into your core, he pulled another whine from you as his fingers thrusted and curled around your front wall. He easily hit spots you could only dream of reaching on your own. A cry erupted from you as he suddenly increased his pace and depth of his fingers. Now every thrust had his palm smacking down on your clit. His own urges reared its head as he began to shamelessly grind against your back. You moan in response as your own resolve fades quickly as the coil inside you winds tighter and tighter.

“It’s okay Angel, you can let you. Just give me one and I’ll let you cum on my cock as many times as you like,” he said encouragingly, before pulling you in for a desperate kiss. You put up more resistance than you did in your initial kiss causing him to nip at your bottom lip. Simultaneously his arm wrapped around your waist loosened and joined his other hand at your core. You moan into the kiss as he began to rub your clit in succession with his thrust. Your climax began to build as you both found a rhythm. You had just gotten used to the rhythm when he suddenly pinched your clit. Your climax snapped through you at the sudden change in stimulation. Your pussy held his fingers in a vice grip as you rode out your high on his hand.

You fell fully slack against him as you came down from your high.

“Fuck so good Angel,” he praised slowly easing his fingers out of your core, “Knew you’d be perfect.”

“Sir, please,” you whined grinding back against him.

“Love,” he said in a warning tone hand back at its station on your hip.

“I want you, please Sir, I wanna be full again,” you moan as the momentary relief from cramps lapsed and the pain in your core returned. You stretched your head over your shoulder, pulling him in for another kiss. You were so focused on his mouth you didn’t realize he had switched positions until the coldness of the tiled wall met your back. You pulled back in a daze now front to front. You were snapped back to reality when you pulled back and felt the twitch of his cock against your stomach. Your eyes widened as you took in his size. You now understood why Shanks was so loud during sex, if you were being fucked by that on the reg you’d be screaming too.

“Sir,” you say hesitantly breaking eye contact with his cock and looking up at him.

“It’ll fit,” he said, seemingly reading your mind. He rubbed reassuring circles into your hips with his thumbs, “We’ll go slow. I’ll make it worth your while if you can be patient for just a little bit longer.”

“Unless you want to stop now, I won’t be mad if it’s too much for you right now,” he said offering you an out.

“No-” You answered quickly, “I mean, I’m comfortable continuing,” You corrected yourself, trying to play off how desperate you were for his cock. Despite your efforts, a knowing smirk still pulled across Mihawk’s face.

“Are you sure?” he asked teasingly,

“Yes,” you replied much calmer than your last response. He nodded hiking your right leg over his hip for better access.

“Are you ready?” he confirmed one more time. He began to tease his tip between your folds as you said yes one last time. His cock was soon lubed up with your blood and slick as he gently pushed the head of his dick into your entrance. He rocked back and forth slowly allowing you time to adjust to his jarring size.

“Fuck,” you moaned as he bottomed out. You found it almost impossible to focus on anything other than the pulses of his member deep inside of you.

“Shh, relax darling; I got you,” he said, pressing you firmer into the wall as he once again scooped you up into his arms. Both of your legs were wrapped around his middle as he leaned into you to keep you from sliding down the wall. You were effectively sandwiched between him and the wall. You held onto him for dear life as he suddenly began to thrust into you at a slow pace.

“More, please” you whined desperately. You were so full of him that his tip just kissed your cervix without pressing into it uncomfortably. While the slow pace was nice at first as you adjusted it began to drive you mad as you wished more than anything that he would start to fuck you like he means it.

“Patients,” he cooed down at you with a self-satisfied look, “I don’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, tears beginning to kiss at the corners of your eyes. You wanted, no need to cum. The languid pace he had set was driving you mad.

“Sir, please,” you whined desperately.

“Please, what Angel?” he asked, the stupid smirk still plastered on his face.

“Fast,” you panted.

“You want me to go faster?” he asked, with fake ignorance.

“Fuck, please!” you border-lined shouted, “I’ll do whatever you want, please fuck me” you cried as tears began to fall down your face in two lines, one below each eye.

“Anything?” He asked bemused with a smirk, speeding up slightly, but not enough to make cum any faster than before.

“Yes,” you cried. He hummed in fake contemplation before responding.

“Okay, but you owe me one,” he answered coyly before he slowly pulled out and slammed back into you full force. A sigh of relief leaves you before he leans down. It felt like the wind was knocked out of you at the new angle. He quickened his pace, stroking longer and deeper inside you at every thrust. Your nails dug into the pristine white plane of his back leaving scratched down the stretch of his upper back as you tried to hold on the best you could. All you could do was helplessly moan as Mihawk used you as he pleased.

“Fuck,” he moaned, followed by a deep groan of your name. You could feel the pleasure building up in your core as you quickly approached your end.

“Fuck, please Sir can I cum? I’m so clos-” you started before you were cut off by your own moan. Tears began to prick at your eyes again, not out of frustration like earlier, but at the pure feeling of overstimulation you were now experiencing. “I’m sooo close please Sir” you whined.

“Go ahead Angel,” he said before pulling you in for a desperate kiss that he dominated. That was all the permission you needed; your body seized up like you were possessed as your orgasm ripped through you. Your pussy milking Mihawk’s cock for all it was worth.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he pulled out seconds before his own orgasm. He painted your stomach with his release, as your empty cunt clenched around nothing. He carefully lowered you back to the floor as you both tried to get your heart rates down to normal levels. He made quick work of cleaning your body as he raced against the now lukewarm water falling against your body. He had just managed to finish cleaning both of you seconds before the water went cold. He took his time drying your body, before bundling you up in one of his towels and placing you on the ledge of the tub.

A shiver ripped through your spent form as the cold air of your air-conditioned apartment invaded the space when he opened the door. A yawn escaped you as you patiently waited for him to come back. Your eyes had just begun to droop when he came back clad only in a pair of boxer briefs. He helped you into a pair of your period underwear and an oversized shirt. You bit your lip to contain your smile as you took in the logo of his medical school across the chest of the t-shirt. He had specifically gotten a shirt from his room instead of one of the ones you had stolen from Shanks over the years. You sleepily followed him through the living room and down the hall to the doors of your bedrooms.

On autopilot, you turned left to go to your room before a gentle tug on your wrist stopped your movement. You sleepily glance up at Mihawk and tilted your head in lieu of talking.

“You can stay in our room if you want,” he offered avoiding eye contact as a blush bloomed on his cheeks.

“Oh, okay,” you say as the proposition snaps you out of your daze. You followed Mihawk in and crawled into the bed.

“Wait, what about Shanks?” you asked.

“What about him?” Mihawk asked back.

“Would it make him feel weird to share a bed with me without a heads up?” you asked, tilting your head at him.

“No,” Mihawk said, the ghost of a smile forming on his lips, “I think it’d be a nice surprise; especially after a long shift.”

“Oh, okay,” you reply as fatigue begins to overtake your body.

“Do you need anything else before we go to sleep?” Mihawk asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Um, maybe my heating pad and some water,” you answer.

“Okay,” he nodded, taking off back to the living room and kitchen. You couldn’t help but smile as you lay enveloped in their scents. You managed to stay awake just long enough to take a few swigs of water and position yourself on your side with the heating pad flush against your lower abdomen. Mihawk curled up behind you, your fingers interlaced over your heating pad. You slept better than you had in a long time, especially for being on your period. You couldn’t tell if you had dreamt it or not, but you could have sworn someone had pecked your forehead and cocooned you between their chest and Mihawk’s. The faint smell of sandalwood was the last sensation your body recognized before drifting off to the next dream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART 2

A/N:

Hope you enjoyed this one shot! Hopefully, this can find some other baddies suffering through their period. As always thanks for taking the time to read.

-Locke

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 8 (Part 2.2 of 2)

PART 1 OF PART 2

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); smut (!!); angst; substance use (marijuana); unprotected sex (p in v); CONSENSUAL sex (p in v) under the influence of marijuana; jealousy; negative self-talk; oral sex (f! receiving); anxiety; intense feelings of sadness; abandonment issues (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 21.3k (i’m very very sorry)

a/n: CLIMAX TIME! woooo!! i’m sorry for another mf 2 parter… thanks to tumblr’s fucking paragraph limit (*screams*)🫠. the entire chapter is 43k words long (didn’t mean to do that—sorry 🥲), so this is almost exactly half of it. BUT, never fear, I will be posting part 2 to this tomorrow, as it is COMPLETE and ready to go… but we’ve gotta keep up the anticipation, right? lol <3

please heed the warnings. there is some sex under the influence in this chap, and although it’s COMPLETELY CONSENSUAL, I know some may not like that (we are all different and that’s ok!).

HUGE thank u to my girls @joshym & @alwaysonthemend for putting up w me all the mf time and being dope ass beta readers and friends and agghhh... you two are the realest aaaand ilysm 😭

one more thank u to @welightthefire for being the most beautiful, incredible source for an upcoming situation in reader’s life. ily <333

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

enjoy!

-🌼🌼🌼-

August 17, 2022

You did your best to ignore the vibrating phone in your back pocket. 

Text after text kept coming in, begging you to check.

You knew who it was. With the way you heard every other brother’s voice except for his from the living room (or kitchen, wherever they were) and how desperate he’d been for you to not find out. 

But, instead of giving in, you just stared at yourself in the mirror, willing the ridiculous tears pooling in your eyes to stay at bay. It would be pointless to start fucking crying. There would be zero sense in crying over this. There was no relationship to fall apart after finding out about this. 

You hadn’t been cheated on.

So why did it feel like you had?

Because you’re a fuckass with your emotions, y/n, the lovely voice in your head told you. You need to learn how to be a stable adult before anything else. Things need to end. None of this is fair to Jake or his budding career, either. Do better.

Fuck. You didn’t want to end things with him. 

But you knew it was right to get out of it before you became any more entangled. You knew going in, that what you had wasn’t meant to last anyway. Being with Jake–fucking him–it was just a temporary thing. 

It wasn’t going anywhere. This was a short season. A blip in time. An indulgence. 

Nothing more. 

But it fucking hurt to be honest with yourself about that. 

Fuck. Stupid.

Jake had done a fantastic job at maintaining the agreement. All he’d done was be a good friend– someone to fuck around with. That was all he was and all he’d done for you. He had not broken any boundaries or any of your ridiculous rules.

The one who had let all of that fall to the wayside had been you. 

So you didn’t want to look at the texts. Didn’t want to see him apologizing for something that he didn’t have to explain himself out of. 

As tears ended up falling down your cheeks (because no matter how hard you tried to get them to stop, there was no stopping them), you realized that you were the only one to blame for the way you were feeling. You’d let him become your safe place. Your anchor. The person you longed to be around (and with) most. . . 

You realized that, most of all, you were angry. Angry with yourself. It would be stupid to be upset with him. He’d done nothing wrong.

If he was fucking her, that wasn’t any of your business. Like you kept reminding yourself, there was no relationship, and he was allowed to do whatever he wanted with other women. And it was definitely not his responsibility to explain anything – make you feel better for something that was your own fault.

You’d let yourself get too attached. Plain and simple. 

It wasn’t Jake’s fault that you’d put your guard down enough to feel so jarred and shocked by this revelation. This was on you. And you weren’t sure if you should apologize to him or just start separating yourself from the situation.

Start separating yourself from him. 

And fuck, there were the tears again.

You got some toilet paper to wipe your face, and took deep breaths. As you were measuring your breaths, you cleaned up the mascara that’d made a mess under your eyes. 

When you had these stupid crying fits, if you could find the strength to do it, it'd always helped you to focus on something that brought you pure joy. But, unfortunately, you’d put yourself in a bit of a hard place at the moment. 

Because the thing—the person—who brought you the most joy in your life currently was the same one you were crying over. 

The only other thing you could think of was your cat. 

Stevie. Who’d, thankfully, followed you into the bathroom, trotting behind you as she’d probably sensed that you needed her. She was a damn smart cat. 

So, you sat on the edge of the tub to pet her where she sat on the toilet seat. You were super fucking grateful for the little fluff ball. Her icy blue eyes found your crying ones, so she leaned her head in your direction, signaling for you to pet her. Then, she started purring, which brought the sort of serene calm that only a cat’s purr could. The vibration from her body to yours was bringing you back down to earth, reassuring you.

Then, as you were petting her, you felt your stomach pinch and twist in a way that usually signaled your least favorite, bloody aunt. 

Of course.

As you sat to pee and assess the cramps, you thought about it all, glancing at Stevie’s sweet face as she now sat across from you on the ground, licking at her paws. Things would be okay. They would. This situation with Jake wasn’t as serious as you were making it out to be.

Right?

You just weren’t fucking ready for the way it was undoubtedly going to hurt first, in order to be okay in the end.

After peeing, you lifted the toilet paper to see if you were truly that unlucky. And, you were met with what you already knew to be true: you were on your motherfucking period. 

Your life was going just great.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You’d thought it best to head to bed early, claiming that your terrible cramping stomach was causing you pain. (It was true– your period was good for something, at least. . . get you out of the room that had been suffocating you all night.)

All of the boys had seemed a little down about you leaving so soon, but you just bid them all goodnight and blew kisses in all of their directions. You were trying very hard to just act like your normal self. It was time to come back to fucking earth.

You had purposefully ignored Jake. You hadn’t looked at him at all after coming out of the bathroom, and your pocket buzzed with texts a couple times. But you kept it hidden in your back pocket.

When you’d gotten to your bedroom, you’d taken a Midol, willing the cramps to stay at bay. And when they started fading, you decided to try to sleep.

But all you did was lay there, staring at the ceiling.  

You could hear the boys talking in the living room. All about their upcoming festival that coming weekend. You were longing to be out there with them, but you just let yourself lay in your bed and listen to the little pieces of what you could hear through the door.

A lot of talking from the three that didn’t live with you occurred (well, mostly Sam and Josh), but Jake stayed oddly quiet. He was always one to jump in on music talk— especially if it had to do with the music he was making.

Every now and then you’d hear his input, but it happened very little.

You’d almost fallen asleep when you heard two hushed, familiar voices talking outside of the bathroom, which sat right next to your bedroom door. Through the blurriness of your opening eyes, you looked at the door through which you heard them.

It was Josh’s you heard first. 

“What is going on?” 

Then, Jake.

“What do you mean?”

A little huff-growl came from the charismatic mouth of the curly-headed twin. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, Jacob.”

When you heard Josh’s little growl through the thick wood of the door, it was a little funny. He was always so fucking dramatic, and you loved that about him. But it was simultaneously why you were scared as hell for him to ever find out about you and Jake. So, through the door, you willed Jake to play it cool. 

Quit wearing your emotions on your fucking sleeve, Jake, you thought, annoyed. There’s literally no reason for you to be upset. 

“I’m not,” Jake persisted, his voice stern enough to convince someone who wasn’t you (or his twin). “I’m just worn the fuck out.”

The last part sounded real, though. You could sense the slight weariness in his tone. Were you wearing him out?

“Is it Maya?” Josh questioned. “You got all up in arms when Sam brought her up. Are you still seeing her? I was honestly convinced you weren’t.”

Huh? Surely Josh would know if Jake was still fucking her. . . And if he didn’t know, surely it wasn’t happening. . .

The hope that momentarily rose in your chest was embarrassing. 

Because, just as soon as it was there, you were reality-checking yourself.

Josh also had no clue about the two of you, so. . .

Maybe Jake was just doing a stellar job at blocking some of the telepathic wavelength they normally shared. Fuck if you knew. 

“I guess you could say part of it is her,” Jake responded. “Saw her the other day, you know.” 

“Oh?” Josh wondered. “I thought you couldn’t date clients.”

“We’re not dating.”

“You’re involved.”

“I guess,” Jake said, relenting. 

Fuck.

“What do you mean you guess?” Josh challenged. “Are you or aren’t you?”

“It’s more complicated than that, Josh.”

Complicated? Goddammit. How had you been so oblivious to him being in a complicated arrangement with another woman?

“No it’s fucking not.”

“Yes it is,” your roommate insisted. 

And there he was, getting sensitive in reference to this woman, yet again.

“Jesus fuck,” Josh exasperated. “Whatever it is, you need to pull your shit together. Get it figured out because it’s clearly a touchy subject. And you and I both know now is not the time to get all up in arms with Sam about something like this.”

“I know,” Jake conceded. You envisioned him nudging at his nose with his pointer finger, shaking his head to himself. You’d spent so much time recently watching his reactions to things. . . you were becoming a pro at his mannerisms (when you definitely shouldn’t be).

“Now is not the time to be getting involved with anyone— especially if it’s just a quick fuck,” Josh emphasized the last part. Your heart lodged in your throat. “You know better, Jake. And you know that now is the time to focus on yourself rather than a woman– focusing on anything besides this monumental time in your life could hurt you.”

“Monumental,” Jake scoffed. “It’s just a festival.”

“You know it’s not. God, this is what I mean!” Josh said, his voice raising a bit. When he spoke again, he was back to using a muzzled tone again. “Quit acting like that. You’ve waited your whole life for this.”

“Josh, I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“You don’t want another Amelia situation— where you become so obsessed with a woman that you move to Illi-fuckin’-nois, put yourself on the fucking back burner, and give up on the thing you love the most. Because when you do that to yourself, you do it to all of us, too.” 

Amelia? There was no question to who Josh was describing. Putting a name to his ex girlfriend was strange, to say the least. By hearing her name, she seemed more than just a figment of history. Giving her a name made her that much more real – and it made everything else feel so much more real along with it.

The reality of your situation. And you’d be damned if you were the reason he gave up his fucking dream again–you’d known it was a possibility for him to do the same with you as he’d done with her. And Josh saying all of this made you feel completely validated in all of your original fears. 

You refused to be the one that ruined everything for them– for him. 

And to be viewed in such a negative light as Amelia was to Josh. . . that fucking terrified you, too.

“How dare you fucking bring her up? This is not the same fucking thing. You know that, Josh.”

“Are you sure? Because based on how you acted when Maya was brought up, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Josh scoffed. His voice softened when he added, “Can you just fucking look out for yourself—just a little bit?” He pleaded, his voice breaking a bit. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. Fuck, Jake. I would just really appreciate it if you cared about yourself the way you deserve–.”

You heard another snicker from Jake. 

“Stop it,” Josh sternly stated. You heard a muffled ‘ow’ from Jake. Had Josh hit him or something? Damn. “I’m tired of being the only one to care about your happiness, Jacob. You know I will continue to be here for you–always, but I need you to take this time in your career seriously. Don’t let an unstable relationship get in the way.”

In that moment, you knew that where you’d stood since the beginning in believing how important Jake’s career was had not been in vain. It was his dream—his career. . . His livelihood. It was also completely apparent that you had been correct in knowing how Josh would feel about an arrangement like the one you and his brother had going on.

The entire thing had been a foolish, selfish idea. . . 

You could slap yourself for giving into the temptation. 

Eventually, the conversation between the twins faded out. A couple of slightly dismissive “okays” from Jake and “I love yous” exchanged between the two. 

Then, you were met with the noise from the living room again. Planning, planning, planning from the four men. . .

And you were stuck in the still, quiet darkness of your room, making a plan of your own as the moon highlighted your covers and Stevie’s body curled in a peaceful, sleeping state.

Oh, how you envied your cat and her obliviousness to the stark, upsetting reality of life.

The entire interaction outside your bedroom between your best friend and the man you’d centered your life around as of late. . . 

It sealed what you knew you had to do.

-🌼🌼🌼-

August 19, 2022

You were deeply regretting being at this fucking music festival.

The busyness of everything around you was making you feel like a little bug— with fluttering wings that were about to get stomped. Ironically, your body was buzzing like an insect— from the inside out.

Your old friend, Anxiety, was along with you for the ride. Also Elsie.

And your cramps.

Thankfully, you’d waited to come until later in the day. The boys had been there all day, but you’d chosen to not go when they did, and instead wait for Elsie’s plane to get in at the airport so you could get ready, then arrive together. You were slightly shocked that she showed up on a sort of whim. But she’d been insistent on being at the festival to support Josh and witness this “big step” in his career. 

They weren’t performing until early evening anyway, so it would’ve been pointless to stand around while they busied themselves doing whatever the bands were supposed to do beforehand.

By the time the two of you had fixed yourselves up to attend and found your reserved place on the lawn, it was very nearly packed full. The security was, thankfully, super kind in accepting your VIP badges, so your anxiety didn’t flare up as bad as it could have as you made your way to the spot at the front. And having Elsie there helped a ton. 

But, combined with the mass amount of sweaty bodies and non-stop chatter and drunk singing and dancing around you, you felt your skin crawl, and as if you were about to combust from the inside out. These crowded places were not your forte, but you couldn’t pass up being at these shows. 

Elsie was right– this was a big step.

And Josh had been right when he’d told Jake it was monumental.

You’d seen the lineup. You knew who’d be performing at this festival– band names that any random person on the street would know. Not Metallica-type bands. . .not yet. But popular groups nonetheless.

Jake’s dream was coming true, and you had to be there to witness this. To experience it alongside him. While you could.

But, as you looked to your left, on the left wing of the stage, you saw them.

Her.

Her beautiful, bronzed skin on display in her black dress. Her perfectly shaped hourglass figure being complimented by the short length, and the deep V at the neckline. 

No VIP badge like yourself, but she was backstage with him. Did she arrive with him? They were talking animatedly, her hand naturally resting on his arm when she’d say something. Her boisterous laughter every time he would say something. (He is most definitely not that funny. Fucking tryhard.) Even as he tuned his guitar, she stood there. And without fail, he would glance up every now and then to add something. . . or to simply smile at her. 

It made your stomach lurch. You felt like you were going to be sick. 

And, of course, Elsie caught on. Her observatory brain catches everything.

You hadn’t seen her watching them with you, her eyes darting back and forth between you and them as you were stuck in your watchful trance. But you knew, as soon as she grabbed your tricep that she’d been tuned in to your reaction at the entire display.

“Who’s the new fling?” Elsie’s joking voice pulled you from where your stare had been placed for the last several minutes. 

Suddenly, you felt extremely on edge and defensive. Anger heated your blood to a boiling temperature.

“It’s none of our business, Elsie,” you snapped.

“Oookay,” Elsie scoffed, flipping her natural curls back behind her shoulder. She crossed her arms. “You can’t pull that shit on me. I saw you fucking watching them– making it your business. Just answer the question.”

“Bold of you to assume I even know her name,” you rolled your eyes, playing it off the best you could. 

The way she leveled you with her eyes reminded you how stupid it was to attempt hiding anything from your older sister. (Again, her observatory mind misses nothing. Even when you wish it would at times.)

You sighed, pushing a hand through your hair to wave it away from your face. Sweat was accumulating on your forehead, right at your hairline. You felt gross. “Her name is Maya.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, squinting as she tapped her chin. “Maya. . . okay. How long?”

“Apparently since he moved here,” you replied, trying to keep the emotion from your tone. 

She gave you a look that said she knew better, but didn’t give you a hard time. (Praise God.)

“Wow,” she blew out a long breath through her lips, the color of mulled wine. “And then he fucked you midway through fucking her?”

You flinched at the wording. “Damn, crass much?”

“Shut the fuck up,” she retorted. “You talk the same exact way as me, bitch.”

“Whatever,” you said, annoyed by her, but comforted by the familiar banter. You missed her being around. . . so much. “And yes, the timeline seems to allude to that.”

“Does that upset you?”

You were glad she had the decency to pose the question. . . even though you knew she wanted to outrightly state what she already knew to be true.

“No,” you derided. “It’s just his classic asshole behavior,” the words felt wrong coming from your mouth. You knew he wasn’t an asshole. Moments in time, of him talking to you, comforting you flickered through your mind like a reel. You tried your best to cover it with another dismissive (yet truthful) response. “And, we’re not together now and we weren’t together then. He’s had every right to fuck whomever he pleased.”

“Mhm,” she grinned, still narrowing her eyes at you. But, she played along, her blue eyes catching sight of something behind you for a few seconds. “Well, however you’re feeling— I can tell you right now that he still thinks you're fine as hell.”

It was your turn to scoff, pursing your lips, painted in the same lipstick as hers. “What encouraged you to say something so asinine?”

“Not asinine,” she snarked, looking over your shoulder to the left wing again. “I’m literally currently observing this man devouring you with his eyes.”

Your skin heated, but you didn’t want to turn around. At the present moment, you didn’t know how to feel about him looking at you that way. Did you want that? Yes. Should you want that? Absolutely not.  Especially after you’d found out what had been happening behind your back for the entirety of your escapade– shit. No. Not behind your back. He hadn’t been keeping the fling a secret. He simply didn’t need to make you privy to it. There was no reason. 

In the back of your mind, you heard your obnoxious voice stating your rules for him (and now reminding yourself what had been set in place). 

“No questions or comments about dates the other one may have. It’s not our business.”

The last four words were ringing in your head, whether you wanted them to or not. Still, it made your heart sink to think that he was looking at you and Maya the same way. . .

Fuck. Don’t. Cry.

“Sis?” Elsie’s attentive voice yet again brought you out of your funk. “Talk to me.”

Your sad eyes were impossible to hide. It was getting harder and harder to fake in front of her. But still, you shook your head and mouthed a ‘no’ while also sniffling to dry up the tears.

“Okay,” she soothed, conceding for the time being. “But I’m not going to lie to you and tell you he’s not looking right at you. He hasn’t stopped fucking staring for the last several minutes.”

Truly not able to help it, you glanced over your shoulder to where you’d seen him before.

And she was completely correct. You felt the way his eyes burned against your skin, enveloping every piece of skin he could get his eyes on. 

Admittedly, there was plenty of skin for him to gape at. 

What you’d chosen to wear was pretty hot. A couple weeks ago, you’d ordered a few pieces online for the festival. Funnily enough, Jake had even given his input on some of it as you’d been leaning against him on the couch as you placed the order.

“You’re going to look so fucking sexy,” he had said. 

Those words are like a broken record playing over and over in your mind as you position yourself just so, popping your hip a bit in a way that makes your ass look really good. (If he was going to stare, why not make a little show of it?) It was a white piece that he had ultimately helped you decide on. 

(White was honestly an extremely risky move considering your current, fucking crampy situation.)

You hadn’t planned well according to your stupid ass cycle. Going off of your birth control, months prior, had thrown you ridiculously off track of your cycles.

Nevertheless, this (tiny) outfit was what you wanted to wear– what you’d gotten specifically for this occasion. So you were going to wear it, dammit. Knowing that festivals called for outfits on the more daring side, you’d gone all out in wearing as little as you possibly could.

The shirt was almost a halter top, but completely opened around your back and in the front. The only thing keeping your round breasts from being completely exposed, two pieces of fabric, connected at the neck. Although, your cleavage left little to the imagination. 

A delicate white corded rope wrapped around your body connecting the only two pieces of material that made up the entirety of the top. So, your chest was covered, but very nearly bare, nonetheless. 

Taking advantage of the exposed skin of your tummy, you opted to add a circle of sparkling rhinestones around your belly button. A little something special you planned a while ago that you hadn’t told Jake about, leaving it to be a sexy little surprise for him. 

The wrapped skirt, low-waisted and very short, made it easy to showcase the body jewelry Jake had specially picked out for you. 

You’d asked if he had any requests for the outfit since it was his event. And his only request had been to incorporate a little bit of body jewelry.

“To highlight this beautiful, magical body,” he’d said, reaching a hand around you to reach under your t-shirt. He’d traced a finger from your sternum, then below your breasts, and all the way to cross your tummy and hips. “I wanna see you sparkle underneath that bright sun.”

“And if it rains?” You’d turned, raising your brow and nudging his nose with your own.

He’d played along, and then gave the tip of yours a light peck. “You’ll still sparkle,” he’d smiled, making you feel so warm and cozy . . .

So, here you were, wearing the gold, belt-like chains that twinkled in the summer sun. 

There was one delicate chain that started as a dainty necklace at your throat, and trailed between your breasts, which accumulated in more pieces at your waist. The suns dangling from one piece added to the summertime vibe, and the other sparkly chains glistened against your skin. You’d even sprayed some sparkly body spray to add to the color of your sun-kissed, golden hue. Your makeup, lighter around the eyes, only some sparkly shadow and a slight wing to accompany your long, mascara-coated lashes. Hair in loose curls.

You’d wanted to look good for him.

And your ego was elevated by giving you his attention at the moment— even though Maya was standing there, right next to him. Albeit, she was busy talking to someone hidden behind the curtain, but his gaze was planted firmly on you. She could look up at any moment and see it. He wasn’t trying to hide the way he’d fixed his eyes on you. 

Even from where you stood, looking at him, halfway turned around. . . you could see how dark his eyes were, studying every last bit of you. You’d gotten used to seeing them darken like that. . . You were familiar with the way he was looking at you. His lids were drooping over his eyes, which raked deliciously from your white heeled boots, all the way up to where your own eyes were still watching him.

When your gazes intertwined, you felt your cheeks flare pink. Your breath caught in your throat at how he was intently poring over you. Your stomach tied in knots and your panties got wet when he bit his lip, winked at you, and subtly adjusted himself behind his guitar. 

Fuck, Jake, you licked your lips, biting your lower one softly. 

He looked hot as hell. His long, chestnut locks, flowing perfectly around his face with the occasional breeze. His black shirt, completely unbuttoned, showing you so much of his immaculate, golden chest and abdomen. Your eyes lingered on that solid abdomen— the same one that pushed just right, against you, as he would lay over you, fucking you with all he had. And his black jeans, tight against his glorious thighs.

When you saw him reach in his back pocket for his iPhone, he didn’t drag his lusty stare away until the very last second. Until he had to. Almost instantly, you felt your clear, festival-approved bag buzz against your hip. 

It was definitely embarrassing how quickly you snapped it open and looked at the text awaiting you on the screen. 

I really should turn the previews off, you thought absentmindedly, promising yourself you’d get that done soon, so as not to get caught exchanging these texts with him.

Little bit late for that, the stupid voice in your head shoved itself into your moment. It won’t even matter soon. 

But you pushed that critical voice the hell away. Just for now. 

When you opened your thread of texts, you avoided the texts from previous nights, still not wanting to read where he’d checked in on you. It was pointless to do so. And what awaited you below them was much better anyway.

Jake, 5:45 p.m.: I am rock fucking hard for you right now

Dammit.

Jake, 5:45 p.m.: how am I supposed to concentrate when you look like that in the crowd?

How am I supposed to make it through an entire performance of yours, so close to the stage? Watch you fuck your guitar and wish it was me. . .

Jake, 5:46 p.m.: One wrong move and those tits are out

Jake, 5:46 p.m.: goddamn. I need to bend you over

Fuck, Jake. Quit it. 

You squeezed your legs together, crossing them to alleviate the way you were throbbing.

Jake, 5:47 p.m.: I can’t wait to get you the fuck home after this thing is over

You squeezed your eyes shut, thinking of every bad, horrible, terrible thing you could. And when you opened them, you let out a breath you’d been holding in. But the pulsing happening in your underwear was still making you feel hot, sweating from more than the evening sun.

But when you glanced back up, he was gone. 

Half of you didn’t want to text him back, afraid he’d gone off with Maya to relieve himself. Though, to your relief, your eyes found her, still standing there, talking to a crew member. 

She hadn’t gone with him. . .

You tried texting him, reminding him of the sad, current truth of your body. 

You, 5:48 p.m.: I’m on my period, Jake. Lol. You know this.

Jake, 5:49 p.m.: I know. I haven’t stopped thinking about it, actually. 

Jake, 5:49 p.m.: I want you so fucking bad

Jake, 5:49 p.m.: do you want it?

Fuck. What did you say to that? You’d never had a guy want sex with you during your period. . . And the fact that he wanted it? Was willing to do it? That was fucking hot.

But you were conflicted since your period was your one way of staying abstinent from him. . . Fuck. You’d forced yourself to deny him because you were on your period. You’d even told him you were in hopes that he would be too grossed out to tempt you. But he wasn’t grossed out. He wanted you, still. . . And you needed him. . . so bad. . .

What would the harm be in just giving in to it tonight? Maybe attempting to have sex and forcing yourself to eliminate feelings while doing so would be helpful. . . a way to sort of ween yourself off of sex. (Fucking ridiculous, huh?) You decided you’d take time to think about it. Let the show play through first. 

It was completely against what you knew you should be doing: breaking all things off. 

You, 5:51 p.m.: How about we talk after the show?

You’d waited for him to respond, but he never did. It would have normally worried you, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was at a music festival. Chances were, he was busy. They were also set to perform at six. You knew that much. And, right at 6:00, you were proven correct as you heard the beginning of screams and the beating of a bass drum. Before you looked up, you sent one more text.

You, 6:01 p.m.: Break a leg!

-🌼🌼🌼-

And break a leg he did. 

There’d been a few mishaps. Josh’s mic had gotten turned off midway through a song, Sam’s bass had been overbearingly loud at the beginning of the set, and Jake’s cord had initially had trouble picking up through his amp. 

You’d watched the first two incidents happen, hating it for the guys that they were having technical difficulties. But when Jake’s problem had occurred, you were feeling every bit of anxiety with him. You wanted to jump over the barricade and help him in whatever way you could. Ease his stress. 

But when his face had flashed with anger every now and again (very subtly— his professionalism impressing you), your cheeks had flushed at the way he’d looked so heated. Then, when he’d ended up yanking the cord from his guitar, his hand flexing around the cable, gripping it with all he had. . . You couldn’t stop what accumulated between your thighs. And when his lips had curled with a small growl, right as he turned around to switch guitars, giving up, your heart started beating, quick. Right below your breasts, rising and falling with every sharp breath you took. 

After that, he’d had no more issues, but you’d kept a closer eye on him than before (if that was even possible), for the rest of the set. There was literally nothing you could do from your spot, but just keeping a watchful eye made you feel better.

Though, he never looked out to find you, even though he knew exactly where you stood. In fact, he stayed rather focused on his brothers only. He watched them closely, looking as though he was ready to help if the need were to arise.

But there hadn’t been another problem for the four men. 

In fact, the rest had gone on without the slightest hitch. The way they seamlessly played off the mistakes was incredible, too. It truly showed their dedication to the art.

And the difficulties they’d encountered only added to the grand finale. . . The song you’d always associate with the first night you finally got what you’d so badly wanted. . . 

Edge of Darkness. 

Though, as much as you wanted to look at Jake (and the rest of the guys, of course), you had to look behind you to the hoards of screaming people. All of the women that were shrieking for them— it wasn’t a new thing, necessarily. . . But you were only used to the people who frequented small hole-in-the-wall shows. 

Not full-on festival goers. 

Not actual fans, reaching for one another, pointing their friends in the direction of a certain guy, doe eyes directed at each of the boys they’d scream for. 

Then there were the bras that were being thrown at the stage, over and over again. That was pretty funny— you couldn’t lie. 

But what wasn’t funny was the person watching from the opposite side of the lawn as you. She had her own section, too, maybe? 

From where you were standing, you weren’t sure if she did or if she was just GA. . . Surely if she’d been backstage she had a special place, though. . . If you were right in your assumption of her arriving with him, then you were sure that she had her own designated spot to stand. But why on Sammy’s side? Now your mind pwas running rampant. . .Had Jake been watching his brothers during the show? Or watching her when he’d looked that way?

Fuck— it didn’t matter.

All of this information you were trying to figure out. . . was just making your stomach churn. The way she watched him, biting her lip with a wide smile during his solo. Her eyes trailed his body in blatant admiration. 

Because she knows what’s underneath those clothes, the voice in your head reminded you. You’re not special. Can’t you tell?

But what really got you lost in your head, was when she started singing along with Josh. She knew the fucking lyrics. Every last word. As if she’d heard them a hundred times before.

That wonderful voice in your head suddenly reminded you of the fact that he was teaching her to play guitar. 

What if Jake was teaching her their songs during her lessons? What if she helped him write some of the material? What if. . . some of them were written about her? She had inspired him. . . of that you were almost completely sure. How could she not? She was fucking beautiful. She was not you. He would be insane to not feel inspired by just looking at her. 

Your mind began running far, far away from you with all of the unknowns surrounding the ever present mystery that came with Maya. Wrapping your arms around your body self-consciously, you looked back at the stage to try your hardest to enjoy the rest of the show.

You knew you were probably overthinking it, that it more than likely wasn’t that deep. But, anything was possible. And the way he had kept his involvement with her a secret for so long, (and if it weren’t for Sam, you’d probably still be blind to the fact that anything had ever happened between them) there were clearly things he didn’t want you to know about with her, or he would have brought it up. Despite your stupid fucking rules you had set in place. You knew he would have told you if he wanted to. 

It became increasingly obvious to you at that moment, watching Jake live out his dream on that stage with his brothers that you were most definitely not fit to live out the dream with him. She seemed to be so much more involved in it than you had ever been. Or tried to be. So selfish of you. 

Maya was so enthusiastic, so attentive to him beforehand. All day long, while you’d waited on Elsie, so as not to go to this event by yourself and look strange as the guys did their shit. How stupid was that? It sounded utterly foolish now. Because she hadn’t worried about that, coming no matter what, to be there with him.

Supporting him while you were being selfish at home. You were so concerned with other senseless things that you couldn’t be there with him to show him actual support. The necessary change, which lingered like a dark cloud over your head, just kept becoming more and more apparent. . . It would be foolish for you to not end things when it was obvious they needed to end.

-🌼🌼🌼-

When the show ended, Josh texted Elsie.  

No text on your end from Jake, but you tried not to overthink it. 

Josh had wanted you two to meet them backstage to get the “full experience,” as his message had iterated.

Then you were being ushered by security, who had apparently been told to locate you and transport you, filtering you into the area where the guys would convene after the show. 

Before you had too much time to stand and appreciate the space around you, you noticed Jake pass you, angrily. Storming off somewhere, it seemed. Your eyes followed him helplessly, worriedly. He didn’t even acknowledge you, his brothers trailing after him, but presumably giving up as they stopped in front of you and Elsie instead. 

It was excellent timing, though, because just as they’d come to a stop in front of you, Maya was coming up behind Josh, tapping him on the shoulder. Her long, inky waves billowed out like curtains around her heart shaped face. She seemed just as flustered as Jake had been. But where his was out of anger, hers was with an air of concern. 

“Where is he?” She’d asked, hastily, her brows drawn in with worry.

Fuck. Even her voice was effortlessly majestic. Without being able to control them, you felt the prick of tears behind your eyes. Your heart was going a million miles an hour. What did she know that you didn’t? Why was she so involved? Were you simply the one he wanted to fuck and sext? 

Why did it feel like it was just a little more than that with you? Had it been more than sex, ever? Was that something you’d conjured up in your head?

Josh had just rolled his eyes, motioning over in the direction in which he’d gone. “Over there somewhere, I guess,” he said. “But you’d be wise to let him be. He’s in a shit fucking mood. I told him time and time again he needed to replace that amp cable. He just wouldn’t listen to me.” 

She groaned and placed her open palm on her forehead, she scratched a well manicured finger to her shapely black brow. “I knew he would have an issue with that one of these days. I just hate that it was here.” 

She knew about it? About his amp cable that had apparently bitten the dust? It was like watching an entire new part of his life unfold before you, a part that you were not good enough to be involved with. Mundane things that only the people closest to him were aware of– but not you. 

You started feeling ten levels beneath her rank in Jake’s life. She was stories above you; you were obviously just a free pussy for him to park himself in when he needed it. A warm place for him to come home to, that was it. And you, so fucking willing to give it to him. His beautiful, sculpted body always made you so goddamn weak. 

You had remembered the texts you had gotten earlier– how badly he wanted to fuck you, despite your monthly visitor taking up residence. You’d thought it was so sexy that he still wanted to, that he was desperate to have your body tangled up with his no matter the circumstance. That had turned you on beyond all imagination. 

But now, as you were beginning to realize what you had meant to him in comparison to Maya. . . the feeling disappeared. Hell, she probably received those exact same messages as you, maybe even more. Maybe he had already snuck off somewhere to fuck her before you showed up. 

There was just so much you didn’t know. Your thoughts were swirling like a storm ripping through the sturdiest house, destroying everything deemed safe in its wake. He felt safe. Now, it all felt demolished. Maya was the perfectly ominous storm cloud blocking your rays of warm, shining sun.

All you wanted to do was go home, take a Midol, curl up under your blanket with your heating pad and forget about it all. Forget about Maya, forget about the festival, forget Jake. 

Maya was then gone, running in the direction of Jake while quickly thanking Josh as he gave her a half smile with a “yeah, no problem,” leaving his tensed lips. His love stricken eyes were glued to your sister, relieved to see her. It was obvious he was only concerned with her being there, rather than Jake’s pissy theatrics. 

He also lacked any emotion at what was happening behind him. As if it were the norm. The beautiful woman who was being shown by security where to go, being led directly to the man that had given her more of himself than he’d ever even thought to give you. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Hours later, as you sat in your bed, face washed and in a giant t-shirt, sweatpants, and fluffy socks, you wished you could just go to fucking sleep.

You’d tried reading a steamy romance to distract you, but that had been a witless idea as all that had done was make you cry. The characters, hopelessly in love, looked like Maya and Jake in your head– so meant to be and written in a way that left them utterly transfixed with each other. Your brain was fucking wired and going crazy.

I knew this was a risk.

I knew emotions were bound to get involved. 

I knew that I was going to get hurt one way or another. 

You’d already cried plenty once you’d arrived home. What had started the onslaught of tears had been seeing his door, hanging open like it had been earlier, as he’d left in a flurry to make it to the festival. He’d kissed you before he’d left, and you’d bid him good luck. Your body had been filled to the brim with reassurance that things weren’t completely off. That maybe you had overthought some of the way you’d felt in the bathroom on Wednesday. Maybe you’d misunderstood him and Josh. 

You felt like a fucking moron, now, for getting butterflies at the interaction. Any time he’d ever kissed you, that same fluttery feeling occurred in your tummy, and it all felt ridiculously in vain now. Completely misplaced wistfulness and giddiness. 

Why had you gotten your hopes up at all?

You had just decided to take an ibuprofen to help with your cramps and hopefully lull you to sleep (as it usually did), when you heard the front door quietly open and close.

You had heard your phone buzz a few times in the past couple of hours, presumably messages from him. Everyone else had heard you say you were going home. And you knew what Josh and Elsie were most likely up to, far too busy to text. . . But you had opted to just ignore them. You hadn't even bothered looking at the bright screen. You didn’t want to talk to him.

After a few moments, there was a soft knock on your door. Then another. “Y/n? Are you asleep?” He had asked, his voice so soft.

You didn’t answer. The tears that climbed your throat made you think better of that.

“Are you okay?”

Again, you didn’t answer. You decided to pretend to be asleep. To avoid him altogether. 

Any other time, you’d be jumping down this throat, picking an argument over literally anything just to satisfy the hurt you’d sustained. But tonight, it was different. You just didn’t have it in you. 

You didn’t have the energy. You were sad, not necessarily angry. And you wouldn’t dare let him see you that way.

Aside from that, you knew that if he advanced you the way he’d said he wanted to earlier, you’d give in to his allure. You knew yourself all too well. And that was the last thing you wanted to give him. You had no clue what you were anymore, so why in the hell would you risk doing that? Continue to give him more of yourself when he wasn’t giving you all of himself? If that’s what he wanted so badly, Maya would surely be more than happy to fulfill that for him. 

“Well,” he started, his voice even softer than it was before. You could have ignored it. But, in spite of yourself, you hung on to each rasping word. “I know you’re probably asleep. I just– I wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked tonight and how glad I was that you were there. I always perform better when you’re there,” he cleared his throat, then continued. “Sleep tight, baby.”

You heard his footsteps lightly step away, heading to his room. You heard his door open and then shut soon after. 

Like a flood with no dam to hold it at bay, heavy tears began streaming down your face. Your pillow was soaked with your emotions in a matter of seconds. You brought your hand up to cover your mouth in an effort to quiet the choked sobs as they came from your throat. You just wanted to sleep. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

August 22, 2022

That following Monday, school started like you had been dreading.

But when the day came, you sort of accepted it as something that could alleviate some of your pent up emotions. Thankfully, you weren’t on your period anymore for your feelings to be raging.

However, they were persistently there. Mocking you for still being involved with him when all signs were pointing to him being involved with Maya, too. She was exactly what he needed.

You were a placeholder. Insignificant. Convenient.

So, when classes came along, they helped to bring some of your sense of purpose back. You were able to count on your coursework, professors, and peers to remind you that you were more than being free pussy for your roommate. You’d let your emotions guide you more into being angry than sad. It helped you to let them melt to a simmering ire. 

For instance, avoiding Jake had been easier. You had been able to rely on your period, the temper that bubbled below your skin, your work schedule on Saturday, and a meeting that he and the guys had participated in the Sunday after the festival.

Of course, he’d asked if you were okay whenever you’d seen him, but you’d given him barely-there responses like:

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Thinking about a lot.”

“Hormones are just insane right now. . .“

“School’s getting ready to start, so I’m just gearing up.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

Every time, he looked at you like he didn’t believe you were telling him the whole truth (how did he always know?). You knew it was a complete 360 from how vulnerable you’d let yourself be with him recently, but you silently relied on how long it had taken you to open up prior. Because you knew that he knew from experience that you didn’t like to overtly open up all the time. So, naturally, that also meant he didn’t push it a whole lot.

But you caught his glances– wondering and worrying about you. It was definitely fair for him to be curious, of course, but you’d just ignored his curiosity– pretended to not pick up on it. Acted oblivious. 

He’d texted you good morning texts every morning, too. Which he hadn’t always done before. . . but it was like he was trying as hard as he could to get you to trust him with whatever was going on in your head.

All you ever did was send a small “Morning!” or “Have a good day!” back, though. . . Mentally all you could revert back to was that he was probably the same exact way with Maya. Acted concerned for her. . . wanted her to trust him and open up to him and sleep with him. . . 

And you were sure it meant more to him with her. She was special. You were not. You were you. 

Average. His roommate. Sometimes maybe a friend.

You didn’t know though. Because any time he had acted like it was more, it had maybe just been a weird ploy. Why he felt the need to deceive you in any regard– like getting to you and figuring you out and being close to you for no reason– that was beyond you. 

You just knew people couldn’t always be trustworthy. Even the ones you wanted to trust most of all.

-🌼🌼🌼-

August 26, 2022

The bell on the door chimed, telling you someone was entering the shop, but you didn’t glance up to see who it was as you were in the middle of unpacking a random box of new vinyl.

You were just ready to get home. So ready to get off work. You weren’t even worried about Jake being there. You knew he had the day off, but you didn’t give two shits. He would cease to exist the moment you crossed the threshold of your home anyway. Your bed was calling your name from here. You were tired as hell.

The first Friday of every school year was normally tiring, but this one was worse due to the stressors of your personal life and the already-searing intensity of senior year.

“Hello, my love.”

That voice. It never failed to make your heart leap with delight. Your eyes were still tired, but your heart, now elated and full when you looked up to see Josh. For some reason beyond you, it just seemed entirely right for him to pop in. Felt like old times– before you worried about all kinds of shit. Him being present made everything feel tranquil in your current, opposite predicament. 

And his next words tempted even more tranquility. 

“I’ve got some fucking exquisite pot,” he beamed, one hand on his hip and the other balanced above his head, on the wooden shelf of records that you were stocking with more. 

You giggled, your eyes blinking tiredly. “Where the fuck is it? You already smoke some?”

“Fuck no, little mama,” he shooed away your words with his hand. “I’m waiting to do that with you.”

How did he know that this was exactly what you needed?

“Way to show up and rub it in my face while I’m stuck at work,” you rolled your eyes, smile still sitting easily on your lips. “That’s just rude, Joshua.”

He snorted. “You’re like ten minutes away from being off the clock, drama queen. I’m just letting you know I’m on my way to your place with it. We’ll be waiting for you.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” You smirked, raising a brow at the Indie vinyl that you were tucking in its spot. “You and Mary Jane?”

“Technically, I guess,” he stated as if he appreciated the slight joke. “But the guys as well.”

You froze with your hand on the record you’d just placed. Fuck. Ugh. No. 

That is literally the last thing I need, you thought, cross.

You grumbled under your breath, smoothing the top of the sleeve, trying to play it off. How could you convince him to ditch the others? The man who was the precise reason you wanted to get high off your ass?  “What happened to the days where just you and I would hang out?”

“Now that would be rude of me to not include at least one of them. . . as Jake was the one to mention you needing something to ease some stress,” he picked at a nail. “And the other two are just always there.”

What? What all had Jake told your curly headed friend? Why was he even talking about you? He needed to mind his fucking business.

“He wanted you to get me high? That’s gentlemanly.”

He cleared his throat, prompting you to look at him. His wide eyes were narrowed at you, a look of judgment swimming in them. “No. . .? Why would you assume that? Jake would never suggest getting a woman high to calm her down. I personally just enjoy feeling like the fuckin’ air to alleviate my worries, so. . . I decided on the weed.” 

His full eyebrows were still crinkled, mildly hidden by his growing hair. The curls touched the arch of his brow now, falling loosely over his ears. He finished with some words that cut through to you in a way you wished they wouldn’t. “He might be a dick sometimes, but he’s not all bad. You really need to stop thinking so little of him.”

Ouch, Josh. Stay in your lane. Don’t counsel me.

“Well, he’s the one who brought it up,” you said, tone still sharp and cutting through Stevie Wonder’s voice, ironically singing of being too shy to say things. “I just figured it had all been his idea.”

“Well, no,” he said, correcting. He backed up just a bit to lean against the front of the counter to talk from there. No one was in the store. Save for the fact you were talking about Jake, this felt so like the past. . . before everything. You could’ve cried (so much crying, Jesus). He crossed his legs at the ankle and arms at his chest. “All I told you was that he told me you were stressed and a little sad.”

Sad and stressed? Also, how did he know you were sad? That was a matter of assumption. Again, he needed to mind his damn business.

“Well, I don’t know why he’d go and assume I’m sad. That seems invasive as hell,” you began. “But I have been stressed. Why he’s telling you, I don’t know. But you already know the beginning of the school year is always a lot.”

Also, your brother and his girlfriend are all I can think about and it’s making me feel like dirt.

“I think he cares about you. Weird as it may seem, he has a soft spot for you,” he says, his eyes glinting and a little smile tugging on his full lips. “I mean, for God’s sake, he went to your grandparents’ house with you. . . He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t.”

Your heart was beating erratically in your chest. It didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter. For all you knew, he did the same shit with Maya. You weren’t special. But why did Josh taking the time to tell you this make you feel like maybe you were just a little bit unique? 

You couldn’t help but ask your next question. You were hoping it didn’t give you away. But Josh was the perfect person to ask. . . Nonchalantly as possible, of course. 

Continuing to sort through records in the massive delivery box, you avoided his eyes when you asked, “Doesn’t get soft for people easily?” 

“One could say he picks his people. . . And I guess you’re one of them,” he offered as his answer. Then, you saw his hand grab into the box to help you with the records. You peered up to where he’d positioned himself in front of you. “And who wouldn’t go all soft for you, y/n? You’re one of the most precious humans this world has ever been given. I knew it was only due time until Jake noticed.”

As soon as he said it, he’d smiled, and decided to go about his business helping you. But you just kept staring at him. The tears that welled in your eyes were unavoidable. You needed to hear that. As you felt a few fall down your cheeks, you walked around the box to where Josh was now stocking a re-release of Lana Del Rey’s Born to Die — Paradise Edition on the old, creaking shelf. 

He made a sound of surprise as you wrapped your arms around him in a bear hug, holding on for dear life. It didn’t take him long to adjust to the feeling, though, as he enveloped you all the same. His familiar, strong arms wrapped around you just as they always had in times like these. Times where he’d said exactly what you needed to hear without knowing it. He was an empath through and through. 

And God were you thankful for him. You didn’t deserve him. Your tears continued for a bit, wetting his white t-shirt. Breathing in, and sniffing a bit to rid yourself of the tears, you backed away after squeezing him once more. His eyes were searching yours when you let go of him. Ever-attentive, reading you however he could whenever he felt the need. . . 

“I’d say he was on to something,” was all he remarked, going back to the records. “Let’s get these done and get the hell out of here, what do you say?”

“Yeah,” you responded, your voice still wet.

“Oh, and speaking as someone who loves the fuckin’ shit out of you, I need you to start taking care of yourself and rid your life of what is making you feel so sad,” he softly advised. You glanced over to him, seeing him still going about his task, but talking away. “You deserve to feel happy and whole. . .and I need you to do whatever it takes for you to feel that way. Please take care of yourself, love.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once you finished and were heading out the door with Josh, you decided that you were going to try your best to let yourself feel free tonight. It was what you needed. One last hurrah as senior year kicked off. 

And one last night with Jake before you did what you knew you had to do. . . You had to be done with him. All it was doing was dragging you down. And, talking to Josh tonight had made you realize, once again, that you couldn’t chance him finding out about you and his brother. You knew he would feel utterly betrayed by you, and he was far too important to you for you to risk that. 

Jake was also important— his career was shooting off and you were not the right person to join him on that new journey in his life. In your opinion, no one should join him on that journey. . . It was his and his alone. But if he were to have someone on that path with him, Maya was a much better candidate for it than you. 

Chances were, she was probably the one that he wanted on that next step of his life as well. She was the ideal person to take that leap with him. Utterly supportive. Unselfish. Completely beautiful. . . The perfect girlfriend for a rockstar. 

Continuing things with Jake made no sense. There was no use pretending that what you had with him was actually meant to last.

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you got home, you immediately went to the bathroom to refresh. You decided to take off your makeup and wash your face. Knowing yourself too well, you knew it wouldn’t happen later when you were three sheets to the wind. Josh had followed in directly behind you. He started telling the guys what he needed before they began. He started with his long-haired twin. 

“Food, Jacob?!” Josh yelled in the direction of the kitchen, from which you smelled delicious smells wafting. 

“Aye aye, Captain Stick-Up-Your-Ass,” Jake replied loudly.

“And what did you decide to pick from your expansive catalog of recipes?” Josh said, slapping something. You could assume it was Sam when you heard the younger brother’s voice exclaim with an “ow!” 

Then you heard Jake’s voice, like velvet, but loud enough for Josh to hear.

“Ramen bowls,” he called back. “She loves them.”

Your heart leapt at that. Why was he being so sweet? Was he like this with her? Remembering her favorite meals?

Because he was already making the food that Josh was demanding, Jake hadn’t taken notice of you when you'd come in alongside Josh. So you’d been able to slip past unnoticed. No one had acknowledged you, in fact. Sam and Danny had been too busy on the couch, flipping through their phones, showing each other different women on Tinder when you’d passed through the living room.

“Incense. Samuel, your job— did you bring any like I asked?”

Halfway paying attention, you heard Sammy give an agreeing grunt. 

“Let’s start lighting ‘em up, then,” he commanded. He snapped his fingers, probably right in Sam’s face. “No time to waste, Sam. Come on.” 

Then, grumbling, you heard Sam tell Josh to “fuck himself”. But you assumed he’d done as he was told with his aromatics, as you smelled the familiar heady scent of incense. The scent he’d chosen was Godsent. Ideal for your state of unrest.

The lovely scent of lavender was already whirling from the front of the apartment, straight to your room. Even with the door closed, you were catching the relaxing smell.

“God, I love the smell of lavender,” your roommate said, pure admiration in his tone. “Instant serenity.”

Sam responded, pride in his voice as he explained his choice. “We all know y/n has been stressed,” they all know? “So I chose lavender for its properties to cleanse, heal, and bring happiness. I was also considering its elements for peace, harmony, relaxation, and love. I wanted her to feel all of those things. She needs it.”

Your heart felt whole. You did feel the love. 

But your thoughts flew around, bumping the sides of your head. ‘She needs it.’ What is that even supposed to mean? 

“Yeah, she’s just been off. I want her to be able to feel more like herself,” Jake voiced, sighing. “I’m still not sure about the weed. I don’t want her to feel any lack of control— because that might make her worry more.”

Stop showing how much you care, Jake. It hurts and it’s going to give something away.

But keep going, too. . . Please. For me.

It was Josh’s turn to sigh. “Jacob, I’ve told you. This is something she’s done with us before. All of us. Besides you, of course, I’m assuming,” he paused, slowly iterating his next words. “She and Elsie used to do it with us, like, once a fuckin’ month as a ritual to bond and decompress from life.” His tone was exasperated, as if he’d explained a million times what he’d just said. And he wasn’t wrong. You could confirm everything he was saying. 

He continued. “She can handle her green. I promise. I’ve done it with her time and again.” Then, his voice got stern, unwavering. “I would never recommend she partake in something that would make her feel out of control. That’s not me. Take a second to remember that,” he leveled. “But she does need to feel the peace and freeness that comes with marijuana’s natural magic. We all know it works wonders to ease the chaos within the human mind.” 

“Okay,” Jake relented. “I’ll take the bait. I believe you.”

“Thank you. Now, I’m going to start making things cozy, cue up some music. . .,” Josh said. “Daniel, dim the lighting. I’m gonna light some candles.”

You started pilfering through your drawer of leggings. You found your favorite pair. The pair that made your ass pop. Then you sorted through your drawer of cropped tanks. Once you’d found the one you wanted, you felt your cheeks heat. 

Did you want to do this? Dress like this? Was it a stupid idea? Was this foolish? A smart idea? It would be stupid to deny who you were wanting to dress like this for. . . But should you do it? Would it be obvious?

You dress like this all the time, y/n, a kind of voice reassured you within your cluttered mind. It wouldn’t be abnormal for you to wear it. 

Jake’s voice cut through your internal ramble.

“Are we having a fucking orgy, Josh?” Jake asked. His hearty chuckle and the blatant mention of sex made your chest tighten and your stomach flip as you gripped the gray cami in your fist. 

“Jake!” Josh’s voice snapped, offended. He was out of breath, as if he’d been busy working away at his self-given task. “No one in this humble abode has had sex with another, and I don’t plan on starting that tonight.”

Your heart rate sped up. All of a sudden, you were completely aware of your state of undress from where you were squatting next to your dresser. Naked (save for your bra and panties), in your bedroom. And the fact that Jake was out there, alone. 

You suddenly longed to be close to him. For more than one wanting reason. One reason left your heart pumping in your ears and your underwear feeling obscenely constrictive.

The lesser reason being, you were dying to know what Jake’s reaction to that had been. But you hadn’t heard him make a peep. If you were being honest with yourself, you knew his reaction had been subdued, playing it off. He wouldn’t outwardly expose it. You knew him better than to assume that. 

I really do need to be better at giving him the benefit of the doubt, you thought, sadly. 

You knew it was too little too late. 

Then you heard Josh laugh. The same little laugh he’d do when he would think of something he found funny. “Now if Elsie were here. . .”

You heard all three of them say “Josh!” in unison to his remark, having joined in if you were in there, too.

“What?! The girl knows how to twist that tight body just righ—.”

“Lalala,” Sam sang to himself. You imagined him covering his ears, masking Josh’s voice. 

“What?! She is the best I’ve ever—.”

“Josh, with all due respect,” Danny’s soft voice cut through. “Please shut the fuck up.”

Yes, you thought. Ew, Josh. 

“Brother,” Jake chimed in, once again calling from where he most likely still stood in the kitchen. “Dinner is ready. So, please, come stuff your face and let our ears breathe.”

And, as if your stomach truly was in tune with it all, it grumbled.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Dinner was incredibly delicious (as you knew it would be), resulting in it being downed in no time. 

The five of you had sat around your little dinner table to eat, and it’d felt so nice. But the entire time, you never looked across the table at Jake. You’d also avoided him as you made your plate, only glancing at him out of the corner of your eye to give him a small ‘thank you’ as he talked to Josh. He’d blinked a few times and responded with a “Y-yeah, of course.” 

But now, as you sat around the table after supper, you wouldn’t dare look at him. It was a lot to get the courage to do so. 

For one, as weird as it was, it kind of intimidated you to do so. He intimidated you. . . Especially now that you’d gotten a good look at his other pick of women. The ones that weren’t you. Maya was exquisitely stunning. Just like the one he’d made out with months ago on the couch— the day he brought the lavender to you at work. (The day you’d been an asshole to him, yet again, for no reason.)

You knew you weren’t as beautiful as either of those women. He was far too out of your league. You’d known this to begin with. It was all just repeatedly slapping you in the face now. . . Like normal, he made you all nervous and jittery. But it was different now. You knew you didn’t measure up, and it was embarrassing that he’d ever given you a chance, honestly. Embarrassing for him.

Every negative thought that you could have was tearing at you. . . It was as if seeing Maya that first day, and then hearing what you did from Sam had just set everything off. Everything. 

As you watched Josh and Sam pick at one another’s opinions on the most idiotic things, you spaced out, pondering why you were feeling so much all at once. Was this another result of your childhood trauma? The overthinking? Or was this just you, being a complete trainwreck of a human being? 

Either way, it was ridiculous and you wanted to be rid of the thoughts immediately. It was getting really old really fast. But you couldn’t shake them. Because, despite how annoying it was that they wouldn’t leave you be, you still felt they were true. 

And had been true since you were a kid. Practically since you were born. The facts could not lie. You weren’t good enough for your own mother. You’d been relentlessly terrible towards Elsie growing up. You’d been consistently unfair towards Jake. . . 

There was very little good about you, and you were starting to feel it put a damper on all things in your life.

God. You desperately needed therapy. Your struggles with anxiety were becoming all encompassing. The depression was sprouting without welcome.

He’s shown plenty of interest, y/n, your kind, consoling inner medium expressed. Stop acting like you’re less than the other women. Please. You know better. Don’t let your thoughts get ahead of you. . . 

Damn that voice sounded more and more like Elsie any time it managed to break through the darkness of your mind.

Sam’s cackle brought you back to reality from your mess of cluttered, stressful, spiraling thoughts. 

“That’s what I’m saying!” Sam exclaimed, pointing directly at his best friend who was sitting across the table from you, right next to Jake. “Thank you, Daniel!”

Josh’s scoff under his breath would have been highly noticeable even if you hadn’t been sitting next to him. You looked to your right to observe him and his reaction. 

“Birkenstocks are highly, highly overrated,” he insisted. “I seriously thought you were above the trends, Sammy. . . Now all I can assume is that you primarily care to partake in the highly popular things like other, normal people.”

“I’m not normal!” Sam declared, completely aghast at the comment. “Take it back, Josh.”

“Seems that you’re pop music personified. . .,” Jake said, teasing Sam as Josh had. 

Without even meaning to, too lost in everything going on around you now, you shot Jake a glare. And a response. 

“Shut the fuck up, Jake,” you intervened, your tone serious, but voice catching a little on his name. 

Apparently, of all things, talk of sandals were what could break your vow of avoiding Jake at all costs. Honestly, it was just Sam’s doleful reaction to Jake’s words. He’d gasped, his eyes curving down even more than normal, lip sticking out.  

Once you’d connected eyes with Jake, you got lost for a few seconds in the rich pools of chocolate that made up his deep set eyes. . .  It was kind of like a readjustment. You were really looking at him for the first time in days. Your ridiculously hot roommate. The same man you’d memorized in every way you could for the past month or so. . . You were reacquainting yourself with his features. 

You didn’t want to admit it, but. . . It felt like a piece of your heart was clicking back into place— after you’d given him the cold shoulder all week. His eyes felt so familiar and warm.

Initially, his eyes had widened. He’d seemed shocked that you’d spoken to him at all. But, after he’d stared at you for a moment, he raised a smart brow. Your heart rate increased at the action.

Then, he resituated, pushing his chair back from the table just enough to show his spread legs. You couldn’t control it when you glimpsed his crotch for five seconds. It was as if you were unable to resist— you’d finally taken the bait and broken the fine ice between you two. So, it seemed your eyes worked on their own and made up for lost time. . . Just for a few seconds. 

It’s been a fucking week, y/n, the snarky voice in your head mocked. You are too fucking weak for him. Why did you let him in? How are you going to be able to completely cut him off? Weak.

You noticed him push his hips up and out to lean back a bit. The action effectively shut off the voice in your head and made you twitch for him in your leggings.

I sure as hell am weak, you sassed back. And right now, I don’t care. And it’s been nine days. Not a week. 

He crossed his arms over his chest, flexing his strong, skilled fingers into his toned biceps. Not meaning to, you licked your bottom lip. 

Your body was craving him. Yearning for him. You’d gotten used to regular sex with him, and the nine days you’d been abstaining from it were catching up to you. How were you going to be able to cut yourself completely off?

You weren’t ready for that yet. 

But you have to be, the familiar voice reminded you. Enjoy it while it lasts because it’s almost over. You’re only hurting yourself more by extending this ridiculous escapade.

I’m already hurting. Fuck it. I will enjoy it while it lasts, you fought back, shoving the voice off of your shoulders for the time being. Josh is right. Tonight is about me feeling fucking free.

You accepted the challenge. The situation. You were ready to give in to the evening. Your insecurities could wait. They’d have their time soon. Tonight you wanted to ignore all of it. Now that you’d gotten a taste, you wanted to take a damn bite.

Skin now hot and senses tingling with his name, you peeked back at his face and found his waiting expression. Your eyebrow raised, too, darkening eyes trained on his. The way he was watching you, it was like he was testing you. But you weren’t going to give in too easily. Your heart was still hurting, and you weren’t going to bend at just anything. He could work for it. 

Just like you’d convinced yourself earlier. . . This was one last hurrah. Might as well make the most of it. Drag it out. Just for tonight.

“I’m tired of the obnoxious assholery filling up this room,” you stated, looking away from Jake to address the other two Kiszkas. “Let’s burn a few so you guys will shut the hell up.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

The haze had your mind in the clouds, but not so elevated that you weren’t aware of the happenings all around you. A good state, where your mind could still make cognitive sense of everything, but high enough that all of your worries vanished with each wave of smoke you blew from your mouth. You learned from Elsie the ‘proper’ way to get high, as she called it. One long, drawn out inhale of the smoke, fully filling your lungs and holding it as long as you could before blowing it out in one slow exhale. Less coughing that way, and the most effective way to really feel the effects without it being so intense. 

You’ve never loved the feeling of being completely inebriated. Far too often you’ve lost control of your intake, and at that point it would open the hypothetical doors to your past, forcing you to sit in your feelings. Too much of it could be dangerous for your psyche. But, you’ve learned how to control it. You’d discovered the perfect amount that had you feeling weightless and free, your body tickling with the warm fuzzy feeling that allowed you to finally relax. 

All of you had your own designated spot in the room– whether it be on blankets, pillows, the couch, or the armchair. You’d been given the couch to lay upon to smoke (as you’d been given first dibs, per Josh’s requirement). 

And the man who couldn’t escape your mind sat a few feet away from you, perfectly placed in your line of sight on a pile of blankets and pillows. His hands were in his lap, his legs crossed at the ankles, and his broad shoulders eased while his head laid back. 

Josh sat above him on the armchair, his limbs loosened to noodles. Just as Josh started to lay back and close his eyes, he sat up lazily. His eyes, reddened and heavy-lidded, looked around to survey the rest of you.

“We’re in desperate need of some tunes,” Josh said, dragging out the words with a giant grin plastered to his face. “Anyone opposed?

You were laid back against the arm of the couch, sprawled out. And you barely heard him as you’d become utterly transfixed on Jake. . . how he’d balanced the base of his head on the ottoman of the chair, eyes closed as he most surely let the feeling of smoke in him and around him delight his system. 

The other two had agreed, but you hardly paid them or Josh any mind. You didn’t wholly process him searching your vinyl collection, picking one from the top. 

“Ah, yes. Perfection at its finest,” he made an approving sound with his teeth as he placed the disc on the turntable and read the tracklisting. “This woman was spellbinding.”

At once, you heard the silken scratching of the vinyl from the needle as the record began to spin. An all too familiar album began playing. 

Your head perked up as much as it could while simultaneously feeling stuck in the clouds. Sam and Danny were basically gone, just bobbing their heads a little to the rhythm. But they seemed to be fading away by the way they rolled their heads further and further back against their pillows. 

Josh had a goofy smile on his face as he settled back into his chair, his hair fluffing around him as he softly nodded his head in tandem with her voice. 

You let your eyes travel to Jake for a brief moment, and saw that his eyes were still closed, but now his chest was rising and falling steadily. Had he fallen asleep?

Momentarily, you were disappointed. But you soon realized just how nice sleep sounded. . . Especially when you looked away from Jake to see his counterpart, completely zonked out with his mouth hanging open. Quiet snores were emitting from both of them, but Josh’s were louder thanks to his wide open mouth. Jake’s were barely there. . . more heavy breaths than anything. You knew it meant he’d drowsed only moments ago, a deep slumber not fully taking him yet.

You started to doze off a bit, settling into the way her soulful voice could lull you into a sweet slumber. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

You didn’t know what it was that jostled you awake. 

Maybe it had been the song change, and you’d just somehow caught on to this song while in dreamland. . . this wonderful song. . . dammit. 

I will go where you lead

I'll be right there in a time of need

And when I lose my will

You'll be right there to push me up that hill

You sunk into the feeling of it, but your attention was caught again.

There was muffled shuffling happening in the distance, your senses heightened by the smoke, helping you catch on to the smallest of sounds. Motherly instincts to your lovely feline child, who was sure to be causing the ruckus. 

What was Stevie getting herself into?

Lifting your head, you turned it to follow the noise happening in the distance. It was dark due to the late hour. . . you could hardly see. The candles, your only light source. 

From what you could tell, the sound was coming from the kitchen. Curiosity was pushing you into a sitting position. You rose without difficulty, your bearings coming back to you little by little. You’d smoked just enough for the escape, but the clarity was still there. Weed was so miraculous that way. Giving an individual just what he or she might need from it. It could mold to the requirements of its enjoyer. Aware as you were, the air around you still felt slow and heady. . . you felt every energy all at once. It made your head swim just a tad. 

As you stood, your legs felt like air. You rooted yourself into the sureness of the flat ground. The carpet tickled your bare toes, but you concealed the little sigh that threatened to escape you at the sensation. You were doing your best to not bother the snoozing bodies littered around you. 

From your new viewpoint, your eyes swept the room. Dreamily deciding to save the best for last, you started at one side of the room. You squinted at Sammy and Danny first. They were cuddled into their own blankets on their separate pallets, but facing towards one another still.

Next, you looked for Josh, who you didn’t really have to look for since you heard his snores before you saw him. Drool was gathered at the corner of his mouth, opened just as it had been when you’d closed your own eyes. Something caused him to rustle in his sleep, making him jump a little and sniff, one snore resulting in a snort. But just as he’d been shaken, his mouth was opened yet again, snores even louder this time. The drool slipped down his chin. You cringed. He was not an attractive sleeper. 

His twin on the other hand. . .the most beautiful sleeper you’d ever laid sleepy eyes on. So, you finally set your gaze where you'd been desiring. 

. . .To find nothing. No Jake. Where did he go?

Even amidst the wispy cloud of your mind, you immediately assumed the worst.

Had he invited Maya over? Had that been the sound? God you hoped not.

Even still, your feet moved on their own, all the way to the kitchen from the living room. . . you saw Stevie on your way there, asleep on the top of the couch. She’d nestled right above you. Naturally, you just hadn’t caught on because of your brain fog.

Not knowing what you were about to find, you rounded the corner. And what you found made your eyes water so quickly. The sight was so plain, so simple. . .but so incredibly wholesome.

Your whispered voice broke the silence. 

“Why are you watering my lavender?”

He jumped a bit, the tiny, gilded watering pail you’d gotten for it still mid-air when he blinked in your direction, his eyes adjusting to the vast darkness in your shared home.

“I was just putting dinner up and it looked a little wilty,” he said, sounding ‘wilty’ himself. “Have you not watered it recently?”

Shit. While immersed in your unreasonable head for the past several days, you’d ignored the plant. 

“No,” you responded, not providing an explanation. 

“I understand,” he said, a small grin on his lips and honesty in his eyes, even darker in the shadowy lighting. A candle on the bar was the only way you could make him out. “School starting and all. I bet your stress has been high because of that.”

“Yeah,” you absentmindedly agreed. But his words rang again in your head, things clicking slower with the pot. “Also, stop telling people I’m stressed,” you griped, crossing your arms (partially to keep yourself balanced). “Or sad. You don’t know.”

He emptied the rest of the water into the soil, feeling it with his fingers before washing his hands. Then he turned to you, his face pinched with shock. He shook his head a bit, his longer waves swaying at his collarbone. “It’s obvious you have been.”

Fuck. You knew you’d been transparent. It was something you flourished at– wearing your heart on your sleeve. And that also meant you were shit at masking your emotions. But why did he care?

“Okay, say I have. Still not your business to share,” you asserted, with a final nod of your head. 

He nodded, pushing his lip out. He lifted his hand to his chin to rub it a bit, a sign you’d learned to mean that he agreed. “That is fair. I’m sorry.”

You felt your head rock a bit and shut your eyes briefly to reset. The flow of the remaining green in your system was making you a bit dizzy. And while you were still with it and aware of yourself and your surroundings, you knew that it was probably time to go to bed. It was also getting to be too much talking to Jake like normal. 

Things weren’t normal. And you couldn’t pretend they were. It made your heart feel all blue. As much as you missed him–just talking to him, you decided to use sleep as the reason to excuse yourself. Before you told him every tiny thing on your mind. You knew yourself too well– when weed entered the picture, there was no concealing a single thought that crossed your mind. 

“I’m going to bed,” you said, turning away from him and starting the walk to your bedroom, your heart still with him and the fucking lavender in the kitchen window.

But just as you’d made it to your door, opening it just a smidge, you felt a warm hand encompass yours, which still twisted around the knob. You could have fallen into him. It felt so good to simply feel his touch. God, he really was so warm. So safe. So cozy. So Jake.

He doesn’t feel the same for you, the fucking nagging voice said, slipping through the thickness of the marijuana. You aren’t those things to him.

Go the fuck home, you told the voice, pissed beyond belief that it had managed to enter your hazy realm of escapism.

“I am home,” he said, his voice low and hot on your neck. The feeling grew goosebumps immediately. 

Fuck. You’d said it out loud. That was embarrassing as hell.

“I was talking to myself,” you revealed honestly–crazily, angling your head so you could speak over your shoulder to him. And just as you did, it became obvious just how close he was to you. His collar, level with your eyes. You looked up a bit to find him watching you. Carefully. Warily. But intensely all the same. 

“That’s endearing,” he said, the humor in his tone making you suddenly angry. 

You turned on your heel, resulting in him moving away from you a few inches.

No. Come back.

You fought the desperation in your veins. The desperation making your heart beat wildly in your chest.

“Why did you follow me? Acting like you care?” You said, your voice hushed and eyes flicking a bit so you could actually handle looking him in the eyes. “Stop with the bullshit.”

“Woah,” he screwed his eyes slightly at you, his voice level meeting yours. “You know I care.” 

He took one more step back. 

What are you doing? Stop leaving me.

You just left him, you idiot, your familiar, inner monster said, judging you.

“No. You don’t care. Not actually. And if you do, I know it’s not just for me,” the words spilled out, humiliating you. “I’ve had the past few days to realize that.”

Oh, fuck. Here comes honesty hour.

He crossed his arms at his chest. His biceps were distracting. Goddamn.

“So that’s what’s been wrong?”

You gave yourself a tiny moment to evaluate him. He seemed way too sober for this conversation to be an even playing field.

“Are you not high?”

He cracked a smile, nodding his head. “Yes, I am,” he looked down, seeming a little embarrassed. If the lighting wasn’t so dark, you could guess you’d see a blush on the apples of his cheeks. “Just done it enough that it looks different on me. Trust me, my head is fuckin’ swimming. Dizzy and shit . . . just didn’t want to fall asleep in there and get a crick in my neck. And I figured I’d put dinner away since I’m still more present than not. . .,” he paused, looking up at you. “But, I assure you, I’m definitely not all here.”

You had to giggle a little in spite of it all. God, he was so fucking endearing. You couldn’t put it into words at that moment, but. . . damn. The way he was— so many things about him that you lo—. . . fuck.

“That’s exactly how I feel, too,” you admitted, your eyes innocently meeting his. 

His smile widened, face relaxing. But the change in demeanor broke your heart and made your defenses rise. Emotions were breaking loose again. . .

“Okay, so,” you shook your head, rubbing your temples to re-center. You glanced at him again. “If you do care, why did you ignore me on Friday?”

He shook his head once. “Ignore you? I literally talked to you. I’ll go get my phone right now to prove it.” You flushed thinking of the conversation. How badly you’d wanted him. . . still wanted him. He kept going, saying, “I also wanted to talk to you when I got home. But you were already asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

I wasn’t asleep, you wanted to say. I was just sad. Crying because of you.

“You stormed off. Didn’t even try to talk to me about how you were feeling,” you said, words quiet, yet cutting the air. “Made it obvious that I matter so little to you that I wasn’t even worth talking to when you were upset. Tell me how little I matter to you. Just say it.”

“Fuck– god, no. I won’t,” he brought the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I don’t ever want you to think you matter little to me– you are literally every– fuck. I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t matter as much as Maya,” you said, finishing his sentence with a forlorn statement, in a snarky tone of voice. Your heart leapt into your throat at having mentioned her so boldly. There it was. Out in the open. “That’s why you didn’t want to talk to me. Just wanted to talk to her.”

He looked at you, a thousand thoughts swirling behind his bourbon-colored irises. His lips pursed, then he released a tight exhale, his eyes resting directly on you as if he’d decided to tell you something. Ready to break your heart, surely.

“Say it, Jake,” your voice cracked on his name.

Jake huffed. “Y/n, you are the reason I was so fucking pissed that day. I wasn’t going to talk to you about–.”

“Me?!” You blanched, perplexed that he could pin anything on you. All you’d done was be there to support him the best you could. You pointed a finger in your chest, “What did I,” and then at him, “do to you, asshole?!”

The name slipped out. You hated that you’d said it. But, you did. 

“I didn’t say you did anything to me. Will you let me explain?”

“Go ahead,” you motioned your hand, the action feeling slow with the marijuana lacing itself through your veins.

“I was embarrassed as fuckin’ shit that my cord gave out at that festival,” he began, words a little sluggish. I could’ve guessed that. “And for a second, I was embarrassed about it happening in front of so many people. . . but immediately after, before I could think about that, I thought about how you had come out to that festival, so excited and sexy as hell ready to see me perform, and I couldn’t even hold up my end of the deal. I wanted to impress you, and I failed,” he shook his head, looking down, away from you, his hands coming up to cover his face.

You wanted to believe him. But you’d gotten so used to combatting him, that you couldn’t help reject his words. “Sounds fake.”

Instantly, he dropped his hands, letting them slap against his thighs. His eyes were wide. “Are you serious right now?” He sounded sad. Hurt. “I bare my heart to you and all you can do is tell me I sound fake?” 

Putting your defenses down, you truly thought about it. Maybe. . . maybe he was telling the truth.

All your life, you had been so quick to expect the worst of people. You had never let yourself believe anyone could have good intentions. Why would you? After everything you’d been through, after how many people had hurt you to the point of severe trauma, it only made sense that your first instinct would be to not trust that anyone had your best interest at heart. But, staring at the man in front of you, his eyes begging you to believe him, his chest falling and rising with deep, slow breaths. . . all of his emotions, on blatant display. . . you thought of him and the person he’d been for you recently. How you had so openly shared things with him. . . Maybe he felt the same with you? Even if it sounded slightly ridiculous. . . It would be harsh to judge him for that. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, bowing your head. 

You felt two tender, calloused fingers lift your chin. Your body lit up at his touch. Eyes grew tears. . .

You just kept talking, feeling comfortably vulnerable under his stare.

“I thought she was here tonight.”

“Who?” He rubbed his thumb smoothly over your chin, holding your face so gently.

“Maya.”

He let go of you, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fuck. I knew you would jump to conclusions with Sam saying what he did the other night.”

“I didn’t have to jump to any conclusions. I saw it with my own eyes. Heard Josh–,” you stopped yourself. Even in this dazed state, you knew that telling him you’d heard his conversation with Josh wasn’t a good idea. 

“Heard Josh. . . what?” He raised a brow.

“Nothing,” you shook your head.

He rolled his eyes. “Okay. Whatever you heard any of them say– can you believe me?” He asked, begging you with his profoundly engaging irises. “Please?”

You knew what you felt though. What you’d heard him say in response to Josh– what you’d seen with your eyes. You’d dug yourself a massive hole of winding thoughts. . . you weren’t sure who or what to believe. So, you responded simply. “I don’t know, Jake.”

He put a hand over his eyes, then removed it to question you. “Why?”

“I’m not getting into that right now,” you asserted, looking away and covering your face as he had his. When you looked back at him, and into his eyes, you let your guard down slightly. “You know why. It’s my specialty.”

“Okay . . .,” he accepted, his tone gentle and understanding. “We’ll just let that sit for now. Back to your initial assumption tonight, though. . . have I ever brought her here?”

“I’m assuming.”

“Stop assuming.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you bit back.

“I’m only telling you that so you can stop hurting yourself. You spiral. I know this about you,” he reasoned carefully.

“That’s fucking rude.”

“Whatever. It’s true and you basically just said it yourself. I do it, too. So, fair’s fair,” he retorted, his tone indicating annoyance. “But to answer my question to you, for you– No. The answer is no. I’ve never brought her here.”

“What about that night with the sweet, unforgettable earplug remark?”

“Really? Unforgettable? Why do you insist–?” He growled low under his breath, shaking his head a little. “Whatever. Never mind. That was a different woman. I hadn’t even met Maya yet. Sam was exaggerating– per usual. I haven’t been seeing her since I moved here. I saw her briefly. . . from mid-June to, like, mid-July.”

“You continued seeing her after Baby’s?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me,” he clarified. “And I was an idiot. She was a woman who wanted to have sex with me, and I like sex. I was just being stupid.”

“That’s probably all I am to you, though,” you said, making him aware of your surmise. His face said he wanted to insert something, but you kept talking. “I’m just someone you can have sex with– because you like sex. Which, I do, too. But I just. . .,” you swept two feather light hands through your hair. “I don’t know why I want it to be more. But I do and . . . that’s going against everything I said. . .and I. . .” You closed your lids and groaned, irritated with your heart.

The fingers were under your chin again, your eyes opening to look at him at the contact. “Because it feels so natural being more. I get it. It’s not bad.”

“Yes it is,” you said, tearing your face away from his hand. “Because you don’t want that with me. I saw how she interacted with you after her lesson the other day. At the festival. I mean, you invited her to the festival. She was backstage with you. . . acting like a girlfriend or some shit the whole damn time. And then when she ran for you when you were upset. . .acting like she had done it a thousand times.”

“Well, she hasn’t. . .” he affirmed, his voice hard and leaving no room for disagreement. “And, yes, she is sweet and I liked having sex with her because she’s a good person who helped me a lot during a hard time with some much needed pep talks. . . but everything at the festival was her taking too much upon herself. Also, she invited herself to that. I didn’t invite her. And when she got there, Sam saw her and had her come backstage. I don’t know why he’s so insistent on hooking us up again.”

Oh.

He continued. “Y/n. . . I don’t know how else to say it. Anyway I say it, I feel like you won’t believe me. But– god, she’s just not you. I would never be able to feel the things for her that I do for you. It was– I emphasize, was– just sex with her; but with you? It's been. . .it’s more. You are more. I can’t explain it. . .my heart aches for you in ways it never did with her—with anyone.”

His velvet voice sent a flutter to your heart. You heard the genuine truth behind it, and the way his eyes never once left yours. His eyes, that said so much more than his words ever could. 

“I don’t want her. I want you. At my shows. In my bed every night and every morning, waking me with your mouth or your sweet pussy. . .I just—goddammit. Fuck. I fucking love you, y/n. I love you. No one else.”

Your next words couldn’t have been stopped if you tried. 

“I love you too,” fell smoothly from your lips, like the purest golden honey.

He stopped—his reddened, heavy eyes zeroing in on yours. He gave a tiny shake of his head.

“Y–you do?”

You couldn’t believe your own words. Really. Well. . .could you? They’d slipped from your lips so easily, with no time to overthink them, like you always seemed to do. Because you didn’t have to think about it– you couldn’t overthink that—because it was true. It came out so naturally, so authentically, just as it was. You hadn’t even realized you felt it yet; you hadn’t given yourself the chance to fully feel it—but there was no doubt. You did. You couldn’t hide it from yourself any longer. 

His blown out irises penetrated yours—the eyes that confirmed everything he’d just told you to be completely true.

“Jesus, Jake. Of course I fucking do.”

Who moved first, you’d never know.

But your lips met his with unbridled need. You moaned at the feeling of his soft lips enveloping yours. . . the way he sucked your mouth gently into his own– tasting you with the tip of his tongue as he did so. When you moaned again, he pushed you back with his hips, a hand gripping one of yours. You grabbed his ass tightly as if to hang on, never wanting to let go of him. The only place to go was your room, your door ajar just enough that it opened easily on its own. He reached a hand behind him to close it gently– so as not to wake anyone. 

Your lamp, still left on, just as it had been earlier in the evening, shed the perfect amount of golden light. You grabbed his cheeks, pulling him away from you momentarily to appreciate his features. Finally out of the dark you could look at him. And, God, you loved his face. Everything about it, having been so intricately and delicately created. . .making the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on. 

A quiet smirk graced his perfect lips, his eyes tightly locked with yours. “What’s the matter?” he asked, his hushed, now-sultry voice making your need for him that much more heightened. 

You thought a moment before you answered. With all of your feelings for him finally becoming realized in your own mind, there was just so much you felt you needed to say. So much you needed him to know. As you stared in his sparkling eyes, pupils pure black from the weed and his need for you, the only word your mind could conjure up was love. Over and over again. Not just the word, but the feeling; the new desire for him that went far beyond the purely physical one that you’d tried so hard to convince yourself of. 

But it wasn’t new; it had been clear all along. You’d just shoved it down to the deepest trenches of your mind, only to be discovered by the most skilled explorer. There was so much you wanted to say, but you just couldn’t conjure the proper words. For once, you’d been left nearly speechless by your intense infatuation for him that you had finally allowed yourself space to fully realize. 

You decided your body could do all the talking. It could say more than your voice ever could.

“Nothing,” you whispered against his lips as you pulled him in for the deepest kiss you’re certain the two of you had ever shared with one another.

He led you backwards to your bed, your lips staying connected the entire time. With hardly any effort, he swiftly scooped you up and placed you on the bed, his lips only leaving yours to attach to your neck to suck on the tight flesh. His fingers toyed with the strap of your top, teasing it slowly down your shoulder. His mouth followed it with wet, barely there kisses on your skin with each movement down your arm. He then moved to the other arm, doing the exact same thing as his mouth began setting your whole body alight. 

He was taking his time. He wanted to enjoy every part of your body, savoring you in ways he always had but this time, it was different. His need was far beyond just wanting to fuck you; he wanted to love you. 

He dragged his lips across your collarbone, moving to the middle of your chest, then taking the fabric still covering you between his teeth as he pulled a little. 

“Take this off,” he whispered, “need to taste these pretty tits.” 

You groaned, wasting no time removing the barrier. You tossed it across the room with such eagerness you should’ve been embarrassed. But you weren’t. Couldn’t be. Not when he was displaying the same eagerness to please you, to feel your body against his own.

He flattened his tongue over a hard bud, slowly dragging it up until the tip flicked your nipple before he closed his lips around it and sucked. He swirled his tongue around, lifting off of it with a string of saliva that still connected him to you as he blew cold air on it. He tweaked it with his fingers, rolling it between his index and thumb as he moved to the other breast to give it the same attention. 

“Jake— fuck. It feels so good.” You were breathing so heavily that your breathless words just barely broke through your parted lips. 

But he heard you. And he smiled in retort against your chest as he continued lapping and sucking at you, using his teeth to graze your nearly too sensitive nipple. You were already nearing your break, feeling the pulsing between your legs keeping up with the erratic beating of your heart. 

He grabbed both your breasts, pushing them together and licking one long and steady stripe up the middle where his strong hands connected them. 

“Goddamn,” He spoke against your skin; you felt every word from his lips across your supple flesh. “I will never get enough of these, baby. So fucking perfect.” 

As good as he was making you feel, you were becoming increasingly more desperate. You needed him in your pussy. His mouth, his fingers, his cock. Fucking anything. You were throbbing for him. You weaved your trembling hands through his tangled hair, trying to guide him the rest of the way down your body. 

“Jake, please. I need you.” Your labored breathing made it incredibly hard to be able to form a single coherent word. 

He giggled as he made his descent down your heaving belly, stopping to plant an open mouthed kiss over your belly button as your body shuddered almost uncontrollably. 

“Easy, baby,” he said between leaving kitten licks just above the waistband of your leggings. “You know I’ll give you what you want. Don’t I always? Just let me take my time with you– need to worship this glorious fucking body.” 

Your heart swelled at his words. He thought your body was deserving of being worshiped. Who were you to rush him? And he was right. He was always the most generous lover, never stopping until you were fully satisfied with everything you needed. He pulled your leggings down just a little, enough to expose your hip bones and the top of your purple lace thong. He sucked a dark mark on the tight skin of your hip, sending a flood to your already soaked core as you gasped so loud you reached your hand up to cover your gaping mouth. 

“Let them hear,” he groaned as he smiled. “They’re in our fucking place, aren’t they? If they don’t like it, they can leave.” 

Our place. 

Those words that had once felt so poisoned, that would have made you cringe at the mere sound of them— they suddenly felt so right as they comfortably glided off his tongue that was caressing you wonderfully.

Though, you weren’t quite ready for them to know about this. . . Despite your ever-present fear of Josh finding out, there was just something about it only being between you and Jake. Especially now, the way it felt so sacred and special. Just the two of you. No one else. No one. 

Before you could tell him you absolutely did not want them to hear, he tested you a bit further by pulling your leggings off in one swift motion and planting his lips directly on your vibrating clit, still tucked away beneath the purple lace. With how he had perfectly worked you up, you were already so sensitive. You jolted at the contact, nearly screaming “fuck!” into your open palm as the sensation had been heightened in brand new ways. 

“Normally I’d say purple is the most offensive hue,” he ran his middle finger up and down the wet lace, applying a feather light pressure— just enough to have you squirming under his touch. “But you make it look so goddamn magnificent. So fucking beautiful.”

“Fuck Jake. . .” You started bucking your hips up, chasing anything he would give you. 

“I know baby, I know,” he hushed. “I just love seeing you like this. So ready for me, your panties clinging to you. I’m gonna lock that sight away.” 

He hooked his thumbs around the thin string of your thong and pulled it slowly down your hips. The pads of his fingers danced over the skin of your thighs while he rid you of the final hindrance keeping him from where you desired him the most. He lifted your legs over his shoulders as his tongue flicked just once at your swollen clit. You pulled tightly at his hair and he groaned at the feeling, sending a vibration against you as you tried with all of your best efforts to stay quiet.

He took a moment to admire the sight of you, how your trembling body practically begged him to touch you without the need for a single word. As if sensing it, he started leaving the most tender kisses on the inside of your thighs, inching himself closer and closer but never picking up his pace.

He was teasing you to the point of near madness. You were certain the sheets below you were soaked with your arousal. You could hardly stand it any longer. Your need for him had officially surpassed any you had ever felt for him before. 

“J-Jake, please. . .” 

He sucked a few more times on the tender flesh of your thigh before finally wrapping his wet lips around your neglected clit. As he did it, he looked up at your pleasure contorted face with eyes that smiled. You became nearly breathless at the sight of him combined with the feeling of his warm tongue caressing you, devouring you like a starved man enjoying his first meal. 

He pulled you as close to his face as he could with an iron grip on your hips. His eyebrows became creased as he hummed into your sopping and throbbing pussy. The carnal, lewd sounds of him sloppily lapping at you only added to the intensity you felt in the pit of your stomach. . .

. . .until he stopped— leaving you whimpering and squirming for more. 

“Look at me.” His soft, gravelly voice pulled you from your agony of missing his mouth on you, and you did as he said.

Your body shook as you lifted your head to meet his dark, sinful eyes that burned holes straight through yours. 

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he muttered. “And you taste so sweet, baby.” 

He smiled as he leaned down to place a gentle kiss just above your clit, keeping his eyes locked with yours. He lifted off of you and climbed up your quivering body, dragging his lips over any surface area of you he could reach until his nose brushed against yours.

“Jaaake. . .” You nudged your lips against his, feeling his warm breath melt into your skin. “. . .fuck me. Now.” 

He wanted to hear you say it; he needed to hear you say it. 

He lifted his hips up just enough for your wandering hand to reach down between your bodies. You cupped him tightly in your palm, feeling just how desperate he was to get out of the strenuous restriction of his black jeans. 

He hissed as your hand moved up and down his clothed length, teasing him just as he had with you. You reached up and cradled his face with your free hand, drawing patterns into his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. 

You loved the hitch in his breath, his pleading eyes that begged you to take his jeans off. The sweat that had formed around his hairline. The torment in his eyes that all on their own could have sent you spiraling into the most beautiful release. God, he was so fucking pretty. 

You squeezed your hand around him, feeling him throb as his eyes rolled in the back of his head. He grit his teeth and bite his lower lip so hard you were surprised he didn’t draw blood. 

“Jesus— fuck,” he groaned, the rasp in his voice sending a another wave to core.

You wanted to tease him further, but your own body couldn’t take it any longer. 

You dug into the buckle of his belt and ripped it off of him in one fluid motion, you both gasping at the ‘snap’ sound it made when you pulled it out of the loops of his pants. With one hand, you released the metal button and pulled the zipper of his fly down in record time. Your fingers instantly intertwined with his boxers, reaching inside for his pulsing cock.

“A bit eager, are we?” he patronized, but you knew damn well he needed it as badly as you did. 

“Shut the fuck up, Jacob.”

He huffed a laugh as he aided you in pulling his jeans and boxers down to sit in the middle of his thighs, finally freeing him all the way. 

You wanted to taste him, but the ache in your pussy was far too great to go any longer without him filling you. You wrapped your legs tightly around his hips to angle yourself perfectly with him as he lined himself up with you. Both of his hands settled on either side of your face as he pulled you into a fervid kiss while the tip of his cock nudged your quivering entrance.

He kissed down your jawbone, your neck, pulling your earlobe gently between his teeth. 

“I fucking love you. . .” he purred against your ear, plunging his cock slowly inside of you as he said it. “. . . and god, do I love fucking you.”

You groaned in utter relief when he thrust himself completely inside of you, as deep as he could go. He was still for a moment, feeling your walls clench around the pulsing of his cock. 

“Fuck, Jake. . .” You pulled at the sweat drenched hairs sitting on the nape of his neck while the nails of your other dug into the soft flesh of his hip. 

“I know, baby. . . I feel you. So wet and warm, pulling me in. I fit so well, don’t I?”

You couldn’t even respond to tell him how fucking good he felt buried inside of you. Words had escaped you entirely.

You weren’t sure if it was the weed or if it was because you were finally letting yourself feel everything you’d shoved down for far too long, but the way he felt sitting inside of you was ineffable; he was right. He fit so goddamn well. He had to have been made for you. Fuck. You’d let him stay inside of you for the rest of your life if you could. 

He started pumping in and out of you at a slow pace— you could feel every vein of his thick shaft against your walls as he glided so effortlessly through you. Pulling all the way out to the tip, then back in again, perfectly brushing that wonderful spot within you each time as you felt every inch of him.

He gradually quickened his thrusts, his breaths becoming more and more deep with every calculated movement of his hips. Both of your hands reached behind him to grasp ahold of his back, feeling the muscles beneath your fingertips flex while he fucked himself into you with more intensity. 

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned, clawing at his skin, damp with perspiration from his efforts and the wonderful effects of the weed. You were desiring to feel him as close to you as you possibly could. You were about to finish–you could feel it. Teetering on the edge of sweet relief. . . your walls were fluttering, your clit was pulsing. . . 

The wound-up ball of tension in your tummy was about to let loose. 

His thrusts were getting desperate, his pants and sighs were mixing with yours. And you couldn’t help but look between you, where your bodies met. . . it made your heart beat even more rapidly in your chest, seeing you connected in such a way. It looked so right. You felt full. You felt whole. In your haze, your thoughts couldn’t help but wander as you thought of the final step to feeling close to him. 

Fuck.

As soon as the thought entered your brain, you had to throw your head back in ecstasy. It was almost too much to imagine. 

Your mind was so fucking cloudy– nothing sounded better in that moment than to feel him fully. His release inside of you. . .it would join your bodies completely. And God, you wanted that.

Needed it. And you knew this time might very well be the last. And you had to feel him in that way. Just once. You’d get a Plan-fucking-B in the morning. It would be so incredibly worth it to feel him in that way. 

Just this once. This one last time. It would be the perfect ending to this beautiful chapter of my life, you thought, longing for things to be different. 

“Shit– y/n,” Jake’s voice was needy as he rasped. “You feel so damn good. Fuck. So tight. So wet– smooth as fuckin’ velvet–,” he snapped his hips, the tip of his dick met your tender spot. It was even more tender under the influence– everything was heightened. “Fuck!”

You shook with anticipation, your legs already twitching. And you hadn’t even cum yet. 

“I know, Jakey,” you sighed. You reached a hand down his back, grasping at his firm ass. You held tightly to the plush muscle. It flexed with each push of his hips against you. “Y’feel so good.”

One hand and a forearm was balancing him above you. The hand of the forearm had been tenderly holding your head for the entirety of him fucking you into your mattress. But the other hand that he’d been using for balance moved swiftly to place two fingers below your chin. As he guided your face to look at him, you sighed with relief at the sight of his beautiful eyes– speaking every emotion he wanted to say. 

You felt it with him. Every fucking bit of it. 

His brows were concentrated, pinched with thought and overflowing emotions. 

“I know, sweetie. I feel it, too,” you gasped on the last words. Tears were choking your throat. You didn’t want this to end. But, even now, you knew it had to. Fuck– you wished like hell that you could keep him. But you couldn’t. 

Josh’s words swirled through your mind.

“Now is not the time to be getting involved with anyone.” 

“You know better, Jake. And you know that now is the time to focus on yourself rather than a woman– focusing on anything besides this monumental time in your life could hurt you.”

You knew Josh was correct. You couldn’t be the thing to distract him to the point of him abandoning this dream. 

 “Can you just fucking look out for yourself—just a little bit?” He’d pleaded, his voice breaking a bit. 

Just like your heart now. 

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. . . I would just really appreciate it if you cared about yourself the way you deserve.”

You feared he couldn’t do it for himself. Look out for his best interest. If he hadn’t been able to do it before with Amelia, what would stop him from giving himself the short end of the stick for you, too?

And you had to take into consideration how quickly you’d been destroyed by running to any and every conclusion about Maya. . . You could not handle something like this. Emotionally, it was too much for you at this point in your life. Pushing all of the thoughts away, you decided to just let yourself have this time with him. He was everything you wanted, and at this moment you were going to let yourself have him.

Bringing yourself back to the present, you gazed into his irises. But before you could lose yourself further, he shook his head, looking down between the two of you. 

Your brow furrowed in response, and you reached the hand that was still holding his back, up to cup his cheek, lifting his head in the process. When he looked at you again, his eyes were shining. 

Dammit, Jake, you thought, wistful. 

You felt tears prick your own ducts. Your thumb swept across the soft skin and the faint beauty mark that adorned his cheek. Fuck, he was beautiful. You bit your lip, then hushed your next words, repeating your earlier statement. “I know.”

He went to look down again, but your hold was firm on his face. “Look at me, Jake,” you begged. “Watch me.”

He pressed his face into your hand, his eyes shutting for a moment. A singular tear made its way to your chest. He cleared his throat, opening his eyes. He kept them on you, never wavering and following your instructions. His hips continued with their languid movements, his cock never exiting you. But, suddenly, as you felt your walls constrict him again, his slow movements became quicker, desperate. You wanted to throw your head back, completely overtaken with lust. But you kept your eyes trained on his. 

You had to see him finish. . . see his face. You’d never let yourself watch him, subconsciously fearing the intimacy of witnessing it. But you had to see it now. . .just once.

“Stay with me, Jake,” you pleaded, your voice hitching with each hard pump of his dick. He briefly closed his eyes again, and fearful of missing him, you coached him back to you. “Look into my eyes.”

You gasped the last part, the sensation of him throbbing and twitching inside of you, the fullness of his dick filling you completely. 

More.

He whimpered, his Amber-brown eyes, heart wrenching and warm as they stayed locked with yours. “I can’t– I’m gonna– I’m–,” he choked out. His movements slowed, and he went to pull out. But you stopped him, your hand holding tight to his soft, round ass. He looked back at you, quirking an inquisitive, urgent brow. You felt your legs quiver, your heat clenched around him as your clit twitched with need. 

So close. Fuck. 

His eyes rolled, his lids shutting with the feeling. He bit his pink lip. His lips, still swollen from your kisses and shiny from your release. The butterflies in your stomach started fluttering ferociously, the familiar feeling overtaking you as your body trembled– your nerves humming. 

You were about to finish. And you had to do it with him. 

Completely. 

“Y/n,” he gasped, warning you. “I’m going to fucking cum.”

You felt his cock pulse inside of you, confirming his words. 

“I know,” you said, for the third time. “But I need to feel you. I want you to finish inside of me.”

His eyes bugged. “Y/n– fuck. No. No. You are under the influence. You don’t want–.”

You felt your chest flare with irritation at his words. “Jake, I swear to fuck,” you whined, your eyes shutting as one particular nudge of his cock against your folds pushed you nearly over the edge. “Please, Jake. Please, baby. I promise you won’t be taking advantage or some shit. I need it. Please. Let me have it. Just this one time.”

Let our last time be special, you thought. You tried to let your eyes echo your thoughts, willing him to understand. 

He seemed to, because his next words were less apprehensive– an air of eagerness and an air of excitement painting his tone with his next words. “Are you sure?”

“More than sure,” you reassured, smoothing your thumb across his sharp cheekbone. 

And with one last buck from his hips, your clit twitched and your legs turned to Jell-o. All composure was lost–shuddering and heart chanting his name. Then, with a final groaned growl, his eyelids drooped, and his irises hazily watched you. His mouth relaxed to an ‘o’ shape, just the same as it did when he played his beloved instrument. You felt the glorious feeling of his release, as he spilled warm and plentiful inside of you. 

“Jaaaake,” you moved your hips up against him, wanting to feel and catch every last bit of him. “Yes, baby– yes.”

Dammit– until this moment, you hadn’t realized just how badly you needed this. 

You could punch yourself with the anger you felt at ending things with him. But it was for this exact reason. The emotions you were feeling (that you knew he was also feeling), as he slumped against you, thick shaft slowly softening inside of you. . .his head balanced on your shoulder as your fingers lazily played with his gorgeous, growing locks. . . 

It wasn’t uncomplicated. It was more than it was ever meant to become. It wasn’t what you had agreed to in the slightest. This was turning into a relationship. And you were not about to squander his career with any sort of distraction. You refused to get in the way of his career. 

So, when he finally pulled out of you –and you felt the remnants of his seed slipping from between the folds of your fulfilled cunt– you reminded yourself.

Plan B. 

And as you dozed off, after he’d cleaned you so delicately, with him spooning you from behind, his firm chest meeting your relaxed back. . . you swore you wouldn’t forget. 

Plan B in the morning.

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: hope to see you back for part 2 TOMORROW!! 🖤

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts!

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend, @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf

[my-status-single]

The One Where Peter Parker Has a Baby Chapter 2

He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s with Happy. They won’t let him run to him. He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s with Happy. He can’t go to him. He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s safe with Happy. He’s safe. His name is Ben. He’s four. He’s Peter’s.

She had been pregnant.  It had been early.  So early that it had been months before she even realised. Half of the universe disappeared, Peter included. And months later she had given birth to their son. Their son. Ben.

Fic Summary: Mostly canon compliant fic that centres around the relationship of Tony Stark's daughter and Peter Parker.

Fic Summary: Mostly canon compliant fic that centres around the relationship of Tony Stark's daughter and Peter Parker.

Notes: This is a Peter Parker/Reader fic. It jumps back and forth between the "present" (after the blip is reversed) and the past (pre blip reversal). The main focus is Peter and our girl Y/N, but there will be exploration into other relationships as well. These include but are not limited to Tony/Steve Peter/Harley Harley/Harry Peter/Harley/Harry Steve/Bucky Tony/Stephen.

Each chapter will have content warnings listed that are specific to the chapter just for added security, there will also be a summary of the chapter if the content is something you don't want to engage with but would like to continue to the next chapter. There will also be a comprehensive list of warnings. The severity of these topics varies from very intense to simply implied. Be sure to check the individual chapters for more detailed descriptions of how these themes are used.

Fic Content Warning: Underage sex, unplanned pregnancy, teen pregnancy, polyamoury, child abuse/neglect, parental death, suicide, self harm, Tony Stark in Endgame

Please, if there is ever something in this or any of my fics that you feel needs a content warning, feel free to message me and I will make sure to add it.

I want this to be a safe place for everyone.

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From the author: Taglist is OPEN, just leave a comment or send me a dm xxx

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Chapter Notes: First major canon divergence. Tony and Steve meet in early 2001 as Tony had taken over for Howard in SHIELD after his death. Let’s not think about it too hard. By the end of 2001 they are established in a relationship. And early 2002 they find out about the pregnancy. Reader is born in August of 2002.

It might be a bit annoying to have the reader be so flushed out as that can distract and make it harder to insert yourself into the story but…the timeline bro.

Word count: 1114

Chapter Content Warnings: Child neglect-Mentions of Howard Stark who is a bad dad. Reader's mother is very uninterested in the reader after the birth homophobia-Steve talks about being with a man in the 40s and it is lightly implied that it was not safe pregnancy-Tony gets a woman pregnant alcohol-Steve and Tony drink beer Stony-Steve and Tony are a couple

Chapter Summary: This chapter establishes the relationship between Tony and Steve and explains how the reader came to be. Reader is the product of a one night stand from Tony prior to becoming exclusive with Steve. Reader’s mother, Katherine, is a scientist working to recreate the super serum. She is described as cold and unattached.

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Chapter 1

Tony really tried to hate Steve when they first met. Truly. For reasons he found completely justified.

His dad was an ass.

And as far as he was concerned, that was Steve’s fault.

It ended up being impossible to hate him though. Because he was just so damn nice.

Which made Tony irrationally angry.

Steve wasn’t all that impressed by Tony. He hadn’t been all that impressed with Howard either though.

He didn’t really have any particularly strong thoughts or emotions about Tony.

He was mostly baffled Howard had had a kid.

He never seemed like the type.

Regardless

They both had a strange pull toward the other.

Like the other was a connection to something long past.

Steve is someone who knew Tony’s father, who he had grown up hearing about.

Tony was Howard’s son. And though he was rarely on the same page as him, he had still been a friend. And Tony was the closest thing to something from home.

They somehow ended up as something akin to friends.

Neither were great at the whole sleeping, or self care in general, thing, so there were lots of late nights, lots of long talks, lots of secrets shared. They spoke of Tony’s dating life, Steve wanted to know just how similar Tony was to his father. And during one of those talks, after some light teasing about what Steve must have gotten up to back in the day, Steve admitted that he and Bucky had been in a relationship.

Tony wasn’t exactly surprised.

“So, you’re gay then?” He asks him. They are sat on the floor of Tony’s lab, a half eaten box of pizza between them, and beers in their hands.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever really needed to label it.” Steve admits. “I just knew Bucky was my person.” He shrugs.

Tony understands this at some level. The not needing a label, not the other thing.

“You don’t have to label it.” He says, possibly trying to put Steve at ease. “I never have. I just like…the people I like.” He says. “I’ve never committed myself to someone the way you have though.

Steve nods slowly and sips his drink. “Don’t you get lonely?”

This causes Tony to pause. 

He’s never really alone. He never really allows himself to be. Like he needs a buffer between him and his head. There are plenty of people, both in and outside of his bed. He’s popular. He’s desired, wanted, sought after. He’s never lacking in people who want to give him their time.

He finishes off his drink.

“Yeah.” He says finally.

Things change between them after that night. Like there was a newfound understanding between them. Both were tired of being lonely.

It starts out as just sex. Which was new ground for Steve, and he struggled with it for a while. Until he realised that his struggles weren’t from it being casual sex, but that he was developing feelings for Tony and didn’t want it to be casual sex.

Steve had always been pretty straightforward, but he still struggled a lot with the thought of confessing. He wanted to keep Tony in his life and was worried he’d run at the mention of commitment.

But its been over a year since they met. And months since they started sleeping together.

So he just…tells him one night.

He lacked some elegance in it if he was honest with himself.

Blurting out “I want you to be my boyfriend” while you’re balls deep in someone isn’t exactly tactful.

But it worked out okay for him in the end.

The universe is a bit fucked up though.

Because just months later Tony comes to him with life altering news that neither of them had been prepared for.

And with that news Tony brought an out.

“You didn’t sign up for this.” Tony says quietly.

“No, but neither did you.” Steve responds. He’s never seen Tony so…sullen. So conflicted.

“I knew the risks of fucking someone without a condom.” Tony says bluntly. “This was always a possibility.” He lets out a breath. “I…I’m gonna step up. I’m gonna be this baby’s dad. But you don’t have to be.” He says quietly. “I’ll understand if you go.”

Steve lets out a breath and takes both of Tony’s hands. “I was in love with a man in the 40s. Tony, I gave up on the idea of having children before I was even old enough to consider them in the first place. They were never an option.” Tony goes a bit pale. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want them.” He continues. “I knew who I was getting involved with, Tony. And if having you means having this baby then I guess we’re going to be parents.”

And it’s as simple as that.

In August of that year their daughter was born.

Their daughter’s mother was someone Steve had never met, prior to going to the hospital when she went into labour. But he knew her name. He’d learned her name, read about her. Read about a lot of people like her when he had looked himself up. He learned that there were a distressing number of people trying to recreate Erskine’s original serum. This woman, Katherine, was one of them.

She was a tall, slender woman. Stereotypically beautiful but almost hollow looking. Like there was something missing inside of her.

He doesn’t remember her ever holding the baby. She hardly looked at her. Something told him she had no interest in being a mother but somehow went through with the pregnancy anyway.

But he didn’t dwell on it. He didn’t care.

Because if this precious, tiny, perfect baby girl wasn’t reason enough…the way Tony looked when he held his baby was enough to make him ignore the slight concern he felt over the way Katherine was responding to motherhood.

Tony was built to be a father.

He was so perfect with her. And Steve had never been so fond of another person.

All his outward, arrogant facade broke down the second he was with their girl. She had him wrapped around his finger.

And Steve was no better.

He knew he was in trouble the first time they’d ever made eye contact.

How could he ever say no to this tiny girl?

Katherine was clearly not interested in being a mother to her daughter. She made no fuss when Tony asked if the baby could live with him. She wasn’t breastfeeding, and the baby was clearly more attached to Tony. But despite their request, she wouldn’t sign over her parental rights. Therefore, physical custody was shared between Katherine and Tony.

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Taglist: @bitchy-bi-trash

[muddyorbsblr]

i have never

See the full 14 Days Collection here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: When you reveal to your co-stars that you've never had a positive experience kissing anyone, let alone a good experience doing more than kissing, Tom visits you in your hotel room to rectify that situation.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: steamy moments (this is 1 of the 2 non-smut stories from this collection); language; mention of bleeding

Things to be aware of: coworkers to lovers; reader isn't inexperienced but she's had horrendous experience

"Okay I might need help with this, I gotta be honest."

You showed the page that you placed a little pink post-it flag on to your female co-stars, Scarlett and Lizzie, the flag pointing to the part of the script that showed your character had to kiss Loki and a look of 'contentment and relief' had to be visible on your face.

"Wait why? You've had kissing scenes before," Lizzie prodded, looking at the surrounding dialogue of the kiss.

"Yeah, I know, but those kisses were meant to be awkward and I had to be visibly uncomfortable, which is great because that's all I know how to be when a guy kisses me." You grimaced as memories of sloppy, teeth-knocking, way too rough kisses gone wrong began to flash through your mind like a train wreck slideshow.

"Oh sweetie…if you're worried that it's gonna be bad because Tom's going to make it uncomfortable, you got nothing to worry about," Scarlett commented with a chuckle. "Man's never had a bad kiss scene in his life. Ask Lizzie."

"Mmhmm. Yup. Can confirm," the redhead said with a playful grin on her face.

"Well that's all well and good but I'm not worried about him giving me a bad kiss. I'm worried that I will." You slumped your shoulders as they gave you doubtful looks. "Alright then let me put it this way. All the kisses I've had off camera are…fucking awful. On camera I can look past because it's supposed to be awkward and dorky and maybe even so cringe I wouldn't wanna watch it even if you paid me. But the guys I've kissed in private? Let's just say that the least traumatizing kiss I've had ended with my lip bleeding because the fucker bit me too hard."

"Babes, that's absolutely awful!" Lizzie looked at you with her jaw to the floor. "Are you telling us that every guy you've slept with is—"

"Fucking awful? Yep. They didn't have any redeeming qualities. And before you even ask, yes, that means that I have fucking faked it. For years. No one's ever got me to the promised land." You slumped in your chair from the admission. "So that's why I need help. I haven't the first idea how to even look like I'm content because every experience I've ever had is…subpar."

The two promised to help you until you three were called to set, imparting knowledge about imagining a wave of calm overtaking you coupled with the contradicting feeling of a wild fluttering in your stomach. Actions-wise, to pull him closer, as if you couldn't possibly be close enough, clinging to him as if your life depended on it. And the desperation that implied this was a last kiss, because ultimately it would be for your characters, considering the tragic death the Russo brothers had in mind for Loki.

It'd also be the first and last kiss you'd have with the man you'd had a raging crush on since years before you were even a blip on Marvel's radar, so you took all their advice to heart just to make sure that at the very least you didn't leave a horrible impression with him once this scene was over.

After all, you still had all of promo period to get through and considering that the Marketing team had already found your old socials from high school and had concrete evidence that you absolutely had a phase where you shamelessly fangirled over Tom Hiddleston, they would most likely test your sanity and pair you off with him for some, if not most, of the press junkets.

That was the whole reason you were currently in one of the dining tents, your head slumped down on a table as you watched a whole bunch of kissing scenes on YouTube while you furiously jotted down notes on the back of your script. Your scenes were finished for the day, and all you had to do was wait for someone in the costume department to assist you out of your costume. You retrieved your phone from security, meaning you were no longer allowed on any of the filming sets considering how careful all the execs were about spoilers getting out.

"Elizabeth told me I'd likely find you here." You jumped in your seat at the dulcet tone of Tom's voice filling the former quiet of the tent, quickly straightening your posture and turning your phone off, putting the face down on top of your notes. "Apologies. I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no, it's all good, really," you chuckled out, the nerves beginning to peek through in your shaky tone. It was borderline impossible keeping your composure around him considering that he'd been in a tight-fitting black muscle tee, the rest of him clad in his character's leather pants and boots, putting on egregious display what exactly Marvel had to edit out during post production of the first Thor movie. "What's up?" you squeaked out.

"Truly, nothing. I just wanted to tell you I look forward to filming with you tomorrow." He placed a hand on your shoulder, bared by the rather revealing nature of your Enchantress costume, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "I'll see you tomorrow, darling. I'll see if I can get someone to assist you with your costume."

Your heart caught in your throat as you watched his eyes give you a once over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, before leaving the tent.

Here lies Y/N Y/L/N. Cause of death? Sanity and ability to breathe were stolen by Thomas William Hiddleston.

Knock Knock Knock

You looked up from your position on the couch, your neck and back straining from being hunched over and taking notes as you watched compilation after compilation of the "best tv and movie kisses" on YouTube. Every bit of preparation you could do for tomorrow's scene short of trolling through Tinder or Raya, you would willingly do.

After all, if you looked stupid in your hotel room practicing how to kiss on your hand but no one else was around to see it, did you actually look stupid?

Yes. The answer was yes.

"I didn't order room service!" you called out in the direction of the door and sending the mistaken server on his way, turning back to face the TV and somehow transpose in your mind that the actors in the scene were you and Tom, trying to plan out how to move your body the way theirs moved, to not lean in too much so that your teeth didn't knock together, and to not even think about any lip biting considering your own dreadful history--

Knock Knock Knock

You groaned at the insistent mistaken case of room service and turned off the TV, flipping your notes over so that in case they were of the nosy variety nothing could leak. The last thing you needed throughout production was Holland and Ruffalo greeting you tomorrow morning with open arms and goofy grins saying "One of us! One of us!"

"I'm sure you're mistaken, buddy, I didn't order any--"

You opened the door and realized it wasn't room service on the other side. It was Tom, looking at you with a soft amusement in his eyes, the mortification spreading through your system at the knowledge that he was seeing you clad in a loose cotton ruffle sleepwear dress that went down the length of your arms and fell to your knees.

The farthest cry from the allure of Amora. And yet the best possible representation of yourself in real life.

"O-Oh uhh…hi," you stammered, constantly shifting your posture in your attempt to seem casual. "What's up?"

You felt even more chagrined when those eyes that haunted your every dream since you were a teenager that was every bit the awkward dork that you were at this moment once again gave you a once over. Only this time the smirk graduated to him biting his lip. What is his deal? Is he really just trying to make me spontaneously combust? Burn off the final shred of sanity that I'm holding on to? Did he choose me as his use case for a scientific study to prove that death by swooning was most definitively a thing?

"Y/N I heard you earlier today with Scarlett and Elizabeth." Someone call the cemetery and have them erect my tombstone. "I didn't intend to, but I'd been walking by the area and--"

"Ohh fuck," you groaned, pressing your hands to your eyes and spinning in your spot trying calm your racing mind. "Look I'm really sorry maybe we could talk to Anthony and Joe and we could have them write the scene out comp--"

Your words caught in your throat in a hitched squeak as you felt his hands wrap around yours, pulling them away from your face. "Look at me, please." You opened your eyes and became stunned silent when you saw a tenderness in his as he framed your face in his hands. "I'm not here to ask you to talk to anyone about getting the scene written out."

"Then why--"

He silenced you by pressing his lips to yours, all the words beginning to melt away. What little knowledge you'd gotten seemed trivial now, as he coaxed you to kiss him back, as the world around you seemed to fade and a strange quiet washed over you. As you felt your entire body come alive with every tender brush of his lips against yours.

So this was what they meant.

He pulled away from you, one arm wrapped securely around your waist to keep you close, and the other hand gently cradling the back of your head. "I came here because you are a woman who deserves to be kissed breathless. Often. By someone who knows how." He gave you a soft smile before slanting his mouth over yours, tongue gently brushing along the parting of your lips as if asking for entrance.

It was as if your whole body weakened once you parted your lips and felt his tongue gently flicking against yours. His arm tightened around you as he lifted you up seemingly effortlessly and pinned you to the wall, his lips never once leaving yours.

When Tom broke the kiss you were both gasping for breath, the air once again leaving your body the moment his lips latched on to your neck, his hands roaming down your body until they hooked around the backs of your knees to wrap your legs around him. You had to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the resounding moan that escaped you the second his hips rolled into yours.

"No, darling," he groaned against your skin, one hand reaching up to wrap around yours and pry it away from your mouth. "I want to hear you." He moved away from your neck and brought his face inches from yours. "I also heard one more thing. A downright sacrilegious thing. About how you've had to fake your pleasure with everyone you've laid with."

He placed your hand on his shoulder, which you quickly hooked around his neck to hold yourself up as he lifted you away from the wall and walked further into the hotel room, making your mind spin with what he intended to do next. "So you heard that, too, huh?" was all you could say as you did your best to remember how to breathe.

"I did. And I wish to change that, too. If you'll let me."

You could only nod before his lips were back on yours again as he laid you down onto the bed.

A/N: I had to fade to black some of these stories if I wanted to meet deadlines, okay? 🤣

'everything' taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @devilsadvocactus @lokiprompts @sititran @ladyjames78 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @kats72 @creationsbyme @coldnique @athalialaufeyson @simplyholl @tallseaweed @sarahscribbles @unlucky-number-13 @ozymdias @maple-seed @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfsmom1 @km-ffluv @psychospore @loopsisloops @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovelysizzlingbluebird

[agoodfictitle-shadowban]

From Vormir, With Love - Part 2

Tags: strangers to lovers, love in space angst on earth, slavery mention, alien abduction, post Endgame, will add as we go on

Summary: As you're being chased you crash on Vormir. So far, so bad. But things take a turn when you come face to face with a marooned Black Widow.

[Part 1] [here] [Part 3]

Word count: 3.1k

A/n: after some nice vacations I'm back! Thanks for all your support, and I hope you'll like this chapter!

Taglist: tbd

You were right, June didn't like you bringing one more person along. An Avenger on top of it. Still, she simply gave one look to the newcomer, groaned, and went back to her repairs. You could work with that.

Now, you're hanging in the cockpit of your ship, looking at the star chart. In the five years you spent drifting into space, you never managed to find Earth again. Most Aliens don't care for humans, and don't know where they're from. As for star charts, they cost an arm and a half, so you have to work with the one you have - one which of course doesn't give the common names of planets in human language and no translator has cracked it.

"What are you doing?" The voice comes from behind you, covering the snores of the rest of the crew in the background. Sleep doesn't come as easy to you, even if you have the privilege to have your own bed. For tonight, you decided to give it up to Tim. He looked miserable after the fight with Natasha.

"Looking up at the stars," you answer simply, eyes still on the chart.

"What are you doing in space?" She asks after a moment of silence.

"What are you?" You retort, not even contemplating answering her question, and finally looking up at her. Now that you know who she is, bitterness is starting to build inside you, for her and all the so-called Mightiest Heroes of Earth. You take a deep breath, you don't want to lose focus. "I know for a fact Avengers don't travel that far out without a reason, and clearly something happened." You point at the Aliens who came back from the blip. "Cause those guys appeared out of nowhere three days ago. So, what's up with that?"

"So it worked…" she whispers at first, in a sort of wonder, and you understand she had something to do with all that. She looks at you, searches your face, and for a bit you think she won't answer you. And then she smirks. That surprises you. "You're a smart one, aren't you?" She puts her feet on the board and you glare at them as she keeps talking. "I was here to save everyone from the snap. It's good to see we succeeded." She seems genuinely happy about it, but also troubled.

You hum, and you wonder if that's truly for the best. Memories from the day of the Snap flood back to you.

-

You had never been that scared in your life before. You had no idea where you were, if you were even still on Earth - you guessed that you weren't, because those… people were clearly non-humans. You remembered going to the convenience store down your street, after a long shift at work. The night had already set for a few hours at the time, and as you were about to pay for your ramen pack and soda, those things came out of nowhere. You tried to hide, to fight, but it was no use. You remember thinking that maybe, just maybe, someone would come and help you. The cops, the military, anyone. Maybe SHIELD or the Avengers had detected that strange activity, somehow, and they were on their way. But no one came.

The aliens took all of you, all the ones that were in the store, and the next time you opened your eyes, you were in what looked like a ship.

You were kept in a cell with the clerk from the store - June, you learned, an engineering student who was working two jobs to pay for college - and food was coming from the ceiling in bags. You quickly realized it was sedated, and stopped eating until your stomach begged for something, anything. Some of the aliens were walking around, probably to keep an eye on the prisoners, and you quickly noticed that the only ones armed were those who had six eyes and a weird stone in the middle of their forehead. There were others, they looked like they were only doing maintenance or cleaning. They had a collar around their neck. This lasted maybe a week, and you kept praying that anytime, at any moment now, someone would come to save you. But once again, no one came.

And then one day… no one came again. No guards. The prison doors opened for apparently no reason, and you took a step outside. Was it a trap? Your naked feet walked alongside other prisoners. Besides June, you couldn't understand any of them - they were all aliens speaking different languages, and the other three humans were nowhere to be seen. You found weapons, and fought some of the aliens. You managed to outnumber most of them with the other prisoners. Soon enough, you were aboard a ship and on your way elsewhere. You remember looking at the star chart with so much hope. Home. It was right there.

-

Home is nowhere to be seen.

"I wish you could be as optimistic as you." You shake your head.

Now, those Aliens have more manpower than ever, and will certainly come after you again. You will need to lay low for some time before you can keep going on your quest for Earth.

"You're not happy," Natasha simply states. It feels like you're raining on her parade, so you decide to reassure her in order to keep the peace. There is also this weird feeling in your chest that makes you like her smirk, and the stupid spark in her eyes, so you might as well try to keep it there even just for some personal gratification.

"No, it's probably good. Means more people to help us get back to Earth. Which, you wouldn't happen to have a star chart on you?"

"No. But I might know someone who does." Here is the smirk again, thinning her full lips that you could kiss right now if she is telling the truth. You lunge towards her and put your hands on her upper arms, one on each side, squeezing her. She looks surprised, eyes wide, almost ready to fight but she keeps it in her.

"Wait? Are you for real?! This would be fantastic!"

"Why don't we calm down first, hm?"

You want to throw a party and dance of joy. "Calm down? It's been more than five years!" You whisper yell to not wake up your guests. "I can finally go home!"

She decides you're a lost cause when she sees you walk towards June's quarters and almost fall from dancing happily between the bodies sleeping on the ground. Somehow, seeing this after the past few days makes her smirk slightly, her heart lighter. You disappear around a corner just as the memory hits.

-

When she opened her eyes, it was to a dark sky and crimson surroundings. Her clothes were damp from the small pools of water under her. Not far was the sharp cliff she jumped from. She remembered the last thing she saw. Clint. She sat up. He was nowhere to be seen, and she wondered if her sacrifice didn't work, because right now, she was very much alive. No. She should still be dead. She should still be… free. She swallowed. She never wanted to die. But. But… she stood up, as tired as ever, and checked her equipment. Her Widow's bites were fried, as were her comms, but she still had her sidearm. Now, she had to find Clint.

He was nowhere to be seen, she realized once she came back up the cliff. No one was here anymore, not even Red Skull, she was all alone. Alone. She was used to it, it was fine.

She checked her comms again. Still nothing, not even statics.

She sat down on the same rocks as earlier. Was it earlier? She searched around her pockets, and found her phone. She was barely able to make it work, but soon enough she realized what her problem was. She was back to today's time, after she left for the past. Clint wasn't here, not because he abandoned her, because the last time he was had been years ago. It suddenly made sense. What didn't was why she was here. But for now, she had a much more pressing question: how was she going to go back to Earth?

Luckily, fate gave her a quick answer.

In the horizon, light caught her eye. Someone was crashing here, and she would only hope to get to you before you left again. With no time to lose, she started her walk.

-

"Are you sure she isn't brain dead? 'Cause she ain't answering." June's voice brings Natasha back to the present. She arches an eyebrow and tilts her head the slightest in her direction.

"See, not dead," you say in triomph.

"Why don't you stop talking about me like I'm not here." Her tone is harsh, and it shuts up both of you. You rub the back of your neck and look away, ashamed, while June just crosses her arms almost in defiance. It's still enough to get back to the main subject.

"Whatever," June starts, "do you really know people who could help us?"

The irreverence aside, there is some fear in her voice, and it quickly clicks in Natasha's head: she's scared to get her hopes up. It's a fear she understood all too well; hope is always the first step towards disappointment. Hope is dangerous. But sometimes it's all you have, and she isn't about to disappoint those lost women.

"Yes, we just need to find them."

"And who are they exactly?" asks a very guarded June. You elbow her, and she simply send you a glare, ignoring your suddenly very shiny personality. You'd never been one to be pessimistic, despite everything that happened, you just knew how to hide it, but right now you were almost beaming with joy.

"Carol Danvers, ideally, then Peter Quill, or Thor, one of the two if we don't have a choice." She shrugs like this will be easy. To be fair, they are very well known individuals. June looks at you to see if you know who she's talking about, since you're well informed usually. You are always the one going outside the ship to find the missions. It takes you a second to know exactly who she's talking about, and you nod.

"Carol is our best bet, anyone with authority has a way to contact her. We can just go to the federation probably, but the Nova Corps could be closer. I think they have an outpost a few jumps away…" You're already thinking, looking back at your star chart to find the closest place where you can contact Marvel, or whoever the other two were - well, Thor you know, but the name of Peter Quill sounds made up, even if it titillates your brain. "I'll check the radio as soon as we leave Vormir's atmosphere. Something is blocking the communications."

June nods, then looks at Natasha with distrustful eyes. "You better be telling the truth or you'll pray you did."

Somehow, the threat works on you too and you move on your seat in discomfort. June always was the more serious of the two of you, and held an even bigger grudge against the Avengers than you did. It reminds you that maybe you should distrust a spy a little bit more, as you eye the ship's console. Natasha is less impressed, but still takes things seriously.

"I am," she simply reaffirms in all seriousness. You observe her, and she seems genuine to you. It looks like it's enough for June too, because she simply goes back to her bed.

"Sorry for June," you say when she's out of earshot. "She's… we both went through a lot. Makes things hard." Hard to trust, hard to forgive. You're happy that she could help, but you also know tomorrow the bitterness will still be there. Of course, Natasha knows too well what you mean, the vulnerability that comes with the short explanation, and she offers a simple nod in understanding, her eyes expressing all of her empathy.

You're thankful for it.

A small silence establishes itself, during which you look each other in the eyes. It's easy to fall in hers, the infinite pool of water so inviting, so full of hurt to learn and comfort to find. You could read a full life, and something more, a spark no one else had. It lasts a few seconds, before you get back to the star chart, and she stands up to go get some water. When she comes back, she brings some to you, and you thank her in a whisper. She starts to clean her weapons and tinkers with her widow bites to try and repair them. While she does that, she notices you talking to yourself when you plan your next course and smiles slightly while looking down. Her lips crack from three days spent in what was virtually a desert.

Somehow, it makes her think of home.

-

Everything is ready for take off, and as your hand hovers over the handle ,you send a look to June. She gives you a thumbs up, but you know she isn't as sure as she looks, you know she probably thinks there is a small uncertain chance you will crash again and not survive this time. But with the help of Natasha - turns out she's a good mechanic at least - and some of the maintenance crew, you managed to repair the ship earlier than June told you the first time.

"Okay, up and away we go," you whisper to yourself as you push the thrusters. "Let's hope."

The ship shakes under the building pressure, but it holds. You push them some more as you gain elevation, the ground further and further away, and before you know it, you manage to leave Vormir's atmosphere.

You let out a breath of relief.

The ship stabilizes under you, and you send a thumbs up to June this time. As you go back to the console, your gaze crosses with Natasha's, and you exchange a small smile. You only had brief talks since she joined you, but she always was nice to everyone, if a bit short with Tim. The giant humanoid feline was still suspicious of her, the same way he was suspicious of almost everyone. You mainly tried to ignore the small brewing conflict, but it was getting harder. For now, you were simply happy to be back in space and not in pieces.

"We're green across the board," you announced, and everyone let the reassurance lift the weight off their shoulders. You then focus back on the ship. You still had to have the autopilot calibrated to the nearest jump point that would allow you to access the Nova Corps, then, if you were lucky, Earth.

It takes you little time to get the autopilot calibrated, and once you do you notice Natasha is still watching you, where the others simply went back to their activities. She's leaning against the hull, her arms crossed, a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

"How did you learn to pilot?"

"Observation. When we… commandeered this ship–"

"You stole it?" She raises an eyebrow.

"They were bad people." She nods, and you continue. "We had aliens with us. I just watched them pilot and learned via observation."

"Not everyone could have done that. What did you do back on Earth?" Her interest starts to make you the slightest uncomfortable, but you simply answer with a shrug.

"I worked some job that barely matters anymore."

"Never had a flying lesson?"

You shake your head no, and you notice admiration in her traits. It seems like you impressed her.

"I'm impressed," she confirms. "It takes some exceptional skills to pick up something like that."

Somehow, it makes you blush slightly and your chest rises with pride. You look away to hide it as you feel conflicted, and decide it's probably because the only other person you spent time with the past few years has been June, and she's not one to show admiration for others. Definitely nothing to do with Natasha herself being incredibly competent, and pretty. Very pretty.

Your eyes can't help but wander back to her when you notice the way the dim lights from the ship are highlighting her sharp jaw and her cheekbones, her long lashes projecting their shadows on her delicate skin. You realize you're staring, and that she's actually staring back. It makes you slightly uncomfortable, as you feel that after five years, there isn't much to look at, so you decide to break the brief silence.

"It's not… maybe a bit but– you know, you look tired. Maybe you should rest or something?" You fumble to change the subject. She has the audacity to smirk, and you want to cross your arms like a petulant child who's been caught in the cookie jar. But she's nice, and simply agrees.

"I should. You should too, commander." There is some teasing behind her voice, and you sputter a bit. She doesn't wait for an answer before she ducks back to the other side of the ship.

You stay there for a minute, trying to process the whole conversation. Was she…? Was that flirting? No. No way. You frown, trying to understand what just happened.

"Nope, no way. She's right I'm just tired," you finally settle on. You stand up and go back to the living side of the ship, asking Tim to keep an eye on the trajectory before you join your bunk. It was more a hole in the wall with a mattress stuck in it than anything else, but it was yours. There was another bunk on top of yours, where you kept some of your stuff before the arrival of everyone, but it had been cleared to give space to them. On the other side of the room, there is the same configuration, and on the top bunk you can make the silhouette of the spy. 

It's the last thing you see before you fall asleep, and you wonder how long the newfound safety you felt is going to last.

[voxofthevoid]

Posting Schedule: April & May 2024

I'm merging the months since the April anniversary project has outgrown April rather egregiously. It is funny how I said just last month that I'm cutting down my updates to four a month, and now we have eight each for these two months. But to be fair, the word count is pretty much the same because these are shorter fics (...mostly).

April:

2. Chapter 1/1 of the history book on the shelf is always repeating itself

JJK; goyuu; When Yuuji’s fifteen, Gojou Satoru dies; when Yuuji’s seventeen, Gojou Satoru is born.

6. Chapter 1/1 of (it wasn't hard to realize) love's the death of peace of mind

JJK; goyuu; When a blip in time lands sixteen-year-old Satoru in the future, he finds himself in possession of a cursed object sporting his own eyes and a grieving boy who can’t look away from those eyes.

12. Chapter 1/2 of because the negative sex was born into a bloodline

JJK; kenita; Yuuji makes reasonable assumptions about the handsome man stalking him. Kenjaku gets to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

14. Chapter 1/1 of caught the teacher giving his eyes to a student

JJK; goyuu; Megumi finds out that Gojou’s been giving Yuuji some hands-on sex education.

19. Chapter 1/1 of will we remain stuck in the throat of gods

JJK; sukuita with past!goyuu; A bad breakup isn’t a good excuse to fuck the monster rotting your soul, but Yuuji’s made worse decisions—probably.

23. Chapter 1/1 of this was something you incited, you opened up and invited

JJK; goyuu; Satoru learns why most alphas don’t fuck other alphas.

26. Chapter 1/1 of we can be anything we want to be (make shit up and live it completely)

JJK; goyuu; An offhand comment leads to Yuuji discovering the dubious joys of pet ownership.

30. Chapter 1/1 of this is the wrong story

JJK; goyuu; In a faraway forest enclosed in Brahmic barriers, there’s a boy who loves and hates the world in equal measure.

May

3. Chapter 1/1 of vulgarity (the glory and the virtue died so long ago)

JJK; goyuu; Yuuji’s hormones battle his morals while his half-naked teacher sleeps on his lap.

8. Chapter 1/1 of somebody ought to corrupt you on the dance floor and take you home

JJK; hiita; A wardrobe malfunction drastically alters the aftermath of Yuuji’s fight with Higuruma.

10. Chapter 1/1 of never seen such a pretty wicked thing

JJK; goyuu; Satoru has a late-night philosophical discussion with the King of Curses.

15. Chapter 2/2 of because the negative sex was born into a bloodline

JJK; kenita; Yuuji makes reasonable assumptions about the handsome man stalking him. Kenjaku gets to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

19. Chapter 1/1 of i'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

JJK; goyuu; Satoru’s ward is in that peculiar purgatory between puberty and presentation. He tries to help.

23. Chapter 1/1 of you're like a goddess in disguise (i'm drowning slowly in your eyes)

JJK; fem!goyuu; Yuuji finds religion in her teacher’s tits, violently.

26. Chapter 1/1 of but lover, you're the one to blame

JJK; goyuu; Yuuji acquires a doll that’s sympathetically connected to Satoru. It’s innocent until it isn’t.

31. Chapter 1/7 of i can offer you a black-lit paradise

JJK; itagofushi; Satoru plays favorites with his students in the worst way possible. Megumi suffers, while Yuuji’s oblivious—and horny.

The dates are tentative, the order isn't set in stone, and I am about to become void soup.

If anything's repeated or mismatched, ignore for now. I'll look over this again when these fic titles/dates aren't at risk of setting my eyes on fire.

[sighonaraa]

tagged by the wonderful @jamietarttdodododododo and the marvelous @asteria-argo to do my 2023 fic round-up!

1. How many stories did you post?

6! talked about a lot more!

2. Which ones were your favorites?

oh don't make me do thissssssss. i'm going to say my favorite was It's the Great Father's Day, Ted Lasso because that was not only the first fic i wrote for ted lasso, but the first fic i wrote and posted ever. it was also just so much fun to write!!! i love being silly and goofy.

3. Which one was the most satisfying to write?

and do not recognize us as we pass! writing the last paragraphs of that fic was truly cathartic in a way i can't quite express properly and i'm so glad i got to experience that.

4. The most difficult?

hear you calling from some lost and distant shore! up till that point, i'd written and posted exclusively for ted lasso. exploring the mcu through thor and loki was a challenge and experiment in branching out of a comfort zone i'd created for myself, but it was so fun and i'm very glad i made myself do it. expect me to continue as a multi-fandom writer (threat)!

5. Rec something that you're proud of.

hey, I'll be going today (but I'll be back home around the way) AKA the football kiddos au! i'm still muddling through this one, but it's a multi-chaptered fic and i'm very proud of the thought i've put into creating an au that still feels authentic to the source material.

6. Wow us with whatever big thing you might want to work on next!

i'm not sure how many people who follow me here are interested in daredevil, but here's a small wippet from the beginning of the post-blip fic i'm working on for it!

It happened like this: The pain erupted along every synapse, like each nerve had been lit on fire and set to burn, and Matt crumpled in on himself. In one ear, he listened as Hell’s Kitchen exploded simultaneously into a compressing silence and a cacophonous chaos. In the other, Foggy and Karen were telling him to breathe, breathe, please just breathe. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. “Where does it hurt, Matty?” Foggy asked. The question came through muffled, as though Matt was underwater. Everywhere, he thought. Help. Help me. “Matty? C’mon, buddy, talk to me. Matt!”

7. Show us that word count stat!

*nervous laughter*

posted fics word count: 93,684

wip fics word count (total): 19,340

tagging @lady-of-the-spirit @antitheticaally @iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid and @spodrick if any of you would like to participate! no pressure of course <3

[space-mermaid-writing]

The black cat with blue eyes [Part 1]

Summary: One day Peter drags a cat into the tower he found in the dumpsters and Tony finds himself adopting it, because – honestly – he can not say no to Peter. It turns out the cat has really strange opinions on food, belly scratches and movies. What else? Oh yes, Doctor Strange is missing. But those two events are clearly not related. Clearly…

Relationship: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange

Tags: Temporary Cat!Stephen, Hurt/Comfort, life is trauma, friendship is healing, supreme family (kind of), it starts with angst and ends in fluff, a lot of fun in between, I swear this is fun

Ko-fi | Read it on AO3 | Masterlist | Word count: 7k | Part 2

Author’s note: This started - as so often - as a small idea and then it became something else. Black cats hold a special place in my heart.

This cat is strange...

The streets of New York were busy as usual. People were walking purposefully, caught up in their normal everyday lives. As far as one could speak of a normal everyday life, after half the population had been bliped and then had reappeared just as surprisingly five years later. It had been a shock for everyone.

Those who had gone missing, were now trying to fit back in. While the ones that had survived the blip in the first place were still trying to keep society going.

It wasn’t easy for anyone. People just tried to concentrate on the day at hand. One step at a time.

It was a cloudy day in spray. The sun had made itself scarce the last few days and that put a damper on everyone's mood. Especially the food vendors noticed that, when trying to attract customers around Central Park.

Like Stan, who owned a hot dog stand in the north end of the park. His numbers weren't great today either. There were only persistent joggers or dog owners in the park, none of them falling into the category of his main target customers. Hardly any teenagers after school or tourists who wanted to make their New York trip even more authentic with a hot dog (so they could brag about it back home).

To stave off boredom from the quiet day, Stan stepped up to his booth neighbor, a newspaper vendor. Both men knew each other well, having shared the space for years.

All the while, Stan didn't notice those watchful blue eyes that were observing him from the shadows, just waiting for him to leave his meat on the grill unattended for a moment.

The hunt had begun.

It was pure instinct and hunger that made the cat move. Stalking quietly, eyes locked on its target. One jump and it had a hot dog in its mouth – which should be way too hot, but miraculously it didn't bother the feline - and then fled with its prey.

But not fast enough.

"Hey!" Stan spotted the black cat and ran after it, even though the sausage was long lost. "Darn beast!"

The man stumbled (there was nothing in his way he should trip over, it was as if he had received a push from an invisible force) and the cat disappeared among the bushes.

The animal stopped only when it knew it was safe. Then it hungrily ate its meal.

It was an all black cat, once for sure sleek with beautiful long hair, now scrubby and broken-down. It picked its food out of the garbage or stole it when the opportunity was good. Like it had been now.

Life on the street was tough. There was no dignity left for those who wandered them long enough.

It was just a regular stray. There were hundreds of them in the city. Although, this one might have had an ace up its sleeve – as good magicians always did.

But that was about it.

It wasn't an easy life but a chosen one. The simple mind of an animal helped to forget. And the cat had every reason to want to forget. More than a single mind should ever endure.

The cat finished its meal.

Sometimes it thought of a stray dog it had met on the other side of the world. In another life. It had felt a connection to the other animal back then, like the fellow stray it was. Like the cat was now again. Life had come full circle.

The cat's ears pricked up as it heard a sound, a rustling in the bushes.

It was just a bird, but the cat was leaving anyway. It didn't feel safe staying at one place for too long.

_____________________________________

Peter and his friends were sitting on a bench in the park. It was the weekend and Ned's parents had sent the trio outside so the teens would get some fresh air and sunshine.

It was a crisp day and they wore their jackets as they talked about their upcoming school projects and spring break plans. And, of course, about Star Wars.

They ate the sandwiches Ned's grandmother had packed them. She always made too much, but they were so good the kids ate them all anyway. They were, after all, growing teenagers – at least that was their excuse. (And at least with Peter and his enhanced metabolism, it wasn't wrong).

Peter noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye and picked the ham off his sandwich, which he rolled up. With that, he lured the shy animal out.

"What are you doing?" MJ asked, her eyebrows raised in question as she watched him hold the ham toward the bushes and click his tongue.

"Just wait. I've seen them a couple of times. They look like they could use the food."

Ned was joining in immediately. He had never been allowed a pet, so he was over the moon when the cat eventually approached and ate the meat they threw at it.

MJ was naturally more suspicious. "I thought only baby cats had blue eyes. Most change color after the first three months.

"Maybe a gene abnormality," Ned guessed and that made the girl re-think, because it would actually be cool. Still, she kept an eye on the cat.

The feline remained cautious and while it was offered food, it evaded any attempt at petting. The message was clear: no touching.

It sat under the bench, peering out from between the teenagers' legs and politely lifting its paw to ask for more food. It devoured up every treat as if it was afraid they would be taken away from it.

Finally, the teens stood up and shouldered their backpacks. "Bye, kitty. We gotta go." They waved at him.

"Don't tell my Nana we fed her sandwiches to a cat," Ned told his friends.

MJ took one last look back. The cat was still sitting under the bench, staring after them, tail twitching. She swore those blue eyes were not normal.

_____________________________________

It was raining cats and dogs when Peter ran through the streets of Manhattan. He was late (it was his own fault, because he had dawdled to leave after school). His sneakers were not waterproof and soon even his socks were wet.

Maybe he should have texted Mister Stark and asked him if he could send a car. But Peter still had a hard time asking for anything of the man, even everything they had been through.

It was Peter’s senior year. He was about to graduate from high school and his college application was already out (He had only sent one).

He had pulled the hood over his head and was dodging passersby with umbrellas. As he did so, he was careful not to get too close to the road, because cars weren't paying attention to whether they were splashing pedestrians. Like now, when a car that passed by way too fast. Thanks to his Peter Tingle, the boy had stopped just in time and prevented the worst.

But not everyone was so lucky.

First he thought he was just imagining it, but then he heard it again: a small meowing sound. And when he turned his head to the side, he saw a drenched black cat among the garbage bags that had been placed along the road for collection day.

Peter realized that Central Park across the street and the feline had probably come here in search of food. How it had managed to cross the street alive with all the traffic was a mystery.

The cat – Peter recognized the blue eyes – looked worse than ever. The rain of the last few days had not done the stray any good. It’s fur stuck in weird ways and it looked even thinner than the last time Peter had seen it.

Peter bit his lower lip. His heart ached, but he was still late and it wasn't like he could just take a random animal home.

The passers-by started complaining to the teenager that had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. So Peter stepped to the side, towards the cat. It shook its fur and a few drops flew off it. It did little to help with the soaking wetness. The boy crouched down, put his hand out and went for a classic 'pspsps'. It got him the animal's attention and the blue eyes locked on the boy.

Whatever Peter had expected to see, it was not the resignation he saw. The feline looked so very tired, as if it had already seen far too much in its short feline life.

And didn't Peter know that look, because it sometimes stared back at him from his own reflection.

How many of its nine lives had this cat been through?

The animal approached slowly, bare paws on the asphalt, sniffing Peter's fingers in hopes of food. Unfortunately, the boy had already eaten the lunch he packed this morning.

"Mrrew." It sounded like a soft sigh when the cat realized Peter was empty handed. It was about to turn away when Peter all of a sudden swooped it up in his arms. The cat wiggled and made an alarmed cry of protest, which did not faze Peter.

He opened the zipper of his jacket and took the cat inside. There he held it tightly and continued his way to the tower in fast steps.

_____________________________________

Peter carefully wrapped the cat in a towel and rubbed him dry. The animal still looked pathetic, but by now had quietly resigned himself to his fate. Perhaps he also realized that an unknown, dry place was still better than a wet pile of garbage.

Peter left him in the towel on the couch and went into the adjoining kitchen to look for something he could feed the feline. Fortunately, the refrigerator in Stark's penthouse was always well stocked.

He had just opened the door and winced when he heard a loud string of swearing. Apparently Mr. Stark had found the cat and was not happy about it. Peter rushed back.

"What is this wretched ball of fur doing on my couch?"

"IfoundhimintheraininthedumpsterhelookedsohelplessandhehasnohomesoIbroughthimhere." Peter took a deep breath. It was impressive just how much he could say in one breath.

Tony stared at him. He was a certified genius, but it took his brain a whole moment to filter out the relevant information from this far-too-fast gibberish.

His answer turned out to be a lot shorter. "No."

Peter blinked. "Please, Mister Stark! Just for a few days. Until it stops raining," he pleaded. His lower lip began to quiver dangerously. He had far too soft a heart for a superhero and took everything highly personally.

"Why don't you take him to May?" Tony asked as an alternative suggestion.

"She's allergic to cats."

And, shit, Tony really couldn't refuse the kid anything when he looked at him with his big doe eyes like that. Initially, when he'd found out about the boy's abilities and showed up at his aunt's house, Tony had seen him as someone he could sponsor. Just keep an eye on him.

But then came Berlin, the arms dealers on the boat, and all the other incidents. As time went on, their professional mentor/student relationship shifted more and more to this science parent and kid thing they had going on. And then Peter had followed him onto the flying doughnut.

Tony would never be able to forgive himself for that. Nor would he ever forget the boy crumbling to dust in his arms. He still had nightmares about that.

Now, Peter was standing in front of him, a can of tuna in his hand, looking like Tony was about to throw the boy's first homemade AI robot on the scrap heap.

He recalled a discussion he had with his own father many decades ago. When young Tony wanted a dog and Howard was adamantly against it.

"Fine. It can stay – for now. And we will scan it for diseases.” He gave in. Even if it was just a fuck you, Howard. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to think too hard about his reasons, before he turned to the cat. "And you! I warn you only once, so listen closely: if you piss on my carpet, you'll be back on the streets faster than you can say 'meow'." The cat sniffed at his index finger, which he held out to it. But when he found no food there, he turned to Peter and the can.

"He won't," Peter assured his mentor.

"He?"

"Yes. It's kinda obvious if you look at him from behind."

"Alright, that's enough information. Actually, it's more than I wanted to hear."

The results of Friday's medical scan came back clean. So the cat was allowed to stay – for now.

_____________________________________

It was the middle of the night when Tony stumbled into his kitchen. Nightmares had jolted him out of sleep, and even though he couldn't remember exactly what horror scenario it had been this time, he didn't feel like going back to sleep anytime soon.

He turned on the coffee maker and listened to its soothing sounds when the cat jumped up on the counter and stared at him in a way that only cats could. Tony was too tired to see anything else in it.

"You hungry?...yeah, me too."

Contrary to his initial fear that the feline would annoy him, he hardly noticed his presence.

Tony grabbed a bagel and got cream cheese from the fridge. The cat stretched his neck, his blue eyes now completely fixated on the delicious smelling food. Tony placed a spoonful of cream cheese in front of him, which the animal began to lick contentedly.

The inventor took his coffee and breakfast (could it be called breakfast yet? It was only 3:14am in the morning) to his personal lab and opened the file of his latest project.

He didn't realize he wasn't alone in the room until he heard DUM-E moving around in the background and then a hissing. Outraged and with flat ears and arched back, the pet jumped onto the table, but even there he was not safe from the robot's claw.

"DUM-E behave," Tony instructed his artificial son. "Fri, keep an eye on Blue Eye. I can't have him getting hurt by something sharp."

Mostly because he could not stand the resulting drama with Peter.

Sulking, DUM-E moved to another corner of the room and silence reigned again. Tony looked back at his hologram.

But he could not concentrate. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, a sure sign that he was being watched.

He turned his head and looked into the black void the black cat had become by curling up.

Blue orbs stared back from the void.

Yeah, cats were a different kind of weird.

_____________________________________

Tony quickly discovered that his small roommate refused any kind of cat food. They had even tried the expensive one, but the feline turned up his nose when he saw this weird gibberish mass in his bowl (Tony wouldn’t want to eat that either) and demonstratively turned away.

Instead, he jumped up on the dining room table – something Tony had repeatedly forbidden him to do – and demanded to have whatever food Tony or Peter were having.

Tony had never had a pet and was only now learning that cats had an amazing amount of food they were able to eat. And the one living in his penthouse rent free apparently had a particularly culinary sense of taste. Whenever they ate take-out – and, admittedly, that was most days, because Tony didn't have the time or desire to cook – the cat appeared, meowing loudly and demanding. Whether it was pizza, burgers, sandwiches, Thai, or just fries. Once he even ate the salad.

But Tony drew the line when the cat sniffed at his mug of coffee. „No,“ he said and took the mug away.

„You won‘t like that anyway,“ he explained when he pressed the button on the coffee maker in the morning and lifted the cat off the counter.

„That‘s mine!“ he stated every time he moved his cup away from the feline in the lab.

„Don‘t you dare!“ he shouted when he spotted the cat across the room right next to a whole pot of coffee. He swore there was something wrong with this animal. The way it looked at him with that cocky smirk in his eyes was not normal.

The cat pushed the pot with one of his front paws to the edge of the table board. Tony raised his finger in warning. The cat pushed a little, not breaking eye contact. The pot broke on the floor and the cat jumped down to lick the coffee off the floor.

"I hope you choke on it," Tony growled as he set a small bowl of coffee down for the cat, the next time he fixed himself a cup.

_____________________________________

Tony had never been allowed to have a pet as a kid, and he was pretty quickly convinced that Peter had brought some fucked up result of an animal experiment into his house.

The cat hadn't even put one paw in the litter box. Instead, he sometimes disappeared into one of Tony's bathrooms. Tony followed him exactly once to see what the cat was up to. But the cat had only stared at him for so long until Tony felt like a creep and backed off.

Friday had no video access to the bathrooms – because Tony was not a creep – and so it remained forever a mystery what the cat did in there.

This creature looked like a cat, sounded like a cat and behaved like a cat (debatable! But Tony checked the internet and found a lot of people sharing weird stories about their cats) but Tony was not taking chances. He had seen talking trees and raccoons, flying hammers and spontaneously combusting people.

He crouched in front of the cat, who had flopped down on the couch and now raised his head in what Tony called the death stare, looking at him intensely.

„Blink once if you understand what I say.“

He waited for a reaction – any reaction – but those clear, blue eyes didn‘t betray a single thought. Tony moved his head slowly forward, not wanting to miss anything, until their faces were almost touching.

The cat licked Tony’s nose.

„Ugh, gross!“ Tony jumped to his feet, turning away and missing the one eyed wink.

_____________________________________

After a few days, the cat had settled in well. While in the beginning he had been hiding under and behind the furniture or watching everything from on top of the cupboards, Tony soon found him more and more often sleeping on the couch or following the man into the lab.

Peter loved the feline and whenever he was in the penthouse – Tony swore that was even more often now than before – he would scoop him up on his arms or pet him. The first few the cat had been reluctant, but he didn't stand a chance against the teenager, and eventually he'd given up to complain whenever Peter buried his fingers in the fur.

Even Tony had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that the fur was very soft. It also looked nice and shiny and healthy now, and not as scrubby as it had been in the beginning.

But whenever visitors came to the penthouse – it was admittedly not very often; only a few people had access these days – the cat disappeared. First Peter tried to coax him with food whenever Pepper or Rhodey came around, but with no luck.

"Stage fright, Blue Eye? You aren’t shy around me or Peter." Tony found the cat as soon as the doors to the elevator closed. The feline sat by the window, observing the city and fully ignoring Tony.

Fine, Tony had work to do anyway and went to his lab.

There was one person he had not yet tried to show his newest roommate. „Fri, babe, what day is it?“

„Thursday the tenth, Boss.“

One person, who hadn‘t shown up in a while and was late by over a week.

„Call Dumbledore.“

It went straight to voicemail and that was weird.

You see, after everything that happened on the flying doughnut, Thanos, that five year gap (aka Tony being angry about losing everything, including his final break up with Pepper) and then getting everyone back and defeating the mad titan – he kinda struck a friendship with the wizard doctor.

Maybe it was jump started by the fact that Strange saved Tony‘s life after he had used all the infinity stones at once. Plus he helped Tony build his new arm.

It also didn't hurt that Strange was really nice to look at. Like really nice.

Even after completion of the project ‘new arm who dis?‘ (not the best Tony came up with but he had started it as soon as Dr. Cho had cleared him off medical and he had been full of pain killers), they still met on the first Wednesday of every month to be snarky, arrogant and just being awesome together.

Strange kept an eye on Peter, whenever Tony wasn‘t around and Tony really appreciated that.

There was also a lot of flirting involved whenever the two men met, but that was just part of their charm and completely without any deeper meaning…

Tony was still in denial about his blossoming feelings for the doctor. And as long as he ignored them, they weren’t there. Even if he actually enjoyed the banter and the flirting and the way Stephen’s face lit up when… anyway!

Sure, sometimes the job came between their meetings. Tony may be retired (on paper), but Strange certainly wasn't.

He wasn't the Sorcerer Supreme anymore – due to technicalities as he always was fast to point out – but he still had a lot of duties protecting their reality.

He usually texted Tony when something came up. Maybe it was an emergency, but eight days was a pretty long emergency and Stephen had once mentioned that he didn't like to leave Earth for such a long time at a stretch.

So, Tony did the next best thing. „Friday, call Wong.“

He had kept in touch with the other sorcerer in the five year gap after the blip, albeit sporadically, because they all had more than enough to do filling in the gaps the snapped people left. It still was enough to excuse a friendly check in. Just to make sure that Stephen was okay and unharmed.

"Stark," Wong's always unamused voice greeted him a few seconds later. To this day, Tony didn't know if Wong even liked him.

"Wong," he mimicked his tone, but then got straight to the point, knowing Wong was no friend of unnecessary pleasantries. "Strange missed our awesome facial hair bros meeting last week and he doesn’t answer my phone."

There was a short pause before Wong replied. "He's not here." Did Tony imagine it or did he sound more annoyed than usual today? Maybe he was displeased to be treated as Strange‘s secretary.

„Okay, sure.“ Tony nodded to himself, starting to pace in the room. „When does he get back?“

„I don‘t know.“

Well, that wasn‘t very helpful.

„Did he leave the dimension?“ Tony asked anyway, unwilling to give up this easily.

There was a long pause as Wong actively hesitated. "I don't know," he said again, and that caught Tony's attention. He stopped walking.

„What do you mean, you don‘t know?“

"Strange disappeared a few weeks ago." That alone might have been explainable, but then Wong added, „… and he left the Cloak of Levitation behind.“

That had Tony alarmed. He had made acquaintance with the red piece of fabric that was unusually expressive for a being without an actual face. And Strange never left his weird magic castle without it.

Tony’s mind immediately jumped to various conclusions. „Any enemies that might got hold of him? Kidnapped by evil forces? Has there been a ransom demand?"

"We have no idea. It’s nothing we can trace with magic." His voice was clipped, concealing the paused anger at losing control of the issue. Wong was Strange's friend; he should have taken better care of him. The man couldn't shake the feeling that he had let him down.

"I'll try the tech way then," Tony suggested. "Nothing escapes the modern eyes of the ever-watching cameras."

"Thanks, that's appreciated."

Wong gave him the details of Strange's disappearance, the time period in which it must have happened (it was impossible to pin down exactly), and Tony promised to get back to him if he found anything.

He ran his fingers through his hair after hanging up. One of the most powerful sorcerers Earth had ever seen and someone he considered a friend was missing – that wasn't great news.

"Alright, Fri, run a face recognition search for Strange. Start in New York, then expand it world wide."

"I'm on it, Boss."

Tony propped his forearms on one of the tables and stared into space. If Strange had been gone for several weeks already, without a trace...that was very concerning. Briefly, the image of a cave in Afghanistan flickered before his eyes, but he quickly shook it off and focused on the map of the U.S. on Fridays screen and the small loading bar she liked to display for funsies.

„Where are you, Stephen Strange?“

_____________________________________

The fact that the cat rejected any kind of cat food didn‘t mean that he wasn‘t hungry. He had been starved when Peter had dragged him to the penthouse, and after overcoming his initial distrust, he began to bug anyone available for food three times a day.

"You're a menace," Tony growled angrily as the feline jumped up on the couch next to him and began meowing loudly to tell him that it was time for lunch. "A weird, precisely timed menace."

By now he was able to interpret his fluffy roommate's behavior well and knew that he wouldn't stop making noise until there was food on his plate. (Yes, the cat wanted to eat from an actual plate. Tony had never used so many dishes).

Since the cat was happy to eat whatever Tony was having, Tony had taken to simply ordering two portions at a time. Tony couldn't help but think he had been bullied into having a regular eating rhythm by a cat.

He had to admit that the company was nice. He talked to the feline as if it were a human being - he had already applied this mannerism with his AI sons and it hadn't done them any harm (except for Ultron, but there was always a black sheep in the family) – an sometimes the cat answered with a meow, so that it almost felt like a real conversation.

Tony balanced two plates of sushi to the table - no algae for the cat, just rice and fish. The feline jumped on the table and waited patiently, eyes fixed on the food and tail twitching slightly. He stretched his neck, annoyed that Tony was holding the plate just out of reach. The human teased him only briefly, then finally put the plate on the table and at the same time gave him a kiss on the head. The cat looked very scandalized and puffed out his chest, not amused about the unexpected act of affection.

Tony chuckled and sat down at the table as well. It had been worth fishing a cat hair out of his mouth just for that reaction. „You‘re the strangest cat I‘ve ever met,“ Tony grinned when the cat gave him the stinky eye.

The irony was lost on him.

_____________________________________

Tony had had a long day when he landed on the platform of the tower and the nanobots retreated to the house unit on his chest. Well, it was only afternoon in New York – but not on the other side of the world in Norway where he had helped Thor and Loki with something. New Asgard was developing well. People started healing.

Tony had set up a fund and that involved a lot of paperwork and details he had to supervise. Next time he would take the jet. It might be slower, but he could get a nap on an actual bed on his way back.

"Hey Blue Eye." The cat tiptoed around his feet to greet him (and possibly trip him) but Tony was too tired to do anything more than a quick pet along his back. He only wanted to lie down in his bed, pull the covers over his head and sleep for the next three days.

Unfortunately, it was still too early to go to bed and, besides, he still had some contracts to read and approve.

Tony needed coffee.

The cat stayed at his side and seemed almost understandingly about the absent attention. Or at least he didn’t complain about it. In return the cat got his smaller bowl of coffee – together with a kiss on his head.

At first it had been funny to watch the feline's unwilling reaction to it. Now it was routine. Tony swore if cats could roll their eyes, this one would do it every day.

With coffee in one hand and a Starkpad in the other, Tony made himself comfortable on the couch. He put his house unit down on the small table on the side. He always kept it within reach; it was his safety anchor, if only to ease his mind.

It probably said a lot about him that he never let it out of his sight for more than a few minutes, but he had made his peace with it. Besides, it was better safe than sorry.

It didn't take long until the cushion dipped and the cat joined him. Blue eyes fixed on him and the Starkpad. Carefully, the animal placed a paw on Tony's torso and when nothing more than a hum came in response, the cat climbed onto Tony's chest where he lay down, his paws tucked under his fluffy body.

"No," Tony protested, "No, that's no place for you." After all, his chest was still his sore point, even after the surgery that had removed the arc reactor. Or maybe because of that.

But the cat merely started purring loudly and closed his eyes.

Tony blinked at him, baffled. Surprisingly, the cat did not feel heavy at all. On the contrary, the slight vibration of his purring felt pleasant. Like a small, warm engine.

"Fine, you can stay – for now." Tony turned his focus back to the Starkpad. Reading, he absently buried his fingers in the soft fur.

This was kinda relaxing.

Later that evening Peter came to visit later to ask about New Asgard and its princes – he had wanted to travel overseas, but wasn't allowed – he found Tony asleep on the couch. His hand was on the cat, which was still on his chest. The feline lifted his head when he heard the boy and narrowed his eyes as if to tell the boy not to be too loud.

Peter put his finger to his lips as a sign that he would be quiet. Tiptoeing, he fetched a blanket for his mentor.

(He also snatched a photo. It was too cute not to.)

_____________________________________

The other day Peter helped Tony to tweak some issues with his new arm. It was nothing serious, just a few detail problems that had only become apparent in the long-term use of the prosthesis.

Since Peter was not a medical expert and only lent an extra pair of hands – everything took so much longer with only one functioning arm – Bruce and Doctor Cho joined in a video conference. Between the number of PhDs and genius brain cells they all mustered, the work was a piece of cake.

"I'm taking the boxes out for recycling," Peter announced after they fixed it.

A lot of materials were made in the lab itself, other things Tony had delivered. But he rarely took care of the packaging, always throwing the boxes in a corner, preoccupied by the projects he needed the materials for in the first place. He grew up rich and never had to clean up after himself, but always had staff or robots for that.

Sure, he kept his workspace neat – or at least the neat ambivalent to the creative chaos, he liked to call it. But the state of everything around it was less important. So there was often a growing stack of empty boxes in at least one corner of the lab.

Peter, raised by his aunt to clean a mess before he left, stacked the boxes inside each other. As he reached for one further in the back, he heard a disgruntled meow. Apparently he had just disturbed someone's nap.

"Sorry," Peter chuckled and set the box aside to take another instead. "Mister Stark bought you that fancy cat tree and you still prefer sleeping in that box? Honestly? Mood."

In response, he heard the noise of paws on cardboard as the cat turned around and lay back down with his back to Peter. The message was clear: he didn't want to be disturbed.

Tony, meanwhile, glanced at Friday's search results for Strange, which were pretty depressing: there were none. It was already the third try – Tony had run the search again and again, always adjusting the parameters – and there wasn’t any trace of the sorcerer.

He had even hacked the cameras in the street of the Sanctum (it wasn't quite legal, not even close, but nobody was able to track his traces anyway, so yeah... ), and had Friday analyze the whole video data of the last few months. There was nothing to indicate the sudden reason for his disappearance.

Absolutely nothing.

If the sorcerer was still on Earth, Tony didn’t know where he could possibly be hiding.

_____________________________________

Tony was having a nightmare. He floated in space – the world had crumbled, all worlds had. Snippets of his loved ones popped up like visions from the past. Peter, Rhodey, Pepper, Happy; all of them in a moment of death. Their screams of agony echoed in Tony‘s head.

He tried to reach out to them but he couldn't move in the vacuum of space. His friends were too far away and he was too small in the magnitude of cosmos.

He needed his suit! He was in space and he needed his suit.

Tony tapped his chest, but there was no house unit, no arc reactor. Just an empty, black void where his lungs should be.

Did he even breathe? How could he breathe in space?

As if the thought had become reality, he suddenly got no more air. He tried to kick and scream without moving and making a sound. The feeling of suffocation brought tears to his eyes. He tried to grab something, anything, but there was nothing.

He was alone.

Suddenly he felt pressure on his chest. Not uncomfortable, more like an anchor that reassured him – like his house unit usually did. With his chest no longer an empty void, he was able to take a deep breath and slowly became aware of his surroundings as he awoke.

He heard the hum of an engine in the background, and still felt the weight on his chest.

"Friday?" he whispered into the darkness, his eyes still closed.

"It's 5:37 in the morning, Boss. Today is Monday the fifth. You're free until ten, when a call with the UN is scheduled," the familiar voice of his AI listed the facts. It helped Tony to shake off his dream, to focus on the present.

„Thanks, babe.“

He reached for his chest and his finger touched fur. Surprised, he opened his eyes and realized that the hum of the engine was actually the purr of the cat.

"Hey, Blue Eye." He smiled softly, his throat still feeling sore. "What are you doing here?"

It was the first time he was seeing the feline in his bedroom. Before today he had always slept in the living room and never even pried into Tony's personal room, as if he wanted to give him space.

Ridiculous! First off, cats had no sense of personal space. Exhibit A was on his chest.

Secondly, his bedroom had probably seen more people than his personal lab. At least in the past – not so much recently.

"He sensed your distress," Friday told him. She knew that speaking to him after a nightmare helped him. „And he refused to leave.“

„Thanks, I guess.“ Tony petted the head of the feline. „Are you gonna let me get up to make coffee for us?“ The cat didn‘t move an inch, just looked at him in concern with his bright eyes. „Fine, five more minutes.“

Tony – perfectly able to move the cat if he wanted to – remained lying and scratched the feline behind his black ears, under his jaw and along his back. The purr got louder and contentedly the cat closed his eyes, relaxed into Tony’s torso.

Half an hour later the cat finally stood up, stretched and jumped on the floor. He was meowing, announcing that it was now indeed time for breakfast.

That wasn‘t a bad idea, Tony could go for a bagel. And coffee. Always coffee.

The feline got his coffee served as usual with a kiss on his fluffy head.

_____________________________________

That day he felt better than he normally would after a horrible nightmare. Having a pet wasn't as bad as he had first thought when Peter dragged the cat in.

When Tony was a kid he had begged his father for a dog – probably like every kid did at one point. His father had refused, had said that animals were too much of a responsibility, that they were dirty and that Tony didn't have time for it. Then Tony was sent to a boarding school, and he never asked again.

Later, when his parents died and Tony took over SI, he really did not had time for a pet. Besides, he had been more interested in women and men anyway

For the next few decades, he hadn't given a second thought to getting a pet. Why should he? He had his robots to look after and Jarvis who kept him company.

But it still felt different when Tony went to bed that night and the cat jumped on his mattress. He didn't even acknowledge Tony when he flopped down next to his shoulder, as if he had always belonged there.

Tony didn't complain about the pet in his bed – something he definitely wouldn't have allowed in the past. Somehow he knew it was the cat's way to look out for him.

Ridiculous! - it was just a cat.

But Tony had seen weirder stuff. He stroked once along the back through the soft fur and slipped under the covers. „Good night, Blue Eye.“ If this was how retirement would be, he could get used to it.

Then the cat moved his tail into Tony‘s face.

_____________________________________

„So, we still have no idea where he is,“ Tony concluded his conversation with Wong. It was something that worried him a lot. Strange had been gone for several weeks, as if he had simply vanished into thin air. (He didn't, at least not magically. Wong said they would have traced that).

The other sorcerer sat in his kitchen with a cup of tea in his hand. He looked seriously concerned and that had a lot to say.

They had spoken a few times, updated each other on the case – although there was depressingly little to update.

Today Wong had walked through a portal into Tony’s kitchen. In that respect, he was worse than Strange, who at least texted him like five seconds before he showed up. It was the thought that counted.

"I should have looked out for him more. He hasn‘t been the same after the snap,“ Wong said in something that sounded like regret.

„It was hard for everyone to settle back in,“ Tony acknowledged. „The world moved on while half of the population was absent.“

The sorcerer shook his head. That wasn‘t what he meant. Sure, Stephen lost his position as Sorcerer Supreme to him and in the meantime the Sanctum had also chosen a new Master, but that was not the reason why Stephen had become distant after everyone reappeared. It wasn‘t the reason why he had been almost unstable.

Stephen had tried to hide it – of course he did. That was just how Stephen acted. Especially since he knew first hand about all the responsibilities Wong had to juggle as Sorcerer Supreme.

Wong had seen snippets of it anyway. But it had to be worse than he had assumed. He didn't know what had happened to his friend, but it couldn't be good.

„He told you about the various possible outcomes of the battle with Thanos, right?“ he asked and Tony nodded. „He didn‘t just watch over 14 million futures, he lived every single one of them. That takes a toll on any man‘s mind. It must have been worse than fighting Dormammu.“

„That was the demon he pulled into a time loop and annoyed him until he left earth?“

Wong's eyes darted up in surprise that Tony knew about that. Stephen didn‘t talk about it a lot. „That‘s one way to describe it,“ he snorted.

„So, you think he went insane in between those futures and forgot which reality is the real one?“ Tony's conclusion was, as always, precise and hit the mark. He even took it further. "And when you think about how many futures he's had to watch fail…" How many deaths of family, friends and close ones he had had to watch, over and over again.

Tony had seen such a future once and it had been borderline torture. It still haunted him sometimes, seamlessly joining the long queue of his nightmares.

„He seemed okay last time I saw him,“ Tony muttered lamely. He knew that it didn't mean anything. He had kept it secret from his friends for a long time, that he was outright dying. Back when he had the palladium in his blood.

And he remembered that he had often caught Strange staring into space, like he had simply zoned out. But sometimes he confused basic facts on who was still alive.

Tony hadn't read too much into it. Although he liked the man and enjoyed having him around (Tony was too old to call it a crush), he didn't know the doctor well enough to judge him.

"We are still waiting for some replies from other dimensions. So, there's still a chance." Wong put down his cup and rose. A clear sign that the meeting was over. He raised his hand with his portal ring. "I'll inform you if we-..." He froze as a black cat pawed around the corner of the doorway into the kitchen, stopping equally surprised.

Tony had never seen so much emotion on Wong's face. The sorcerer literally gasped before he found his voice again.

„Strange?!“

[spinningbuster98]

Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (1992) Ending: Super Sonic Sweeping

I like Hill Top Zone!

Yeah sure it’s blue Emerald Hill with a mountain aesthetic and some lava and, level design wise, it’s definitely the weakest of the game, but I really vibe with both the aesthetic and especially the music, they give the stage a really unique feel to it that’s very cozy

Mystic Cave is a favorite of mine. It’s a bit cramped and the pit of doom is a bonafide dick move but how many levels in this series are set within dark, spooky caves?

Oil Ocean is where the game seemingly starts to drop off for some people, but personally this level is fine, the only issue being the sea horses being dicks

Metropolis on the other hand is a bit of a bitch

Now I will say that this level is nowhere close to being as hard as people always say. Sonic games in general tend to be pretty low in terms of platformers ranked by difficulty. Metropolis is easier than your typical Megaman level, Hell it’s way easier than just about anything in Castlevania 3. The issue isn’t Metropolis’ difficulty, it’s its tendency to feature some very annoying enemy placement.

Let’s be clear here: the player running into obstacles that come from off screen too quickly to react is a universal issue across ALL 2D Sonic games. ALL of them, with pretty much no exception. It’s an inherent flaw of the formula that you can’t help but run into when you decide to have a game be this fast while also being a side scroller. It’s just something that you’ll need to accept on some level if you plan on enjoying these games, Sonic 3 as well, as good as that game is, is not exempt from this. But even by those standards Metropolis can just get straight up annoying with it. The worst are those sections where you slowly ride those cog wheels upwards, but if an asteron hits you with its spikes you plummet all the way down, you gotta off screen the thing in order for it to come back down and it’s just a slog. Plus it’s 3 acts rather than one, mainly due to one of them being from a scrapped level. I also think that, aesthetically, it’s nowhere close to Scrap Brain. It’s...fine with its gear theme, but it doesn’t feel like Eggman’s base, and it doesn’t carry any environmentalist messages with it. I actually won’t knock off Sonic 2 for not being as “environmental” as the first game though. I mean when you really think about it the only Sonic games that truly commited to that angle were Sonic 1 and CD (Colors too, if you count Planet Wisp), the latter pretty much being a jacked up Sonic 1 anyway. Sonic 2 only has Eggman kidnap animals, but otherwise it’s just about stopping him from using his Star Wars knockoff. It’s a standard save the world story. So is Sonic 3. And SA1. And SA2 etc

Again I don’t “hate” Metropolis Zone, I think you can do much worse in terms of bullshit hard stages (this isn’t even a blip on a sub atomic radar when compared to Gate’s Stages from Mega Man X6), but it’s definitely that one part of the game that makes me go “alright it’s that time now”

You know what makes it more palatable though? Super Sonic

I don’t wanna get into any discourse over Super Sonic’s use as a plot device in later games, I’m referring to him as a purely gameplay element in these games when I say that I absolutely love him here

Of course it’s partly due to the inherent satisfaction of getting such an insanely OP powerup as a reward for completing 7 hard special stages, but it’s also because Super Sonic is not a literal win button and still requires some skill to use properly: you need to collect at least 50 rings before you can use him, you gotta keep collecting more in order to keep the transformation going, speed may be greater yeah but this also makes him harder to control over tiny platforms so you have to be careful. There’s always something going on when you play as Super Sonic, which means you can’t just sleep on the controller when you activate him, you have to put in the effort to actually MAINTAIN him.

My favorite aspect is how he, in a way, can encourage you to explore the levels more throughly. Since you need rings to maintain the transformation you will likely have to scour the place for extra rings and ring monitors, which keeps giving you an incentive to explore and be rewarded for it even after getting all 7 Emeralds, which Sonic 3 will be especially good at doing

I have mixed feelings on the Death Egg Robot. On the one hand I like how climactic it feels, especially for such a simple early 90s platformer and while on the one hand I appreciate the challenge...it can also be way too steep, mostly due to this game having limited continues

Now this was an issue in the first game as well, but it’s worse here because, simply put, the game is longer and you stand to lose more, especially the Chaos Emeralds. Plus getting extra continues here is harder: in Sonic 1 you just had to collect at least 50 rings while inside a Special Stage which wasn’t too hard, here you need at least 10K points at the end of an Act, which requires you to both beat it in a short time and collect a big number of rings without losing them. If you’re using Super Sonic this may paradoxically make reaching this goal harder since he drains rings. While I haven’t gotten a gameover in this game since I was 7, I definitely remember it feeling like quite a kick to the nuts

And I know that some people may say that this stuff was common place back then but...not really? Games like Castlevania and Megaman had infinite continues plus password systems to help you get back to where you left off. The most Sonic 1 and 2 have is a cheat code that brings up the level select...and that just feels wrong

[dontbelasagnax]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

Thank you for the tag @lttrsfrmlnrrgby! I am so very behind on all the tag games oops

1.) How many works do you have on ao3?

Technically 41 but 35 are fics and 6 are artworks.

2.) What's your ao3 word count?  

150,270!

3.) What fandoms do you write for? 

Currently I mainly write for Star Wars (codywan) but I also write for Good Omens! In the past I've also written fic for Doctor Who, Supernatural, Hannibal, and Criminal Minds. I think there's also a She-Ra fic that never made it past a couple paragraphs in my Google Docs 😂

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

1- kiss it better, baby: short and sweet destiel fic exploring sex repulsed asexuality in omegaverse

2 - Some Secrets aren't Meant to be Told: unfinished reader insert Criminal Minds x Supernatural crossover casefic I started when I was a teenager and abysmal at writing. Not to further disparage my age appropriate writing skills, but the formatting makes it nearly unreadable. We all learn and grow

3 - I'll Try and Somehow Make a Meaning of the Poison in this Place: 5 firsts between codywan as friends-with-benefits PLUS 1 time as boyfriends!

4 - catch me if you can (you already have): very sweet THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED codywan fic

5 - you're cute when you're nervous: good ol' codywan fic where they fulfill their promise of "after the war"

The blurbs are necessary because I do not recognize my fics by their titles 😂

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I respond to every comment! Sometimes it just takes me a while because I've got anxiety and overthink everything. But I do always eventually reply! *glances at my inbox of 45+ comments and sweats*

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

If you discard the blip of an epilogue at the end of what's left unspoken, your heart will ache. I wrote the epilogue because after I finished the fic, I read it through, sat back and thought "ow, what the fuck". Couldn't leave myself and everyone else with that bittersweet open ending.

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh God. Everything I've ever written has a happy ending. I don't even know, man. Maybe my fwb codywan fic since it has so many rocky bits that the ending feels all the more sweet?

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

Very fortunate to say that I haven't!

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes, yes I do. My smut exists as an expression of love and a vessel of emotional and physical intimacy between the characters. Even when I think I've just written something properly fucknasty, all my comments are like "wow this is so soft and sweet 🥺". Genuinely, my smut is so asexual. It's rare I write characters experiencing sexual attraction; it's all about how the characters feel, both physically and emotionally. I've not done a very good job of making this sound sexy. I promise people say it's hot too.

I really respect authors who write unabashedly horny things without the characters being in love. Hats off to you guys. I've got no fucking clue how that works!

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have written one crossover (the one linked in the kudos question) but I don't think it was particularly crazy. Don't think I'll ever write another crossover but I do love fusions and I've done one of Sleeping Beauty and Star Wars! I'd definitely love to do something like that again.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

I haven't but that would be so cool.

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Nope!

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Oh goodness. Well. Hm. My ships have all gotten me through the lowest points of my life thus far and led me to meet my most treasured friends. I don't think I could concretely give an answer to this because every ship is special to me in a different way. I will say that I find myself so unbelievably grateful for codywan these days. 

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I have a Hannibal coffeeshop AU (Hannibal is still a cannibal, he just falls in love (unhealthily obsessed) with Will who's the only barista at the overpriced coffeeshop he frequents to get his order perfectly correct every single time) that I loooooove but I genuinely have not been able to get into the right headspace and flow to finish it.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

I'm really good at writing tender and heartfelt emotions. All the sap. It's my niche. If it's not implanted into every crevice of the fic just how sickeningly in love the characters are with one another, then it's not something I've written. I don't even do it on purpose most of the time. I sneeze and it appears on the page.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

I cannot possibly comprehend drafts (for fic writing). Everything has to be as close to how it is in my head on the first try. This is why it takes me so excruciatingly long to write anything. I hunker down and overthink and rewrite the same sentence five times over the course of an hour. Yes I know this isn't a sustainable writing method, HOWEVER, I've never claimed to have a good method of writing. Also, I'm not changing it. I'm stuck in my ways and I like it here. I'm cozy.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

If not done in a very specific way, it's definitely a pet peeve of mine.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who!

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

At the moment, it's you're cute when you're nervous. Everytime I read it--which isn't often because I like to give myself time and space from my fics so I can enjoy them properly--it hits me with violent waves of emotion. Everything feels so palpable. I just really love it.

I've got no clue who's already been tagged so, truly, these are no pressure tags: @shortcuts-make-long-delays @aquaticflames @inkformyblood @agreekdemigod @cillyscribbles

[davidmariottecomics]

Keep it Forever? Me and Physical Media

Hello friends! 

I swear that this blog isn't just me advertising that I've got some stuff up for sale on ebay (but also, I totally do). 

As I think I've made pretty abundantly clear, I'm a big proponent of physical media. At a guesstimate, I probably own something around 2-3 dozen VHS tapes, 50-ish records, 100+ video games, 100-150 CDs, probably 200-300 DVDs & Blu-Rays, and more books and comics than I could reasonably count. And that's not even getting into toys and plushies and other physical collectables that Becca and I have strewn across the house or in storage. I am a person who likes to own things. And I'm starting to hit the point where I also need to be a person who doesn't own all things I have. 

Why Physical Media Matters

While I'm pretty sure I've written about this before, doesn't hurt to reiterate why I am such a big proponent of physical media and owning the things you like. 

1. You own the thing. This is probably the single biggest point of physical media to me. You own it. Definitively. You can go and pick up this object that you have and use it. You aren't subject to the terms, conditions, and service changes of companies. If I want to watch Bratz: The Movie or play Super Smash Bros Melee or read The Lady from the Black Lagoon, I can. I don't have to see if it's currently on a service that I'm paying for or even available digitally. I don't have to worry about limited time availability. I don't have to worry about increasingly clueless executives who in trying to maintain the wealth of stockholders basically erase projects from existence, nor do I have to worry about changes of ownership or site design or functionality or licensing agreements that can take your purchases and just blip them away. 

2. Preservation. Piggybacking right off of that, some things *only* exist as physical media. Or, at least, only officially do. I mentioned Smash Bros Melee because it's a Gamecube era game that only exists on/was released for Gamecube. The game only exists as long as there are people who have working copies. There are books that I own, that, similarly, are no longer in print and have never been made available digitally. While most physical media can eventually deteriorate, there are things I have had for the majority of my life (and some things that pre-date me, honestly) that're still in really good shape because they've been cared for and it's important to me that these things exist and it's cool that I can do a little bit to help that. 

2.5 - As an aside, I do just want to say that I am in favor of digital archiving as a tool of preservation. Between the things that only exist digitally and the things that can have a longer preserved life by being converted to digital, I do think it's an important part of the preservation conversation too. With sort of an asterisk of just because I think most works shouldn't be lost, I don't know that it means they should be digitally accessible if it comes at the expense of the creator(s). Preservation = good. Piracy = still bad. 

3. Tactility and greater use. This one goes especially for books and comics, but I like being able to hold things. I like having my reading material in print so that I can, y'know, consume it on the beach without wifi or power or whatever. While a lot of my physical media is dependent on technology still, there are certain things that are more usable in more ways/places because they're physical. 

Why I'm Clearing Some Out Tho

On the other side of all of this, there are some very compelling reasons not to keep all my physical media. And these are some reflective conversations I'm having with myself. Some stuff's easy, right? Things that are redundant--whether they're exact duplicates of something I already own and somehow acquired twice or, like with some of my Transformers, I don't actually need 6 mildly different variations of Bumblebee--are easily put as something that can go. But once you get past that, for me at least, a lot of it comes down kinda to the Marie Kondo "does it spark joy" method. 

Potentially unfortunately for me, a lot of stuff either does spark joy, or sparks almost a sort of FOMO. Tied to preservation, there are some things that while I haven't really engaged with them in heck, maybe a decade of owning it, I worry that if I got rid of it, I wouldn't have it when I *do* want it. But there are also some things where I know it is no longer meaningful to me to own this thing, but I think it might be meaningful to someone else. 

I know I've written about this before, but I'm not really a Funko Pop guy. I have owned a few that I've thought were neat. But even the one I'd say was my favorite, I found tucked away because it had been on a low bookshelf behind our living room furniture before our last big cleaning/reorganizing session for that room, and I don't think I had realized that I hadn't seen it in such a long time. It wasn't just that it had been tucked away, it was that I hadn't thought to see if I knew where it was in months and months. And so, we're parting ways. 

It is tough--at least for me--to be at the intersection of genuinely believing in the good of physical possessions (and, yes, I recognize the faults in them too), wanting to be a person who does preserve things, and honestly, believing in some part of me that the reason I have all this stuff is I might want or need it in the future. That there could be a reason I held on to the Steve Oedekirk Thumb movie collection that'll somehow be relevant to my job or to finding a treasure chest or something. But also knowing that I need to make some space. And that I could use some extra scratch. And that there are things that I bought with enjoying them in the future in mind, but that I now don't think I'll ever return to. 

Loss and Regret

Nothing that I'm trying to get rid of do I feel like I'm going to regret parting ways with. But I've heard and--to some extent--have experienced that feeling of great loss in the past. I think all of us have had or know someone in our lives who has had some variation on the experience of "my [parent] threw my [toys/comics/books/important childhood memories] away and I used my adult money to try to get them back." Or, closely related the "I [lent out/went on vacation with/otherwise left the house with] my [toys/comics/books/important childhood memories] and they're now lost forever." 

I've had a couple of those experiences. The summer between my senior year of high school and my freshman year of college, I lent a friendly acquaintance who was going to the same college as me a bunch of my Gameboy games because they had just found their Gameboy and wanted to get back into it, and I was mostly playing my DS and only my Pokemon Gameboy games at that time. I'm fuzzy on the details, because it has been a decade now (whoof), but as I recall, said acquaintance didn't remember to bring my games when they came to college and somewhere between when they moved into the dorms and their first extended trip home, their family moved and the games were "lost in the move" and if they were ever found, I was never told. And there were some really good games that I miss even today. 

Another time, we were living out at the ranch and a lot of our stuff was in storage in the barn (yes, I lived on a non-working ranch and, yes, we had a barn). Now, sometimes that meant things got a little gross. There was dust and the occasional bugs or mice that found their way into things. But overall, it was actually pretty secure. That is, until the barn flooded once. And I lost a ton of meaningful stuff: books and comics and toys. In particular, I remember that the flood lead to the death of my Marvel Legends build-a-figure Galactus, which was quite the loss. 

And my third big loss/purge is when the ranch was being sold, I had to go back to the ranch, and to the barn, and go through and try to parse at least some of my stuff down. At that point, I was in college and knew I only had a storage unit to work with to hold this stuff, and I was distraught with changes to my life around the ranch being sold, so I know there are things that basically got thrown away that I probably could've kept or saved or gotten to someone who would appreciate them, but in a wave of angst and just deep tiredness, some stuff just got tossed and because it's been a while and I was a little hazy at the time, I still don't entirely know what all was lost in that either. 

I bring all of this up because, like I said earlier, I know that I and many of us have that experience of losing the things that mattered. And I know when I posted about selling some Transformers not too long ago, I had a couple people reach out to say "hey, I don't want to see you lose something that matters to you if you just need money." I wanna reassure folks that, no, it isn't just that influencing my decisions here. I'm really trying to be thoughtful in my decisions. So, don't worry. ;D

Next week: Inspired by a conversation on Becca's Twitch stream yesterday (viewer discretion advised on this last stream: there's some language and a spooky drawing and a slip of some NSFW art for a sec), I'm going to talk about manuscript wishlists and like ways to maybe find agents and editors that'd be a good match for you! 

What I enjoyed this week: Blank Check (Podcast), Craig of the Creek (Cartoon), Honkai Star Rail (Video game), My Adventures with Superman (Cartoon), Barbie Dreamhouse Challenge (TV show, my friend Sina's in the finale!!!!), The Broken Room by Peter Clines (Book), Crime Scene Kitchen (TV show), Dumbing of Age (Webcomic), It's Walky/Joyce & Walky/Shortpacked (Webcomics), Solve This Murder (Podcast), Batman: Wayne Family Adventures (Webcomic), Praise Petey (Cartoon), Queen of the Damned (Movie), this very cute Superman drawn by Fernando Luis Cruz during a Superman conversation on Becca's last Twitch stream, this hunky boy Superman drawn by Gigi Dutreix on said stream (and the hunky lady She-Hulk too), The Prank Panel (TV show), Chainsaw Man (Manga) 

New Releases this week (8/9/2023): Nothing from me! Sorry! But...

New Releases next week (8/14/2023): Brynmore #2 (Editor) Godzilla: The War for Humanity #1 (Editor) Sonic the Hedgehog #63 (Editor) Toldja I had a bunch in the pipeline! 

Announcements: Becca will be tabling at Cartoon-a Palooza in Temecula on 9/15 & 9/16. It's a cool free all-ages little con, so come on out and see them! I'll be around too, I'm sure! 

Wanna support me? Consider joining my Patreon! Not only do you get the blog, but you get neat extra stuff like Patreon exclusive blogs, sneak peeks on other stuff I'm working on (and sometimes full original comics posted there), and coming up this week, the first of my sharable scripts and pitches! And even more at higher levels! Or, you can buy something from my webstore! Some of the stock on that stuff is running low and not going to be reprinted anytime soon, so prolly a good time to check it out! 

Also, at time of posting, I still have not pulled Kafka in Honkai Star Rail, but when I do (boy I hope I do), I'll let you know.  Pic of the Week: This is just a very nice picture of Nadja. But those Supermans are also kinda the pic of the week!  

[slavicviking]

✨ Fic Writing Review 2023 ✨

Tagged by @oh-stars, thank youu!!

Words and Fics

55,067 via ao3 stats plus ficlets on tumblr that i have no patience to count up but they were all pretty short

one published chaptered fic

one partly-published WIP

4 published oneshots, 1 in the works

2 WIPs, one of which I will start posting next week :>

Top Fics by Kudos

Soulmates Can't Lie to Each Other AU - which I know isn't a published fic but it's my most popular post to date and it's kind of insane

A Blip On Your Radar

stuck with you (I want to be)

The Idea

Grey Matter

Long Jump, Huge Leap

the subtle art of non-existing

My fandom fic events in 2023

LexSpicySixSpringFanworksChallenge - stuck with you (I want to be)

@steddiebang's Grey Matter

@steddieholidayexchange - coming very soon!

@steddiemicrofic challenges: july | september | october | november | december

Upcoming Events and Projects for 2024

SpicySixWinterFanworksChallenge

Steve amnesia AU

finishing the subtle art of non-existing

not sure if @strangerthingsreversebigbang counts because I'm an artist but hi :)

Rules & Tags below the cut!

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

Leaving the tags open so anyone who'd like to do it, go ahead <3

[brightsuzaku]

So, I Have Space Freighters: Part 1

Oh, let's talk about something FUN for a change! It's a longpost about... space freighters. 

Ok, so in most of the stuff I've come up with, after years of role-playing science-fictional stuff with my best friend? For our stories?! Set in space! And, I'm one of the people participating here, so we've got "spaceships as people", too! Riveting! That's one of my favorite concepts! 

Well, an idea that has been a part of these worlds that we come up with includes Extremely Dumb Freighters. Like, they are not smart, and I mean they are intentionally not that smart. They really do not need to be, for how they work.

I am so sorry in advance to perfectly intelligent, quick-thinking, and hard-working heavy space boats that do the thankless job of Moving Stuff Around The Stars All The Time, but my first ideas were of specifically dumb freighters. And, it turns out they have their niche, and they fill it very well. 

So, it's like, we have these big slow-travel freighter ships that travel along preset "tracks" through general space, and they take special pre-set warp gates, along said tracks to speed along. Now, these occasional warp gates that are set along their tracks' are 2-way gates that only allow freighters through. And so, these ships normally pass through with zero issues, and trundle along their way all happy and undeterred.

But, as I originally explained it, the oldest in the fleet "aren't well-optimized and cannot adapt to setbacks". I'm talking about basic setbacks with basic solutions as simple as, well... Moving! Even slightly! In a different direction of some kind! To advance travel progress!

You see, because space allows movement along all axes it should be simple enough to move out of the way, right?

But no, no, I said poorly optimized, didn't I? They are not very maneuverable, and are trapped within their constraints, ostensibly for safety, I'm sure.

You see, most other ships that encounter these big freighters are gonna hear a monotonous "You Are Blocking My Route." repeated into all channels for the next measurable 4 hours (and counting). We'll get back to this, I promise.

Freighters will say "You Are Blocking My Route" regardless of what may be preventing them from progressing their travel.

So, imagine the most ideal un-ideal situation, where a route is being "blocked". A freight systems engineer could see that this was flagged, and intervene to change the track's checkpoints of each part of the route slightly. This would force freighters to "move around", but that kind of intervention requires LOTS of ships hitting LOTS of setbacks. It might even start to look like a queue!

Intervention, however, is extremely rare.

See, in a normal situation where a big hunk of rock is "blocking the route" the ship will complain about it repeatedly, until the hunk idly floats away. If MULTIPLE ships queue up for too long, someone probably does intervene, because that is rather unusual.

But usually, stuff floats back out of the way.

Every single track that these freighters move along has been specifically designed to allow passage with as few problems as possible. There should not be many issues with debris! Stuff rarely changes that much in space, unless something specifically happens! And, even if something does idly get in the way, usually a route is clear enough within an hour.

These freighters are big enough and strong enough that they could probably plow through minor problems with relative ease, even as they repeat "You Are Blocking My Route" the whole way through. 

So, unless it's an actual debris field that cannot easily be rerouted, and some horrifying freighter backup queue suddenly appears on Known Space News 655 or something, these small blips usually do not affect freight traffic. The freighters. Are just really stupid.

They do a great job of moving where they need to move! Going where they need to go! Unbothered! Thriving! In their lane! Literally!

So, for now, you know how my freighters work!

I AM SORRY TO EVERY INTELLIGENT AND HARD-WORKING FREIGHTER THAT DOES NOT NEED THIS SHADE.

These space freighters largely transport cargo that is being traded or moved all the time, and so the tracks are like a supply line. Faster freighters that need brains, personhood, and rights handle different cargo, including anything time-sensitive stuff. (GIVE YOUR SPACESHIPS RIGHTS.)

Also, PART 2 is up!