#i forgot to do it for like two weeks and catching up was a nightmare

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. ii

hi. this is max's lawyer speaking. please don't get mad at her for this part. she asked me to let you know that she loves you all and hopes that you trust her. sincerely, jimmy mcgill

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're pregnant with joel miller's kid. he's dating someone else. you deal with it.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy stuff like nausea (none of the v word, y'all are safe with me), ultrasound scene set in a hospital, anxiety and guilt surrounding pregnancy, description of body change/growth, brief and i mean brief discussion of abortion, joel is dating someone who isn't reader, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), reader has no physical description save for hair, cursing, genderless use of buddy when referring to baby, joel kisses someone who is not his partner, mention of alcohol, disturbing & semi-graphic nightmare about being involved in car accident, reader has a panic attack, discussion of dead parents, fluff and the beginnings of angst DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there's ever anything you feel i've missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 9.2k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

“I know, I know,” Joel holds a palm up, “it’s nine thirty. I know. But I had to lug all this wood over here, and it – You okay?”

You realize when he pauses that you’re gaping at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place behind your front door. Your jaw hinges shut, a gulp like carpet burn down your throat. You didn’t hear a word he just said.

How does he know? He can’t possibly. Did he sense it, from two lawns away? Dream about the binding of cells, the furnace left lit in your body from that night? The embers still floating, just waiting to catch to life again?

Did he do the fucking math, the way you probably should’ve? How does he fucking know?

The minute the question leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Joel’s eyebrows drop. “How did I know what, kid? That you need new closets? Like you ain’t been nipping my ear about ‘em for weeks?”

Your eyes unlock from his and shift to the slats of wood leaning against the balustrade. The toolbox hanging from his fist. The worn jeans and the white dust marks on his thighs. He doesn’t fucking know, you idiot.

Joel steps forward. Takes your wrist. One grounding, steady hand around your thrashing pulse. “You’re freaking me out. What the hell’s –?”

“Nothing,” you chirp, remembering. The closet. The deal. The fucking – the deal. You withdraw your arm. Hidden up your sleeve, quickly slipping out of his grasp, is the news that his life is about to change forever.

Maybe. You don’t fucking know.

“No,” you continue, blinking the burn of sunlight from your vision, “I just – I forgot. Sorry. Come in. Sorry.”

“Quit sayin’ sorry,” he mutters, eyeing you suspiciously. He lifts a foot and hovers it over the threshold, hesitating. Like the first step across a minefield; instinct telling him to tread carefully.

And you swear an oath to yourself, swear it on your own life: if he doesn’t put the heel of his boot in your hallway, if he turns around right now whether because his instinct is razor sharp, or because he forgot his lucky screwdriver, or purely because he needs to take a fucking leak before he gets started – you will never tell him. He will never know.

If his intuition is that good, he’ll turn around and never show up on your porch again. If he has any sense, he’ll forget any of this ever happened. Deal off.

“How’s the stomach?” Joel asks, sole still three inches from wood.

“What?” you bleat, your heel knocking against the bottom stair. It’s a little more panicked than you intended.

“Yesterday,” a crease forms between his brows, “you said you had a weird stomach. That any better?”

Oh, you think, and as you open your mouth to reply, his foot hits the ground. No answer needed. He was coming in whether you tried to deter him or not.

“Oh, yeah. It’s – Well, it’s better than it was. I think I worked it out,” you grimace, tongue curling under the tinge of anxiety and – well. “Thanks,” you add, noticing the brisk cut of your replies.

The heavy thud of his footsteps follows you upstairs, blunt on the carpet as you lead him up. Joel sets the toolbox down and casts your room a quick glance, snapping back to you as soon as you notice him.

You tug on the corner of the bedsheets, a heat bubbling beneath your cheeks. Something shy and self-conscious, all of a sudden. The reality that you don’t feel close enough to this man to share the anatomy of your room with him, mixed with the knowledge that the two of you are, now and forever, bound by the anatomy of something a little more significant than dirty laundry and dusty wardrobes.

A little closer than most humans get, let’s say.

“You want a coffee or something?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning back against the window sill.

“You havin’ one?”

“Sure. Wait – actually –” Can you have coffee whilst pregnant? A woman at work quit it altogether when she fell pregnant with her son. Fuck. “I’m – No. I’m good. But let me go make you one.”

Joel shakes his head, amused. Screwdriver burrowing into a door hinge already. He flashes you a tickled grin. “I’m good just now, kid. Wait until you’re makin’ one. Thanks.”

You lift a shoulder. “Welcome.”

His eyes flit from the twist of silver to your hunched shoulders, your arms crossed protectively over your chest. “You gonna stand there ‘n watch me all day? You my foreman now?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he laughs. You sniff, twisting your foot into the carpet. The plastic test itches against your skin; you can feel the two lines ripping into your wrist like tiny burns. “I can go, if you want.”

His lip turns, musing. A quick flick of his jaw. “You’re good company, all in all.”

Metal clanking against metal; fingers knuckle-deep in the toolbox. You can hear the harsh sound across your body, like the point of screws and bite of rust are actually scoring your skin. The groan of a near-fifty-year-old man rising to rip a decades-old door from its home. The creak of wood as it splits.

Everything so heightened that it’s actually painful.

Joel straightens up and pauses, turning his screwdriver between his fingers. “Are we –? We’re good, right?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You’d tell me if things were weird?”

“Why would things be weird?”

His answer scrawls itself across his face. Your response scoffs from your lips.

“I just,” Joel sighs, “I feel like something might be off with ya. Maybe you just ain’t feelin’ too hot. But you’re quiet.”

“Quiet,” you whisper, palms locking heavily against your biceps. More defensive than convincing.

“Yeah. You usually annoy the hell outta me.”

Over your shoulder, Alice Brown waddles down her driveway, eyeing her flowerbeds. She pauses when Diane’s station wagon pulls up across the street; stands motionless as she watches the round figure climb out and totter to her own front door.

“Just – not in a very annoying mood, I guess,” you offer, staring at the white head of hair fluttering in the breeze. The glint of a trowel in her hand.

Joel’s chin lifts. He studies you, tongue tracing the ridges of his teeth. And then he’s nearing you, turning until you’re shoulder to shoulder, two silhouettes stood against the bright square of blue sky inside your window frame. His arms crossed; his stare fixed.

The words begin to boil in your stomach. Violent bubbles against the wall of your midriff. Rising like steam, fading into nothingness over your tongue, the sting of heat where your voice won’t collect them.

Joel moves from foot to foot. It feels like some kind of merry dance, some choreographed moment between you – like a skit in a comedy show. I know something you don’t know.

“What happened – at the wedding,” he murmurs, addressing the polished gold of your bedframe.

Some small sound passes your lips. An affirmative. You’re on the same page.

“We didn’t use – you know. And with you not feelin’ well, it’s…” A deep breath. Chest full of a ghostly bravery. And then he asks, “Are you –?”

Silence swallows the end of his question whole. You didn’t need it, anyway. The stiffness of his frame, his stare shooting straight ahead. The lack of oxygen between you – both holding your breath for fear that something might tear loose from your lungs. He knows. He knows he knows he knows.

You gulp. “…If I was?”

His head cranes upwards, focusing on the cracked plaster of your ceiling. The realization slowly trickling down over his skin. It hasn’t seeped through, hasn’t bled into his brain yet. “Then,” another breath, “then it’d be a conversation…” His voice is halved, split somewhere between knowing and – what is it? Hoping?

Your eyes slip over to the worn sleeve of his T-shirt, stretched around the swell of his bicep; scaling up to his shoulder, the tight set of his jaw. He’s so much taller, he’s so much older. There’s so much life lived and so many lessons learned behind his eyes that you wonder how much the news I’m pregnant would actually crack him.

Your eyes meet. You whisper, “Then – talk,” and his expression softens.

He blinks away whatever’s left of his trying, his polite attempts to skirt around it. He sheds probably a good three decades – turns back into some doe-eyed boy, wonderstruck and terrified. His voice is quiet, and at the same time, the heaviest with emotion you’ve ever heard it. “Are you?” he asks, and immediately, he blurs behind a wall of tears.

Your sentence gets caught in your teeth. It made no sense to begin with. Tangled between your molars, latching at the back of your tongue. Your hand slowly pulls free from your sleeve, the little white test between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes instantly drop, staring at the pale stick with a fraught expression you understand to mean the message has finally reached his brain. The same words now ringing between his ears: She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. I got her pregnant.

You hold the test out, quivering in the daylight. He takes it in his thumbs, instantly soothing its tremble. Everything muted, every movement steady and considered. And suddenly the sight of that positive test feels less scary, in his hands. Feels like a smaller problem, if that were ever possible.

And he says nothing, and it’s almost unbearable to watch the shape of his lips thin, the shadow beneath his brows darken. Agonizing to stand here and wonder what the next words over his tongue will be.

He stares at it a moment longer. You count the beats of your pulse in your throat. You wrap your arms tighter around your body, holding your skeleton together.

Joel’s lips part. Your breath freezes. Whatever he says, you don’t want to miss a syllable.

“Are you –” he blinks, “– are you feelin’ okay?”

You stare blankly. His eyes finally lift.

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Your head jerks. “I’m – I’m fine. I mean, I’m fucking shocked.”

He nods. “How long have you known?”

“Took that right before you showed up,” you say, eyes diving to his hands. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

He’s still switching between you and the test. Checking those two lines are still there, as if they might fade to nothing, and then checking you’re still there – as if you might, too. Might be swept off if he’s not keeping an eye on you.

His face pales. He sinks back against the window ledge. “Jesus,” he breathes, a hand down the scruff of his chin.

And it feels like relief, like a mirror sat before you, presenting the honest truth: you’re fucked, and Joel thinks so, too. It embeds the shock into the cushion of your brain, the weight of it absorbed and laid bare for every particle in your body to pay it a visit. What the fuck do we do now?

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Jesus.”

But then his arm wraps around your shoulder, reminding you you’re still solid. Still whole. He holds you to his side, and when you turn into him, he takes you in the other and pulls you flat against his chest. His lips to your hair. His breathing slowing yours.

“We’re gonna work it out,” he says into your hair. “We’re gonna – Jesus, I did not expect…We are goin’ to be fine, alright? You are goin’ to be fine.”

You’re nodding, the prickle of tears flooding across your eyes again. They’re doing nothing, his words – blunt against your skin and insignificant to the fear swelling around your heart – but it feels better to be afraid with someone. Feels better to hold onto something stronger, something bigger, while you feel yourself beginning to shrink.

“What do we do?” you ask into his shirt.

Joel loosens his grip, pulls away until you’re staring at one another. “What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t…” Your head’s shaking, lips moving quicker than your voice will offer the words over. “I don’t think I want to get rid of it.”

He nods, a hand coming up to hold your cheek. “Alright. Then you don’t have to. You don’t gotta do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with.”

“But,” you sniff, guiltily averting his gaze, “this fucks everything up. Everything’s about to change.”

Joel takes a long, slow breath. “It complicates some things, that’s for sure.” He looks out to the street; Alice Brown now hauling weeds from the edge of her lawn. In his exhale, he breathes a name.

“V…What?”

He looks down. Eyes dance around your damp cheeks. “Vanessa,” he says, clearer now.

“Vanessa?”

A nod. His nose wriggles with an awkward sniff. You push off from his chest.

“Who the hell is Vanessa?”

Joel lets you go; lets you step back. He watches as you brace yourself against the ledge. Runs a hand through his hair while he fixes the right order of words. He’s thinking. Carefully.

Too fucking carefully. He’s taking too long.

“Joel. Who’s Vanessa?”

“She’s…” He sighs. “She’s my ex. From Tommy’s wedding. Vanessa Hart.”

Your jaw slackens. The purple dress. The hair like silk, a halo around her head where the light kissed her perfectly. Her plump lips; the way her head tipped back to laugh. The amount of air you felt her take up the second you laid eyes on her, the second you saw her, arm on top of Joel’s.

“Vanessa,” you whisper, your eyes descending his frame. The memory feels menacing now: her sweet giggle a sneering cackle, and you’ve no idea why. The bulky jewels around her neck, her clawed fingers on his arm.

Joel’s hand sits inches from yours on the wooden sill. Alice is walking back inside.

“We, uh…we swapped numbers the morning after the wedding, at breakfast. I didn’t think much of it, but we’ve seen each other a couple times since.”

This isn’t the time for another it’s a date, it’s not a date argument. What the fuck does he mean by –

“Seen each other?”

“Mhm.” He owes you better than that. He reckons so, too. “Dates,” he clarifies. “We’ve been on a couple dates.”

“Oh.”

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Plummets, dragging with it your breath and your nerve and any other words you can think of. Your chest gnaws at the edges of the cavity left behind. It hurts. It stings.

Though you’ve no right for it to hurt or sting: as far as you were concerned, as far as you think Joel was concerned, that night was a one-off. It meant as little as the alcohol draining from your glasses, the vacant buzz of love and hope loose in the air. Equally as intoxicating as each other.

Cataclysmic, for the first little while. So heavily awkward that you would wait to watch Joel head out in the morning, clear of your path, before you’d set off for work. It felt like the aftermath of some natural disaster – the cleanup of debris and mistake.

But oh, it feels like a punch to the gut. Low, unexpected; a foul move by someone who never meant to hurt or not hurt you. Someone ignorant to every move he made, right up to this moment.

Your arms wrap around your body again, as though tending to the bruise left by the sucker punch shaped something like that tall woman named Vanessa.

Joel scratches the back of his neck. “We were…we were seein’ about starting things up again. Me ‘n her.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got you. That’s – I mean, I’m – I’m sorry, Joel, I –”

“Woah, woah,” he’s stepping forward now, “hey, no. No way. This wasn’t you. Well, shoot – it kinda was you. But it was just as much me, right?”

You smile, your face back in the safe hold of his hands. Tears roll down your cheeks, collecting in the corners of your mouth. His thumbs swipe them away.

“This was just as much me,” he repeats, voice soft and soothing.

“But, you know – if you wanted to – just ‘cause I don’t want to get – so if you didn’t wanna have to – that’d be okay, you know that, right?”

His head snaps back, brows low. It’s the first time he looks like his cool has broken all morning. It’s the first time he looks…downright offended. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, and then, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I just – I know this ain’t ideal. It’s even worse if you’re tryna make it work with Vanessa. So if you felt like it was too much, then…”

Joel shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, edged with some kind of groan. “Stop talking, right now. Stop. You gotta take a deep breath, alright? I’m here, ‘n I mean I’m here. We’re in this together. I am not running out on you.”

“Joel –”

What was a mere crack in his cool before, rips through it now like lightning spreading across the sky. He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping between his teeth. “If you think I would leave you right now, to deal with this on your own –”

“I don’t,” you tell him, his vexation powering your sudden animation. You wipe your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m just saying, it’s a fucking lot. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I’m giving you an out, man.”

“I am not interested in taking it. Enough. Conversation over.”

“And what about Vanessa?”

“What about her?” he asks, the question dripping in something akin to anger. He catches himself, draws it back in. “She’ll just – We’ll talk, I’ll explain it. The hell else can we do? One thing at a time, okay?”

“Right,” you nod, “okay. One thing at a time.”

“Let’s just build these damn wardrobes. I sure as hell didn’t lug all that timber over here to not do ‘em.”

“Okay,” you repeat, making for the door.

“Ah.” He clicks, and you turn back. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To get the timber.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, pointing to your bed. “Sit down. Relax. You ain’t getting a damn thing.”

Joel calls it a day at six o’clock.

The skeleton of the closet is up: a smooth, tan frame lining one wall of your room. Much bigger, much sturdier than its predecessor.

You’re in the same spot he left you in: lying across your bed, admiring his handiwork. He’s good at what he does. You told him twice, and the two of you almost heaved both times. Compliments aren’t something you’re used to handing one another.

He left, maybe, three hours ago. Said he had to shower; said he’d be back first thing to finish the job. You sat up to see him out, got struck by a wave of nausea so bad that you fell back to the bed with one hand on your stomach and the other over your lips, and Joel had insisted – demanded – that you stay where you were.

I’ll be back later to check on ya, he assured, setting a glass of water at your bedside. And then he told you to call him if you felt even remotely off – sick, or panicked, or had a tickle in your throat that you couldn’t clear – and that’s when the two of you realized that you don’t even have one another’s numbers.

And you laughed, the both of you; laughed at the absurdity of you carrying his child when you don’t even carry his contact details in your phone. Laughed at how quickly everything has turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the few hours since you woke up. It felt like some form of release, the only way to clear the blockage of tension in both your throats. So, you laughed, until you felt sick again, and Joel swept the hair from your shoulders to cool you down.

The attentiveness is…new. It’s interesting. It’s kind, in the same way that being told to say hi to whoever your grandma is talking to in the grocery store, is kind. Sweet, the same way that answering the door on Halloween to a bunch of kids you don’t know from a street you don’t recognize the name of, is sweet.

Whatever. It’s fucking weird, alright?

You’ve never seen this side of Joel. You didn’t know or even think, in your wildest dreams, that he existed. Let’s face it: you two have spent the entirety of your inhabitance next door to one another, antagonizing each other. Your favorite hobby has always been pissing Joel off – teasing him for having backache, seeing how far down his porch you can launch his newspaper and he’ll still go get it. Playing the same kind of music you heard him playing on his guitar that one time, full-volume from your kitchen window just to fuck with him.

And, likewise: his favorite hobby has always been…well, ignoring you. Doing everything he can not to engage. If it weren’t for that fucking cat lady and her jittery green Chevrolet, none of this would’ve ever happened. She was a catalyst where one was neither needed nor wanted. You would’ve gone about your life, pinning your underwear only slightly more carefully to your clothesline, and Joel would’ve gone about his, doing – whatever the fuck he does.

Sure, it’s weird. But it’s nice. It’s nice to have him on your side, turning to check on you rather than snap at you for something. Nice to have him talk – actual, rounded words in place of grumbles and mumbles and groans and sighs. Nice to hang out with him and watch him work and ask questions about screws and power tools and pretend to be interested just to distract from the weight of queasiness in your stomach.

Your hands trail down, cupping around your navel. Your stomach still feels like your stomach: still soft, still spongey under your touch. If not for the two more tests you’d taken this afternoon, perched on the bathroom counter waiting for Joel to unstick his gaze from his watch and announce, That’s three minutes – both also positive, by the way – you’d have no fucking clue.

You hold the bottom half of your tummy, fingers rubbing gently over the skin that will soon enough grow and swell and protect.

“Hey,” you whisper, staring at the stationary ceiling fan overhead. A pause. An awkward inhale. “…hey, little buddy. I don’t – know you very well, yet. I figure you can’t even fucking hear me, but whatever. Just wanted to say hi. I’m – Ew, no. I’m not Mom, yet. What the fuck. I don’t know who I am right now, so just…maybe go easy on me until I figure that part out. And after, too. Alright? Are we…we cool?

“You can’t tell me, I know. I just have to assume we’re cool. Okay. Well. Keep growin’. Keep…doing your thing. You’re doing great. We’re doing – we’re doing alright.

“Good job, kid. Good job.”

Joel tells Vanessa two days later. She takes it…about as well as you might hope.

He says they talked for four hours. Three cups of coffee and a drive to Taco Bell later, she agreed to meet you. Properly. Not across the cluttered dancefloor of Tommy’s wedding.

She –? Is – is that a good idea?

I don’t know, kid. It’s the best I’ve got.

Meet me? Like, come kick my ass for sleeping with her boyfriend?

Joel had sighed and deadened his eyes on yours. Not her boyfriend, he corrected, passing you a sweater folded a little slapdash for your liking, and wasn’t her boyfriend when we slept together.

You shook the sweater straight again and fixed his work, muttering to yourself that at least he’s a better builder than he is a folder.

Joel heard you, and let it go. Passed you another – unfolded – sweater to sit in your wardrobe. Let’s just see how it goes, alright?

Alright.

We’re really trying this again. It’s only been a couple weeks.

Okay.

And neither of us have had much luck in that department since we broke it off, y’know?

Joel. I said okay.

He held your gaze a moment too long. Okay.

You’re on your porch when he strolls over, wrist blocking the six o’clock sun from his eyes. Newspaper in his fist, wind licking the corners. “Forget somethin’ today?” he asks, meeting you at the top of the steps.

“Came out to get it,” you brace yourself on the railing, “felt sick. This is me workin’ up to it.”

“You want me to toss it back onto my lawn so you can go fetch me it?”

You smile, eyes screwing shut. “Was coming over to ask what time for tomorrow.”

The reminder snaps him from his happy daydream. He says, “I was comin’ to ask you the same thing. Seven work?”

“Seven’s good. Are we getting food?”

“You wanna get food? I figured maybe you wouldn’t be up for it, what with the, uh…” Joel gestures to your hunched position, your head low between your shoulders, your deep, deliberate breaths.

“Maybe just drinks,” you utter, gulping back the sharp taste of bile.

He nods. “Drinks it is. You okay? You need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks. See you guys at seven.”

Four minutes early, there’s a knock at your door. You pull it open, and there they are. Picture-perfect, like they might be posing for a holiday card. A bottle in his arm, a bunch of flowers in hers. A timid but genial smile between her cheeks, a twinkle in her eye. That same circle of shining light around her head, brunette tresses curled into bouncing waves.

“Howdy,” Joel says, stepping into the space you create. He dips his head, kisses your cheek, whispers a brief, Y’okay? in your ear. You nod quickly, gently shifting him out of the way.

Vanessa lingers for a moment in the doorway. She glances from Joel to you again, blinking in the porch light. Her pale skin lit in an ethereal glow. She’s prettier up close.

Joel addresses you, hand brushing the small of your back, “…this is Vanessa.”

“Hi,” she says, and pushes the flowers towards you – a small bouquet of gypsophila and eucalyptus. Bright, polite. Each sprig laden with the burden of appearing simpatico, but important. Meaningful, in the airiest sense of the word. “Hi,” again.

“Hi,” you echo, and then feel stupid for having nothing more to offer. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, hot on your shoulder.

But Vanessa takes the weight from your chest. “It’s nice to meet you – officially. I saw you at Tommy and Maria’s wedding. You looked so beautiful.”

“Thanks,” springs from your tongue sooner than the rest of the sentence. Your brain scrams to find more words. “You looked – you looked great, too. Do you wanna –? I mean – Sorry. Come in. Obviously.”

She clicks over the threshold, her pale dress floating into your hallway like she’s part of a dream. She’s just as beautiful in this light, relaxed form – pastel blue and the glimmer of golden jewelry – as she was in the sleeker, more dramatic form you saw her in before. An aura about her which captures and tends to your attention. Intense, captivating, but not intimidating.

You usher them to the living room, offer them a space on the couch while you take Vanessa’s flowers to the kitchen. Joel follows you through, sets the bottle on the counter.

“Nonalcoholic,” he says, unscrewing the cap.

Your eyebrows jump. “Great. Thanks.”

“She’s nervous,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I know you are, too. Y’all are similar like that.”

You slot the stems into a vase of water one by one, carefully organizing a display. “She seems sweet,” you assure him. “She shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Neither should you.”

“Is this…totally weird for you?”

Joel breathes in deep, filling three glasses. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never lifting from the sparkling peach.

“Sorry.”

He angles his jaw. “Stop sayin’ you're sorry. I’ll kick your ass.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, eyes lifting only to his elbows. “Sorry.”

He scoffs, swiping the glasses and stepping back to let you out first.

“I’m trying not to make it weird,” you offer, slipping by.

“I don’t want you to try anything.” He kicks your ankle lightly and follows you back into the living room.

Vanessa sits forward and clasps her hands around her knee when you sit back down, shifting as though to reach for you before she stops herself. “How are you feeling? Joel said you’re a little…worse for wear, right now.”

“I’ve been better,” you say, smiling. “Just morning sickness. Which lasts – all day.”

She nods sympathetically. “My sister had it rough with her first. I actually…” She twists around, reaches for her purse, fishes out an orange packet. “I brought you some ginger tea. Kate told me it helped her a lot, so.”

She holds it out in almost trembling fingers. Likewise, you steady yours to take it from her, thanking her with a shy nod of the head. “That’s so kind,” you reply quietly, eyes darting to Joel. He’s staring at the pack in your hands, watching as you turn it over to read the back.

“And – listen,” Vanessa continues, the acceptance of her offering clearly fueling her assuredness, “I don’t want anything to be weird – between you and I, between you and Joel. I know this situation is…new. It’s, um…”

“It’s kinda weird,” you say, humoring. “It’s okay. I know.”

She breathes a relieved laugh. “It is. Thank God you said it.” She glances back at Joel, who smiles at her, slips his hand onto her knee. “But I guess,” a deep breath, “I guess it is what it is. And we’re all adults, you know? We can make it work, right?”

Your head switches rapidly between nodding enthusiastically and shaking enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yes. No, absolutely. And, you know, me and Joel – there isn’t – we’re not at all…”

“Oh,” she bats the idea away, “I know. I know that. He told me everything. It’s – You know, it’s just a timing thing.”

Joel’s staring down at his hand locked around her leg. Unblinking. Unmoving. His expression doesn’t shift until the two of you settle back into your seats; until Vanessa asks if he’d mind making you a cup of ginger tea.

You barely notice his absence, the way she takes you up in conversation. Like twirling you off in some kind of dance, each sentence strung safely to the next. There are no lulls, no awkward pauses. She asks about work, asks about your family. She tells you stories about her niece, who’s three now, and compares how you’re feeling to how she remembers her sister feeling.

Then her work, and the IT guy her friend hooked up with, and her class at the gym which she’s trying to convince Joel to come along to, and Kate’s hot yoga class every Thursday night, and the new sushi place which just opened downtown and You gotta try it some day; the nigiri is divine.

And you nod along, and you laugh at her anecdotes and tell your own, and Joel tells her to tell you about the jazz band who were playing at the restaurant they visited a couple weeks ago, and you offer to top her drink up and she says she’ll do it herself and she leaves you and Joel alone for the first time all evening, and – it’s weird.

Because – behind the veil of conversation you’re doing your best to uphold, sits an image of this very night – only, in Joel’s house. In Joel’s house, on Joel’s couch, drinking nonalcoholic wine with Joel’s brother. Joel and Vanessa leant against one another on one couch, Tommy and Maria on the other.

You can’t help it – you’re wondering what Maria thinks of Vanessa. How long they knew each other, if at all, before the breakup. Whether they hung out, whether they discussed sushi and yoga, or the housing market, or their Miller boyfriends and their annoying Miller habits.

Maria would’ve liked her, you think. Would’ve found her as lovely as you do. And the idea, the image of them giggling together at family parties and being Tommy’s Maria and Joel’s Vanessa – presses a firm, bullying finger into the bruise you thought had faded some from the other day.

And once they’re gone, once you’re left alone again – lying in still silence, closed in on yourself by the thick darkness of your room, nothing but you and your thoughts and your unborn child for company – it slips out.

“Fuck her, right?” You hold your hands out, addressing your stomach. “She was so fucking nice. Did you like her? Fuck me, I liked her. I hope they break up.”

And then, realizing who you’re talking to: “No. Sorry, baby, no. I don’t hope they break up. I want your dad to be really happy. But – Goddamn. She was so sweet. I thought she was gonna slap me, and she just – she brought ginger tea! Fuck. They look good together, don’t they?”

It’s just hormones. Just the emotional trip that is being four weeks pregnant. Everybody feels like this when they fall pregnant – sensitive, vulnerable, clingy. Right? Right?

Your words sit stagnant in midair. You swear you can see them, heavy and intruding. Awkwardly lingering someplace they don’t belong. Because none of it even matters – the hormones, the emotions. The weird knot burning a hole in your chest, shaped like a clenched fist, knuckles branded by the heat of longing. It can’t matter.

You’re where you are, he’s where he is. A pillow in your arm, Vanessa in his. Feet apart, bricks and mortar and something like twenty years and two dates too late separating you.

Both staring up at the ceiling, wondering who the other’s thinking of.

“At eight weeks, your baby is roughly the size of a raspberry.”

Your knee bounces, breath coming and going in shaky ripples. The rubber sole of your shoe cries against the sterilized hospital floor. Your chest hums anxiously and your throat catches when you swallow and are the lights too bright? The room too hot? You’re sweating. Why are you sweating? Can you breathe right now?

Joel nudges your arm and your eyes roll to the pamphlet in his hand, his finger tracing the words. “C’mon,” he utters, leaning in, “how can anything the size of a raspberry be scary?”

You squint under fluorescent white. “A raspberry that grows into the size of a watermelon, can break my ribs, make me throw up, make me lose hair, and then tear my vagina apart on its way out? That’s pretty scary.”

He smirks. “Not to me it ain’t. My vagina stays perfectly intact the entire time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you reply, whacking him.

He laughs, swatting your palm away, keeping ahold of your fingers inside his own. “Speaking of – we gotta talk.” He elbows you, waiting until you’re looking again to speak. “We gotta cut the language.”

“Cut the language?”

“Uhuh. Rein it in. And by we, I mean you.”

“Uh,” you scoff, “I don’t think so. When you do the growing, then you can rein your own swearing in. Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Charming,” Joel says. “You know the baby can hear you? You want it to come out swearin’ like a trooper?”

You grin, tipping your head to him. “If it comes out and says anything, we’re rich. So – yeah. Let it.”

He opens his mouth to reply when a nurse emerges from a nearby room and calls your name.

“You’re up, kid,” Joel says, standing beside you.

You turn back, speaking before your brain settles on words. “I’m scared.”

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand. He squeezes it gently, uses the other to keep you facing him. “This is the easy part, right? We’re just going to meet them.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and wander over to meet the nurse. Joel’s hand a vice grip around yours.

She leads you into a similarly washed-out clinic room, only slightly dimmer with the lights turned out, and yanks a roll of paper across the bed. Tapping it twice, she smiles. “Hop up, darlin’.”

You settle into the crinkly paper, leaning back until you’re blinking up at the speckled ceiling. Another door opens and a woman in a white coat floats in, and you swear that if it weren’t for Joel’s Evenin’, ma’am when she greets the two of you, you’d believe she were a figment of your imagination. Another character in this fucking insane dream.

“Not often I do these past five o’clock,” she says, clicking her mouse and typing on her keyboard and fixing a hair grip back into her bun. Casual. It’s not even a thing to her, introducing parents and children. She does this all fucking day.

Joel tosses half a glance to you and then realizes you’re not currently in the room. He pinches your hand again. It grounds you for all of two seconds.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “work commitment. I couldn’t get away any earlier, so we’re havin’ to do this a little late.”

“What do you do?” she asks, staring at her screen. Her glossy brown eyes and rich, dark skin.

“I’m a contractor,” Joel replies, thumb stroking your shoulder.

Something bubbles in your stomach, something akin to jealousy, an urgency to tell her that right now, in this room, he’s mine. No more questions. Something which quickly dissipates when you remind yourself to quit being fucking ridiculous and that right now, in this room, he’s someone else’s, and the thumb on your shoulder is merely to hold you back from fleeing. Nothing more.

The sonographer nods. Her name badge reads Freya. Pretty name. Stop picturing what your kid would look like as a Freya. You are not naming them after the first sonographer you meet.

“Shouldn’t be too long, then y’all can get home for the night. You live nearby?”

“Twenty minutes’ drive. Not far, are we?” Joel asks you.

Your eyes shoot down to his. “No,” you push your cheeks up, telling Freya, “not far.”

She flattens her lips against one another, lending you a sympathetic smile. “You got nothing to worry about, honey. Promise. Gel might be a little cold, that’s about as scary as this gets. We’re just gonna make sure everything’s looking good, check your dates, check your measurements. You’re doing great.”

“You hear that?” Joel murmurs, settling down into the chair by your side. His hand hasn’t left yours. His voice is low, meant just for you, when he repeats, “You’re doin’ great.”

You huff a laugh, some nervous release from your lungs.

Freya smiles, face lit by the faint glow of the screen in front of her. “We ready?”

You roll the hem of your tee up when she motions, bunching it under the wire of your bra. She squeezes a bottle over your stomach, which tenses solid when the frozen bite of gel curls right below your belly button. Freya smiles apologetically when you wince. Told you, she murmurs, and your breath escapes in a slightly more comfortable laugh. Lighter, easier. Scariest part over.

She presses the probe to your skin and spreads the gel, coating the bottom of your tummy in a slippery slick which tickles with each inch she covers. Two buttons pressed, and a dark image appears on a screen opposite you.

A gray fan, speckled like the ceiling above your head. Dark, black shapes growing and shrinking at the turn of Freya’s wrist. She pauses, two blobs onscreen: the larger, black, round, home to a smaller, misshapen one. Flecked with white and silver and moving slowly, gently, but – right there.

“Mom, Dad,” she grins, “meet your baby.”

You and Joel move forward at the same time, drawn closer to the crunchy image as if by some kind of natural magnetism. Eyes never blinking, lips agape. The shapes flutter, the smaller dipping in and out of view.

“You see right here, right in the center?” A white cross appears over the blob’s middle. “That little movement? The kinda – pulsing?”

You each nod. Your nails dig so deep into Joel’s hand that you risk drawing blood.

“That’s the heart. Ticking away.”

“The heart?” you ask, watching the rhythmic flicker in the center of the screen.

“Yep. Perfect, too.”

She hits another key and suddenly the room is filled with a muffled thudding; a steady, energetic pulse in your ears. It matches the movements onscreen, the tiny throb of the baby’s chest, the shape of your womb moving like waves before you.

And suddenly, it's real – all of it: the screen and the room and the sonographer and you, and Joel’s hand encasing yours, holding your knuckles to his lips, and –

And the heartbeat. Right there, right in front of you. Shy, probably as nervous as you are to introduce themselves. Feeling your eyes on them, curled up somewhere safe inside you. Right there.

You turn to Joel, and his illuminated face is staring straight at the screen. Eyes soaked with tears, blinking as they form, cheeks dappled with wet. He draws his eyes from his child only to look back at you, only to mirror your stunned smile, your disbelieving laugh, more tears dripping down into his beard. He sits up, presses his damp lips firmly to your forehead.

Freya mutes the heartbeat, pauses the scan where the image is clearest, and sits back. “I’ll give you guys a moment to yourselves,” she says, wheeling back in her chair. “Take all the time you need. I’m right outside.”

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles for the both of you, sweeping hair from your face.

The door closes on your little bubble – you, Joel, and the grainy image of your baby. The evidence that – yeah, that night happened, and yeah, you’re forever changed because of it. The evidence that you’re about to become a mom, for real, no matter how much the thought makes you feel like your stomach is kicking around at your ankles.

And the evidence that, no matter how scared you might be, how unprepared and unworthy you feel – you fucking adore that little blob already.

Love it as much as Joel does, stood over you, kissing your hair and whispering words you’re only half-listening to. A quiet thank you, a shaky I can’t believe it. Something about showing his brother. And when you look up at him, blinking at one another, inches apart – he takes your jaw in his hands and lowers his lips to yours.

Different. Softer. No want laced through. No urgency. Nothing needed, nor requested, that isn’t already right here in this little bubble of yours.

He kisses you slowly, eyes closed, holding you until you pull away for breath. His nose bumps against yours and you laugh, heads together, eyes low.

“Still scared?” he whispers.

“Terrified,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he says, and kisses you again.

You lean back against the bed, relief settling your bones and soothing your heartbeat. The notion washes over you that, if you could, you’d stay in this room forever. Staring at the screen, holding Joel’s hand. Whispering fears into his mouth and letting him swallow them in a kiss.

He hands you some paper towel and helps you drag it across your stomach, your eyes still fixed on the little shape opposite. He hooks his chin over your head – the fresh, woody smell of his cologne infiltrating your lungs and throwing you under the haze of something you’re not quite sure how to define.

“Duck,” he says, voice vibrating into your skull.

“Huh?”

“Start saying duck. Make the baby think we’re saying that, then you can say –” he lowers his voice, “– fuck, all you want.”

“The hell would I have to say duck for?”

Joel stands upright and shrugs. “I don’t know. Think of somethin’. A nickname, maybe.”

“Duck?”

He nods plainly, glancing over to the screen.

The pillow beneath your head sighs as you turn from Joel back to the ultrasound. “Baby Duck,” you offer, and he smiles.

Smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile. Eyes glistening, cheeks swollen. Something innocent and earnest about it. Something pure.

He agrees. “Baby Duck it is.”

Joel insists that you spend the night at his place.

“It’s been a big day,” he reasons, fixing the bed in his guestroom. “Just – let me run around after you for a little bit.”

You fight your corner as much as you can be bothered – I gotta maintain my independence, I’m gonna be a single mom soon enough, you know – but, truthfully, you’ll take any excuse to have him rush around at your beck and call. Some days you open your mouth and he hears the wet click of saliva between your lips, and grabs a glass of water for you before you’ve even voiced the request.

He orders takeout, settles shoulder-to-shoulder with you on the couch, and lets you pick whichever movie you feel like putting him through until the food’s gone, he’s out of beer, and you’ve abandoned Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles for an argument about the best part of pizza.

You don’t like the crust?

Nope.

What fuckin’ age are you?

If it ain’t stuffed, it’s just not worth it.

At eleven, you bid him goodnight and wander upstairs, falling into a sea of navy-blue sheets to be delivered to sleep by the serene silence of Joel’s home. It takes no time for your eyes to flutter closed, the soft sheen of moonlight painted across the wall, sweeping from your view to be replaced in a whir by –

Lights. Overhead and all around and so bright and so close that you swear they’re etched on the inside of your eyelids.

You’re in the backseat, watching them soar by in blurs of white and red and amber and green, and your pulse is rattling through your veins and throbbing between your temples and you can’t focus on any one object for longer than three seconds, before your eyes roll and your head dizzies.

A word, slung from your lips in a half-wakened attempt to stop it. A word you barely recognize at first, don’t understand the meaning of. It’s been years. Why now? Mom.

You’re not sure why, or who you’re even reaching out to. There are two figures in the front seats, heads facing forward. She’s not turning around. She’s not even fucking moving, not reacting to the speed or the lights or your voice. Mom.

You scream it, the syllable ripping violently from your throat, and your tiny fingers reach for her swirls of hair. You pause, staring at the chipped polish on your stubby, kiddy nails. Mom, I’m scared.

The distorted blast of a horn scoops the car up in one motion, hurtling over itself along the freeway. You’re thrown to the roof of the car, plummet back down to your seat; the seatbelt throttles you, rips a burn deep into the skin of your neck. Back up again; your head hits the spongey roof of the car. Your stomach somersaults.

Mom, please, you wail, swiping for her hand. It’s lying limp by her thigh, dark droplets on her wrist. Mom Mom please Mom I’m scared Mom please I’m so scared I –

“Baby.”

His voice is low, earthy. It chews apart the high-pitched squeal of brakes and screaming. The glass smashing. The metal crunching.

You lift from the bed like it’s ice water, gasping when you finally surface back on Earth. Your chest heaves, it’s not sucking in enough breath; you can’t breathe you can’t breathe you can’t fucking breathe.

Joel whips the cover from your legs and you roll from the mattress, feet planting on the floor. You bend forward to grip onto the sheets, a choking rising up your throat, closer and closer until it tugs on your tongue.

“Icantbreathe,” you pant.

Joel’s body curves around yours. “You’re alright,” he’s telling you – urging you; one hand between your shoulder blades, the other holding your wrist for fear you might collapse. “I’m here, you’re okay. You’re at my place, you’re safe, but, kid – I need you to slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

You work your breathing to the strokes of his hand up and down your spine: in out in out in and out and in and out and in, and out, and in, and…out…and in…and…out.

“That’s it. Keep doing that. You’re good, baby, I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

In – and out. In – and out again.

The room slowly desaturates back into boring, moonlit blue. Feeling sputters back into your hands, clawing at the sheets once the sharpness dissolves. The cotton pets back, smooth under your quivering touch. Your lips stop tingling, your ears stop ringing. One after another, until your blood settles back to a steady stream and you straighten up.

“Can you sit down for me?”

“No,” you whimper, and Joel nods.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’m gonna get you a drink, that okay?”

You grab his T-shirt. “No. Don’t leave me. Please. Sorry.”

He cups your frozen cheeks. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Just downstairs. You can come.”

He settles you at his kitchen table and shuffles over to the cupboards, rubbing his eyes. You feel the heat of embarrassment and guilt, watching as he settles down with a groan minutes later.

“Ginger,” he tells you, voice rounded by his mug, sliding one of your own over to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, lifting it with two hands. The smell sharp, cutting up the remnants of gasoline and smoke.

“Many times do I gotta say it?” he asks dryly. “Quit sayin’ you’re sorry.”

You gulp nervously. “You got work in the morning. You’re gonna be exhausted.”

“And if I hadn’t let you keep me up watchin’ chick flicks, I’d be rested. That’s something I can deal with later. I got you to worry about right now.”

You shake your head; the ceramic hits the table with a sharp thud. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well,” Joel sniffs, “you’re carrying my child. I’ll always worry about you.”

You sit back, the curve of the chair cradling, your heart beating lamely against the wood. Joel’s jaw rests in the cushion of his palm, staring back at you.

“What time is it?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Three. Take a sip.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sip.”

You obey, lifting the tea and swallowing harshly.

He watches every move, every shift reflected in his dark eyes, decorated by a tense, stony expression. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Never,” you say. “This never happens.”

Joel cranes his jaw, cracks his neck. “Alright,” he sighs, “that’s okay. Breathe again. You’re doing fine.”

But you don’t feel fine. The dregs of panic sizzle into something thicker, hotter. Anger. Frustration. “Why the fuck is this happening?” you hiss, fingers prodding into your eye sockets. “What the f–?”

“Easy. I don’t know. Hormones? Stress?”

“You sound like my fucking doctor.”

Joel smiles. Amusement, before concern wipes over it again. “Let’s just give it some time to pass, okay?”

You nod, hanging over your drink, the silhouette of your reflection staring back at you. The steam snakes up, seeping into your skin, bubbling under the surface. Wiping clean any memory of freeway or nail polish, like coating over a bathroom mirror. The shapes still visible behind, but blurred. Gone.

“How’s Vanessa?” you ask, an attempt to distract yourself.

Joel adjusts a little awkwardly in his chair. “She’s good. She loved the scan photo. Showed it to her sister. They’re sure it’s a boy.”

“Ha. Joel Jr.”

“Joel Jr.,” he agrees, and then attempts to distract himself. “So,” he says, “Allandale.”

“Mhm?”

“Wonder if I ever saw your mom or dad. When I was there visitin’ Sam.”

You shrug. “Doubt it. I mean, they always lived right next to the elementary school, if that helps. My mom was a first-grade teacher. The two of us used to walk there ‘n back together, every day.”

“First grade, huh? Best one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and she was the best of the best. She used to go all out for her kids; used to go to Michaels and get all this crafty stuff so they could spend all afternoon making little houses or zoos, or – whatever she could think of. And she’d always keep some aside, bring some home for me to make one, too. One time, she came home with all this blue tissue paper and little foam fish, and we made an aquarium together.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Joel says.

“Yeah,” you say again, nodding eagerly. “She was so cool. And fun, y’know? I just remember her being so much fun. I always felt safe with her, felt loved. I actually used to think she hung the sun every morning, just for me.” You take a deep breath, replacing it with a broken sigh.

“What about your dad? What was he like?”

You frown. “He was…fine. Real quiet, reserved. A little grumpy, I guess. I always got the idea he couldn’t be bothered with me, young as I was. Always wanted to be left alone. I think my mom overcompensated a lot.”

Something flashes across Joel’s face that seems to say he knows – or, at least, he understands. Almost imperceptible, a quick flicker of annoyance. “You miss her?” he asks, switching back.

“My mom?” You almost laugh, gripping onto your mug. Staring at the slow swirl of ginger. A shrug which presents more like a flinch; an animal swatting a fly away. “I miss those parts, when I think of them. The aquarium, the walking to school. Miss the memories. But I don’t think I knew her well enough or long enough to miss her.

“I’ve lived way longer without her than I ever had her. Done everything without her, like –” gesturing down, “– this. But, sometimes…sometimes, I bundle the sheets up behind my back in bed, and I pretend it’s her. Pretend I have a mom, and she’s cuddling me to sleep. I dunno. Maybe that’s what missing her feels like.”

Joel soaks in every word you say, letting the shape of each one settle on the table between you before he speaks again. Letting them be spoken into the dead of night, collected by no one, and letting them fade into silence. Secrets sweeping off into starlight. Nothing you would admit in the daytime.

“What was her name?” he asks, voice timid and gentle in the dark kitchen.

You almost choke on your tea. “Shoot – I’m sorry. That was a lot. Sorry. She, uh – Her name?”

It brings the first genuine smile to your lips; the memory of your mom now clear behind your eyes. Her round cheeks, her fluttering earrings. The deep, dark curls of her hair, thick ringlets twisting and lighting in the sun. The gap between her front teeth, the purse of her lips as she kissed your cheeks, your hands, your tummy.

Her name like a melody in your head; a safe word, a calming mantra when the world becomes too noisy, too saturated, too sharp to bear. Two syllables. Two little beats, like a piece of her still lives in the sound of her name.

“Sarah,” you tell Joel. “Her name was Sarah.”

[tetsuskei]

dew mornings and the bond of eternity – tartaglia [nsfw]

synopsis: your angel of a boyfriend makes sure that you know just how well loved you are

notes: for my favorite harbinger, idk what this is but breaking my fic virginity for him with this :]

warnings: fem!reader, reader is insecure, russian pet names, mating press, childe has a foul mouth, biting and marking, slight possession, praise, childe is called by his real name, slight oral fixation, implied oral (female receiving), he is extremely lovesick

you never learned to what extent someone could go when being attentive and observant until you met your boyfriend.

you hate how ajax is able to notice the slightest changes in your mood. you would say he knows you like the back of his hand, but it’s something more than that. almost like the two of you are fused at the souls. bonded for eternity.

so in the dew morning hours when you’re just a little bit quieter, a little more somber as he makes you both breakfast on one of his rare days off, he’s able to notice right away.

he notices your eyes don’t quite catch his own as he jokes about some silly thing one of his siblings did weeks ago, how your smile falters instead of shining bright the way that he loves to see, how you pick at your fingers and gnaw on your lip in thought.

“ptichka?” he hovers over you, taking your face in his hands and pulling you from your thoughts. his cerulean eyes scan you thoroughly. “did you not sleep well?”

“it’s nothing, it was just a silly little dream.” you wave off, smiling weakly. not a lie, technically.

ajax clicks his tongue. stubbornly, he leans into you, the smell of pine and mint following him. “it can’t be silly if it has you upset like this and you’re losing sleep.”

there is no way of lying to ajax. you know this well. he’s a big brother to three siblings, and he’s too good of a detective to be deceived. but that’s to be expected of a harbinger.

after a long, apprehensive pause, you sigh.

“…i had a dream that you cheated on me.” you confess, lowering your gaze to the floor. “and that you left me for someone better.”

it’s stupid. absolutely and utterly ridiculous. ajax has shown you enough love to spill over into your next life. and the next one after that. you could die and come back a thousand times, and there’d still be traces of him left on you. so to tell him this brings you great shame.

the question is, what caused the dream? guilt? shame? maybe you feel he does so much for you, that you’re lacking as a partner. that you could do better.

you wait silently for him to yell, for some sort of outburst to come. but you’re only met with surprise when you feel his hand on your chin.

“can you please look at me?” his voice is soft, and eyes softer as he finally is able to make eye contact with you. he’s so gentle. warm. he only looks at you with love and patience. “thank you, lisichka.”

“i may not have done anything wrong, and i would never cheat—“ he continues with a stern expression, “but i still need you to understand where my feelings lie with you.”

you start to shake your head, “i already know, ‘jax, you have never made me feel like i need to doubt you. i know how much you love me. i promise. i have no idea why i had the dream…but it just made me sad when i woke up.”

you don’t mean to lie about your hidden insecurities, but it’s not a conversation you want to have at the moment. you’d rather just enjoy the time you have currently with your boyfriend peacefully.

luckily, ajax overlooks your fib. he hums, kissing your temple, “how about after we eat, i run us a bath? and we do one of those face masks that you like? something to decompress.”

and for the first time today you smile and agree.

unfortunately it appears ajax is taking your earlier sentiments much more seriously than you thought.

as all dreams and nightmares are short term memory, you long forgot about what it was that made you upset, back to your usual self after the bath.

ajax swaddled you up in a clean towel, and just like he said, did face masks with you. it always makes you giggle seeing your boyfriend using one of your spa headbands to push his hair back. soon both your faces were shiny and clean. refreshed and replenished, you felt brand new.

but little did you know you were now in the jaws of a shark.

you didn’t make it to the bedroom. well, you did, but you didn’t pick up on the ginger’s ulterior motive the minute he kissed your cheek as you sat on the bathroom counter. he carried you to the bedroom, and that’s where it all fell apart.

“‘j-jax—“ you hiccup, gripping tightly onto his bicep. your figure is trembling against his, skin damp with sweat and glued impossibly closer to his.

so much for the bath.

“s-slow down…”

your boyfriend has been at it for awhile now, pummeling your poor insides with his fat cock over and over. the room reeks with the smell of sex, wet sounds imprinted into your mind. you can never forget just how great he makes you feel.

“no,” he huffs, fingers digging into your hips, “you’re not leaving this bed until i’m sure of it.”

confusion resides in you. what exactly is ‘it’?

he’s already worshipped you plenty with just his fingers and tongue. but you don’t dare challenge the primal look in his eyes. he’s absolutely greedy, not even letting you move to take care of him in return in anyway.

you yelp once feeling your lover’s teeth nip into your skin. his tongue laves over the offended area before he kisses the skin.

“how could i find someone better, when there’s not a single person more beautiful or amazing than you?” he pants, pulling away to look at you. his thumb traces your cheek tenderly and his cobalt eyes are trained on your fucked out expression.

“especially when your pussy feels this good? that’s just a bonus.” he rambles, groaning. his hips knock into yours more harshly and you wail.

“you’d have to kill me to separate us.” he admits darkly, but something tells you that even death wouldn’t stop him.

“‘dun want that, want you forever.” you say, clinging impossibly tighter to him.

ajax coos, kissing your nose, “and you have me. because you’re enough. you always will be. you’re perfect.”

his answer satisfies you and you’re kissing him again, nearly having tears permeate at the ducts of your eyes.

he laughs, grinning against you mouth, “milaya, you’re about to cum, aren’t you?”

“i-i” your words still fail to completely return to you but you nod rapidly.

understanding, he taps your bottom lip.

“open,” he commands.

falling in line, ajax pushes his fingers in your mouth. you feel your face heat up from how you taste yourself on him.

“good girl,” he praises, “always so sweet for me, hmm?”

you’re drooling on him, nodding and humming around his fingers with a hazy look in your eyes.

there’s a certain light in his own eyes that only appears when he’s with you, and with the way he is looking at you with complete adoration, you feel absolutely special.

“oh, look how much you’re quivering, you’re almost there. come on.” your boyfriend studies your movements, fucking you with slower, deeper thrusts.

the breath from your lungs nearly escapes you, and you feel a burning feeling in your chest. you’re creaming so much on him that it’s impossible not to hear the lewd noises coming from between your legs.

every sound seems to drive the ginger crazier. “one more, just one more for me, angel and i’ll let you be.” he coaxes, fingers moving again.

“i’m…i’m tired.” you sniff.

“i know, but you look so pretty when you cum. just one more? pretty please? can’t get over how you look. so beautiful…”

his constant praise is enough to make you cum once more, so hard that it blinds you. your mouth falls open in silent awe.

ajax groans, watching you come undone and hissing at the way you’re clamping up on his cock. it should be a crime how good you feel, because he could ever get enough of it.

there’s only a moment before he remembers he still needs to cum, and then he’s pawing and begging.

“fuck, let me cum in you…please…” his face is buried in your neck and a small whimper escapes him once he grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together.

he’s shivering and hot, and his cock is extremely sensitive. every drag of himself against your walls drives him insane. he’s dizzy, nearly delirious with how much he’s holding back.

“wanna fill you up so badly, please lisichka.” he continues, pressing searing kisses to your shoulder. “want you leaking with all of my cum…want all of it in you.”

you don’t think he’s looking at you while he babbles and pleads to breed you, and you shiver at how predatory he looks at your lower abdomen. you lock your legs tighter around him, ignoring the overstimulation creeping up in you.

“yes, ajax. please. w-want all your cum. want you to fill me up!” you whine, a sound that makes his heart and cock swell all at the same time.

your next words startle him even further.

“i love you.”

and he snaps.

“hah—ah, fuck!” ajax curses, hips stuttering in their pace. he groans loudly, feeling himself spill into you. there’s spots in his vision from how hard he’s cumming and he wonders if this is what celestia is.

you gasp, jerking when warmth spreads throughout all of you. you can feel the throbbing of your boyfriends cock and his heavy load.

coming down from both of your highs, the two of you laugh.

“you surprise me every time.” you tease quietly, eyeing a bite mark on your thigh.

the ginger looks bashful, hiding his face in your shoulder. “sorry…didn’t mean to be so rough…”

“if i wanted you to stop at anytime, i would’ve told you.” you reassure, petting his head.

he plants a kiss on your skin. “good. and for the record, i love you too.” he murmurs. “feel better?”

“i felt better after the delicious breakfast you made, but you took it a couple of steps further like you always do.” you giggle, leaning into his chest.

ajax grins, kissing the crown of your head, “well, i could tell something else was on your mind, but you weren’t telling me.”

“you know me way too well. it’s terrifying.”

he puffs his chest out, “what can i say? i can and will only provide the absolute best for you.”

“i don’t like leaving you alone for as long as i do…i will try to get them to let me take work closer to home.” he adds, playing with your fingers.

and the beam on your face is all worth it. “really?”

“really. i’m not around a lot for you to do things for me, and i get why you may feel that you need to be better. but i adore you just how you are. i’m sorry for not being more present.”

“it’s okay, i understand.” you hum, kissing his chin.

ajax hums with appreciation before leaning down and chasing your lips, hungrily wanting to taste you all over again.

his demanding presence has you melting into him as you mesh together, tongues locking to consume the taste of yourselves.

suddenly he’s dragging you by the hips to the edge of the bed.

“w-what are you—“

“m’not done with you. far from it.” you barely can form another question before ajax is sliding back into you. a crude squelch follows.

the harbinger kisses your bare ring finger. “say, i think we should elope. what do you think about starting a family?”

key: ptichka = ‘little bird’, lisichka = ‘little fox’, milaya = ‘my dear’

[xcherryerim]

Roommates Conflict

Mike Schmidt x afab fem!reader

word count: 3919.

warning: NSFW 18+, sexual tension, roommates to ???, stuck fetishism (the reader is stuck on the couch), consensual sex, porn with a plot, SoftDom Mike (little hints of submissiveness tho), pet names (princess, and baby), no use of y/n, in the middle of sex apology / love confession, a bit of fingering.

This is my first time writing smut so please let me know how it was so I can improve. If there are spelling mistakes, I'm sorry. My first language is Spanish.

summary: After fighting with your roommate for a month, you decide to discuss your issues with Mike but, your plans don't go accordingly, and then...Mike finds you stuck on the couch.

credits: @/kithsune for the separator

Mike has been your roommate for seven months now. At first, you thought sharing an apartment with a grown man and his little sister was about to be hell. Surprisingly, everything worked out. Mike was responsible and clean, and his sister was easy to care for. When you finally thought Mike was the best roommate imaginable, things quickly shifted.

You’re not sure if it is the long hours Mike must work or his lack of sleep making him grumpier and prone to irritation, but for the past month, the routine has been this: When you wake up after Abby is off to school and it’s just the two of you, Mike snaps, scolding you for forgetting to clean a few dishes, not finishing drying your laundry, not taking the trash out the week you were supposed to, etc.

You barely opened your eyes, and he was already being a bitch. Then, around 6 a.m., you waited for him to get home after his shift and pointed out that he was a hypocrite since he hadn’t done any major chores himself. Sometimes he pretends you aren’t there, he hisses, or he just accepts the truth and does the chores half-assed.

Today, however, you have a break from your usual responsibilities. And luckily, Abby is with her aunt for the day. Abby’s birthday was a few days ago, and Jane forgot. To keep up the façade of being a perfect aunt, she promised to take Abby to Disneyland, aka the fair down the street. How sweet.

You don’t mind, Abby. She is quiet, but a well-mannered kid. However, you wanted alone time with Mike to discuss the heated tension between the two. You decided to clean the apartment and do his chores for the day, like the dishes, sweeping the floor, throwing the trash, and even going grocery shopping so he didn’t have to go tomorrow. You knew he needed a break, too.

You finished the chores ten minutes before Mike would get to the apartment. When you sat on the old, washed-out couch, you felt a pointy object poke your lower back. The item slides down, going to the inside of the couch. A light sigh escapes from your lips as you turn, placing your knees on top of the sofa seat. You let both of your arms inside the couch, trying to find the mysterious gadget. After a few minutes of struggling, you catch it. You can tell it’s Abby’s gaming controller. She lost it a long time ago, so you know she’ll be happy to play on her console once again.

When you try to free your arms, it does nothing. You used your body force to pull away, but there was no use. You were stuck. You still insisted on doing anything to let you escape this embarrassment, and the thought of Mike seeing you like this sent shivers down your spine. You knew he would make fun of you until one of you moved out. With your strength running out, you pulled once more. No use. Loud steps filled the room, and you feared that your worst nightmare had just come true.

“What the fuck?” His eyes were wide open, a blush running across Mike’s unevenly shaved face. He tried to act as usual, but his mind was running wild. It didn’t help that he had a small crush on you that he tried to avoid and that he started to develop a new fetish. People being stuck.

“I’m stuck.” You answered, rolling your eyes at Mike. Is he always this annoying?

He stood there, not doing anything, but his eyes glimmered at you like he was admiring some piece of erotic art.

“Help me!” You demanded, but Mike just seemed overwhelmed. He walked toward his room. His knees are wobbly as he takes each step. You could hear noises like he was desperately looking for something. After a minute, the noises were gone, and the only thing you could hear was your heart beating like you had never felt before.

“Mike, help me! Mike?!” You were losing your patience. After some hesitation, Mike walks awkwardly towards the living room, his eyes never meeting yours fully.

“What?” He stuttered. Mike tried to use his usual monotone, but it came off as anxious.

“What do you mean, what?! Help me!”

“Fine, I’m sorry.”

He got next to you, wrapping his rough hands around your wrist, slightly pulling.

“I’ve tried that. Is there no use?”

“Then what else do I do?” He sighs, his hot, heavy breath melting into the thin skin of your neck. You felt your body starting to shake like it had some sort of anticipation for him to just...

You let out an aggravated groan and shake your head like it will remove those naughty thoughts of you and your roommate. This whole situation is getting worse by the second.

“Well,” Mike said, clearing his throat. “I think... I might have an idea.” He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should continue. “Do you trust me?” he asked softly, a warm smile appearing on his face, which felt unusual. You swore you had never seen him smile like that before.

You look at him suspiciously. Why did he ask if you trusted him? You weren't stupid. He always tried to mess with people in some way. But the longer you stayed like this, the more uncomfortable it became. 

"Fine. Do what you want. Just make it quick, please. This is humiliating as it is."

Mike swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. "Okay," he said, nodding once. "Hold on tight," Mike whispered before getting behind you, his fingertips shaky as he slid his hands on your hips.

You let out a small gasp as your body prickles at Mike’s touch. He pressed himself against you, his body heat enveloping yours. As he tried to pull, his hardened member hit your ass multiple times. You could feel Mike’s heart racing against your back.

You didn't want him this close, but you couldn't deny that it felt nice in a weird, twisted way. As Mike grips your hips harder, using more force than before, your brain stops functioning for a second, unable to stop you from letting out a soft moan that you were desperately trying to avoid vocalizing out loud.

Mike froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't expect you to react this way. The moan sent waves of pleasure through his body, making him even harder against your ass. He tried to focus on the task at hand. He didn’t want to imagine himself pounding you as you were stuck, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with every passing second.

“I’m sorry!” Both said it at uneven times.

“Let’s just ignore what happened and help me get off.” At this moment, you wish you could crawl under a rock and die, but you’ll probably get stuck there too.

Mike chuckled lightly, then nodded at your words, trying to clear his thoughts. He took a deep breath before sliding his hands back onto your hips. This time, he pulled with all his force, grunting as he tried to free you from the couch. The pressure building inside him couldn’t be denied, and it was clear that he was struggling to contain himself. With that, as his bulge caresses your ass, he lets a loud, desperate groan out of his dry lips. You gasped as one hand was finally free.

“It’s working…” As much as you want to hate this feeling, it’s making you feel some way. You wish you guys could forget about this so he can fuck you hard against the couch. Unintentionally, you let your ass follow the rhythm of his pulls.

Mike's mind was a mess of lust and confusion. He couldn't believe the legs in front of him were shaking in need. He was so focused on freeing you from the couch that he didn't even notice how his hips were moving in a pattern.

"Almost there." His voice was a mix of care and exhaustion. As you feel your hand slowly get loose, you decide to speak.

"Look, we clearly are... avoiding the fact that we’re really turned on right now.”

Mike’s attention suddenly went to the words being spoken, his breath catching in his throat, trying to process them. You're right, he thought. They were both so turned on by this, and they couldn't deny it any longer. He let out a shaky breath before he spoke.

"I know," he whispered. "But we have to stop."

"I just want to make sure you're okay," he continued, trying to sound calm and collected. "Once we're out of here, we can... we can do whatever you want."

“No.” The simple answer made him still. “Once I get out, we will be too embarrassed to even look at each other. You can’t see my face right now; I can’t see yours, so... let’s do it now.” You suggested. It felt humiliating; you hated that you sounded so needy, but for some reason, Mike had that effect on you now.

Mike was terrified and excited. He had never been so high on lust by someone before, and the thought of finally having you beg him to fuck you right here, in this awkward position, with your face buried in the cushions, was driving him crazy. It is like his darkest fantasy is finally going to come true. Without any thought, he removed his pants rapidly and slid a condom down his shaft.

Mike takes his hands up to your sides, gently caressing your skin as he slowly pulls you back towards him. His cock rubbed against the thin fabric of your shorts, which slightly hugged your soaking folds, eliciting a moan from both of you.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice shaky and barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

Mike nodded slowly, his breath coming in short, unsure gasps. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against your ear. "Then let me show you how much I want you." He removed your shorts slowly and steadily. As soon as your underwear was removed, he licked his fingers before settling them in your folds. 

Mike’s hands were always something you stared at in secret when he wouldn’t notice, and now his rough, manly hand is wrapped around your most sensitive areas. The heat building up inside of you from just his touch alone was hunting.

"Please," you managed to croak out as he teased you mercilessly. Mike chuckled lightly before finally giving in and sliding his long fingers into you. You moaned loudly as he started moving them in and out, hitting all the right spots that made you feel pleased. His free hand reached down to roughly fondle your breasts through your shirt. You arched your back into his touch, begging for more. But instead of giving you what you craved, Mike pulled away suddenly, leaving you panting heavily.

Before you could ask why he stopped so suddenly, you felt his firm grasp forcing you to spread your legs. Your entrance was wet and inviting to him. Mike gently pushed his hips forward. His cockhead pressed against your tight cunt, and you could feel him throbbing with need. He paused for a moment, gathering his courage, before slowly pushing forward. It wasn't long before you started to whimper harder. The smell of the combined arousal filled the small room, fueling him even more.

Mike moaned loudly, feeling you give in to him. He thrust his hips forward, burying deep inside with one swift motion. Your warmth engulfed him, and he couldn't believe how good it felt. 

"Fuck,” he whispered in your ear. "You feel so good." His raspy voice and uneven breaths made a high-pitched whine escape from your lips. As a response, Mike leaned closer, making his member fully inside you as he nibbled your ear.

“Was this your plan all along? Is that why you started to wear those slutty shorts more often?”

You tried to choke some words out, but the feeling of him inside you like this was so ecstatic and addictive that the only thing you could do was take him as he placed.

He started to move, his hips rolling back and forth in a steady rhythm. “You didn’t answer me.” His hot, sweaty body overpowered yours. “Use your words for me, would you?” he asked, his voice as delicate as his touch. Mike’s hand found the freed hand of yours, intertwining his fingers like he had to hold on for dear life. Every time he pulled out, only to push back in, he could feel you clenching around him. It was the most intense feeling he'd ever experienced. His breath came in ragged gasps as he lost himself by being inside you while you were helplessly stuck. 

The only thing you could do was shake your head side to side at his question, but the real answer was more complicated than that. The first time you wore shorts, it wasn’t intentional, but when he saw you with them, he seemed to listen to you with more attention as you scolded him for not doing his chores that day, so you started to use them in your favor from time to time.

Mike chuckled at your clear lie, and he started to speed up, your body pressing against the couch more intensely as he pounded you harder.

You didn’t imagine Mike being so good with his dick. It is not like you know his sexual life, but in your eyes, he seemed the type to not go around sleeping with people. His life is too stressful for him to even care for his own needs. Maybe it's all pent-up horniness.

Mike's eyes were closed, his face twisted in pleasure as he took you with long, deep strokes. He couldn't believe how good it felt to finally have you like this. He knew he shouldn't be enjoying it this much, but he couldn't help himself. He was lost in the moment, completely consumed by his desires.

His hand started to smack your behind. His slaps weren’t too strong to hurt you, but enough to make you gasp. As he increased the speed and started to smack harder, you let out sounds of pain and pleasure. “You can take it, baby, it’s okay,” Mike said, his calm voice contrasting his vile actions before slapping your ass one last time.

As he continued to thrust, he leaned down, biting your shoulder, almost like he wanted to hide his whiny moans. "Shit," he groaned again, pulling out of you slightly before pushing back in with a rougher force. "You're so tight."

“You need to stop pulling out... it’s cruel.” You said in between cries, his length making you feel lightheaded as if you could almost see stars.

Mike's breath hitched in his throat at your words. He couldn't believe he was doing this to you. Without warning, he pulled out completely, leaving you empty. You could feel him throbbing against your ass, aching to be inside you again. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he leaned over, his chest heaving.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I can't help myself."

“What?!” You stuttered; the sudden emptiness felt like hell.

“Do you always have to be an asshole?!”

Mike's heart broke at your words. He knew he was being cruel, but he couldn't help himself. He needed you too much.

"No," he replied softly. "I don't."

His hands travel slowly from your hips to your chest. Cupping your breasts through your oversized shirt. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before he lost control again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice quiet. "I know I've been an asshole this past month. There is no excuse for my behavior but—fuck!" Without waiting for a response, he leaned forward, pressing his lips against the back of your neck. His tip pressed against your entrance again, and he whimpered, unable to hold back any longer.

"Please forgive me," he said as he kissed your neck desperately. "Let me repay you for my bad behavior."

Feeling his hot breath in your ear made you squeal. Your knees felt weak, and the air seemed to be overwhelmingly steamy. The only thought you have in your head is Mike pleasuring you and driving you to your limits.

With no response from you, his hands let go of your chest and quickly went to your shoulder. The sudden movement made you completely free from the couch edges. You immediately look down. The realization of what you guys were doing just settled in.

“Just look at me, please.” With a light force, he pulled you to face him, his body above yours. He is a mess. Red face with anxious teary eyes, sweat coming out of his forehead and traveling to his neck. He was a complete utter mess because of you, but you couldn’t deny the sight of him like this was so dreamy.

“Please, just forgive me.” Mike’s knees quickly touched the ground as his puppy eyes looked up at you. “I've been an asshole to you because I like you, and I know it’s wrong because we’re roommates, but... damn it. “His eyes shifted to your thighs, shaking in need, but the only thought in his mind was him being wrapped in them. He coughs, trying to regain composure.

After several moments of silence, Mike finally found the strength to speak, his heart racing faster than ever before. "I... I apologize for everything," he managed to croak out. "I'm sorry, but please, please let me feel you again." His voice cracked slightly as he reached out tentatively towards you, wrapping his arms around your leg in an embrace.

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to accept his apology or leave him there alone. But then something changed inside you. Maybe it was just seeing how vulnerable he truly was, but you decided to relent. Reaching over to gently place your hand on his cheek, he pulled closer until your bodies finally connected once again. "It's alright," you whispered, giving him a small smile. “I sort of like you to-" Mike didn’t hear your confession. As soon as you said it’s alright, his arms picked you up with ease, making his way into his room.

He placed your body in his bed. “There you go.” He had an ear-to-ear smile. Mike turned on his nightstand lamp. The room was lit up slightly as the sunrise was shining through the windows, but the lamp brought more clarity to his room, which was tidied up nicely. If he was so obsessed with keeping his room clean, why couldn’t he do that with the apartment?

You find him scattering for something desperately. Lube. Once the lube is finally in his hand, he crawls into the bed with you, placing his swollen lips from all the biting he had to do to remain quiet into yours.

From the corners of your eyes, you can see him placing some lube on his palm and lightly spreading it across his cock, lightly stroking himself. A light whimper was vocalized as he kissed you. With one final stroke, he gets on top of you, a mischievous smirk plastered across his face as the thought of finally getting to see you lose your mind while his cock is inside you sends him waves of pleasure. Mike then looked at you with pleading eyes, asking for permission to continue, which you allowed.

This time, he didn’t hold back as he buried himself into your tight walls. The sudden coldness of the lube makes you shake. The combination of the lubricant and Mike’s hot member is driving you wild with desire. Making your hands dig into his back and your legs wrap around his waist, holding him closer to you.

At your action, Mike picks up the pace, his hips moving faster and harder, his cock slamming into you with each powerful thrust. His cockhead contracts and releases, sending pleasure through your sensitive spot repeatedly. He groans louder, his breathing becoming heavier as he loses himself in the rhythm of their passionate lovemaking.

“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this.,” Mike said it under his breath, almost like he was speaking to himself.

“Mi- Mike.” His confession made your heartbeat follow the same speedy rhythm as his thrust. Your eyes were wide shut as your fingertips dug into his back.

Mike whines, and his fingers dig deeper into your hips, leaving marks that would likely turn into bruises later. You were not going to be the only one marking him. Mike wanted you to remember this. He then increased the speed of his thrusts, his hips moving faster than ever before as if he needed this release just as much as you did.

His rhythmical motion created a wet slapping sound that echoed around them, filling the room with the sounds of your lovemaking. His breath was raw against your neck, his lips leaving a trail of saliva along your collarbone. His tongue traced your jawline, nibbling and teasing your earlobes before returning to your mouth for a deep, passionate kiss.

He moaned again, his voice hoarse with desire. "Oh god, you feel so fucking good, baby." As Mike said this, he picked up the pace even more, his hips slamming against yours in a relentless rhythm. His cockhead rubbed against your G-spot, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“I’m close.” You announced it with hesitation.

Bucking his hips harder, pushing his member deeper into you again and again with no mercy. "Cum for me, princess," Mike murmured. "Let me make you feel good. "Let me please you.” 

Mike’s words were like magic, his cock hitting your G-spot in perfect rhythm, driving you over the edge. With a loud, primal cry, your body convulsed around him, and you felt yourself climaxing intensely. Your tight walls contracted powerfully around his thick member, milking him dry as he continued to thrust inside of you.

As your orgasm subsided, Mike followed suit, his climax hitting him like a freight train. His cock twitched violently inside of you as he whined. His hold on your waist loosened slightly, but he didn't pull out just yet. Instead, he rested heavily on top of you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“So…” You said it awkwardly as you patted Mike’s head. 

“About the chores...”

Mike chuckled lightly, his lips forming a dumb smile as he looked up to you. 

“Yes, I’ll do them now. I promise.” Mike rolled his eyes and then placed his hand on your cheek. Caressing it with his thumb. “And… I’ll be a better roommate for you.” 

You nodded. “Thanks, Mike.” 

“I noticed you cleaned the apartment... So let me get you cleaned up.” Mike stood up and walked to his bathroom. You could hear the water hitting the bathtub. As you peeked to get a better glance, Mike turned his head to meet your gaze. 

“Let’s have a bath together.” He said this as he disappeared from view to grab a foaming bubble bottle.

“And who knows, maybe we could do round two.” Mike’s tone was cheeky and playful. He leaned into the door, looking at you up and down. Proud of how messy he made you. 

“Come on.” Mike smiled as he went to reach your hand, walking you into the bathtub.

FIN. Hope you guys liked it. Help me choose my next smut here!

Thank you so much for reading.

[jstarr86]

Credit to this fine ass muse and the idea randomly stumbling upon those gifs from night one of making Heymans nightmares.

She stood leaning one arm on the counter as she leaned towards the mirror trying to finish her makeup. Her half of the duel sink of the bathroom a cluttered mess of various hair and makeup items she’d used the past two hours while getting ready. She heard footsteps and felt the heat from his body. Bare feet basketball shorts, no shirt. She looked at him in the mirror as his head tilted and his dark eyes trailed over her frame

“Where you goin?” He gruffly asked. Voice a bit lower than normal.

“Out with a few of the girls, Rona invited me out.”

“Whatchu wearin?”

“My dress.”

“I know damn well you don’t think what you got on is a dress.” She rolled her eyes at him as he spoke and continued to line her lips. Nothing that different from her day to day, just a bit more sultry and smoky. His head tilted again as he looked her over. He wasn’t very happy that much was written in his body language, and she wasn't gonna lie and say him acting territorial and a bit jealous wasn’t sexy it was because he normally didn’t. Occasionally if a guy pushed up on her he’d do the normal can I help you shit or walk up and kiss her or something but never like this never a you can’t wear that. If anything his ego liked showing her off

“Yup.” She replied leaning back and slowly cleaning up the mess she’d made. She put everything up and grabbed perfume, one of the ones he liked the most. She watched his face twist up a bit as he sniffed the air.

“You wearing that perfume.” He grunted. She smirked shaking her head stepping around him and out of the bathroom stopping at the closet walking in her half as she grabbed the shoes she’d wanted to wear, a pair of strappy heels. She slipped them on bending and wrapping the band around her calf as she tied it hearing him behind her “you not going out looking like that.”

“I’m a grown woman.”

“Yeah you grown but you ain’t fixin walk out the door in that.”

“And exactly how is that for one and two you not gonna stop me three you ain’t my daddy and four I’m goin.” She went to move when his hand gripping her bicep in a firm yet gentle manner stopped her. eyes rising to meet his, an intensity in his eyes the small dark smirk sexy as fuck but that sent a shudder down her spine. Him looking all of the intimidating that he did week in and week out for work, only this time that predatory gaze was directed to her and it definitely had her feeling some kind of way. I

“You not leaving in that.”

“I’m going out, I'll be back later.” She challenged defiantly. He tilted his head looking over her, her bottom lip going between her teeth. She grabbed her purse and went to step around him when his hand stopped her making her head tilt as her eyes ran up his torso, his dyed beard those plump lips into those intense ass dark brown eyes that bore into hers anger and frustration in his face and eyes.

“You forget you not single anymore.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically holding up her left hand, the ring on her finger catching in the light.

“Does it look like I forgot I’m not single.” She gasped as she tried to move and got pressed into the wall, his hand against her collar bone and lightly on her neck.

“Now ain’t the time to be a smartass.”

“I know it’s the time for me to be leaving.” She pushed him as she walked out of the closet but shrieked as she was shoved towards their bed where she fell catching herself on her hands, his hand in her back keeping her down. “Man move.”

“You heard me.” She gasped when he roughly smacked her ass hands roughly rubbing the spot after. He muttered something but she couldn’t make it out; she couldn’t speak Tongan. A couple words or phrases but no where near the fluidity he could after all it was his first language. His fingers running up the back of her thigh until he reached the hem of the dress pushing it up over her ass as she heard him all but growl his hand grabbing a handful of her ass as he roughly kneaded the flesh. “Ass practically hanging out.” She moaned softly biting her lip as she moved her head glancing back at him a cocky smirk on his face, eyebrows knitted together, he was pissed but turned on. His fingers ghosting over the lace, that she knew was dampening by the minute with his aggression. He chuckled his eyes meeting hers, the annoyance clouded with lust. “Should’ve taken you while your sexy ass was bent over the counter.” She took a breathe as her mind betrayed her showing a mental image of him having her bent over their bathroom sink watching him in the mirror as he brought them both to ecstasy making her watch every little thing he was doing to her. Her hand hitting the mirror and sliding as she looked for something to ground her as he tried to put her into another world. It sounded sexy as fuck. “Wet as hell guess you liked that hmm.”

“Shut the fuck up.” She gasped as he slid inside her suddenly. When the hell did he even lower the shorts or boxer briefs enough.

“I’d tell you to shut up but I like the noises you make.” He grunted. The man fucked good, really good. Honestly it was more than good, always had been. He was the kind of man that had a woman worshiping whatever would listen after he dicked you down. Each stroke hitting her gspot and she swore she could feel him in her stomach that coupled with the way his hips rolled, he was going to make her cum so fast. His hand holding her hip one sliding up her back and holding her shoulder as his thrusts grew in power, where was the guy with the mortal Kombat voice ‘finish her’ cause this man was hitting all kinds of fatalities on the pussy. She moved her hand back trying to push his stomach to get him to ease up, her body overloading as she tried to find a way to fight off what he was making her feel. “Move ya damn hand.”

“Baby.” She whined

“Move ya-“ he stopped talking grabbing her wrist and pinning her arm behind her back as he used it as leverage.

“Ughh mmmm.” She moaned out

“Not so cute now with ya smartass are ya.” He grunted out between thrust. His hand moving from her shoulder and to her throat as he leaned her back against him. Thank god she was in heels cause other wise she don’t think she’d bend the way he currently had her arched back into him. “You sound so pretty moaning for me.”

“Baby.”

“Nah ain’t no baby. You gonna take all this dick like you was talkin all that shit.”

“Fuck.” She moaned out. Her free hand grabbing his forearm that was between her chest. Something to ground her and if it wasn’t him she’d be worried about falling or something but she knew in his arms she was safe.

“Feel so fucking good. You gonna cum.”

“Tama.” She hissed as he hit her ass hating when she said his ring name, she’d do it just to annoy him sometimes. His action made her moan out his cocky chuckle reverberating in her ear.

“What you call me.”

“I-mmmm fuck.”

“Yeah you did this just so I’d ravage ya ass hmm. Needed daddy hit that shit right.”

“Daddy.” She whined out her body shaking. He grunted straining and she felt his hand tighten slightly.

“Fuck.” He grunted “cummin all in daddy’s dick hmm, what you thinkin you bout honoring that and have every man all over you. Gonna have me killin a man.” His hips slamming into her a hard grind extenuating his thrust and letting her feel all of him every inch and vein as he laid claim to her body. Trying to put a new meaning to the term rearrange your guys because right now it felt like he was doing just that and so much more. Something that felt damn near foreign between work and parenthood. It seemed like either it was a quickie and a stolen moment or they’d be interrupted if they even made it that far. She tried to press back against him but he damn near made it impossible “feel so good around me.” She came shaking but he didn’t stop, if anything her orgasm seemed to fuel him as he pounded into her harder and faster sending her sensitive body into overdrive. She practically collapsed on the bed as he roughly fucked her into another orgasm before rolling her over. She knew she had to look fucked out hair a mess and she probably had mascara at the least running down her face.

“Pate.”

“I like the dress but you can’t wear that without me.” He tugged it mouth finding her nipples as he slid back inside her as she gasped her nails raking his chest as he bent forward her legs going over his shoulders as he pounded into her. Like he was branding her pussy with his dick

“Shit maybe I should dress like that more if this is what I get- shit.” She yelled out as he moved his head biting the inside of her thigh.

“I fuck you feel my so good you gonna cum again baby.”

“Yes!” Her head fell back as she arched into him “Alipate.” She moaned out in a drawn out moan as she came her nails raking down his back as he grunted in pain his hips moving faster as he chased his own nut

“Fuck take this dick.”

“Ahh.” She moaned out again his orgasm making a mini one slam into her, his head in her neck kissing and sucking gently. His hips slowing in their movements.

“You ok.”

“Mm fuck I hate you.” She laughed out

“Nah you dont. You love daddy and his dick.” She rolled her eyes as he moved them to lay better in the bed. She sat up tossing the dress that had been bunched around her waist. Her phone ringing in her purse, easily Sarona or one of the girls seeing where she was. He leaned over grabbing it as he held her ankle untying the heels on ger feet before dropping them on the floor.

“Hello, yeah she here. Nah she ain’t coming nowhere tonight. What you mean why? Yeah I’m serious she’s got a date with my dick she can have girls night some other night.” He hung up tossing the phone and laying with her

“You didn’t just say that.”

“I did and it’s true. You still wanna go.”

“No.” She replied yawning as he smirked

“Yeah done knocked that ass out with the dick.”

“You didn’t win this argument.” She muttered, closing her eyes. His fingers trailing her spine and his heartbeat in her ear was making her sleepy.

“Oh I definitely won.” He replied kissing her head as his free hand cradled her thigh to him as he let himself fall asleep satisfied he’d gotten his way and her to himself. The red dress that drove him insane a heap of clothing on the floor he’d pick up when he woke up but not until after he had her again

[imaginingaustin]

me, her, and the moon

summary: when you wake up after a bad dream, austin finds you stargazing as you try to ease your mind.

you returned home from work one evening to a wonderful smelling meal. you walked through your entry way into the kitchen to find austin unloading the delivery bags that were spread across the counter.

“perfect timing! the food just got here.” he said with a smile. you walked over to him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before going to your room to change from your work clothes. you walked back out to the dining room where austin had plates made of food. you sat down with him and started eating, making small talk and catching each other up about your days.

“i’m just glad its friday and i dont have to worry about work again until i go back on tuesday.” 

“you’re off monday?” he asked, raising a brow.

“yes, fortunately. my manager gave me the day off because they ‘recognize how hard i’ve been working and can see that i am pulling more than my fair share of work.’” you said, mimicking your manager’s voice, causing austin to laugh.

“well, i can vouch for that. you have been working really hard these past few weeks and deserve much more than just an extra day. but at least your boss can recognize that.” austin said, and you nodded in agreement.

“i’m just waiting for summer when work calms down. then i wanna take trip, just me and you. i don’t care where, but i need to be on a beach with a margarita in my hand.”

“that sounds like a perfect idea. i’ll get planning right away.” austin said with a smile. you finished dinner, and lounged on the couch watching tv before you started to fall asleep. the two of you moved got ready for bed, you quickly falling asleep once your head hit the pillow.

a few hours later, you were jolted awake by a nightmare. you sat up in bed, panting and trying to catch your breath while remaining as quiet as possible so you didn’t wake austin. his light snores filled the room, bringing you back down to earth. you watched him sleep, heart swelling at the sight, as your breath finally calmed. you quietly climbed out of bed, grabbing your water bottle from the nightstand, and moving to the living room. you contemplated turning on the tv, but ultimately decided to move out onto the back patio, beautifully illuminated by the moon.

you plopped down on the patio couch, looking up at the stars, finding peace in counting them. it allowed you take your mind off the nightmare you’d had, and sitting with the ambiance of the night was calming. you sat out there for a while before you heard the back door open. you turned to the noise to find austin stepping out onto the patio.

“hey, did i wake you?” you asked.

“not immediately. i rolled over and reached out for you, but came up empty handed.” he sighed. “what are you doing out here?” he asked as he sat down with you. he placed his arm around your shoulder and you leaned into his side.

“i had a bad dream. i forgot what it was as soon as i opened my eyes, but i just know that it was stressing me out and i was sweating really bad.” you sighed. “i had a headache when i got out of bed, but it seems to have subsided since i’ve cooled down.”

“i’m sorry.” austin said, looking at you with a pout.

“it’s okay. its just the stress of work building up and me finally hitting the wall. hopefully it’ll subside once i’m less busy.” you sighed, intertwining your fingers with austin’s, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

“then we’ll be on the beach and you'll have margaritas in both of your hands.” he laughed. 

“oh that’s even better than what i suggested.” you laughed. you and austin sat there quietly as you continued watching the stars. you started to fall asleep on austin’s shoulder, and you let you rest for as long as he could before he himself got uncomfortable. you were deep asleep by that point, so he gently lifted you from the couch and carried you back to bed. unknown to you, he stayed up for a little bit longer, watching you sleep, making sure that you stayed asleep. once you’d been asleep for about an hour, he went back to sleep, holding you tight in his arms.

[nogacheloveka-blog]

The Bad Sanses somehow ended up in the Backrooms. №14

next 15

prev 13

This is the translation of the another post from Russian to English. I understand English, but it is very difficult for me to write in English, so I asked chat GPT to help me. I have corrected some parts, but there still may be mistakes.

There will be no romantic lines in this story. I don't think it's appropriate to introduce romance, the story just isn't about that. Perhaps there will be some hints (I love some pairing and polyamory in the gang), but this work is just a research and hobby for me, a platform for experiments. Killer is just fooling around because he gets an interesting reaction in return.

Well, now I want to experiment with the number of images. I will be adding more relevant illustrations to the text. For now, I'll start with two or three and see how it turns out. I don't think I'll have time to add the gang to all the images, but perhaps in the future, I'll do.

What Error identified as an "exit" turned out to be a broken arcade machine. The power cable was torn and led to a small dirty puddle, one of the walls was scratched with claw marks, as if a wild beast had sharpened its claws on it, and the coin slot was overgrown with moss. But Error was convinced that this thing could serve as a way out of here (he sees more than the others), when they look around. After all, they have just arrived. However, level 25, where the arcade machine presumably led, was a good opportunity to choose their own path ahead (Nightmare was happy to have the chance to predict his own life).

The description of level 23 in the database described the ruins of a past civilization. Engaging in archaeology would not be amiss. Moreover, in addition to items, human organizations hunted for information (Killer understood their curiosity). Old bricks, ruins, a couple of rusty coins, sketches of various architectural styles - the group looked with admiration (except for Error) at their boss, who surprisingly well oriented himself in the value of archaeological finds.

Many of them sometimes forgot that their boss had lived a long life and loved learning new things.

The group's inventory, although it allowed carrying many items, was limited and had already been filled with essential items. They had to choose. Some things were discarded based on data from the Backroom database, some did not represent historical value. Mostly, the subordinates of Nightmare were engaged in the search: Killer brought everything he saw, while Horror enthusiastically searched for edible and medicinal plants.

Dust was the only one who purposefully searched for artifacts. He admired Nightmare's skills and was interested in learning more about history from him. Forest butterflies flocked to him. It even seemed to Dust that they were trying to help him in his search within their capabilities. Perhaps it was his imagination. But he managed to find a couple of interesting frescoes and fragments of some strange tools, which Nightmare identified as "valuable".

Some of the finds resembled musical instruments, some looked like weapons or tools. They seemed damaged, but Killer's attempt to break one of the ancient items failed: they turned out to be surprisingly strong.

Horror found wild grapes and a bunch of snails on them. It took him a couple of days to prepare the snails (each of them knew about snails from the old lady), but the berries tasted good. As if the plant came here not from the forest, but from the plantation. That explained the snails.

Error used strings to catch animals and let Horror cook it. It was just rational. The big guy could cook well. In a way, Horror bought Error's loyalty. For now.

Overall, they stayed in these forests for about two weeks and did not notice any signs of a possible way to get to their home dimension. It seemed that the human settlement was also too far from the place where they were (Enrico could have had a hard time). And everything that people knew, they immediately published on Reddit or the knowledge base, and they had not yet come across any secret communities. The latter was very disappointing Nightmare.

With some caution (the dimension-killer could play a trick on them, but going all the way back was too tedious. They were, after all, Sanses), the group returned to the arcade machine by a shortcut.

It was standing there.

Waiting for them.

Error could not make it work just like that. He saw the executable code for moving to level 25. But the Backrooms did not allow him to change or initiate anything. Fortunately, there was a real thing in front of him. And the code for moving was launched manually. He just needed to reconnect the wires and microchips that would do all the work for him.

Error stuck his hands inside the broken machine and released the threads. They slid inside, weaving through the broken parts. The power source was still working - the cord outside was decoration.

The mechanism seemed complex, but Error only needed to fix what was involved in executing the code. It took some time, but the Destroyer managed to do it. The machine still looked deactivated, and its screen remained dark. But inside, music could be heard, and the coin slot glowed with light bulbs. One of the ancient coins they found managed to squeeze inside. Now they just needed to press a few buttons, simulating the game. Killer happily pounced on the levers and keyboard. After a few actions, Error began to reboot, and Killer got into the game - it seemed that the arcade machine contained some kind of fighting game. It was difficult to orientate oneself by the sounds of battle, but the skeleton got carried away and played until the transfer worked.

They all appeared in the hall, level 25. The second crossroads of the Backrooms. Many arcade machines, billiards, mini-bars, soda machines, ping-pong and other entertainment.

Killer immediately offered to play something. He playfully used his body as a bet.

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog Killer belongs to RahafWabas Dust belongs to Ask-DustTale Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios Error belongs to CrayonQueen Cross belongs to JakeiArtwork

[ell-alexanderarnold]

Escapism.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Summary: A break up mess between Trent and Y/n.

Angst

Warnings! : This fic contains cursing, mentions of alcohol and light drugs*

Note: This is a mini series, not sure how many parts there will be but I hope you enjoy it <3 + I love listening to Raye while writing angst !

———————————————————————

“I think we should break up” He said.

Your heart sank at his words, is this real? It feels like a dream- no, not a dream, a nightmare.

“Wow” You scoffed.

“What do you mean by wow?”

“I don’t know what to say Trent”

You sat in silence for a while, you felt numb. You knew this was coming but you were still in chock, watching the man you loved for years saying he wants to break up, throw away this relationship that you had since you two were young? You heart was shattered.

“Do you not love me anymore?” You sniffed, tears began to run down your cheeks as he looked at you with his brown eyes, brows furrowed.

“I still love you Y/n, you know this but I don’t think it’s working.” Trent spoke.

“What is not working Trent?” You whispered.

“Us” His voice breaking from his words.

Ouch. You never thought your relationship would end up like this but how it’s been recently, you knew it began to come to an end.

“Well, uhm I guess I’ll pack my things then”

“It’s late Y/n, stay the night please” Trent pleaded.

You really didn’t want to stay the night but you did. It felt strange sleeping beside him, you knew when he’d fallen asleep due his breathing slowing down and you hate that it comforted you. Eventually you managed to get some sleep and tried to forget about the situation you’re in.

You woke up surprisingly early in the morning and rubbed your eyes that felt stuck together probably from all your crying last night. You noticed Trent trying to hold you into his arms in his sleep, but you pulled away. What an idiot. Your boyfriend, now ex boyfriend forgot he broke up with you last night. You find it all funny and laughed quietly. Right now you just wanted to get away from him, you had nowhere to go but figured you could stay at your friend’s place for a few weeks until you find your own place.

-

You spent the whole day packing your things, it felt really strange but you decided it was for the best. At least it was what Trent wanted. He was at the training ground all day so you had your peace for a while, until he came home. Adele blasting on full volume in your headphones as you relate to the lyrics a little too much as you felt a tap on your shoulder, making you jump.

“Oh my god Trent don’t scare me like that!” You blurted looking at him.

“Sorry Y/n” He said looking back at you.

“I just wondered where are you going now? You can stay here if-“

“Trent” You snapped.

“You think I’d want to stay here after everything? You broke up with me remember?” You mocked, feeling all emotions come back to you, tears spilling down your face.

“Don’t be like that Y/n” Trent mumbled.

“Don’t tryna gaslight me Trent, you wanted this. It was your decision you can’t do this to me right now”

“Do what?”

”Telling me to fucking stay? You know you tried to hold me in your arms this morning, clearly your mind isn’t at the right place. Are you sure with your decision?” You cursed, catching him off guard.

Whilst he remained silent you continued to pack the remaining things in your once shared bedroom.

When you were done you looked around, so many memories, you tried to have a ”it is what is is” mindset but that couldn’t take away the pain and emptiness you felt at the moment. You loaded up your car with your things and went back inside one more time to say goodbye to him.

“So I’m all done now, happy?” You shared.

“Okay” He said.

“Okay” You went on.

“I’ll see you I guess” Trent said with sadness in his eyes.

“Yeah” You answered, not sure what to do next but to leave him.

You sat down in your car driving away from the house you once were a happy couple, but it also felt like an escape. Now Escapism. by Raye started playing and the lyrics hit you. “The man that I love sat me down last night and he told me that it’s was over, dumb decision.”

You cried the whole journey to your friend’s place, when arriving at her house you just crashed down in her guest room, crying yourself to sleep.

———————————————————————

Months had gone past since your break up, you found an apartment, you were still not sure how to feel but you just went on with the flow, you started to hang out with old friends that was not involved in Trent’s friend group, trying to avoid him at all costs. You’ve been so busy with work, the only thing that broke the never ending cycle was going out clubbing every weekend drinking, trying to forget Trent, but we all know you couldn’t. If you were the one who broke up with him you wouldn’t have felt this way but now he broke up with you.

The week had come to an end and as usual you planned going out. You put on a tight black dress and some heels. Your phone buzzed and you guessed it was your friend waiting for you outside.

“Hey girl, you look stunning!” She praised.

“Thank you Zoe, you look stunning too!” You beamed back at her.

”So where are we going tonight?” You asked her, making sure you don’t end up at a place where you might bump into Trent.

“Oh just a club in Liverpool, I think we went there on your birthday last year” She responded, your eyes widened at her answer.

”No, no we can’t Trent might be there” You cautioned.

“Y/n stop overthinking, he won’t be there and we will have fun, okay?” Zoe claimed.

She was right, you were overthinking and even if you met him you wouldn’t be interested, or would you?

You and Zoe arrived at the club, met up with your other friends and here the nightmare begins. You saw him, the one and only person you didn’t want to see.

“Zoe, I saw him, swear” You panicked.

“No Y/n you’re delusional” Zoe said.

”Let’s get some drinks, it will take your mind of off him” She assured.

The night went on well, successfully you hadn’t bumped in to Trent yet and you were relieved by that because you were way too drunk to interact with him right now. Your vision started to get blurry but you kept drinking.

“Woah, you seem a little too gone Y/n” Someone said, the voice was familiar and you feared the worst.

“Trent?” You bellowed.

”Let’s get you out of here” He advised.

“What? No, I’m having fun” You spoke.

“You’re drunk”

“Yeah, no shit” You snapped.

The moment that sentence left your mouth you felt Trent take your wrist dragging you out of the club, your drink still in your hands.

He started the car, you couldn’t process everything that was happening in your head. You took a sip of your drink mixing it with a pill you find in your purse, trying to escape all the feelings.

“Lipstick smudged like modern art, I don’t know where the fuck I am or who’s driving the fucking car, speedin’ down the highway sippin’, mixin’ pills with the liquor ‘cah fuck these feelings” Once again the lyrics haunted you.

”You shouldn’t be doing that Y/n” Trent said whilst he was trying snatch your drink away from you. You didn’t hear him, you were too caught up in your own world.

“Hey, you had enough love” He said, sounding more worried this time.

“Don’t tell me what to do, I’m not yours anymore” You said quietly.

“What did you say?”

“I said I’m not yours anymore” You slammed, thinking back this was just like the arguments you and Trent had before you two broke up.

You fell asleep after too much mumbling from your drunk thoughts. You woke up feeling someone lifting you up into their arms, you looked up at him and cried “Trent I’m so sorry”

“Shh, it’s gonna be alright” He whispered.

He laid you down in his bed, letting you undress yourself and put on one of his t-shirts. You were now thinking about that you left Zoe all alone in the club, but you sent her a message.

You: I’m at T’s house, talk to you tomorrow x

You noticed that Trent had gotten into the bed, you turned off your phone and decided to get some sleep.

“I left everyone I love on read, spilling secrets to the stranger in my bed, I remember nothing so there’s nothing to regret, other then this 4-4 kick drum pounding in my head”

———————————————————————

Part 2 coming soon… Let me know your thoughts ! 💌

Part 2

[lxrd-ren]

OK but christ now that I've thought about it more, there is a lot of shit happening at the same time rn

● Maxo (The code infection on his leg + his nightmares about the codes. The fact that he hasn't shown up in a hot minute concerns me ngl)

● Luzu's computers (There's like 6 or 8 that's been discovered on the island as of now. Still don't know what their deal is but they've just been kind of sitting there for a week or two. But the fact that the code showed up when Fit and Aypierre tried to investigate I think is a kind of hint towards this being very important)

● Eggs (Both how they turned up cracked, dirty, tired and slight amnesia + how they all disappeared the next day and left their accessories on their beds + we still don't know ANYTHING about it) This one is probably taking the most toll on the islanders. (cough cough BBH literally fading away all whilst going through of 5 stages of grief cough cough Forever might have tried to destroy the whole island) Without their kids and no clue on how to get them back, the islands in a kind of depressive / hopeless state at the minute

● Missing Furniture (The hidden messages behind it were uncovered but we still don't know the full extent of it. For example, we don't know who / what did it)

● Waystones (As the audience, we know Aypierre did kinda do this. But, as far as the majority of the islanders know, its still a mystery. Fortunately, people like Cellbit and Antoine are catching on)

● 'Missing People' (It really wouldn't be Quesadilla Island without the weekly kidnapping /hj. As far as we know, both Mike and Baghera are M.I.A. Mike was 100% kidnapped and the islanders are somewhat aware of what happened. For Baghera, the last thing we know is that she uncovered her past alongside 'There's no escaping this time'. And then there are the long-term disappearances, such as Mr Mustard and Walter Bob. We're slowly but surely discovering clues about them two but who knows if they're even still alive)

● Code (As we saw yesterday, the code is still active and will still attack. Without the eggs, they are less of a threat atm. On the bright side, nothing major seems to have happened with them since Etoiles' fight with them)

● They're fucking drugging them (Forever disappeared for a day and came back with white clothes, a big ass all-might smile and meds from Cucurocho itself. As long as Forever takes the drugs, he seems happy-go-lucky and basicly is living in this warped reality of the island where everything is 'perfect' for him. That is until he hears the ticking; then he'll become violent and scream for the ticking to stop. He'll eventually take the meds again, and go back to that artificial happiness. The islanders have made the majority aware of the situation and are trying their best to investigate. However, it seems Forever wants everybody to be happy like him, which is really fucking bad. Already Pac is 'receiving treatment' in an attempt to try and make an antidote for the meds; we'll see the results of that today. Even more concerning, Forever has enlisted Tina to make a list of all those that want treatment. PLUS, Forever wants to talk to Jaiden specifically to give her something and they've already agreed to meet up today at some point. Considering the last couple times Forever wanted to 'talk' with someone it ended up either Forever pulling a gun on them or trying to kill them with mines, well, o7 Jaiden)

● The Whole Quackity Situation (We still are in the dark about what exactly happened but as far as we know, the federation messed with Quackitys memories. They fucked him up so bad the guy forgot how to read and write. Again, he hasn't been seen in a hot minute but is likely due to unrelated irl stuff)

● Jaiden (Recently we learnt about Jaidens ties to the federation and it is concerning to say the least. I haven't been fully caught up on it regarding the conversation last night, but she is definitely important in the grand scheme of things)

● And finally, something may or may not happen on the 16th, so just kinda bare that in mind

I still don't think that's everything 🤣 I freaking love this server

[writeandsurvive]

I had to make myself forgiven for the angst of this fic, and a proposing fic was suggested, so... Hope I made it up to you @mandy426 @novamariestark 🥹❤️

Warnings: so much fluff, long distance relationship, age gap, proposal, romantic!Alden, couple taking a bath together, Alden being a mama's boy, talk about a Las Vegas wedding, riding in a limo

Let me be your husband ~ Alden Parker

"Tim, remember you're on call this weekend if there's an emergency." Alden said to his senior agent, grabbing his bag that had been sitting behind in desk the entire day. "I better leave now if I want to catch my flight." He made sure his desk was cleared, computer off and put the bag over his shoulder.

"Need a ride, Parker?" Torres offered.

"Thanks but my Uber is two minutes away. If you feel like picking me up on Sunday night, though..."

Nick chuckled. "Gotcha. Just give me the time."

"Say hi to your lady!" They collectively said as Alden walked over the elevator. He nodded at them with a smile.

He cannot wait until your assignment in Los Angeles is over so you can come back home to him. Flying back and forth every other month is a nightmare, and the time you have together is absolutely not enough. But this assignment was such a big opportunity for you and your career, Alden encouraged you to take it, saying that your couple would survive those two years apart. So far, so good. He just never imagined how hard it'd be.

Six months left. Alden was counting the days and so were you, even though you loved what you were doing in LA. The position was everything you ever wanted, and when your company offered it to you, you were ecstatic. The only thing that you may doubt was your relationship with Alden. You actually considered turning the offer down, afraid that you'd lose the love of your life. But luckily, you have the most amazing man and partner in Alden Parker.

You've had a very long week. Finally making it home, you poured yourself a glass of white wine, and texted Alden to ask him when you could facetime. He was all you wanted and needed, but unfortunately work caught up with him and he had to cancel his visit. Extremely sad about that, you waited for an answer that wasn't coming so you decided to draw yourself a bath. FaceTiming Alden while you're naked in the bath could be quite fun. You've been discovering lots of different ways to be intimate in the past year and a half.

The tub was practically filled up when there was a knock at your door. Suspicious - because you don't really have visitors - you looked through the peephole and you started to shake from happiness. The door couldn't get opened fast enough.

There he was, in all his glory.

You didn't give him time to put his bag away before jumping in his arms and kissing him. "You're here." You whispered between kisses.

Alden made a few steps forward while carrying you so he could kick the door close for his foot. You stayed in the small entrance, just greeting each other, feeling each other's body and smell. You almost forgot how intoxicating his scent was.

Finally breaking apart, you slapped his chest. "You lied to me, dickhead!"

He chuckled. "I didn't. I really thought I wouldn't be able to make it until last night. And then, the team suggested I surprise you."

"They are a terrible influence." You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again.

"I'll make sure they know that." He held you tight. "I missed you so much."

"Missed you more. We can't let my bath go to waste, can we?" You teased, biting your bottom lip.

"Oh no, we do not waste water in this house. Lead the way, princess."

Your back against Alden's chest, soaking in the hot water and relaxing. It was the best you've felt in a long time, probably since the last time he was visiting. His arms were wrapped around you, holding you close to him. Every now and then, you felt his soft lips against your neck and shoulder. You could feel his cock twitching against your back, as his hands gently touch your tits and legs. It was long until his fingers were brushing your intimate parts. "Den," you moaned.

"Just relax, baby. Let me take care of you." And he did just that.

It felt incredible to sleep in his arms again, you almost didn't want to fall asleep. Traveling after a rough week obviously exhausted Alden, and it didn't take long before he was snoring against you, his head buried in the crock of your neck. You played with his hair and beard until you drifted away too.

You had no particular plans the next day, just wanted to enjoy being with the man of your dreams. "We could go to Las Vegas." He offered over breakfast.

"To do what?"

"Get married."

You choked on your coffee. "We said we'd wait until I'm back in DC." Alden held your hand and played with the engagement ring on your finger. You looked down there and remembered his proposal.

Alden was having lunch with his mom, like every other Saturday. He's been a mama's boy since he was born and on top of those lunches, he would call her every two days, just to check on her and talk about everything and nothing.

When he told her about you, Mrs Parker wasn't thrilled and it was only because of the age difference. She doubted that a girl half her son's age could be serious about him and she didn't want her baby to have his heart broken - again. Obviously, Alden knew it'd be her reaction, so he quickly organized a meeting between both of you, and by the end, you had stolen his mother's heart.

Since then, every lunch started with her asking about you. Why weren't you joining them? How were you doing? How was work? ...

"Well there's something I need to talk to you without her knowing." He told his mom.

"You are not breaking up with this girl, Alden."

He chuckled. "That's literally the opposite, ma. I wanna propose to her."

Mrs Parker gasped as if she was the one being proposed to. She immediately asked how he was planning it, if he had the ring - he didn't so she offered to go ring shopping with him -, what he was going to say. "I'm actually going to know your help." And he told her the entire plan.

As a date night, Alden invited you to go see a musical at the Kennedy Center, starring your favorite actor. You were absolutely delighted about it, and loved the show from beginning to end. Alden did enjoy it too, but what he loved the most was how your eyes sparkled and your smile widened. Walking out of the venue, hand in hand, Alden listened to you going on and on about your celebrity crush, especially about one particular song they sang. It took you a long moment to notice the limo parked there.

"Fancy!" You exclaimed and started to walk on the other side. But the driver standing there had opened the door, and Alden didn't move an inch.

"That's our ride."

And he wasn't kidding. Alden helped you inside the limo. He offered a glass of champagne as the car moved. "What is happening?" You giggled and blushed, kinda overwhelmed by this much of romance and luxury. You never thought you'd get to ride a limo one day, but here you were. Drinking champagne with the man you love, the smell of leather and his cologne intoxicating your senses. "Where are we going?"

"Just enjoy the ride my love." He leaned in to kiss you, and you didn't waste a second before intensifying it. All teeth and tongue, you were ready let Alden ruin you here and there. You didn't know if the driver could see you, but he could probably hear. "Easy Tiger," he smiled against your lips.

You didn't know how long the ride lasted, but you spent the entire time questioning Alden, about the whereabouts, or what this and that buttons would do. "Well this one, love, does something amazing. Press it." You did and the window rolled down. Alden laughed and you gently slapped his chest. "Jerk!"

"But seriously, press this one. I think you'll like it." Suspicious that he was making fun of you again, you still pressed the button he was showing. You heard a noise and looked up. The ceiling trap was opening itself. You grinned at Alden, who winked. He stood up, offered his hand for you to join him. You quickly kicked off your heels in order to not ruin the leather seats, and stood through the trap. Washington DC was unfolding in front of you in a new different way.

The wind was hitting you, but you didn't care at all. You felt amazing. Carefree. "People who say that money can't buy happiness are liars." You took a deep breath, it was almost too much oxygen. "Look at the city, baby, not me!" You exclaimed.

He shook his head no. "I'm looking right at my happiness."

Could he be any more perfect?

You grabbed him by the neck and brought his mouth to yours. Your tongue immediately went for his, not caring that you were offering a show to anyone in the street at this moment. It didn't take long to feel his cock twitching in his suit pants and you teasingly touched him, earning some nice noises from his mouth. "You do deserve to be taken care of,"

"As much as I would love to, we're almost there."

The car stopped and a few seconds later, the door opened. Alden got out first and offered his hand to you. It didn't take long until you realized where you were. "We're--home. Already?" You laughed and kissed him.

"One day, we saw a limo driving by us and you said you wished you knew what it felt like. Now you do,"

"Indeed! And it was absolutely amazing! What have I done to deserve you?"

You eagerly kissed him again, but he eventually stopped you to get inside. Much to your surprise, he stopped you when you were walking towards your shared apartment and dragged you to the rooftop stairs. "Babe?" You questioned but he just smiled.

You were taken aback once again.

The rooftop was fully decorated. Plants, flowers, lights and a couple of blankets. "I wanted to get a fire pit but it's technically not our property so--" Alden said before you could even form words. You looked at everything around you, tears forming in your eyes. It was the most romantic thing no one had ever done for you. You were speechless and didn't have time to process that Alden was on one knee, holding a velvet box in his hands.

"W-What?" Speechless. Breathless.

"I couldn't wait anymore." He chuckled. "Ever since I've made up my mind, I wanted to ask you there and then, but I had to make it as special as you are."

"Alden--" you breathed out, crying.

"If you cry now, I'm gonna cry too and won't be able to say everything I want to, baby." You tried to take a deep breath and let him continue.

"I spent most of my life feeling like there was something missing in my life, in me. I theorized a lot about what it was, I tried to convince myself it was this thing or that person. I even fooled myself for ten years with-- anyways," he chuckled through the tears. "I'm not fooling myself anymore. I feel complete. I am complete right now, because you were my missing piece, sweetheart." He grabbed the hand that wasn't covering your mouth. "Sometimes I just look at you and wonder how a young, smart, funny and gorgeous thing like you can love me, but then you look at me, and I feel like that most loved person on this earth."

"you are." You cried.

"Other times, I tell myself you should be with someone your age, someone you'll have more time with. But, I'm a selfish man. I want you all by myself. I want to be the one you love, the one you sleep next to every night. I want to be your husband more than I want you to be my wife. Does that make sense to you?" He sniffed with a laugh.

"Yeah, I understand what you mean."

"Okay good." He kissed your knuckles. "I love you more than life itself. I'd take hundreds of bullets for you, and believe me, I know how it feels."

"Stop it."

"My princess, my babydoll. Will you do me the honors and let me be your husband?"

"Like you have to ask."

Alden laughed through the tears because it was exactly the kind of answer he expected from you.

Obviously, the wedding was put on hold when you moved to LA. And getting married in Las Vegas had never been talked about before. "We have to wait for you to come back home, but I'm done waiting for you to be Mrs Parker. We can still have the ceremony we were planning in six months, but I want to marry you tonight."

"You're impossible to say no to, but I'm done waiting too. Let's do it, husband."

[hailsatanacab]

DPxTheOffice

"He's gonna sell it all 'cause he's Danny Phantom"

that's so fucking funny, i hate how much i love this!! i have made it way too long, rip to my five sentence rule - there's such a goldmine of content here lmao

👻

"I'd say it's been going on for... about a month now?"

"Two months," Sam interrupts. "It started just after your parents came in, remember?"

"Oh, Ancients, yeah, them. I can't believe I forgot that."

"Yeah, dude, it's thanks to them that this all started!" Tucker's practically vibrating in his chair, far too cheerful about the whole thing.

"Yeah," Danny sighs, looking directly into the camera. "Thank you, Mom and Dad. Thank you very much."

"Danny's parents are ghost hunters, which, as you can imagine, got Michael very excited. And very into ghosts. He accused Meredith of haunting him the other day, now he keeps spraying her with holy water and yelling 'Begone, foul spectre!' He's really taken a liking to Danny's parents."

"Can't imagine why."

"Yeah, and then—then—" Tucker dissolves into laughter, wheezing as he tries to catch his breath. "Then he brings in that personal trainer! In her yoga pants and crop top, with a pilates ball and everything! Sends her over to—to see Meredith, and then—oh Ancients—then when the woman leaves and Meredith is still there, he locks himself in his office and blasts the Lord's Prayer!"

"We think he mispelt exorcist. Hired someone in exercise instead."

"Exorcists are all phoney, anyway! And PTs are only slightly less phoney, so make sure you do your research and get someone that actually knows what they're doing before you commit, kids." Danny says, pointing down the camera. "That's how I got so jacked."

Both Sam and Tucker share a look before bursting into even more laughter. With a soft smack on his arm, Sam can't help but tease, "Please, you're 5'4" and look like you'd break your arm if you ever picked up a ream of paper. No wonder your sales are so low."

"Wow, that's so rude. I can't believe you'd do me like that. I'm 5'4 and a half, thank you."

"That's right, babe, and we love you for it."

Their laughter peters out and the trio slowly pull themselves upright in their chairs, remembering the cameras and the story they're meant to be telling.

"Honestly, thanks to these guys, the past few weeks have been a nightmare."

"Now who's being rude? At least this is one of those fun nightmares that you can laugh about later."

"Nope, this is a normal nightmare that everytime you think you've woken up from, you get back to work and see your boss dressed up in a hazmat suit that your parents sent him and realise that actually, maybe the real nightmare was the work colleagues you made along the way."

"Oh. Yeah, that sounds about right, sorry, Danny."

Tucker puts him on the shoulder and stays silent for a grand total of five seconds before turning back to the camera with an ecstatic grin on his face and a deep breath.

"Anyway, everytime one of us goes into Michael's office, we sneak something off his desk and blame ghosts. Sam's hidden some speakers in the ceiling that play recordings of her crying on a timer."

"I should have been an actor. I also got some of the warehouse guys in on it, so everytime Michael goes down there they'll throw a box or two around and make some ghostly moans. Didn't even ask why, they just agreed."

Sam's back to looking very proud of herself. Danny's back to cradling his head in his hands.

"Is that why Boxy's been about lately? Guys, seriously? I need to sleep!"

The only answer he gets is a shrug as Tucker turns back to the camera.

"Oh, and I've also installed a script on his computer so that whenever he types the word 'ghosts'—or 'goats', again, he's not really great at typing—his screen starts getting all staticky and closes down. He shrieks everytime, it's so funny!"

"I wonder if he'll go with a different PT to exercise his office next?"

"We should suggest P90X—your office ghost free in three months or your money back!"

Sam and Tucker are both burst into laughter, sinking deeper into their chairs as Danny just shakes his head. It takes a solid minute for the two to calm down, and more than one pointed question from the producer to get them back on track.

"Where's it going? Does it really have to go anywhere? Can't the joy of the bit be destination enough?"

"I wish it would go away," Danny groans, still not lifting his head. "I get enough of ghost hunting in my free time, I don't need it here, too."

"I've changed Danny's employee file to list him as deceased just to see how long it takes Michael to notice."

"Seriously? Tucker, really? That's—"

"Genius, Tuck. And then we can be all: 'Michael, what are you on about? Danny's been dead for three years!' I can't wait to see his face!"

"You guys know that Dwight's going to actually try to end me if he finds out, right? Pretty sure Dad slipped him a Fenton blaster before he left."

"You know what they say," Tucker says, grinning directly down the camera, "'Gaslight, Ghost them, Get pranked, boss!'"

[girl-next-door-writes]

Merry Christmas To All, And To All A Good Night!

Characters: Armitage Hux x reader

Summary: Two years on and some things have definitely changed, but has Hux really given into the Christmas Spirit, or is it simply something else?

Word Count: 1043 words

A/N: Okay, so to be totally honest, I forgot I hadn’t finished this little series, and it wasn’t until a lovely reader left a comment over on AO3 asking about it that I realised I should probably do that. I love these two idiots and almost 2 years on, this feels like a fitting epilogue.

In his mind, he had created the most perfect, the most festive moment possible. The fire was crackling as the light tones of a gentle piano softly filled the air with Christmas carols; a form of Christmas music he had not realised he quite enjoyed before meeting you. The room was illuminated by the firelight and the playful twinkling of the fairy lights which adorned the tree. The scent of pine combined with sugary treats caressed his nostrils each time he inhaled, and his heart felt warm and full as he looked at the pile of gifts beneath the tree. That had been the plan.

In reality, however, the tree he had acquired was too damned big for the room, and bent ominously to the left despite his best efforts. From where he stood, the decorations were… adequate, but he knew for a fact if he took two steps to his right, the whole display looked like a two-year-old had simply thrown things at the tree. The fire was a nightmare to get going and the sleeve of his Christmas sweater now had a small scorch mark to prove it. His attempt at Christmas cookies sat on a plate on the coffee table, burnt around the edges, icing running all over and pooling in places which highlighted the unevenness of his offerings. At least the music was soothing.

“Millicent… don’t you dare.” He glared at the lythe ginger cat who was eyeing the tree once more. The fact he’d had to pry the little maniac out of the branches three times already, causing the gifts beneath the tree to become a little battered, had him narrowing his eyes, preparing to pounce before she had a chance to make it a fourth.

Just as he was stalking towards his troublesome cat, he heard keys in the door, and his whole demeanour changed. A soft smile tugged at his lips, and a feeling of nervousness, which had never quite left him when it came to you, washed over him. Suddenly, he felt very self-conscious. Should he rush to greet you?  Should he lean against the fireplace? What should he do with his arms? As he floundered for the right response, you came into view and all that nervous anxiety faded into the background.

“Hello, sweetie. Wow! Looks like you’ve been busy while we were away.”

He simply shrugged, as if this had not been a complete labour of love, taking him the entire week while you had been visiting family. Armitage watched you closely, desperately hoping for your approval.

“What do you think, little one? Did daddy do a good job?” You smiled softly at the six-month-old child in your arms, who seemed rather enamoured with the twinkling tree.

“I’m sorry it isn’t your usual standard…”

“My standard? Oh, you sweet, adorable man, this is absolutely perfect. Thank you.” You crossed over to him and tenderly caressed his cheek before placing a loving kiss to his lips. This was your third Christmas together as a couple, the first as parents, and the effort he had gone to made your heart grow twenty times bigger.

“Well, I wouldn’t say perfect.” He murmured, bending a little to kiss his daughter’s forehead, catching Millicent disappearing beneath the tree out of the corner of his eye.

“Armitage, it is perfect.” You smiled tenderly and he felt that familiar feeling of his world softening around the edges.

As you passed your daughter over to him, you took in all the little details. The mistletoe hanging, and the smattering of tiny holes in the ceiling where it had obviously taken him several attempts to get it to stay up. The lop-sided tree, missing its star because the top branches were crushed against the ceiling. The oddly shaped cookies which possibly should have been snowflakes, but now had the appearance of melted snowmen. Turning your gaze back to your husband, watching him explain the intricacies of tree decoration to your tiny daughter as she reached for the sparkling lights, you really couldn’t describe this as anything but perfect.

“Oh, Millicent! For god’s sake!” Armitage huffed as the ginger menace’s head popped out of the branches, a smug, self-satisfied look on her face as several baubles bounced to the floor, causing you to laugh.

“I take it she has been ‘helping’ you with the tree since you got it?” You smirked as he rolled his eyes.

“She is just lucky I haven’t punted her out of the window yet.” He groused, but there was no real threat there, you both knew Millie was part of the family and he adored her.

“Millicent Hux, get out of that tree.” You said sternly, and the cat slank back, not leaving the tree branches, but at least staying out of sight, so that could be considered a win.

Armitage wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. “I missed you. I know I was working, but…”

But the festive season without you by his side just reminded him of how lonely he had been before you had dragged him into this magical chaos. Every day, he was so grateful that you had seen something in him worth pursuing, something that meant you put up with him at his worst as well as his best. Placing a tender kiss to your forehead, he silently thanked whichever supernatural deity who was responsible for dropping you into his life.

“Oh, I got us all new Christmas jumpers. I’m afraid this one is more colourful than your last.” You smirked as you looked up at your husband with a hint of adoration. This adorable, awkward mess of a man really was the best person you knew, and you enjoyed pulling him out of his comfort zones.

“When you say colourful… please tell me it isn’t neon.” He sighed dramatically, trying to hold back his smile.

“You always assume neon. When has it ever been neon?” You teased, heading over to your bags to find the jumpers.

“One day your mummy will bring me neon, and I will only have myself to blame.” He cooed down at his daughter with a grin. His girls were home, Christmas was fast approaching, all was right in his world once more.

[starlightazriel]

a court of love & scars

tw: sa

18+

other parts

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part 6, Gwen

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since I had kissed Azriel.

And... I hadn't seen him since that night. I had asked about him, asked Mor where he was. She had just brushed it off as he was busy working for Rhys, and she was so short and dismissive, that if I didn't know any better I would have thought she was hiding something. I didn't ask again.

Avoiding me. He was definitely avoiding me after that night we had, the moment we had shared. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone that I had kissed him and then he disappeared. There wasn't a day since the party had passed that I hadn't thought about kissing him. Never, ever had I been touched like that, held like that.

Before the kiss with Azriel, there was only two ways I had ever been touched.

One, by my former lover, a male from the summer court, a little older than me. It wasn't that I didn't love him, in the childish naive way that I could when I was so young. The extent of our touches were quick kisses and hand holding, and nothing like the kiss Azriel had given me. I wondered where he was now, if he survived in the war, though I couldn't say I wanted to find him even if he was alive. I wasn't the same fae girl that I had been all those years ago. What I was today, just wouldn't work, trauma had molded me. I carried a burden, scars that reminded of that burden daily. What I had to endure down there. And for so long.

Two, by Hybern, the soldiers that would visit me from time to time. Sometimes it would be one, sometimes it would be a group. I didn't remember all of it, but I remembered the pain, the pain that shot through the center of me, ripping me open, I would often bleed. My face pressed into the cold gritty grounds of the dungeon, mud getting in my mouth, clogging my nose, stinging my eyes. I remembered the noises, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, their grunts in pleasure, whistles if there was more than one of them, my own soft whimpers of pure agony. It would be a lie to say there weren't nights that it kept me up, nights that I woke up screaming and crying thinking that I some how had been stolen back and put back in that dungeon. I refused to let it hold me back. After so long in the dark, I couldn't waste more time in my own darkness, as hard as it was not to get consumed by it, I refused to let it take over. This was my life.

But when I kissed Azriel, I forgot about all of it, every single horrible thing had melted away into nothing leaving just me and him in the world and nobody else, nothing else.The kiss had ignited a fire in me, a feeling that I hadn't known existed, something that pumped through my veins and settled in the very pit of my stomach, something that left me slick in my undergarments, slick with need. My thighs squeezed together just thinking about it, imagining what it would be like if he kissed me in other places.

Tonight, I was sure, would be like the last few nights, I would watch out the window, fantasizing like the young girl I had once been, but I supposed in a less innocent way. I would fantasize that by some chance of fate I would see Azriel flying home and he would catch my eye and smile at me swooping down into my window. I would think about him kissing me like that again and I would imagine the way his hands would feel on my naked body as I touched it with my own. I didn't know how to pleasure myself, though. I wasn't stupid, I knew there was a whole world of sex out there that I had never experienced. It felt good, though, I didn't know how to finish it off, I usually ended up stopping out of sheer embarrassment remembering that my friend left after we kissed, he didn't stay to teach me about the things I was curious about. He didn't want to do those things with me. I dreamt about him too though, amongst the nightmares I had, I also dreamt about Azriel since the kiss we shared. I would wake up sweaty and tangled in my sheets, warmth and wetness leaking out of me and trickling down my thighs. Those dreams, would result in cool baths, and a shameful return to my bed.

Was it really that bad kissing me? That he had to run away. In the past weeks that he had been away I had gone over every scenario in my head over and over. Maybe I was a bad kisser, I didn't have any experience kissing like that. Maybe he was disgusted by the thought of what had been done to me in Hybern, didn't want my damaged used body. Or maybe he just didn't think I was ready. Maybe he had a lover already, maybe that's where he was now, feeling guilty for letting the kiss go on as long as it did. Maybe he just didn't see me like that.

Though I didn't regret kissing Azriel because the way that it felt outweighed any of my other feelings or doubts about it that I had. I did feel stupid, it was probably all the wine and spirits, the courage it had given me, as I stared up at him in all his glory, the way he had been looking at me. Maybe it had been in my head.

"-Azriel is arriving back tonight, should be here soon," It was Rhys' voice, speaking to Cassian that finally pulled me from my thoughts, though I hadn't heard anything else he had said. Or anything else that had been said the entire time we had all been sitting at the dinner table for that matter. I was too lost in thought. Coming back tonight. I missed him, and yes, I wanted to see him, but my gut twisted, nerves bubbling in my stomach. I got to my feet.

"I'm going to go get a drink, at Rita's," I say casually, rising from my seat, I had stacked my soup bowl on top of my plate to signify I was done, though more than half of it remained. "I'll be back later," I say, Rhys raises a brow, everyone was looking at me now. I had never gone out alone, not yet. They were studying me, all of them, I was sure trying to put the pieces together as to why I wanted to leave as soon as Azriel was brought up. Truth was, I wasn't ready to face him, or the embarrassment.

"I could go with you," Feyre offers, shooting me a small smile. "No that's alright," I say, maybe a bit too quickly, I can feel Rhys, watching me intently, trying to get past the shields I kept up, he was strong, but I was to. "I need to clear my head, thank you though, I won't stay out too late," I say, not wanting her to think it was anything to do with her.

My walk to Rita's was nice, the moon and the stars illuminating the road as I walked down into the city toward the pleasure hall. The sounds of drinking and dancing and gambling fill my ears as I grow near. Once inside, I walk through the crowd until I reach the bar, I sit on the stool and get comfortable, asking the pretty bartender for a double brandy.

I tossed the warm liquid down, asking for next one on the rocks so that I could sip it more slowly. I could feel eyes on me but I ignored them, leaning my elbows on the bar and letting my chin rest in one of my hands. Hours passed like that, sitting in silence only speaking to order a drink. It was getting late, too late, I knew if I didn't leave soon they would send Mor to look for me.

"Her next one is on me, and pour me one while you're at it," a male voice says, and I notice now, that he has taken a seat up next to me. Tall and large, but not like Azriel, with his Illyrian height and build, those massive wings. He had brown hair and blue eyes handsome, but again, not like Azriel, with his soft yet also rugged features, the way he was often unreadable, mysterious and sexy.

"And you are?" I snap, liquor coursing through my veins, I squinted my eyes a little bit as I turn to face him, he smirks wickedly, looking me up and down like Eris had at the party weeks ago.

"I'm Owen, I live here, in this city, princess, and I have been just waiting to run into you, I wasn't so lucky at the high lords party," he takes a long sip from his drink, not taking his eyes off of me for a moment. "Absolutely ravishing," he licks his lips, staring down at mine.

"I don't want company," I seethe, snapping my head straight again, not giving him the satisfaction of me looking any longer. Who did these men think they were? Why did they think I would want to talk to them? Why did they think it was okay to approach me and look at me like that? They should know better, I had been in a hybern dungeon almost my whole life, did they even know what kind of strength it took? They wouldn't be able to handle what I went through, I knew that. They just didn't understand. Especially not this male, by his appearance, a Velaris citizen through and through, rich, probably hadn't even seen the battles of the war I had been told about.

"Excuse me princess," he crooned, snickering a bit. "Piss off," I cursed, letting my gaze meet his, a look of utter disgust on mine. His eyes flared with anger, a dangerous looking one, but he couldn't touch me, not here. "You'll regret that princess," his voice dropped to a threatening tone. "Be careful what you say, and who you say it to, especially without your bastard body guards," he hissed, baring his teeth to me, I spat at his feet, he gripped his glass tight, as if he wanted to knock it over my head. "Hybern whore," he looked down at me with disgust now, replacing the attraction from before and he turned around and was gone, good, I thought, turning back to the bar when I knew he had left the bar.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment now, the whispers slowly turning back into lively chatter. I took a deep breath, ignoring the nagging feeling of shame at what had happened to me there. My body had been used, maybe ruined, for anything real. Maybe any male would only see me like that, always reminded that I was once simply used as a toy. I finished my glass, and then finished the glass that the male had bought me, and then I danced, letting the liquor flow through my veins, erasing my worries and my insecurities.

It had been maybe about 20 minutes when I started to feel dizzy, I left the dance floor, clutching the nearest chair, taking a deep breath and steadying myself. What's wrong with me? I swallowed hard, fresh air, I didn't know how but I made my way to the door, everyone around me too drunk to notice that something was wrong. The sound of the crowd and the music were fading the only noise was my pulse, pounding, echoing in my ear drums.

"I told you to be careful princess," a dark voice cooed, I couldn't recognize it, not now, too fuzzy, too foggy, my vision blurred, I tried to steady myself, tripping, almost falling to my knees as I gripped a near by wall.

"Hey is she alright? Are you alright miss?" Another voice called out. No! I'm not help me! I tried to scream, nothing, I couldn't speak, I couldn't form words. "She's alright, I've got her," the first voice speaks again, the venom in those last words. A strong arm snaked around my waist, pulling me to his body. Get off of me! I could feel tears streaming now, this was wrong, something was very wrong.

HELP ME! HELP ME! I chanted the words over and over in my head, desperately trying to scream, my vision cleared, we were in a dark musty alley, the smell of wet stones and rotting food scraps filled my nose, behind Rita's? I searched for my voice desperately tried to will myself to push him off, to run. Slightly less foggy with each passing second, Owen, the male from before. Hadn't he left? "Now princess, let me take care of you, before that little brew wears off," he purred, pushing me into the wall, my face hit the gritty wet stone with a little smack, tears streamed, he held me steady, his cold hands dancing over my body. No, no not again, please not again.

He ripped my dress open, I cried, all I could do was cry. I was weak, I couldn't move, could barely stand, he held me up. "You are a pretty thing, I know why they kept you for so long," his tone was so sick, laced with tenderness yet hate, as if he hated me for humiliating him but also still could appreciate my beauty. I whimpered, still unable to speak, my exposed body shaking under the cool night air. Please, not again. Mother please. I silently prayed, wishing that I hadn't came here tonight, not alone.

"Get your filthy fucking hands off of her before I rip your head off," cool, even, pure rage. I knew that voice. Azriel. Azriel. And just like that, the male whirled around, pants half unbuttoned, Azriels nostrils flared, eyes glowing with pure hate, my knees buckled and I sunk to the floor. My knees were to my chest, my head turned, Azriel didn't look at me though, he was looking at Owen. Pure unfiltered rage radiated from him, his siphons flared, darkness around the three of us now, but a different kind than before. Azriels shadows danced furiously around, some of them wrapping around me, holding me, soothing me with that cool pressure like when they did at night when he was in the house, and I woke from nightmares. I hadn't been so lucky in the recent weeks. Hadnt been able to sleep.

Owen was scared, I could see it in his stance though he was facing away from me. Azriel took another heavy step forward. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right here," his voice was so calm, but I could see the rage in his eyes, the hate, the disgust. I wondered why the male wasn't saying anything, and then I realized, when I saw his hands fly up to his neck, he was choking. Desperately trying to pull the shadows away from his neck, Azriel bared his teeth, the shadows squeezed harder the males eyes nearly popping out of his head, he choked and spluttered, gasping for breath as Azriel got closer and closer to him.

He saved me, again, he saved me.

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omggg i'm literally obsessed i can't stop writing this!!!! i briefly proof read lmk if there is any mistakes. 7 will be up soon xoxoxo

[milliecoyote]

My TotK AU that I'm calling "Bloom"

This post contains spoilers for the ending of Tears of the Kingdom!

Really I got started writing this because I love what @lilacstarvix has been doing with her Resurrection AU, which can be found here on Ao3. The tldr is that due to Zonai Stuff, Rauru and Sonia get brought back to life (Sonia as a Zonai) part way through the events of Tears of the Kingdom. This cuts off Rauru's connection to his arm which is attached to Link, which makes the arm start hijacking his body and turning him into a Zonai as well. Along the way, Link meets with Rauru and Sonia, and has some Genderous Revelations about herself.

I'm super into this. I love transfem stories, I love characters with nonconventional identities and body plans, and Link is really fun to write as being transfem.

My concept is similar, though doesn't have the actual Resurrection. In my AU, the arm that Link receives (from the start of the game's events) does a similar thing: fur spreads, his body changes, but he doesn't have anyone around him to help process it. He still has to go through the events of the game.

Rather than dealing with his feelings about what's happened to him and risk embarrassment of anyone finding out, Link goes through all of the events of TotK wearing heavy layers of cloth to hide what he looks like. The game's events proceed normally, until the ending, where he's still wearing those heavy layers of cloth (as opposed to being just in his underwear). He catches Zelda, who still has some of her dragon features left, and they eventually retire back to their house in Hateno Village.

Cut to a couple months later, Zelda overhears a hunter from the village mentioning he saw a Zonai while out on an expedition. She of course wants to go and investigate and brings Link along. Stuff Happens, and Zelda finds out what happened to Link.

Link also happens to be a girl after that whole Zonaification process finished.

They eventually decide so that Link doesn't have to hide any more, that the two of them can go back to Hateno together and they'll pretend Link is a different close friend of Zelda's, who goes by the name Marin.

I'm mostly done with writing it, I really only have a chapter left and then an editing pass, then I plan on posting it online.

This is by far the longest thing I've written, admittedly though I haven't been writing for all that long! Can't wait to actually show it :3 if there's any questions y'all have, feel free to shoot me a message here! It's been like the thing I've been trying really hard not to talk everyone's ear off about for the past several weeks :D

EDIT: Oh I forgot, I do actually have a 500ish word thing up on Ao3 in this AU already, which you can find here. Pure romantic fluff after Marin has a nightmare.

[werezmastarbucks]

2. Look what I have under the cloak

barry allen x Y/N

part 2 out of 8

word count: 1216

At the graduation, Barry begged you to be there. You'd finished a week earlier and got your useless diploma, and could now barricade one window with it. It was important for him for you to be there, because, well, you were his only friend. He also crushed into you, hard, like only Barry Allen can. With the thought, swirling in his head, and the reinforced feeling of admiration turning almost into obsession. But you didn't know about it.

The ceremony was prudent, quick and sweet. At least they have acknowledged his genius, that mr Barry Allen excells at all subjects he takes onto, and there were many. They saw his bright future as talented lawyer, and shook his hand, and forgot his name the next day. Barry looked funny, like a schoolboy, in a long black robe and a graduate's hat; he beamed with pleasure as he took off the stage and went back into the audience. You nudged his shoulder and nodded, and gave him a short hug.

It's been weird, pretending like he's not the Flash, when he was the Flash. Every time he skipped College to go someplace, he now didn't even invent any excuses, and you didn't even ask. He'd just return the next day, or a couple days later, a little beaten, a bruise here and there, and you'd casually talk about the news to tease him. You were glad he wasn't trying to distance himself from you. The Flash or not, you wouldn't have anybody else to talk to if he decided to stop being friends with you.

You went to lunch and the library as usual, chatted about physics and literature, and films, and food. All the while a huge yellow lightning sign hung between you like an elephant in the room. You didn't know why it pissed you so much, that he wouldn't confirm. You guessed there were reasons, but it was so, so painfully clear.

Now, as the ceremony was over, you two started to get going. Talking about the future, and the plans, and the doom that was awaiting you. The job market - oh, don't mention it, it's a nightmare. Should we go out for a pizza? Of course, I thought that was by default.

Suddenly, he grabbed your hand as you entered the inner yard. People were already making themselves scarce, all flowing straight out of the gates. Barry pulled you over, concealing you two behind a brickstone niche with a little fountain.

"Look what I have under my cloak", he said, quickly.

You pulled your hand away.

"Ew, Barry, fuck off!"

"No, it's not what you think. It's the other thing you were thinking".

You looked into his face, into his impatient dark eyes, talking to you. You stepped towards him with the feeling of anticlimax approaching, and he opened up his black ceremonial robe.

The dark-red costume with the huge bright yellow lighting on his chest, like a Christmas present.

You opened your mouth, a mixture of triumph and annoyance brewing in your mind.

"We been knew, friend. But that's still... very cool".

"I finally got the approval. Bruce-"

He slapped himself on the mouth so hard he moaned softly. You bit your lip not to roar with laughter.

"I mean Batman, he really didn't want me to share with anyone, I am so sorry".

"You're a really bad actor, Barry, and your mask doesn't hide very much".

"Yeah, I know. I know. But I am so relieved I can tell you now, I mean..."

"Do the Flash!" you urged.

"Hm?"

"Do the thing, when you're standing here, and the next second, you're standing there!"

He smiled happily at your childish impatience for wonder. He started to move. In the slow motion of moving matter, among the golden threads of atoms of the air, he watched your face, like a portrait, and how your hair, ruffled by his sudden jump, flew across it. He wondered why he hadn't done it earlier, because this way, he could stare at your beauty without seeming like a creep. Oh, he was a creep, was he? Fantasizing that one day, he'd be able to catch that expression on your face, that other people usually provide: the look of admiration, and astonishment, the smile of being on a rollercoaster for the first time.

He took off his robe and hung it on the bench, took off his hat, put in on the bench, then, put on the mask, ran around you to create a little vortex of whirlwind, and stopped.

Instead of delivering the smile, you fell, picked up by the gust of air.

"Oh yes!" you yelled, very loud, "that is so badass!"

He picked you up.

"I need to change back", he said, unable to stop grinning, like an idiot. A fraction of a second - and he was in his cloak again, looking at you and your open mouth.

"How could Batman forbid you to tell anybody? Is he your boss or something?"

"Umm... he, like, he's, like a leader. So, yeas, kinda... like a boss, but you know, I am my own boss, of course".

"Of course", you said, laughing.

"And he uh... so, he said... you know, it's generally forbidden for metapeople to disclose their identity, so..."

"I won't tell anyone, Barry, you know that".

"I know, but... well, we gotta live together".

Astonished silence fell on the yard, filling it with the sound of the little fountain.

"...why?" you asked, carefully.

He bit his lower lip.

"Well, so... so that I can monitor you, he said".

"He said?"

"Yes".

"Bruce? I mean Batman?"

He looked at you, suspicious whether you already figured out who Batman was.

"Sometimes he makes my life very difficult, and dictates his own rules, like a tyrant. When I'm supposed to skip college and everythig. But it's for the good, you know".

"No offense, Barry, I really like you, but I don't want to live with you. I just don't want to live with a dude, why would I".

He nodded energetically, almost hysterically,

"Yes, I get it, I ge-e-et it one hunch".

His felt his heart sink. Not that he expected you'd be so smitten with him by now, that you'd be thrilled to move in together. But he expected somewhat of a more ambiguous answer. Good news was, Bruce wouldn't change his mind no matter what. He told Barry all these stories, of dead wives and brothers, and even casual friends and neighbours. At the moment the little, tiny voice of consciousness told him he doesn't appreciate the seriousness of the situation when a civilian knows who he is. But you smelt so good, and you laughed so rad, and was always the softest, the bravest, the smartest person in his every day, and he wanted nothing more than spend every minute with you. Ideally, running into each other in the corridor in the morning, or stumbling in the bathroom, or meeting in the kitchen in the romantic light of an evening lamp.

You were still talking about how you didn't want to live with him; with such eagerness, such disdain towards the idea, that Barry started to think, you suspected something about him. He got a little hurt but let it slide for now.

[aperrywilliams]

Green Card - Ch6: And if It Were True? (Spencer Reid x Fem!OC)

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Author Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Previous chapter < > Next chapter

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!OC (Ana María González)

Series summary: What reason leads two complete strangers to marry? For Spencer, the chance of his mom being admitted into a new medical trial. For Ana María González is to get the elusive green card.

Chapter summary: Ana and Spencer share some intimate memories and truths, and they start to feel confused about their new friendship.

Word Count:  6k

CW: I marked this one like 16+. Please respect that. Strong words. They talk about blood and medical stuff. Spencer has nightmares. Mention of Spencer's abduction and addiction. Semi-nudity and sexy dancing (fem). Mention semi-nudity (male). Description of molestation episodes as a child and danger of rape (not consumed). Mention of suicide, murder, and rape (none of the characters involved). If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: This was a bit hard to write, but it gives more context about Ana's life before coming to the US.

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"That can't be credible. A transplant in one hour? By a kid of sixteen?" Spencer complained, pointing to the TV.

"Hey! They were in a hurry, and it was not any guy. We're talking about Doogie Howser," Ana clarified, sipping her tea.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Still, I can't believe they made it. Did you know the record time for a massive emergency team response in Los Angeles is 4.5 minutes? Here they did it in 2.5! That's ridiculous!"

Ana narrowed her eyes.

"We are still clear this is fiction, right?"

"I know! But I suppose they wanted to make it believable. That's my point."

Ana and Spencer just ended up watching the entire show's first season. Both were absorbed by the screen enough not to pay too much attention to the clock until the credits of the last episode.

"We are going to regret this in the morning," Ana anticipated, standing from the couch and stretching a little. Spencer nodded in agreement.

She was right, but for Spencer, these were the best hours of his last week. And not because of how good a show Doogie Howser was, but rather because he turned off his brain for a while. And all thanks to Ana's insistence. If Spencer felt anything at this moment, it was gratitude and appreciation for her. 

True to her word, Ana didn't ask or insist that Spencer get to talk about what had him so frustrated.

They both tacitly agreed it was time to sleep. Without saying a word, they walked until they reached the door of their respective rooms.

"Good night," Ana said, just about to enter her room.

"Ana?" Spencer stopped her.

"Yeah?" she asked curiously.

"Thank you. For today. For everything, truth be told."

"Don't mention it. Sleep well. You need it, mister accuracy," the girl joked, pointing to his chest. Spencer chuckled.

"Sleep well too. Good night."

And as unbelievable as it sounds, Spencer slept great that night, waking up from only a few hours of sleep.

On the way to work, he couldn't help but remember last night's coming and going of comments about the television show, making a smile appear on his face.

What was all this? Definitely something new for him. Something he partly had with his friends at the BAU, but it was not the same. Spencer felt an unspoken complicity with Ana that he couldn't place with anyone else. Not with Maeve, that's for sure.

He had never gotten to that stage with Maeve—something as simple as doing anything, reading, watching TV, even going to the movies.

No, the activities with her were going out to dinner, visiting museums and conferences, and catching up with sexy time. She spontaneously appeared at the BAU and met Spencer's colleagues only a few times. At most, she agreed to go to one of Rossi's dinners, but the taste of the evening got somewhat bitter. She didn't look comfortable, and neither did Spencer. From then on, Maeve disappeared from the BAU's radar.

"Hey Reid, you look pretty good compared to how you left the bullpen yesterday," Luke pointed as soon as Spencer arrived at his desk.

"I had a good night of sleep, I guess?" he offered as an explanation, although he knew it was more than that.

"Nice to hear. The bad thing is Penelope already called us with a new case to the conference room," the guy shrugged apologicately. Spencer sighed, his good mood faltering a little.

The case looked worse than the one they wrapped yesterday, and Spencer couldn't hide his disgust. At the police station, flipping between the case file, his mind wasn't really there.

'What will she be doing right now?', 'Will she have ended her shift right now?', 'Maybe I should make the dinner when I get back,' 'I should ask Rossi for a recipe to try.'

Spencer stopped suddenly when he realized where his mind had gone. Why was he thinking of her? It wasn't bad, but the man felt odd doing it. They were still strangers in need. Friends to some extent. Roommates for necessity. It wasn't right.

"Are you okay, Spence?" JJ's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah. Yeah," Spencer assured, returning to the file he was reading.

But things didn't improve for Spencer. In two days, the case turned into a mess when they found the unsub was using religious motives to kidnap, drug, and torture his victims until they died. The similarities didn't go unnoticed by Spencer or the team. Hankel. Too vastly matching what Tobias Hankel did.

Spencer sidelined himself a couple of times from discussions about the case and could not participate in the take-down to arrest the unsub. Emily understood Spencer's reluctance but was worried about the consequences this might have on him later.

Back in Virginia, Spencer was drained and only thinking about sleep until next week—something odd for someone as workaholic as him.

His teammates looked shocked at how Spencer was the first to cross the glass doors out once Emily sent them home after the debriefing.

Disappointment found Spencer when he realized the apartment was dark. Nobody was there. What was he expecting? Be greeted by Ana, who would have waited for him? Yeah, maybe he did expect that.

Huffing for his own silliness, Spencer walked to the kitchen. His stomach grumbled, and he didn't want to go to bed without eating again. The smile returned to his face when in the fridge found a Tupperware with a note on it: 'A leftover if you haven't eaten yet.'

Those little gestures have made Spencer's heart swell. Was it the fact nobody had made things like this for him before? Was the idea of having someone thinking of him? Spencer didn't know, but whatever it was, he was afraid of the consequences.

He left a note over the counter in case he couldn't see Ana the next day: 'Thank you. I promise dinner is up to me next time. And don't worry; I won't cook.'

The note caused the desired effect when Ana read it a couple of hours after when she returned. Chuckling, she moved to the sink to fill a glass of water before bed. Ana soon walked the corridor to her room when a sound from Spencer's room stopped her. It was faint, but she was sure to hear it. A whimper? A sob? Cautiously, she neared her ear to the wooden door. And then a scream.

"Let go of me! Let me go!" Now it was clear, it was Spencer's voice, and it seemed he was struggling with someone. Ana opened the door without much thought and saw the man jittering on the mattress, covered with sweat. His arms were fighting with the air, and his voice strangled with tears.

"Please, let me go!" He repeated over and over.

What should she do? Clearly, he was having a nightmare, but was it a good idea to intervene? The main concern for Ana was Spencer could hurt himself. She knew about vivid nightmares, and that kind of outcome wasn't rare. Slowly she approached his bed, speaking in a soft voice.

"Spencer? Can you hear me? It's me, Ana. Can I come closer?"

Spencer kept tosing, wiggling his arms as he tried to fight against something or someone.

"They want to kill me. Don't let him kill me, please," he begged, still dreaming. Ana dared to hover over Spencer, tentatively touching one of his arms.

"They won't do anything. Spencer, you are in your apartment. We are alone here. Please wake up," she encouraged him.

"I don't want to die. Please, tell him I don't want to die," he cried.

That broke Ana's heart. Now more confident, she sat beside him on the mattress, holding his hands and rubbing them in smooth patterns. Spencer's breathing was still irregular, but it seemed he was waking up.

His eyes shot open, and seeing Ana's face broke the dam. He was fully crying now, hiding his face on Ana's lap.

"Hey, you're okay. You're safe," Ana mumbled, rubbing Spencer's back.

"No. I'm not," he sobbed, clutching at Ana's sweater. He looked so vulnerable it cracked her heart.

Ana wondered about what horrible things had happened to Spencer's beautiful soul. She had some ideas, but he hadn't told her much yet.

"I promise you're safe. I'm not letting anything bad happen to you, okay?"

She didn't know where those words came from. Ana wasn't even sure what was happening, yet she felt the urge to protect him at all costs.

Still rubbing his back, Ana held him until his sobs became sporadical sniffles. Maybe it took five minutes or ten; Ana wasn't sure, but when she saw how Spencer's breathing evened out, she felt things were improving.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, still not able to let go of his grasp of Ana's sweater. "I did you wake up," he apologized, drying his tears with the sleeve of his pajama shirt.

"Nu-uh. Don't be sorry, Spencer. You were having a nightmare. A nasty one, I would say. And if it makes you feel better, I just came home. I was heading to my room when I heard you," she explained, reaching for some locks of hair that covered his face. Spencer sighed, now fully conscious of his surroundings.

"I haven't had one like this in a long time. I sure scared you with my screams," Spencer mumbled, embarrassed.

"I would say more than scaring, I worried. Can I ask you something, though?"

Spencer's eyes found hers, almost fearing the question was coming. Ana noticed.

"No, you don't have to tell me what happened, but it would be a good idea if you changed your pajama. It's damped, and it wouldn't be good to keep it like that on your skin. And you could use a warm cup of tea. Conozco un secreto para hacer una agüita milagrosa, especial para estos casos (I know how to make a cup of miraculous brew for this specific purpose).” Spencer frowned.

"Agüita? Like little water?" 

Ana chuckled.

"It's more like 'brebaje especial,' or medicinal tea," she explained. Spencer hummed. Even if he managed to understand most of Ana's Spanish, there were words still too specific for him. He liked to learn about them, though.

"Come on. Change your clothes and join me in the living room, okay?"

When Spencer came to the living room with a new pajama and a robe covering his frame, Ana walked from the kitchen with two mugs. Sitting on the couch, she handed him a cup.

"It's hot, but it'll help. I promise."

They kept silent for a while. Spencer carefully sipped his brebaje. It tasted bitter, but he felt better after a few drinks. Ana did not say a word, not wanting to disturb him.

"He drugged me," Spencer mumbled suddenly. Ana looked at him, confused. "Hankel. Tobias Hankel," he clarified.

"The guy who kidnapped you?" Ana asked, remembering what the BAU girls told her at Rossi's. Spencer nodded.

"The team says I died, and he brought me back. I don't remember much; he kept me drugged constantly. With Dilaudid." The images and flashes came to Spencer's mind as he recounted what happened.

"Jeez, Spencer. I'm sorry," Ana mumbled, clutching her mug tighter. She suspected where this was going.

"Worst part was I got addicted. I struggled to come clean. I have been sober for ten years now. But when the nightmares come, I still think of getting high," Spencer sighed. "I'm so weak."

Immediately Ana's free hand flew to one of his biceps.

"No. You are not. Cravings happen. You fight every day against that, and you're here, still fighting."

Ana was determined not to let Spencer go into that rabbit hole. She knew how vulnerable he felt but would do anything to help him.

"But sometimes I feel so tired. You know, I - the last case. The unsub was drugging his victims like Hankel did with me. And I asked myself, why can't I stop them? Why do more people have to put up with that? And then I think a hit could make everything easier."

Spencer's words rang heavy in the air. It wasn't the first time he thought about that, but maybe it was the first time he voiced it.

"But you know the hit at the end won't make go away those things, right?" Ana prompted.

"Yeah. I know. And then I think about what you told me the other day. About why I'm still doing this," Spencer mentioned.

"I wasn't trying to impose my perspective. I'm sorry if it sounded like that," Ana hastened to apologize, and Spencer's hand went over hers to reassure her.

"It was a valid question. It is a valid question, indeed. Don't apologize. The thing is, I found myself wondering the same, you know?"

Ana sighed, she could see his struggle, and the urge to do anything to ease his pain increased.

"You are a good man, Spencer. You should know that. And it's completely valid if you want different things in life. It doesn't mean you have to shut down everything, but you can see changes as good things and not so terrifying," Ana told him, squeezing his hand. It was a gesture they got used to. Her hand on his felt comforting and right. Spencer looked at her with a sheepish smile on his face.

"Thank you. And I'm sorry for overwhelming you with my - you know - things."

Ana shook her head.

"Don't be sorry. I'm happy to help. Also, I told you I was a good listener," she reminded him, releasing his hand to pat his knee.

"I can be a good listener too. I mean, if you need to. I know you said you didn't like to talk about yourself that much, but if you need to, I would be happy to hear you," Spencer offered, shyly looking at Ana. She returned him a smile.

"Thank you. I appreciate it. And I'll keep it in mind, okay?" Ana paused. "How do you feel now?" now she asked, pointing to his mug. Spencer looked at the empty cup. He did feel better.

"Way better. I would say this 'agüita' worked," Spencer confessed. "You were right." Ana chuckled, Spencer's Spanish accent wasn't the best, but she found it cute.

They kept talking for a while until he saw how tired Ana was. Despite her offering to stay up with him, Spencer insisted he was fine and both should go to sleep. Reluctantly, Ana agreed.

After that night, Spencer started to feel more confused. For him, Ana was still an enigma in many ways. Despite his skills as a profiler, he could tell the armor she placed in front of her rarely allowed him to see beyond. He had no doubt Ana was a powerful and tenacious woman with a difficult past. But whenever they came up with the subject of her life before coming to the US, she tended to say general things and then move the topic elsewhere.

He wanted to know more. Sure, he told himself it was for the best outcome in the interview, but deep down, there was something else, and he couldn't pinpoint it.

How much time had he left to find out?

During another case happening in Los Angeles, Spencer's phone chimed with a text. It was from Ana.

'I just got a letter from Immigration. They scheduled our interview for July 3rd.'

That's a month from there, Spencer estimated. He didn't know how to feel, to be honest. In a month, things would be over. Ana would go with her life, and they would part ways.

It was what they both wanted, right?

Ana told herself the same. As she got the letter, her anxiety thrived. It would happen eventually, but she wasn't sure how to feel about it. She had grown closer to Spencer in the almost two months they had been 'living together.' But she knew it wasn't her place, and it wasn't her life. The guy needed to get back his life, and she must move on with hers. Period.

A heatwave stroked hard in DC on the first days of June. Ana was displeased, so one of those days, when she got to the apartment after a long shift, she took a cold shower and decided to keep out of clothes except for a sports bra and panties. Spencer wasn't home, he left for a case four days ago, so it was no harm. She cooked dinner and ate watching a TV show. When she was done, it was still early, so she decided to tidy up the place. With her earbuds on, Ana chose her 'aseo playlist' and started to work.

A while later, she was so immersed in the music she didn't hear the front door open.

"Ana?" Spencer called once he realized the lights were on, but he got no response.

He wasn't prepared for what he entered in his living room. Ana was sweeping the floor while she danced and sang to the rhythm of a song.

'The lights are on, but you're not home

Your mind is not your own

Your heart sweats, your body shakes

Another kiss is what it takes.'

But seeing her dancing wasn't the only thing that captivated Spencer; it was her outfit or lack thereof. Spencer's eyes fixated on Ana's exposed skin as he felt his cheeks burning - and other parts of his body too.

'Whoa, you like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah. 

It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough. You know you're gonna have to face it; 

You're addicted to love.'

Without knowing what was going on behind her back, Ana kept performing to - for her - a non-existing audience. The cadence of the music made her hips move sensually. An open-mouthed Spencer watched as this beautiful - and almost naked - woman danced. Still scanning her body, he noticed a tattoo on her back and another on her right ribcage.

It was wrong, he knew, but he couldn't stop looking at her.

The charm bubble burst once Ana turned around to find a stunned Spencer staring at her.

"Oh, fuck!" Ana almost tripped with the broomstick, which fell to the floor. "Spencer! I didn't see you coming!" she yelled, pulling out her earbuds.

Spencer still couldn't say a word. He tried to keep his composure and gaze at her eyes, not her body. Then is when Ana realized her appearance. Little she could do for it, though.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I know this is inappropriate, but I didn't know you would be coming home today," she apologized, trying to cover herself behind the counter.

"I - uh, sorry. I should have texted. We caught the guy early this morning," he explained, averting his gaze to any direction but her.

"Good! That's good!" she nervously chirped.

Spencer knew he had to move. Ana was feeling enough embarrassment, and it wasn't right.

"Uh. I'm going to change. Don't mind me. You can resume your - well, what you were doing," Spencer said, still nervous but trying to sound calm and forcing his legs to cooperate and walk out of the living room.

"Oh. Okay. I can heat some dinner for you in the meantime. Well, after I put on some clothes," Ana half-joked as Spencer sauntered to his room as fast as he could.

Heat. What a choice of words, he thought.

"Thank you!" he called before shutting his bedroom door.

Ana felt mortified. It wasn't the fact she was almost naked dancing in the living room, or maybe it was, but it was more the fact Spencer saw her like that, so exposed.

She would never admit it, but she had also seen the boy in almost no clothes getting out of the shower one morning. Clearly, she didn't mention it to him. Ana realized the kind of domesticity they were hauling and how it could expose them in this way. It's not that she didn't like the idea; it was more that she liked it too much.

Spencer tried to forget what he saw that night. Still, even without an eidetic memory, he wouldn't—another reason why Spencer was captivated by Ana. But he wouldn't do anything about it; he was in a relationship with Maeve and didn't want to mess it up.

However, Spencer started to question his own decision.

It was one of the rare days of paperwork in which he could leave the BAU early. Spencer was grateful for it; the exhaustion from the previous case still had him wishing he could sleep for days.

Spencer was about to put the key in the lock when he heard a loud sound from inside, presumably a glass breaking. In fully-alerted mode, he pulled out his gun and carefully opened the door.

He kept frozen on the spot when he saw Ana yelling at the top of her lungs while knocking on the kitchen counter and throwing another glass to the wall.

"Hijo de puta! Maldito bastardo! (Son of the bitch! Bloody bastard!)"

That's when Spencer reacted, holstering his gun and slowly approaching Ana.

What the hell had happened?

"Ana? Hey, hey! What's wrong?" Spencer tried to call her attention, but Ana didn't acknowledge his presence yet. When their eyes met, Ana stopped shouting but still panted and disoriented.

"Qué me estás mirando, ah? También te vas a reir en mi cara? (What are you looking at?! Are you going to laugh at me too?!" the girl asked angrily. Spencer's face was pure confusion.

"What? No-I - what are you talking about?"

"You're not different from them. Nobody is different," Ana kept babbling, eyes to the ceiling to stop the tears pooling from her eyes.

Spencer's concern grew. He's seen people lose their temper like that in his line of work, and not for nothing.

"Ana, talk to me. What happened?"

That's when the girl broke; falling to her knees, she covered her face with both hands, fully crying now. Spencer quickly knelt in front of her to envelop her in a tight embrace.

"Hey, it's okay. It's going to be okay," he reassured, stroking her hair. Ana hid her face in Spencer's chest, crying disconsolately.

"I made a mess," she whined, clutching Spencer's cardigan.

"It doesn't matter. It's not important. Do you want to tell me what's wrong? How can I help?"

Ana contemplated her answer for a while. Spencer deserved an explanation for what was happening. She could have lied about it, but it wasn't fair to him, and she didn't have the energy to.

"I thought I could just forget it, you know? Maybe like that, I could have convinced myself that nothing wrong happened," she sighed.

"Come on, let's go to sit down," Spencer offered, getting up from the floor, helping Ana to do the same, and leading her to the sofa, avoiding the scattered glass shards on the floor.

Seeing she still had trouble breathing steadily, Spencer grabbed her hand and encouraged her to mimic him. Inhaling deeply and exhaling in the same way.

After a couple of minutes doing so, Ana nodded. She felt capable of talking.

"I know you already have noticed I avoid talking about a specific part of my past. Part of my childhood, to be specific. It's not I wanted to hide something from you instead from myself. I have never told anyone about this. I never even told my mom before she died."

Ana shifted in her spot on the couch. Suddenly her throat went dry.

"In my family, well, on my mother's side, blood ties have always been tremendously valued. My mom leaned on her family, especially after my dad left us. In fact, we lived with an aunt for several months until my mom managed to find an apartment that could afford both of us.

At that time, in the house, my aunt lived with his husband and their son. I almost didn't see my uncle; he worked all day. And as the money wasn't enough, my aunt found a job too. My mom doubled shifts at her job, partially to make money and partly to forget her husband had left her. That meant I was alone with my cousin almost every afternoon I got back from school."

Ana paused to gauge Spencer's reaction. He was listening intently to every word. And even if he was running every possible turn in her story in his brain, his trained poker face didn't reveal anything.

"I was a 9-year-old girl, barely trying to understand why her dad was no longer with her. I didn't know much about anything. Just my mom always told me to be careful around strangers. That's why it didn't seem weird to me when my sixteen-year-cousin got very close to me, coincidentally when we were alone. At first, he would agree to play any game I could think of with me. Dolls, cars, PlayStation, whatever. The problem began when he wanted to decide what game to play. The way he looked at me went unnoticed by me at first. But something in my gut told me it wasn't okay when once we were playing doctor-patient, and he wanted me to take off my dress. He convinced me somehow. And I was so confused. God, I thought it was part of the game. That time he only watched me for a long time. The next time it happened, he touched me, fortunately, nowhere intimate part. Every time, he was increasing the risk. The next time it happened, he - he tried to touch me down there, but out of instinct, I didn't let him. But I didn't know what else to do. Then I froze when I saw him grabbing his dick, and he started jerking off in front of me. I didn't even know what that was!" Ana recounted, disgusted at the memory.

"Did he-?" Spencer trailed off. Ana shook her head, knowing what he wanted to ask.

"No. He couldn't. After he finished doing it himself, he sent me to my room. And I got so shocked I couldn't stay with him anymore. I begged to stay at my classmates' houses until my mom could pick me up. A month later, my mom found us an apartment."

Spencer let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Why you didn't tell your mom?" Ana shrugged.

"She already had a lot on her plate. And she trusted so much in her family. Also, I didn't know what really happened until later in school when people started to talk about abuse and stuff like that." Spencer nodded in understanding.

"What did you do then?" he asked softly.

"For a long time, I pretended it never happened. My mom died, and I didn't have time to think about that. But sure, you can guess I couldn't go like that forever. A time after my mom died, I had to go to therapy. And it helped. I did acknowledge what happened, and it wasn't okay. Still, I couldn't let that event dictate how I establish relationships with people. You know, despite my trust issues, I engaged in some healthy relationships in college and moved on. At least I thought I did until today," Ana sniffled—head shooking in denial.

"What happened today?" Spencer asked.

"I - I never knew what happened to him. I lost all contact with my family after my mom passed. But today I discovered he - he was found dead in his cell after being sentenced for raping and killing three women," Ana winced as the words left her mouth. "Do you know what it means? He hurt others. And I didn't say anything back then! The bastard harmed people and didn't pay for it. And I didn't do anything to prevent it!"

Her tightly-fisted hands collided with the couch's cushions. Frustration, guilt, and anger poured from her. Spencer was quick to react, holding her hands in his.

"Hey, no, no, no. Don't say that. You fought for your safety. You didn't know. You were a child. It's not your fault, okay?" Spencer reassured her.

"But I should have said something! To anyone! Maybe someone could have stopped him," Ana debated, feeling the guilt eating her. Spencer shook his head.

"You had your reasons, Ana. You wanted to protect your mom and yourself. And nothing guaranteed it didn't happen again. He was sixteen then; he was already on the wrong track. It wasn't your call to notice and warn people about him."

Ana took in Spencer's words. It was reasonable. She was a child. Still, it didn't feel enough right now. Her rational brain was fighting with the nagging feeling of remorse.

"Is it bad I wish I never knew what happened to him?" Ana cracked, feeling the tears down her cheeks.

"Not at all. Believe me. There is nothing wrong with that," Spencer assured, embracing her tightly. "And I know you're thinking you were luckier than the others he might and did hurt during his life, and you were. But remember, he did hurt you too. And that isn't any less."

Ana cried, held by Spencer in his arms. It was an intricate feeling. On the one hand, she felt terrible knowing justice didn't get served and how that man managed to hurt more people. But on the other, a relief washed over her after letting it out.

Minutes became at least half an hour. Spencer traced comforting patterns on Ana's back as the tears subsided. He thought she was falling asleep until she spoke again.

"I still made a mess in your kitchen," she mumbled with a raspy voice from the crying.

"It is the last of my concerns right now," he replied, a gentle hand still stroking her back.

"I should go to get rid of the glass shatters," she lifted her head from Spencer's chest, attempting to stand up, but Spencer didn't let her.

"No, no, no. None of that. You'll stay here. I'm going to clean that off, and I'll make some tea for both of us. It may not be like your 'aguitas,' but it will help," Spencer announced.

That made Ana chuckle. Even if she wanted to argue with Spencer about it, she felt already drained to do so.

Spencer was right. His tea was different from Ana's, but it helped. It helped in such a way sleepiness found her quickly, making her doze off on the couch with her head on Spencer's lap. He didn't have the heart to wake her up, so he snatched a blanket from the chair next to the couch and covered them both. As Spencer watched her sleep, his thoughts wandered toward that lingering feeling in him—the urge to embrace her. Not only physically embracing her yet embracing her heart, her whole. It was something new for him.

It wasn't like the need to protect someone vulnerable to danger as he usually did at his job. Ana had already shown early in life that she could cope with adversity. Even so, seeing his heart exposed this way elicited a feeling of admiration and unconditionally. He could no longer see her as a stranger, let alone get the idea she would soon be no longer in his life. Was he naive in thinking they could keep this friendship once everything was over? Was he a fool in believing the feeling was mutual? Was it reasonable to think this was just friendship? Without answering all those questions, an exhausted Spencer fell asleep with Ana in his arms. In his mind, embracing her in more than a way.

Morning found Ana curled on the couch, covered with a blanket and something - someone - else. As she stirred, she felt a pair of arms around her waist. That was enough for her to open her eyes fully. 

Those arms were Spencer's. Shit.

Not daring to move, Ana mentally revisited the night before. She fell asleep on Spencer's couch with Spencer himself wrapping his arms around her. Why didn't he wake her up? Was he still sleeping? The soft snoring escaping his lips told her yes.

Ana thought it was a crime to feel so comfortable right now. Should she move? Ana contemplated her options until, as on cue, Spencer stretched, losing his grip on her waist. She moved slowly, sliding off the sofa until she touched the floor. Seeing Spencer still not open his eyes, she got up quickly.

Still groggy from sleep, Spencer opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Ana standing before him.

"Hey," he mumbled. Ana mirrored him.

"Hey. Good morning."

"Good morning," he smiled. Ana cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep last night. Why didn't you wake me up?" she asked, not mentioning how they were cuddling in their sleep. Spencer shifted to a sit position.

"You looked tired, and I didn't want you to disturb your sleep," he simply explained, rubbing his palms on his eyes to sweep the remaining slumber.

"I'm sorry. You must have been uncomfortable all night," Ana deduced, taking in the couch and the tall man on it.

Spencer thought about it, and the truth was far from that statement.

"Not really. Quite the opposite," Spencer admitted at loud. Ana gave him an odd look, and he realized what he said. "How are you feeling?" Spencer quickly changed the subject.

"Better, I guess," she shrugged. "I wanted to thank you for listening to me and, well, not kicking my ass out of here after the mess I made in your kitchen," she chuckled. Spencer did the same.

"I would never do that. And I'm glad you're feeling better," Spencer said, giving her a wide smile. Ana could have melted in the spot. How could he be so cute like that? She couldn't help but take in his adorable messy hair and how he rubbed his eyes like a sleepy little kid.

Get a grip, Ana. Get a grip.

"You know, I'm going to make breakfast. If you want to take a shower first," Ana offered, ready to head to the kitchen. Spencer checked his watch, and an idea popped.

"Ana! Wait!" he stopped her. She looked confused, asking if something was wrong. Spencer shook his head. "No, no. It's just, can we do something today? I mean, what if we go out and do breakfast in a new place I found?" Ana raised an eyebrow.

"Are you betraying my coffee shop?" Spencer laughed.

"Never! But I think you'll like the place. It's a beautiful day outside, and we can take a walk afterward. What do you say?"

Ana didn't know why she felt her cheeks turn red. It's not like he's asking her out on a date or anything like that. It's just a friendly outing. He only wanted to be nice to her, she thought.

"Okay. We can do that. One condition, though," Ana prefaced in a serious tone.

"Name it," Spencer quickly replied.

"Only if we're going to eat ice cream afterward," Ana said, and Spencer smirked.

"Deal."

——————

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine​ @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

[mentallyshattered]

This is part 14 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

"A nightmare? Both of them? I've heard of familiars having similar dreams, given how common it is, but it's generally accepted that having a familiar is a nightmare deterrent." Vil pauses, his face pensive. "Generally, though, having a familiar means you won't have any nightmare you can't be woken from. And you're sure it was a bad dream?"

"Positive. He kept begging some unknown figure for help; it was something like 'please, make this stop' over and over again, quietly."

"Hmm. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I'll see what I can do."

"You know, Roi de Poison, I have seen Monseur Smoke go and punch trees quite often, until he bleeds. Every time, his attacks last one half-hour, if uninterrupted."

"That does sound like it could be related." Vil turns his head towards me and Grim rather suddenly, as though he forgot we were there. "Yuu, Grim, go and eat. You need the energy, and you've already done enough here. Make sure to drink some water; you two haven't been drinking enough."

Grim and I follow Vil's instruction and leave. Breakfast is avocado toast, which I'm pretty sure is our housewarden's way of making sure everybody eats a decent amout of something green instead of living on fish like the whole dorm seems to try.

While the ice water is nice, I can't bring myself to enjoy it. What of my friends? What of Ace and Deuce, with their tyrant housewarden? What of Korrak and Mandible, with their unknown nightmares?

"H-Hey, Yuu."

"Hi, Korrak! What's up?" Looking into his smokey grey eyes, I can understand why Rook calls him 'Monseur Smoke.'

"Not much, but I'm p-p-pretty sure we have t-t-t-t-to join a club. What club are you joining?"

"Myeh? We have to join a club?"

"Yeah, by the end of the week," Mandible adds, "have you seen the options?"

"Uhh, nope." Grim and I speak in unison this time.

"Well, w-w-we can all g-go and look at the opt-t-t-tions lat-t-t- Mandible, you know what I was g-g-going t-t-t-"

"Sure do. Anyway, do you two wanna go to the courtyard later today and look at the options?"

"Sure! Sounds fun."

Korrak looks relived. "Thanks, bud. You've always b-b-been there f-for me." Korrak turns to Grim and I. "Th-th-the speech issue is w-w-w-worse when I haven't eat-t-t-en."

Grim and I nod. "Isn't everything?"

"Fair point." Mandible seems to share Grim's sentiment. I hand Korrak a piece of toast, and he starts adding butter and avocado almost immediately.

When Grim and I get to class, we discover a well-rested Ace with no collar on.

"Yeah, housewarden Riddle must've had a change of heart or something. He's stopped enforcing most of the rules, and now Ace's punishment for stealing is helping Trey bake the tarts for the party. We still can't play croquet after 5:00pm, though."

I smile. Grim and I were right. Riddle did just need a hug and some time to himself.

The rest of class goes by without incident. It would be boring if I weren't learning the history of an entirely new world, but, hey, I'm in luck!

Alchemy sees me successfully using magic to catch a glass jar that got knocked off of a shelf. It "certainly would've shattered" on the stone floor if not for my "catlike reflexes-" or so Crewel says, anyway.

To be honest, I didn't even realize I knew a spell that could save that jar. I just panicked and attempted one I've read about. Good for me!

P.E. sucks, as usual. Ace stays conscious, though! Not without a bad sunburn that got him sent to the nurse anyway, but baby steps.

Lunch is tomato soup, which is the first time the main dish of a Pomefiore meal does not and cannot include fish. Even this morning, there were pieces of salmon for the avocado toast.

"So, Epel, w-what club are you in?"

"Spelldrive. Cain't wait fer practice t' start up, lemme tell ya! Hopefully I'll git bigger an' stop lookin' so-"

"Epel, Vil's in the room." Epel, despite having just been interrupted by four people, one of whom is a cat and another of whom is an opossum, does not delay his speaking. That's gotten pretty normal, after all.

"Whoop, sorry. Thanks, y'all. 'Nyway, I'd jus' like t' be a little less girly, y'know?"

"I g-get that. I got mist-t-t-aken for a girl all the t-t-t-"

"Take another bite of your soup, Korrak."

"Thanks, Mandible." He obeys. "Anyway, people u-used t-t-to think I was a girl all the t-t-time. They'd p-pick on me 'cause of that- you should've seen th-the looks on their faces when I beat the shit out of them."

Korrak laughs. I recall what I heard Rook say about Korrak punching trees until he bleeds, and spilling no blood for half an hour every time. Guess that's just what he's like.

Korrak doesn't strike me as a violent person so much as the retalliative sort. Why would he be violent? He doesn't start fights, he doesn't bully people, and he doesn't tolerate bullshit.

"It was always real f-funny, watching them s-s-suff-"

"Korrak." Our housewarden now stands tall behind the Korrak's confident figure.

"Uh, when I beat the bully out o-of them."

"Perfect." With that, Vil walks off. I wonder, why did it take him so long to react? Then again, this room is full of teens. Epel can't be the only potty mouth.

Korrak watches Vil go and shrugs. "That's life, I s-suppose." His stutter has noticeably improved since eating more of his soup, but is still present.

"Do you fight often, Korrak?"

"Only when I g-gotta. Kids back a-at my elementary school called me th-the gas st-t-t-ation, cuz I w-was nice t-t-to have around unt-il there were s-sparks."

Yeah, that makes sense. It's a little hard to imagine people pissing him off at all, but especially recalling the tree-punching thing. After all, Korrak stands tall and confident, with square shoulders and a smirk that suggests anyone who goes looking for trouble with him will find more of it than they bargained for. There's a spark in his eyes, like the sun peaking out from smoke, that makes it obvious: you fuck with Korrak, you've fucked up.

He's not shy, that's my point. He is kinda cute though, what with the hair- ashy purple and super fluffy. Combine that with his beautiful eyes and some teenage jealousy, and you've probably got at least one kid challenging him to make sure he stays away from their lover.

"Myah, we have class!"

Everybody's eyes widen. Evidently, the whole room forgot we aren't eating dinner.

Then, from various voices accross the room: "run!"

Luckily, Grim and I make it to class on time. Biology class is about morays today- specifically, the differences between cold sea morays and warm sea morays.

According to Trein, there's a trench that separates the sea. Morays who lay eggs on the south side lay two connected egg sacks. One side only has babies with magical left eyes, and the other only has babies with magical right eyes. The babies in each side fight until only one is left, and the survivors are twins.

Warm sea morays have nothing of the sort. Eggs can't be carried over the trench because the temperature change kills them, and keeping them on the side they weren't laid on requires keeping them at the temperature of the other side.

Cold sea morays can lay warm sea eggs, and vice versa. It's all location, and it's all very facinating. But, alas, class cannot go on forever.

MacGyvering shows us using drills as motors for fans, boats, and a variety of other things. Not really, though- we're making blueprints. Reasonable enough, if you ask me.

Finally, class is over. I hold Grim and carry him to the courtyard so he can sleep on the way. Korrak and Mandible are already waiting.

They wave. I wave back. Korrak motions to me to stand over by him, and I follow his lead. Beside him is a big list of all the clubs, pinned to the wall.

"I was thinking of joining the track and field club, but I'm not really sure. What do you think?"

"Well... what kind of stuff do you like?"

"The science club sounds fascinating. I've always liked all of it, anyway, but..."

"But what?"

"Well, I want to be more physical."

"You don't have to be in a club to use the gymnasium, Korrak."

"Yeah, great point. Science Club it is!" With that, he starts filling out an application that apparently just needed a few more fields to be filled in.

"Myeh?.. what time is... oh, I took a nap." Grim yawns, putting his, frankly, adorable little teeth on display. "What club are we joining?"

"I don't know yet. That's why we're here, Grim."

Grim hops onto the ground, does the iconic kitty stretch, and hops onto the bench. Before I can wonder why, he jumps onto Korrak's shoulder- the one that doesn't have Mandible on it- and onto my shoulder from there.

"You can just ask me to pick you up, Grim."

"Where's the fun in that?"

I sigh and roll my eyes. What clubs are there? Board Games, Mountain Lovers, Gargoyle Studies... out of those, Board Games seem like the best option.

"Where are the applications?" Korrak hands me one.

"Hey, you didn't even tell me what club you picked! We're both going, so we both need to approve!"

"I picked the board games club, Grim."

"Ooh. Sounds fun, I'm in!"

I grin. "We sure are!"